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diff --git a/12673-h/12673-h.htm b/12673-h/12673-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1be1646 --- /dev/null +++ b/12673-h/12673-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12765 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Pretty Lady , by Arnold E. Bennett</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + a {text-decoration: none;} + + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + hr.full { width: 100%; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:#ff0000} + pre {font-size: 8pt;} + + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + .newpage {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 80%;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12673 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Pretty Lady , by Arnold E. Bennett</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page1" id="page1">[1]</a></span> +<p>"<i>Virtue has never yet been adequately represented by +any who have had any claim to be considered virtuous. +It is the sub-vicious who best understand virtue. Let the +virtuous people stick to describing vice—which they can +do well enough</i>."</p> + +<p>SAMUEL BUTLER</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page2" id="page2">[2]</a></span> +<a name="The_Pretty_Lady"></a><h1>The Pretty Lady</h1> + + +<h2>A Novel by</h2><br /> +<h3>Arnold Bennett</h3><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="newpage"><a name="page3" id="page3">[3]</a></span> +<h4>1918</h4> +<br /> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page4" id="page4">[4]</a></span> +<br /> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page5" id="page5">[5]</a></span> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="CONTENTS"></a><h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<br /> + + <a href="#Chapter_1"><b>Chapter 1.</b></a> <b>THE PROMENADE</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_2"><b>Chapter 2.</b></a> <b>THE POWER</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_3"><b>Chapter 3.</b></a> <b>THE FLAT</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_4"><b>Chapter 4.</b></a> <b>CONFIDENCE</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_5"><b>Chapter 5.</b></a> <b>OSTEND</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_6"><b>Chapter 6.</b></a> <b>THE ALBANY</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_7"><b>Chapter 7.</b></a> <b>FOR THE EMPIRE</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_8"><b>Chapter 8.</b></a> <b>BOOTS</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_9"><b>Chapter 9.</b></a> <b>THE CLUB</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_10"><b>Chapter 10.</b></a> <b>THE MISSION</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_11"><b>Chapter 11.</b></a> <b>THE TELEGRAM</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_12"><b>Chapter 12.</b></a> <b>RENDEZVOUS</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_13"><b>Chapter 13.</b></a> <b>IN COMMITTEE</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_14"><b>Chapter 14.</b></a> <b>QUEEN</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_15"><b>Chapter 15.</b></a> <b>EVENING OUT</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_16"><b>Chapter 16</b></a> <b>THE VIRGIN</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_17"><b>Chapter 17.</b></a> <b>SUNDAY AFTERNOON</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_18"><b>Chapter 18.</b></a> <b>THE MYSTIC</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_19"><b>Chapter 19.</b></a> <b>THE VISIT</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_20"><b>Chapter 20.</b></a> <b>MASCOT</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_21"><b>Chapter 21.</b></a> <b>THE LEAVE-TRAIN</b><br /> + <span class="newpage"><a name="page6" id="page6">[6]</a></span> + <a href="#Chapter_22"><b>Chapter 22.</b></a> <b>GETTING ON WITH THE WAR</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_23"><b>Chapter 23.</b></a> <b>THE CALL</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_24"><b>Chapter 24.</b></a> <b>THE SOLDIER</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_25"><b>Chapter 25.</b></a> <b>THE RING</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_26"><b>Chapter 26.</b></a> <b>THE RETURN</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_27"><b>Chapter 27.</b></a> <b>THE CLYDE</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_28"><b>Chapter 28.</b></a> <b>SALOME</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_29"><b>Chapter 29.</b></a> <b>THE STREETS</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_30"><b>Chapter 30.</b></a> <b>THE CHILD'S ARM</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_31"><b>Chapter 31.</b></a> "<b>ROMANCE"</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_32"><b>Chapter 32.</b></a> <b>MRS. BRAIDING</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_33"><b>Chapter 33.</b></a> <b>THE ROOF</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_34"><b>Chapter 34.</b></a> <b>IN THE BOUDOIR</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_35"><b>Chapter 35.</b></a> <b>QUEEN DEAD</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_36"><b>Chapter 36.</b></a> <b>COLLAPSE</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_37"><b>Chapter 37.</b></a> <b>THE INVISIBLE POWERS</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_38"><b>Chapter 38.</b></a> <b>THE VICTORY</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_39"><b>Chapter 39.</b></a> <b>IDYLL</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_40"><b>Chapter 40.</b></a> <b>THE WINDOW</b><br /> + <a href="#Chapter_41"><b>Chapter 41.</b></a> <b>THE ENVOY</b><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<br /> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page7" id="page7">[7]</a></span> +<a name="Chapter_1"></a><h2>Chapter 1</h2> + +<h4>THE PROMENADE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The piece was a West End success so brilliant +that even if you belonged to the intellectual +despisers of the British theatre you could not hold +up your head in the world unless you had seen it; +even for such as you it was undeniably a success +of curiosity at least.</p> + +<p>The stage scene flamed extravagantly with +crude orange and viridian light, a rectangle of +bedazzling illumination; on the boards, in the +midst of great width, with great depth behind +them and arching height above, tiny squeaking +figures ogled the primeval passion in gesture and +innuendo. From the arc of the upper circle convergent +beams of light pierced through gloom and +broke violently on this group of the half-clad +lovely and the swathed grotesque. The group did +not quail. In fullest publicity it was licensed to +say that which in private could not be said where +men and women meet, and that which could not +be printed. It gave a voice to the silent appeal +of pictures and posters and illustrated weeklies all +over the town; it disturbed the silence of the most +secret groves in the vast, undiscovered hearts of +men and women young and old. The half-clad +lovely were protected from the satyrs in the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page8" id="page8">[8]</a></span> +audience by an impalpable screen made of light +and of ascending music in which strings, brass, +and concussion exemplified the naïve sensuality of +lyrical niggers. The guffaw which, occasionally +leaping sharply out of the dim, mysterious auditorium, +surged round the silhouetted conductor +and drove like a cyclone between the barriers of +plush and gilt and fat cupids on to the stage—this +huge guffaw seemed to indicate what might +have happened if the magic protection of the +impalpable screen had not been there.</p> + +<p>Behind the audience came the restless Promenade, +where was the reality which the stage +reflected. There it was, multitudinous, obtainable, +seizable, dumbly imploring to be carried off. +The stage, very daring, yet dared no more than +hint at the existence of the bright and joyous +reality. But there it was, under the same roof.</p> + +<p>Christine entered with Madame Larivaudière. +Between shoulders and broad hats, as through a +telescope, she glimpsed in the far distance the +illusive, glowing oblong of the stage; then the +silhouetted conductor and the tops of instruments; +then the dark, curved concentric rows of spectators. +Lastly she took in the Promenade, in which +she stood. She surveyed the Promenade with a +professional eye. It instantly shocked her, not +as it might have shocked one ignorant of human +nature and history, but by reason of its frigidity, +its constraint, its solemnity, its pretence. In one +glance she embraced all the figures, moving or +stationary, against the hedge of shoulders in front +and against the mirrors behind—all of them: the +programme girls, the cigarette girls, the chocolate +<span class="newpage"><a name="page9" id="page9">[9]</a></span> +girls, the cloak-room girls, the waiters, the overseers, +as well as the vivid courtesans and their +clientèle in black, tweed, or khaki. With scarcely +an exception they all had the same strange look, +the same absence of gesture. They were northern, +blond, self-contained, terribly impassive. Christine +impulsively exclaimed—and the faint cry was +dragged out of her, out of the bottom of her heart, +by what she saw:</p> + +<p>"My god! How mournful it is!"</p> + +<p>Lise Larivaudière, a stout and benevolent +Bruxelloise, agreed with uncomprehending indulgence. +The two chatted together for a few moments, +each ceremoniously addressing the other as +"Madame," "Madame," and then they parted, +insinuating themselves separately into the slow, +confused traffic of the Promenade.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page10" id="page10">[10]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_2"></a><h2>Chapter 2</h2> + +<h4>THE POWER</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Christine knew Piccadilly, Leicester Square, +Regent Street, a bit of Oxford Street, the Green +Park, Hyde Park, Victoria Station, Charing +Cross. Beyond these, London, measureless as the +future and the past, surrounded her with the +unknown. But she had not been afraid, because +of her conviction that men were much the same +everywhere, and that she had power over them. +She did not exercise this power consciously; she +had merely to exist and it exercised itself. For +her this power was the mystical central fact of +the universe. Now, however, as she stood in the +Promenade, it seemed to her that something +uncanny had happened to the universe. Surely it +had shifted from its pivot! Her basic conviction +trembled. Men were not the same everywhere, +and her power over them was a delusion. Englishmen +were incomprehensible; they were not +human; they were apart. The memory of the +hundreds of Englishmen who had yielded to her +power in Paris (for she had specialised in travelling +Englishmen) could not re-establish her conviction +as to the sameness of men. The presence +of her professed rivals of various nationalities in +<span class="newpage"><a name="page11" id="page11">[11]</a></span> +the Promenade could not restore it either. The +Promenade in its cold, prim languor was the very +negation of desire. She was afraid. She foresaw +ruin for herself in this London, inclement, misty +and inscrutable.</p> + +<p>And then she noticed a man looking at her, +and she was herself again and the universe was +itself again. She had a sensation of warmth and +heavenly reassurance, just as though she had drunk +an anisette or a crême de menthe. Her features +took on an innocent expression; the characteristic +puckering of the brows denoted not discontent, +but a gentle concern for the whole world and also +virginal curiosity. The man passed her. She did +not stir. Presently he emerged afresh out of the +moving knots of promenaders and discreetly +approached her. She did not smile, but her eyes +lighted with a faint amiable benevolence—scarcely +perceptible, doubtful, deniable even, but enough. +The man stopped. She at once gave a frank, kind +smile, which changed all her face. He raised his +hat an inch or so. She liked men to raise their +hats. Clearly he was a gentleman of means, +though in morning dress. His cigar had a very +fine aroma. She classed him in half a second and +was happy. He spoke to her in French, with a +slight, unmistakable English accent, but very +good, easy, conversational French—French +French. She responded almost ecstatically:</p> + +<p>"Ah, you speak French!"</p> + +<p>She was too excited to play the usual comedy, +so flattering to most Englishmen, of pretending +that she thought from his speech that he was a +Frenchman. The French so well spoken from a +man's mouth in London most marvellously +<span class="newpage"><a name="page12" id="page12">[12]</a></span> +enheartened her and encouraged her in the +perilous enterprise of her career. She was candidly +grateful to him for speaking French.</p> + +<p>He said after a moment:</p> + +<p>"You have not at all a fatigued air, but would +it not be preferable to sit down?"</p> + +<p>A man of the world! He could phrase his +politeness. Ah! There were none like an Englishman +of the world. Frenchmen, delightfully +courteous up to a point, were unsatisfactory past +that point. Frenchmen of the south were detestable, +and she hated them.</p> + +<p>"You have not been in London long?" said +the man, leading her away to the lounge.</p> + +<p>She observed then that, despite his national +phlegm, he was in a state of rather intense excitation. +Luck! Enormous luck! And also an augury +for the future! She was professing in London for +the first time in her life; she had not been in the +Promenade for five minutes; and lo! the ideal +admirer. For he was not young. What a fine +omen for her profound mysticism and superstitiousness!</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page13" id="page13">[13]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_3"></a><h2>Chapter 3</h2> + +<h4>THE FLAT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Her flat was in Cork Street. As soon as they +entered it the man remarked on its warmth and +its cosiness, so agreeable after the November +streets. Christine only smiled. It was a long, +narrow flat—a small sitting-room with a piano +and a sideboard, opening into a larger bedroom +shaped like a thick L. The short top of the L, +not cut off from the rest of the room, was installed +as a <i>cabinet de toilette</i>, but it had a divan. From +the divan, behind which was a heavily curtained +window, you could see right through the flat to +the curtained window of the sitting-room. All +the lights were softened by paper shades of a +peculiar hot tint between Indian red and carmine, +giving a rich, romantic effect to the gleaming pale +enamelled furniture, and to the voluptuous +engravings after Sir Frederick Leighton, and the +sweet, sentimental engravings after Marcus Stone, +and to the assorted knicknacks. The flat had +homogeneity, for everything in it, except the +stove, had been bought at one shop in Tottenham +Court Road by a landlord who knew his business. +The stove, which was large, stood in the bedroom +fireplace, and thence radiated celestial comfort +and security throughout the home; the stove was +the divinity of the home and Christine the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page14" id="page14">[14]</a></span> +priestess; she had herself bought the stove, and +she understood its personality—it was one of +your finite gods.</p> + +<p>"Will you take something?" she asked, the +hostess.</p> + +<p>Whisky and a siphon and glasses were on the +sideboard.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, thanks!"</p> + +<p>"Not even a cigarette?" Holding out the +box and looking up at him, she appealed with a +long, anxious glance that he should honour her +cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" he said. "I should like a +cigarette very much."</p> + +<p>She lit a match for him.</p> + +<p>"But you—do you not smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Try one of mine—for a change."</p> + +<p>He produced a long, thin gold cigarette-case, +stuffed with cigarettes.</p> + +<p>She lit a cigarette from his.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried after a few violent puffs. +"I like enormously your cigarettes. Where are +they to be found?"</p> + +<p>"Look!" said he. "I will put these few in +your box." And he poured twenty cigarettes +into an empty compartment of the box, which +was divided into two.</p> + +<p>"Not all!" she protested.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But I say NO!" she insisted with a gesture +suddenly firm, and put a single cigarette back +into his case and shut the case with a snap, and +herself returned it to his pocket. "One ought +<span class="newpage"><a name="page15" id="page15">[15]</a></span> +never to be without a cigarette."</p> + +<p>He said:</p> + +<p>"You understand life.... How nice it is here!" +He looked about and then sighed.</p> + +<p>"But why do you sigh?"</p> + +<p>"Sigh of content! I was just thinking this +place would be something else if an English girl +had it. It is curious, lamentable, that English +girls understand nothing—certainly not love."</p> + +<p>"As for that, I've always heard so."</p> + +<p>"They understand nothing. Not even warmth. +One is cold in their rooms."</p> + +<p>"As for that—I mean warmth—one may say +that I understand it; I do."</p> + +<p>"You understand more than warmth. What is +your name?"</p> + +<p>"Christine."</p> + +<p>She was the accidental daughter of a daughter +of joy. The mother, as frequently happens in +these cases, dreamed of perfect respectability for +her child and kept Christine in the country far +away in Paris, meaning to provide a good dowry +in due course. At forty-two she had not got the +dowry together, nor even begun to get it together, +and she was ill. Feckless, dilatory and extravagant, +she saw as in a vision her own shortcomings +and how they might involve disaster for Christine. +Christine, she perceived, was a girl imperfectly +educated—for in the affair of Christine's education +the mother had not aimed high enough—indolent, +but economical, affectionate, and with a very great +deal of temperament. Actuated by deep maternal +solicitude, she brought her daughter back to +Paris, and had her inducted into the profession +<span class="newpage"><a name="page16" id="page16">[16]</a></span> +under the most decent auspices. At nineteen +Christine's second education was complete. Most +of it the mother had left to others, from a sense +of propriety. But she herself had instructed +Christine concerning the five great plagues of the +profession. And also she had adjured her never +to drink alcohol save professionally, never to +invest in anything save bonds of the City of Paris, +never to seek celebrity, which according to the +mother meant ultimate ruin, never to mix +intimately with other women. She had expounded +the great theory that generosity towards men in +small things is always repaid by generosity in +big things—and if it is not the loss is so slight! +And she taught her the fundamental differences +between nationalities. With a Russian you had +to eat, drink and listen. With a German you +had to flatter, and yet adroitly insert, "Do not +imagine that I am here for the fun of the thing." +With an Italian you must begin with finance. +With a Frenchman you must discuss finance +before it is too late. With an Englishman you +must talk, for he will not, but in no circumstances +touch finance until he has mentioned it. In each +case there was a risk, but the risk should be faced. +The course of instruction finished, Christine's +mother had died with a clear conscience and a +mind consoled.</p> + +<p>Said Christine, conversational, putting the +question that lips seemed then to articulate of +themselves in obedience to its imperious demand +for utterance:</p> + +<p>"How long do you think the war will last?"</p> + +<p>The man answered with serenity: +<span class="newpage"><a name="page17" id="page17">[17]</a></span> +"The war has not begun yet."</p> + +<p>"How English you are! But all the same, +I ask myself whether you would say that if you +had seen Belgium. I came here from Ostend last +month." The man gazed at her with new +vivacious interest.</p> + +<p>"So it is like that that you are here!"</p> + +<p>"But do not let us talk about it," she added +quickly with a mournful smile.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" he agreed.... "I see you have +a piano. I expect you are fond of music."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she exclaimed in a fresh, relieved tone. +"Am I fond of it! I adore it, quite simply. Do +play for me. Play a boston—a two-step."</p> + +<p>"I can't," he said.</p> + +<p>"But you play. I am sure of it."</p> + +<p>"And you?" he parried.</p> + +<p>She made a sad negative sign.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll play something out of <i>The Rosenkavalier</i>."</p> + +<p>"Ah! But you are a <i>musician</i>!" She amiably +scrutinised him. "And yet—no."</p> + +<p>Smiling, he, too, made a sad negative sign.</p> + +<p>"The waltz out of <i>The Rosenkavalier</i>, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! A waltz. I prefer waltzes to +anything."</p> + +<p>As soon as he had played a few bars she passed +demurely out of the sitting-room, through the +main part of the bedroom into the <i>cabinet de +toilette</i>. She moved about in the <i>cabinet de toilette</i> +thinking that the waltz out of <i>The Rosenkavalier</i> +was divinely exciting. The delicate sound of her +movements and the plash of water came to him +across the bedroom. As he played he threw a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page18" id="page18">[18]</a></span> +glance at her now and then; he could see well +enough, but not very well because the smoke of +the shortening cigarette was in his eyes.</p> + +<p>She returned at length into the sitting-room, +carrying a small silk bag about five inches by +three. The waltz finished.</p> + +<p>"But you'll take cold!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"No. At home I never take cold. Besides—"</p> + +<p>Smiling at him as he swung round on the +music-stool, she undid the bag, and drew from it +some folded stuff which she slowly shook out, +rather in the manner of a conjurer, until it was +revealed as a full-sized kimono. She laughed.</p> + +<p>"Is it not marvellous?"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"That is what I wear. In the way of chiffons +it is the only fantasy I have bought up to the +present in London. Of course, clothes—I have +been forced to buy clothes. It matches exquisitely +the stockings, eh?"</p> + +<p>She slid her arms into the sleeves of the transparency. +She was a pretty and highly developed +girl of twenty-six, short, still lissom, but with +the fear of corpulence in her heart. She had +beautiful hair and beautiful eyes, and she had that +pucker of the forehead denoting, according to +circumstances, either some kindly, grave preoccupation +or a benevolent perplexity about +something or other.</p> + +<p>She went near him and clasped hands round +his neck, and whispered:</p> + +<p>"Your waltz was adorable. You are an artist."</p> + +<p>And with her shoulders she seemed to sketch +the movements of dancing.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page19" id="page19">[19]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_4"></a><h2>Chapter 4</h2> + +<h4>CONFIDENCE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>After putting on his thick overcoat and one +glove he had suddenly darted to the dressing-table +for his watch, which he was forgetting. +Christine's face showed sympathetic satisfaction +that he had remembered in time, simultaneously +implying that even if he had not remembered, the +watch would have been perfectly safe till he called +for it. The hour was five minutes to midnight. +He was just going. Christine had dropped a little +batch of black and red Treasury notes on to the +dressing-table with an indifferent if not perhaps +an impatient air, as though she held these financial +sequels to be a stain on the ideal, a tedious +necessary, a nuisance, or simply negligible.</p> + +<p>She kissed him goodbye, and felt agreeably +fragile and soft within the embrace of his huge, +rough overcoat. And she breathed winningly, +delicately, apologetically into his ear:</p> + +<p>"Thou wilt give something to the servant?" +Her soft eyes seemed to say, "It is not for myself +that I am asking, is it?"</p> + +<p>He made an easy philanthropic gesture to +indicate that the servant would have no reason to +regret his passage.</p> + +<p>He opened the door into the little hall, where +the fat Italian maid was yawning in an atmosphere +<span class="newpage"><a name="page20" id="page20">[20]</a></span> +comparatively cold, and then, in a change of +purpose, he shut the door again.</p> + +<p>"You do not know how I knew you could +not have been in London very long," he said +confidentially.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Because I saw you in Paris one night in July—at +the Marigny Theatre."</p> + +<p>"Not at the Marigny."</p> + +<p>"Yes. The Marigny."</p> + +<p>"It is true. I recall it. I wore white and a +yellow stole."</p> + +<p>"Yes. You stood on the seat at the back of +the Promenade to see a contortionist girl better, +and then you jumped down. I thought you were +delicious—quite delicious."</p> + +<p>"Thou flatterest me. Thou sayest that to +flatter me."</p> + +<p>"No, no. I assure you I went to the Marigny +every night for five nights afterwards in order to +find you."</p> + +<p>"But the Marigny is not my regular music-hall. +Olympia is my regular music-hall."</p> + +<p>"I went to Olympia and all the other halls, +too, each night."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes! Then I must have left Paris. But +why, my poor friend, why didst thou not speak to +me at the Marigny? I was alone."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I hesitated. I suppose I was +afraid."</p> + +<p>"Thou!"</p> + +<p>"So to-night I was terribly content to meet you. +When I saw that it was really you I could not +believe my eyes."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page21" id="page21">[21]</a></span> +<p>She understood now his agitation on first +accosting her in the Promenade. The affair very +pleasantly grew more serious for her. She liked +him. He had nice eyes. He was fairly tall and +broadly built, but not a bit stout. Neither dark +nor blond. Not handsome, and yet ... beneath +a certain superficial freedom, he was reserved. +He had beautiful manners. He was refined, and +he was refined in love; and yet he knew something. +She very highly esteemed refinement in a man. +She had never met a refined woman, and was +convinced that few such existed. Of course he +was rich. She could be quite sure, from his +way of handling money, that he was accustomed +to handling money. She would swear he was a +bachelor merely on the evidence of his eyes.... +Yes, the affair had lovely possibilities. Afraid to +speak to her, and then ran round Paris after her +for five nights! Had he, then, had the lightning-stroke +from her? It appeared so. And why not? +She was not like other girls, and this she had +always known. She did precisely the same things +as other girls did. True. But somehow, subtly, +inexplicably, when she did them they were not +the same things. The proof: he, so refined and +distinguished himself, had felt the difference. She +became very tender.</p> + +<p>"To think," she murmured, "that only on that +one night in all my life did I go to the Marigny! +And you saw me!"</p> + +<p>The coincidence frightened her—she might +have missed this nice, dependable, admiring +creature for ever. But the coincidence also +delighted her, strengthening her superstition. The +<span class="newpage"><a name="page22" id="page22">[22]</a></span> +hand of destiny was obviously in this affair. Was +it not astounding that on one night of all nights +he should have been at the Marigny? Was it +not still more astounding that on one night of +all nights he should have been in the Promenade +in Leicester Square?... The affair was ordained +since before the beginning of time. Therefore it +was serious.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my friend!" she said. "If only you had +spoken to me that night at the Marigny, you might +have saved me from troubles frightful—fantastic."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>He had confided in her—and at the right +moment. With her human lore she could not +have respected a man who had begun by admitting +to a strange and unproved woman that for +five days and nights he had gone mad about her. +To do so would have been folly on his part. But +having withheld his wild secret, he had charmingly +showed, by the gesture of opening and +then shutting the door, that at last it was too +strong for his control. Such candour deserved +candour in return. Despite his age, he looked +just then attractively, sympathetically boyish. He +was a benevolent creature. The responsive kindliness +of his enquiring "How?" was beyond +question genuine. Once more, in the warm and +dark-glowing comfort of her home, the contrast +between the masculine, thick rough overcoat and +the feminine, diaphanous, useless kimono appealed +to her soul. It seemed to justify, even to call for, +confidence from her to him.</p> + +<p>The Italian woman behind the door coughed +impatiently and was not heard.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page23" id="page23">[23]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_5"></a><h2>Chapter 5</h2> + +<h4>OSTEND</h4> +<br /> + +<p>In July she had gone to Ostend with an +American. A gentleman, but mad. One of those +men with a fixed idea that everything would +always be all right and that nothing really and permanently +uncomfortable could possibly happen. +A very fair man, with red hair, and radiating +wrinkles all round his eyes—phenomenon due to +his humorous outlook on the world. He laughed +at her because she travelled with all her bonds +of the City of Paris on her person. He had met +her one night, and the next morning suggested +the Ostend excursion. Too sudden, too capricious, +of course; but she had always desired to see the +cosmopolitanism of Ostend. Trouville she did +not like, as you had sand with every meal if you +lived near the front. Hotel Astoria at Ostend. +Complete flat in the hotel. Very chic. The +red-haired one, the <i>rouquin</i>, had broad ideas, +very broad ideas, of what was due to a woman. +In fact, one might say that he carried generosity +in details to excess. But naturally with Americans +it was necessary to be surprised at nothing. +The <i>rouquin</i> said steadily that war would not +break out. He said so until the day on which it +broke out. He then became a Turk. Yes, a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page24" id="page24">[24]</a></span> +Turk. He assumed rights over her, the rights +of protection, but very strange rights. He would +not let her try to return to Paris. He said the +Germans might get to Paris, but to Ostend, +never—because of the English! Difficult to +believe, but he had locked her up in the complete +flat. The Ostend season had collapsed—pluff—like +that. The hotel staff vanished almost entirely. +One or two old fat Belgian women on the bedroom +floors—that seemed to be all. The <i>rouquin</i> +was exquisitely polite, but very firm. In fine, +he was a master. It was astonishing what he +did. They were the sole remaining guests in +the Astoria. And they remained because he +refused to permit the management to turn him +out. Weeks passed. Yes, weeks. English forces +came to Ostend. Marvellous. Among nations +there was none like the English. She did not +see them herself. She was ill. The <i>rouquin</i> had +told her that she was ill when she was not ill, +but lo! the next day she was ill—oh, a long +time. The <i>rouquin</i> told her the news—battle of +the Marne and all species of glorious deeds. An +old fat Belgian told her a different kind of +news. The stories of the fall of Liége, Namur, +Brussels, Antwerp. The massacres at Aerschot, +at Louvain. Terrible stories that travelled from +mouth to mouth among women. There was +always rape and blood and filth mingled. Stories +of a frightful fascination ... unrepeatable! Ah!</p> + +<p>The <i>rouquin</i> had informed her one day that +the Belgian Government had come to Ostend. +Proof enough, according to him, that Ostend +could not be captured by the Germans! After +<span class="newpage"><a name="page25" id="page25">[25]</a></span> +that he had said nothing about the Belgian +Government for many days. And then one day +he had informed her casually that the Belgian +Government was about to leave Ostend by +steamer. But days earlier the old fat woman +had told her that the German staff had ordered +seventy-five rooms at the Hôtel des Postes at +Ghent. Seventy-five rooms. And that in the +space of a few hours Ghent had become a city +of the dead.... Thousands of refugees in Ostend. +Thousands of escaped virgins. Thousands of +wounded soldiers. Often, the sound of guns all +day and all night. And in the daytime occasionally, +a sharp sound, very loud; that meant that a +German aeroplane was over the town—killing ... Plenty +to kill. Ostend was always full, behind +the Digue, and yet people were always leaving—by +steamer. Steamers taken by assault. At first +there had been formalities, permits, passports. +But when one steamer had been taken by assault—no +more formalities! In trying to board the +steamers people were drowned. They fell into +the water and nobody troubled—so said the old +woman. Christine was better; desired to rise. The +<i>rouquin</i> said No, not yet. He would believe +naught. And now he believed one thing, and it +filled his mind—that German submarines sank +all refugee ships in the North Sea. Proof of the +folly of leaving Ostend. Yet immediately afterwards +he came and told her to get up. That is +to say, she had been up for several days, but +not outside. He told her to come away, come +away. She had only summer clothes, and it +was mid-October. What a climate, Ostend in +<span class="newpage"><a name="page26" id="page26">[26]</a></span> +October! The old woman said that thousands of +parcels of clothes for refugees had been sent by +generous England. She got a parcel; she had +means of getting it. She opened it with pride in +the bedroom of the flat. It contained eight corsets +and a ball-dress. A droll race, all the same, the +English. Had they no imagination? But, no +doubt, society women were the same everywhere. +It was notorious that in France....</p> + +<p>Christine went forth in her summer clothes. +The <i>rouquin</i> had got an old horse-carriage. He +gave her much American money—or, rather, +cheques—which, true enough, she had since +cashed with no difficulty in London. They had to +leave the carriage. The station square was full of +guns and women and children and bundles. Yes, +together with a few men. She spent the whole +night in the station square with the <i>rouquin</i>, in her +summer clothes and his overcoat. At six o'clock +in the evening it was already dark. A night interminable. +Babies crying. One heard that at the +other end of the square a baby had been born. +She, Christine, sat next to a young mother with a +baby. Both mother and baby had the right arm +bandaged. They had both been shot through the +arm with the same bullet. It was near Aerschot. +The young woman also told her.... No, she +could not relate that to an Englishman. Happily +it did not rain. But the wind and the cold! In +the morning the <i>rouquin</i> put her on to a fishing-vessel. +She had nothing but her bonds of the City +of Paris and her American cheques. The crush +was frightful. The captain of the fishing-vessel, +however, comprehended what discipline was. He +<span class="newpage"><a name="page27" id="page27">[27]</a></span> +made much money. The <i>rouquin</i> would not come. +He said he was an American citizen and had all his +papers. For the rest, the captain would not let him +come, though doubtless the captain could have +been bribed. As they left the harbour, with other +trawlers, they could see the quays all covered with +the disappointed, waiting. Somebody in the +boat said that the Germans had that morning +reached—She forgot the name of the place, +but it was the next village to Ostend on the +Bruges road. Thus Christine parted from the +<i>rouquin</i>. Mad! Always wrong, even about the +German submarines. But <i>chic</i>. Truly <i>chic</i>.</p> + +<p>What a voyage! What adventures with the +charitable people in England! People who +resembled nothing else on earth! People who did +not understand what life was.... No understanding +of that which it is—life! In fine ...! +However, she should stay in England. It was the +only country in which one could have confidence. +She was trying to sell the furniture of her flat in +Paris. Complications! Under the emergency law +she was not obliged to pay her rent to the landlord; +but if she removed her furniture then she would +have to pay the rent. What did it matter, though? +Besides, she might not be able to sell her furniture +after all. Remarkably few women in Paris at that +moment were in a financial state to buy furniture. +Ah no!</p> + +<p>"But I have not told you the tenth part!" +said Christine.</p> + +<p>"Terrible! Terrible!" murmured the man.</p> + +<p>All the heavy sorrow of the world lay on her +puckered brow, and floated in her dark glistening +<span class="newpage"><a name="page28" id="page28">[28]</a></span> +eyes. Then she smiled, sadly but with courage.</p> + +<p>"I will come to see you again," said the man +comfortingly. "Are you here in the afternoons?"</p> + +<p>"Every afternoon, naturally."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will come—not to-morrow—the day +after to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Already, long before, interrupting the buttoning +of his collar, she had whispered softly, persuasively, +clingingly, in the classic manner:</p> + +<p>"Thou art content, <i>chéri</i>? Thou wilt return?"</p> + +<p>And he had said: "That goes without saying."</p> + +<p>But not with quite the same conviction as he +now used in speaking definitely of the afternoon of +the day after to-morrow. The fact was, he was +moved; she too. She had been right not to tell +the story earlier, and equally right to tell it before +he departed. Some men, most men, hated to hear +any tale of real misfortune, at any moment, from +a woman, because, of course, it diverted their +thoughts.</p> + +<p>In thus departing at once the man showed +characteristic tact. Her recital left nothing to be +said. They kissed again, rather like comrades. +Christine was still the vessel of the heavy sorrow +of the world, but in the kiss and in their glances +was an implication that the effective, triumphant +antidote to sorrow might be found in a mutual +trust. He opened the door. The Italian woman, +yawning and with her hand open, was tenaciously +waiting.</p> + +<p>Alone, carefully refolding the kimono in its +original creases, Christine wondered what the +man's name was. She felt that the mysterious +future might soon disclose a germ of happiness.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page29" id="page29">[29]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_6"></a><h2>Chapter 6</h2> + +<h4>THE ALBANY</h4> +<br /> + +<p>G.J. Hoape—He was usually addressed as +"G.J." by his friends, and always referred to +as "G.J." by both friends and acquaintances—woke +up finally in the bedroom of his flat with +the thought:</p> + +<p>"To-day I shall see her."</p> + +<p>He inhabited one of the three flats at the +extreme northern end of the Albany, Piccadilly, +W.I. The flat was strangely planned. Its shape +as a whole was that of a cube. Imagine the cube +to be divided perpendicularly into two very +unequal parts. The larger part, occupying nearly +two-thirds of the entire cubic space, was the +drawing-room, a noble chamber, large and lofty. +The smaller part was cut horizontally into two +storeys. The lower storey comprised a very small +hall, a fair bathroom, the tiniest staircase in +London, and G.J.'s very small bedroom. The +upper storey comprised a very small dining-room, +the kitchen, and servants' quarters.</p> + +<p>The door between the bedroom and the drawing +room, left open in the night for ventilation, +had been softly closed as usual during G.J.'s +final sleep, and the bedroom was in absolute darkness +save for a faint grey gleam over the valance +<span class="newpage"><a name="page30" id="page30">[30]</a></span> +of the window curtains. G.J. could think. He +wondered whether he was in love. He hoped he +was in love, and the fact that the woman who +attracted him was a courtesan did not disturb +him in the least.</p> + +<p>He was nearing fifty years of age. He had +casually known hundreds of courtesans in sundry +capitals, a few of them very agreeable; also a +number of women calling themselves, sometimes +correctly, actresses, all of whom, for various +reasons which need not be given, had proved very +unsatisfactory. But he had never loved—unless +it might be, mildly, Concepcion, and Concepcion +was now a war bride. He wanted to love. He +had never felt about any woman, not even about +Concepcion, as he felt about the woman seen for +a few minutes at the Marigny Theatre and then +for five successive nights vainly searched for in +all the chief music-halls of Paris. (A nice name, +Christine! It suited her.) He had given her up—never +expected to catch sight of her again; but +she had remained a steadfast memory, sad and +charming. The encounter in the Promenade in +Leicester Square was such a piece of heavenly +and incredible luck that it had, at the moment, +positively made him giddy. The first visit to +Christine's flat had beatified and stimulated him. +Would the second? Anyhow, she was the most +alluring woman—and yet apparently of dependable +character!—he had ever met. No other +consideration counted with him.</p> + +<p>There was a soft knock; the door was pushed, +and wavy reflections of the drawing-room fire +played on the corner of the bedroom ceiling. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page31" id="page31">[31]</a></span> +Mrs. Braiding came in. G.J. had known it was +she by the caressing quality of the knock. Mrs. +Braiding was his cook and the wife of his "man". +It was not her place to come in, but occasionally, +because something had happened to Braiding, she +did come in. She drew the curtains apart, and +the day of Vigo Street, pale, dirty, morose, feebly +and perfunctorily took possession of the bedroom. +Mrs. Braiding, having drawn the curtains, +returned to the door and from the doorway said:</p> + +<p>"Breakfast is practically ready, sir."</p> + +<p>G.J. perceived that this was one of her brave, +resigned mornings. Since August she had borne +the entire weight of the war on her back, and +sometimes the burden would overpower her, but +never quite. G.J. switched on the light, arose +from his bed, assumed his dressing-gown, and, +gazing with accustomed pleasure round the bedroom, +saw that it was perfect.</p> + +<p>He had furnished his flat in the Regency +style of the first decade of the nineteenth century, +as matured by George Smith, "upholder extraordinary +to His Royal Highness the Prince of +Wales". The Pavilion at Brighton had given the +original idea to G.J., who saw in it the solution +of the problem of combining the somewhat +massive dignity suitable to a bachelor of middling +age with the bright, unconquerable colours which +the eternal twilight of London demands.</p> + +<p>His dome bed was yellow as to its upper +works, with crimson valances above and yellow +valances below. The yellow-lined crimson curtains +(of course never closed) had green cords and +tassels, and the counterpane was yellow. This +<span class="newpage"><a name="page32" id="page32">[32]</a></span> +bed was a modest sample of the careful +and uncompromising reconstitution of a period +which he had everywhere carried out in his +abode.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room, with its moulded ceiling +and huge recessed window, had presented an +admirable field for connoisseurship. Here the +clash of rich primary colours, the perpendiculars +which began with bronze girls' heads and ended +with bronze girls' feet or animals' claws, the vast +flat surfaces of furniture, the stiff curves of wood +and a drapery, the morbid rage for solidity +which would employ a candelabrum weighing five +hundredweight to hold a single wax candle, produced +a real and imposing effect of style; it was +a style debased, a style which was shedding the +last graces of French Empire in order soon to +appeal to a Victoria determined to be utterly +English and good; but it was a style. And G.J. +had scamped no detail. Even the pictures were +hung with thick tasselled cords of the Regency. +The drawing-room was a triumph.</p> + +<p>Do not conceive that G.J. had lost his head +about furniture and that his notion of paradise +was an endless series of second-hand shops. He +had an admirable balance; and he held that a man +might make a faultless interior for himself and +yet not necessarily lose his balance. He resented +being called a specialist in furniture. He regarded +himself as an amateur of life, and, if a specialist +in anything, as a specialist in friendships. Yet he +was a solitary man (liking solitude without knowing +that he liked it), and in the midst of the +perfections which he had created he sometimes +<span class="newpage"><a name="page33" id="page33">[33]</a></span> +gloomily thought: "What in the name of God +am I doing on this earth?"</p> + +<p>He went into the drawing-room, and there, +by the fire and in front of a formidable blue chair +whose arms developed into the grinning heads of +bronze lions, stood the lacquered table consecrated +to his breakfast tray; and his breakfast tray, with +newspaper and correspondence, had been magically +placed thereon as though by invisible hands. +And on one arm of the easy-chair lay the rug +which, because a dressing-gown does not button +all the way down, he put over his knees while +breakfasting in winter. Yes, he admitted with +pleasure that he was "well served". Before eating +he opened the piano—a modern instrument concealed +in an ingeniously confected Regency case—and +played with taste a Bach prelude and fugue.</p> + +<p>His was not the standardised and habituated +kind of musical culture which takes a Bach +prelude and fugue every morning before breakfast +with or without a glass of Lithia water or +fizzy saline. He did, however, customarily begin +the day at the piano, and on this particular +morning he happened to play a Bach prelude and +fugue.</p> + +<p>And as he played he congratulated himself on +not having gone to seek Christine in the Promenade +on the previous night, as impatience had +tempted him to do. Such a procedure would +have been an error in worldliness and bad from +every point of view. He had wisely rejected the +temptation.</p> + +<p>In the deep blue arm-chair, with the rug over +his knees and one hand on a lion's head, he +<span class="newpage"><a name="page34" id="page34">[34]</a></span> +glanced first at the opened <i>Times</i>, because of the +war. Among the few letters was one with the heading +of the Reveille Motor Horn Company Ltd.</p> + +<p>G.J. like his father, had been a solicitor. +When he was twenty-five his father, a widower, +had died and left him a respectable fortune and a +very good practice. He sold half the practice to +an incoming partner, and four years later he sold +the other half of the practice to the same man. +At thirty he was free, and this result had been +attained through his frank negative answer to the +question, "The law bores me—is there any reason +why I should let it continue to bore me?" There +was no reason. Instead of the law he took up +life. Of business preoccupations naught remained +but his investments. He possessed a gift for +investing money. He had helped the man who had +first put the Reveille Motor Horn on the market. +He had had a mighty holding of shares in the +Reveille Syndicate Limited, which had so successfully +promoted the Reveille Motor Horn +Company Limited. And in the latter, too, he held +many shares. The Reveille Motor Horn Company +had prospered and had gone into the manufacture +of speedometers, illuminating outfits, and all +manner of motor-car accessories.</p> + +<p>On the outbreak of war G.J. had given himself +up for lost. "This is the end," he had said, +as a member of the sore-shaken investing public. +He had felt sick under the region of the heart. +In particular he had feared for his Reveille shares. +No one would want to buy expensive motor horns +in the midst of the greatest war that the world, +etc., etc.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page35" id="page35">[35]</a></span> +<p>Still the Reveille Company, after sustaining +the shock, had somehow continued to do a pretty +good business. It had patriotically offered its +plant and services to the War Office, and had been +repulsed with contumely and ignominy. The War +Office had most caustically intimated to the +Reveille Company that it had no use and never +under any conceivable circumstances could have +any use whatever for the Reveille Company, +and that the Reveille Company was a forward +and tedious jackanapes, unworthy even of an +articulate rebuff. Now the autograph letter +with the Reveille note-heading was written by +the managing director (who represented G.J.'s +interests on the Board), and it stated that the +War Office had been to the Reveille Company, +and implored it to enlarge itself, and given it +vast orders at grand prices for all sorts of things +that it had never made before. The profits of +1915 would be doubled, if not trebled—perhaps +quadrupled. G.J. was relieved, uplifted; and +he sniggered at his terrible forebodings of August +and September. Ruin? He was actually going +to make money out of the greatest war that the +world, etc. etc. And why not? Somebody had +to make money, and somebody had to pay for the +war in income tax. For the first time the incubus +of the war seemed lighter upon G.J. And also +he need feel no slightest concern about the financial +aspect of any possible developments of the +Christine adventure. He had a very clear and +undeniable sensation of positive happiness.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page36" id="page36">[36]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_7"></a><h2>Chapter 7</h2> + +<h4>FOR THE EMPIRE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Mrs. Braiding came into the drawing-room, +and he wondered, paternally, why she was so +fidgety and why her tranquillising mate had not +appeared. To the careless observer she was a +cheerful woman, but the temple of her brightness +was reared over a dark and frightful crypt in which +the demons of doubt, anxiety, and despair year +after year dragged at their chains, intimidating +hope. Slender, small, and neat, she passed her life +in bravely fronting the shapes of disaster with an +earnest, vivacious, upturned face. She was thirty-five, +and her aspect recalled the pretty, respected +lady's-maid which she had been before Braiding +got her and knocked some nonsense out of her +and turned her into a wife.</p> + +<p>G.J., still paternally, but firmly, took her up +at once.</p> + +<p>"I say, Mrs. Braiding, what about this dish-cover?"</p> + +<p>He lifted the article, of which the copper was +beginning to show through the Sheffield plating.</p> + +<p>"Yes sir. It does look rather impoverished, +doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>"But I told Braiding to use the new toast-dish +I bought last week but one."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page37" id="page37">[37]</a></span> +<p>"Did you, sir? I was very happy about the +new one as soon as I saw it, but Braiding never +gave me your instructions in regard to it." She +glanced at the cabinet in which the new toast-dish +reposed with other antique metal-work. "Braiding's +been rather upset this last few days, sir."</p> + +<p>"What about?"</p> + +<p>"This recruiting, sir. Of course, you are aware +he's decided on it."</p> + +<p>"I'm not aware of anything of the sort," said +G.J. rather roughly, perhaps to hide his sudden +emotion, perhaps to express his irritation at Mrs. +Braiding's strange habit of pretending that the +most startling pieces of news were matters of +common knowledge.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, of course you were out most of +yesterday, and you dined at the club. Braiding +attended at a recruiting office yesterday, sir. He +stood three hours in the crowd outside because +there was no room inside, and then he stood over +two hours in a passage inside before his turn came, +and nothing to eat all day, or drink either. And +when his turn came and they asked him his age, +he said 'thirty-six,' and the person was very angry +and said he hadn't any time to waste, and Braiding +had better go outside again and consider whether +he hadn't made a mistake about his age. So +Braiding went outside and considered that his age +was only thirty-three after all, but he couldn't +get in again, not by any means, so he just came +back here and I gave him a good tea, and he +needed it, sir."</p> + +<p>"But he saw me last night, and he never said +anything!"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page38" id="page38">[38]</a></span> +<p>"Yes, sir," Mrs. Braiding admitted with pain. +"I asked him if he had told you, and he said he +hadn't and that I must."</p> + +<p>"Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"He went off early, sir, so as to get a good +place. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he's in +the army by this time. I know it's not the right +way of going about things, and Braiding's only +excuse is it's for the Empire. When it's a question +of the Empire, sir...." At that instant the white +man's burden was Mrs. Braiding's, and the glance +of her serious face showed what the crushing +strain of it was.</p> + +<p>"I think he might have told me."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir. I'm very sorry. Very sorry.... But +you know what Braiding is."</p> + +<p>G.J. felt that that was just what he did not +know, or at any rate had not hitherto known. +He was hurt by Braiding's conduct. He had +always treated Braiding as a friend. They had +daily discussed the progress of the war. On the +previous night Braiding, in all the customary +sedateness of black coat and faintly striped trousers, +had behaved just as usual! It was astounding. +G.J. began to incline towards the views of certain +of his friends about the utter incomprehensibility +of the servile classes—views which he had often +annoyed them by traversing. Yes; it was astounding. +All this martial imperialism seething in the +depths of Braiding, and G.J. never suspecting +the ferment! Exceedingly difficult to conceive +Braiding as a soldier! He was the Albany valet, +and Albany valets were Albany valets and naught +else.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page39" id="page39">[39]</a></span> +<p>Mrs. Braiding continued:</p> + +<p>"It's very inconsiderate to you, sir. That's a +point that is appreciated by both Braiding and I. +But let us fervently hope it won't be for long, +sir. The consensus of opinion seems to be we +shall be in Berlin in the spring. And in the +meantime, I think"—she smiled an appeal—"I +can manage for you by myself, if you'll be so +good as to let me."</p> + +<p>"Oh! It's not that," said G.J. carelessly. +"I expect you can manage all right."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried she. "I know how you feel about +it, sir, and I'm very sorry. And at best it's bound +to be highly inconvenient for a gentleman like +yourself, sir. I said to Braiding, 'You're taking +advantage of Mr. Hoape's good nature,' that's +what I said to Braiding, and he couldn't deny it. +However, sir, if you'll be so good as to let me try +what I can do by myself—"</p> + +<p>"I tell you that'll be all right," he stopped her.</p> + +<p>Braiding, his mainstay, was irrevocably gone. +He realised that, and it was a severe blow. He +must accept it. As for Mrs. Braiding managing, +she would manage in a kind of way, but the risks +to Regency furniture and china would be grave. +She did not understand Regency furniture and +china as Braiding did; no woman could. Braiding +had been as much a "find" as the dome bed or +the unique bookcase which bore the names of +"Homer" and "Virgil" in bronze characters on +its outer wings. Also, G.J. had a hundred little +ways about neckties and about trouser-stretching +which he, G.J., would have to teach Mrs. Braiding. +Still the war ...</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page40" id="page40">[40]</a></span> +<p>When she was gone he stood up and brushed +the crumbs from his dressing-gown, and +emitted a short, harsh laugh. He was laughing +at himself. Regency furniture and china! Neckties! +Trouser-stretching! In the next room was a youngish +woman whose minstrel boy to the war had gone—gone, +though he might be only in the next +street! And had she said a word about her feelings +as a wife? Not a word! But dozens of +words about the inconvenience to the god-like +employer! She had apologised to him because +Braiding had departed to save the Empire without +first asking his permission. It was not merely +astounding—it flabbergasted. He had always felt +that there was something fundamentally wrong in +the social fabric, and he had long had a preoccupation +to the effect that it was his business, his, to +take a share in finding out what was wrong and in +discovering and applying a cure. This preoccupation +had worried him, scarcely perceptibly, +like the delicate oncoming of neuralgia. There +must be something wrong when a member of one +class would behave to a member of another class +as Mrs. Braiding behaved to him—without protest +from him.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Braiding!" he called out.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." She almost ran back into the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"When shall you be seeing your husband?" +At least he would remind her that she had a +husband.</p> + +<p>"I haven't an idea, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, when you do, tell him that I want to +speak to him; and you can tell him I shall pay +<span class="newpage"><a name="page41" id="page41">[41]</a></span> +you half his wages in addition to your own."</p> + +<p>Her gratitude filled him with secret fury.</p> + +<p>He said to himself:</p> + +<p>"Futile—these grand gestures about wages."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page42" id="page42">[42]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_8"></a><h2>Chapter 8</h2> + +<h4>BOOTS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>In the very small hall G.J. gazed at himself +in the mirror that was nearly as large as the +bathroom door, to which it was attached, and +which it ingeniously masked.</p> + +<p>Although Mrs. Braiding was present, holding +his ebony stick, he carefully examined his +face and appearance without the slightest +self-consciousness. Nor did Mrs. Braiding's demeanour +indicate that in her opinion G.J. was behaving in +a manner eccentric or incorrect. He was dressed +in mourning. Honestly he did not believe that +he looked anywhere near fifty. His face was worn +by the friction of the world, especially under the +eyes, but his eyes were youthful, and his hair and +moustache and short, fine beard scarcely tinged +with grey. His features showed benevolence, with +a certain firmness, and they had the refinement +which comes of half a century's instinctive avoidance +of excess. Still, he was beginning to feel his +age. He moved more slowly; he sat down, instead +of standing up, at the dressing-table. And he +was beginning also to take a pride in mentioning +these changes and in the fact that he would be +fifty on his next birthday. And when talking to +men under thirty, or even under forty, he would +<span class="newpage"><a name="page43" id="page43">[43]</a></span> +say in a tone mingling condescension and envy: +"But, of course, you're young."</p> + +<p>He departed, remarking that he should not be +in for lunch and might not be in for dinner, and +he walked down the covered way to the Albany +Courtyard, and was approved by the Albany +porters as a resident handsomely conforming to +the traditional high standard set by the Albany +for its residents. He crossed Piccadilly, and as +he did so he saw a couple of jolly fine girls, handsome, +stylish, independent of carriage, swinging +freely along and intimately talking with that mien +of experience and broad-mindedness which some +girls manage to wear in the streets. One of them +in particular appealed to him. He thought how +different they were from Christine. He had +dreamt of just such girls as they were, and yet +now Christine filled the whole of his mind.</p> + +<p>"You can't foresee," he thought.</p> + +<p>He dipped down into the extraordinary +rectangle of St. James's, where he was utterly at +home. A strange architecture, parsimoniously +plain on the outside, indeed carrying the Oriental +scorn for merely external effect to a point only +reachable by a race at once hypocritical and madly +proud. The shabby plainness of Wren's church +well typified all the parochial parsimony. The +despairing architect had been so pinched by his +employers in the matter of ornament that on the +whole of the northern facade there was only one +of his favourite cherub's heads! What a parish!</p> + +<p>It was a parish of flat brick walls and brass +<span class="newpage"><a name="page44" id="page44">[44]</a></span> +door-knobs and brass plates. And the first commandment +was to polish every brass door-knob +and every brass plate every morning. What +happened in the way of disfigurement by polishing +paste to the surrounding brick or wood had no +importance. The conventions of the parish had +no eye save for brass door-knobs and brass plates, +which were maintained daily in effulgence by a +vast early-rising population. Recruiting offices, +casualty lists, the rumour of peril and of glory, +could do nothing to diminish the high urgency +of the polishing of those brass door-knobs and +those brass plates.</p> + +<p>The shops and offices seemed to show that the +wants of customers were few and simple. Grouse +moors, fisheries, yachts, valuations, hosiery, neckties, +motor-cars, insurance, assurance, antique +china, antique pictures, boots, riding-whips, and, +above all, Eastern cigarettes! The master-passion +was evidently Eastern cigarettes. The few provision +shops were marmoreal and majestic, catering +as they did chiefly for the multifarious palatial +male clubs which dominated the parish and protected +and justified the innumerable "bachelor" +suites that hung forth signs in every street. The +parish, in effect, was first an immense monastery, +where the monks, determined to do themselves +extremely well in dignified peace, had made a prodigious +and not entirely unsuccessful effort to keep +out the excitable sex. And, second, it was an +excusable conspiracy on the part of intensely +respectable tradesmen and stewards to force the +non-bargaining sex to pay the highest possible +price for the privilege of doing the correct thing.</p> + +<p>G.J. passed through the cardiac region of +St. James's, the Square itself, where knights, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page45" id="page45">[45]</a></span> +baronets, barons, brewers, viscounts, marquesses, +hereditary marshals and chief butlers, dukes, +bishops, banks, librarians and Government departments +gaze throughout the four seasons at the +statue of a Dutchman; and then he found himself +at his bootmaker's.</p> + +<p>Now, his bootmaker was one of the three first +bootmakers in the West End, bearing a name +famous from Peru to Hong Kong. An untidy +interior, full of old boots and the hides of various +animals! A dirty girl was writing in a dirty tome, +and a young man was knotting together two pieces +of string in order to tie up a parcel. Such was +the "note" of the "house". The girl smiled, +the young man bowed. In an instant the manager +appeared, and G.J. was invested with the attributes +of God. He informed the manager with +pain, and the manager heard with deep pain, that +the left boot of the new pair he then wore was +not quite comfortable in the toes. The manager +simply could not understand it, just as he simply +could not have understood a failure in the working +of the law of gravity. And if God had not told +him he would not have believed it. He knelt and +felt. He would send for the boots. He would +make the boots comfortable or he would make a +new pair. Expense was nothing. Trouble was +nothing. Incidentally he remarked with a sigh +that the enormous demand for military boots was +rendering it more and more difficult for him to +give to old patrons that prompt and plenary +attention which he would desire to give. However, +God in any case should not suffer. He +noticed that the boots were not quite well polished, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page46" id="page46">[46]</a></span> +and he ventured to charge God with hints for +God's personal attendant. Then he went swiftly +across to a speaking-tube and snapped:</p> + +<p>"Polisher!"</p> + +<p>A trap-door opened in the floor of the shop +and a horrible, pallid, weak, cringing man came +up out of the earth of St. James's, and knelt before +God far more submissively than even the manager +had knelt. He had brushes and blacking, and he +blacked and he brushed and breathed alternately, +undoing continually with his breath or his filthy +hand what he had done with his brush. He never +looked up, never spoke. When he had made the +boots like mirrors he gathered together his implements +and vanished, silent and dutifully bent, +through the trap-door back into the earth of St. +James's. And because the trap-door had not shut +properly the manager stamped on it and stamped +down the pale man definitely into the darkness +underneath. And then G.J. was wafted out of +the shop with smiles and bows.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page47" id="page47">[47]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_9"></a><h2>Chapter 9</h2> + +<h4>THE CLUB</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The vast "morning-room" of the Monumental +Club (pre-eminent among clubs for its architecture) +was on the whole tonically chilly. But as one +of the high windows stood open, and there were +two fires fluttering beneath the lovely marble +mantelpieces, between the fires and the window +every gradation of temperature could be experienced +by the curious. On each wall book-shelves +rose to the carved and gilded ceiling. The +furlongs of shelves were fitted with majestic +volumes containing all the Statutes, all the +Parliamentary Debates, and all the Reports of +Royal Commissions ever printed to narcotise the +conscience of a nation. These calf-bound works +were not, in fact, read; but the magnificent +pretence of their usefulness was completed by +carpeted mahogany ladders which leaned here and +there against the shelfing, in accord with the +theory that some studious member some day +might yearn and aspire to some upper shelf. On +reading-stands and on huge mahogany tables were +disposed the countless newspapers of Great Britain +and Ireland, Europe and America, and also the +files of such newspapers. The apparatus of +information was complete.</p> + +<p>G.J. entered the splendid apartment like a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page48" id="page48">[48]</a></span> +discoverer. It was empty. Not a member; not +a servant! It waited, content to be inhabited, +equally content with its own solitude. This apartment +had made an adjunct even of the war; the +function of the war in this apartment was to +render it more impressive, to increase, if possible, +its importance, for nowhere else could the war be +studied so minutely day by day.</p> + +<p>A strange thing! G.J.'s sense of duty to +himself had been quickened by the defection of +his valet. He felt that he had been failing to comprehend +in detail the cause and the evolution of +the war, and that even his general ideas as to it +were inexcusably vague; and he had determined +to go every morning to the club, at whatever +inconvenience, for the especial purpose of studying +and getting the true hang of the supreme topic. +As he sat down he was aware of the solemnity of +the great room, last fastness of the old strict +decorum in the club. You might not smoke in it +until after 10 p.m.</p> + +<p>Two other members came in immediately, one +after the other. The first, a little, very old and +very natty man, began to read <i>The Times</i> at a +stand. The second, old too, but of larger and +firmer build, with a long, clean-shaven upper lip, +such as is only developed at the Bar, on the Bench, +and in provincial circles of Noncomformity, took +an easy-chair and another copy of <i>The Times</i>. A +few moments elapsed, and then the little old man +glanced round, and, assuming surprise that he had +not noticed G.J. earlier, nodded to him with a +very bright and benevolent smile.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page49" id="page49">[49]</a></span> +<p>G.J. said:</p> + +<p>"Well, Sir Francis, what's your opinion of +this Ypres business. Seems pretty complicated, +doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>Sir Francis answered in a tone whose mild and +bland benevolence matched his smile:</p> + +<p>"I dare say the complications escape me. I +see the affair quite simply. We are holding on, +but we cannot continue to hold on. The Germans +have more men, far more guns, and infinitely +more ammunition. They certainly have not less +genius for war. What can be the result? I am +told by respectable people that the Germans lost +the war at the Marne. I don't appreciate it. I +am told that the Germans don't realise the Marne. +I think they realise the Marne at least as well as +we realise Tannenberg."</p> + +<p>The slightly trembling, slightly mincing voice +of Sir Francis denoted such detachment, such +politeness, such kindliness, that the opinion it +emitted seemed to impose itself on G.J. with +extraordinary authority. There was a brief pause, +and Sir Francis ejaculated:</p> + +<p>"What's your view, Bob?"</p> + +<p>The other old man now consisted of a newspaper, +two seamy hands and a pair of grey legs. +His grim voice came from behind the newspaper, +which did not move:</p> + +<p>"We've no adequate means of judging."</p> + +<p>"True," said Sir Francis. "Now, another +thing I'm told is that the War Office was perfectly +ready for the war on the scale agreed upon for +ourselves with France and Russia. I don't appreciate +that either. No War Office can be said to +be perfectly ready for any war until it has organised +<span class="newpage"><a name="page50" id="page50">[50]</a></span> +its relations with the public which it serves. My +belief is that the War Office had never thought +for one moment about the military importance of +public opinion and the Press. At any rate, it has +most carefully left nothing undone to alienate both +the public and the Press. My son-in-law has the +misfortune to own seven newspapers, and the tales +he tells about the antics of the Press Bureau—" +Sir Francis smiled the rest of the sentence. "Let +me see, they offered the Press Bureau to you, +didn't they, Bob?"</p> + +<p><i>The Times</i> fell, disclosing Bob, whose long +upper lip grew longer.</p> + +<p>"They did," he said. "I made a few inquiries, +and found it was nothing but a shuttlecock of the +departments. I should have had no real power, +but unlimited quantities of responsibility. So I +respectfully refused."</p> + +<p>Sir Francis remarked:</p> + +<p>"Your hearing's much better, Bob."</p> + +<p>"It is," answered Bob. "The fact is, I got +hold of a marvellous feller at Birmingham." He +laughed sardonically. "I hope to go down to +history as the first judge that ever voluntarily +retired because of deafness. And now, thanks to +this feller at Birmingham, I can hear better than +seventy-five per cent of the Bench. The Lord +Chancellor gave me a hint I might care to return, +and so save a pension to the nation. I told him +I'd begin to think about that when he'd persuaded +the Board of Works to ventilate my old Court." +He laughed again. "And now I see the Press +Bureau is enunciating the principle that it won't +permit criticism that might in any way weaken the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page51" id="page51">[51]</a></span> +confidence of the people in the administration of +affairs."</p> + +<p>Bob opened his mouth wide and kept it open.</p> + +<p>Sir Francis, with no diminution of the mild +and bland benevolence of his detachment, said:</p> + +<p>"The voice is the Press Bureau's voice, but +the hands are the hands of the War Office. Can +we reasonably hope to win, or not to lose, with +such a mentality at the head? I cannot admit +that the War Office has changed in the slightest +degree in a hundred years. From time to time a +brainy civilian walks in, like Cardwell or Haldane, +and saves it from becoming patently ridiculous. +But it never really alters. When I was War +Secretary in a transient government it was precisely +the same as it had been in the reign of +the Duke of Cambridge, and to-day it is still +precisely the same. I am told that Haldane +succeeded in teaching our generals the value of +Staff work as distinguished from dashing cavalry +charges. I don't appreciate that. The Staffs are +still wide open to men with social influence and +still closed to men without social influence. My +grandson is full of great modern notions about +tactics. He may have talent for all I know. He got +a Staff appointment—because he came to me and +I spoke ten words to an old friend of mine with +oak leaves in the club next door but one. No +questions asked. I mean no serious questions. It +was done to oblige me—the very existence of the +Empire being at stake, according to all accounts. +So that I venture to doubt whether we're going +to hold Ypres, or anything else."</p> + +<p>Bob, unimpressed by the speech, burst out:</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page52" id="page52">[52]</a></span> +<p>"You've got the perspective wrong. Obviously +the centre of gravity is no longer in the West—it's +in the East. In the West, roughly, equilibrium +has been established. Hence Poland is the decisive +field, and the measure of the Russian success or failure +is the measure of the Allied success or failure."</p> + +<p>Sir Francis inquired with gentle joy:</p> + +<p>"Then we're all right? The Russians have +admittedly recovered from Tannenberg. If there +is any truth in a map they are doing excellently. +They're more brilliant than Potsdam, and they +can put two men into the field to the Germans' +one—two and a half in fact."</p> + +<p>Bob fiercely rumbled:</p> + +<p>"I don't think we're all right. This habit of +thinking in men is dangerous. What are men +without munitions? And without a clean administration? +Nothing but a rabble. It is notorious +that the Russians are running short of munitions +and that the administration from top to bottom +consists of outrageous rascals. Moreover I see +to-day a report that the Germans have won a big +victory at Kutno. I've been expecting that. +That's the beginning—mark me!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Sir Francis cheerfully agreed. "Yes. +We're spending one million a day, and now income +tax is doubled! The country cannot stand it +indefinitely, and since our only hope lies in our +being able to stand it indefinitely, there is no +hope—at any rate for unbiased minds. Facts +are facts, I fear."</p> + +<p>Bob cried impatiently:</p> + +<p>"Unbiased be damned! I don't want to be +unbiased. I won't be. I had enough of being +<span class="newpage"><a name="page53" id="page53">[53]</a></span> +unbiased when I was on the Bench, and I don't +care what any of you unbiased people say—I +believe we shall win."</p> + +<p>G.J. suddenly saw a boy in the old man, and +suddenly he too became boyish, remembering +what he had said to Christine about the war not +having begun yet; and with fervour he concurred:</p> + +<p>"So do I."</p> + +<p>He rose, moved—relieved after a tension which +he had not noticed until it was broken. It was +time for him to go. The two old men were +recalled to the fact of his presence. Bob raised +the newspaper again.</p> + +<p>Sir Francis asked:</p> + +<p>"Are you going to the—er—affair in the City?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said G.J. with careful unconcern.</p> + +<p>"I had thought of going. My granddaughter +worried me till I consented to take her. I got two +tickets; but no sooner had I arrayed myself this +morning than she rang me up to say that her baby +was teething and she couldn't leave it. In view +of this important creature's indisposition I sent the +tickets back to the Dean and changed my clothes. +Great-grandfathers have to be philosophers. I +say, Hoape, they tell me you play uncommonly +good auction bridge."</p> + +<p>"I play," said G.J. modestly. "But no better +than I ought."</p> + +<p>"You might care to make a fourth this afternoon, +in the card-room."</p> + +<p>"I should have been delighted to, but I've got +one of these war-committees at six o'clock." +Again he spoke with careful unconcern, masking +a considerable self-satisfaction.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page54" id="page54">[54]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_10"></a><h2>Chapter 10</h2> + +<h4>THE MISSION</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The great dim place was full, but crowding +had not been permitted. With a few exceptions in +the outlying parts, everybody had a seat. G.J. +was favourably placed for seeing the whole length +of the interior. Accustomed to the restaurants +of fashionable hotels, auction-rooms, theatrical +first-nights, the haunts of sport, clubs, and courts +of justice, he soon perceived, from the numerous +samples which he himself was able to identify, that +all the London worlds were fully represented in +the multitude—the official world, the political, the +clerical, the legal, the municipal, the military, the +artistic, the literary, the dilettante, the financial, +the sporting, and the world whose sole object in +life apparently is to be observed and recorded at +all gatherings to which admittance is gained by +privilege and influence alone.</p> + +<p>There were in particular women the names and countenances +and family history of whom were familiar to hundreds of +thousands of illustrated-newspaper readers, even in +the most distant counties, and who never missed what +was called a "function," whether "brilliant," "exclusive," +or merely scandalous. At murder trials, at the sales +of art collections, at the birth of musical comedies, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page55" id="page55">[55]</a></span> +at boxing matches, at historic debates, at receptions +in honour of the renowned, at luscious +divorce cases, they were surely present, and the +entire Press surely noted that they were present. +And if executions had been public, they would in +the same religious spirit have attended executions, +rousing their maids at milkmen's hours in order +that they might assume the right cunning frock +to fit the occasion. And they were here. And no +one could divine why or how, or to what eternal +end.</p> + +<p>G.J. hated them, and he hated the solemn +self-satisfaction that brooded over the haughty +faces of the throng. He hated himself for having +accepted a ticket from the friend in the War +Office who was now sitting next to him. And yet +he was pleased, too. A disturbed conscience could +not defeat the instinct which bound him to the +whole fashionable and powerful assemblage. For +ever afterwards, to his dying hour, he could say—casually, +modestly, as a matter of course, but he +could still say—that he had been there. The Lord +Mayor and Sheriffs, tradesmen glittering like +Oriental potentates, passed slowly across his field +of vision. He thought with contempt of the City, +living ghoulish on the buried past, and obstinately +and humanly refusing to make a pile of its +putrefying interests, set fire to it, and perish +thereon.</p> + +<p>The music began. It was the Dead March in +<i>Saul</i>. The long-rolling drums suddenly rent the +soul, and destroyed every base and petty thought +that was there. Clergy, headed by a bishop, were +walking down the cathedral. At the huge doors, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page56" id="page56">[56]</a></span> +nearly lost in the heavy twilight of November +noon, they stopped, turned and came back. The +coffin swayed into view, covered with the sacred +symbolic bunting, and borne on the shoulders of +eight sergeants of the old regiments of the dead +man. Then followed the pall-bearers—five field-marshals, +five full generals, and two admirals; +aged men, and some of them had reached the +highest dignity without giving a single gesture that +had impressed itself on the national mind; nonentities, +apotheosised by seniority; and some showed +traces of the bitter rain that was falling in the fog +outside. Then the Primate. Then the King, who +had supervened from nowhere, the magic production +of chamberlains and comptrollers. The +procession, headed by the clergy, moved slowly, +amid the vistas ending in the dull burning of +stained glass, through the congregation in mourning +and in khaki, through the lines of yellow-glowing +candelabra, towards the crowd of scarlet +under the dome; the summit of the dome was +hidden in soft mist. The music became insupportable +in its sublimity.</p> + +<p>G.J. was afraid, and he did not immediately +know why he was afraid. The procession came +nearer. It was upon him.... He knew why +he was afraid, and he averted sharply his gaze from +the coffin. He was afraid for his composure. If +he had continued to watch the coffin he would +have burst into loud sobs. Only by an extraordinary +effort did he master himself. Many other +people lowered their faces in self-defence. The +searchers after new and violent sensations were +having the time of their lives.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page57" id="page57">[57]</a></span> +<p>The Dead March with its intolerable genius +had ceased. The coffin, guarded by flickering +candles, lay on the lofty catafalque; the eight +sergeants were pretending that their strength +had not been in the least degree taxed. Princes, +the illustrious, the champions of Allied might, +dark Indians, adventurers, even Germans, surrounded +the catafalque in the gloom. G.J. +sympathised with the man in the coffin, the simple +little man whose non-political mission had in +spite of him grown political. He regretted +horribly that once he, G.J., who protested that he +belonged to no party, had said of the dead man: +"Roberts! Well-meaning of course, but senile!" ... Yet +a trifle! What did it matter? And how +he loathed to think that the name of the dead man +was now befouled by the calculating and impure +praise of schemers. Another trifle!</p> + +<p>As the service proceeded G.J. was overwhelmed +and lost in the grandeur and terror of +existence. There he sat, grizzled, dignified, with +the great world, looking as though he belonged to +the great world; and he felt like a boy, like a child, +like a helpless infant before the enormities of +destiny. He wanted help, because of his futility. +He could do nothing, or so little. It was as if he +had been training himself for twenty years in order +to be futile at a crisis requiring crude action. And +he could not undo twenty years. The war loomed +about him, co-extensive with existence itself. He +thought of the sergeant who, as recounted that +morning in the papers, had led a victorious storming +party, been decorated—and died of wounds. +And similar deeds were being done at that +<span class="newpage"><a name="page58" id="page58">[58]</a></span> +moment. And the simple little man in the coffin +was being tilted downwards from the catafalque +into the grave close by. G.J. wanted surcease, +were it but for an hour. He longed acutely, +unbearably, to be for an hour with Christine in her +warm, stuffy, exciting, languorous, enervating +room hermetically sealed against the war. Then +he remembered the tones of her voice as she had +told her Belgian adventures.... Was it love? +Was it tenderness? Was it sensuality? The difference +was indiscernible; it had no importance. +Against the stark background of infinite existence +all human beings were alike and all their passions +were alike.</p> + +<p>The gaunt, ruthless autocrat of the War Office +and the frail crowned descendant of kings fronted +each other across the open grave, and the coffin +sank between them and was gone. From the +choir there came the chanted and soothing words:</p> + +<i>Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song</i>.<br /> + +<p>G.J. just caught them clear among much that +was incomprehensible. An intense patriotism +filled him. He could do nothing; but he could +keep his head, keep his balance, practise magnanimity, +uphold the truth amid prejudice and +superstition, and be kind. Such at that moment +seemed to be his mission.... He looked round, +and pitied, instead of hating, the searchers after +sensations.</p> + +<p>A being called the Garter King of Arms +stepped forward and in a loud voice recited the +earthly titles and honours of the simple little dead +man; and, although few qualities are commoner +<span class="newpage"><a name="page59" id="page59">[59]</a></span> +than physical courage, the whole catalogue seemed +ridiculous and tawdry until the being came to the +two words, "Victoria Cross". The being, having +lived his glorious moments, withdrew. The +Funeral March of Chopin tramped with its +excruciating dragging tread across the ruins of the +soul. And finally the cathedral was startled by +the sudden trumpets of the Last Post, and the +ceremony ended.</p> + +<p>"Come and have lunch with me," said the +young red-hatted officer next to G.J. "I haven't +got to be back till two-thirty, and I want to talk +music for a change. Do you know I'm putting +in ninety hours a week at the W.O.?"</p> + +<p>"Can't," G.J. replied, with an affectation of +jauntiness. "I'm engaged for lunch. Sorry."</p> + +<p>"Who you lunching with?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Smith."</p> + +<p>The Staff officer exclaimed aghast:</p> + +<p>"Conception?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Why, dear heart?"</p> + +<p>"My dear chap. You don't know. Carlos +Smith's been killed. <i>She</i> doesn't know yet. I +only heard by chance. News came through just +as I left. Nobody knows except a chap or two in +Casualties. They won't be sending out to-day's +wires until two or three o'clock."</p> + +<p>G.J., terrified and at a loss, murmured:</p> + +<p>"What am I to do, then?"</p> + +<p>"You know her extremely well, don't you? +You ought to go and prepare her."</p> + +<p>"But how can I prepare her?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. How do people prepare +people?... Poor thing!"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page60" id="page60">[60]</a></span> +<p>G.J. fought against the incredible fact of death.</p> + +<p>"But he only went out six days ago! They +haven't been married three weeks."</p> + +<p>The central hardness of the other disclosed +itself as he said:</p> + +<p>"What's that got to do with it? What does +it matter if he went out six days ago or six weeks +ago? He's killed."</p> + +<p>"Well—"</p> + +<p>"Of course you must go. Indicate a rumour. +Tell her it's probably false, but you thought you +owed it to her to warn her. Only for God's sake +don't mention me. We're not supposed to say +anything, you know."</p> + +<p>G.J. seemed to see his mission, and it challenged +him.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page61" id="page61">[61]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_11"></a><h2>Chapter 11</h2> + +<h4>THE TELEGRAM</h4> +<br /> + +<p>As soon as G.J. had been let into the abode by +Concepcion's venerable parlour-maid, the voice of +Concepcion came down to him from above:</p> + +<p>"G.J., who is your oldest and dearest friend?"</p> + +<p>He replied, marvellously schooling his voice to +a similar tone of cheerful abruptness:</p> + +<p>"Difficult to say, off-hand."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. It's your beard."</p> + +<p>That was her greeting to him. He knew she +was recalling an old declined suggestion of hers +that he should part with his beard. The parlour-maid +practised an admirable deafness, faithfully to +confirm Concepcion, who always presumed deafness +in all servants. G.J. looked up the narrow +well of the staircase. He could vaguely see +Concepcion on high, leaning over the banisters; +he thought she was rather fluffilly dressed, for her.</p> + +<p>Concepcion inhabited an upper part in a street +largely devoted to the sale of grand pianos. Her +front door was immediately at the top of a long, +straight, narrow stairway; so that whoever opened +the door stood one step higher than the person +desiring entrance. Within the abode, which was +fairly spacious, more and more stairs went up and +up. "My motto is," she would say, "'One room, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page62" id="page62">[62]</a></span> +one staircase.'" The life of the abode was +on the busy stairs. She called it also her Alpine +Club. She had made upper-parts in that street +popular among the select, and had therefore +caused rents to rise. In the drawing-room she +had hung a horrible enlarged photographic portrait +of herself, with a chocolate-coloured mount, +the whole framed in German gilt, and under it +she had inscribed, "Presented to Miss Concepcion +Iquist by the grateful landlords of the neighbourhood +as a slight token of esteem and regard."</p> + +<p>She was the only daughter of Iquist's brother, +who had had a business and a palace at Lima. +At the age of eighteen, her last surviving parent +being dead, she had come to London and started +to keep house for the bachelor Iquist, who at that +very moment, owing to a fortunate change in the +Ministry, had humorously entered the Cabinet. +These two had immediately become "the most +talked-of pair in London," London in this phrase +signifying the few thousand people who do talk +about the doings of other people unknown to +them and being neither kings, princes, statesmen, +artistes, artists, jockeys, nor poisoners. The +Iquists had led the semi-intelligent, conscious-of-its-audience +set which had ousted the old, quite unintelligent +stately-homes-of-England set from the first place in +the curiosity of the everlasting public. Concepcion had +wit. It was stated that she furnished her uncle with the +finest of his <i>mots</i>. When Iquist died, of course +poor Concepcion had retired to the upper part, whence, +though her position was naturally weakened, she still +took a hand in leading the set.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page63" id="page63">[63]</a></span> +<p>G.J. had grown friendly and appreciative of +her, for the simple reason that she had singled him +out and always tried to please him, even when +taking liberties with him. He liked her because +she was different from her set. She had a masculine +mind, whereas many even of the males of her +set had a feminine mind. She was exceedingly +well educated; she had ideas on everything; and +she never failed in catching an allusion. She +would criticise her set very honestly; her attitude +to it and to herself seemed to be that of an +impartial and yet indulgent philosopher; withal +she could be intensely loyal to fools and worse who +were friends. As for the public, she was apparently +convinced of the sincerity of her scorn for it, +while admitting that she enjoyed publicity, +which had become indispensable to her as a +drug may become indispensable. Moreover, +there was her wit and her candid, queer respect +for G.J.</p> + +<p>Yes, he had greatly admired her for her +qualities. He did not, however, greatly admire her +physique. She was tall, with a head scarcely large +enough for her body. She had a nice snub nose +which in another woman might have been irresistible. +She possessed very little physical charm, +and showed very little taste in her neat, prim +frocks. Not merely had she a masculine mind, +but she was somewhat hard, a self-confessed +egoist. She swore like the set, using about one +"damn" or one "bloody" to every four cigarettes, +of which she smoked, perhaps, fifty a day—including +some in taxis. She discussed the sexual +vagaries of her friends and her enemies with a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page64" id="page64">[64]</a></span> +freedom and an apparent learning which were +remarkable in a virgin.</p> + +<p>In the end she had married Carlos Smith, and, +characteristically, had received him into her own +home instead of going to his; as a fact, he had +none, having been a parent's close-kept darling. +London had only just recovered from the excitations +of the wedding. G.J. had regarded the +marriage with benevolence, perhaps with relief.</p> + +<p>"Anybody else coming to lunch?" he discreetly +inquired of his familiar, the parlour-maid.</p> + +<p>She breathed a negative.</p> + +<p>He had guessed it. Concepcion had meant to +be alone with him. Having married for love, and +her husband being rapt away by the war, she +intended to resume her old, honest, quasi-sentimental +relations with G.J. A reliable and +experienced bachelor is always useful to a young +grass-widow, and, moreover, the attendant hopeless +adorer nourishes her hungry egotism as nobody +else can. G.J. thought these thoughts, clearly +and callously, in the same moment as, mounting +the next flight of stairs, he absolutely trembled +with sympathetic anguish for Concepcion. His +errand was an impossible one; he feared, or rather +he hoped, that the very look on his face might +betray the dreadful news to that undeceivable +intuition which women were supposed to possess. +He hesitated on the stairs; he recoiled from the +top step—(she had coquettishly withdrawn herself +into the room)—he hadn't the slightest idea how +to begin. Yes, the errand was an impossible one, +and yet such errands had to be performed by +somebody, were daily being performed by somebodies. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page65" id="page65">[65]</a></span> +Then he had the idea of telephoning +privily to fetch her cousin Sara. He would open +by remarking casually to Concepcion:</p> + +<p>"I say, can I use your telephone a minute?" +He found a strange Concepcion in the drawing-room. +This was his first sight of Mrs. Carlos +Smith since the wedding. She wore a dress such +as he had never seen on her: a tea-gown—and +for lunch! It could be called neither neat nor +prim, but it was voluptuous. Her complexion +had bloomed; the curves of her face were softer, +her gestures more abandoned, her gaze full of a +bold and yet shamed self-consciousness, her dark +hair looser. He stood close to her; he stood +within the aura of her recently aroused temperament, +and felt it. He thought, could not help +thinking: "Perhaps she bears within her the +legacy of new life." He could not help thinking +of her name. He took her hot hand. She said +nothing, but just looked at him. He then said +jauntily:</p> + +<p>"I say, can I use your telephone a minute?" +Fortunately, the telephone was in the bedroom. +He went farther upstairs and shut himself +in the bedroom, and saw naught but the telephone +surrounded by the mysterious influences of +inanimate things in the gay, crowded room.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Mrs. Trevise? It's G.J. speaking. +G.J.... Hoape. Yes. Listen. I'm at Concepcion's +for lunch, and I want you to come over +as quickly as you can. I've got very bad news +indeed—the worst possible. Carlos has been +killed at the Front. What? Yes, awful, isn't it? +She doesn't know. I have the job of telling her."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page66" id="page66">[66]</a></span> +<p>Now that the words had been spoken in Concepcion's +abode the reality of Carlos Smith's +death seemed more horribly convincing than +before. And G.J., speaker of the words, felt +almost as guilty as though he himself were +responsible for the death. When he had rung off +he stood motionless in the room until the opening +of the door startled him. Concepcion appeared.</p> + +<p>"If you've done corrupting my innocent telephone ..." +she said, "lunch is cooling."</p> + +<p>He felt a murderer.</p> + +<p>At the lunch-table she might have been a +genuine South American. Nobody could be less +like Christine than she was; and yet in those +instants she incomprehensibly reminded him of +Christine. Then she started to talk in her old +manner of a professional and renowned talker. +G.J. listened attentively. They ate. It was +astounding that he could eat. And it was rather +surprising that she did not cry out: "G.J. What +the devil's the matter with you to-day?" But +she went on talking evenly, and she made him +recount his doings. He related the conversation +at the club, and especially what Bob, the retired +judge, had said about equilibrium on the Western +Front. She did not want to hear anything as to +the funeral.</p> + +<p>"We'll have champagne," she said suddenly +to the parlour-maid, who was about to offer some +red wine. And while the parlour-maid was out of +the room she said to G.J., "There isn't a country +in Europe where champagne is not a symbol, and +we must conform."</p> + +<p>"A symbol of what?"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page67" id="page67">[67]</a></span> +<p>"Ah! The unusual."</p> + +<p>"And what is there unusual to-day?" he +almost asked, but did not ask. It would, of +course, have been utterly monstrous to put such +a question, knowing what he knew. He thought: +I'm not a bit nearer telling her than I was when +I came.</p> + +<p>After the parlour-maid had poured out the +champagne Concepcion picked up her glass and +absently glanced through it and said:</p> + +<p>"You know, G.J., I shouldn't be in the +least surprised to hear that Carly was killed out +there. I shouldn't, really."</p> + +<p>In amazement G.J. ceased to eat.</p> + +<p>"You needn't look at me like that," she said. +"I'm quite serious. One may as well face the +risks. <i>He</i> does. Of course they're all heroes. +There are millions of heroes. But I do honestly +believe that my Carly would be braver than anyone. +By the way, did I ever tell you he was +considered the best shot in Cheshire?"</p> + +<p>"No. But I knew," answered G.J. feebly. +He would have expected her to be a little condescending +towards Carlos, to whom in brains she +was infinitely superior. But no! Carlos had +mastered her, and she was grateful to him for +mastering her. He had taught her in three weeks +more than she had learnt on two continents in +thirty years. She talked of him precisely as any +wee wifie might have talked of the soldier-spouse. +And she called him "Carly"!</p> + +<p>Neither of them had touched the champagne. +G.J. decided that he would postpone any +attempt to tell her until her cousin arrived; her +<span class="newpage"><a name="page68" id="page68">[68]</a></span> +cousin might arrive at any moment now.</p> + +<p>While the parlour-maid presented potatoes +Concepcion deliberately ignored her and said +dryly to G.J.:</p> + +<p>"I can't eat any more. I think I ought to +run along to Debenham and Freebody's at once. +You might come too, and be sure to bring your +good taste with you."</p> + +<p>He was alarmed by her tone.</p> + +<p>"Debenham and Freebody's! What for?"</p> + +<p>"To order mourning, of course. To have it +ready, you know. A precaution, you know." +She laughed.</p> + +<p>He saw that she was becoming hysterical: the +special liability of the war-bride for whom the +curtain has been lifted and falls exasperatingly, +enragingly, too soon.</p> + +<p>"You think I'm a bit hysterical?" she questioned, +half menacingly, and stood up.</p> + +<p>"I think you'd better sit down, to begin with," +he said firmly.</p> + +<p>The parlour-maid, blushing slightly, left the +room.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right!" Concepcion agreed carelessly, +and sat down. "But you may as well read that."</p> + +<p>She drew a telegram from the low neck of her +gown and carefully unfolded it and placed it in +front of him. It was a War Office telegram +announcing that Carlos had been killed.</p> + +<p>"It came ten minutes before you," she said.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me at once?" he +murmured, frightfully shocked. He was actually +reproaching her!</p> + +<p>She stood up again. She lived; her breast +<span class="newpage"><a name="page69" id="page69">[69]</a></span> +rose and fell. Her gown had the same voluptuousness. +Her temperament was still emanating the +same aura. She was the same new Concepcion, +strange and yet profoundly known to him. But +ineffable tragedy had marked her down, and the +sight of her parched the throat.</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>"Couldn't. Besides, I had to see if I could +stand it. Because I've got to stand it, G.J.... +And, moreover, in our set it's a sacred duty to +be original."</p> + +<p>She snatched the telegram, tore it in two, and +pushed the pieces back into her gown.</p> + +<p>"'Poor wounded name!'" she murmured, +"'my bosom as a bed shall lodge thee.'"</p> + +<p>The next moment she fell to the floor, at full +length on her back. G.J. sprang to her, kneeling +on her rich, outspread gown, and tried to lift her.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" she protested faintly, dreamily, +with a feeble frown on her pale forehead. "Let +me lie. Equilibrium has been established on the +Western Front."</p> + +<p>This was her greatest <i>mot</i>.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page70" id="page70">[70]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_12"></a><h2>Chapter 12</h2> + +<h4>RENDEZVOUS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>When the Italian woman, having recognised +him with a discreet smile, introduced G.J. into +the drawing-room of the Cork Street flat, he saw +Christine lying on the sofa by the fire. She too +was in a tea-gown.</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>"Do not be vexed. I have my migraine—am +good for nothing. But I gave the order that thou +shouldst be admitted."</p> + +<p>She lifted her arms, and the long sleeves fell +away. G.J. bent down and kissed her. She +joined her hands on the nape of his neck, and with +this leverage raised her whole body for an instant, +like a child, smiling; then dropped back with a +fatigued sigh, also like a child. He found satisfaction +in the fact that she was laid aside. It was +providential. It set him right with himself. For, +to put the thing crudely, he had left the tragic +Concepcion to come to Christine, a woman picked +up in a Promenade.</p> + +<p>True, Sara Trevise had agreed with him that he +could accomplish no good by staying at Concepcion's; +Concepcion had withdrawn from the +vision of men. True, it could make no difference +to Concepcion whether he retired to his flat for the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page71" id="page71">[71]</a></span> +rest of the day and saw no one, or whether, having +changed his ceremonious clothes there, he went +out again on his own affairs. True, he had +promised Christine to see her that afternoon, and +a promise was a promise, and Christine was a +woman who had behaved well to him, and it +would have been impossible for him to send her +an excuse, since he did not know her surname. +These apparently excellent arguments were +specious and worthless. He would, anyhow, have +gone to Christine. The call was imperious within +him, and took no heed of grief, nor propriety, +nor the secret decencies of sympathy. The +primitive man in him would have gone to +Christine.</p> + +<p>He sat down with a profound and exquisite +relief. The entrance to the house was nearly +opposite the entrance to a prim but fashionable +and expensive hotel. To ring (and ring the right +bell) and wait at Christine's door almost under the +eyes of the hotel was an ordeal.... The fat and +untidy Italian had opened the door, and shut it +again—quick! He was in another world, saved, +safe! On the dark staircase the image of Concepcion +with her temperament roused and +condemned to everlasting hunger, the unconquerable +Concepcion blasted in an instant of destiny—this +image faded. She would re-marry.... She +ought to re-marry.... And now he was in +Christine's warm room, and Christine, temporary +invalid, reclined before his eyes. The lights were +turned on, the blinds drawn, the stove replenished, +the fire replenished. He was enclosed with +Christine in a little world with no law and no +<span class="newpage"><a name="page72" id="page72">[72]</a></span> +conventions except its own, and no shames nor +pretences. He was, as it were, in the East. And the +immanence of a third person, the Italian, accepting +naturally and completely the code of the little +world, only added to the charm. The Italian was +like a slave, from whom it is necessary to hide +nothing and never to blush.</p> + +<p>A stuffy little world with a perceptible odour! +Ordinarily he had the common insular appetite +for ventilation, but now stuffiness appealed to +him; he scented it almost voluptuously. The +ugliness of the wallpaper, of the furniture, of +everything in the room was naught. Christine's +profession was naught. Who could positively +say that her profession was on her face, in her +gestures, in her talk? Admirable as was his +knowledge of French, it was not enough to enable +him to criticise her speech. Her gestures were +delightful. Her face—her face was soft; her +puckered brow was touching in its ingenuousness. +She had a kind and a trustful eye; it was a lewd +eye, indicative of her incomparable endowment; +but had he not encountered the lewd eye in the +very arcana of the respectability of the world +outside? On the sofa, open and leaves downward, +lay a book with a glistening coloured cover, +entitled <i>Fantomas</i>. It was the seventh volume of +an interminable romance which for years had +had a tremendous vogue among the concierges, +the workgirls, the clerks, and the <i>cocottes</i> of Paris. +An unreadable affair, not even indecent, which +nevertheless had enchanted a whole generation. +To be able to enjoy it was an absolute demonstration +of lack of taste; but did not some of his best +<span class="newpage"><a name="page73" id="page73">[73]</a></span> +friends enjoy books no better? And could he +not any day in any drawing-room see martyred +books dropped open and leaves downwards in a +manner to raise the gorge of a person of any +bookish sensibility?</p> + +<p>"Thou wilt play for me?" she suggested.</p> + +<p>"But the headache?"</p> + +<p>"It will do me good. I adore music, such +music as thou playest."</p> + +<p>He was flattered. The draped piano was close +to him. Stretching out his hand he took a little +pile of music from the top of it.</p> + +<p>"But you play, then!" he exclaimed, pleased.</p> + +<p>"No, no! I tap—only. And very little."</p> + +<p>He glanced through the pieces of music. They +were all, without exception, waltzes, by the once +popular waltz-kings of Paris and Vienna, including +several by the king of kings, Berger. He +seated himself at the piano and opened the first +waltz that came.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I adore the waltzes of Berger," she +murmured. "There is only he. You don't think so?"</p> + +<p>He said he had never heard any of this music. +Then he played every piece for her. He tried to +see what it was in this music that so pleased the +simple; and he saw it, or he thought he saw it. He +abandoned himself to the music, yielding to it, +accepting its ideals, interpreting it as though it +moved him, until in the end it did produce in him +a sort of factitious emotion. After all, it was no +worse than much of the music he was forced to +hear in very refined circles.</p> + +<p>She said, ravished:</p> + +<p>"You decipher music like an angel."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page74" id="page74">[74]</a></span> +<p>And hummed a fragment of the waltz from +<i>The Rosenkavalier</i> which he had played for her +two evenings earlier. He glanced round sharply. +Had she, then, real taste?</p> + +<p>"It is like that, isn't it?" she questioned, and +hummed it again, flattered by the look on his face.</p> + +<p>While, at her invitation, he repeated the waltz +on the piano, whose strings might have been made +of zinc, he heard a ring at the outer door and then +the muffled sound of a colloquy between a male +voice and the voice of the Italian. "Of course," +he admitted philosophically, "she has other clients +already." Such a woman was bound to have other +clients. He felt no jealousy, nor even discomfort, +from the fact that she lent herself to any male with +sufficient money and a respectable appearance. +The colloquy expired.</p> + +<p>"Ring, please," she requested, after thanking +him. He hoped that she was not going to interrogate +the Italian in his presence. Surely she would +be incapable of such clumsiness! Still, women +without imagination—and the majority of women +were without imagination—did do the most +astounding things.</p> + +<p>There was no immediate answer to the bell; +but in a few minutes the Italian entered with a +tea-tray. Christine sat up.</p> + +<p>"I will pour the tea," said she, and to the +Italian: "Marthe, where is the evening paper?" +And when Marthe returned with a newspaper +damp from the press, Christine said: "To +Monsieur...."</p> + +<p>Not a word of curiosity as to the unknown visitor!</p> + +<p>G.J. was amply confirmed in his original +<span class="newpage"><a name="page75" id="page75">[75]</a></span> +opinion of Christine. She was one in a hundred. +To provide the evening paper.... It was nothing, +but it was enormous.</p> + +<p>"Sit by my side," she said. She made just +a little space for him on the sofa—barely enough +so that he had to squeeze in. The afternoon tea +was correct, save for the extraordinary thickness +of the bread-and-butter. But G.J. said to himself +that the French did not understand bread-and-butter, +and the Italians still less. To compensate +for the defects of the bread-and-butter there +was a box of fine chocolates.</p> + +<p>"I perfect my English," she said. Tea was +finished; they were smoking, the <i>Evening News</i> +spread between them over the tea-things. She +articulated with a strong French accent the words +of some of the headings. "Mistair Carlos Smith +keeled at the front," she read out. "Who is it, that +woman there? She must be celebrated."</p> + +<p>There was a portrait of the illustrious Concepcion, +together with some sympathetic remarks +about her, remarks conceived very differently +from the usual semi-ironic, semi-worshipping +journalistic references to the stars of Concepcion's +set. G.J. answered vaguely.</p> + +<p>"I do not like too much these society women. +They are worse than us, and they cost you more. +Ah! If the truth were known—" Christine +spoke with a queer, restrained, surprising bitterness. +Then she added, softly relenting: "However, +it is sad for her.... Who was he, this +monsieur?"</p> + +<p>G.J. replied that he was nobody in particular, +so far as his knowledge went.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page76" id="page76">[76]</a></span> +<p>"Ah! One of those who are husbands of their +wives!" said Christine acidly.</p> + +<p>The disturbing intuition of women!</p> + +<p>A little later he said that he must depart.</p> + +<p>"But why? I feel better."</p> + +<p>"I have a committee."</p> + +<p>"A committee?"</p> + +<p>"It is a work of charity—for the French +wounded."</p> + +<p>"Ah! In that case.... But, beloved!"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>She lowered her voice.</p> + +<p>"How dost thou call thyself?"</p> + +<p>"Gilbert."</p> + +<p>"Thou knowest—I have a fancy for thee."</p> + +<p>Her tone was delicious, its sincerity absolutely +convincing.</p> + +<p>"Too amiable."</p> + +<p>"No, no. It is true. Say! Return. Return +after thy committee. Take me out to dinner—some +gentle little restaurant, discreet. There must +be many of them in a city like London. It is a +city so romantic. Oh! The little corners of +London!"</p> + +<p>"But—of course. I should be enchanted—"</p> + +<p>"Well, then."</p> + +<p>He was standing. She raised her smiling, +seductive face. She was young—younger than +Concepcion; less battered by the world's contacts +than Concepcion. She had the inexpressible virtue +and power of youth. He was nearing fifty. And +she, perhaps half his age, had confessed his charm.</p> + +<p>"And say! My Gilbert. Bring me a few +flowers. I have not been able to go out to-day. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page77" id="page77">[77]</a></span> +Something very simple. I detest that one should +squander money on flowers for me."</p> + +<p>"Seven-thirty, then!" said he. "And you will +be ready?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be very exact. Thou wilt tell me all +that concerns thy committee. That interests me. +The English are extraordinary."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page78" id="page78">[78]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_13"></a><h2>Chapter 13</h2> + +<h4>IN COMMITTEE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Within the hotel the glowing Gold Hall, +whose Lincrusta Walton panels dated it, was nearly +empty. Of the hundred small round tables only +one was occupied; a bald head and a large green +hat were almost meeting over the top of this +table, but there was nothing on it except an ashtray. +A waiter wandered about amid the thick +plushy silence and the stagnant pools of electric +light, meditating upon the curse which had +befallen the world of hotels. The red lips beneath +the green hat discernibly moved, but no faintest +murmur therefrom reached the entrance. The +hot, still place seemed to be enchanted.</p> + +<p>The sight of the hotel flower-stall recessed on +the left reminded G.J. of Christine's desire. +Forty thousand skilled women had been put out +of work in England because luxury was scared by +the sudden vista of war, but the black-garbed girl, +entrenched in her mahogany bower, was still earning +some sort of a livelihood. In a moment, +wakened out of her terrible boredom into an alert +smile, she had sold to G.J. a bunch of expensive +chrysanthemums whose yellow petals were like +long curly locks. Thoughtless, he had meant to +have the flowers delivered at once to Christine's +<span class="newpage"><a name="page79" id="page79">[79]</a></span> +flat. It would not do; it would be indiscreet. +And somehow, in the absence of Braiding, it +would be equally indiscreet to have them delivered +at his own flat.</p> + +<p>"I shall be leaving the hotel in about an hour; +I'll take them away myself then," he said, and +inquired for the headquarters of the Lechford +French Hospitals Committee.</p> + +<p>"Committee?" repeated the girl vaguely. "I +expect the Onyx Hall's what you want." She +pointed up a corridor, and gave change.</p> + +<p>G.J. discovered the Onyx Hall, which had its +own entrance from the street, and which in other +days had been a café lounge. The precious +pavement was now half hidden by wooden trestles, +wooden cubicles, and cheap chairs. Temporary +flexes brought down electric light from a stained +glass dome to illuminate card-indexes and pigeon-holes +and piles of letters. Notices in French and +Flemish were suspended from the ornate onyx +pilasters. Old countrywomen and children in +rough foreign clothes, smart officers in strange +uniforms, privates in shabby blue, gentlemen in +morning coats and spats, and untidy Englishwomen +with eyes romantic, hard, or wistful, were +mixed together in the Onyx Hall, where there was +no enchantment and little order, save that good +French seemed to be regularly spoken on one side +of the trestles and regularly assassinated on the +other. G.J., mystified, caught the grey eye of a +youngish woman with a tired and fretful expression.</p> + +<p>"And you?" she inquired perfunctorily.</p> + +<p>He demanded, with hesitation:</p> + +<p>"Is this the Lechford Committee?"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page80" id="page80">[80]</a></span> +<p>"The what Committee?"</p> + +<p>"The Lechford Committee headquarters." He +thought she might be rather an attractive little +thing at, say, an evening party.</p> + +<p>She gave him a sardonic look and answered, +not rudely, but with large tolerance:</p> + +<p>"Can't you read?"</p> + +<p>By means of gesture scarcely perceptible she +directed his attention to an immense linen sign +stretched across the back of the big room, and +he saw that he was in the ant-heap of some Belgian +Committee.</p> + +<p>"So sorry to have troubled you!" he apologised. +"I suppose you don't happen to know where the +Lechford Committee sits?"</p> + +<p>"Never heard of it," said she with cheerful +disdain. Then she smiled and he smiled. "You +know, the hotel simply hums with committees, but +this is the biggest by a long way. They can't +let their rooms, so it costs them nothing to lend +them for patriotic purposes."</p> + +<p>He liked the chit.</p> + +<p>Presently, with a page-boy, he was ascending +in a lift through storey after storey of silent +carpeted desert. Light alternated with darkness, +winking like a succession of days and nights as +seen by a god. The infant showed him into a +private parlour furnished and decorated in almost +precisely the same taste as Christine's sitting-room, +where a number of men and women sat +close together at a long deal table, whose pale, +classic simplicity clashed with the rest of the +apartment. A thin, dark, middle-aged man of +austere visage bowed to him from the head of the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page81" id="page81">[81]</a></span> +table. Somebody else indicated a chair, which, +with a hideous, noisy scraping over the bare +floor, he modestly insinuated between two occupied +chairs. A third person offered a typewritten +sheet containing the agenda of the meeting. A +blonde girl was reading in earnest, timid tones the +minutes of the previous meeting. The affair had +just begun. As soon as the minutes had been +passed the austere chairman turned and said +evenly:</p> + +<p>"I am sure I am expressing the feelings of +the committee in welcoming among us Mr. Hoape, +who has so kindly consented to join us and give us +the benefit of his help and advice in our labours."</p> + +<p>Sympathetic murmurs converged upon G.J. +from the four sides of the table, and G.J. nervously +murmured a few incomprehensible words, feeling +both foolish and pleased. He had never sat on a +committee; and as his war-conscience troubled him +more and more daily, he was extremely anxious to +start work which might placate it. Indeed, he +had seized upon the request to join the committee +as a swimmer in difficulties clasps the gunwale of +a dinghy.</p> + +<p>A man who kept his gaze steadily on the table +cleared his throat and said:</p> + +<p>"The matter is not in order, Mr. Chairman, +but I am sure I am expressing the feelings of the +committee in proposing a vote of condolence to +yourself on the terrible loss which you have sustained +in the death of your son at the Front."</p> + +<p>"I beg to second that," said a lady quickly.</p> + +<p>"Our chairman has given his only son—"</p> + +<p>Tears came into her eyes; she seemed to appeal +<span class="newpage"><a name="page82" id="page82">[82]</a></span> +for help. There were "Hear, hears," and more +sympathetic murmurs.</p> + +<p>The proposer, with his gaze still steadily fixed +on the table, said:</p> + +<p>"I beg to put the resolution to the meeting."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the chairman with calm self-control +in the course of his acknowledgment. "And if I +had ten sons I would willingly give them all—for +the cause." And his firm, hard glance appeared +to challenge any member of the committee to +assert that this profession of parental and patriotic +generosity of heart was not utterly sincere. However, +nobody had the air of doubting that if the +chairman had had ten sons, or as many sons as +Solomon, he would have sacrificed them all with +the most admirable and eager heroism.</p> + +<p>The agenda was opened. G.J. had little but +newspaper knowledge of the enterprises of the +committee, and it would not have been proper to +waste the time of so numerous a company in +enlightening him. The common-sense custom +evidently was that new members should "pick up +the threads as they went along." G.J. honestly +tried to do so. But he was preoccupied with the +personalities of the committee. He soon saw +that the whole body was effectively divided +into two classes—the chairmen of the various +sub-committees, and the rest. Few members were +interested in any particular subject. Those who +were not interested either stared at the walls or at +the agenda paper, or laboriously drew intricate +and meaningless designs on the agenda paper, or +folded up the agenda paper into fantastic shapes +until, when someone in authority brought out +<span class="newpage"><a name="page83" id="page83">[83]</a></span> +the formula, "I think the view of the committee +will be—" a resolution was put and the issue +settled by the mechanical raising of hands on the +fulcrum of the elbow. And at each raising of +hands everybody felt that something positive had +indeed been accomplished.</p> + +<p>The new member was a little discouraged. He +had the illusion that the two hospitals run in +France for French soldiers by the Lechford Committee +were an illusion, that they did not really +exist, that the committee was discussing an +abstraction. Nevertheless, each problem as it was +presented—the drains (postponed), the repairs to +the motor-ambulances, the ordering of a new +X-ray apparatus, the dilatoriness of a French +Minister in dealing with correspondence, the cost +per day per patient, the relations with the French +civil authorities and the French military authorities, +the appointment of a new matron who could +keep the peace with the senior doctor, and the +great principle involved in deducting five francs +fifty centimes for excess luggage from a nurse's +account for travelling expenses—each problem +helped to demonstrate that the hospitals did exist +and that men and women were toiling therein, and +that French soldiers in grave need were being +magnificently cared for and even saved from death. +And it was plain, too, that none of these excellent +things could have come to pass or could continue +to occur if the committee did not regularly sit +round the table and at short intervals perform +the rite of raising hands....</p> + +<p>G.J.'s attention wandered. He could not +keep his mind off the thought that he should soon +<span class="newpage"><a name="page84" id="page84">[84]</a></span> +be seeing Christine again. Sitting at the table +with a mien of intelligent interest, he had a +waking dream of Christine. He saw her just as she +was—ingenuous, and ignorant if you like—except +that she was pure. Her purity, though, had not +cooled her temperament, and thus she combined +in herself the characteristics of at least two different +women, both of whom were necessary to +his happiness. And she was his wife, and they +lived in a roomy house in Hyde Park Gardens, +and the war was over. And she adored him and he +was passionately fond of her. And she was always +having children; she enjoyed having children; she +demanded children; she had a child every year +and there was never any trouble. And he never +admired her more poignantly than at the periods +just before his children were born, when she had +the vast, exquisitely swelling figure of the French +Renaissance Virgin in marble that stood on a +console in his drawing-room at the Albany.... +Such was G.J.'s dream as he assisted in the +control of the Lechford Hospitals. Emerging from +it he looked along the table. Quite half the members +were dreaming too, and he wondered what +thoughts were moving secretly within them. But +the chairman was not dreaming. He never loosed +his grasp of the matter in hand. Nor did the +earnest young blonde by the chairman's side who +took down in stenography the decisions of the +committee.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page85" id="page85">[85]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_14"></a><h2>Chapter 14</h2> + +<h4>QUEEN</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Then Lady Queenie Paulle entered rather +hurriedly, filling the room with a distinguished +scent. All the men rose in haste, and there was a +frightful scraping of chair-legs on the floor. Lady +Queenie cheerfully apologised for being late, and, +begging no one to disturb himself, took a modest +place between the chairman and the secretary +and a little behind them.</p> + +<p>Lady Queenie obviously had what is called +"race". The renown of her family went back +far, far beyond its special Victorian vogue, which +had transformed an earldom into a marquisate +and which, incidentally, was responsible for the +new family Christian name that Queenie herself +bore. She was young, tall, slim and pale, and +dressed with the utmost smartness in black—her +half-brother having gloriously lost his life in September. +She nodded to the secretary, who blushed +with pleasure, and she nodded to several members, +including G.J. Being accustomed to publicity +and to seeing herself nearly every week in either +<i>The Tatler</i> or <i>The Sketch</i>, she was perfectly at +ease in the room, and the fact that nearly the +whole company turned to her as plants to the +sun did not in the least disturb her.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page86" id="page86">[86]</a></span> +<p>The attention which she received was her due, +for she had few rivals as a war-worker. She was +connected with the Queen's Work for Women +Fund, Queen Mary's Needlework Guild, the Three +Arts Fund, the Women's Emergency Corps, and +many minor organisations. She had joined a +Women's Suffrage Society because such societies +were being utilised by the Government. She had +had ten lessons in First Aid in ten days, had donned +the Red Cross, and gone to France with two motor-cars +and a staff and a French maid in order to +help in the great national work of nursing wounded +heroes; and she might still have been in France +had not an unsympathetic and audacious colonel +of the R.A.M.C. insisted on her being shipped +back to England. She had done practically everything +that a patriotic girl could do for the war, +except, perhaps, join a Voluntary Aid Detachment +and wash dishes and scrub floors for fifteen hours +a day and thirteen and a half days a fortnight. It +was from her mother that she had inherited the +passion for public service. The Marchioness of +Lechford had been the cause of more philanthropic +work in others than any woman in the +whole history of philanthropy. Lady Lechford had +said, "Let there be Lechford Hospitals in France," +and lo! there were Lechford Hospitals in France. +When troublesome complications arose Lady +Lechford had, with true self-effacement, surrendered +the establishments to a thoroughly +competent committee, and while retaining a seat +on the committee for herself and another for +Queenie, had curved tirelessly away to the +inauguration of fresh and more exciting schemes.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page87" id="page87">[87]</a></span> +<p>"Mamma was very sorry she couldn't come +this afternoon," said Lady Queenie, addressing +the chairman.</p> + +<p>The formula of those with authority in deciding +now became:</p> + +<p>"I don't know exactly what Lady Lechford's +view is, but I venture to think—"</p> + +<p>Then suddenly the demeanour of every member +of the committee was quickened, everybody +listened intently to everything that was said; +a couple of members would speak together; +pattern-designing and the manufacture of paper ships, +chains, and flowers ceased; it was as though a +tonic had been mysteriously administered to each +individual in the enervating room. The cause of +the change was a recommendation from the +hospitals management sub-committee that it be +an instruction to the new matron of the smaller +hospital to forbid any nurse and any doctor to go +out alone together in the evening. Scandal was +insinuated; nothing really wrong, but a bad impression +produced upon the civilians of the tiny +town, who could not be expected to understand +the holy innocence which underlies the superficial +license of Anglo-Saxon manners. The personal +characters and strange idiosyncrasies of every +doctor and every nurse were discussed; broad +principles of conduct were enunciated, together +with the advantages and disadvantages of those +opposite poles, discipline and freedom. The +argument continually expanded, branching forth +like the timber of a great oak-tree from the trunk, +and the minds of the committee ran about the +tree like monkeys. The interest was endless. A +<span class="newpage"><a name="page88" id="page88">[88]</a></span> +quiet delegate who had just returned from a visit +to the tiny town completely blasted one part of the +argument by asserting that the hospital bore a +blameless reputation among the citizens; but +new arguments were instantly constructed by the +adherents of the idea of discipline. The committee +had plainly split into two even parties. G.J. +began to resent the harshness of the disciplinarians.</p> + +<p>"I think we should remember," he said in his +modest voice, "I think we should remember that +we are dealing with adult men and women."</p> + +<p>The libertarians at once took him for their own. +The disciplinarians gave him to understand with +their eyes that it might have been better if he, as +a new member attending his first meeting, had +kept silence. The discussion was inflamed. One +or two people glanced surreptitiously at their +watches. The hour had long passed six thirty. +G.J. grew anxious about his rendezvous with +Christine. He had enjoined exactitude upon +Christine. But the main body of the excited and +happy committee had no thought of the flight of +time. The amusements of the tiny town came up +for review. As a fact, there was only one amusement, +the cinema. The whole town went to the +cinema. Cinemas were always darkened; human +nature was human nature.... G.J. had an +extraordinarily realistic vision of the hospital +staff slaving through its long and heavy day and its +everlasting week and preparing in sections to +amuse itself on certain evenings, and thinking with +pleasant anticipation of the ecstasies of the cinema, +and pathetically unsuspicious that its fate was +<span class="newpage"><a name="page89" id="page89">[89]</a></span> +being decided by a council of omnipotent deities +in the heaven of a London hotel.</p> + +<p>"Mamma has never mentioned the subject to +me," said Lady Queenie in response to a question, +looking at her rich muff.</p> + +<p>"This is a question of principle," said somebody +sharply, implying that at last individual consciences +were involved and that the opinions of the +Marchioness of Lechford had ceased to weigh.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it's getting late," said the impassive +chairman. "We must come to some decision."</p> + +<p>In the voting Lady Queenie, after hesitation, +raised her hand with the disciplinarians. By one +vote the libertarians were defeated, and the dalliance +of the hospital staff in leisure hours received +a severe check.</p> + +<p>"She <i>would</i>—of course!" breathed a sharp-nosed +little woman in the chair next but one to +G.J., gazing inimically at the lax mouth and +cynical eyes of Lady Queenie, who for four years had +been the subject of universal whispering, and some +shouting, and one or two ferocious battles in London.</p> + +<p>Chair-legs scraped. People rose here and there +to go as they rise in a music hall after the Scottish +comedian has retired, bowing, from his final +encore. They protested urgent appointments +elsewhere. The chairman remarked that other +important decisions yet remained to be taken; +but his voice had no insistence because he had +already settled the decisions in his own mind. +G.J. seized the occasion to depart.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hoape," the chairman detained him a +moment. "The committee hope you will allow +yourself to be nominated to the accounts sub-committee. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page90" id="page90">[90]</a></span> +We understand that you are by way +of being an expert. The sub-committee meets on +Wednesday mornings at eleven—doesn't it, Sir +Charles?"</p> + +<p>"Half-past," said Sir Charles.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Half-past."</p> + +<p>G.J., somewhat surprised to learn of his +expertise in accountancy, consented to the suggestion, +which renewed his resolution, impaired +somewhat by the experience of the meeting, to +be of service in the world.</p> + +<p>"You will receive the notice, of course," said +the chairman.</p> + +<p>Down below, just as G.J. was getting away +with Christine's chrysanthemums in their tissue +paper, Lady Queenie darted out of the lift +opposite. It was she who, at Concepcion's +instigation, had had him put in the committee.</p> + +<p>"I say, Queen," he said with a casual air—on +account of the flowers, "who's been telling +'em I know about accounts?"</p> + +<p>"I did."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" she said maliciously. "Don't you +keep an account of every penny you spend?" +(It was true.)</p> + +<p>Here was a fair example of her sardonic and +unscrupulous humour—a humour not of words +but of acts. G.J. simply tossed his head, aware of +the futility of expostulation.</p> + +<p>She went on in a different tone:</p> + +<p>"You were the first to see Connie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said sadly.</p> + +<p>"She has lain in my arms all afternoon," Lady +<span class="newpage"><a name="page91" id="page91">[91]</a></span> +Queenie burst out, her voice liquid. "And now +I'm going straight back to her." She looked at +him with the strangest triumphant expression. +Then her large, equivocal blue eyes fell from +his face to the flowers, and their expression +simultaneously altered to disdainful amusement +full of mischievous implications. She ran off +without another word. The glazed entrance doors +revolved, and he saw her nip into an electric +brougham, which, before he had time to button +his overcoat, vanished like an apparition in the +rainy mist.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page92" id="page92">[92]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_15"></a><h2>Chapter 15</h2> + +<h4>EVENING OUT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>He found Christine exactly as he had left her, +in the same tea-gown and the same posture, and +on the same sofa. But a small table had been put +by the sofa; and on this table was a penny bottle +of ink in a saucer, and a pen. She was studying +some kind of official form. The pucker between +the eyes was very marked.</p> + +<p>"Already!" she exclaimed, as if amazed. +"But there is not a clock that goes, and I had +not the least idea of the hour. Besides, I was +splitting my head to fill up this form."</p> + +<p>Such was her notion of being exact! He had +abandoned an important meeting of a committee +which was doing untold mercies to her compatriots +in order to keep his appointment with +her; and she, whose professional business it was +that evening to charm him and harmonise with +him, had merely flouted the appointment. Nevertheless, +her gestures and smile as she rose and +came towards him were so utterly exquisite that +immediately he also flouted the appointment. +What, after all, could it matter whether they +dined at eight, nine, or even ten o'clock?</p> + +<p>"Thou wilt pardon me, monster?" she murmured, +kissing him.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page93" id="page93">[93]</a></span> +<p>No woman had ever put her chin up to his as +she did, nor with a glance expressed so unreserved +a surrender to his masculinity.</p> + +<p>She went on, twining languishingly round him:</p> + +<p>"I do not know whether I ought to go out. +I am yet far from—It is perhaps imprudent."</p> + +<p>"Absurd!" he protested—he could not bear +the thought of her not dining with him. He +knew too well the desolation of a solitary dinner. +"Absurd! We go in a taxi. The restaurant is +warm. We return in a taxi."</p> + +<p>"To please thee, then."</p> + +<p>"What is that form?"</p> + +<p>"It is for the telephone. Thou understandest +how it is necessary that I have the telephone—me! +But I comprehend nothing of this form."</p> + +<p>She passed him the form. She had written +her name in the space allotted. "Christine +Dubois." A fair calligraphy! But what a name! +The French equivalent of "Smith". Nothing +could be less distinguished. Suddenly it occurred +to him that Concepcion's name also was Smith.</p> + +<p>"I will fill it up for you. It is quite simple."</p> + +<p>"It is possible that it is simple when one is +English. But English—that is as if to say Chinese. +Everything contrary. Here is a pen."</p> + +<p>"No. I have my fountain-pen." He hated +a cheap pen, and still more a penny bottle of ink, +but somehow this particular penny bottle of ink +seemed touching in its simple ugliness. She was +eminently teachable. He would teach her his +own attitude towards penny bottles of ink.... +Of course she would need the telephone—that +could not be denied.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page94" id="page94">[94]</a></span> +<p>As Christine was signing the form Marthe +entered with the chrysanthemums, which he had +handed over to her; she had arranged them in a +horrible blue glass vase cheaply gilded; and while +Marthe was putting the vase on the small table +there was a ring at the outer door. Marthe +hurried off.</p> + +<p>Christine said, kissing him again tenderly:</p> + +<p>"Thou art a squanderer! Fine for me to tell +thee not to buy costly flowers! Thou has spent +at least ten shillings for these. With ten +shillings—"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" he interrupted her. "Five." It +was a fib. He had paid half a guinea for the few +flowers, but he could not confess it.</p> + +<p>They could hear a powerful voice indistinctly +booming at the top of the stairs. "Two callers +on one afternoon!" G.J. reflected. And yet +she had told him she went out for the first time +only the day before yesterday! He scarcely liked +it, but his reason rescued him from the puerility +of a grievance against her on this account. +"And why not? She is bound to be a marked +success."</p> + +<p>Marthe returned to the drawing-room and shut +the door.</p> + +<p>"Madame—" she began, slightly agitated.</p> + +<p>"Speak, then!" Christine urged, catching her +agitation.</p> + +<p>"It is the police!"</p> + +<p>G.J. had a shock. He knew many of the policemen +who lurked in the dark doorways of Piccadilly +at night, had little friendly talks with them, held +them for excellent fellows. But a policeman +<span class="newpage"><a name="page95" id="page95">[95]</a></span> +invading the flat of a courtesan, and himself in +the flat, seemed a different being from the honest +stalwarts who threw the beams of lanterns +on the key-holes of jewellers' shops.</p> + +<p>Christine steeled herself to meet the crisis with +self-reliance. She pointedly did not appeal to the +male.</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it that he wants?"</p> + +<p>"He talks of the chimney. It appears this +morning there was a chimney on fire. But since +we burn only anthracite and gas—He knows +madame's name."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Christine asked sharply +and mysteriously:</p> + +<p>"How much do you think?"</p> + +<p>"If madame gave five pounds—having regard +to the <i>chic</i> of the quarter."</p> + +<p>Christine rushed into the bedroom and came +back with a five-pound note.</p> + +<p>"Here! Chuck that at him—politely. Tell him +we are very sorry."</p> + +<p>"Yes, madame."</p> + +<p>"But he'll never take it. You can't treat the +London police like that!" G.J. could not help +expostulating as soon as Marthe had gone. He +feared some trouble.</p> + +<p>"My poor friend!" Christine replied patronisingly. +"Thou art not up in these things. Marthe +knows her affair—a woman very experienced in +London. He will take it, thy policeman. And +if I do not deceive myself no more chimneys +will burn for about a year.... Ah! The police +do not wipe their noses with broken bottles!" +(She meant that the police knew their way +<span class="newpage"><a name="page96" id="page96">[96]</a></span> +about.) "I no more than they, I do not wipe +my nose with broken bottles."</p> + +<p>She was moved, indignant, stoutly defensive. +G.J. grew self-conscious. Moreover, her slang +disturbed him. It was the first slang he had +heard her use, and in using it her voice had +roughened. But he remembered that Concepcion +also used slang—and advanced slang—upon +occasion.</p> + +<p>The booming ceased; a door closed. Marthe +returned once more.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"He is gone. He was very nice, madame. I told +him about madame—that madame was very +discreet." Marthe finished in a murmur.</p> + +<p>"So much the better. Now, help me to dress. +Quick, quick! Monsieur will be impatient."</p> + +<p>G.J. was ashamed of the innocence he had +displayed, and ashamed, too, of the whole Metropolitan +Police Force, admirable though it was in +stopping traffic for a perambulator to cross the +road. Five pounds! These ladies were bled. Five +pounds wanted earning.... It was a good sign, +though, that she had not so far asked him to +contribute. And he felt sure that she would not.</p> + +<p>"Come in, then, poltroon!" She cooed softly +and encouragingly from the bedroom, where +Marthe was busy with her.</p> + +<p>The door between the bedroom and the +drawing-room was open. G.J., humming, obeyed +the invitation and sat down on the bed between +two heaps of clothes. Christine was very gay; +she was like a child. She had apparently quite +forgotten her migraine and also the incident of +<span class="newpage"><a name="page97" id="page97">[97]</a></span> +the policeman. She snatched the cigarette from +G.J.'s mouth, took a puff, and put it back again. +Then she sat in front of the large mirror and did +her hair while Marthe buttoned her boots. Her +corset fitted beautifully, and as she raised her +arms above her head under the shaded lamp G.J. +could study the marvellous articulation of the arms +at the bare shoulders. The close atmosphere was +drenched with femininity. The two women, one so +stylish and the other by contrast piquantly a heavy +slattern, hid nothing whatever from him, bestowing +on him with perfect tranquillity the right to +be there and to watch at his ease every mysterious +transaction.... The most convincing proof that +Christine was authentically young! And G.J. +had the illusion again that he was in the Orient, +and it was extraordinarily agreeable. The recollection +of the scene of the Lechford Committee +amused him like a pantomime witnessed afar off +through a gauze curtain. It had no more reality +than that. But he thought better of the committee +now. He perceived the wonderful goodness +of it and of its work. It really was running +those real hospitals; it had a real interest in them. +He meant to do his very best in the accounts +department. After all, he had been a lawyer and +knew the routine of an office and the minutest +phenomena of a ledger. He was eager to begin.</p> + +<p>"How findest thou me?"</p> + +<p>She stood for inspection.</p> + +<p>She was ready, except the gloves. The angle +of her hat, the provocation of her veil—these +things would have quickened the pulse of a +Patagonian. Perfume pervaded the room.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page98" id="page98">[98]</a></span> +<p>He gave the classic response that nothing could +render trite:</p> + +<p>"<i>Tu es exquise</i>."</p> + +<p>She raised her veil just above her mouth....</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room she hesitated, and then +settled down on the piano-stool like a bird alighting +and played a few bars from the <i>Rosenkavalier</i> +waltz. He was thunderstruck, for she had got not +only the air but some of the accompaniment right.</p> + +<p>"Go on! Go on!" he urged her, marvelling.</p> + +<p>She turned, smiling, and shook her head.</p> + +<p>"That is all that I can recall to myself."</p> + +<p>The obvious sincerity of his appreciation +delighted her.</p> + +<p>"She is really musical!" he thought, and was +convinced that while looking for a bit of coloured +glass he had picked up an emerald. Marthe +produced his overcoat, and when he was ready for +the street Christine gazed at him and said:</p> + +<p>"For the true <i>chic</i>, there are only Englishmen!"</p> + +<p>In the taxi she proved to him by delicate +effronteries the genuineness of her confessed +"fancy" for him. And she poured out slang. +He began to be afraid, for this excursion was an +experiment such as he had never tried before in +London; in Paris, of course, the code was otherwise. +But as soon as the commissionaire of the +restaurant at Victoria approached the door of the +taxi her manner changed. She walked up the +long interior with the demureness of a stockbroker's +young wife out for the evening from +Putney Hill. He thought, relieved, "She is the +embodiment of common sense." At the end of +the vista of white tables the restaurant opened out +<span class="newpage"><a name="page99" id="page99">[99]</a></span> +to the left. In a far corner they were comfortably +secure from observation. They sat down. A +waiter beamed his flatteries upon them. G.J. +was serenely aware of his own skilled faculty for +ordering a dinner. He looked over the menu +card at Christine. Nobody could possibly tell that +she was a professed enemy of society. "These +French women are astounding!" he thought. He +intensely admired her. He was mad about her. +His bliss was extreme. He could not keep it +within bounds meet for the great world-catastrophe. +He was happy as for quite ten years he +had never hoped to be. Yes, he grieved for Concepcion; +but somehow grief could not mingle with +nor impair the happiness he felt. And was not +Concepcion lying in the affectionate arms of +Queenie Paulle?</p> + +<p>Christine, glancing about her contentedly, +reverted to one of her leading ideas:</p> + +<p>"Truly, it is very romantic, thy London!"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page100" id="page100">[100]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_16"></a><h2>Chapter 16</h2> + +<h4>THE VIRGIN</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Christine went into the oratory of St. +Philip at Brompton on a Sunday morning in the +following January, dipped her finger into one of +the Italian basins at the entrance, and signed +herself with the holy water. She was dressed in +black; she had the face of a pretty martyr; her +brow was crumpled by the world's sorrow; she +looked and actually was at the moment intensely +religious. She had months earlier chosen the +Brompton Oratory for her devotions, partly +because of the name of Philip, which had been +murmured in accents of affection by her dying +mother, and partly because it lay on a direct, +comprehensible bus-route from Piccadilly. You +got into the motor-bus opposite the end of the +Burlington Arcade, and in about six minutes it +dropped you in front of the Oratory; and you +could not possibly lose yourself in the topographical +intricacies of the unknown city. Christine +never took a taxi except when on business.</p> + +<p>The interior was gloomy with the winter +forenoon; the broad Renaissance arches showed +themselves only faintly above; on every side there +were little archipelagos of light made by groups +of candles in front of great pale images. The church +<span class="newpage"><a name="page101" id="page101">[101]</a></span> +was comparatively empty, and most of the people +present were kneeling in the chapels; for Christine +had purposely come, as she always did, at the +slack hour between the seventh and last of the +early morning Low Masses and the High Mass at +eleven.</p> + +<p>She went up the right aisle and stopped before +the Miraculous Infant Jesus of Prague, a charming +and naive little figure about eighteen inches +high in a stiff embroidered cloak and a huge +symbol upon his curly head. She had put herself +under the protection of the Miraculous Infant +Jesus of Prague. She liked him; he was a change +from the Virgin; and he stood in the darkest +corner of the whole interior, behind the black +statue of St. Peter with protruding toe, and within +the deep shadow made by the organ-loft overhead. +Also he had a motto in French: "Plus vous +m'honorerez plus je vous favoriserai."</p> + +<p>Christine hesitated, and then left the Miraculous +Infant Jesus of Prague without even a transient +genuflexion. She was afraid to devote herself to +him that morning.</p> + +<p>Of course she had been brought up strictly in +the Roman Catholic faith. And in her own esteem +she was still an honest Catholic. For years she +had not confessed and therefore had not communicated. +For years she had had a desire to +cast herself down at a confessional-box, but she +had not done so because of one of the questions +in the <i>Petit Paroissien</i> which she used: "Avez-vous +péché, par pensée, parole, ou action, contre +la pureté ou la modestie?" And because also of +the preliminary injunction: "Maintenant essayez +<span class="newpage"><a name="page102" id="page102">[102]</a></span> +de vous rappeler vos péchés, <i>et combien de fois +vous les avez commis</i>." She could not bring herself +to do that. Once she had confessed a great deal +to a priest at Sens, but he had treated her too +lightly; his lightness with her had indeed been +shameful. Since then she had never confessed. +Further, she knew herself to be in a state of +mortal sin by reason of her frequent wilful +neglect of the holy offices; and occasionally, at the +most inconvenient moments, the conviction that +if she died she was damned would triumph over +her complacency. But on the whole she had +hopes for the future; though she had sinned, her +sin was mysteriously not like other people's sin +of exactly the same kind.</p> + +<p>And finally there was the Virgin Mary, the +sweet and dependable goddess. She had been +neglecting the very clement Virgin Mary in favour +of the Miraculous Infant Jesus of Prague. A +whim, a thoughtless caprice, which she had paid +for! The Virgin Mary had withdrawn her +defending shield. At least that was the interpretation +which Christine was bound to put upon the +terrible incident of the previous night in the +Promenade. She had quite innocently been +involved in a drunken row in the lounge. Two +military officers, one of whom, unnoticed +by Christine, was intoxicated, and two +women—Madame Larivaudière and Christine! The +Belgian had been growing more and more +jealous of Christine.... The row had flamed up +in the tenth of a second like an explosion. The +two officers—then the two women. The bright +silvery sound of glass shattered on marble! High +<span class="newpage"><a name="page103" id="page103">[103]</a></span> +voices, deep voices! Half the Promenade had +rushed vulgarly into the lounge, panting with +a gross appetite to witness a vulgar scene. And +as the Belgian was jealous of the French girl, so +were the English girls horribly jealous of all the +foreign girls, and scornful too. Nothing but the +overwhelming desire of the management to maintain +the perfect respectability of its Promenade had +prevented a rough-and-tumble between the +officers. As for Madame Larivaudière, she had +been ejected and told never to return. Christine +had fled to the cloakroom, where she had +remained for half an hour, and thence had +vanished away, solitary, by the side entrance. It +was precisely such an episode as Christine's +mother would have deprecated in horror, and as +Christine herself intensely loathed. And she +could never assuage the moral wound of it by +confiding the affair to Gilbert. She was mad +about Gilbert; she thrilled to be his slave; she had +what seemed an immeasurable confidence in him; +and yet never, never could she mention another +individual man to him, much less tell him of the +public shame that had fallen upon her in the +exercise of her profession. Why had fate been thus +hard on her? The answer was surely to be found +in the displeasure of the Virgin. And so she did +not dare to stay with the Miraculous Infant Jesus +of Prague, nor even to murmur the prayer beginning: +"Adorable Jésus, divin modèle de la perfection ..."</p> + +<p>She glanced round the great church, considering +what were to her the major and minor gods +and goddesses on their ornate thrones: St. Antony, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page104" id="page104">[104]</a></span> +St. Joseph, St. Sebastian, St. Philip, the Sacred +Heart, St. Cecilia, St. Peter, St. Wilfrid, St. +Mary Magdelene (Ah! Not at that altar could +she be seen!), St. Patrick, St. Veronica, St. +Francis, St. John Baptist, St. Teresa, Our Lady, +Our Lady of Good Counsel. No! There was only +one goddess possible for her—Our Lady of VII +Dolours. She crossed the wide nave to the severe +black and white marble chapel of the VII +Dolours. The aspect of the shrine suited her. On +one side she read the English words: "Of your +charity pray for the soul of Flora Duchess of +Norfolk who put up this altar to the Mother of +Sorrows that they who mourn may be comforted." +And the very words were romantic to +her, and she thought of Flora Duchess of Norfolk +as a figure inexpressibly more romantic than the +illustrious female figures of French history. The +Virgin of the VII Dolours was enigmatically +gazing at her, waiting no doubt to be placated. +The Virgin was painted, gigantic, in oil on canvas, +but on her breast stood out a heart made in three +dimensions of real silver and pierced by the +swords of the seven dolours, three to the left and +four to the right; and in front was a tiny gold +figure of Jesus crucified on a gold cross.</p> + +<p>Christine cast herself down and prayed to the +painted image and the hammered heart. She +prayed to the goddess whom the Middle Ages had +perfected and who in the minds of the simple and +the savage has survived the Renaissance and still +triumphantly flourishes; the Queen of heaven, the +Tyrant of heaven, the Woman in heaven; who was +so venerated that even her sweat is exhibited as a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page105" id="page105">[105]</a></span> +relic; who was softer than Christ as Christ was +softer than the Father; who in becoming a goddess +had increased her humanity; who put living roses +for a sign into the mouths of fornicators when they +died, if only they had been faithful to her; who +told the amorous sacristan to kiss her face and not +her feet; who questioned lovers about their mistresses: +"Is she as pretty as I?"; who fell like a +pestilence on the nuptial chambers of young men +who, professing love for her, had taken another +bride; who enjoyed being amused; who admitted +a weakness for artists, tumblers, soldiers and the +common herd; who had visibly led both opponents +on every battlefield for centuries; who impersonated +absent disreputable nuns and did their +work for them until they returned, repentant, to +be forgiven by her; who acted always on her +instinct and never on her reason; who cared +nothing for legal principles; who openly used her +feminine influence with the Trinity; who filled +heaven with riff-raff; and who had never on any +pretext driven a soul out of heaven. Christine +made peace with this jealous and divine creature. +She felt unmistakably that she was forgiven for +her infidelity due to the Infant in the darkness +beyond the opposite aisle. The face of the Lady +of VII Dolours miraculously smiled at her; the +silver heart miraculously shed its tarnish and glittered +beneficent lightnings. Doubtless she knew +somewhere in her mind that no physical change +had occurred in the picture or the heart; but her +mind was a complex, and like nearly all minds +could disbelieve and believe simultaneously.</p> + +<p>Just as High Mass was beginning she rose and +<span class="newpage"><a name="page106" id="page106">[106]</a></span> +in grave solace left the Oratory; she would not +endanger her new peace with the Virgin Mary +by any devotion to other gods. She was solemn +but happy. The conductor who took her penny +in the motor-bus never suspected that on the pane +before her, where some Agency had caused to be +printed in colour the words "Seek ye the <i>Lord</i>" +she saw, in addition to the amazing oddness of the +Anglo-Saxon race, a dangerous incitement to +unfaith. She kept her thoughts passionately on +the Virgin; and by the time the bus had reached +Hyde Park Corner she was utterly sure that the +horrible adventure of the Promenade was purged +of its evil potentialities.</p> + +<p>In the house in Cork Street she took out her +latch-key, placidly opened the door, and entered, +smiling at the solitude. Marthe, who also had a +soul in need of succour, would, in the ordinary +course, have gone forth to a smaller church and a +late mass. But on this particular morning fat +Marthe, in déshabille, came running to her from +the little kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Madame!... There is someone! He +is drunk."</p> + +<p>Her voice was outraged. She pointed fearfully +to the bedroom. Christine, courageous, walked +straight in. An officer in khaki was lying on the +bed; his muddy, spurred boots had soiled the +white lace coverlet. He was asleep and snoring. +She looked at him, and, recognising her acquaintance +of the previous night, wondered what the +very clement Virgin could be about.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page107" id="page107">[107]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_17"></a><h2>Chapter 17</h2> + +<h4>SUNDAY AFTERNOON</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"What is Madame going to do?" whispered +Marthe, still alarmed and shocked, when they had +both stepped back out of the bedroom; and she +added: "He has never been here before."</p> + +<p>Marthe was a woman of immense experience +but little brains, and when phenomena passed +beyond her experience she became rather like a +foolish, raw girl. She had often dealt with +drunken men; she had often—especially in her +younger days—satisfactorily explained a situation +to visitors who happened to call when her mistress +for the time being was out. But only on the +very rarest occasions had she known a client commit +the awful solecism of calling before lunch; and +that a newcomer, even intoxicated, should commit +this solecism staggered her and left her +trembling.</p> + +<p>"What am I going to do? Nothing!" answered +Christine. "Let him sleep."</p> + +<p>Christine, too, was dismayed. But Marthe's +weakness gave her strength, and she would not +show her fright. Moreover, Christine had some +force of character, though it did not often show +itself as sudden firmness. She condescended to +Marthe. She also condescended to the officer, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page108" id="page108">[108]</a></span> +because he was unconscious, because he had put +himself in a false position, because sooner or later +he would look extremely silly. She regarded the +officer's intrusion as tiresome, but she did not +gravely resent it. After all, he was drunk; and +before the row in the Promenade he had asked her +for her card, saying that he was engaged that night +but would like to know where she lived. Of course +she had protested—as what woman in her place +would not?—against the theory that he was +engaged that night, and she had been in a fair way +to convince him that he was not really engaged +that night—except morally to her, since he had +accosted her—when the quarrel had supervened +and it had dawned on her that he had been in the +taciturn and cautious stage of acute inebriety.</p> + +<p>He had, it now seemed, probably been drinking +through the night. There were men, as she +knew, who simply had to have bouts, whose only +method to peace was to drown the demon within +them. She would never knowingly touch a +drunken man, or even a partially intoxicated man, +if she could help it. She was not a bit like the +polite young lady above, who seemed to specialise +in noisy tipplers. Her way with the top-heavy +was to leave them to recover in tranquillity. +No other way was safe. Nevertheless, in the +present instance she did venture again into the +bedroom. The plight of the lace coverlet troubled +her and practically drove her into the bedroom. +She got a little towel, gently lifted the sleeper's +left foot, and tied the towel round his boot; then +she did the same to his other foot. The man did +not stir; but if, later, he should stir, neither his +<span class="newpage"><a name="page109" id="page109">[109]</a></span> +boots nor his spurs could do further harm to the +lace coverlet. His cane and gloves were on the +floor; she picked them up. His overcoat, +apparently of excellent quality, was still on his +back; and the cap had not quite departed from +his head. Christine had learned enough about +English military signs and symbols to enable her +to perceive that he belonged to the artillery.</p> + +<p>"But how will madame change her dress?" +Marthe demanded in the sitting-room. Madame +always changed her dress immediately on returning +from church, for that which is suitable for +mass may not be proper to other ends.</p> + +<p>"I shall not change," said Christine.</p> + +<p>"It is well, madame."</p> + +<p>Christine was not deterred from changing by +the fact that the bedroom was occupied. She +retained her church dress because she foresaw the +great advantage she would derive from it in the +encounter which must ultimately occur with the +visitor. She would not even take her hat off.</p> + +<p>The two women lunched, mainly on macaroni, +with some cheese and an apple. Christine had +coffee. Ah, she must always have her coffee. +As for a cigarette, she never smoked when alone, +because she did not really care for smoking. +Marthe, however, enjoyed smoking, and Christine +gave her a cigarette, which she lighted while +clearing the table. One was mistress, the other +servant, but the two women were constantly +meeting on the plane of equality. Neither of them +could avoid it, or consistently tried to avoid it. +Although Marthe did not eat with Christine, if a +meal was in progress she generally came into the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page110" id="page110">[110]</a></span> +sitting-room with her mouth more or less full of +food. Their repasts were trifles, passovers, +unceremonious and irregular peckings, begun and +finished in a few moments. And if Marthe was +always untidy in her person, Christine, up till +three in the afternoon, was also untidy. They +went about the flat in a wonderful state of unkempt +and insecure slovenliness. And sometimes +Marthe might be lolling in the sitting-room over +the illustrations in <i>La Vie Parisienne</i>, which was +part of the apparatus of the flat, while Christine +was in the tiny kitchen washing gloves as she +alone could wash them.</p> + +<p>The flat lapsed into at any rate a superficial +calm. Marthe, seeing that fate had deprived her +of the usual consolations of religion, determined +to reward herself by remaining a perfect slattern +for the rest of the day. She would not change at +all. She would not wash up either the breakfast +things or the lunch things. Leaving a small ring +of gas alight in the gas stove, she sat down all +dirty on a hard chair in front of it and fell into a +luxurious catalepsy. In the sitting-room Christine +sat upright on the sofa and read lusciously a French +translation of <i>East Lynne</i>. She was in no hurry +for the man to waken; her sense of time was +very imperfect; she was never pricked by the +thought that life is short and that many urgent +things demand to be done before the grave opens. +Nor was she apprehensive of unpleasant complications. +The man was in the flat, but it was her flat; +her law ran in the flat; and the door was fast +against invasion. Still, the gentle snore of the +man, rising and falling, dominated the flat, and +<span class="newpage"><a name="page111" id="page111">[111]</a></span> +the fact of his presence preoccupied the one +woman in the kitchen and the other in the sitting-room....</p> + +<p>Christine noticed that the thickness of the pages +read had imperceptibly increased to three-quarters +of an inch, while the thickness of the unread pages +had diminished to a quarter of an inch. And she +also noticed, on the open page, another phenomenon. +It was the failing of the day—the faintest +shadow on the page. With incredible transience +another of those brief interruptions of darkness +which in London in winter are called days was +ending. She rose and went to the discreetly-curtained +window, and, conscious of the extreme +propriety of her appearance, boldly pulled aside +the curtain and looked across, through naked +glass, at the hotel nearly opposite. There was not +a sound, not a movement, in Cork Street. Cork +Street, the flat, the hotel, the city, the universe, +lay entranced and stupefied beneath the grey +vapours of the Sabbath. The sensation to Christine +was melancholy, but it was exquisitely melancholy.</p> + +<p>The solid hotel dissolved, and in its place +Christine saw the interesting, pathetic phantom of +her own existence. A stern, serious existence, +full of disappointments, and not free from dangerous +episodes, an existence which entailed much +solitude and loss of liberty; but the verdict upon +it was that in the main it might easily have been +more unsatisfactory than it was. With her +indolence and her unappeasable temperament +what other vocation indeed, save that of marriage, +could she have taken up? And her temperament +would have rendered any marriage an impossible +<span class="newpage"><a name="page112" id="page112">[112]</a></span> +prison for her. She was a modest success—her +mother had always counselled her against +ambition—but she was a success. Her magic +power was at its height. She continued to save +money and had become a fairly regular frequenter +of the West End branch of the Crédit Lyonnais. +(Incidentally she had come to an arrangement +with her Paris landlord.)</p> + +<p>But, more important than money, she was +saving her health, and especially her complexion—the +source of money. Her complexion could still +survive the minutest examination. She achieved +this supreme end by plenty of sleep and by keeping +to the minimum of alcohol. Of course she had to +drink professionally; clients insisted; some of them +were exhilarated by the spectacle of a girl tipsy; +but she was very ingenious in avoiding alcohol. +When invited to supper she would respond with +an air of restrained eagerness: "Oh, yes, with +pleasure!" And then carelessly add: "Unless +you would prefer to come quietly home with me. +My maid is an excellent cook and one is very +comfortable <i>chez-moi</i>." And often the prospect +thus sketched would piquantly allure a client. +Nevertheless at intervals she could savour a +fashionable restaurant as well as any harum-scarum +minx there. Her secret fear was still +obesity. She was capable of imagining herself at +fat as Marthe—and ruined; for, though a few +peculiar amateurs appreciated solidity, the great +majority of men did not. However, she was not +getting stouter.</p> + +<p>She had a secret sincere respect for certain of +her own qualities; and if women of the world +<span class="newpage"><a name="page113" id="page113">[113]</a></span> +condemned certain other qualities in her, well, +she despised women of the world—selfish idlers +who did nothing, who contributed nothing, to the +sum of life, whereas she was a useful and indispensable +member of society, despite her admitted +indolence. In this summary way she comforted +herself in her loss of caste.</p> + +<p>Without Gilbert, of course, her existence would +have been fatally dull, and she might have been +driven to terrible remedies against ennui and +emptiness. The depth and violence of her feeling +for Gilbert were indescribable—at any rate by +her. She turned again from the darkening window +to the sofa and sat down and tried to recall the +figures of the dozens of men who had sat there, +and she could recall at most six or eight, and +Gilbert alone was real. What a paragon!... Her +scorn for girls who succumbed to <i>souteneurs</i> +was measureless; as a fact she had met few who +did.... She would have liked to beautify her +flat for Gilbert, but in the first place she did not +wish to spend money on it, in the second place she +was too indolent to buckle to the enterprise, and +in the third place if she beautified it she would be +doing so not for Gilbert, but for the monotonous +procession of her clients. Her flat was a public +resort, and so she would do nothing to it. Besides, +she did not care a fig about the look of furniture; +the feel of furniture alone interested her; she +wanted softness and warmth and no more.</p> + +<p>She moved across to the piano, remembering +that she had not practised that day, and that she +had promised Gilbert to practise every day. He +was teaching her. At the beginning she had +<span class="newpage"><a name="page114" id="page114">[114]</a></span> +dreamt of acquiring brilliance such as his on the +piano, but she had soon seen the futility of the +dream and had moderated her hopes accordingly. +Even with terrific efforts she could not make her +hands do the things that his did quite easily at the +first attempt. She had, for example, abandoned +the <i>Rosenkavalier</i> waltz, having never succeeded in +struggling through more than about ten bars of +it, and those the simplest. But her French dances +she had notably improved in. She knew some of +them by heart and could patter them off with a +very tasteful vivacity. Instead of practising, she +now played gently through a slow waltz from +memory. If the snoring man was wakened, so +much the worse—or so much the better! She +went on playing, and evening continued to fall, +until she could scarcely see the notes. Then she +heard movements in the bedroom, a sigh, a +bump, some English words that she did not comprehend. +She still, by force of resolution, went on +playing, to protect herself, to give herself +countenance. At length she saw a dim male figure +against the pale oblong of the doorway between +the two rooms, and behind the figure a point of +glowing red in the stove.</p> + +<p>"I say—what time is it?"</p> + +<p>She recognised the heavy, resonant, vibrating +voice. She had stopped playing because she was +making so many mistakes.</p> + +<p>"Late—late!" she murmured timidly.</p> + +<p>The next moment the figure was kneeling at +her feet, and her left hand had been seized in a +hot hand and kissed—respectfully.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, you beautiful creature!" begged +<span class="newpage"><a name="page115" id="page115">[115]</a></span> +the deep, imploring voice. "I know I don't +deserve it. But forgive me! I worship women, +honestly."</p> + +<p>Assuredly she had not expected this development. +She thought: "Is he not sober yet?" +But the query had no conviction in it. She wanted +to believe that he was sober. At any rate he had +removed the absurd towels from his boots.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page116" id="page116">[116]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_18"></a><h2>Chapter 18</h2> + +<h4>THE MYSTIC</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Say you forgive me!" The officer insisted.</p> + +<p>"But there is nothing—"</p> + +<p>"Say you forgive me!"</p> + +<p>She had counted on a scene of triumph with +him when he woke up, anticipating that he was +bound to cut a ridiculous appearance. He knelt +dimly there without a sign of self-consciousness +or false shame. She forgave him.</p> + +<p>"Great baby!"</p> + +<p>Her hand was kissed again and loosed. She +detected a faint, sad smile on his face.</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>He rose, towering above her.</p> + +<p>"I know I'm a drunken sot," he said. "It +was only because I knew I was drunk that I didn't +want to come with you last night. And I called +this morning to apologise. I did really. I'd no +other thought in my poor old head. I wanted +you to understand why I tried to hit that chap. +The other woman had spoken to me earlier, and I +suppose she was jealous, seeing me with you. +She said something to him about you, and he +laughed, and I had to hit him for laughing. I +couldn't hit her. If I'd caught him an upper +cut with my left he'd have gone down, and he +<span class="newpage"><a name="page117" id="page117">[117]</a></span> +wouldn't have got up by himself—<i>I</i> warrant +you—"</p> + +<p>"What did she say?" Christine interrupted, +not comprehending the technical idiom and not +interested in it.</p> + +<p>"I dunno; but he laughed—anyhow he smiled."</p> + +<p>Christine turned on the light, and then went +quickly to the window to draw the curtains.</p> + +<p>"Take off your overcoat," she commanded +him kindly.</p> + +<p>He obeyed, blinking. She sat down on the +sofa and, raising her arms, drew the pins from +her hat and put it on the table. She motioned +him to sit down too, and left him a narrow space +between herself and the arm of the sofa, so that +they were very close together. Then, with +puckered brow, she examined him.</p> + +<p>"I'd better tell you," he said. "It does me +good to confess to you, you beautiful thing. I +had a bottle of whisky upstairs in my room at +the Grosvenor. Night before last, when I arrived +there, I couldn't get to sleep in the bed. Hadn't +been used to a bed for so long, you know. I had +to turn out and roll myself up in a blanket on +the floor. And last night I spent drinking by +myself. Yes, by myself. Somehow, I don't +mind telling <i>you</i>. This morning I must have +been worse than I thought I was—"</p> + +<p>He stopped and put his hand on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"There are tears in your eyes, little thing. +Let me kiss your eyes.... No! I'll respect you. +I worship you. You're the nicest little woman I +ever saw, and I'm a brute. But let me kiss your +eyes."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page118" id="page118">[118]</a></span> +<p>She held her face seriously, even frowning +somewhat. And he kissed her eyes gently, one after +the other, and she smelt his contaminated breath.</p> + +<p>He was a spare man, with a rather thin, +ingenuous, mysterious, romantic, appealing face. +It was true that her eyes had moistened. She was +touched by his look and his tone as he told her +that he had been obliged to lie on the floor of +his bedroom in order to sleep. There seemed to +be an infinite pathos in that trifle. He was one +of the fighters. He had fought. He was come +from the horrors of the battle. A man of power. +He had killed. And he was probably ten or a +dozen years her senior. Nevertheless, she felt herself +to be older than he was, wiser, more experienced. +She almost wanted to nurse him. And +for her he was, too, the protected of the very +clement Virgin. Inquiries from Marthe showed +that he must have entered the flat at the moment +when she was kneeling at the altar and when the +Lady of VII Dolours had miraculously granted +to her pardon and peace. He was part of the +miracle. She had a duty to him, and her duty +was to brighten his destiny, to give him joy, not +to let him go without a charming memory of her +soft womanly acquiescences. At the same time +her temperament was aroused by his personality; +and she did not forget she had a living to earn; +but still her chief concern was his satisfaction, not +her own, and her overmastering sentiment one of +dutiful, nay religious, surrender. French gratitude +of the English fighter, and a mystic, fearful +allegiance to the very clement Virgin—these +things inspired her.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page119" id="page119">[119]</a></span> +<p>"Ah!" he sighed. "My throat's like leather." +And seeing that she did not follow, he added: +"Thirsty." He stretched his arms. She went to +the sideboard and half filled a tumbler with soda +water from the siphon.</p> + +<p>"Drink!" she said, as if to a child.</p> + +<p>"Just a dash! The tiniest dash!" he pleaded +in his rich voice, with a glance at the whisky. +"You don't know how it'll pull me together. You +don't know how I need it."</p> + +<p>But she did know, and she humoured him, +shaking her head disapprovingly.</p> + +<p>He drank and smacked his lips.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he breathed voluptuously, and then +said in changed, playful accents: "Your French +accent is exquisite. It makes English sound +quite beautiful. And you're the daintiest little +thing."</p> + +<p>"Daintiest? What is that? I have much to +learn in English. But it is something +nice—daintiest; it is a compliment." She somehow +understood then that, despite appearances, he was +not really a devotee of her sex, that he was really +a solitary, that he would never die of love, and +that her <i>rôle</i> was a minor <i>rôle</i> in his existence. +And she accepted the fact with humility, with +enthusiasm, with ardour, quite ready to please and +to be forgotten. In playing the slave to him she +had the fierce French illusion of killing Germans.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she noticed that he was wearing two +wrist-watches, one close to the other, on his left +arm, and she remarked on the strange fact.</p> + +<p>The officer's face changed.</p> + +<p>"Have you got a wrist-watch?" he demanded.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page120" id="page120">[120]</a></span> +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Silently he unfastened one of the watches and +then said:</p> + +<p>"Hold out your beautiful arm."</p> + +<p>She did so. He fastened the watch on her arm. +She was surprised to see that it was a lady's watch. +The black strap was deeply scratched. She +privately reconstructed the history of the watch, +and decided that it must be a gift returned after +a quarrel—and perhaps the scratches on the strap +had something to do with the quarrel.</p> + +<p>"I beg you to accept it," he said. "I particularly +wish you to accept it."</p> + +<p>"It's really a lovely watch," she exclaimed. +"How kind you are!" She rewarded him with +a warm kiss. "I have always wanted a wristwatch. +And now they are so <i>chic</i>. In fact, one +must have one." Moving her arm about, she +admired the watch at different angles.</p> + +<p>"It isn't going. And what's more, it won't +go," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she politely murmured.</p> + +<p>"No! But do you know why I give you that +watch?"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is a mascot."</p> + +<p>"True?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely a mascot. It belonged to a friend +of mine who is dead."</p> + +<p>"Ah! A lady—"</p> + +<p>"No! Not a lady. A man. He gave it me a +few minutes before he died—and he was wearing +it—and he told me to take it off his arm as soon +as he was dead. I did so."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page121" id="page121">[121]</a></span> +<p>Christine was somewhat alarmed.</p> + +<p>"But if he was wearing it when he died, how +can it be a mascot?"</p> + +<p>"That was what made it a mascot. Believe +me, I know about these things. I wouldn't +deceive you, and I wouldn't tell you it was a +mascot unless I was quite certain." He spoke +with a quiet, initiated authority that reassured her +entirely and gave her the most perfect confidence.</p> + +<p>"And why was your friend wearing a lady's +watch?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you."</p> + +<p>"You do not know?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. But I know that watch is a +mascot."</p> + +<p>"Was it at the Front—all this?"</p> + +<p>The man nodded.</p> + +<p>"He was wounded, killed, your friend?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, not wounded! He was in my Battery. +We were galloping some guns to a new position. +He came off his horse—the horse was shot under +him—he himself fell in front of a gun. Of course, +the drivers dared not stop, and there was no room +to swerve. Hence they had to drive right over +him ... Later, I came back to him. They had got him +as far as the advanced dressing-station. He died +in less than an hour...."</p> + +<p>Solemnity fell between Christine and her client.</p> + +<p>She said softly: "But if it is a mascot—do you +not need it, you, at the Front? It is wrong for me +to take it."</p> + +<p>"I have my own mascot. Nothing can touch +me—except my great enemy, and he is not +German." With an austere gesture he indicated +<span class="newpage"><a name="page122" id="page122">[122]</a></span> +the glass. His deep voice was sad, but very firm. +Christine felt that she was in the presence of an +adept of mysticism. The Virgin had sent this man +to her, and the man had given her the watch. +Clearly the heavenly power had her in its holy +charge.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes!" said the man in a new tone, as if +realising the solemnity and its inappropriateness, +and trying to dissipate it. "Ah, yes! Once we +had the day of our lives together, he and I. We +got a day off to go and see a new trench mortar, +and we did have a time."</p> + +<p>"Trench mortar—what is that?"</p> + +<p>He explained.</p> + +<p>"But tell me how it works," she insisted, not +because she had the slightest genuine interest in +the technical details of war—for she had not—but +because she desired to help him to change the +mood of the scene.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's not so easy, you know. It was a +four and a half pound shell, filled with gun-cotton +slabs and shrapnel bullets packed in sawdust. +The charge was black powder in a paper bag, +and you stuck it at the bottom end of the pipe and +put a bit of fuse into the touch-hole—but, of +course, you must take care it penetrates the charge. +The shell-fuse has a pinner with a detonator +with the right length of fuse shoved into it; you +wrap some clay round the end of the fuse to stop +the flash of the charge from detonating the shell. +Well, then you load the shell—"</p> + +<p>She comprehended simply nothing, and the +man, professionally absorbed, seemed to have no +perception that she was comprehending nothing. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page123" id="page123">[123]</a></span> +She scarcely even listened. Her face was set in +a courteous, formal smile; but all the time she +was thinking that the man, in spite of his qualities, +must be lacking in character to give a watch +away to a woman to whom he had not been talking +for ten minutes. His lack of character was shown +also in his unshamed confession concerning his +real enemy. Some men would bare their souls +to a <i>cocotte</i> in a fashion that was flattering neither +to themselves nor to the <i>cocotte</i>, and Christine +never really respected such men. She did not +really respect this man, but respected, and stood +in awe of, his mysticism; and, further, her instinct +to satisfy him, to make a spoiled boy of him, was +not in the least weakened. Then, just as the man +was in the middle of his description of the functioning +of the trench mortar, the telephone-bell +rang, and Christine excused herself.</p> + +<p>The telephone was in the bedroom, not by +the bedside—for such a situation had its +inconveniences—but in the farthest corner, between +the window and the washstand. As she went to the +telephone she was preoccupied by one of the major +worries of her vocation, the worry of keeping +clients out of each other's sight. She wondered +who could be telephoning to her on Sunday +evening. Not Gilbert, for Gilbert never telephoned +on Sunday except in the morning. She +insisted, of course, on his telephoning to her +daily, or almost daily. She did this to several of +her more reliable friends, for there was no surer +way of convincing them of the genuineness of +her regard for them than to vituperate them when +they failed to keep her informed of their health, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page124" id="page124">[124]</a></span> +their spirits, and their doings. In the case of +Gilbert, however, her insistence had entirely +ceased to be a professional device; she adored +him violently.</p> + +<p>The telephoner was Gilbert. He made an +amazing suggestion; he asked her to come across +to his flat, where she had never been and where he +had never asked her to go. It had been tacitly and +quite amiably understood between them that he +was not one who invited young ladies to his own +apartments.</p> + +<p>Christine cautiously answered that she was not +sure whether she could come.</p> + +<p>"Are you alone?" he asked pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will come and fetch you."</p> + +<p>She decided exactly what she would do.</p> + +<p>"No, no. I will come. I will come now. I +shall be enchanted." Purposely she spoke without +conviction, maintaining a mysterious reserve.</p> + +<p>She returned to the sitting-room and the other +man. Fortunately the conversation on the +telephone had been in French.</p> + +<p>"See!" she said, speaking and feeling as though +they were intimates. "I have a lady friend who is +ill. I am called to see her. I shall not be long. +I swear to you I shall not be long. Wait. Will +you wait?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, gazing at her.</p> + +<p>"Put yourself at your ease."</p> + +<p>She was relieved to find that she could so easily +reconcile her desire to please Gilbert with her +pleasurable duty towards the protégé of the very +clement Virgin.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page125" id="page125">[125]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_19"></a><h2>Chapter 19</h2> + +<h4>THE VISIT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>In the doorway of his flat Christine kissed +G.J. vehemently, but with a certain preoccupation; +she was looking about her, very curious. +The way in which she raised her veil and raised +her face, mysteriously glanced at him, puckered +her kind brow—these things thrilled him.</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>"You are quite alone, of course."</p> + +<p>She said it nicely, even benevolently; nevertheless +he seemed to hear her saying: "You are +quite alone, or, of course, you wouldn't have let +me come."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's through here," she murmured; +and without waiting for an invitation she passed +direct into the lighted drawing-room and stood +there, observant.</p> + +<p>He followed her. They were both nervous in +the midst of the interior which he was showing her +for the first time, and which she was silently +estimating. For him she made an exquisite figure +in the drawing-room. She was so correct in her +church-dress, so modest, prim and demure. And +her appearance clashed excitingly with his +absolute knowledge of her secret temperament. +He had often hesitated in his judgment of her. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page126" id="page126">[126]</a></span> +Was she good enough or was she not? But now +he thought more highly of her than ever. She +was ideal, divine, the realisation of a dream. And +he felt extraordinarily pleased with himself +because, after much cautious indecision, he had +invited her to visit him. By heaven, she was +young physically, and yet she knew everything! +Her miraculous youthfulness rejuvenated him.</p> + +<p>As a fact he was essentially younger than he +had been for years. Not only she, but his war +work, had re-vitalised him. He had developed +into a considerable personage on the Lechford +Committee; he was chairman of a sub-committee; +he bore responsibilities and had worries. And for +a climax the committee had sent him out to +France to report on the accountancy of the +hospitals; he had received a special passport; +he had had glimpses of the immense and growing +military organisation behind the Front; he had +chatted in his fluent and idiomatic French with +authorities military and civil; he had been +ceremoniously complimented on behalf of his +committee and country by high officials of the +Service de Santé. A wondrous experience, from +which he had returned to England with a greatly +increased self-respect and a sharper apprehension +of the significance of the war.</p> + +<p>Life in London was proceeding much as usual. +If on the one hand the Treasury had startlingly +put an embargo upon capital issues, on the other +hand the King had resumed his patronage of the +theatre, and the town talked of a new Lady Teazle, +and a British dye-industry had been inaugurated. +But behind the thin gauze of social phenomena +<span class="newpage"><a name="page127" id="page127">[127]</a></span> +G.J. now more and more realistically perceived +and conceived the dark shape of the war as a vast +moving entity. He kept concurrently in his mind, +each in its place, the most diverse factors and +events: not merely the Flemish and the French +battles, but the hoped-for intervention of Roumania, +the defeat of the Austrians by Servia, the +menace of a new Austrian attack on Servia, the +rise in prices, the Russian move north of the +Vistula, the raid on Yarmouth, the divulgence +of the German axioms about frightfulness, the +rumour of a definite German submarine policy, +the terrible storm that had disorganised the entire +English railway-system, and the dim distant Italian +earthquake whose death-roll of thousands had produced +no emotion whatever on a globe monopolised +by one sole interest.</p> + +<p>And to-night he had had private early telephonic +information of a naval victory in the North +Sea in which big German cruisers had been chased +to their ignominious lairs and one sunk. Christine +could not possibly know of this grand affair, for +the Sunday night extras were not yet on the +streets; he had it ready for her, eagerly waiting +to pour it into her delicious lap along with the +inexhaustible treasures of his heart. At that +moment he envisaged the victory as a shining +jewel specially created in order to give her a throb +of joy.</p> + +<p>"It seems they picked up a lot of survivors +from the <i>Blucher</i>," he finished his narration, +rather proudly.</p> + +<p>She retorted, quietly but terribly scornful:</p> + +<p>"<i>Zut</i>! You English are so naive. Why save +<span class="newpage"><a name="page128" id="page128">[128]</a></span> +them? Why not let them drown? Do they not +deserve to drown? Look what they have done, +those Boches! And you save them! Why did +the German ships run away? They had set a +trap—that sees itself—in addition to being +cowards. You save them, and you think you have +made a fine gesture; but you are nothing but +simpletons." She shrugged her shoulders in +inarticulate disdain.</p> + +<p>Christine's attitude towards the war was +uncomplicated by any subtleties. Disregarding all +but the utmost spectacular military events, she +devoted her whole soul to hatred of the Germans—and +all the Germans. She believed them to be +damnably cleverer than any other people on +earth, and especially than the English. She +believed them to be capable of all villainies whatsoever. +She believed every charge brought against +them, never troubling about evidence. She would +have imprisoned on bread and water all Germans +and all persons with German names in England. +She was really shocked by the transparent idiocy +of Britons who opposed the retirement of Prince +Louis of Battenberg from the Navy. For weeks +she had remained happily in the delusion that +Prince Louis had been shot in the Tower, and +when the awakening came she had instantly +decided that the sinister influence of Lord +Haldane and naught else must have saved Prince +Louis from a just retribution. She had a vision of +England as overrun with innumerable German +spies who moved freely at inexpressible speed +about the country in high-powered grey automobiles +with dazzling headlights, while the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page129" id="page129">[129]</a></span> +marvellously stupid and blind British police +touched their hats to them. G.J. smiled at her +in silence, aware by experience of the futility of +argument. He knew quite a lot of women who +had almost precisely Christine's attitude towards +the war, and quite a lot of men too. But he could +have wished the charming creature to be as desirable +for her intelligence as for her physical and +her strange spiritual charm: he could have wished +her not to be providing yet another specimen of +the phenomena of woman repeating herself so +monotonously in the various worlds of London. +The simpleton of fifty made in his soul an effort +to be superior, and failed. "What is it that binds +me to her?" he reflected, imagining himself to be +on the edge of a divine mystery, and never +expecting that he and Christine were the huge +contrivances of certain active spermatozoa for +producing other active spermatozoa.</p> + +<p>Christine did not wonder what bound her to +G.J. She knew, though she had never heard such +a word as spermatozoa. She had a violent passion +for him; it would, she feared, be eternal, whereas +his passion for her could not last more than a few +years. She knew what the passions of men were—so +she said to herself superiorly. Her passion +for him was in her smile as she smiled back at his +silent smile; but in her smile there was also a +convinced apostleship—for she alone was the +repository of the truth concerning Germans, which +truth she preached to an unheeding world. And +there was something else in her baffling smile, +namely, a quiet, good-natured, resigned resentment +against the richness of his home. He had +<span class="newpage"><a name="page130" id="page130">[130]</a></span> +treated her always with generosity, and at any +rate with rather more than fairness; he had not +attempted to conceal that he was a man of means; +she had nothing to reproach him with financially. +And yet she did reproach him—for having been +too modest. She had a pretty sure instinct for +the price of things, and she knew that this Albany +interior must have been very costly; further, it +displayed what she deemed to be the taste of an +exclusive aristocrat. She saw that she had been +undervaluing her Gilbert. The proprietor of this +flat would be entitled to seek relations of higher +standing than herself in the ranks of <i>cocotterie</i>; +he would be justified in spending far more money +on a girl than he had spent on her. He was +indeed something of a fraud with his exaggerated +English horror of parade. And he lived by +himself, save for servants; he was utterly free; +and yet for two months he had kept her out of +these splendours, prevented her from basking in +the glow of these chandeliers and lounging on these +extraordinary sofas and beholding herself in these +terrific mirrors. Even now he was ashamed to +let his servants see her. Was it altogether nice of +him? Her verdict on him had not the slightest +importance—even for herself. In kissing other +men she generally kissed him—to cheat her +appetite. She was at his mercy, whatever he was. +He was useful to her and kind to her; he might be +the fount of very important future advantages; but +he was more than that, he was indispensable to her. +She walked exploringly into the little glittering +bedroom. Beneath the fantastic dome of the +bed the sheets were turned down and a suit of +<span class="newpage"><a name="page131" id="page131">[131]</a></span> +pyjamas laid out. On a Chinese tray on a +lacquered table by the bed was a spirit-lamp and +kettle, and a box of matches in an embroidered +case with one match sticking out ready to be +seized and struck. She gazed, and left the bedroom, +saying nothing, and wandered elsewhere. +The stairs were so infinitesimal and dear and +delicious that they drew from her a sharp exclamation +of delight. She ran up them like a child. +G.J. turned switches. In the little glittering +dining-room a little cold repast was laid for two +on an inlaid table covered with a sheet of glass. +Christine gazed, saying nothing, and wandered +again to the drawing-room floor, while G.J. +hovered attendant. She went to the vast Regency +desk, idly fingering papers, and laid hold of a +document. It was his report on the accountacy +of the Lechford Hospitals in France. She +scrutinised it carefully, murmuring sentences from +it aloud in her French accent. At length she +dropped it; she did not put it down, she dropped +it, and murmured:</p> + +<p>"All that—what good does it do to wounded +men?... True, I comprehend nothing of it—I!"</p> + +<p>Then she sat to the piano, whose gorgeous and +fantastic case might well have intimidated even a +professional musician.</p> + +<p>"Dare I?" She took off her gloves.</p> + +<p>As she began to play her best waltz she looked +round at G.J. and said:</p> + +<p>"I adore thy staircase."</p> + +<p>And that was all she did say about the flat. +Still, her demeanour, mystifying as it might be, +was benign, benevolent, with a remarkable +<span class="newpage"><a name="page132" id="page132">[132]</a></span> +appearance of genuine humility.</p> + +<p>G.J., while she played, discreetly picked up +the telephone and got the Marlborough Club. He +spoke low, so as not to disturb the waltz, which +Christine in her nervousness was stumbling over.</p> + +<p>"I want to speak to Mr. Montague Ryper. +Yes, yes; he is in the club. I spoke to him about +an hour ago, and he is waiting for me to ring +him up.... That you, Monty? Well, dear +heart, I find I shan't be able to come to-night +after all. I should like to awfully, but I've got +these things I absolutely must finish.... You +understand.... No, no.... Is she, by Jove? +By-bye, old thing."</p> + +<p>When Christine had pettishly banged the last +chord of the coda, he came close to her and said, +with an appreciative smile, in English:</p> + +<p>"Charming, my little girl."</p> + +<p>She shook her head, gazing at the front of the +piano.</p> + +<p>He murmured—it was almost a whisper:</p> + +<p>"Take your things off."</p> + +<p>She looked round and up at him, and the light +diffused from a thousand lustres fell on her +mysterious and absorbed face.</p> + +<p>"My little rabbit, I cannot stay with thee +to-night."</p> + +<p>The words, though he did not by any means +take them as final, seriously shocked him. For +five days he had known that Mrs. Braiding, subject +to his convenience, was going down to Bramshott +to see the defender of the Empire. For four days +he had hesitated whether or not he should tell her +that she might stay away for the night. In the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page133" id="page133">[133]</a></span> +end he had told her to stay away; he had insisted +that she should stay; he had protested that he was +quite ready to look after himself for a night and +a morning. She had gone, unwillingly, having +first arranged a meal which he said he was to +share with a friend—naturally, for Mrs. Braiding, +a male friend. She had wanted him to dine at the +club, but he had explained to Mrs. Braiding that +he would be busy upon hospital work, and that +another member of the committee would be +coming to help him—the friend, of course. Even +when he had contrived this elaborate and perfect +plot he had still hesitated about the bold step of +inviting Christine to the flat. The plan was +extremely attractive, but it held dangers. Well, +he had invited her. If she had not been at home, +or if she had been unwilling to come, he would +not have felt desolated; he would have accepted +the fact as perhaps providential. But she was at +home; she was willing; she had come. She was +with him; she had put him into an ecstasy of +satisfaction and anticipation. One evening alone +with her in his own beautiful flat! What a frame +for her and for love! And now she said that she +would not stay. It was incredible; it could not be +permitted.</p> + +<p>"But why not? We are happy together. I +have just refused a dinner because of—this. +Didn't you hear me on the 'phone?"</p> + +<p>"Thou wast wrong," she smiled. "I am not +worth a dinner. It is essential that I should return +home. I am tired—tired. It is Sunday night, and +I have sworn to myself that I will pass this evening +at home—alone."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page134" id="page134">[134]</a></span> +<p>Exasperating, maddening creature! He thought: +"I fancied I knew her, and I don't know her. +I'm only just beginning to know her." He stared +steadily at her soft, serious, worried, enchanting +face, and tried to see through it into the arcana +of her queer little brain. He could not. The +sweet face foiled him.</p> + +<p>"Then why come?"</p> + +<p>"Because I wished to be nice to thee, to prove +to thee how nice I am."</p> + +<p>She seized her gloves. He saw that she meant +to go. His demeanour changed. He was aware +of his power over her, and he would use it. She +was being subtle; but he could be subtle too, far +subtler than Christine. True, he had not penetrated +her face. Nevertheless his instinct, and his +male gift of ratiocination, informed him that +beneath her gentle politeness she was vexed, hurt, +because he had got rid of Mrs. Braiding before +receiving her. She had her feelings, and despite +her softness she could resent. Still, her feelings +must not be over-indulged; they must not be +permitted to make a fool of her. He said, rather +teasingly, but firmly:</p> + +<p>"I know why she refuses to stay."</p> + +<p>She cried, plaintive:</p> + +<p>"It is not that I have another rendezvous. No! +But naturally thou thinkest it is that."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. The little silly wants to go back +home because she finds there is no servant here. +She is insulted in her pride. I noticed it in her +first words when she came in. And yet she ought +to know—"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page135" id="page135">[135]</a></span> +<p>Christine gave a loud laugh that really disconcerted +him.</p> + +<p>"Au revoir, my old one. Embrace me." She +dropped the veil.</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>He could play a game of pretence longer than +she could. She moved with dignity towards the +door, but never would she depart like that. He +knew that when it came to the point she was at +the mercy of her passion for him. She had confessed +the tyranny of her passion, as such victims +foolishly will. Moreover he had perceived it for +himself. He followed her to the door. At the door +she would relent. And, sure enough, at the door +she leapt at him and clasped his neck with fierceness +and fiercely kissed him through her veil, and +exclaimed bitterly:</p> + +<p>"Ah! Thou dost not love me, but I love thee!"</p> + +<p>But the next instant she had managed to open +the door and she was gone.</p> + +<p>He sprang out to the landing. She was running +down the stone stairs.</p> + +<p>"Christine!"</p> + +<p>She did not stop. G.J. might be marvellously +subtle; but he could not be subtle enough to +divine that on that night Christine happened to +be the devotee of the most clement Virgin, and +that her demeanour throughout the visit had been +contrived, half unconsciously, to enable her to +perform a deed of superb self-denial and renunciation +in the service of the dread goddess. He ate +most miserably alone, facing an empty chair; the +desolate solitude of the evening was terrible; he +lacked the force to go seeking succour in clubs.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page136" id="page136">[136]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_20"></a><h2>Chapter 20</h2> + +<h4>MASCOT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>A single light burned in Christine's bedroom. +It stood low on the pedestal by the wide bed +and was heavily shaded, so that only one half of +the bed, Christine's half, was exempt from the +general gloom of the chamber. The officer had +thus ordained things. The white, plump arm of +Christine was imprisoned under his neck. He +had ordered that too. He was asleep. Christine +watched him. On her return from the Albany +she had found him apparently just as she had left +him, except that he was much less talkative. +Indeed, though unswervingly polite—even punctilious +with her—he had grown quite taciturn and +very obstinate and finicking in self-assertion. +There was no detail as to which he did not +formulate a definite wish. Yet not until by chance +her eye fell on the whisky decanter did she perceive +that in her absence he had been copiously +drinking again. He was not, however, drunk. +Remorseful at her defection, she constituted herself +his slave; she covered him with acquiescences; she +drank his tippler's breath. And he was not particularly +responsive. He had all his own ideas. +He ought, for example, to have been hungry, but +his idea was that he was not hungry; therefore he +had refused her dishes.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page137" id="page137">[137]</a></span> +<p>She knew him better now. Save on one subject, +discussed in the afternoon, he was a dull, +narrow, direct man, especially in love. He had +no fancy, no humour, no resilience. Possibly he +worshipped women, as he had said, perhaps +devoutly; but his worship of the individual girl +tended more to ritualism than to ecstasy. The +Parisian devotee was thrown away on him, and +she felt it. But not with bitterness. On the +contrary, she liked him to be as he was; she liked +to be herself unappreciated, neglected, bored. +She thought of the delights which she had +renounced in the rich and voluptuous drawing-room +of the Albany; she gazed under the reddish +illumination at the tedious eternal market-place +on which she exposed her wares, and which in +Tottenham Court Road went by the name of bedstead; +and she gathered nausea and painful +longing to her breast as the Virgin gathered the +swords of the Dolours at the Oratory, and was +mystically happy in the ennui of serving the +miraculous envoy of the Virgin. And when +Marthe, uneasy, stole into the sitting-room, +Christine, the door being ajar, most faintly transmitted +to her a command in French to tranquillise +herself and go away. And outside a boy broke +the vast lull of the Sunday night with a shattering +cry of victory in the North Sea.</p> + +<p>Possibly it was this cry that roused the officer +out of his doze. He sat up, looked unseeing at +Christine's bright smile and at the black gauze +that revealed the reality of her youth, and then +reached for his tunic which hung at the foot of +the bed.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page138" id="page138">[138]</a></span> +<p>"You asked about my mascot," he said, drawing +from a pocket a small envelope of semi-transparent +oilskin. "Here it is. Now that is a +mascot!"</p> + +<p>He had wakened under the spell of his original +theme, of his sole genuine subject. He spoke with +assurance, as one inspired. His eyes, as they +masterfully encountered Christine's eyes, had a +strange, violent, religious expression. Christine's +eyes yielded to his, and her smile vanished +in seriousness. He undid the envelope and +displayed an oval piece of red cloth with a picture +of Christ, his bleeding heart surrounded +by flames and thorns and a great cross in the +background.</p> + +<p>"That," said the officer, "will bring anybody +safe home again." Christine was too awed even +to touch the red cloth. The vision of the +dishevelled, inspired man in khaki shirt, collar and +tie, holding the magic saviour in his thin, veined, +aristocratic hand, powerfully impressed her, and +she neither moved nor spoke.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen the 'Touchwood' mascot?" +he asked. She signified a negative, and then +nervously fingered her gauze. "No? It's a well-known +mascot. Sort of tiny imp sort of thing, +with a huge head, glittering eyes, a khaki cap of +<i>oak</i>, and crossed legs in gold and silver. I hear +that tens of thousands of them are sold. But +there is nothing like my mascot."</p> + +<p>"Where have you got it?" Christine asked +in her queer but improving English.</p> + +<p>"Where did I get it? Just after Mons, on the +road, in a house."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page139" id="page139">[139]</a></span> +<p>"Have you been in the retreat?"</p> + +<p>"I was."</p> + +<p>"And the angels? Have you seen them?"</p> + +<p>He paused, and then said with solemnity:</p> + +<p>"Was it an angel I saw?... I was lying doggo +by myself in a hole, and bullets whizzing over +me all the time. It was nearly dark, and a figure +in white came and stood by the hole; he stood +quite still and the German bullets went on just +the same. Suddenly I saw he was wounded in +the hand; it was bleeding. I said to him: 'You're +hit in the hand.' 'No,' he said—he had a most +beautiful voice—'that is an old wound. It has +reopened lately. I have another wound in the +other hand.' And he showed me the other hand, +and that was bleeding too. Then the firing ceased, +and he pointed, and although I'd eaten nothing +at all that day and was dead-beat, I got up and +ran the way he pointed, and in five minutes I ran +into what remained of my unit."</p> + +<p>The officer's sonorous tones ceased; he shut +his lips tightly, as though clinching the testimony, +and the life of the bedroom was suspended in +absolute silence.</p> + +<p>"That's what <i>I</i> saw.... And with the lack +of food my brain was absolutely clear."</p> + +<p>Christine, on her back, trembled.</p> + +<p>The officer replaced his mascot. Then he said, +waving the little bag:</p> + +<p>"Of course, there are fellows who don't need +mascots. Fellows that if their name isn't written +on a bullet or a piece of shrapnel it won't reach +them any more than a letter not addressed to you +would reach you. Now my Colonel, for instance—it +<span class="newpage"><a name="page140" id="page140">[140]</a></span> +was he who told me how good my mascot was—well, +he can stop shells, turn 'em back. Yes. +He's just got the D.S.O. And he said to me, +'Edgar,' he said, 'I don't deserve it. I got it by +inspiration.' And so he did.... What time's +that?"</p> + +<p>The gilded Swiss clock in the drawing-room +was striking its tiny gong.</p> + +<p>"Nine o'clock."</p> + +<p>The officer looked dully at his wrist-watch +which, not having been wound on the previous +night, had inconsiderately stopped.</p> + +<p>"Then I can't catch my train at Victoria." He +spoke in a changed voice, lifeless, and sank back +on the bed.</p> + +<p>"Train? What train?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Only the leave train. My leave +is up to-night. To-morrow I ought to have been +back in the trenches."</p> + +<p>"But you have told me nothing of it! If you +had told me—But not one word, my dear."</p> + +<p>"When one is with a woman—!"</p> + +<p>He seemed gloomily and hopelessly to reproach +her.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page141" id="page141">[141]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_21"></a><h2>Chapter 21</h2> + +<h4>THE LEAVE-TRAIN</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"What o'clock—your train?"</p> + +<p>"Nine-thirty."</p> + +<p>"But you can catch it. You must catch it."</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "It's fate," he muttered, +bitterly resigned. "What is written is written."</p> + +<p>Christine sprang to the floor, shuffled off the +black gauze in almost a single movement, and +seized some of her clothes.</p> + +<p>"Quick! You shall catch your train. The +clock is wrong—the clock is too soon."</p> + +<p>She implored him with positive desperation. +She shook him and dragged him, energised in an +instant by the overwhelming idea that for him to +miss his train would be fatal to him—and to her +also. She could and did believe in the efficacy +of mascots against bullets and shrapnel and +bayonets. But the traditions of a country of conscripts +were ingrained in her childhood and youth, +and she had not the slightest faith in the efficacy +of no matter what mascot to protect from the +consequences of indiscipline. And already during +her short career in London she had had good +reason to learn the sacredness of the leave-train. +Fantastic tales she had heard of capital executions +for what seemed trifling laxities—tales whispered +<span class="newpage"><a name="page142" id="page142">[142]</a></span> +half proudly by the army in the rooms of horrified +courtesans—tales in which the remote and ruthless +imagined figure of the Grand Provost-Marshal +rivalled that of God himself. And, moreover, if +this man fell into misfortune through her, she +would eternally lose the grace of the most clement +Virgin who had confided him to her and who was +capable of terrible revenges. She secretly called +on the Virgin. Nay, she became the Virgin. She +found a miraculous strength, and furiously pulled +the poor sot out of bed. The fibres of his character +had been soaked away, and she mystically +replaced them with her own. Intimidated and, as +it were, mesmerised, he began to dress. She +rushed as she was to the door.</p> + +<p>"Marthe! Marthe!"</p> + +<p>"Madame?" replied the fat woman in alarm.</p> + +<p>"Run for a taxi."</p> + +<p>"But, madame, it is raining terribly."</p> + +<p>"<i>Je m'en fous</i>! Run for a taxi."</p> + +<p>Turning back into the room she repeated; +"The clock is too soon." But she knew that it +was not. Nearly nude, she put on a hat.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Do not worry. I come with you."</p> + +<p>She took a skirt and a jersey and then threw +a cloak over everything. He was very slow; he +could find nothing; he could button nothing. She +helped him. But when he began to finger his +leggings with the endless laces and the innumerable +eyelets she snatched them from him.</p> + +<p>"Those—in the taxi," she said.</p> + +<p>"But there is no taxi."</p> + +<p>"There will be a taxi. I have sent the maid."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page143" id="page143">[143]</a></span> +<p>At the last moment, as she was hurrying him +on to the staircase, she grasped her handbag. +They stumbled one after the other down the dark +stairs. He had now caught the infection of her +tremendous anxiety. She opened the front door. +The glistening street was absolutely empty; the +rain pelted on the pavements and the roadway, +each drop falling like a missile and raising a +separate splash, so that it seemed as if the flood +on the earth was leaping up to meet the flood from +the sky.</p> + +<p>"Come!" she said with hysterical impatience. +"We cannot wait. There will be a taxi in Piccadilly, +I know."</p> + +<p>Simultaneously a taxi swerved round the corner +of Burlington Street. Marthe stood on the step +next to the driver. As the taxi halted she jumped +down. Her drenched white apron was over her +head and she was wet to the skin.</p> + +<p>In the taxi, while the officer struck matches, +Christine knelt and fastened his leggings; he could +not have performed the nice operation for himself. +And all the time she was doing something else—she +was pushing forward the whole taxi, till her +muscles ached with the effort. Then she sat back +on the seat, smoothed her hair under the hat, +unclasped the bag, and patted her features +delicately with the powder-puff. Neither knew +the exact time, and in vain they tried to discern +the faces of clocks that flew past them in the heavy +rain. Christine sighed and said:</p> + +<p>"These tempests. This rain. They say it is +because of the big cannons—which break the +clouds."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page144" id="page144">[144]</a></span> +<p>The officer, who had the air of being in a dream, +suddenly bent towards her and replied with a +most strange solemnity:</p> + +<p>"It is to wash away the blood!"</p> + +<p>She had not thought of that. Of course it was! +She sighed again.</p> + +<p>As they neared Victoria the officer said:</p> + +<p>"My kit-bag! It's at the hotel. Shall I have +time to pay my bill and get it? The Grosvenor's +next to the station, you know."</p> + +<p>She answered unhesitatingly: "You will go +direct to the train. I will try the hotel."</p> + +<p>"Drive round to the Grosvenor entrance like +hell," he instructed the driver when the taxi +stopped in the station yard.</p> + +<p>In the hotel she would never have got the bag, +owing to her difficulties in explaining the situation +in English to a haughty reception-clerk, had not +a French-Swiss waiter been standing by. She +flung imploring French sentences at the waiter +like a stream from a hydrant. The bill was produced +in less than half a minute. She put down +money of her own to pay for it, for she had +refused to wait at the station while the officer +fished in the obscurities of his purse. The bag, into +which a menial had crammed a kit probably scattered +about the bedroom, arrived unfastened. +Once more at the station, she gave the cabman all +the change which she had received at the hotel +counter. By a miracle she made a porter understand +what was needed and how urgently it was +needed. He said the train was just going, and ran. +She ran after him. The ticket-collector at the +platform gate allowed the porter to pass, but +<span class="newpage"><a name="page145" id="page145">[145]</a></span> +raised an implacable arm to prevent her from +following. She had no platform ticket, and she +could not possibly be travelling by the train. +Then she descried her officer standing at an open +carriage door in conversation with another officer +and tapping his leggings with his cane. How +aristocratic and disdainful and self-absorbed the +pair looked! They existed in a world utterly +different from hers. They were the triumphant +and negligent males. She endeavoured to direct +the porter with her pointing hand, and then, +hysterical again, she screamed out the one identifying +word she knew: "Edgar!"</p> + +<p>It was lost in the resounding echoes of the +immense vault. Edgar certainly did not hear it. +But he caught the great black initials, "E.W." +on the kit-bag as the porter staggered along, and +stopped the aimless man, and the kit-bag was +thrown into the apartment. Doors were now +banging. Christine saw Edgar take out his purse +and fumble at it. But Edgar's companion pushed +Edgar into the train and himself gave a tip which +caused the porter to salute extravagantly. The +porter, at any rate, had been rewarded. Christine +began to cry, not from chagrin, but with relief. +Women on the platform waved absurd little white +handkerchiefs. Heads and khaki shoulders stuck +out of the carriage windows of the shut train. A +small green flag waved; arms waved like semaphores. +The train ought to have been gliding +away, but something delayed it, and it was held +as if spellbound under the high, dim semicircle +of black glass, amid the noises of steam, the hissing +of electric globes, the horrible rattle of luggage +<span class="newpage"><a name="page146" id="page146">[146]</a></span> +trucks, the patter of feet, and the vast, murmuring +gloom. Christine saw Edgar leaning from a +window and gazing anxiously about. The little +handkerchiefs were still courageously waving, and +she, too, waved a little wisp. But he did not see +her; he was not looking in the right place for her.</p> + +<p>She thought: Why did he not stay near the +gate for me? But she thought again: Because he +feared to miss the train. It was necessary that he +should be close to his compartment. He knows +he is not quite sober.</p> + +<p>She wondered whether he had any relatives, +or any relations with another woman. He seemed +to be as solitary as she was.</p> + +<p>On the same side of the platform-gate as herself +a very tall, slim, dandy of an officer was bending +over a smartly-dressed girl, smiling at her and +whispering. Suddenly the girl turned from him +with a disdainful toss of the head and said in a +loud, clear Cockney voice:</p> + +<p>"You can't tell the tale to me, young man. +This is my second time on earth."</p> + +<p>Christine heard the words, but was completely +puzzled. The train moved, at first almost +imperceptibly. The handkerchiefs showed extreme +agitation. Then a raucous song floated from the +train:</p> + +"John Brown's baby's got a pimple on his—<i>shoooo</i>—<br /> +John Brown's baby's got a pimple on his—<i>shoooo</i>—<br /> +John Brown's baby's got a pimple on his—<i>shoooo</i>—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and we all went marching home.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Glory, glory, Alleluia!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Glory, glory ..."</span><br /> + +<p>The rails showed empty where the train had +<span class="newpage"><a name="page147" id="page147">[147]</a></span> +been, and the sound of the song faded and died. +Some of the women were crying. Christine felt +that she was in a land of which she understood +nothing but the tears. She also felt very cold in +the legs.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page148" id="page148">[148]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_22"></a><h2>Chapter 22</h2> + +<h4>GETTING ON WITH THE WAR</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The floors of the Reynolds Galleries were +covered with some hundreds of very well-dressed +and very expensively-dressed women and some +scores of men. The walls were covered with a loan +collection of oil-paintings, water-colour drawings, +and etchings—English and French, but chiefly +English. A very large proportion of the pictures +were portraits of women done by a select group of +very expensive painters in the highest vogue. These +portraits were the main attraction of the elegant +crowd, which included many of the sitters; as for +the latter, they failed to hide under an unconvincing +mask of indifference their curiosity as to their +own effectiveness in a frame.</p> + +<p>The portraits for the most part had every +quality save that of sincerity. They were +transcendantly adroit and they reeked of talent. +They were luxurious, refined, sensual, titillating, +exquisite, tender, compact, of striking poses and +subtle new tones. And while the heads were well +finished and instantly recognisable as likenesses, +the impressionism of the hands and of the provocative +draperies showed that the artists had +fully realised the necessity of being modern. The +mischief and the damnation were that the sitters +<span class="newpage"><a name="page149" id="page149">[149]</a></span> +liked them because they produced in the sitters +the illusion that the sitters were really what the +sitters wanted to be, and what indeed nearly +every woman in the galleries wanted to be; +and the ideal of the sitters was a low ideal. The +portraits flattered; but only a few guessed that +they flattered ignobly; scarcely any even of the +artists guessed that.</p> + +<p>The portraits were a success; the exhibition +was a success; and all the people at the private +view justly felt that they were part of and +contributing to the success. And though seemingly the +aim of everybody was to prove to everybody else +that no war, not the greatest war, could disturb +the appearances of social life in London, yet many +were properly serious and proud in their seriousness. +It was the autumn of 1915. British troops +were triumphantly on the road to Kut, and British +forces were approaching decisive victory in +Gallipoli. The Russians had turned on their +pursuers. The French had initiated in Champagne +an offensive so dramatic that it was regarded as +the beginning of the end. And the British on their +left, in the taking of Loos and Hill 70, had achieved +what might have been regarded as the greatest +success on the Western Front, had it not been for +the rumour, current among the informed personages +at the Reynolds Galleries, that recent +bulletins had been reticent to the point of deception +and that, in fact, Hill 70 had ceased to be +ours a week earlier. Further, Zeppelins had raided +London and killed and wounded numerous +Londoners, and all present in the Reynolds +Galleries were aware, from positive statements in +<span class="newpage"><a name="page150" id="page150">[150]</a></span> +the newspapers, that whereas German morale was +crumbling, all Londoners, including themselves, +had behaved with the most marvellous stoic calm +in the ordeal of the Zeppelins.</p> + +<p>The assembly had a further and particular +reason for serious pride. It was getting on with +the war, and in a most novel way. Private views +are customarily views gratis. But the entry to this +private view cost a guinea, and there was absolutely +no free list. The guineas were going to the support +of the Lechford Hospitals in France. The happy +idea was G.J.'s own, and Lady Queenie Paulle +and her mother had taken the right influential +measures to ensure its grandiose execution. A +queen had visited the private view for half an +hour. Thus all the very well-dressed and very +expensively-dressed women, and all the men who +admired and desired them as they moved, in +voluptuous perfection, amid dazzling pictures with +the soft illumination of screened skylights above +and the reflections in polished parquet below—all +of both sexes were comfortably conscious of virtue +in the undoubted fact that they were helping to +support two renowned hospitals where at that +very moment dissevered legs and arms were being +thrown into buckets.</p> + +<p>In a little room at the end of the galleries was +a small but choice collection of the etchings of +Félicien Rops: a collection for connoisseurs, as +the critics were to point out in the newspapers +the next morning. For Rops, though he had an +undeniable partiality for subjects in which ugly +and prurient women displayed themselves in +nothing but the inessentials of costume, was a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page151" id="page151">[151]</a></span> +classic before whom it was necessary to bow the +head in homage.</p> + +<p>G.J. was in this room in company with a young +and handsome Staff officer, Lieutenant Molder, +home on convalescent leave from Suvla Bay. +Mr. Molder had left Oxford in order to join the +army; he had behaved admirably, and well +earned the red shoulder-ornaments which pure +accident had given him. He was a youth of +artistic and literary tastes, with genuine ambitions +quite other than military, and after a year of +horrible existence in which he had hungered for +the arts more than for anything, he was solacing +and renewing himself in the contemplation of all +the masterpieces that London could show. He +greatly esteemed G.J.'s connoisseurship, and G.J. +had taken him in hand. At the close of a +conscientious and highly critical round of the +galleries they had at length reached the Rops +room, and they were discussing every aspect of +Rops except his lubricity, when Lady Queenie +Paulle approached them from behind. Molder +was the first to notice her and turn. He blushed.</p> + +<p>"Well, Queen," said G.J., who had already +had several conversations with her in the galleries +that day and on the previous days of preparation.</p> + +<p>She replied:</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope you're satisfied with the results +of your beautiful idea."</p> + +<p>The young woman, slim and pale, had long +since gone out of mourning. She was most +brilliantly attired, and no detail lacked to the +perfection of her modish outfit. Indeed, just as she +was, she would have made a marvellous mannequin, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page152" id="page152">[152]</a></span> +except for the fact that mannequins are not +usually allowed to perfume themselves in business +hours. Her thin, rather high voice, which somehow +matched her complexion and carriage, had +its customary tone of amiable insolence, and her +tired, drooping eyes their equivocal glance, as +she faced the bearded and grave middle-aged +bachelor and the handsome, muscular boy; even +the boy was older than Queen, yet she seemed to +condescend to them as if she were an immortal +from everlasting to everlasting and could teach +both of them all sorts of useful things about life. +Nobody could have guessed from that serene +demeanour that her self-satisfaction was marred +by any untoward detail whatever. Yet it was. All +her frocks were designed to conceal a serious defect +which seriously disturbed her: she was low-breasted.</p> + +<p>G.J. said bluntly:</p> + +<p>"May I present Mr. Molder?—Lady Queenie +Paulle."</p> + +<p>And he said to himself, secretly annoyed:</p> + +<p>"Dash the infernal chit. That's what she's +come for. Now she's got it."</p> + +<p>She gave the slightest, dubious nod to Molder, +who, having faced fighting Turks with an equanimity +equal to Queenie's own, was yet considerably +flurried by the presence and the gaze of this +legendary girl. Queenie, enjoying his agitation, +but affecting to ignore him, began to talk quickly +in the vein of exclusive gossip; she mentioned in +a few seconds the topics of the imminent entry of +Bulgaria into the war, the maturing Salonika +expedition, the confidential terrible utterances of +<span class="newpage"><a name="page153" id="page153">[153]</a></span> +K. on recruiting, and, of course, the misfortune +(due to causes which Queenie had at her finger-ends) +round about Loos. Then in regard to the +last she suddenly added, quite unjustifiably +implying that the two phenomena were connected: +"You know, mother's hospitals are frightfully +full just now.... But, of course, you do know. +That's why I'm so specially glad to-day's such a +success."</p> + +<p>Thus in a moment, and with no more than +ten phrases, she had conveyed the suggestion that +while mere soldiers, ageing men-about-town, and +the ingenuous mass of the public might and did +foolishly imagine the war to be a simple affair, +she herself, by reason of her intelligence and her +private sources of knowledge, had a full, unique +apprehension of its extremely complex and various +formidableness. G.J. resented the familiar attitude, +and he resented Queenie's very appearance +and the appearance of the entire opulent scene. +In his head at that precise instant were not only +the statistics of mortality and major operations at +the Lechford Hospitals, but also the astounding +desolating tales of the handsome boy about folly, +ignorance, stupidity and martyrdoms at Suvla.</p> + +<p>He said, with the peculiar polite restraint that +in him masked emotion and acrimony:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm glad it's a success. But the machinery +of it is perhaps just slightly out of proportion to +the results. If people had given to the hospitals +what they have spent on clothes to come here +and what they've paid painters so that they could +see themselves on the walls, we should have made +twenty times as much as we have made—a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page154" id="page154">[154]</a></span> +hundred times as much. Why, good god! Queen, +the whole afternoon's takings wouldn't buy what +you're wearing now, to say nothing of the five +hundred other women here." His eye rested on +the badge of her half-brother's regiment which +she had had reproduced in diamonds.</p> + +<p>At this juncture he heard himself addressed in +a hearty, heavy voice as "G.J., old soul." An +officer with the solitary crown on his sleeve, bald, +stoutish, but probably not more than forty-five, +touched him—much gentler than he spoke—on +the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Craive, my son! You back! Well, it's startling +to see you at a picture-show, anyhow."</p> + +<p>The Major, saluting Lady Queenie as a distant +acquaintance, retorted:</p> + +<p>"Morally, you owe me a guinea, my dear G.J. +I called at the flat, and the young woman there +told me you'd surely be here."</p> + +<p>While they were talking G.J. could hear +Queenie Paulle and Molder:</p> + +<p>"Where are you back from?"</p> + +<p>"Suvla, Lady Queenie."</p> + +<p>"You must be oozing with interest and actuality. +Tell G.J. to bring you to tea one day, quite, +quite soon, will you? <i>I</i>'ll tell him." And Molder +murmured something fatuously conventional. +G.J. showed decorously that he had caught his +own name. Whereupon Lady Queenie, instead +of naming a day for tea, addressed him almost +bitterly:</p> + +<p>"G.J., what's come over you? What in the +name of Pan do you suppose all you males are +fighting each other for?" She paused effectively. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page155" id="page155">[155]</a></span> +"Good god! If I began to dress like a housemaid +the Germans would be in London in a +month. Our job as women is quite delicate +enough without you making it worse by any +damned sentimental superficiality.... I want you +to bring Mr. Molder to tea <i>to-morrow</i>, and if you +can't come he must come alone...."</p> + +<p>With a last strange look at Molder she retired +into the glitter of the crowded larger room.</p> + +<p>"She been driving any fresh men to suicide +lately?" Major Craive demanded acidly under his +breath.</p> + +<p>G.J. raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>Then: "That's not <i>you</i>, Frankie!" said the Major +with a start of recognition towards the Staff +lieutenant.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Molder.</p> + +<p>They shook hands. At the previous Christmas +they had lain out together on the cliffs of the +east coast in wild weather, waiting to repel a +phantom army of thirty thousand Germans.</p> + +<p>"It was the red hat put me off," the Major +explained.</p> + +<p>"Not my fault, sir," Molder smiled.</p> + +<p>"Devilish glad to see you, my boy."</p> + +<p>G.J. murmured to Molder:</p> + +<p>"You don't want to go and have tea with her, +do you?"</p> + +<p>And Molder answered, with the somewhat +fatuous, self-conscious grin that no amount of +intelligence can keep out of the face of a good-looking +fellow who knows that he has made an +impression:</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know—"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page156" id="page156">[156]</a></span> +<p>G.J. raised his eyebrows again, but with +indulgence, and winked at Craive.</p> + +<p>The Major shut his lips tight, then stood with +his mouth open for a second or two in the attitude +of a man suddenly receiving the onset of a great +and original idea.</p> + +<p>"She's right, hang it all!" he exclaimed. +"She's right! Of course she is! Why, what's +all this"—he waved an arm at the whole scene—"what's +all this but sex? Look at 'em! And +look at their portraits! You aren't going to tell +me! What's the good of pretending? Hang it +all, when my own aunt comes down to breakfast +in a low-cut blouse that would have given her fits +even in the evening ten years ago!... And jolly +fine too. I'm all for it. The more of it the merrier—that's +what I say. And don't any of you high-brows +go trying to alter it. If you do I retire, and +you can defend your own bally Front."</p> + +<p>"Craive," said G.J. affectionately, "until you +and Queen came along Molder and I really +thought we were at a picture exhibition, and we +still think so, don't we, Molder?" The Lieutenant +nodded. "Now, as you're here, just let me show +you one or two things."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" breathed the Major, "have pity. It's +not any canvas woman that I want—By +Jove!" He caught sight of an invention of +Félicien Rops, a pig on the end of a string, leading, +or being driven by, a woman who wore +nothing but stockings, boots and a hat. "What +do you call that?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, that's one of the most famous +etchings in the world."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page157" id="page157">[157]</a></span> +<p>"Is it?" the Major said. "Well, I'm not +surprised. There's more in this business than I +imagined." He set himself to examine all the +exhibits by Rops, and when he had finished he +turned to G.J.</p> + +<p>"Listen here, G.J. We're going to make a +night of it. I've decided on that."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, dear heart," said G.J. "I'm engaged +with Molder to-night. We shall have some private +chamber-music at my rooms—just for ourselves. +You ought to come. Much better for your health."</p> + +<p>"What time will the din be over?"</p> + +<p>"About eleven."</p> + +<p>"Now I say again—listen here. Let's talk +business. I'll come to your chamber-music. I've +been before, and survived, and I'll come again. +But afterwards you'll come with me to the Guinea-Fowl."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear chap, I can't throw Molder out +into Vigo Street at eleven o'clock," G.J. protested, +startled by the blunt mention of the +notorious night-club in the young man's presence.</p> + +<p>"Naturally you can't. He'll come along with +us. Frankie and I have nearly fallen into the +North Sea or German Ocean together, haven't +we, Frankie? It'll be my show. And I'll turn up +with the stuff—one, two or three pretty ladies +according as your worship wishes."</p> + +<p>G.J. was now more than startled; he was +shocked; he felt his cheeks reddening. It was the +presence of Molder that confused him. Never +had he talked to Molder on any subjects but the +arts, and if they had once or twice lighted on the +topic of women it was only in connection with the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page158" id="page158">[158]</a></span> +arts. He was really interested in and admired +Molder's unusual aesthetic intelligence, and he had +done what he could to foster it, and he immensely +appreciated Molder's youthful esteem for himself. +Moreover, he was easily old enough to be Molder's +father. It seemed to him that though two generations +might properly mingle in anything else, they +ought not to mingle in licence. Craive's crudity +was extraordinary.</p> + +<p>"See here!" Craive went on, serious and +determined. "You know the sort of thing I've +come from. I got four days unexpected. I had +to run down to my uncle's. The old things would +have died if I hadn't. To-morrow I go back. +This is my last night. I haven't had a scratch up +to now. But my turn's coming, you bet. Next week +I may be in heaven or hell or anywhere, or blind +for life or without my legs or any damn thing you +please. But I'm going to have to-night, and you're +going to join in."</p> + +<p>G.J. saw the look of simple, half-worshipful +appeal that sometimes came into Craive's rather +ingenuous face. He well knew that look, and it +always touched him. He remembered certain +descriptive letters which he had received from +Craive at the Front,—they corresponded faithfully. +He could not have explained the intimacy +of his relations with Craive. They had begun at a +club, over cards. The two had little in common—Craive +was a stockbroker when world-wars did +not happen to be in progress—but G.J. greatly +liked him because, with all his crudity, he was +such a decent, natural fellow, so kind-hearted, +so fresh and unassuming. And Craive on his part +<span class="newpage"><a name="page159" id="page159">[159]</a></span> +had developed an admiration for G.J. which G.J. +was quite at a loss to account for. The one clue +to the origin of the mysterious attachment +between them had been a naive phrase which he +had once overheard Craive utter to a mutual +acquaintance: "Old G.J.'s so subtle, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>G.J. said to himself, reconsidering the proposal:</p> + +<p>"And why on earth not?"</p> + +<p>And then aloud, soothingly, to Craive:</p> + +<p>"All right! All right!"</p> + +<p>The Major brightened and said to Molder:</p> + +<p>"You'll come, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, rather!" answered Molder, quite simply.</p> + +<p>And G.J., again to himself, said:</p> + +<p>"I am a simpleton."</p> + +<p>The Major's pleading, and the spectacle of the +two officers with their precarious hold on life, +humiliated G.J. as well as touched him. And, if +only in order to avoid the momentary humiliation, +he would have been well content to be able to roll +back his existence and to have had a military +training and to be with them in the sacred and +proud uniform.</p> + +<p>"Now listen here!" said the Major. "About +the aforesaid pretty ladies—"</p> + +<p>There they stood together in the corner, hiding +several of Rops's eccentricities, ostensibly discussing +art, charity, world-politics, the strategy of +war, the casualty lists.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page160" id="page160">[160]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_23"></a><h2>Chapter 23</h2> + +<h4>THE CALL</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Christine found the night at the guinea-fowl +rather dull. The supper-room, garish and tawdry +in its decorations, was functioning as usual. The +round tables and the square tables, the tables large +and the tables small, were well occupied with +mixed parties and couples. Each table had its own +yellow illumination, and the upper portion of the +room, with a certain empty space in the centre +of it, was bafflingly shadowed. Between two high, +straight falling curtains could be seen a section +of the ball-room, very bright against the curtains, +with the figures of dancers whose bodies seemed +to be glued to each other, pale to black or pale +to khaki, passing slowly and rhythmically across. +The rag-time music, over a sort of ground-bass of +syncopated tom-tom, surged through the curtains +like a tide of the sea of Aphrodite, and bathed +everyone at the supper-tables in a mysterious +aphrodisiacal fluid. The waiters alone were insensible +to its influence. They moved to and fro +with the impassivity and disdain of eunuchs +separated for ever from the world's temptations. +Loud laughs or shrill little shrieks exploded at +intervals from the sinister melancholy of the +interior.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page161" id="page161">[161]</a></span> +<p>On Christine's left, at a round table in a corner, +sat G.J.; on her right, the handsome boy Molder. +On Molder's right, Miss Aida Altown spread her +amplitude, and on G.J.'s left was a young girl +known to the company as Alice. Major Craive, +the host, the splendid quality of whose hospitality +was proved by the flowers, the fruit, the bottles, +the cigar-boxes and the cigarette-boxes on the +table, sat between Alice and Aida Altown.</p> + +<p>The three women on principle despised and +scorned each other with false warm smiles and +sudden outbursts of compliment. Christine knew +that the other two detested her as being "one of +those French girls" who, under the protection of +Free Trade, came to London and, by their lack +of scruple and decency, took the bread out of the +mouths of the nice, modest, respectable, English +girls. She on her side disdained both of them, +not merely because they were courtesans (which +somehow Christine considered she really was not), +but also for their characteristic insipidity, +lackadaisicalness and ignorance of the technique of +the profession. They expected to be paid for doing +nothing.</p> + +<p>Aida Altown she knew by sight as belonging +to a great rival Promenade. Aida had reached +the purgatory of obesity which Christine always +feared. Despite the largeness of her mass, she +was a very beautiful woman in the English manner, +blonde, soft, idle, without a trace of temperament, +and incomparably dull and stupid. But she was +ageing; she had been favourably known in the +West End continuously (save for a brief escapade +in New York) for perhaps a quarter of a century. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page162" id="page162">[162]</a></span> +She was at the period when such as she realise +with flaccid alarm that they have no future, and +when they are ready to risk grave imprudences for +youths who feel flattered by their extreme +maturity. Christine gazed calmly at her, supercilious +and secure in the immense advantage of at +least fifteen years to the good.</p> + +<p>And if she shrugged her shoulders at Aida for +being too old, Christine did the same at Alice for +being too young. Alice was truly a girl—probably +not more than seventeen. Her pert, pretty, +infantile face was an outrage against the code. +She was a mere amateur, with everything to learn, +absurdly presuming upon the very quality which +would vanish first. And she was a fool. She +obviously had no sense, not even the beginnings of +sense. She was wearing an impudently expensive +frock which must have cost quite five times as +much as Christine's own, though the latter in the +opinion of the wearer was by far the more +authentically <i>chic</i>. And she talked proudly at +large about her losses on the turf and of the +swindles practised upon her. Christine admitted +that the girl could make plenty of money, and +would continue to make money for a long, long +time, bar accidents, but her final conclusion about +Alice was: "She will end on straw."</p> + +<p>The supper was over. The conversation had +never been vivacious, and now it was half-drowned +in champagne. The girls had wanted to hear +about the war, but the Major, who had arrived in +a rather dogmatic mood, put an absolute ban on +shop. Alice had then kept the talk, such as it was, +upon her favourite topic—revues. She was an +<span class="newpage"><a name="page163" id="page163">[163]</a></span> +encyclopaedia of knowledge concerning revues +past, present, and to come. She had once indeed +figured for a few grand weeks in a revue chorus, +thereby acquiring unique status in her world. The +topic palled upon both Aida and Christine. And +Christine had said to herself: "They are aware of +nothing, those two," for Aida and Alice had +proved to be equally and utterly ignorant of the +superlative social event of the afternoon, the +private view at the Reynolds Galleries—at which +indeed Christine had not assisted, but of which she +had learnt all the intimate details from G.J. +What, Christine demanded, <i>could</i> be done with +such a pair of ninnies?</p> + +<p>She might have been excused for abandoning +all attempt to behave as a woman of the world +should at a supper party. Nevertheless, she continued +good-naturedly and conscientiously in the +performance of her duty to charm, to divert, and +to enliven. After all, the ladies were there to +captivate the males, and if Aida and Alice dishonestly +flouted obligations, Christine would not. +She would, at any rate, show them how to behave.</p> + +<p>She especially attended to G.J., who having +drunk little, was taciturn and preoccupied in his +amiabilities. She divined that something was the +matter, but she could not divine that his thoughts +were saddened by the recollection at the Guinea-Fowl +of the lovely music which he had heard +earlier in his drawing-room and by the memory of +the Major's letters and of what the Major had said +at the Reynolds Galleries about the past and the +possibilities of the future. The Major was very +benevolently intoxicated, and at short intervals he +<span class="newpage"><a name="page164" id="page164">[164]</a></span> +raised his glass to G.J., who did not once fail to +respond with an affectionate smile which +Christine had never before seen on G.J.'s face.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Alice, who had been lounging semi-somnolent +with an extinct cigarette in her jewelled +fingers, sat up and said in the uncertain voice of +an inexperienced girl who has ceased to count the +number of glasses emptied:</p> + +<p>"Shall I recite? I've been trained, you know."</p> + +<p>And, not waiting for an answer, she stood and +recited, with a surprisingly correct and sure +pronunciation of difficult words to show that +she had, in fact, received some training:</p> + +Helen, thy beauty is to me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like those Nicean barks of yore,</span><br /> +That gently o'er a perfumed sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The weary, wayworn wanderer bore</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his own native shore.</span><br /> +<br /> +On desperate seas long wont to roam,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,</span><br /> +Thy naiad airs have brought me home<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the glory that was Greece,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the grandeur that was Rome.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lo! In your brilliant window niche,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How statue-like I see thee stand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The agate lamp within thy hand!</span><br /> +Ah, Psyche from the regions which<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are Holy Land!</span><br /> + +<p>The uncomprehended marvellous poem, having +startled the whole room, ceased, and the rag-time +<span class="newpage"><a name="page165" id="page165">[165]</a></span> +resumed its sway. A drunken "Bravo!" came +from one table, a cheer from another. Young +Alice nodded an acknowledgment and sank loosely +into her chair, exhausted by her last effort against +the spell of champagne and liqueurs. And the +naive, big Major, bewitched by the child, subsided +into soft contact with her, and they almost +tearfully embraced. A waiter sedately replaced a +glass which Alice's drooping, negligent hand had +over-turned, and wiped the cloth. G.J. was silent. +The whole table was silent.</p> + +<p>"<i>Est-ce de la grande poésie</i>?" asked Christine of +G.J., who did not reply. Christine, though she +condemned Alice as now disgusting, had been +taken aback and, in spite of herself, much impressed +by the surprising display of elocution.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oui</i>," said Molder, in his clipped, self-conscious +Oxford French.</p> + +<p>Two couples from other tables were dancing in +the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>Molder demanded, leaning towards her:</p> + +<p>"I say, do you dance?"</p> + +<p>"But certainly," said Christine. "I learnt at the +convent." And she spoke of her convent education, +a triumphant subject with her, though she +had actually spent less than a year in the convent.</p> + +<p>After a few moments they both rose, and +Christine, bending over G.J., whispered lovingly +in his ear:</p> + +<p>"Dear, thou wilt not be jealous if I dance one +turn with thy young friend?"</p> + +<p>She was addressing the wrong person. Already +throughout the supper Aida, ignoring the fact +that the whole structure of civilised society is +<span class="newpage"><a name="page166" id="page166">[166]</a></span> +based on the rule that at a meal a man must talk +first to the lady on his right and then to the lady +on his left and so on infinitely, had secretly taken +exception to the periodic intercourse—and particularly +the intercourse in French—between +Christine and Molder, who was officially "hers". +That these two should go off and dance together +was the supreme insult to her. By ill-chance she +had not sufficient physical command of herself.</p> + +<p>Christine felt that Molder would have danced +better two hours earlier; but still he danced +beautifully. Their bodies fitted like two parts of a +jigsaw puzzle that have discovered each other. She +realised that G.J. was middle-aged, and regret +tinctured the ecstasy of the dance. Then suddenly +she heard a loud, imploring cry in her ear:</p> + +<p>"Christine!"</p> + +<p>She looked round, pale, still dancing, but only +by inertia.</p> + +<p>Nobody was near her. The four people at the +Major's table gave no sign of agitation or even of +interest. The Major still had Alice more or less +in his arms.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" she asked wildly.</p> + +<p>"What was what?" said Molder, at a loss to +understand her extraordinary demeanour.</p> + +<p>And she heard the cry again, and then again:</p> + +<p>"Christine! Christine!"</p> + +<p>She recognised the voice. It was the voice of +the officer whom she had taken to Victoria Station +one Sunday night months and months ago.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me!" she said, slipping from Molder's +hold, and she hurried out of the room to the +ladies' cloakroom, got her wraps, and ran past +<span class="newpage"><a name="page167" id="page167">[167]</a></span> +the watchful guardian, through the dark, dubious +portico of the club into the street. The thing was +done in a moment, and why she did it she could +not tell. She knew simply that she must do it, and +that she was under the dominion of those unseen +powers in whom she had always believed. She +forgot the Guinea-Fowl as completely as though +it had been a pre-natal phenomenon with her.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page168" id="page168">[168]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_24"></a><h2>Chapter 24</h2> + +<h4>THE SOLDIER</h4> +<br /> + +<p>But outside she lost faith. Half a dozen +motor-cars were slumbering in a row near the door +of the Guinea-Fowl, and they all stirred monstrously +yet scarcely perceptibly at the sight of the +woman's figure, solitary, fragile and pale in the +darkness. They seemed for an instant to lust for +her; and then, recognising that she was not their +prey, to sink back into the torpor of their inexhaustible +patience. The sight of them was prejudicial +to the dominion of the unseen powers. Christine +admitted to herself that she had drunk a lot, that +she was demented, that her only proper course was +to return dutifully to the supper-party. She +wondered what, if she did not so return, she could +possibly say to justify herself to G.J.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless she went on down the street, +hurrying, automatic, and reached the main +thoroughfare. It was dark with the new protective +darkness. The central hooded lamps showed like +poor candles, making a series of rings of feeble +illumination on the vast invisible floor of the road. +Nobody was afoot; not a soul. The last of the +motor-buses that went about killing and maiming +people in the new protective darkness had long +since reached its yard. The seductive dim violet +<span class="newpage"><a name="page160" id="page169">[169]</a></span> +bulbs were all extinguished on the entrances of +the theatres, and, save for a thread of light at some +lofty window here and there, the curving facades +of the street were as undecipherable as the heavens +above or as the asphalte beneath.</p> + +<p>Then Christine's ear detected a faint roar. It +grew louder; it became terrific; and a long succession +of huge loaded army waggons with peering +head-lamps thundered past at full speed, one +close behind the next, shaking the very avenue. +The slightest misjudgment by the leading waggon +in the confusion of light and darkness—and the +whole convoy would have pitched itself together +in a mass of iron, flesh, blood and ordnance; but +the convoy went ruthlessly and safely forward till +its final red tail-lamp swung round a corner and +vanished. The avenue ceased to shake. The +thunder died away, and there was silence again. +Whence and why the convoy came, and at whose +dread omnipotent command? Whither it was +bound? What it carried? No answer in the +darkness to these enigmas!... And Christine was +afraid of England. She remembered people in +Ostend saying that England would never go to +war. She, too, had said it, bitterly. And now she +was in the midst of the unmeasured city which +had darkened itself for war, and she was afraid of +an unloosed might....</p> + +<p>What madness was she doing? She did not +even know the man's name. She knew only that +he was "Edgar W." She would have liked to be +his <i>marraine</i>, according to the French custom, but +he had never written to her. He was still in her +debt for the hotel bill and the taxi fare. He had +<span class="newpage"><a name="page170" id="page170">[170]</a></span> +not even kissed her at the station. She tried to +fancy that she heard his voice calling "Christine" +with frantic supplication in her ears, but she could +not. She turned into another side street, and saw +a lighted doorway. Two soldiers were standing in +the veiled radiance. She could just read the lower +half of the painted notice: "All service men +welcome. Beds. Meals. Writing and reading +rooms. Always open." She passed on. One of the +soldiers, a non-commissioned officer of mature +years, solemnly winked at her, without moving an +unnecessary muscle. She looked modestly down.</p> + +<p>Twenty yards further on she described near a +lamp-post a tall soldier whose somewhat bent body +seemed to be clustered over with pots, pans, tins, +bags, valises, satchels and weapons, like the figure +of some military Father Christmas on his surreptitious +rounds. She knew that he must be a +poor benighted fellow just back from the trenches. +He was staring up at the place where the +street-sign ought to have been. He glanced at +her, and said, in a fatigued, gloomy, aristocratic +voice:</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Madam. Is this Denman Street? +I want to find the Denman Hostel."</p> + +<p>Christine looked into his face. A sacred dew +suffused her from head to foot. She trembled with +an intimidated joy. She felt the mystic influences +of all the unseen powers. She knew herself with +holy dread to be the chosen of the very clement +Virgin, and the channel of a miraculous intervention. +It was the most marvellous, sweetest thing +that had ever happened. It was humanly incredible, +but it had happened.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page171" id="page171">[171]</a></span> +<p>"Is it you?" she murmured in a soft, breaking +voice.</p> + +<p>The man stooped and examined her face.</p> + +<p>She said, while he gazed at her: "Edgar!... +See—the wrist watch," and held up her arm, from +which the wide sleeve of her mantle slipped away.</p> + +<p>And the man said: "Is it you?"</p> + +<p>She said: "Come with me. I will look after you."</p> + +<p>The man answered glumly:</p> + +<p>"I have no money—at least not enough for you. +And I owe you a lot of money already. You are +an angel. I'm ashamed."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Christine protested. +"Do you forget that you gave me a five-pound +note? It was more than enough to pay the hotel.... +As for the rest, let us not speak of it. Come +with me."</p> + +<p>"Did I?" muttered the man.</p> + +<p>She could feel the very clement Virgin smiling +approval of her fib; it was exactly such a fib as the +Virgin herself would have told in a quandary of +charity. And when a taxi came round the corner, +she knew that the Virgin disguised as a taxi-driver +was steering it, and she hailed it with a firm and yet +loving gesture.</p> + +<p>The taxi stopped. She opened the door, and +in her sombre mantle and bright trailing frock +and glinting, pale shoes she got in, and the +military Father Christmas with much difficulty +and jingling and clinking insinuated himself after +her into the vehicle, and banged to the door. +And at the same moment one of the soldiers from +the Hostel ran up:</p> + +<p>"Here, mate!... What do you want to take +<span class="newpage"><a name="page172" id="page172">[172]</a></span> +his money from him for, you damned w——?"</p> + +<p>But the taxi drove off. Christine had not +understood. And had she understood, she would +not have cared. She had a divine mission; she +was in bliss.</p> + +<p>"You did not seem surprised to meet me," she +said, taking Edgar's rough hand.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Had you called out my name—'Christine'?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You are sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you were thinking of me? I was +thinking of you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I don't know. But I'm never +surprised."</p> + +<p>"You must be very tired?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But why are you like that? All these things? +You are not an officer now."</p> + +<p>"No. I had to resign my commission—just +after I saw you." He paused, and added drily: +"Whisky." His deep rich voice filled the taxi +with the resigned philosophy of fatalism.</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I joined up again at once," he said +casually. "I soon got out to the Front. Now I'm +on leave. That's mere luck."</p> + +<p>She burst into tears. She was so touched by +his curt story, and by the grotesquerie of his +appearance in the faint light from the exterior +lamp which lit the dial of the taximeter, that she +lost control of herself. And the man gave a sob, +or possibly it was only a gulp to hide a sob. And +<span class="newpage"><a name="page173" id="page173">[173]</a></span> +she leaned against him in her thin garments. And +he clinked and jingled, and his breath smelt of +beer.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page174" id="page174">[174]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_25"></a><h2>Chapter 25</h2> + +<h4>THE RING</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The flat was in darkness, except for the +little lamp by the bedside. The soldier lay asleep +in his flannel shirt in the wide bed, and Christine +lay awake next him. His clothes were heaped on a +chair. His eighty pounds' weight of kit were +deposited in a corner of the drawing-room. On +the table in the drawing-room were the remains of +a meal. Christine was thinking, carelessly and +without apprehension, of what she should say to +G.J. She would tell him that she had suddenly +felt unwell. No! That would be silly. She would +tell him that he really had not the right to ask her +to meet such women as Aida and Alice. Had he +no respect for her? Or she would tell him that +Aida had obviously meant to attack her, and that +the dance with Lieutenant Molder was simply a +device to enable her to get away quietly and avoid +all scandal in a resort where scandal was intensely +deprecated. She could tell him fifty things, and +he would have to accept whatever she chose to +tell him. She was mystically happy in the +incomparable marvel of the miracle, and in her +care of the dull, unresponding man. Her heart +yearned thankfully, devotedly, passionately to the +Virgin of the VII Dolours.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page175" id="page175">[175]</a></span> +<p>In the profound nocturnal silence broken only +by the man's slow, regular breathing, she heard a +sudden ring. It was the front-door bell ringing in +the kitchen. The bell rang again and again +obstinately. G.J.'s party was over, then, and he +had arrived to make inquiries. She smiled, and +did not move. After a few moments she could +hear Marthe stirring. She sprang up, and then, +cunningly considerate, slipped from under the bed-clothes +as noiselessly and as smoothly as a snake, +so that the man should not be disturbed. The two +women met in the little hall, Christine in the +immodesty of a lacy and diaphanous garment, and +Marthe in a coarse cotton nightgown covered with +a shawl. The bell rang once more, loudly, close +to their ears.</p> + +<p>"Are you mad?" Christine whispered with +fierceness. "Go back to bed. Let him ring."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page176" id="page176">[176]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_26"></a><h2>Chapter 26</h2> + +<h4>THE RETURN</h4> +<br /> + +<p>It was afternoon in April, 1916. G.J. rang +the right bell at the entrance of the London home +of the Lechfords. Lechford House, designed +about 1840 by an Englishman of genius who in +this rare instance had found a patron with the wit +to let him alone, was one of the finest examples +of domestic architecture in the West End. Inspired +by the formidable palaces of Rome and Florence, +the artist had conceived a building in the style of +the Italian renaissance, but modified, softened, +chastened, civilised, to express the bland and yet +haughty sobriety of the English climate and the +English peerage. People without an eye for the +perfect would have correctly described it as a large +plain house in grey stone, of three storeys, with a +width of four windows on either side of its black +front door, a jutting cornice, and rather elaborate +chimneys. It was, however, a masterpiece for the +connoisseur, and foreign architects sometimes +came with cards of admission to pry into it +professionally. The blinds of its principal windows +were down—not because of the war; they were +often down, for at least four other houses disputed +with Lechford House the honour of sheltering the +Marquis and his wife and their sole surviving +<span class="newpage"><a name="page177" id="page177">[177]</a></span> +child. Above the roof a wire platform for the +catching of bombs had given the mansion a +somewhat ridiculous appearance, but otherwise +Lechford House managed to look as though it +had never heard of the European War.</p> + +<p>One half of the black entrance swung open, and +a middle-aged gentleman dressed like Lord +Lechford's stockbroker, but who was in reality his +butler, said in answer to G.J.'s enquiry:</p> + +<p>"Lady Queenie is not at home, sir."</p> + +<p>"But it is five o'clock," protested G.J., suddenly +sick of Queen's impudent unreliability. "And +I have an appointment with her at five."</p> + +<p>The butler's face relaxed ever so little from its +occupational inhumanity of a suet pudding; the +spirit of compassion seemed to inform it for an +instant.</p> + +<p>"Her ladyship went out about a quarter of an +hour ago, sir."</p> + +<p>"When d'you think she'll be back?"</p> + +<p>The suet pudding was restored.</p> + +<p>"That I could not say, sir."</p> + +<p>"Damn the girl!" said G.J. to himself; and +aloud: "Please tell her ladyship that I've called."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hoape, is it not, sir?"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>By the force of his raisin eyes the butler held +G.J. as he turned to descend the steps.</p> + +<p>"There's nobody at home, sir, except Mrs. +Carlos Smith. Mrs. Carlos Smith is in Lady +Queenie's apartments."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Carlos Smith!" exclaimed G.J., who +had not seen Concepcion for some seventeen +months; nor heard from her for nearly as +<span class="newpage"><a name="page178" id="page178">[178]</a></span> +long, nor heard of her since the previous year.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Ask her if she can see me, will you?" said +G.J. impetuously, after a slight pause.</p> + +<p>He stepped on to the tessellated pavement of +the outer hall. On the raised tessellated pavement +of the inner hall stood two meditative youngish +footmen, possibly musing upon the problems of +the intensification of the Military Service Act +which were then exciting journalists and statesmen. +Beyond was the renowned staircase, which, +rising with insubstantial grace, lost itself in silvery +altitude like the way to heaven. Presently G.J. +was mounting the staircase and passing statues by +Canova and Thorwaldsen, and portraits of which +the heads had been painted by Lawrence and the +hands and draperies by Lawrence's hireling, and +huger canvasses on which the heads and breasts +had been painted by Rubens and everything else +by Rubens's regiment of hirelings. The guiding +footman preceded him through a great chamber +which he recognised as the drawing-room in its +winding sheet, and then up a small and insignificant +staircase; and G.J. was on ground strange to +him, for never till then had he been higher than +the first-floor in Lechford House.</p> + +<p>Lady Queenie's apartments did violence to +G.J.'s sensibilities as an upholder of traditionalism +in all the arts, of the theory that every sound movement +in any art must derive from its predecessor. +Some months earlier he had met for a few minutes +the creative leader of the newest development in +internal decoration, and he vividly remembered a +saying of the grey-haired, slouch-hatted man: "At +<span class="newpage"><a name="page179" id="page179">[179]</a></span> +the present day the only people in the world with +really vital perceptions about decoration are +African niggers, and the only inspiring productions +are the coloured cotton stuffs designed for the +African native market." The remark had amused +and stimulated him, but he had never troubled to +go in search of examples of the inspiring influence +of African taste on London domesticity. He now +saw perhaps the supreme instance lodged in +Lechford House, like a new and truculent state +within a great Empire.</p> + +<p>Lady Queenie had imposed terms on her family, +and under threats of rupture, of separation, of +scandal, Lady Queenie's exotic nest had come into +existence in the very fortress of unchangeable +British convention. The phenomenon was a war +phenomenon due to the war, begotten by the war; +for Lady Queenie had said that if she was to do +war-work without disaster to her sanity she must +have the right environment. Thus the putting +together of Lady Queenie's nest had proceeded +concurrently with the building of national projectile +factories and of square miles of offices for +the girl clerks of ministries and departments of +government.</p> + +<p>The footman left G.J. alone in a room designated +the boudoir. G.J. resented the boudoir, +because it was like nothing that he had ever +witnessed. The walls were irregularly covered +with rhombuses, rhomboids, lozenges, diamonds, +triangles, and parallelograms; the carpet was +treated likewise, and also the upholstery and the +cushions. The colourings of the scene in their +excessive brightness, crudity and variety surpassed +<span class="newpage"><a name="page180" id="page180">[180]</a></span> +G.J.'s conception of the possible. He had learned +the value of colour before Queen was born, and +in the Albany had translated principle into practice. +But the hues of the boudoir made the gaudiest +effects of Regency furniture appear sombre. The +place resembled a gigantic and glittering kaleidoscope +deranged and arrested.</p> + +<p>G.J.'s glance ran round the room like a hunted +animal seeking escape, and found no escape. He +was as disturbed as he might have been disturbed +by drinking a liqueur on the top of a cocktail. +Nevertheless he had to admit that some of the +contrasts of pure colour were rather beautiful, +even impressive; and he hated to admit it. He +was aware of a terrible apprehension that he would +never be the same man again, and that henceforth +his own abode would be eternally stricken for him +with the curse of insipidity. Regaining somewhat +his nerve, he looked for pictures. There were no +pictures. But every piece of furniture was painted +with primitive sketches of human figures, or of +flowers, or of vessels, or of animals. On the front +of the mantelpiece were perversely but brilliantly +depicted, with a high degree of finish, two nude, +crouching women who gazed longingly at each +other across the impassable semicircular abyss of +the fireplace; and just above their heads, on a +scroll, ran these words:</p> + +<p>"The ways of God are strange."</p> + +<p>He heard movements and a slight cough in the +next room, the door leading to which was ajar. +Concepcion's cough; he thought he recognised it. +Five minutes ago he had had no notion of seeing her; +now he was about to see her. And he felt excited +<span class="newpage"><a name="page181" id="page181">[181]</a></span> +and troubled, as much by the sudden violence +of life as by the mere prospect of the meeting. +After her husband's death Concepcion had soon +withdrawn from London. A large engineering +firm on the Clyde, one of the heads of which happened +to be constitutionally a pioneer, was +establishing a canteen for its workmen, and +Concepcion, the tentacles of whose influence +would stretch to any length, had decided that she +ought to take up canteen work, and in particular +the canteen work of just that firm. But first of all, +to strengthen her prestige and acquire new +prestige, she had gone to the United States, with a +powerful introduction to Sears, Roebuck and +Company of Chicago, in order to study industrial +canteenism in its most advanced and intricate +manifestations. Portraits of Concepcion in +splendid furs on the deck of the steamer in the act +of preparing to study industrial canteenism in its +most advanced and intricate manifestations had +appeared in the illustrated weeklies. The +luxurious trip had cost several hundreds of pounds, +but it was war expenditure, and, moreover, +Concepcion had come into considerable sums of +money through her deceased husband. Her +return to Britain had never been published. +Advertisements of Concepcion ceased. Only a +few friends knew that she was in the most active +retirement on the Clyde. G.J. had written to her +twice but had obtained no replies. One fact he +knew, that she had not had a child. Lady Queenie +had not mentioned her; it was understood that the +inseparables had quarrelled in the heroic manner +and separated for ever.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page182" id="page182">[182]</a></span> +<p>She entered the boudoir slowly. G.J. grew +self-conscious, as it were because she was still the +martyr of destiny and he was not. She wore a +lavender-tinted gown of Queen's; he knew it +was Queen's because he had seen precisely such +a gown on Queen, and there could not possibly +be another gown precisely like that very challenging +gown. It suited Queen, but it did not suit +Concepcion. She looked older; she was thirty-two, +and might have been taken for thirty-five. +She was very pale, with immense fatigued +eyes; but her ridiculous nose had preserved +all its originality. And she had the same +slightly masculine air—perhaps somewhat +intensified—with an added dignity. And G.J. +thought: "She is as mysterious and unfathomable +as I am myself." And he was impressed and +perturbed.</p> + +<p>With a faint, sardonic smile, glancing at him as +a physical equal from her unusual height (she was +as tall as Lady Queenie), she said abruptly and +casually:</p> + +<p>"Am I changed?"</p> + +<p>"No," he replied as abruptly and casually, +clasping almost inimically her ringed hand—she +was wearing Queenie's rings. "But you're tired. +The journey, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"It's not that. We sat up till five o'clock this +morning, talking."</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Queen and I."</p> + +<p>"What did you do that for?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, we'd had the devil's own +row—" She stopped, leaving his imagination to +<span class="newpage"><a name="page183" id="page183">[183]</a></span> +complete the picture of the meeting and the night +talk.</p> + +<p>He smiled awkwardly—tried to be paternal, and +failed.</p> + +<p>"What about?"</p> + +<p>"She never wanted me to leave London. I +came back last night with only a handbag just as +she was going out to dinner. She didn't go out +to dinner. Queen is a white woman. Nobody +knows how white Queen is. I didn't know myself +until last night."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. G.J. said:</p> + +<p>"I had an appointment here with the white +woman, on business."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Concepcion negligently. +"She'll be home soon."</p> + +<p>Something infinitesimally malicious in the voice +and gaze sent the singular idea shooting through +his mind that Queen had gone out on purpose so +that Concepcion might have him alone for a +while. And he was wary of both of them, as he +might have been of two pagan goddesses whom +he, a poor defiant mortal, suspected of having +laid an eye on him for their own ends.</p> + +<p>"<i>You've</i> changed, anyhow," said Concepcion.</p> + +<p>"Older?"</p> + +<p>"No. Harder."</p> + +<p>He was startled, not displeased.</p> + +<p>"How—harder?"</p> + +<p>"More sure of yourself," said Concepcion, with +a trace of the old harsh egotism in her tone. "It +appears you're a perfect tyrant on the Lechford +Committee now you're vice-chairman, and all the +more footling members dread the days when you're +<span class="newpage"><a name="page184" id="page184">[184]</a></span> +in the chair. It appears also that you've really +overthrown two chairmen, and yet won't take the +situation yourself."</p> + +<p>He was still more startled, but now positively +flattered by the world's estimate of his activities +and individuality. He saw himself in a new +light.</p> + +<p>"This what you were talking about until five +a.m.?"</p> + +<p>The butler entered.</p> + +<p>"Shall I serve tea, Madam?"</p> + +<p>Concepcion looked at the man scornfully:</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>One of the minor stalwarts entered and arranged +a table, and the other followed with a glittering, +steaming tray in his hands, while the butler +hovered like a winged hippopotamus over the +operation. Concepcion half sat down by the table, +and then, altering her mind, dropped on to a vast +chaise-longue, as wide as a bed, and covered with +as many cushions as would have stocked a cushion +shop, which occupied the principal place in +front of the hearth. The hem of her rich gown +just touched the floor. G.J. could see that she +was wearing the transparent deep-purple stockings +that Queen wore with the transparent +lavender gown. Her right shoulder rose high +from the mass of the body, and her head was sunk +between two cushions. Her voice came smothered +from the cushions:</p> + +<p>"Damn it! G.J. Don't look at me like that."</p> + +<p>He was standing near the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he exclaimed. "What's the matter, +Con?"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page185" id="page185">[185]</a></span> +<p>There was no answer. He lit a cigarette. The +ebullient kettle kept lifting its lid in growing +impatience. But Concepcion seemed to have +forgotten the tea. G.J. had a thought, distinct +like a bubble on a sea of thoughts, that if the tea +was already made, as no doubt it was, it would +soon be stewed. Concepcion said:</p> + +<p>"The matter is that I'm a ruined woman, and +Queen can't understand."</p> + +<p>And in the bewildering voluptuous brightness +and luxury of the room G.J. had the sensation of +being a poor, baffled ghost groping in the night +of existence. Concepcion's left arm slipped over +the edge of the day-bed and hung limp and pale, +the curved fingers touching the carpet.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page186" id="page186">[186]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_27"></a><h2>Chapter 27</h2> + +<h4>THE CLYDE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>She was sitting up on the chaise-longue and +had poured out the tea—he had pushed the tea-table +towards the chaise-longue—and she was +talking in an ordinary tone just as though she +had not immodestly bared her spirit to him and as +though she knew not that he realised she had done +so. She was talking at length, as one who in the +past had been well accustomed to giving monologues +and to holding drawing-rooms in subjection +while she chattered, and to making drawing-rooms +feel glad that they had consented to subjection. +She was saying:</p> + +<p>"You've no idea what the valley of the Clyde is +now. You can't have. It's filled with girls, and +they come into it every morning by train to huge +stations specially built for them, and they make +the most ghastly things for killing other girls' +lovers all day, and they go back by train at night. +Only some of them work all night. I had to leave +my own works to organise the canteen of a new +filling factory. Five thousand girls in that factory. +It's frightfully dangerous. They have to wear +special clothing. They have to take off every +stitch from their bodies in one room, and run in +their innocence and nothing else to another room +<span class="newpage"><a name="page187" id="page187">[187]</a></span> +where the special clothing is. That's the only way +to prevent the whole place being blown up one +beautiful day. But five thousand of them! You +can't imagine it. You'd like to, G.J., but you +can't. However, I didn't stay there very long. I +wanted to go back to my own place. I was adored +at my own place. Of course the men adored me. +They used to fight about me sometimes. Terrific +men. Nothing ever made me happier than that, +or so happy. But the girls were more interesting. +Two thousand of them there. You'd never guess +it, because they were hidden in thickets of +machinery. But see them rush out endlessly to the +canteen for tea! All sorts. Lots of devils and cats. +Some lovely creatures, heavenly creatures, as +fine as a queen. They adored me too. They didn't +at first, some of them. But they soon tumbled to it +that I was the modern woman, and that they'd +never seen me before, and it was a great discovery. +Absurdly easy to raise yourself to be the idol of a +crowd that fancies itself canny! Incredibly easy! +I used to take their part against the works-manager +as often as I could; he was a fiend; he hated me; +but then I was a fiend, too, and I hated him +more. I used often to come on at six in the morning, +when they did, and 'sign on'. It isn't +really signing on now at all; there's a clock dial +and a whole machine for catching you out. They +loved to see me doing that. And I worked the +lathes sometimes, just for a bit, just to show +that I wasn't ashamed to work. Etc.... All that +sentimental twaddle. It pleased them. And if any +really vigorous-minded girl had dared to say it was +sentimental twaddle, there would have been a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page188" id="page188">[188]</a></span> +crucifixion or something of the sort in the cloak-rooms. +The mob's always the same. But what +pleased them far more than anything was me +knowing them by their Christian names. Not all, +of course; still, hundreds of them. Marvellous +feats of memorising I did! I used to go about +muttering under my breath: 'Winnie, wart on left +hand, Winnie, wart on left hand, wart on left +hand, Winnie.' You see? And I've sworn at +them—not often; it wouldn't do, naturally. But +there was scarcely a woman there that I couldn't +simply blast in two seconds if I felt like it. On the +other hand, I assure you I could be very tender. I +was surprised how tender I could be, now and +then, in my little office. They'd tell me +anything—sounds sentimental, but they would—and some +of them had no more notion that there's such a +thing on earth as propriety than a monkey has. I +thought I knew everything before I went to the +Clyde valley. Well, I didn't." Concepcion looked +at G.J. "You know you're very innocent, G.J., +compared to me."</p> + +<p>"I should hope so!" said G.J., impenetrably.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of it all?" she demanded +in a fresh tone, leaning a little towards him.</p> + +<p>He replied: "I'm impressed."</p> + +<p>He was, in fact, very profoundly impressed; +but he had to illustrate the hardness in himself +which she had revealed to him. (He wondered +whether the members of the Lechford Committee +really did credit him with having dethroned a +couple of chairmen. The idea was new to his +modesty. Perhaps he had been underestimating +his own weight on the committee. No doubt he +<span class="newpage"><a name="page189" id="page189">[189]</a></span> +had.) All constraint was now dissipated between +Concepcion and himself. They were behaving to +each other as though their intimacy had never +been interrupted for a single week. She amazed +him, sitting there in the purple stockings and the +affronting gown, and he admired. Her material +achievement alone was prodigious. He pictured +her as she rose in the winter dark and in the summer +dawn to go to the works and wrestle with so +much incalculable human nature and so many +complex questions of organisation, day after day, +week after week, month after month, for nearly +eighteen months. She had kept it up; that was +the point. She had shown what she was made of, +and what she was made of was unquestionably +marvellous.</p> + +<p>He would have liked to know about various +things to which she had made no reference. Did +she live in a frowsy lodging-house near the great +works? What kind of food did she get? What +did she do with her evenings and her Sundays? +Was she bored? Was she miserable or exultant? +Had she acquaintances, external interests; or did +she immerse herself completely, inclusively, in the +huge, smoking, whirring, foul, perilous hell which +she had described? The contemplation of the +horror of the hell gave him—and her, too, he +thought—a curious feeling which was not unpleasurable. +It had savour. He would not, +however, inquire from her concerning details. He +preferred, on reflection, to keep the details mysterious, +as mysterious as her individuality and as +the impression of her worn eyes. The setting of +mystery in his mind suited her.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page190" id="page190">[190]</a></span> +<p>He said: "But of course your relations with +those girls were artificial, after all."</p> + +<p>"No, they weren't. I tell you the girls were +perfectly open; there wasn't the slightest +artificiality."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but were you open, to them? Did you +ever tell them anything about yourself, for +instance?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!"</p> + +<p>"Did they ever ask you to?"</p> + +<p>"No! They wouldn't have thought of doing +so."</p> + +<p>"That's what I call artificiality. By the way, +how have you been ruined? Who ruined you? +Was it the hated works-manager?" There had +been no change in his tone; he spoke with the +utmost detachment.</p> + +<p>"I was coming to that," answered Concepcion, +apparently with a detachment equal to his. +"Last week but one in one of the shops there was a +girl standing in front of a machine, with her back +to it. About twenty-two—you must see her in your +mind—about twenty-two, nice chestnut hair. Cap +over it, of course—that's the rule. Khaki overalls +and trousers. Rather high-heeled patent-leather +boots—they fancy themselves, thank God!—and +a bit of lace showing out of the khaki at the neck. +Red cheeks; she was fairly new to the works. Do +you see her? She meant to be one of the devils. +Earning two pounds a week nearly, and eagerly +spending it all. Fully awake to all the possibilities +of her body. I was in the shop. I said something +to her, and she didn't hear at first—the noise of +some of the shops is shattering. I went close to +<span class="newpage"><a name="page191" id="page191">[191]</a></span> +her and repeated it. She laughed out of mere +vivacity, and threw back her head as people do +when they laugh. The machine behind her must +have caught some hair that wasn't under her cap. +All her hair was dragged from under the cap, and +in no time all her hair was torn out and the whole +of her scalp ripped clean off. In a second or two +I got her on to a trolley—I did it—and threw an +overall over her and ran her to the dressing-station, +close to the main office entrance. There was a car +there. One of the directors was just driving off. +I stopped him. It wasn't a case for our dressing-station. +In three minutes I had her at the hospital—three +minutes. The car was soaked in blood. +But she didn't lose consciousness, that child +didn't. She's dead now. She's buried. Her body +that she meant to use so profusely for her own +delights is squeezed up in the little black box in the +dark and the silence, down below where the spring +can't get at it.... I had no sleep for two nights. +On the second day a doctor at the hospital said +that I must take at least three months' holiday. He +said I'd had a nervous breakdown. I didn't know I +had, and I don't know now. I said I wouldn't take +any holiday, and that nothing would induce me to."</p> + +<p>"Why, Con?"</p> + +<p>"Because I'd sworn, absolutely sworn to myself, +to stick that job till the war was over. You +understand, I'd sworn it. Well, they wouldn't let +me on to the works. And yesterday one of the +directors brought me up to town himself. He was +very kind, in his Clyde way. Now you understand +what I mean when I say I'm ruined. I'm ruined +with myself, you see. I didn't stick it. I couldn't. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page192" id="page192">[192]</a></span> +But there were twenty or thirty girls who saw the +accident. They're sticking it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said in a voice soft and moved, "I +understand." And while he spoke thus aloud, +though his emotion was genuine, and his desire to +comfort and sustain her genuine, and his admiration +for her genuine, he thought to himself: +"How theatrically she told it! Every effect was +studied, nearly every word. Well, she can't help +it. But does she imagine I can't see that all the +casualness was deliberately part of the effect?"</p> + +<p>She lit a cigarette and leaned her half-draped +elbows on the tea-table, and curved her ringed +fingers, which had withstood time and fatigue +much better than her face; and then she reclined +again on the chaise-longue, on her back, and sent +up smoke perpendicularly, and through the smoke +seemed to be trying to decipher the enigmas of +the ceiling. G.J. rose and stood over her in +silence. At last she went on:</p> + +<p>"The work those girls do is excruciating, +hellish, and they don't realise it. That's the worst +of it. They'll never be the same again. They're +ruining their health, and, what's more important, +their looks. You can see them changing under +your eyes. Ours was the best factory on the +Clyde, and the conditions were unspeakable, in +spite of canteens, and rest-rooms, and libraries, +and sanitation, and all this damned 'welfare'. +Fancy a girl chained up for twelve hours every day +to a thundering, whizzing, iron machine that never +gets tired. The machine's just as fresh at six o'clock +at night as it was at six o'clock in the morning, +and just as anxious to maim her if she doesn't look +<span class="newpage"><a name="page193" id="page193">[193]</a></span> +out for herself—more anxious. The whole thing's +still going on; they're at it now, this very minute. +You're interested in a factory, aren't you, G.J.?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered gently, but looked with +seemingly callous firmness down at her.</p> + +<p>"The Reveille Company, or some such name."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Making tons of money, I hear."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You're a profiteer, G.J."</p> + +<p>"I'm not. Long since I decided I must give +away all my extra profits."</p> + +<p>"Ever go and look at your factory?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Any nice young girls working there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"If there are, are they decently treated?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know that, either."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go and see?"</p> + +<p>"It's no business of mine."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is. Aren't you making yourself glorious +as a philanthropist out of the thing?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you it's no business of mine," he insisted +evenly. "I couldn't do anything if I went. I've +no status."</p> + +<p>"Rotten system."</p> + +<p>"Possibly. But systems can't be altered like +that. Systems alter themselves, and they aren't +in a hurry about it. This system isn't new, though +it's new to you."</p> + +<p>"You people in London don't know what +work is."</p> + +<p>"And what about your Clyde strikes?" G.J. +retorted.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page194" id="page194">[194]</a></span> +<p>"Well, all that's settled now," said Concepcion +rather uneasily, like a champion who foresees a +fight but lacks confidence.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—" G.J. suddenly altered his +tone to the persuasive: "You must know all about +those strikes. What was the real cause? We don't +understand them here."</p> + +<p>"If you really want to know—nerves," she said +earnestly and triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Nerves?"</p> + +<p>"Overwork. No rest. No change. Everlasting +punishment. The one incomprehensible thing +to me is that the whole of Glasgow didn't go on +strike and stay out for ever."</p> + +<p>"There's just as much overwork in London as +there is on the Clyde."</p> + +<p>"There's a lot more talking—Parliament, +Cabinet, Committees. You should hear what they +say about it in Glasgow."</p> + +<p>"Con," he said kindly, "you don't suspect +it, but you're childish. It's the job of one part +of London to talk. If that part of London didn't +talk your tribes on the Clyde couldn't work, +because they wouldn't know what to do, nor how +to do it. Talking has to come before working, +and let me tell you it's more difficult, and it's more +killing, because it's more responsible. Excuse +this common sense made easy for beginners, but +you brought it on yourself."</p> + +<p>She frowned. "And what do you do? Do you +talk or work?" She smiled.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you this!" said he, smiling candidly +and benevolently. "It took me a dickens of +a time really to <i>put</i> myself into anything that +<span class="newpage"><a name="page195" id="page195">[195]</a></span> +meant steady effort. I'd lost the habit. Natural +enough, and I'm not going into sackcloth about +it. However, I'm improving. I'm going to take +on the secretaryship of the Lechford Committee. +Some of 'em mayn't want me, but they'll have +to have me. And when they've got me they'll +have to look out. All of them, including Queen +and her mother."</p> + +<p>"Will it take the whole of your time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm doing three days a week now."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you think you've beaten me."</p> + +<p>"Con, I do ask you not to be a child."</p> + +<p>"But I am a child. Why don't you humour +me? You know I've had a nervous breakdown. +You used to humour me."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Humouring you won't do <i>your</i> nervous breakdown +any good. It might some women's—but +not yours."</p> + +<p>"You shall humour me!" she cried. "I haven't +told you half my ruin. Do you know I meant to +love Carly all my life. I felt sure I should. Well, +I can't! It's gone, all that feeling—already! In +less than two years! And now I'm only sorry for +him and sorry for myself. Isn't it horrible? Isn't +it horrible?"</p> + +<p>"Try not to think," he murmured.</p> + +<p>She sat up impetuously.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk such damned nonsense! 'Try not +to think'! Why, my frightful unhappiness is the +one thing that keeps me alive."</p> + +<p>"Yes," G.J. yielded. "It was nonsense."</p> + +<p>She sank back. He saw moisture in her eyes +and felt it in his own.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page196" id="page196">[196]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_28"></a><h2>Chapter 28</h2> + +<h4>SALOME</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Lady Queenie arrived in haste, as though +relentless time had pursued her up the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Why, you're in the dark here!" she exclaimed +impatiently, and impatiently switched on several +lights. "Sorry I'm late, G.J.," she said perfunctorily, +without taking any trouble to put +conviction into her voice. "How have you two +been getting on?"</p> + +<p>She looked at Concepcion and G.J. in a peculiar +way, inquisitorial and implicatory.</p> + +<p>Then, towards the door:</p> + +<p>"Come in, come in, Dialin."</p> + +<p>A young soldier with the stripe of a lance-corporal +entered, slightly nervous and slightly +defiant.</p> + +<p>"And you, Miss I-forget-your-name."</p> + +<p>A young woman entered; she had very red +lips and very high heels, and was both more +nervous and more defiant than the young soldier.</p> + +<p>"This is Mr. Dialin, you know, Con, second +ballet-master at the Ottoman. I met him by sheer +marvellous chance. He's only got ten minutes; +he hasn't really got that; but he's going to see me +do my Salome dance."</p> + +<p>Lady Queenie made no attempt to introduce +<span class="newpage"><a name="page197" id="page197">[197]</a></span> +Miss I-forget-your-name, who of her own accord +took a chair with a curious, dashed effrontery. It +appeared that she was attached to Mr. Dialin. +Lady Queenie cast off rapidly gloves, hat and +coat, and then, having rushed to the bell and rung +it fiercely several times, came back to the chaise-longue +and gazed at it and at the surrounding +floor.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind, Con?"</p> + +<p>Concepcion rose. Lady Queenie, rushing off +again, pushed several more switches, and from a +thick cluster of bulbs in front of a large mirror at +the end of the room there fell dazzling sheets of +light. A footman presented himself.</p> + +<p>"Push the day-bed right away towards the +window," she commanded.</p> + +<p>The footman inclined and obeyed, and the +lance-corporal superiorly helped him. Then the +footman was told to energise the gramophone, +which in its specially designed case stood in a +corner. The footman seemed to be on intimate +terms with the gramophone. Meanwhile Lady +Queenie, with a safety-pin, was fastening the back +hem of her short skirt to the front between the +knees. Still bending, she took her shoes off. Her +scent impregnated the room.</p> + +<p>"You see, it will be barefoot," she explained +to Mr. Dialin.</p> + +<p>The walls of London were already billed with +an early announcement of the marvels of the +Pageant of Terpsichore, which was to occur at the +Albert Hall, under the superintendence of the +greatest modern English painters, in aid of a fund +for soldiers disabled by deafness. The performers +<span class="newpage"><a name="page198" id="page198">[198]</a></span> +were all ladies of the upper world, ladies bearing +names for the most part as familiar as the names +of streets—and not a stage-star among them. +Amateurism was to be absolutely untainted by +professionalism in the prodigious affair; therefore +the prices of tickets ruled high, and queens had +conferred their patronage.</p> + +<p>Lady Queenie removed several bracelets and a +necklace, and, seizing a plate, deposited it on the +carpet.</p> + +<p>"That piece of bread-and-butter," she said, +"is the head of my beloved John."</p> + +<p>The clever footman started the gramophone, +and Lady Queenie began to dance. The lance-corporal +walked round her, surveying her at all +angles, watching her like a tiger, imitating movements, +suggesting movements, sketching emotions +with his arm, raising himself at intervals on the +toes of his thick boots. After a few moments +Concepcion glanced at G.J., conveying to him a +passionate, adoring admiration of Queen's talent.</p> + +<p>G.J., startled by her brightened eyes so suddenly +full of temperament, nodded to please her. +But the fact was that he saw naught to admire in +the beautiful and brazen amateur's performance. +He wondered that she could not have discovered +something more original than to follow the footsteps +of Maud Allan in a scene which years ago +had become stale. He wondered that, at any rate, +Concepcion should not perceive the poor, pretentious +quality of the girlish exhibition. And as he +looked at the mincing Dialin he pictured the lance-corporal +helping to serve a gun. And as he looked +at the youthful, lithe Queenie posturing in the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page199" id="page199">[199]</a></span> +shower-bath of rays amid the blazing chromatic +fantasy of the room, and his nostrils twitched to +her pungent perfume, he pictured the reverberating +shell-factory on the Clyde where girls had their +scalps torn off by unappeasable machinery, and +the filling-factory where five thousand girls +stripped themselves naked in order to lessen the +danger of being blown to bits.... After a climax +of capering Queen fell full length on her stomach +upon the carpet, her soft chin accurately adjusted +to the edge of the plate. The music ceased. The +gramophone gnashed on the disc until the footman +lifted its fang.</p> + +<p>Miss I-forget-your-name raised both her feet +from the floor, stuck her legs out in a straight, +slanting line, and condescendingly clapped. Then, +seeing that Queen was worrying the piece of +bread-and-butter with her teeth, she exclaimed in +agitation:</p> + +<p>"Ow my!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Dialin assisted the breathless Queen to +rise, and they went off into a corner and he talked +to her in low tones. Soon he looked at his wrist-watch +and caught the summoning eye of Miss I-forget-your-name.</p> + +<p>"But it's pretty all right, isn't it?" said Queen.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" he soothed her with an +expert's casualness. "Naturally, you want to +work it up. You fell beautifully. Now you go +and see Crevelli—he's the man."</p> + +<p>"I shall get him to come here. What's his +address?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. He's just moved. But you'll +see it in the April number of <i>The Dancing Times</i>."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page200" id="page200">[200]</a></span> + +<p>As the footman was about to escort Mr. Dialin +and his urgent lady downstairs Queen ordered:</p> + +<p>"Bring me up a whisky-and-soda."</p> + +<p>"It's splendid, Queen," said Concepcion enthusiastically +when the two were alone with G.J.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad you think so, darling. How are +you, darling?" She kissed the older woman +affectionately, fondly, on the lips, and then gave +G.J. a challenging glance.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she exclaimed, and called out very loud: +"Robin! I want you at once."</p> + +<p>The secretarial Miss Robinson, carrying a +note-book, appeared like magic from the inner +room.</p> + +<p>"Get me the April number of <i>The Dancing +News</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Times</i>," G.J. corrected.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>Times</i>. It's all the same. And write +to Mr. Opson and say that we really must have +proper dressing-room accommodation. It's most +important."</p> + +<p>"Yes, your ladyship. Your ladyship has the +sub-committee as to entrance arrangements for +the public at half-past six."</p> + +<p>"I shan't go. Telephone to them. I've got +quite enough to do without that. I'm utterly +exhausted. Don't forget about <i>The Dancing Times</i> +and to write to Mr. Opson."</p> + +<p>"Yes, your ladyship."</p> + +<p>"G.J.," said Queen after Robin had gone, +"you are a pig if you don't go on that sub-committee +as to entrance arrangements. You +know what the Albert Hall is. They'll make +a horrible mess of it, and it's just the sort +<span class="newpage"><a name="page201" id="page201">[201]</a></span> +of thing you can do better than anybody."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But a pig I am," answered G.J. firmly. +Then he added: "I'll tell you how you might +have avoided all these complications."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"By having no pageant and simply going +round collecting subscriptions. Nobody would +have refused you. And there'd have been no +expenses to come off the total."</p> + +<p>Lady Queenie put her lips together.</p> + +<p>"Has he been behaving in this style to you, +Con?"</p> + +<p>"A little—now and then," said Concepcion.</p> + +<p>Later, when the chaise-longue and Queen's +shoes had been replaced, and the tea-things and +the head of John the Baptist taken away, and all +the lights extinguished save one over the mantelpiece, +and Lady Queenie had nearly finished the +whisky-and-soda, and nothing remained of the +rehearsal except the safety-pin between Lady +Queenie's knees, G.J. was still waiting for her +to bethink herself of the Hospitals subject upon +which he had called by special request and +appointment to see her. He took oath not to +mention it first. Shortly afterwards, stiff in his +resolution, he departed.</p> + +<p>In three minutes he was in the smoking-room +of his club, warming himself at a fine, old, huge, +wasteful grate, in which burned such a coal fire as +could not have been seen in France, Italy, +Germany, Austria, Russia, nor anywhere on the +continent of Europe. The war had as yet changed +nothing in the impregnable club, unless it was that +ordinary matches had recently been substituted +<span class="newpage"><a name="page202" id="page202">[202]</a></span> +for the giant matches on which the club had +hitherto prided itself. The hour lay neglected +midway between tea and dinner, and there were +only two other members in the vast room—solitaries, +each before his own grand fire.</p> + +<p>G.J. took up <i>The Times</i>, which his duties had +prevented him from reading at large in the morning. +He wandered with a sense of ease among its +multifarious pages, and, in full leisure, brought his +information up to date concerning the state of the +war and of the country. Air-raids by Zeppelins +were frequent, and some authorities talked +magniloquently about the "defence of London." +Hundreds of people had paid immense sums for +pictures and objects of art at the Red Cross Sale +at Christie's, one of the most successful social +events of the year. The House of Commons was +inquisitive about Mesopotamia as a whole, and +one British Army was still trying to relieve another +British Army besieged in Kut. German submarine +successes were obviously disquieting. The supply +of beer was reduced. There were to be forty +principal aristocratic dancers in the Pageant of +Terpsichore. The Chancellor of the Exchequer +had budgeted for five hundred millions, and was +very proud. The best people were at once proud +and scared of the new income tax at 5s. in the £. +They expressed the fear that such a tax would kill +income or send it to America. The theatrical profession +was quite sure that the amusements tax +would involve utter ruin for the theatrical profession, +and the match trade was quite sure that the +match tax would put an end to matches, and some +unnamed modest individuals had apparently +<span class="newpage"><a name="page203" id="page203">[203]</a></span> +decided that the travel tax must and forthwith +would be dropped. The story of the evacuation of +Gallipoli had grown old and tedious. Cranks +were still vainly trying to prove to the blunt John +Bullishness of the Prime Minister that the Daylight +Saving Bill was not a piece of mere freak +legislation. The whole of the West End and all the +inhabitants of country houses in Britain had discovered +a new deity in Australia and spent all +their spare time and lungs in asserting that all +other deities were false and futile; his earthly name +was Hughes. Jan Smuts was fighting in the +primeval forests of East Africa. The Germans +were discussing their war aims; and on the Verdun +front they had reached Mort Homme in the usual +way, that was, according to the London Press, by +sacrificing more men than any place could possibly +be worth; still, they had reached Mort Homme. +And though our losses and the French losses were +everywhere—one might assert, so to speak—negligible, +nevertheless the steadfast band of +thinkers and fact-facers who held a monopoly of +true patriotism were extremely anxious to extend +the Military Service Act, so as to rope into the +Army every fit male in the island except themselves.</p> + +<p>The pages of <i>The Times</i> grew semi-transparent, +and G.J. descried Concepcion moving +mysteriously in a mist behind them. Only then +did he begin effectively to realise her experiences +and her achievement and her ordeal on the +distant, romantic Clyde. He said to himself: "I +could never have stood what she has stood." She +was a terrific woman; but because she was such a +mixture of the mad-heroic and the silly-foolish, he +<span class="newpage"><a name="page204" id="page204">[204]</a></span> +rather condescended to her. She lacked what he +was sure he possessed, and what he prized beyond +everything—poise. And had she truly had a +nervous breakdown, or was that fancy? Did she +truly despair of herself as a ruined woman, doubly +ruined, or was she acting a part, as much in order +to impress herself as in order to impress others? +He thought the country and particularly its Press, +was somewhat like Concepcion as a complex. He +condescended to Queenie also, not bitterly, but +with sardonic pity. There she was, unalterable by +any war, instinctively and ruthlessly working out +her soul and her destiny. The country was somewhat +like Queenie too. But, of course, comparison +between Queenie and Concepcion was +absurd. He had had to defend himself to Concepcion. +And had he not defended himself?</p> + +<p>True, he had begun perhaps too slowly to work +for the war; however, he had begun. What else +could he have done beyond what he had done? +Become a special constable? Grotesque. He +simply could not see himself as a special constable, +and if the country could not employ him more +usefully than in standing on guard over an electricity +works or a railway bridge in the middle of +the night, the country deserved to lose his services. +Become a volunteer? Even more grotesque. +Was he, a man turned fifty, to dress up and fall +flat on the ground at the word of some fantastic +jackanapes, or stare into vacancy while some +inspecting general examined his person as though +it were a tailor's mannikin? He had tried several +times to get into a Government department which +would utilise his brains, but without success. And +<span class="newpage"><a name="page205" id="page205">[205]</a></span> +the club hummed with the unimaginable stories +related by disappointed and dignified middle-aged +men whose too eager patriotism had been rendered +ridiculous by the vicious foolery of Government +departments. No! He had some work to do and +he was doing it. People were looking to him for +decision, for sagacity, for initiative; he supplied +these things. His work might grow even beyond +his expectations; but if it did not he should not +worry. He felt that, unfatigued, he could and +would contribute to the mass of the national +resolution in the latter and more racking half of +the war.</p> + +<p>Morally, he was profiting by the war. Nay, +more, in a deep sense he was enjoying it. The +immensity of it, the terror of it, the idiocy of it, +the splendour of it, its unique grandeur as an +illustration of human nature, thrilled the spectator +in him. He had little fear for the result. The +nations had measured themselves; the factors of +the equation were known. Britain conceivably +might not win, but she could never lose. And he +did not accept the singular theory that unless she +won this war another war would necessarily +follow. He had, in spite of all, a pretty good +opinion of mankind, and would not exaggerate +its capacity for lunatic madness. The worst +was over when Paris was definitely saved. Suffering +would sink and die like a fire. Privations +were paid for day by day in the cash of fortitude. +Taxes would always be met. A whole generation, +including himself, would rapidly vanish and +the next would stand in its place. And at +worst, the path of evolution was unchangeably +<span class="newpage"><a name="page206" id="page206">[206]</a></span> +appointed. A harsh, callous philosophy. Perhaps.</p> + +<p>What impressed him, and possibly intimidated +him beyond anything else whatever, was the onset +of the next generation. He thought of Queenie, +of Mr. Dialin, of Miss I-forget-your-name, of +Lieutenant Molder. How unconsciously sure of +themselves and arrogant in their years! How +strong! How unapprehensive! (And yet he had +just been taking credit for his own freedom from +apprehensiveness!) They were young—and he +was so no longer. Pooh! (A brave "pooh"!) +He was wiser than they. He had acquired the +supreme and subtly enjoyable faculty, which +they had yet painfully to acquire, of nice, sure, +discriminating, all-weighing judgment ... Concepcion +had divested herself of youth. And +Christine, since he knew her, had never had any +youthfulness save the physical. There were only +these two.</p> + +<p>Said a voice behind him:</p> + +<p>"You dining here to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I am."</p> + +<p>"Shall we crack a bottle together?" (It was +astonishing and deplorable how clichés survived in +the best clubs!)</p> + +<p>"By all means."</p> + +<p>The voice spoke lower:</p> + +<p>"That Bollinger's all gone at last."</p> + +<p>"You were fearing the worst the last time I +saw you," said G.J.</p> + +<p>"Auction afterwards?" the voice suggested.</p> + +<p>"Afraid I can't," said G.J. after a moment's +hesitation. "I shall have to leave early."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page207" id="page207">[207]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_29"></a><h2>Chapter 29</h2> + +<h4>THE STREETS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>After dinner G.J. walked a little eastwards +from the club, and, entering Leicester Square from +the south, crossed it, and then turned westwards +again on the left side of the road leading to +Piccadilly Circus. It was about the time when +Christine usually went from her flat to her +Promenade. Without admitting a definite resolve +to see Christine that evening he had said to himself +that he would rather like to see her, or that he +wouldn't mind seeing her, and that he might, if +the mood took him, call at Cork Street and catch +her before she left. Having advanced thus far in +the sketch of his intentions, he had decided that +it would be a pity not to take precautions to +encounter her in the street, assuming that she had +already started but had not reached the theatre. +The chance of meeting her on her way was +exceedingly small; nevertheless he would not miss +it. Hence his roundabout route; and hence his +selection of the chaste as against the unchaste +pavement of Coventry Street. He knew very little +of Christine's professional arrangements, but he +did know, from occasional remarks of hers, that +owing to the need for economy and the difficulty +of finding taxis she now always walked to the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page208" id="page208">[208]</a></span> +Promenade on dry nights, and that from a motive +of self-respect she always took the south side of +Piccadilly and the south side of Coventry Street +in order to avoid the risk of ever being mistaken +for something which she was not.</p> + +<p>It was a dry night, but very cloudy. Points +of faint illumination, mysteriously travelling across +the heavens and revealing the otherwise invisible +cushioned surface of the clouds, alone showed that +searchlights were at their work of watching over +the heedless town. Entertainments had drawn +in the people from the streets; motor-buses were +half empty; implacable parcels-vans, with thin, +exhausted boys scarcely descried on their rear +perches, forced the more fragile traffic to yield +place to them. Footfarers were few, except on +the north side of Coventry Street, where officers, +soldiers, civilians, police and courtesans marched +eternally to and fro, peering at one another in the +thick gloom that, except in the immediate region +of a lamp, put all girls, the young and the ageing, +the pretty and the ugly, the good-natured and the +grasping, on a sinister enticing equality. And +they were all, men and women and vehicles, +phantoms flitting and murmuring and hooting in +the darkness. And the violet glow-worms that +hung in front of theatres and cinemas seemed to +mark the entrances to unimaginable fastnesses, +and the side streets seemed to lead to the precipitous +edges of the universe where nothing was.</p> + +<p>G.J. recognised Christine just beyond the +knot of loiterers at the Piccadilly Tube. The +improbable had happened. She was walking at +what was for her a rather quick pace, purposeful +<span class="newpage"><a name="page209" id="page209">[209]</a></span> +and preoccupied. For an instant the recognition +was not mutual; he liked the uninviting stare that +she gave him as he stopped.</p> + +<p>"It is thou?" she exclaimed, and her dimly-seen +face softened suddenly into a delighted, +adoring smile.</p> + +<p>He was moved by the passion which she still +had for him. He felt vaguely and yet acutely an +undischarged obligation in regard to her. It was +the first time he had met her in such circumstances. +A constraint fell between them. In five minutes +she would have been in her Promenade engaged +upon her highly technical business, displaying her +attractions while appearing to protect herself +within a virginal timidity (for this was her natural +method). In any case, even had he not set forth +on purpose to find her, he could scarcely have +accompanied her to the doors of the theatre and +there left her to the night's routine. They both +hesitated, and then, without a word, he turned +aside and she followed close, acquiescent by training +and by instinct. Knowing his sure instinct for +what was proper, she knew at once that hazard +had saved her from the night's routine, and she +was full of quiet triumph. He, of course, though +absolutely loyal to her, had for dignity's sake to +practise the duplicity of pretending to make up +his mind what he should do.</p> + +<p>They went through the Tube station and were +soon in one of the withdrawn streets between +Coventry Street and Pall Mall East. The episode +had somehow the air of an adventure. He looked +at her; the hat was possibly rather large, but, in +truth, she was the image of refinement, delicacy, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page210" id="page210">[210]</a></span> +virtue, virtuous surrender. He thought it was +marvellous that there should exist such a woman +as she. And he thought how marvellous was the +protective vastness of the town, beneath whose +shield he was free—free to live different lives +simultaneously, to make his own laws, to maintain +indefinitely exciting and delicious secrecies. +Not half a mile off were Concepcion and Queen, +and his amour was as safe from them as if he had +hidden it in the depths of some hareemed Asiatic +city.</p> + +<p>Christine said politely:</p> + +<p>"But I detain thee?"</p> + +<p>"As for that," he replied, "what does that +matter, after all?"</p> + +<p>"Thou knowest," she said in a new tone, "I +am all that is most worried. In this London they +are never willing to leave you in peace."</p> + +<p>"What is it, my poor child?" he asked +benevolently.</p> + +<p>"They talk of closing the Promenade," she +answered.</p> + +<p>"Never!" he murmured easily, reassuringly.</p> + +<p>He remembered the night years earlier when, +as a protest against some restrictive action of a +County Council, the theatre of varieties whose +Promenade rivalled throughout the whole world +even the Promenade of the Folies-Bergère, shut its +doors and darkened its blazing facade, and the +entire West End seemed to go into a kind of +shocked mourning. But the next night the theatre +had reopened as usual and the Promenade had +been packed. Close the Promenades! Absurd! +Not the full bench of archbishops and bishops +<span class="newpage"><a name="page211" id="page211">[211]</a></span> +could close the Promenades! The thing was +inconceivable, especially in war-time, when +human nature was so human.</p> + +<p>"But it is quite serious!" she cried. "Everyone +speaks of it.... What idiots! What frightful +lack of imagination! And how unjust! What +do they suppose we are going to do, we other +women? Do they intend to put respectable +women like me on to the pavement? It is a +fantastic idea! Fantastic!... And the night-clubs +closing too!"</p> + +<p>"There is always the other place."</p> + +<p>"The Ottoman? Do not speak to me of the +Ottoman. Moreover, that also will be suppressed. +They are all mad." She gave a great sigh. "Oh! +What a fool I was to leave Paris! After all, in +Paris, they know what it is, life! However, I +weary thee. Let us say no more about it."</p> + +<p>She controlled her agitation. The subject was +excessively delicate, and that she should have +expressed herself so violently on it showed the +powerful reality of the emotion it had aroused in +her. Unquestionably the decency of her livelihood +was at stake. She had convinced him of the +peril. But what could he say? He could not say, +"Do not despair. You are indispensable; therefore +you will not be dispensed with. These crises have +often arisen before, and they always end in the +same manner. And are there not the big hotels, +the chic cinemas, certain restaurants? Not to +mention the clientèle which you must have made +for yourself?" Such remarks were impossible. +But not more impossible than the very basis of +his relations with her. He was aware again of the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page212" id="page212">[212]</a></span> +weight of an undischarged obligation to her. His +behaviour towards her had always been perfection, +and yet was she not his creditor? He had a +conscience, and it was illogical and extremely +inconvenient.</p> + +<p>At that moment a young man flew along the +silent, shadowed street, and as he passed them +shouted somewhat hysterically the one word:</p> + +<p>"Zepps!"</p> + +<p>Christine clutched his arm. They stood still.</p> + +<p>"Do not be frightened," said G.J. with perfect +tranquillity.</p> + +<p>"But I hear guns," she protested.</p> + +<p>He, too, heard the distant sounds of guns, and +it occurred to him that the sounds had begun +earlier, while they were talking.</p> + +<p>"I expect it's only anti-aircraft practice," he +replied. "I seem to remember seeing a warning +in the paper about there being practice one of +these nights."</p> + +<p>Christine, increasing the pressure on his arm +and apparently trying to drag him away, complained:</p> + +<p>"They ought to give warning of raids. That +is elementary. This country is so bizarre."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said G.J., full of wisdom and standing +his ground. "That would never do. Warnings +would make panics, and they wouldn't help in +the least. We are just as safe here as anywhere. +Even supposing there is an air-raid, the chance of +any particular spot being hit must be several +million to one against. And I don't think for a +moment there is an air-raid."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page213" id="page213">[213]</a></span> +<p>"Well, I don't," G.J. answered with calm +superiority. The fact was that he did not know +why he thought there was not an air-raid. To +assume that there was not an air-raid, in the +absence of proof positive of the existence of an +air-raid, was with him constitutional: a state of +mind precisely as illogical, biased and credulous +as the alarmist mood which he disdained in others. +Also he was lacking in candour, for after a few +seconds the suspicion crept into his mind that there +might indeed be an air-raid—and he would not +utter it.</p> + +<p>"In any case," said Christine, "they always +give warning in Paris."</p> + +<p>He thought:</p> + +<p>"I'd better get this woman home," and said +aloud: "Come along."</p> + +<p>"But is it safe?" she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>He saw that she was the primeval woman, +exactly like Concepcion and Queen. First she +wanted to run, and then when he was ready to +run she asked: "Is it safe?" And he felt very +indulgent and comfortably masculine. He +admitted that it would be absurd to expect the +conduct of a frightened Christine to be governed +by the operations of reason. He was not annoyed, +because personally he simply did not care a whit +whether they moved or not. While they were +hesitating a group of people came round the +corner. These people were talking loudly, and +as they approached G.J. discerned that one of +them was pointing to the sky.</p> + +<p>"There she is! There she is!" shouted an eager +voice. Seeing more human society in G.J. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page214" id="page214">[214]</a></span> +and Christine, the group stopped near them.</p> + +<p>G.J. gazed in the indicated direction, and lo! +there was a point of light in the sky.</p> + +<p>And then guns suddenly began to sound much +nearer.</p> + +<p>"What did I tell you?" said another voice. +"I told you they'd cleared the corner at the +bottom of St. James's Street for a gun. Now +they've got her going. Good for us they're shooting +southwards."</p> + +<p>Christine was shaking on G.J.'s arm.</p> + +<p>"It's all right! It's all right!" he murmured +compassionately, and she tightened her clutch on +him in thanks.</p> + +<p>He looked hard at the point of light, which +might have been anything. The changing forms +of thin clouds continually baffled the vision.</p> + +<p>"By god!" shouted the first voice. "She's hit. +See her stagger? She's hit. She'll blaze up in a +moment. One down last week. Another this. +Look at her now. She's afire."</p> + +<p>The group gave a weak cheer.</p> + +<p>Then the clouds cleared for an instant and +revealed a crescent. G.J. said:</p> + +<p>"That's the moon, you idiots. It's not a +Zeppelin."</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke he wondered, and regretted, +that he should be calling them idiots. They were +complete strangers to him. The group vanished, +crestfallen, round another corner. G.J. laughed to +Christine. Then the noise of guns was multiplied. +That he was with Christine in the midst of an +authentic air-raid could no longer be doubted. He +was conscious of the wine he had drunk at the club. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page215" id="page215">[215]</a></span> +He had the sensation of human beings, men like +himself, who ate and drank and laced their boots, +being actually at that moment up there in the sky +with intent to kill him and Christine. It was a +marvellous sensation, terrible but exquisite. And +he had the sensation of other human beings beyond +the sea, giving deliberate orders in German for +murder, murdering for their lives; and they, too, +were like himself, and ate and drank and either +laced their boots or had them laced daily. And +the staggering apprehension of the miraculous +lunacy of war swept through his soul.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page216" id="page216">[216]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_30"></a><h2>Chapter 30</h2> + +<h4>THE CHILD'S ARM</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"You see," he said to Christine, "it was not a +Zeppelin.... We shall be quite safe here."</p> + +<p>But in that last phrase he had now confessed +to her the existence of an air-raid. He knew that +he was not behaving with the maximum of +sagacity. There were, for example, hotels with +subterranean grill-rooms close by, and there were +similar refuges where danger would be less than +in the street, though the street was narrow and +might be compared to a trench. And yet he had +said, "We shall be quite safe here." In others +he would have condemned such an attitude.</p> + +<p>Now, however, he realised that he was very +like others. An inactive fatalism had seized him. +He was too proud, too idle, too negligent, too +curious, to do the wise thing. He and Christine +were in the air-raid, and in it they should remain. +He had just the senseless, monkeyish curiosity of +the staring crowd so lyrically praised by the +London Press. He was afraid, but his curiosity +and inertia were stronger than his fear. Then +came a most tremendous explosion—the loudest +sound, the most formidable physical phenomenon +that G.J. had ever experienced in his life. The +earth under their feet trembled. Christine gave a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page217" id="page217">[217]</a></span> +squeal and seemed to subside to the ground, but +he pulled her up again, not in calm self-possession, +but by the sheer automatism of instinct. A spasm +of horrible fright shot through him. He thought, +in awe and stupefaction:</p> + +<p>"A bomb!"</p> + +<p>He thought about death and maiming and +blood. The relations between him and those +everyday males aloft in the sky seemed to be +appallingly close. After the explosion perfect +silence—no screams, no noise of crumbling—perfect +silence, and yet the explosion seemed still +to dominate the air! Ears ached and sang. Something +must be done. All theories of safety had +been smashed to atoms in the explosion. G.J. +dragged Christine along the street, he knew not +why. The street was unharmed. Not the slightest +trace in it, so far as G.J. could tell in the gloom, +of destruction! But where the explosion had been, +whether east, west, south or north, he could not +guess. Except for the disturbance in his ears the +explosion might have been a hallucination.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he saw at the end of the street a +wide thoroughfare, and he could not be sure what +thoroughfare it was. Two motor-buses passed the +end of the street at mad speed; then two taxis; +then a number of people, men and women, running +hard. Useless and silly to risk the perils of +that wide thoroughfare! He turned back with +Christine. He got her to run. In the thick gloom +he looked for an open door or a porch, but there +was none. The houses were like the houses of the +dead. He made more than one right angle turn. +Christine gave a sign that she could go no farther. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page218" id="page218">[218]</a></span> +He ceased trying to drag her. He was recovering +himself. Once more he heard the guns—childishly +feeble after the explosion of the bomb. After all, +one spot was as safe as another.</p> + +<p>The outline of a building seemed familiar. It +was an abandoned chapel; he knew he was in St. +Martin's Street. He was about to pull Christine +into the shelter of the front of the chapel, when +something happened for which he could not find a +name. True, it was an explosion. But the previous +event had been an explosion, and this one was +a thousandfold more intimidating. The earth +swayed up and down. The sound alone of the +immeasurable cataclysm annihilated the universe. +The sound and the concussion transcended what +had been conceivable. Both the sound and the +concussion seemed to last for a long time. Then, +like an afterthought, succeeded the awful noise of +falling masses and the innumerable crystal tinkling +of shattered glass. This noise ceased and began +again....</p> + +<p>G.J. was now in a strange condition of mild +wonder. There was silence in the dark solitude of +St. Martin's Street. Then the sound of guns +supervened once more, but they were distant guns. +G.J. discovered that he was not holding Christine, +and also that, instead of being in the middle of the +street, he was leaning against the door of a house. +He called faintly, "Christine!" No reply. "In +a moment," he said to himself, "I must go out +and look for her. But I am not quite ready yet." +He had a slight pain in his side; it was naught; it +was naught, especially in comparison with the +strange conviction of weakness and confusion.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page219" id="page219">[219]</a></span> +<p>He thought:</p> + +<p>"We've not won this war yet," and he had +qualms.</p> + +<p>One poor lamp burned in the street. He +started to walk slowly and uncertainly towards it. +Near by he saw a hat on the ground. It was his +own. He put it on. Suddenly the street lamp +went out. He walked on, and stepped ankle-deep +into broken glass. Then the road was clear again. +He halted. Not a sign of Christine! He decided +that she must have run away, and that she would +run blindly and, finding herself either in Leicester +Square or Lower Regent Street, would by instinct +run home. At any rate, she could not be blown +to atoms, for they were together at the instant of +the explosion. She must exist, and she must have +had the power of motion. He remembered that +he had had a stick; he had it no longer. He +turned back and, taking from his pocket the +electric torch which had lately come into fashion, +he examined the road for his stick. The sole +object of interest which the torch revealed was a +child's severed arm, with a fragment of brown +frock on it and a tinsel ring on one of the fingers +of the dirty little hand. The blood from the other +end had stained the ground. G.J. abruptly +switched off the torch. Nausea overcame him, +and then a feeling of the most intense pity and +anger overcame the nausea. (A month elapsed +before he could mention his discovery of the child's +arm to anyone at all.) The arm lay there as if it +had been thrown there. Whence had it come? +No doubt it had come from over the housetops....</p> + +<p>He smelt gas, and then he felt cold water in +<span class="newpage"><a name="page220" id="page220">[220]</a></span> +his boots. Water was advancing in a flood along +the street. "Broken mains, of course," he said +to himself, and was rather pleased with the +promptness of his explanation. At the elbow of +St. Martin's Street, where a new dim vista opened +up, he saw policemen, then firemen; then he heard +the beat of a fire-engine, upon whose brass glinted +the reflection of flames that were flickering in a +gap between two buildings. A huge pile of debris +encumbered the middle of the road. The vista was +closed by a barricade, beyond which was a pressing +crowd. "Stand clear there!" said a policeman +to him roughly. "There's a wall going to +fall there any minute." He walked off, hurrying +with relief from the half-lit scene of busy, dim +silhouettes. He could scarcely understand it; and +he was incapable of replying to the policeman. +He wanted to be alone and to ponder himself back +into perfect composure. At the elbow again he +halted afresh. And as he stood figures in couples, +bearing stretchers, strode past him. The stretchers +were covered with cloths that hung down. Not +the faintest sound came from beneath the cloths.</p> + +<p>After a time he went on. The other exit of +St. Martin's Street was being barricaded as he +reached it. A large crowd had assembled, and +there was a sound of talking like steady rain. He +pushed grimly through the crowd. He was set +apart from the idle crowd. He would tell the +crowd nothing. In a minute he was going westwards +on the left side of Coventry Street again. +The other side was as populous with saunterers as +ever. The violet glow-worms still burned in front +of the theatres and cinemas. Motor-buses swept +<span class="newpage"><a name="page221" id="page221">[221]</a></span> +by; taxis swept by; parcels vans swept by, hooting. +A newsman was selling papers at the corner. +Was he in a dream now? Or had he been in a +dream in St. Martin's Street? The vast capacity +of the capital for digesting experience seemed to +endanger his reason. Save for the fragments of +eager conversation everywhere overheard, there +was not a sign of disturbance of the town's habitual +life. And he was within four hundred yards of +the child's arm and of the spot where the procession +of stretcher-bearers had passed. One thought +gradually gained ascendancy in his mind: "I am +saved!" It became exultant: "I might have +been blown to bits, but I am saved!" Despite the +world's anguish and the besetting imminence of +danger, life and the city which he inhabited had +never seemed so enchanting, so lovely, as they +did then. He hurried towards Cork Street, +hopeful.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page222" id="page222">[222]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_31"></a><h2>Chapter 31</h2> + +<h4>"ROMANCE"</h4> +<br /> + +<p>At two periods of the day Marthe, with +great effort and for professional purposes, achieved +some degree of personal tidiness. The first period +began at about four o'clock in the afternoon. By +six o'clock or six-thirty she had slipped back into +the sloven. The second period began at about +ten o'clock at night. It was more brilliant while +it lasted, but owing to the accentuation of +Marthe's characteristics by fatigue it seldom lasted +more than an hour. When Marthe opened the +door to G.J. she was at her proudest, intensely +conscious of being clean and neat, and unwilling +to stand any nonsense from anybody. Of course +she was polite to G.J. as the chief friend of the +establishment and a giver of good tips, but she +deprecated calls by gentlemen in the evening, for +unless they were made by appointment the risk of +complications at once arose.</p> + +<p>The mention of an air-raid rendered her +definitely inimical. Formerly Marthe had been +more than average nervous in air-raids, but she +had grown used to them and now defied them. +As she kept all windows closed on principle she +heard less of raids than some people. G.J. did +not explain the circumstances. He simply asked +<span class="newpage"><a name="page223" id="page223">[223]</a></span> +if Madame had returned. No, Madame had not +returned. True, Marthe had not been unaware +of guns and things, but there was no need to +worry; Madame must have arrived at the theatre +long before the guns started. Marthe really could +not be bothered with these unnecessary apprehensions. +She had her duties to attend to like +other folks, and they were heavy, and she washed +her hands of air-raids; she accepted no responsibility +for them; for her, within the flat, they did +not exist, and the whole German war-machine +was thereby foiled. G.J. was on the point of a +full explanation, but he checked himself. A +recital of the circumstances would not immediately +help, and it might hinder. Concealing his +astonishment at the excesses of which unimaginative +stolidity is capable, even in an Italian, he +turned down the stairs again.</p> + +<p>He stopped in the middle of the stairs, because +he did not know what he was going to do, and he +seemed to lack force for decisions. No harm could +have happened to Christine; she had run off, that +was certain. And yet—had he not often heard of +the impish tricks of explosions? Of one person +being taken and another left? Was it not possible +that Christine had been blown to the other end of +the street, and was now lying there?... No! +Either she was on her way home, or, automatically, +she had scurried to the theatre, which was close +to St. Martin's Street, and been too fearful to +venture forth again. Perhaps she was looking +somewhere for <i>him</i>. Yet she might be dead. In +any case, what could he do? Ring up the police? +It was too soon. He decided that he would wait +<span class="newpage"><a name="page224" id="page224">[224]</a></span> +in Cork Street for half an hour. This plan appealed +to him for the mere reason that it was negative.</p> + +<p>As he opened the front door he saw a taxi +standing outside. The taxi-man had taken one of +the lamps from its bracket, and was looking into +the interior of the cab, which was ornate with +toy-curtains and artificial flowers to indicate to +the world that he was an owner-driver and understood +life. Hearing the noise of the door, he turned +his head—he was wearing a bowler hat and a +smart white muffler—and said to G.J., with self-respecting +respect for a gentleman:</p> + +<p>"This is No. 170, isn't it, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The taxi-man jerked his head to draw G.J.'s +attention to the interior of the vehicle. Christine +was half on the seat and half on the floor, unconscious, +with shut eyes.</p> + +<p>Instantly G.J. was conscious of making a +complete recovery from all the effects, physical +and moral, of the air-raid.</p> + +<p>"Just help me to get her out, will you?" he +said in a casual tone, "and I'll carry her upstairs. +Where did you pick the lady up?"</p> + +<p>"Strand, sir, nearly opposite Romano's."</p> + +<p>"The dickens you did!"</p> + +<p>"Shock from air-raid, I suppose, sir."</p> + +<p>"Probably."</p> + +<p>"She did seem a little upset when she hailed +me, or I shouldn't have taken her. I was off +home, and I only took her to oblige."</p> + +<p>The taxi-man ran quickly round to the other +side of the cab and entered it by the off-door, +behind Christine. Together the men lifted her up.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page225" id="page225">[225]</a></span> +<p>"I can manage her," said G.J. calmly.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sir, you'll have to get hold lower +down, so as her waist'll be nearly as high as your +shoulder. My brother's a fireman."</p> + +<p>"Right," said G.J. "By the way, what's the +fare?"</p> + +<p>Holding Christine across his shoulder with the +right arm, he unbuttoned his overcoat with his +left hand and took out change from his trouser +pocket for the driver.</p> + +<p>"You might pull the door to after me," he +said, in response to the driver's expression of +thanks.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir."</p> + +<p>The door banged. He was alone with Christine +on the long, dark, inclement stairs. He felt the +contours of her body through her clothes. She +was limp, helpless. She was a featherweight. +She was nothing at all; inexpressibly girlish, +pathetic, dear. Never had G.J. felt as he felt +then. He mounted the stairs rather quickly, +with firm, disdaining steps, and, despite his being +a little out of breath, he had a tremendous +triumph over the stolidity of Marthe when she +answered his ring. Marthe screamed, and in +the scream readjusted her views concerning +air-raids.</p> + +<p>"It's queer this swoon lasting such a long time!" +he reflected, when Christine had been deposited +on the sofa in the sitting-room, and the common +remedies and tricks tried without result, and +Marthe had gone into the kitchen to make hot +water hotter.</p> + +<p>He had established absolute empire over +<span class="newpage"><a name="page226" id="page226">[226]</a></span> +Marthe. He had insisted on Marthe not being +silly; and yet, though he had already been silly +himself in his absurd speculations as to the possibility +of Christine's death, he was now in danger +of being silly again. Did ordinary swoons ever +continue as this one was continuing? Would +Christine ever come out of it? He stood with his +back to the fireplace, and her head and shoulders +were right under him, so that he looked almost +perpendicularly down upon them. Her face was +as pale as ivory; every drop of blood seemed to +have left it; the same with her neck and bosom; +her limbs had dropped anyhow, in disarray; a fur +jacket was untidily cast over her black muslin +dress. But her waved hair, fresh from the weekly +visit of the professional coiffeur, remained in the +most perfect order.</p> + +<p>G.J. looked round the room. It was getting +very shabby. Its pale enamelled shabbiness and +the tawdry ugliness of nearly every object in it had +never repelled and saddened him as they did then. +The sole agreeable item was a large photograph of +the mistress in a rich silver frame which he had +given her. She would not let him buy knicknacks +or draperies for her drawing-room; she preferred +other presents. And now that she lay in the +room, but with no power to animate it, he knew +what the room really looked like; it looked like a +dentist's waiting-room, except that no dentist +would expose copies of <i>La Vie Parisienne</i> to the +view of clients. It had no more individuality than +a dentist's waiting-room. Indeed it was a dentist's +waiting-room. He remembered that he had had +similar ideas about the room at the beginning of +<span class="newpage"><a name="page227" id="page227">[227]</a></span> +his acquaintance with Christine; but he had +partially forgotten them, and moreover, they had +not by any means been so clear and desolating as +in that moment.</p> + +<p>He looked from the photograph to her face. +The face was like the photograph, but in the +swoon its wistfulness became unbearable. And it +was so young. What was she? Twenty-seven? +She could not be twenty-eight. No age! A girl! +And talk about experience! She had had scarcely +any experience, save one kind of experience. The +monotony and narrowness of her life was terrifying +to him. He had fifty interests, but she had only +one. All her days were alike. She had no change +and no holiday; no past and no future; no family; +no intimate friends—unless Marthe was an +intimate friend; no horizons, no prospects. She +witnessed life in London through the distorting, +mystifying veil of a foreign language imperfectly +understood. She was the most solitary girl in +London, or she would have been were there not a +hundred thousand or so others in nearly the same +case.... Stay! Once she had delicately allowed +him to divine that she had been to Bournemouth +with a gentleman for a week-end. He could recall +nothing else. Nightly, or almost nightly, she +listened to the same insufferably tedious jokes +in the same insufferably tedious revue. But the +authorities were soon going to deprive her of the +opportunity of doing that. And then she would +cease to receive even the education that revues +can furnish, and in her mind no images would +survive but images connected with the material +arts of love. For, after all, what had they truly in +<span class="newpage"><a name="page228" id="page228">[228]</a></span> +common, he and she, but a periodical transient +excitation?</p> + +<p>When next he looked at her, her eyes were +wide open and a flush was coming, as imperceptibly +as the dawn, into her cheeks. He took +her hands again and rubbed them. Marthe +returned, and Christine drank. She gazed, in weak +silence, first at Marthe and then at G.J. After +a few moments no one spoke. Marthe took off +Christine's boots, and rubbed her stockinged feet, +and then kissed them violently.</p> + +<p>"Madame should go to bed."</p> + +<p>"I am better."</p> + +<p>Marthe left the room, seeming resentful.</p> + +<p>"What has passed?" Christine murmured, +without smiling.</p> + +<p>"A faint in the taxi, my poor child. That +was all," said G.J. calmly.</p> + +<p>"But how is it that I find myself here?"</p> + +<p>"I carried thee upstairs in my arms."</p> + +<p>"Thou?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" He spoke lightly, with careful +negligence. "It appears that thou wast in the +Strand."</p> + +<p>"Was I? I lost thee. Something tore thee +from me. I ran. I ran till I could not run. I +was sure that never more should I see thee alive. +Oh! My Gilbert, what terrible moments! What a +catastrophe! Never shall I forget those moments!"</p> + +<p>G.J. said, with bland supremacy:</p> + +<p>"But it is necessary that thou shouldst forget +them. Master thyself. Thou knowst now what +it is—an air-raid. It was an ordinary air-raid. +There have been many like it. There will be +<span class="newpage"><a name="page229" id="page229">[229]</a></span> +many more. For once we were in the middle of +a raid—by chance. But we are safe—that is +enough."</p> + +<p>"But the deaths?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"But there must have been many deaths!"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. There will have been deaths. +There usually are." He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Christine sat up and gave a little screech.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" She burst out, her features suddenly +transformed by enraged protest. "Why wilt thou +act thy cold man?"</p> + +<p>He was amazed at the sudden nervous strength +she showed.</p> + +<p>"But, my little one—"</p> + +<p>She cried:</p> + +<p>"Why wilt thou act thy cold man? I shall +become mad in this sacred England. I shall become +totally mad. You are all the same, all, all, men +and women. You are marvels—let it be so!—but +you are not human. Do you then wish to +be taken for telegraph-poles? Always you are +pretending something. Pretending that you have +no sentiments. And you are soaked in sentimentality. +But no! You will not show it! You +will not applaud your soldiers in the streets. You +will not salute your flag. You will not salute even +a corpse. You have only one phrase: 'It is +nothing'. If you win a battle, 'It is nothing' +If you lose one, 'It is nothing'. If you are nearly +killed in an air-raid, 'It is nothing'. And if you +were killed outright and could yet speak, you +would say, with your eternal sneer, 'It is nothing'. +You other men, you make love with the air of +<span class="newpage"><a name="page230" id="page230">[230]</a></span> +turning on a tap. As for your women, god +knows—! But I have a horror of Englishwomen. +Prudes but wantons. Can I not guess? +Always hypocrites. Always holding themselves +in. My god, that pinched smile! And your +women of the world especially. Have they a +natural gesture? Yet does not everyone know +that they are rotten with vice and perversity? +And your actresses!... And they talk of us! Ah, +well! For me, I can say that I earn my living +honestly, every son of it. For all that I receive, I +give. And they would throw me on to the pavement +to starve, me whose function in society—"</p> + +<p>She collapsed in sobs, and with averted face +held out her arms in appeal. G.J., at once +admiring and stricken with compassion, bent and +clasped her neck, and kissed her, and kept his +mouth on hers. Her tears dropped freely on his +cheeks. Her sobs shook both of them. Gradually +the sobs decreased in violence and frequency. +In an infant's broken voice she murmured into +his mouth:</p> + +<p>"My wolf! Is it true—that thou didst carry +me here in thy arms? I am so proud."</p> + +<p>He was not in the slightest degree irritated or +grieved by her tirade. But the childlike changeableness +and facility of her emotions touched him. +He savoured her youth, and himself felt curiously +young. It was the fact that within the last year +he had grown younger.</p> + +<p>He thought of great intellectuals, artists, men +of action, princes, kings—historical figures—in +whom courtesans had inspired immortal passion. +He thought of the illustrious courtesans who had +<span class="newpage"><a name="page231" id="page231">[231]</a></span> +made themselves heroic in legend, women whose +loves were countless and often venal, and yet +whose renown had come down to posterity as +gloriously as that of supreme poets. He thought +of lifelong passionate attachments, which to the +world were inexplicable, and which the world +never tired of leniently discussing. He overheard +people saying: "Yes. Picked her up somewhere, +in a Promenade. She worships him, and he adores +her. Don't know where he hides her. You see +them about together sometimes—at concerts, for +instance. Mysterious-looking creature she is. +Plays the part very well, too. Strange affair. +But, of course, there's no accounting for these +things."</p> + +<p>The role attracted him. And there could be +no doubt that she did worship him utterly. He +did not analyse his feeling for her—perhaps could +not. She satisfied something in him that was +profound. She never offended his sensibilities, nor +wearied him. Her manners were excellent, her +gestures full of grace and modesty, her temperament +extreme. A unique combination! And if +the tie between them was not real and secure, why +should he have yearned for her company that +night after the scenes with Concepcion and Queen. +Those women challenged him, discomposed him, +fretted him, fought him, left his nerves raw. She +soothed. Why should he not, in the French +phrase, "put her among her own furniture?" +In a proper artistic environment, an environment +created by himself, of taste and moderate luxury, +she would be exquisite. She would blossom. And +she would blossom for him alone. She would live +<span class="newpage"><a name="page232" id="page232">[232]</a></span> +for his footstep on her threshold; and when he +was not there she would dream amid cushions like +a cat. In the right environment she would become +another being, that was to say, the same being, +but orchidised. And when he was old, when he +was sixty-five, she would still be young, still be +under forty and seductive. And the publishing +of his last will and testament, under which she +inherited all, would render her famous throughout +all the West End, and the word "romance" +would spring to every lip. He searched in his mind +for the location of suitable flats.</p> + +<p>"Is it true that thou didst carry me in thine +arms?" repeated Christine.</p> + +<p>He murmured into her mouth:</p> + +<p>"Is it true? Can she doubt? The proof, then."</p> + +<p>And he picked her up as though she had been +a doll, and carried her into the bedroom. As she +lay on the bed, she raised her arm and looked at +the broken wrist-watch and sighed.</p> + +<p>"My mascot. It is not a <i>blague</i>, my mascot."</p> + +<p>Shortly afterwards she began to cry again, at +first gently; then sobs supervened.</p> + +<p>"She must sleep," he said firmly.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I cannot. I have been too upset. It is impossible +that I should sleep."</p> + +<p>"She must."</p> + +<p>"Go and buy me a drug."</p> + +<p>"If I go and buy her a drug, will she undress +and get into bed while I am away?"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>Calling Marthe, and taking the latch-key of +the street-door, he went to his chemist's in Dover +<span class="newpage"><a name="page233" id="page233">[233]</a></span> +Street and bought some potassium bromide and +sal volatile. When he came back Marthe whispered +to him:</p> + +<p>"She sleeps. She has told me everything as +I undressed her. The poor child!"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page234" id="page234">[234]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_32"></a><h2>Chapter 32</h2> + +<h4>MRS. BRAIDING</h4> +<br /> + +<p>G.J. went home at once, partly so that +Christine should not be disturbed, partly because +he desired solitude in order to examine and compose +his mind. Mrs. Braiding had left an agreeable +modest fire—fit for cold April—in the drawing-room. +He had just sat down in front of it and +was tranquillising himself in the familiar harmonious +beauty of the apartment (which, however, +did seem rather insipid after the decorative +excesses of Queen's room), when he heard footsteps +on the little stairway from the upper floor. +Mrs. Braiding entered the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>This was a Mrs. Braiding very different from +the Mrs. Braiding of 1914, a shameless creature +of more rounded contours than of old, and not +quite so spick and span as of old. She was carrying +in her arms that which before the war she +could not have conceived herself as carrying. The +being was invisible in wraps, but it was there; and +she seemed to have no shame for it, seemed indeed +to be proud of it and defiant about it.</p> + +<p>Braiding's military career had been full of +surprises. He had expected within a few months +of joining the colours to be dashing gloriously and +homicidally at panic-stricken Germans across the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page235" id="page235">[235]</a></span> +plains of Flanders, to be, in fact, saving the +Empire at the muzzle of rifle and the point of +bayonet. In truth, he found that for interminable, +innumerable weeks his job was to save the Empire +by cleaning harness on the East Coast of England—for +under advice he had transferred to the +artillery. Later, when his true qualifications were +discovered, he had to save the Empire by polishing +the buttons and serving the morning tea and +buying the cigarettes of a major who in 1914 had +been a lawyer by profession and a soldier only +for fun. The major talked too much, and to the +wrong people. He became lyric concerning the +talents of Braiding to a dandiacal Divisional +General at Colchester, and soon, by the actuating +of mysterious forces and the filling up of many +Army forms, Braiding was removed to Colchester, +and had to save the Empire by valeting the +Divisonal General. Foiled in one direction, +Braiding advanced in another. By tradition, +when a valet marries a lady's maid, the effect on +the birth-rate is naught. And it is certain that +but for the war Braiding would not have permitted +himself to act as he did. The Empire, +however, needed citizens. The first rumour that +Braiding had done what in him lay to meet the +need spread through the kitchens of the Albany +like a new gospel, incredible and stupefying—but +which imposed itself. The Albany was never the +same again.</p> + +<p>All the kitchens were agreed that Mr. Hoape +would soon be stranded. The spectacle of Mrs. +Braiding as she slipped out of a morning past the +porter's lodge mesmerised beholders. At last, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page236" id="page236">[236]</a></span> +when things had reached the limit, Mrs. Braiding +slipped out and did not come back. Meanwhile a +much younger sister of hers had been introduced +into the flat. But when Mrs. Braiding went the +virgin went also. The flat was more or less closed, +and Mr. Hoape had slept at his club for weeks. +At length the flat was reopened, but whereas +three had left it, four returned.</p> + +<p>That a bachelor of Mr. Hoape's fastidiousness +should tolerate in his home a woman with a +tiny baby was remarkable; it was as astounding +perhaps as any phenomenon of the war, and a +sublime proof that Mr. Hoape realised that the +Empire was fighting for its life. It arose from the +fact that both G.J. and Braiding were men of +considerable sagacity. Braiding had issued an +order, after seeing G.J., that his wife should not +leave G.J.'s service. And Mrs. Braiding, too, +had her sense of duty. She was very proud of +G.J.'s war-work, and would have thought it +disloyal to leave him in the lurch, and so possibly +prejudice the war-work—especially as she was +convinced that he would never get anybody else +comparable to herself.</p> + +<p>At first she had been a little apologetic and +diffident about her offspring. But soon the man-child +had established an important position in the +flat, and though he was generally invisible, his +individuality pervaded the whole place. G.J. had +easily got accustomed to the new inhabitant. He +tolerated and then liked the babe. He had never +nursed it—for such an act would have been +excessive—but he had once stuck his finger in its +mouth, and he had given it a perambulator that +<span class="newpage"><a name="page237" id="page237">[237]</a></span> +folded up. He did venture secretly to hope that +Braiding would not imagine it to be his duty to +provide further for the needs of the Empire.</p> + +<p>That Mrs. Braiding had grown rather shameless +in motherhood was shown by her quite casual +demeanour as she now came into the drawing-room +with the baby, for this was the first time she +had ever come into the drawing-room with the +baby, knowing her august master to be there.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Braiding," said G.J. "That child ought +to be asleep."</p> + +<p>"He is asleep, sir," said the woman, glancing +into the mysteries of the immortal package, "but +Maria hasn't been able to get back yet because of +the raid, and I didn't want to leave him upstairs +alone with the cat. He slept all through the raid."</p> + +<p>"It seems some of you have made the cellar +quite comfortable."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir. Particularly now with the oilstove +and the carpet. Perhaps one night you'll come +down, sir."</p> + +<p>"I may have to. I shouldn't have been much +surprised to find some damage here to-night. +They've been very close, you know.... Near +Leicester Square." He could not be troubled to +say more than that.</p> + +<p>"Have they really, sir? It's just like them," said +Mrs. Braiding. And she then continued in exactly the +same tone: "Lady Queenie Paulle has just been telephoning +from Lechford House, sir." She still—despite her +marvellous experiences—impishly loved to make +extraordinary announcements as if they were nothing +at all. And she felt an uplifted satisfaction in having +<span class="newpage"><a name="page238" id="page238">[238]</a></span> +talked to Lady Queenie Paulle herself on the telephone.</p> + +<p>"What does <i>she</i> want?" G.J. asked impatiently, +and not at all in a voice proper for the mention +of a Lady Queenie to a Mrs. Braiding. He was +annoyed; he resented any disturbance of the +repose which he so acutely needed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Braiding showed that she was a little +shocked. The old harassed look of bearing up +against complex anxieties came into her face.</p> + +<p>"Her ladyship wished to speak to you, sir, on +a matter of importance. I didn't know <i>where</i> you +were, sir."</p> + +<p>That last phrase was always used by Mrs. +Braiding when she wished to imply that she could +guess where G.J. had been. He did not suppose +that she was acquainted with the circumstances +of his amour, but he had a suspicion amounting +to conviction that she had conjectured it, as men +of science from certain derangements in their +calculations will conjecture the existence of a star +that no telescope has revealed.</p> + +<p>"Well, better leave Lady Queenie alone for +to-night."</p> + +<p>"I promised her ladyship that I would ring +her up again in any case in a quarter of an hour. +That was approximately ten minutes ago."</p> + +<p>He could not say:</p> + +<p>"Be hanged to your promises!"</p> + +<p>Reluctantly he went to the telephone himself, +and learnt from Lady Queenie, who always knew +everything, that the raiders were expected to +return in about half an hour, and that she and +Concepcion desired his presence at Lechford +House. He replied coldly that he was too tired +<span class="newpage"><a name="page239" id="page239">[239]</a></span> +to come, and was indeed practically in bed. +"But you must come. Don't you understand we +want you?" said Lady Queenie autocratically, +adding: "And don't forget that business about the +hospitals. We didn't attend to it this afternoon, +you know." He said to himself: "And whose fault +was that?" and went off angrily, wondering what +mysterious power of convention it was that +compelled him to respond to the whim of a girl +whom he scarcely even respected.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page240" id="page240">[240]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_33"></a><h2>Chapter 33</h2> + +<h4>THE ROOF</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The main door of LECHFORD HOUSE was ajar, +and at the sound of G.J.'s footsteps on the marble +of the porch it opened. Robin, the secretary, stood +at the threshold. Evidently she had been set to +wait for him.</p> + +<p>"The men-servants are all in the cellars," said +she perkily.</p> + +<p>G.J. retorted with sardonic bitterness:</p> + +<p>"And quite right, too. I'm glad someone's +got some sense left."</p> + +<p>Yet he did not really admire the men-servants +for being in the cellars. Somehow it seemed mean +of them not to be ready to take any risks, however +unnecessary.</p> + +<p>Robin, hiding her surprise and confusion in a +nervous snigger, banged the heavy door, and led +him through the halls and up the staircases. As +she went forward she turned on electric lamps +here and there in advance, turning them off by +the alternative switches after she had passed them, +so that in the vast, shadowed, echoing interior the +two appeared to be preceded by light and pursued +by a tide of darkness. She was mincingly feminine, +and very conscious of the fact that G.J. was a +fine gentleman. In the afternoon, and again +to-night—at first, he had taken her for a mere +<span class="newpage"><a name="page241" id="page241">[241]</a></span> +girl; but as she halted under a lamp to hold a door +for him at the entrance to the upper stairs, he +perceived that it must have been a long time since +she was a girl. Often had he warned himself that +the fashion of short skirts and revealed stockings +gave a deceiving youthfulness to the middle-aged, +and yet nearly every day he had to learn the lesson +afresh.</p> + +<p>He was just expecting to be shown into the +boudoir when Robin stopped at a very small door.</p> + +<p>"Her ladyship and Mrs. Carlos Smith are out +on the roof. This is the ladder," she said, and +illuminated the ladder.</p> + +<p>G.J. had no choice but to mount. Luckily he +had kept his hat. He put it on. As he climbed +he felt a slight recurrence of the pain in his side +which he had noticed in St. Martin's Street. The +roof was a very strange, tempestuous place, and +insecure. He had an impression similar to that +of being at sea, for the wind, which he had +scarcely observed in the street, made melancholy +noises in the new protective wire-netting that +stretched over his head. This bomb-catching +contrivance, fastened on thick iron stanchions, +formed a sort of second roof, and was a very solid +and elaborate affair which must have cost much +money. The upstreaming light from the ladder-shaft +was suddenly extinguished. He could see +nobody, and the loneliness was uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>Somehow, when Robin had announced that +the ladies were on the roof he had imagined the +roof as a large, flat expanse. It was nothing of +the kind. So far as he could distinguish in the +deep gloom it had leaden pathways, but on either +<span class="newpage"><a name="page242" id="page242">[242]</a></span> +hand it sloped sharply up or sharply down. He +might have fallen sheer into a chasm, or stumbled +against the leaden side of a slant. He descried a +lofty construction of carved masonry with an iron +ladder clamped into it, far transcending the net. +Not immediately did he comprehend that it was +merely one of the famous Lechford chimney-stacks +looming gigantic in the night. He walked +cautiously onward and came to a precipice and +drew back, startled, and took another pathway at +right angles to the first one. Presently the protective +netting stopped, and he was exposed to +heaven; he had reached the roof of the servants' +quarters towards the back of the house.</p> + +<p>He stood still and gazed, accustoming himself +to the night. The moon was concealed, but there +were patches of dim stars. He could make out, +across the empty Green Park, the huge silhouette +of Buckingham Palace, and beyond that the tower +of Westminster Cathedral. To his left he could +see part of a courtyard or small square, with a +fore-shortened black figure, no doubt a policeman, +carrying a flash-lamp. The tree-lined Mall seemed +to be utterly deserted. But Piccadilly showed a +line of faint stationary lights and still fainter +moving lights. A mild hum and the sounds of +motor-horns and cab-whistles came from Piccadilly, +where people were abroad in ignorance that +the raid was not really over. All the heavens were +continually restless with long, shifting rays from +the anti-aircraft stations, but the rays served only +to prove the power of darkness.</p> + +<p>Then he heard quick, smooth footsteps. Two +figures, one behind the other, approached him, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page243" id="page243">[243]</a></span> +almost running, eagerly, girlishly, with little cries. +The first was Queen, who wore a white skirt and +a very close-fitting black jersey. Concepcion also +wore a white skirt and a very close-fitting black +jersey, but with a long mantle hung loosely from +the shoulders. Both were bareheaded.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it splendid, G.J.?" Queen burst out +enthusiastically. Again G.J. had the sensation +of being at sea—perhaps on the deck of a yacht. +He felt that rain ought to have been beating on +the face of the excited and careless girl. Before +answering, he turned up the collar of his overcoat. +Then he said:</p> + +<p>"Won't you catch a chill?"</p> + +<p>"I'm never cold," said Queen. It was true. +"I shall always come up here for raids in future."</p> + +<p>"You seem to be enjoying it."</p> + +<p>"I love it. I love it. I only thought of it to-night. +It's the next best thing to being a man and being +at the Front. It <i>is</i> being at the Front."</p> + +<p>Her face was little more than a pale, featureless +oval to him in the gloom, but he could divine from +the vibrations of her voice that she was as ecstatic +as a young maid at her first dance.</p> + +<p>"And what about that business interview that +you've just asked for on the 'phone?" G.J. +acidly demanded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we'll come to that later. We wanted +a man here—not to save us, only to save us from +ourselves—and you were the best we could think +of, wasn't he, Con? But you've not heard about +my next bazaar, G.J., have you?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it was a Pageant."</p> + +<p>"I mean after that. A bazaar. I don't know +<span class="newpage"><a name="page244" id="page244">[244]</a></span> +yet what it will be for, but I've got lots of the most +topping ideas for it. For instance, I'm going to +have a First-Aid Station."</p> + +<p>"What for? Air-raid casualties?"</p> + +<p>Queen scorned his obtuseness, pouring out a +cataract of swift sentences.</p> + +<p>"No. First-Aid to lovely complexions. Help +for Distressed Beauties. I shall get Roger Fry +to design the Station and the costumes of my +attendants. It will be marvellous, and I tell you +there'll always be a queue waiting for admittance. +I shall have all the latest dodges in the sublime and +fatal art of make-up, and if any of the Bond +Street gang refuse to help me I'll damn well ruin +them. But they won't refuse because they know +what I'll do. Gontran is coming in with his new +steaming process for waving. Con, you must try +that. It's a miracle. Waving's no good for my +style of coiffure, but it would suit you. You +always wouldn't wave, but you've got to now, my +seraph. The electric heater works in sections. +No danger. No inconvenience to the poor old +scalp. The waves will last for six months or more. +It has to be seen to be believed, and even then you +can't believe it. Its only fault is that it's too +natural to be natural. But who wants to be +natural? This modern craze for naturalness +seems to me to be rather unwholesome, not to say +perverted. What?"</p> + +<p>She seized G.J.'s arm convulsively.</p> + +<p>Concepcion had said nothing. G.J. sought +her eyes in the darkness, but did not find them.</p> + +<p>"So much for the bazaar!" he said.</p> + +<p>Queen suddenly cried aloud:</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page245" id="page245">[245]</a></span> +<p>"What is it, Robin? Has Captain Brickly +telephoned?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lady," came a voice faintly across +the gloom from the region of the ladder-shaft.</p> + +<p>"They're coming! They'll be here directly!" +exclaimed Queen, loosing G.J. and clapping her +hands.</p> + +<p>G.J. thought of Robin affixed to the telephone, +and some scarlet-shouldered officer at the War +Office quitting duty for the telephone, in order +to keep the capricious girl informed of military +movements simply because she had taken the +trouble to be her father's daughter, and in so +doing had acquired the right to treat the imperial +machine as one of her nursery toys. And he became +unreasonably annoyed.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you were cowering in your Club +during the first Act?" she said, with vivacity.</p> + +<p>"Yes," G.J. briefly answered. Once more +he was aware of a strong instinctive disinclination +to relate what had happened to him. He was too +proud to explain, and perhaps too tired.</p> + +<p>"You ought to have been up here. They +dropped two bombs close to the National Gallery; +pity they couldn't have destroyed a Landseer or +two while they were so near! There were either +seven or eight killed and eighteen wounded, so +far as is known. But there were probably more. +There was quite a fire, too, but that was soon got +under. We saw it all except the explosion of the +bombs. We weren't looking in the right place—no +luck! However, we saw the Zepp. What a +shame the moon's disappeared again! Listen! +Listen!... Can't you hear the engines?"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page246" id="page246">[246]</a></span> +<p>G.J. shrugged his shoulders. Nothing could +be heard above the faint hum of Piccadilly. The +wind seemed to have diminished to a chill, fitful +zephyr.</p> + +<p>Concepcion had sat down on a coping.</p> + +<p>"Look!" she exclaimed in a startled whisper, +and sprang erect.</p> + +<p>To the south, down among the trees, a red +light flashed and was gone. The faint, irregular +hum of Piccadilly persisted for a couple of seconds, +and then was drowned in the loud report, which +seemed to linger and wander in the great open +spaces. G.J.'s flesh crept. He comprehended +the mad ecstasy of Queen, and because he comprehended +it his anger against her increased.</p> + +<p>"Can you see the Zepp?" murmured Queen, +as it were ferociously. "It must be within range, +or they wouldn't have fired. Look along the lines +of the searchlights. One of them, at any rate, +must have got on to it. We saw it before. Can't +you see it? I can hear the engines, I think."</p> + +<p>Another flash was followed by another resounding +report. More guns spoke in the distance. +Then a glare arose on the southern horizon.</p> + +<p>"Incendiary bomb!" muttered Queen. She +stood stock-still, with her mouth open, entranced.</p> + +<p>The Zeppelin or the Zeppelins remained invisible +and inaudible. Yet they must be aloft +there, somewhere amid the criss-cross of the +unresting searchlights. G.J. waited, powerfully +impressed, incapable of any direct action, gazing +blankly now at the women and now at the huge +undecipherable heaven and earth, and receiving +the chill zephyr on his face. The nearmost gun +<span class="newpage"><a name="page247" id="page247">[247]</a></span> +had ceased to fire. Occasionally there was perfect +silence—for no faintest hum came from Piccadilly, +and nothing seemed to move there. The further +guns recommenced, and then the group heard a +new sound, rather like the sound of a worn-out +taxi accelerating before changing gear. It grew +gradually louder. It grew very loud. It seemed +to be ripping the envelope of the air. It seemed +as if it would last for ever—till it finished with a +gigantic and intimidating <i>plop</i> quite near the +front of Lechford House. Queen said:</p> + +<p>"Shrapnel—and a big lump!"</p> + +<p>G.J. could see the quick heave of her bosom +imprisoned in the black. She was breathing +through her nostrils.</p> + +<p>"Come downstairs into the house," he said +sharply—more than sharply, brutally. "Where +in the name of God is the sense of stopping up +here? Are you both mad?"</p> + +<p>Queen laughed lightly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, G.J.! How funny you are! I'm really +surprised you haven't left London for good before +now. By rights you ought to belong to the Hook-it +Brigade. Do you know what they do? They +take a ticket to any station north or west, and +when they get out of the train they run to the +nearest house and interview the tenant. Has he +any accommodation to let? Will he take them in +as boarders? Will he take them as paying guests? +Will he let the house furnished? Will he let it +unfurnished? Will he allow them to camp out in +the stables? Will he sell the blooming house? +So there isn't a house to be had on the North +Western nearer than Leighton Buzzard."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page248" id="page248">[248]</a></span> +<p>"Are you going? Because I am," said G.J.</p> + +<p>Concepcion murmured:</p> + +<p>"Don't go."</p> + +<p>"I shall go—and so will you, both of you."</p> + +<p>"G.J.," Queen mocked him, "you're in a +funk."</p> + +<p>"I've got courage enough to go, anyhow," +said he. "And that's more than you have."</p> + +<p>"You're losing your temper."</p> + +<p>As a fact he was. He grabbed at Queen, but +she easily escaped him. He saw the whiteness of +her skirt in the distance of the roof, dimly rising. +She was climbing the ladder up the side of the +chimney. She stood on the top of the chimney, +and laughed again. A gun sounded.</p> + +<p>G.J. said no more. Using his flash-lamp he +found his way to the ladder-shaft and descended. +He was in the warm and sheltered interior of the +house; he was in another and a saner world. +Robin was at the foot of the ladder; she blinked +under his lamp.</p> + +<p>"I've had enough of that," he said, and followed +her to the illuminated boudoir, where after +a certain hesitation she left him. Alone in the +boudoir he felt himself to be a very shamed and +futile person, and he was still extremely angry. +The next moment Concepcion entered the boudoir.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he murmured, curiously appeased.</p> + +<p>"You're quite right," said Concepcion simply.</p> + +<p>He said:</p> + +<p>"Can you give me any reason, Con, why we +should make a present of ourselves to the Hun?"</p> + +<p>Concepcion repeated:</p> + +<p>"You're quite right."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page249" id="page249">[249]</a></span> +<p>"Is she coming?"</p> + +<p>Concepcion made a negative sign. "She +doesn't know what fear is, Queen doesn't."</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know what sense is. She ought +to be whipped, and if I got hold of her I'd whip +her."</p> + +<p>"She'd like nothing better," said Concepcion.</p> + +<p>G.J. removed his overcoat and sat down.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page250" id="page250">[250]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_34"></a><h2>Chapter 34</h2> + +<h4>IN THE BOUDOIR</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"We aren't so desperately safe even here," +said G.J., firmly pursuing the moral triumph +which Concepcion's very surprising and comforting +descent from the roof had given him.</p> + +<p>"Don't go to extremes," she answered.</p> + +<p>"No, I won't." He thought of the valetry in +the cellars, and the impossible humiliation of +joining them; and added: "I merely state." +Then, after a moment of silence: "By the way, +was it only <i>her</i> idea that I should come along, or +did the command come from both of you?" The +suspicion of some dark, feminine conspiracy +revisited him.</p> + +<p>"It was Queen's idea."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well, I don't quite understand the +psychology of it."</p> + +<p>"Surely that's plain."</p> + +<p>"It isn't in the least plain."</p> + +<p>Concepcion loosed and dropped her cloak, and, +not even glancing at G.J., went to the fire and +teased it with the poker. Bending down, with one +hand on the graphic and didactic mantelpiece, +and staring into the fire, she said:</p> + +<p>"Queen's in love with you, of course."</p> + +<p>The words were a genuine shock to his sarcastic +<span class="newpage"><a name="page251" id="page251">[251]</a></span> +and rather embittered and bullying mood. Was +he to believe them? The vibrant, uttering voice +was convincing enough. Was he to show the +conventional incredulity proper to such an +occasion? Or was he to be natural, brutally +natural? He was drawn first to one course and +then to the other, and finally spoke at random, by +instinct:</p> + +<p>"What have I been doing to deserve this?"</p> + +<p>Concepcion replied, still looking into the fire: +"As far as I can gather it must be your masterful +ways at the Hospital Committee that have +impressed her, and especially your unheard-of +tyrannical methods with her august mother."</p> + +<p>"I see.... Thanks!"</p> + +<p>It had not occurred to him that he had treated +the Marchioness tyrannically; he treated her like +anybody else; he now perceived that this was to +treat her tyrannically. His imagination leapt forward +as he gazed round the weird and exciting +room which Queen had brought into existence for +the illustration of herself, and as he pictured the +slim, pale figure outside clinging in the night to +the vast chimney, and as he listened to the faint +intermittent thud of far-off guns. He had a +spasm of delicious temptation. He was tempted +by Queen's connections and her prospective +wealth. If anybody was to possess millions after +the war, Queen would one day possess millions. +Her family and her innumerable powerful +relatives would be compelled to accept him without +the slightest reserve, for Queen issued edicts; +and through all those big people he would acquire +immense prestige and influence, which he could +<span class="newpage"><a name="page252" id="page252">[252]</a></span> +use greatly. Ambition flared up in him—ambition +to impress himself on his era. And he +reflected with satisfaction on the strangeness of +the fact that such an opportunity should have +come to him, the son of a lawyer, solely by virtue +of his own individuality. He thought of Christine, +and poor little Christine was shrunk to nothing +at all; she was scarcely even an object of compassion; +she was a prostitute.</p> + +<p>But far more than by Queen's connections and +prospective wealth he was tempted by her youth +and beauty; he saw her beautiful and girlish, and +he was sexually tempted. Most of all he was +tempted by the desire to master her. He saw again +the foolish, elegant, brilliant thing on the chimney +pretending to defy him and mock at him. And he +heard himself commanding sharply: "Come +down. Come down and acknowledge your ruler. +Come down and be whipped." (For had he not +been told that she would like nothing better?) +And he heard the West End of London and all +the country-houses saying, "She obeys <i>him</i> like +a slave." He conceived a new and dazzling +environment for himself; and it was undeniable +that he needed something of the kind, for he was +growing lonely; before the war he had lived +intensely in his younger friends, but the war +had taken nearly all of them away from him, +many of them for ever.</p> + +<p>Then he said in a voice almost resentfully +satiric, and wondered why such a tone should come +from his lips:</p> + +<p>"Another of her caprices, no doubt."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean—another of her caprices?" +said Concepcion, straightening herself and leaning +against the mantelpiece.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page253" id="page253">[253]</a></span> +<p>He had noticed, only a moment earlier, on the +mantelpiece, a large photograph of the handsome +Molder, with some writing under it.</p> + +<p>"Well, what about that, for example?"</p> + +<p>He pointed. Concepcion glanced at him for +the first time, and her eyes followed the direction +of his finger.</p> + +<p>"That! I don't know anything about it."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that while you were +gossiping till five o'clock this morning, you two, +she didn't mention it?"</p> + +<p>"She didn't."</p> + +<p>G.J. went right on, murmuring:</p> + +<p>"Wants to do something unusual. Wants to +astonish the town."</p> + +<p>"No! No!"</p> + +<p>"Then you seriously tell me she's fallen in love +with me, Con?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't the slightest doubt of it."</p> + +<p>"Did she say so?"</p> + +<p>There was a sound outside the door. They both +started like plotters in danger, and tried to look +as if they had been discussing the weather or the +war. But no interruption occurred.</p> + +<p>"Well, she did. I know I shall be thought +mischievous. If she had the faintest notion I'd +breathed the least hint to you, she'd quarrel with +me eternally—of course. I couldn't bear another +quarrel. If it had been anybody else but you I +wouldn't have said a word. But you're different +from anybody else. And I couldn't help it. You don't +know what Queen is. Queen's a white woman."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page254" id="page254">[254]</a></span> +<p>"So you said this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"And so she is. She has the most curious and +interesting brain, and she's as straight as a man."</p> + +<p>"I've never noticed it."</p> + +<p>"But I know. I know. And she's an exquisite +companion."</p> + +<p>"And so on and so on. And I expect the +scheme is that I am to make love to her and be +worried out of my life, and then propose to her +and she'll accept me." The word "scheme" +brought up again his suspicion of a conspiracy. +Evidently there was no conspiracy, but there was +a plot—of one.... A nervous breakdown? Was +Concepcion merely under an illusion that she had +had a nervous breakdown, or had she in truth had +one, and was this singular interview a result of it?</p> + +<p>Concepcion continued with surprising calm +magnanimity:</p> + +<p>"I know her mind is strange, but it's lovely. No +one but me has ever seen into it. She's following +her instinct, unconsciously—as we all do, you know. +And her instinct's right, in spite of everything. +Her instinct's telling her just now that she needs +a master. And that's exactly what she does need. +We must remember she's very young—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," G.J. interrupted, bursting out with a +kind of savagery that he could not explain. +"Yes. She's young, and she finds even my age +spicy. There'd be something quite amusingly +piquant for her in marrying a man nearly thirty +years her senior."</p> + +<p>Concepcion advanced towards him. There she +stood in front of him, quite close to his chair, +gazing down at him in her tight black jersey and +<span class="newpage"><a name="page255" id="page255">[255]</a></span> +short white skirt; she was wearing black stockings +now. Her serious face was perfectly unruffled. +And in her worn face was all her experience; all +the nights and days on the Clyde were in her face; +the scalping of the young Glasgow girl was in her +face, and the failure to endure either in work or +in love. There was complete silence within and +without—not the echo of an echo of a gun. G.J. +felt as though he were at bay.</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>"People like you and Queen don't want to +bother about age. Neither of you has any age. +And I'm not imploring you to have her. I'm only +telling you that she's there for you if you want her. +But doesn't she attract you? Isn't she positively +irresistible?" She added with poignancy: "I +know if I were a man I should find her irresistible."</p> + +<p>"Just so."</p> + +<p>A look of sacrifice came into Concepcion's eyes +as she finished:</p> + +<p>"I'd do anything, anything, to make Queen +happy."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you would," retorted G.J. icily, carried +away by a ruthless and inexorable impulse. +"You'd do anything to make her happy even for +three months. Yes, to make her happy for three +weeks you'd be ready to ruin my whole life. I +know you and Queen." And the mild image of +Christine formed in his mind, soothingly, infinitely +desirable. What balm, after the nerve-racking +contact of these incalculable creatures!</p> + +<p>Concepcion retired with a gesture of the arm +and sat down by the fire.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page256" id="page256">[256]</a></span> +<p>"You're terrible, G.J.," she said wistfully. +"Queen wouldn't be thrown away on you, but +you'd be thrown away on her. I admit it. I +didn't think you had it in you. I never saw a man +develop as you have. Marriage isn't for you. You +ought to roam in the primeval forest, and take and +kill."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said G.J., appeased once more. +"Not a bit.... But the new relations of the sexes +aren't in my line."</p> + +<p>"<i>New</i>? My poor boy, are you so ingenuous +after all? There's nothing very new in the relations +of the sexes that I know of. They're much what +they were in the Garden of Eden."</p> + +<p>"What do you know of the Garden of Eden?"</p> + +<p>"I get my information from Milton," she replied +cheerfully, as though much relieved.</p> + +<p>"Have you read <i>Paradise Lost</i>, then, Con?"</p> + +<p>"I read it all through in my lodgings. And it's +really rather good. In fact, the remarks of +Raphael to Adam in the eighth book—I think it +is—are still just about the last word on the relations +of the sexes:</p> + +"Oft-times nothing profits more<br /> +Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right<br /> +Well-managed; of that skill the more thou<br /> +know'st,<br /> +The more she will acknowledge thee her head<br /> +<i>And to realities yield all her shows</i>."<br /> + +<p>G.J., marvelling, exclaimed with sudden +enthusiasm:</p> + +<p>"By Jove! You're an astounding woman, Con. +You do me good!"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page257" id="page257">[257]</a></span> +<p>There was a fresh noise beyond the door, and +the door opened and Robin rushed in, blanched +and hysterical, and with her seemed to rush in +terror.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Madame!" she cried. "As there was no +more firing I went on to the roof, and her +ladyship—" She covered her face and sobbed.</p> + +<p>G.J. jumped up.</p> + +<p>"Go and see," said Concepcion in a blank +voice, not moving. "I can't.... It's the message +straight from Potsdam that's arrived."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page258" id="page258">[258]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_35"></a><h2>Chapter 35</h2> + +<h4>QUEEN DEAD</h4> +<br /> + +<p>G.J. emerged from the crowded and malodorous +Coroner's Court with a deep sense of the rigour +and the thoroughness of British justice, and +especially of its stolidity.</p> + +<p>There had been four inquests, all upon the +bodies of air-raid victims: a road-man, his wife, +an orphan baby—all belonging to the thick central +mass of the proletariat, for a West End slum had +received a bomb full in the face—and Lady +Queenie Paulle. The policemen were stolid; the +reporters were stolid; the proletariat was stolid; +the majority of the witnesses were stolid, and in +particular the representatives of various philanthropic +agencies who gave the most minute +evidence about the habits and circumstances of +the slum; and the jurymen were very stolid, and +never more so than when, with stubby fingers +holding ancient pens, they had to sign quantities +of blue forms under the strict guidance of a bareheaded +policeman.</p> + +<p>The world of Queenie's acquaintances made a +strange, vivid contrast to this grey, grim, blockish +world; and the two worlds regarded each other +with the wonder and the suspicious resentment of +foreigners. Queen's world came expecting to +<span class="newpage"><a name="page259" id="page259">[259]</a></span> +behave as at a cause célèbre of, for example, +divorce. Its representatives were quite ready to +tolerate unpleasing contacts and long stretches +of tedium in return for some glimpse of the squalid +and the privilege of being able to say that they +had been present at the inquest. But most of them +had arrived rather late, and they had reckoned +without the Coroner, and comparatively few +obtained even admittance.</p> + +<p>The Coroner had arrived on the stroke of the +hour, in a silk hat and frock coat, with a black bag, +and had sat down at his desk and begun to rule +the proceedings with an absolutism that no High +Court Judge would have attempted. He was +autocrat in a small, close, sordid room; but he was +autocrat. He had already shown his quality in +some indirect collisions with the Marquis of Lechford. +The Marquis felt that he could not stomach +the exposure of his daughter's corpse in a common +mortuary with other corpses of he knew not whom. +Long experience of the marquisate had taught him +to believe that everything could be arranged. He +found, however, that this matter could not be +arranged. There was no appeal from the ukase of +the Coroner. Then he wished to be excused from +giving evidence, since his evidence could have no +direct bearing on the death. But he was informed +by a mere clerk, who had knowledge of the +Coroner's ways, that if he did not attend the +inquest would probably be adjourned for his +attendance. The fact was, the Coroner had +appreciated as well as anybody that heaven and +the war had sent him a cause célèbre of the +first-class. He saw himself the supreme being of a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page260" id="page260">[260]</a></span> +unique assize. He saw his remarks reproduced +verbatim in the papers, for, though localities +might not be mentioned, there was no censor's +ban upon the <i>obiter dicta</i> of coroners. His +idiosyncrasy was that he hid all his enjoyment in +his own breast. Even had he had the use of a +bench, instead of a mere chair, he would never +have allowed titled ladies in mirific black hats to +share it with him. He was an icy radical, sincere, +competent, conscientious and vain. He would be +no respecter of persons, but he was a disrespecter +of persons above a certain social rank. He said, +"Open that window." And that window was +opened, regardless of the identity of the person +who might be sitting under it. He said: "This +court is unhealthily full. Admit no more." And +no more could be admitted, though the entire +peerage waited without.</p> + +<p>The Marquis had considered that the inquest on +his daughter might be taken first. The other three +cases were taken first, and, even taken concurrently, +they occupied an immense period of time. +All the bodies were, of course, "viewed" together, +and the absence of the jury seemed to the Marquis +interminable; he thought the despicable tradesmen +were gloating unduly over the damaged face +of his daughter. The Coroner had been marvellously +courteous to the procession of humble +witnesses. He could not have been more courteous +to the exalted; and he was not. In the sight of the +Coroner all men were equal.</p> + +<p>G.J. encountered him first. "I did my best +to persuade her ladyship to come down," said +G.J. very formally. "I am quite sure you did," +<span class="newpage"><a name="page261" id="page261">[261]</a></span> +said the Coroner with the dryest politeness. "And +you failed." The policeman had related events +from the moment when G.J. had fetched him in +from the street. The policeman could remember +everything, what everybody had said, the positions +of all objects, the characteristics and extent of the +wire-netting, the exact posture of the deceased +girl, the exact minute of his visit. He and the +Coroner played to each other like well-rehearsed +actors. Mrs. Carlos Smith's ordeal was very brief, +and the Coroner dismissed her with an expression +of sympathy that seemed to issue from his mouth +like carved granite. With the doctor alone the +Coroner had become human; the Coroner also +was a doctor. The doctor had talked about a +relatively slight extravasation of blood, and said +that death had been instantaneous. Said the +Coroner: "The body was found on the wire-netting; +it had fallen from the chimney. In your +opinion, was the fall a contributory cause of +death?" The doctor said, No. "In your opinion +death was due to an extremely small piece of +shrapnel which struck the deceased's head slightly +above the left ear, entering the brain?" The +doctor said, Yes.</p> + +<p>The Marquis of Lechford had to answer questions +as to his parental relations with his daughter. +How long had he been away in the country? How +long had the deceased been living in Lechford +House practically alone? How old was his +daughter? Had he given any order to the effect +that nobody was to be on the roof of his house +during an air-raid? Had he given any orders at +all as to conduct during an air-raid? The Coroner +<span class="newpage"><a name="page262" id="page262">[262]</a></span> +sympathised deeply with his lordship's position, +and felt sure that his lordship understood that; +but his lordship would also understand that the +policy of heads of households in regard to air-raids +had more than a domestic interest—it had, one +might say, a national interest; and the force of +prominent example was one of the forces upon +which the Government counted, and had the +right to count, for help in the regulation of public +conduct in these great crises of the most gigantic +war that the world had ever seen. "Now, as to the +wire-netting," had said the Coroner, leaving the +subject of the force of example. He had a perfect +plan of the wire-netting in his mind. He understood +that the chimney-stack rose higher than the +wire-netting, and that the wire-netting went +round the chimney-stack at a distance of a foot or +more, leaving room so that a person might climb +up the perpendicular ladder. If a person fell from +the top of the chimney-stack it was a chance +whether that person fell on the wire-netting, or +through the space between the wire-netting and the +chimney on to the roof itself. The jury doubtless +understood. (The jury, however, at that instant +had been engaged in examining the bit of shrapnel +which had been extracted from the brain of the +only daughter of a Marquis.) The Coroner understood +that the wire-netting did not extend over the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page263" id="page263">[263]</a></span> +whole of the house. "It extends over all the main +part of the house," his lordship had replied. "But +not over the back part of the house?" His lordship +agreed. "The servants' quarters, probably?" +His lordship nodded. The Coroner had said: +"The wire-netting does not extend over the +servants' quarters," in a very even voice. A faint +hiss in court had been extinguished by the sharp +glare of the Coroner's eyes. His lordship, a thin, +antique figure, in a long cloak that none but himself +would have ventured to wear, had stepped +down, helpless.</p> + +<p>There had been much signing of depositions. +The Coroner had spoken of The Hague Convention, +mentioning one article by its number. The +jury as to the first three cases—in which the victims +had been killed by bombs—had returned a +verdict of wilful murder against the Kaiser. The +Coroner, suppressing the applause, had agreed +heartily with the verdict. He told the jury that the +fourth case was different, and the jury returned a +verdict of death from shrapnel. They gave their +sympathy to all the relatives, and added a rider +about the inadvisability of running unnecessary +risks, and the Coroner, once more agreeing +heartily, had thereon made an effective little +speech to a hushed, assenting audience.</p> + +<p>There were several motor-cars outside. G.J. +signalled across the street to the taxi-man who +telephoned every morning to him for orders. He +had never owned a motor-car, and, because he had +no ambition to drive himself, had never felt the +desire to own one. The taxi-man experienced +some delay in starting his engine. G.J. lit a +cigarette. Concepcion came out, alone. He had +expected her to be with the Marquis, with whom +she had arrived. She was dressed in mourning. +Only on that day, and once before—on the day of +her husband's funeral—had he seen her in mourning. +She looked now like the widow she was.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page264" id="page264">[264]</a></span> +<p>Nevertheless, he had not quite accustomed himself +to the sight of her in mourning.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether I can get a taxi?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"You can have mine," said he. "Where do +you want to go?"</p> + +<p>She named a disconcerting address near +Shepherd's Market.</p> + +<p>At that moment a Pressman with a camera +came boldly up and snapped her. The man had +the brazen demeanour of a racecourse tout. But +Concepcion seemed not to mind at all, and G.J. +remembered that she was deeply inured to +publicity. Her portrait had already appeared in +the picture papers along with that of Queen, but +the papers had deemed it necessary to remind a +forgetful public that Mrs. Carlos Smith was the +same lady as the super-celebrated Concepcion +Iquist. The taxi-man hesitated for an instant on +hearing the address, but only for an instant. He +had earned the esteem and regular patronage of +G.J. by a curious hazard. One night G.J. had +hailed him, and the man had said in a flash, +without waiting for the fare to speak, "The +Albany, isn't it, sir? I drove you home about two +months ago." Thenceforward he had been for +G.J. the perfect taxi-man.</p> + +<p>In the taxi Concepcion said not a word, and +G.J. did not disturb her. Beneath his superficial +melancholy he was sustained by the mere joy of +being alive. The common phenomena of the +streets were beautiful to him. Concepcion's calm +and grieved vitality seemed mysteriously exquisite. +He had had similar sensations while walking along +Coventry Street after his escape from the explosion +<span class="newpage"><a name="page265" id="page265">[265]</a></span> +of the bomb. Fatigue and annoyance and sorrow +had extinguished them for a time, but now that +the episode of Queen's tragedy was closed +they were born anew. Queen, the pathetic victim +of the indiscipline of her own impulses, was gone. +But he had escaped. He lived. And life was an +affair miraculous and lovely.</p> + +<p>"I think I've been here before," said he, +when they got out of the taxi in a short, untidy, +indeterminate street that was a cul-de-sac. The +prospect ended in a garage, near which two women +chauffeurs were discussing a topic that interested +them. A hurdy-gurdy was playing close by, and +a few ragged children stared at the hurdy-gurdy, +on the end of which a baby was cradled. The fact +that the street was midway between Curzon Street +and Piccadilly, and almost within sight of the +monumental new mansion of an American duchess, +explained the existence of the building in front +of which the taxi had stopped. The entrance to +the flats was mean and soiled. It repelled, but +Concepcion unapologetically led G.J. up a flight +of four stone steps and round a curve into a little +corridor. She halted at a door on the ground floor.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said G.J. with admirable calm, "I +do believe you've got the very flat I once looked +at with a friend of mine. If I remember it didn't +fill the bill because the tenant wouldn't sub-let it +unfurnished. When did you get hold of this?"</p> + +<p>"Yesterday afternoon," Concepcion answered. +"Quick work. But these feats can be accomplished. +I've only taken it for a month. Hotels seem to be +all full. I couldn't open my own place at a +moment's notice, and I didn't mean to stay on +<span class="newpage"><a name="page266" id="page266">[266]</a></span> +at Lechford House, even if they'd asked me to."</p> + +<p>G.J.'s notion of the vastness and safety of +London had received a shock. He was now a very +busy man, and would quite sincerely have told +anybody who questioned him on the point that he +hadn't a moment to call his own. Nevertheless, +on the previous morning he had spent a considerable +time in searching for a nest in which to hide +his Christine and create romance; and he had +come to this very flat. More, there had been two +flats to let in the block. He had declined them—the +better one because of the furniture, the worse +because it was impossibly small, and both because +of the propinquity of the garage. But supposing +that he had taken one and Concepcion the other! +He recoiled at the thought....</p> + +<p>Concepcion's new home, if not impossibly small, +was small, and the immensity and abundance of +the furniture made it seem smaller than it actually +was. Each little room had the air of having been +furnished out of a huge and expensive second-hand +emporium. No single style prevailed. There +were big carved and inlaid antique cabinets and +chests, big hanging crystal candelabra, and big +pictures (some of them apparently family portraits, +the rest eighteenth-century flower-pieces) in big +gilt frames, with a multiplicity of occasional tables +and bric-à-brac. Gilt predominated. The ornate +cornices were gilded. Human beings had to move +about like dwarfs on the tiny free spaces of carpet +between frowning cabinetry. The taste and the +aim of the author of this home defied deduction. +In the first room a charwoman was cleaning. +Concepcion greeted her like a sister. In the next +<span class="newpage"><a name="page267" id="page267">[267]</a></span> +room, whose window gave on to a blank wall, +tea was laid for one in front of a gas-fire. Concepcion +reached down a cup and saucer from a +glazed cupboard and put a match to the spirit-lamp +under the kettle.</p> + +<p>"Let me see, the bedroom's up here, isn't it?" +said G.J., pointing along a passage that was like +a tunnel.</p> + +<p>Concepcion, yielding to his curiosity, turned +on lights everywhere and preceded him. The +passage, hung with massive canvases, had scarcely +more than width enough for G.J.'s shoulders. +The tiny bedroom was muslined in every conceivable +manner. It had a colossal bed, surpassing +even Christine's. A muslined maid was bending +over some drapery-shop boxes on the floor and +removing garments therefrom. Concepcion +greeted her like a sister. "Don't let me disturb +you, Emily," she said, and to G.J., "Emily was +poor Queenie's maid, and she has come to me for +a little while." G.J. amicably nodded. Tears +came suddenly into the maid's eyes. G.J. looked +away and saw the bathroom, which, also well +muslined, was completely open to the bedroom.</p> + +<p>"Whose <i>is</i> this marvellous home?" he added +when they had gone back to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"I think the original tenant is the wife of +somebody who's interned."</p> + +<p>"How simple the explanation is!" said G.J. +"But I should never have guessed it."</p> + +<p>They started the tea in a strange silence. After +a minute or two G.J. said:</p> + +<p>"I mustn't stay long."</p> + +<p>"Neither must I." Concepcion smiled.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page268" id="page268">[268]</a></span> +<p>"Got to go out?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>There was another silence. Then Concepcion +said:</p> + +<p>"I'm going to Sarah Churcher's. And as I +know she has her Pageant Committee at five-thirty, +I'd better not arrive later than five, +had I?"</p> + +<p>"What is there between you and Lady +Churcher?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to offer to take Queen's place +on the organising Committee."</p> + +<p>"Con!" he exclaimed impulsively, "you aren't?"</p> + +<p>In an instant the atmosphere of the little airless, +electric-lit, gas-fumed apartment was charged +with a fluid that no physical chemistry could have +traced. Concepcion said mildly:</p> + +<p>"I am. I owe it to Queen's memory to take her +place if I can. Of course I'm no dancer, but in +other things I expect I can make myself useful."</p> + +<p>G.J. replied with equal mildness:</p> + +<p>"You aren't going to mix yourself up with that +crowd again—after all you've been through! +The Pageant business isn't good enough for you, +Con, and you know it. You know it's odious."</p> + +<p>She murmured:</p> + +<p>"I feel it's my duty. I feel I owe it to Queen. +It's a sort of religion with me, I expect. Each +person has his own religion, and I doubt if one's +more dogmatic than another."</p> + +<p>He was grieved; he had a sense almost of outrage. +He hated to picture Concepcion subduing +herself to the horrible environment of the Pageant +enterprise. But he said nothing more. The +<span class="newpage"><a name="page269" id="page269">[269]</a></span> +silence resumed. They might have conversed, +with care, about the inquest, or about the funeral, +which was to take place at the Castle, in Cheshire. +Silence, however, suited them best.</p> + +<p>"Also I thought you needed repose," said +G.J. when Concepcion broke the melancholy +enchantment by rising to look for cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"I must be allowed to work," she answered +after a pause, putting a cigarette between her +teeth. "I must have something to do—unless, +of course, you want me to go to the bad altogether."</p> + +<p>It was a remarkable saying, but it seemed to +admit that he was legitimately entitled to his +critical interest in her.</p> + +<p>"If I'd known that," he said, suddenly inspired, +"I should have asked you to take on something +for <i>me</i>." He waited; she made no response, and +he continued: "I'm secretary of my small affair +since yesterday. The paid secretary, a nice +enough little thing, has just run off to the Women's +Auxiliary Corps in France and left me utterly in +the lurch. Just like domestic servants, these +earnest girl-clerks are, when it comes to the +point! No imagination. Wanted to wear khaki, +and no doubt thought she was doing a splendid +thing. Never occurred to her the mess I should +be in. I'd have asked you to step into the breach. +You'd have been frightfully useful."</p> + +<p>"But I'm no girl-clerk," Concepcion gently and +carelessly protested.</p> + +<p>"Well, she wasn't either. I shouldn't have +wanted you to be a typist. We have a typist. As +a matter of fact, her job needed a bit more brains +than she'd got. However—"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page270" id="page270">[270]</a></span> +<p>Another silence. G.J. rose to depart. Concepcion +did not stir. She said softly:</p> + +<p>"I don't think anybody realises what Queen's +death is to me. Not even you." On her face was +the look of sacrifice which G.J. had seen there as +they talked together in Queen's boudoir during +the raid.</p> + +<p>He thought, amazed:</p> + +<p>"And they'd only had about twenty-four +hours together, and part of that must have been +spent in making up their quarrel!"</p> + +<p>Then aloud:</p> + +<p>"I quite agree. People can't realise what they +haven't had to go through. I've understood that +ever since I read in the paper the day before +yesterday that 'two bombs fell close together and +one immediately after the other' in a certain +quarter of the West End. That was all the paper +said about those two bombs."</p> + +<p>"Why! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"And I understood it when poor old Queen +gave me some similar information on the roof."</p> + +<p>"What <i>do</i> you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I was between those two bombs when they +fell. One of 'em blew me against a house. I've +been to look at the place since. And I'm dashed +if I myself could realise then what I'd been +through."</p> + +<p>She gave a little cry. Her face pleased him.</p> + +<p>"And you weren't hurt?"</p> + +<p>"I had a pain in my side, but it's gone," he said +laconically.</p> + +<p>"And you never said anything to us! Why +not?"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page271" id="page271">[271]</a></span> +<p>"Well—there were so many other things...."</p> + +<p>"G.J., you're astounding!"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. I'm just myself."</p> + +<p>"And hasn't it upset your nerves?"</p> + +<p>"Not as far as I can judge. Of course one never +knows, but I think not. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>She offered no response. At length she spoke +with queer emotion:</p> + +<p>"You remember that night I said it was a +message direct from Potsdam? Well, naturally +it wasn't. But do you know the thought that +tortures me? Supposing the shrapnel that killed +Queen was out of a shell made at my place in +Glasgow!... It might have been.... Supposing +it was!"</p> + +<p>"Con," he said firmly, "I simply won't listen +to that kind of talk. There's no excuse for it. +Shall I tell you what, more than anything else, +has made me respect you since Queen was killed? +Ninety-nine women out of a hundred would have +managed to remind me, quite illogically and quite +inexcusably, that I was saying hard things about +poor old Queen at the very moment when she was +lying dead on the roof. You didn't. You knew +I was very sorry about Queen, but you knew that +my feelings as to her death had nothing whatever +to do with what I happened to be saying when she +was killed. You knew the difference between +sentiment and sentimentality. For God's sake, +don't start wondering where the shell was made."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, saying nothing, and he +savoured the intelligence of her weary, fine, alert, +comprehending face. He did not pretend to himself +to be able to fathom the enigmas of that long +<span class="newpage"><a name="page272" id="page272">[272]</a></span> +glance. He had again the feeling of the splendour +of what it was to be alive, to have survived. Just +as he was leaving she said casually:</p> + +<p>"Very well. I'll do what you want."</p> + +<p>"What I want?"</p> + +<p>"I won't go to Sarah Churcher's."</p> + +<p>"You mean you'll come as assistant secretary?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Only I don't need to be paid."</p> + +<p>And he, too, fell into a casual tone:</p> + +<p>"That's excellent."</p> + +<p>Thus, by this nonchalance, they conspired to +hide from themselves the seriousness of that which +had passed between them. The grotesque, pretentious +little apartment was mysteriously humanised; +it was no longer the reception-room of a +furnished flat by chance hired for a month; they +had lived in it.</p> + +<p>She finished, eagerly smiling:</p> + +<p>"I can practise my religion just as much with +you as with Sarah Churcher, can't I? Queen was +on your committee, too. Yes, I shan't be deserting +her."</p> + +<p>The remark disquieted his triumph. That +aspect of the matter had not occurred to him.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page273" id="page273">[273]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_36"></a><h2>Chapter 36</h2> + +<h4>COLLAPSE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Late of that same afternoon G.J., in the absence +of the chairman, presided as honorary secretary +over a meeting of the executive committee of the +Lechford hospitals. In the course of the war the +committee had changed its habitation more than +once. The hotel which had at first given it a +home had long ago been commandeered by the +Government for a new Government department, +and its hundreds of chambers were now full of the +clicking of typewriters and the dictation of +officially phrased correspondence, and the conferences +which precede decisions, and the untamed +footsteps of messenger-flappers, and the making of +tea, and chatter about cinemas, blouses and +headaches. Afterwards the committee had been +the guest of a bank and of a trust company, and +had for a period even paid rent to a common +landlord. But its object was always to escape +the formality of rent-paying, and it was now +lodged in an untenanted mansion belonging +to a viscount in a great Belgravian square. +Its sign was spread high across the facade; its +posters were in the windows; and on the door +was a notice such as in 1914 nobody had ever +expected to see in that quadrangle of guarded +<span class="newpage"><a name="page274" id="page274">[274]</a></span> +sacred castles: "Turn the handle and walk in." +The mansion, though much later in date, was +built precisely on the lines of a typical Bloomsbury +boarding-house. It had the same basement, the +same general disposition of rooms, the same +abundance of stairs and paucity of baths, the same +chilly draughts and primeval devices for heating, +and the same superb disregard for the convenience +of servants. The patrons of domestic architecture +had permitted architects to learn nothing in +seventy years except that chimney-flues must be +constructed so that they could be cleaned without +exposing sooty infants to the danger of suffocation +or incineration.</p> + +<p>The committee sat on the first floor in the back +drawing-room, whose furniture consisted of a deal +table, Windsor chairs, a row of hat-pegs, a wooden +box containing coal, half a poker, two unshaded +lights; the walls, from which all the paper had +been torn off, were decorated with lists of +sub-committees, posters, and rows of figures scrawled +here and there in pencil. The room was divided +from the main drawing-room by the usual folding-doors. +The smaller apartment had been chosen in +the winter because it was somewhat easier to keep +warm than the other one. In the main drawing-room +the honorary secretary camped himself at a +desk near the fireplace.</p> + +<p>When the clock struck, G.J., one of whose +monastic weaknesses was a ritualistic regard for +punctuality, was in his place at the head of the +table, and the table well filled with members, for +the honorary secretary's harmless foible was known +and admitted. The table and the chairs, the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page275" id="page275">[275]</a></span> +scraping of the chair-legs on the bare floor, the +agenda papers and the ornamentation thereof by +absent-minded pens, were the same as in the +committee's youth. But the personnel of the +committee had greatly changed, and it was +enlarged—as its scope had been enlarged. The +two Lechford hospitals behind the French lines +were now only a part of the committee's responsibilities. +It had a special hospital in Paris, two +convalescent homes in England, and an important +medical unit somewhere in Italy. Finance was +becoming its chief anxiety, for the reason that, +though soldiers had not abandoned in disgust +the practice of being wounded, philanthropists +were unquestionably showing signs of fatigue. It +had collected money by postal appeals, by +advertisements, by selling flags, by competing +with drapers' shops, by intimidation, by ruse and +guile, and by all the other recognised methods. +Of late it had depended largely upon the very +wealthy, and, to a less extent, upon G.J., who +having gradually constituted the committee his +hobby, had contributed some thousands of pounds +from his share of the magic profits of the Reveille +Company. Everybody was aware of the immense +importance of G.J.'s help. G.J. never showed +it in his demeanour, but the others continually +showed it in theirs. He had acquired authority. +He had also acquired the sure manner of one +accustomed to preside.</p> + +<p>"Before we begin on the agenda," he said—and +as he spoke a late member crept apologetically +in and tiptoed to the heavily charged hat-pegs—"I +would like to mention about Miss Trewas. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page276" id="page276">[276]</a></span> +Some of you know that through an admirable but +somewhat disordered sense of patriotism she has +left us at a moment's notice. I am glad to say +that my friend Mrs. Carlos Smith, who, I may tell +you, has had a very considerable experience of +organisation, has very kindly agreed, subject of +course to the approval of the committee, to step +temporarily into the breach. She will be an +honorary worker, like all of us here, and I am sure +that the committee will feel as grateful to her as +I do."</p> + +<p>As there had been smiles at the turn of his +phrase about Miss Trewas, so now there were +fervent, almost emotional, "Hear-hears."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Smith, will you please read the minutes +of the last meeting."</p> + +<p>Concepcion was sitting at his left hand. He +kept thinking, "I'm one of those who get things +done." Two hours ago, and the idea of enlisting +her had not even occurred to him, and already he +had taken her out of her burrow, brought her to +the offices, coached her in the preliminaries of her +allotted task, and introduced several important +members of the committee to her! It was an +achievement.</p> + +<p>Never had the minutes been listened to with +such attention as they obtained that day. Concepcion +was apparently not in the least nervous, +and she read very well—far better than the +deserter Miss Trewas, who could not open her +mouth without bridling. Concepcion held the +room. Those who had not seen before the +celebrated Concepcion Iquist now saw her and +sated their eyes upon her. She had been less a +<span class="newpage"><a name="page277" id="page277">[277]</a></span> +woman than a legend. The romance of South +America enveloped her, and the romance of her +famous and notorious uncle, of her triumph over +the West End, her startling marriage and swift +widowing, her journey to America and her +complete disappearance, her attachment to Lady +Queenie, and now her dramatic reappearance.</p> + +<p>And the sharp condiment to all this was the +general knowledge of the bachelor G.J.'s long +intimacy with her, and of their having both been +at Lechford House on the night of the raid, and +both been at the inquest on the body of Lady +Queenie Paulle on that very day. But nobody +could have guessed from their placid and self-possessed +demeanour that either of them had just +emerged from a series of ordeals. They won a deep +and full respect. Still, some people ventured to +have their own ideas; and an ingenuous few were +surprised to find that the legend was only a woman +after all, and a rather worn woman, not indeed +very recognisable from her innumerable portraits. +Nevertheless the respect for the pair was even +increased when G.J. broached the first item on +the agenda—a resolution of respectful sympathy +with the Marquis and Marchioness of Lechford in +their bereavement, of profound appreciation of the +services of Lady Queenie on the committee, and +of an intention to send by the chairman to the +funeral a wreath to be subscribed for by the +members. G.J. proposed the resolution himself, +and it was seconded by a lady and supported by a +gentleman whose speeches gave no hint that Lady +Queenie had again and again by her caprices +nearly driven the entire committee into a lunatic +<span class="newpage"><a name="page278" id="page278">[278]</a></span> +asylum and had caused several individual resignations. +G.J. put the resolution without a tremor; +it was impressively carried; and Concepcion wrote +down the terms of it quite calmly in her secretarial +notes. The performance of the pair was marvellous, +and worthy of the English race.</p> + +<p>Then arrived Sir Stephen Bradern. Sir +Stephen was chairman of the French Hospitals +Management Sub-committee.</p> + +<p>G.J. said:</p> + +<p>"Sir Stephen, you are just too late for the +resolution as to Lady Queenie Paulle."</p> + +<p>"I deeply apologise, Mr. Chairman," replied +the aged but active Sir Stephen, nervously stroking +his rather long beard. "I hope, however, that I +may be allowed to associate myself very closely +with the resolution." After a suitable pause and +general silence he went on: "I've been detained +by that Nurse Smaith that my sub-committee's +been having trouble with. You'll find, when you +come to them, that she's on my sub-committee's +minutes. I've just had an interview with her, and +she says she wants to see the executive. I don't +know what you think, Mr. Chairman—" He +stopped.</p> + +<p>G.J. smiled.</p> + +<p>"I should have her brought in," said the lady +who had previously spoken. "If I might suggest," +she added.</p> + +<p>A boy scout, who seemed to have long ago +grown out of his uniform, entered with a note for +somebody. He was told to bring in Nurse Smaith.</p> + +<p>She proved to be a rather short and rather +podgy woman, with a reddish, not rosy, complexion, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page279" id="page279">[279]</a></span> +and red hair. The ugly red-bordered cape +of the British Red Cross did not suit her better +than it suited any other wearer. She was in full, +strict, starched uniform, and prominently wore +medals on her plenteous breast. She looked as +though, if she had a sister, that sister might be +employed in a large draper's shop at Brixton or +Islington. In saying "Gid ahfternoon" she +revealed the purity of a cockney accent undefiled +by Continental experiences. She sat down in a +manner sternly defensive. She was nervous and +abashed, but evidently dangerous. She belonged +to the type which is courageous in spite of fear. +She had resolved to interview the committee, and +though the ordeal frightened her, she desperately +and triumphantly welcomed it.</p> + +<p>"Now, Nurse Smaith," said G.J. diplomatically. +"We are always very glad to see our nurses, even +when our time is limited. Will you kindly tell the +committee as briefly as possible just what your +claim is?"</p> + +<p>And the nurse replied, with medals shaking:</p> + +<p>"I'm claiming, as I've said before, two weeks' +salary in loo of notice, and my fare home from +France; twenty-five francs salary and ninety-five +francs expenses. And I sy nothing of excess +luggage."</p> + +<p>"But you didn't <i>come</i> home."</p> + +<p>"I have come home, though."</p> + +<p>One of those members whose destiny it is +always to put a committee in the wrong remarked:</p> + +<p>"But surely, Nurse, you left our employ nearly +a year ago. Why didn't you claim before?"</p> + +<p>"I've been at you for two months at least, and +<span class="newpage"><a name="page280" id="page280">[280]</a></span> +I was ill for six months in Turin; they had to put +me off the train there," said Nurse Smaith, +getting self-confidence.</p> + +<p>"As I understand," said G.J. "You left us in +order to join a Serbian unit of another society, +and you only returned to England in February."</p> + +<p>"I didn't leave you, sir. That is, I mean, I +left you, but I was told to go."</p> + +<p>"Who told you to go?"</p> + +<p>"Matron."</p> + +<p>Sir Stephen benevolently put in:</p> + +<p>"But the matron had always informed us that +it was you who said you wouldn't stay another +minute. We have it in the correspondence."</p> + +<p>"That's what <i>she</i> says. But I say different. And +I can prove it."</p> + +<p>Said G.J.:</p> + +<p>"There must be some misunderstanding. We +have every confidence in the matron, and she's +still with us."</p> + +<p>"Then I'm sorry for you."</p> + +<p>He turned warily to another aspect of the +subject.</p> + +<p>"Do I gather that you went straight from Paris +to Serbia?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The unit was passing through, and I +joined it."</p> + +<p>"But how did you obtain your passport? You +had no certificate from us?"</p> + +<p>Nurse Smaith tossed her perilous red hair.</p> + +<p>"Oh! No difficulty about that. I am not +<i>without</i> friends, as you may say." Some of the +committee looked up suspiciously, aware that the +matron had in her report hinted at mysterious +<span class="newpage"><a name="page281" id="page281">[281]</a></span> +relations between Nurse Smaith and certain +authorities. "The doctor in charge of the Serbian +unit was only too glad to have me. Of course, +if you're going to believe everything matron +says—" Her tone was becoming coarser, but +the committee could neither turn her out nor cure +her natural coarseness, nor indicate to her that she +was not using the demeanour of committee-rooms. +She was firmly lodged among them, and she went +from bad to worse. "Of course, if you're going +to swallow everything matron says—! It isn't +as if I was the only one."</p> + +<p>"May I ask if you are at present employed?"</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>quite</i> see what that's got to do with it," +said Nurse Smaith, still gaining ground.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. Nothing. Nothing at all. I was +only hoping that these visits here are not +inconvenient to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, as it seems so important, I <i>my</i> sy I'm +going out to Salonika next week, and that's why +I want this business settled." She stopped, and as +the committee remained diffidently and apprehensively +silent, she went on: "It isn't as if I was +the only one. Why! When we were in the retreat +of the Serbian Army owver the mahntains I came +across by chance, if you call it chance, another +nurse that knew all about <i>her</i>—been under her +in Bristol for a year."</p> + +<p>A young member, pricking up, asked:</p> + +<p>"Were you in the Serbian retreat, Nurse?"</p> + +<p>"If I hadn't been I shouldn't be here now," said +Nurse Smaith, entirely recovered from her stage-fright +and entirely pleased to be there then. "I +lost all I had at Ypek. All I took was my medals, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page282" id="page282">[282]</a></span> +and them I did take. There were fifty of us, +British, French and Russians. We had nearly +three weeks in the mahntains. We slept rough all +together in one room, when there was a room, +and when there wasn't we slept in stables. We +had nothing but black bread, and that froze in the +haversacks, and if we took our boots off we had to +thaw them the next morning before we could put +them on. If we hadn't had three saucepans we +should have died. When we went dahn the hills +two of us had to hold every horse by his head and +tail to keep them from falling. However, nearly +all the horses died, and then we took the packs off +them and tried to drag the packs along by hand; +but we soon stopped that. All the bridle-paths +were littered with dead horses and oxen. And +when we came up with the Serbian Army we saw +soldiers just drop down and die in the snow. I +read in the paper there were no children in the +retreat, but I saw lots of children, strapped to their +mother's backs. Yes; and they fell down together +and froze to death. Then we got to Scutari, and +glad I was."</p> + +<p>She glanced round defiantly, but not otherwise +moved, at the committee, the hitherto invisible +gods of hospitals and medical units. The nipping +wind of reality had blown into the back drawing-room. +The committee was daunted. But some of +its members, less daunted than the rest, had the +presence of mind to wonder why it seemed strange +and strangely chilling that a rather coarse, stout +woman with a cockney accent and little social +refinement should have passed through, and +emerged so successfully from, the unimaginable +<span class="newpage"><a name="page283" id="page283">[283]</a></span> +retreat. If Nurse Smaith had been beautiful and +slim and of elegant manners they could not have +controlled their chivalrous enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Very interesting," said someone.</p> + +<p>Glancing at G.J., Nurse Smaith proceeded:</p> + +<p>"You sy I didn't come home. But the money +for my journey was due to me. That's what I sy. +Twenty-five francs for two weeks' wages and +ninety-five francs journey money."</p> + +<p>"As regards the journey money," observed +Sir Stephen blandly, "we've never paid so much, +if my recollection serves me. And of course we +have to remember that we're dealing with public +funds."</p> + +<p>Nurse Smaith sprang up, looking fixedly at +Concepcion. Concepcion had thrown herself back +in her chair, and her face was so drawn that it +was no more the same face.</p> + +<p>"Even if it is public funds," Concepcion +shrieked, "can't you give ninety-five francs in +memory of those three saucepans?" Then she +relapsed on to the table, her head in her hands, +and sobbed violently, very violently. The sobs +rose and fell in the scale, and the whole body +quaked.</p> + +<p>G.J. jumped to his feet. Half the shocked and +alarmed committee was on its feet. Nurse Smaith +had run round to Concepcion and had seized her +with a persuasive, soothing gesture. Concepcion +quite submissively allowed herself to be led out +of the room by Nurse Smaith and Sir Stephen. +Her sobs weakened, and when the door was closed +could no longer be heard. A lady member had +followed the three. The committee was positively +<span class="newpage"><a name="page284" id="page284">[284]</a></span> +staggered by the unprecedented affair. G.J., +very pale, said:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Smith is in competent hands. We can't +do anything. I think we had better sit down." He +was obeyed.</p> + +<p>A second doctor on the committee remarked +with a curious slight smile:</p> + +<p>"I said to myself when I first saw her this afternoon +that Mrs. Smith had some of the symptoms +of a nervous breakdown."</p> + +<p>"Yes," G.J. concurred. "I very much regret +that I allowed Mrs. Smith to come. But she was +determined to work, and she seemed perfectly +calm and collected. I very much regret it."</p> + +<p>Then, to hide his constraint, he pulled towards +him the sheet of paper on which Concepcion had +been making notes, and, remembering that a list +of members present had always to be kept, he +began to write down names. He was extremely +angry with himself. He had tried Concepcion too +high. He ought to have known that all women +were the same. He had behaved like an impulsive +fool. He had been ridiculous before the committee. +What should have been a triumph was a +disaster. The committee would bind their two +names together. And at the conclusion of the +meeting news of the affairs would radiate from the +committee's offices in every direction throughout +London. And he had been unfair to Concepcion. +Their relations would be endlessly complicated +by the episode. He foresaw trying scenes, in +which she would make all the excuses, between +her and himself.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it would be simpler if we decided to +<span class="newpage"><a name="page285" id="page285">[285]</a></span> +admit Nurse Smaith's claim," said a timid voice +from the other end of the table.</p> + +<p>G.J. murmured coldly, gazing at the agenda +paper and yet dominating his committee:</p> + +<p>"The question will come up on the minutes of +the Hospitals Management Sub-committee. We +had better deal with it then. The next business on +the agenda is the letter from the Paris Service de +Santé."</p> + +<p>He was thinking: "How is she now? Ought +I to go out and see?" And the majority of the +committee was vaguely thinking, not without a +certain pleasurable malice: "These Society women! +They're all queer!"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page286" id="page286">[286]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_37"></a><h2>Chapter 37</h2> + +<h4>THE INVISIBLE POWERS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Several times already the rumour had spread +in the Promenade that the Promenade would be +closed on a certain date, and the Promenade had +not been closed. But to-night it was stated that the +Promenade would be closed at the end of the week, +and everybody concerned knew that the prophecy +would come true. No official notice was issued, no +person who repeated the tale could give a reliable +authority for it; nevertheless, for some mysterious +reason it convinced. The rival Promenade had +already passed away. The high invisible powers +who ruled the world of pleasure were moving at +the behest of powers still higher than themselves; +and the cloak-room attendants, in their frivolous +tiny aprons, shared murmuringly behind plush +portières in the woe of the ladies with large hats.</p> + +<p>The revue being a failure, the auditorium was +more than half empty. In the Promenade to each +man there were at least five pretty ladies, and the +ladies looked gloomily across many rows of vacant +seats at the bright proscenium where jocularities +of an exacerbating tedium were being enacted. +Not that the jocularities were inane beyond the +usual, but failure made them seem so. None had +the slightest idea why the revue had failed; for +<span class="newpage"><a name="page287" id="page287">[287]</a></span> +precisely similar revues, concocted according to +the same recipe and full of the same jocularities +executed by the same players at the same salaries, +had crowded the theatre for many months together. +It was an incomprehensible universe.</p> + +<p>Christine suddenly shrugged her shoulders and +walked out. What use in staying to the end?</p> + +<p>It was long after ten o'clock, and an exquisite +faint light lingering in the sky still revealed the +features of the people in the streets. The man who +had devoted half a life to the ingenious project +of lengthening the summer days by altering clocks +was in his disappointed grave; but victory had +come to him there, for statesmen had at last proved +the possibility of that which they had always +maintained to be impossible, and the wisdom of +that which they had always maintained to be +idiotic. The voluptuous divine melancholy of +evening June descended upon the city from the +sky, and even sounds were beautifully sad. The +happy progress of the war could not exorcise this +soft, omnipotent melancholy. Yet the progress of +the war was nearly all that could be desired. +Verdun was held, and if Fort Vaux had been lost +there had been compensation in the fact that the +enemy, through the gesture of the Crown Prince +in allowing the captured commander of the fort +to retain his sword, had done something to +rehabilitate themselves in the esteem of mankind. +Lord Kitchener was drowned, but the discovery +had been announced that he was not indispensable; +indeed, there were those who said that it +was better thus. The Easter Rebellion was well +in hand; order was understood to reign in an +<span class="newpage"><a name="page288" id="page288">[288]</a></span> +Ireland hidden behind the black veil of the +censorship. The mighty naval battle of Jutland +had quickly transformed itself from a defeat into +a brilliant triumph. The disturbing prices of +food were about to be reduced by means of a +committee. In America the Republican forces +were preparing to eject President Wilson in +favour of another Hughes who could be counted +upon to realise the world-destiny of the United +States. An economic conference was assembling +in Paris with the object of cutting Germany off +from the rest of the human race after the war. +And in eleven days the Russians had made +prisoners of a hundred and fifty thousand +Austrians, and Brusiloff had just said: "This is +only the beginning." Lastly the close prospect of +the resistless Allied Western offensive which would +deracinate Prussian militarism was uplifting men's +minds.</p> + +<p>Christine walked nonchalantly and uninvitingly +through the streets, quite unresponsive to the +exhilaration of events.</p> + +<p>"Marthe!" she called, when she had let herself +into the flat. Contrary to orders, the little hall +was in darkness. There was no answer. She lit +the hall and passed into the kitchen, lighting it +also. There, in the terrible and incurable squalor +of Marthe's own kitchen, Marthe's apron was +thrown untidily across the back of the solitary +windsor chair. She knew then that Marthe had +gone out, and in truth, although very annoyed, +she was not altogether surprised.</p> + +<p>Marthe had a mysterious love affair. It was +astonishing, in view of the intensely aphrodisiacal +<span class="newpage"><a name="page289" id="page289">[289]</a></span> +atmosphere in which she lived, that Marthe did not +continually have love affairs. But the day of love +had seemed for Marthe to be over, and Christine +found great difficulty in getting her ever to leave +the flat, save on necessary household errands. On +the other hand it was astonishing that any man +should be attracted by the fat slattern. The moth +now fluttering round her was an Italian waiter, as +to whom Christine had learnt that he was being +unjustly hunted by the Italian military authorities. +Hence the mystery necessarily attaching to the +love affair. Being French, Christine despised him. +He called Marthe by her right name of "Marta," +and Christine had more than once heard the pair +gabbling in the kitchen in Italian. Just as though +she had been a conventional <i>bourgeoise</i> Christine +now accused Marthe of ingratitude because the +woman was subordinating Christine's convenience +to the supreme exigencies of fate. A man's freedom +might be in the balance, Marthe's future might +be in the balance; but supposing that Christine +had come home with a gallant—and no <i>femme +de chambre</i> to do service!</p> + +<p>She walked about the flat, shut the windows, +drew the blinds, removed her hat, removed her +gloves, stretched them, put her things away; she +gazed at the two principal rooms, at the soiled +numbers of <i>La Vie Parisienne</i> and the cracked +bric-à-brac in the drawing-room, at the rent in +the lace bedcover, and the foul mess of toilet +apparatus in the bedroom. The forlorn emptiness +of the place appalled her. She had been quite fairly +successful in her London career. Hundreds of +men had caressed her and paid her with compliments +<span class="newpage"><a name="page290" id="page290">[290]</a></span> +and sweets and money. She had been +really admired. The flat had had gay hours. +Unmistakable aristocrats had yielded to her. +And she had escaped the five scourges of her +profession....</p> + +<p>It was all over. The chapter was closed. She +saw nothing in front of her but decline and ruin. +She had escaped the five scourges of her profession, +but part of the price of this immunity was that +through keeping herself to herself she had not a +friend. Despite her profession, and because of +the prudence with which she exercised it, she was +a solitary, a recluse.</p> + +<p>Yes, of course she had Gilbert. She could +count upon Gilbert to a certain extent, to a +considerable extent; but he would not be eternal, +and his fancy for her would not be eternal. Once, +before Easter, she had had the idea that he meant +to suggest to her an exclusive liaison. Foolish! +Nothing, less than nothing, had come of it. He +would not be such an imbecile as to suggest such +a thing to her. Miracles did not happen, at any +rate not that kind of miracle.</p> + +<p>In the midst of her desolation an old persistent +dream revisited her: the dream of a small country +cottage in France, with a dog, a faithful servant, +respectability, good name, works of charity, her +own praying-stool in the village church. She +moved to the wardrobe and unlocked one of the +drawers beneath the wide doors. And rummaging +under the linen and under the photographs under +the linen she drew forth a package and spread its +contents on the table in the drawing-room. Her +securities, her bonds of the City of Paris, ever +<span class="newpage"><a name="page291" id="page291">[291]</a></span> +increasing! Gilbert had tried to induce her to +accept more attractive investments. But she would +not. Never! These were her consols, part of her +religion. Bonds of the City of Paris had fallen in +value, but not in her dogmatic esteem. The +passionate little miser that was in her surveyed +them with pleasure, even with assurance; but they +were still far too few to stand for the realisation +of her dream. And she might have to sell some of +them soon in order to live. She replaced them +carefully in the drawer with dejection unabated.</p> + +<p>When she glanced at the table again she saw +an envelope. Inexplicably she had not noticed it +before. She seized it in hope—and recognised in +the address the curious hand of her landlord. It +contained a week's notice to quit. The tenancy of +the flat was weekly. This was the last blow. All +the invisible powers of London were conspiring +together to shatter the profession. What in the +name of the Holy Virgin had come over the +astounding, incomprehensible city? Then there +was a ring at the bell. Marthe? No, Marthe +would never ring; she had a key and she would +creep in. A lover? A rich, spendthrift, kind lover? +Hope flickered anew in her desolated heart.</p> + +<p>It was the other pretty lady—a newcomer—who +lived in the house: a rather stylish woman of about +thirty-five, unusually fair, with regular features +and a very dignified carriage, indeed not unimposing. +They had met once, at the foot of the stairs. +Christine was not sure of her name. She proclaimed +herself to be Russian, but Christine +doubted the assertion. Her French had no trace +of a foreign accent; and in view of the achieve-merits +<span class="newpage"><a name="page292" id="page292">[292]</a></span> +of the Russian Army ladies were finding it +advantageous to be of Russian blood. Still she +had a fine cosmopolitan air to which Christine +could not pretend. They engaged each other in +glances.</p> + +<p>"I hope I do not disturb you, madame."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, madame. I am obliged to open +the door myself because my servant is out."</p> + +<p>"I thought I heard you come in, and so—"</p> + +<p>"No," interrupted Christine, determined not +to admit the defeat of having returned from the +Promenade alone. "I have not been out. Probably +it was my servant you heard."</p> + +<p>"Ah!... Without doubt."</p> + +<p>"Will you give yourself the trouble to enter, +madame?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed the Russian, in the sitting-room. +"You will excuse me, madame, but what +a beautiful photograph!"</p> + +<p>"You are too amiable, madame. A friend had +it done for me."</p> + +<p>They sat down.</p> + +<p>"You are deliciously installed here," said the +Russian perfunctorily, looking round. "Now, +madame, I have been here only three weeks. And +to-night I receive a notice to quit. Shall I be +indiscreet if I ask if you have received a similar +notice?"</p> + +<p>"This very evening," said Christine, in secret +still more disconcerted by this further proof of a +general plot against human nature. She was +about to add: "I found it here on my return +home," but, remembering her fib, managed to +stop in time.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page293" id="page293">[293]</a></span> +<p>"Well, madame, I know little of London. Without +doubt you know London to the bottom. Is it +serious, this notice?"</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>"Quite serious?"</p> + +<p>Christine said:</p> + +<p>"You see, there is a crisis. It is the war that +in London has led to the discovery that men have +desires. Of course, it will pass, but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course.... But it is grotesque, this +crisis."</p> + +<p>"It is perfectly grotesque," Christine agreed.</p> + +<p>"You do not by hazard know where one can +find flats to let? I hear speak of Bloomsbury and +of Long Acre. But it seems to me that those +quarters—"</p> + +<p>"I am in London since now more than eighteen +months," said Christine. "And as for all those +things I know little. I have lived here in this +flat all the time, and I go out so rarely—"</p> + +<p>The Russian put in with eagerness:</p> + +<p>"Oh, I also! I go out, so to speak, not at all."</p> + +<p>"I thought I had seen you once in the Promenade +at the—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is true," interrupted the Russian +quickly. "I went from curiosity, for distraction. +You see, since the war I have lived in Dublin. I +had there a friend, very highly placed in the +administration. He married. One lived terrible +hours during the revolt. I decided to come to +London, especially as—However, I do not +wish to fatigue you with all that."</p> + +<p>Christine said nothing. The Irish Rebellion +did not interest her. She was in no mood for +<span class="newpage"><a name="page294" id="page294">[294]</a></span> +talking about the Irish Rebellion. She had convinced +herself that all Sinn Feiners were in +German pay, and naught else mattered. Never, +she thought, had the British Government carried +ingenuousness further than in this affair! Given +a free hand, Christine with her strong, direct +common sense would have settled the Irish question +in forty-eight hours.</p> + +<p>The Russian, after a little pause, continued:</p> + +<p>"I merely wished to ask you whether the notice +to quit was serious—not a trick for raising the +rent."</p> + +<p>Christine shook her head to the last clause.</p> + +<p>"And then, if the notice was quite serious, +whether you knew of any flats—not too dear.... +Not that I mind a good rent if one receives the +value of it, and is left tranquil."</p> + +<p>The conversation might at this point have +taken a more useful turn if Christine had not felt +bound to hold herself up against the other's high +tone of indifference to expenditure. The Russian, +in demanding "tranquillity," had admitted that +she regularly practised the profession—or, as +English girls strangely called it, "the business"—and +Christine could have followed her lead into +the region of gossiping and intimate realism where +detailed confidences are enlighteningly exchanged; +but the tone about money was a challenge.</p> + +<p>"I should have been enchanted to be of service +to you," said Christine. "But I know nothing. I +go out less and less. As for this notice, I smile +at it. I have a friend upon whom I can count for +everything. I have only to tell him, and he will +put me among my own furniture at once. He has +<span class="newpage"><a name="page295" id="page295">[295]</a></span> +indeed already suggested it. So that, <i>je m'en fiche</i>."</p> + +<p>"I also!" said the Russian. "My new friend—he +is a colonel, sent from Dublin to London—has +insisted upon putting me among my own +furniture. But I have refused so far—because one +likes to know more of a gentleman—does not +one?—before ..."</p> + +<p>"Truly!" murmured Christine.</p> + +<p>"And there is always Paris," said the Russian.</p> + +<p>"But I thought you were from Petrograd."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I know Paris well. Ah! There is +only Paris! Paris is a second home to me."</p> + +<p>"Can one get a passport easily for Paris?... +I mean, supposing the air-raids grew too dangerous +again."</p> + +<p>"Why not, madame? If one has one's papers. +To get a passport from Paris to London, that +would be another thing, I admit.... I see that +you play," the Russian added, rising, with a +gesture towards the piano. "I have heard you +play. You play with true taste. I know, for when +a girl I played much."</p> + +<p>"You flatter me."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I think your friend plays too."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Christine. "He!... It is an artist, +that one."</p> + +<p>They turned over the music, exchanged views +about waltzes, became enthusiastic, laughed, and +parted amid manifestations of good breeding and +goodwill. As soon as Christine was alone, she sat +down and wept. She could not longer contain her +distress. Paris gleamed before her. But no! It +was a false gleam. She could not make a new +start in Paris during the war. The adventure +<span class="newpage"><a name="page296" id="page296">[296]</a></span> +would be too perilous; the adventure might end in +a licensed house. And yet in London—what was +there in London but, ultimately, the pavement? +And the pavement meant complications with the +police, with prowlers, with other women; it meant +all the scourges of the profession, including +probably alcoholism. It meant prostitution, to +which she had never sunk!</p> + +<p>She wished she had been killed outright in the +air-raid. She had an idea of going to the Oratory +the next morning, and perhaps choosing a new +Virgin and soliciting favour of the image thereof. +She sobbed, and, sobbing, suddenly jumped up +and ran to the telephone. And even as she +gave Gilbert's number, she broke it in the middle +with a sob. After all, there was Gilbert.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page297" id="page297">[297]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_38"></a><h2>Chapter 38</h2> + +<h4>THE VICTORY</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Get back into bed," said G.J., having silently +opened the window in the sitting-room.</p> + +<p>He spoke with courteous persuasion, but his +peculiar intense politeness and restraint somewhat +dismayed Christine. By experience she knew that +they were a sure symptom of annoyance. She +often, though not on this occasion, wished that he +would yield to anger and make a scene; but he +never did, and she would hate him for not doing +so. The fact was that under the agreement which +ruled their relations, she had no right to telephone +to him, save in grave and instant emergency, and +even then it was her duty to say first, when she +got the communication: "Mr. Pringle wants to +speak to Mr. Hoape." She had omitted, in her +disquiet, to fulfil this formality. Recognising his +voice, she had begun passionately, without +preliminary: "Oh! Beloved, thou canst not +imagine what has happened to me—" etc. Still +he had come. He had cut her short, but he had +left whatever he was doing and had, amazingly, +walked over at once. And in the meantime she +had hurriedly undressed and put on a new peignoir +and slipped into bed. Of course she had had to +open the door herself.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page298" id="page298">[298]</a></span> +<p>She obeyed his command like an intelligent +little mouse, and he sat down on the edge of the +bed. He might inspire foreboding, alarm, even +terror. But he was in the flat. He was the saviour, +man, in the flat. And his coming was in the +nature of a miracle. He might have been out; he +might have been entertaining; he might have been +engaged; he might well have said that he could +not come until the next day. Never before had +she made such a request, and he had acceded to it +immediately! Her mood was one of frightened +triumph. He was being most damnably himself; +his demeanour was as faultless as his dress. She +could not even complain that he had forgotten to +kiss her. He said nothing about her transgression +of the rule as to telephoning. He was waiting, +with his exasperating sense of justice and self-control, +until she had acquainted him with her +case. Instead of referring coldly and disapprovingly +to the matter of the telephone, he said in a +judicious, amicable voice:</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether your coiffeur is all that he +ought to be. I see you had your hair waved +to-day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, why?"</p> + +<p>"You should tell the fellow to give you the +new method of hair-waving, steaming with electric +heaters—or else go where you can get it."</p> + +<p>"New method?" repeated Christine the Tory +doubtfully. And then with sudden sexual +suspicion:</p> + +<p>"Who told you about it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I heard of it months ago," he said carelessly. +"Besides, it's in the papers, in the advertisements. +<span class="newpage"><a name="page299" id="page299">[299]</a></span> +It lasts longer—much longer—and it's +more artistic."</p> + +<p>She felt sure that he had been discussing hair-waving +with some woman. She thought of all +her grievances against him. The Lechford House +episode rankled in her mind. He had given her +the details, but she said to herself that he had given +her the details only because he had foreseen that +she would hear about the case from others or read +about it in the newspapers. She had not been +able to stomach that he should be at Lechford +House alone late at night with two women of the +class she hated and feared—and the very night of +her dreadful experience with him in the bomb-explosion! +No explanations could make that seem +proper or fair. Naturally she had never disclosed +her feelings. Further, the frequenting of such a +house as Lechford House was more proof of his +social importance, and incidentally of his riches. +The spectacle of his flat showed her long ago that +previously she had been underestimating his +situation in the world. The revelations as to +Lechford House had seemed to show her that she +was still underestimating it. She resented his +modesty. She was inclined to attribute his +modesty to a desire to pay her as little as he +reasonably could. However, she could not in +sincerity do so. He treated her handsomely, +considering her pretensions, but considering his +position—he had no pretensions—not handsomely. +She had had an irrational idea that, having +permitted her to see the splendour of his flat, he +ought to have increased her emoluments—that, +indeed, she should be paid not according to her +<span class="newpage"><a name="page300" id="page300">[300]</a></span> +original environment, but according to his. She +also resented that he had never again asked her to +his flat. Her behaviour on that sole visit had +apparently decided him not to invite her any +more. She resented his perfectly hidden resentment.</p> + +<p>What disturbed her more than anything else +was a notion in her mind, possibly a wrong notion, +that she cared for him less madly than of old. She +had always said to herself, and more than once +sadly to him, that his fancy for her would not and +could not last; but that hers for him should decline +puzzled her and added to her grievances against +him. She looked at him from the little nest +made by her head between two pillows. Did she +in truth care for him less madly than of old? +She wondered. She had only one gauge, the +physical.</p> + +<p>She began to talk despairingly about Marthe, +whom, of course, she had had to mention at the +door. He said quietly:</p> + +<p>"But it's not because of Marthe's caprices that +I'm asked to come down to-night, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>She told him about the closing of the Promenade +in a tone of absolute, resigned certainty +that admitted of no facile pooh-poohings or +reassurances. And then, glancing sidelong at the +night-table, where the lamp burned, she extended +her half-bared arm and picked up the landlord's +notice and gave it to him to read. Watching him +read it she inwardly trembled, as though she had +started on some perilous enterprise the end of +which might be black desperation, as though she +had cast off from the shore and was afloat amid +<span class="newpage"><a name="page301" id="page301">[301]</a></span> +the waves of a vast, swollen river—waves that +often hid the distant further bank. She felt somehow +that she was playing for all or nothing. And +though she had had immense experience of men, +though it was her special business to handle men, +she felt herself to be unskilled and incompetent. +The common ruses, feints, devices, guiles, chicaneries +were familiar to her; she could employ them +as well as any and better than most; they succeeded +marvellously and absurdly—in the common +embarrassments and emergencies, because they +had not to stand the test of time. Their purpose +was temporary, and when the purpose had been +accomplished it did not matter whether they were +unmasked or not, for the adversary-victim—who, +in any event, was better treated than he deserved!—either +had gone for ever, or would soon forget, +or was too proud to murmur, or philosophically +accepted a certain amount of wile as part of the +price of ecstasy. But this embarrassment and this +emergency were not common. They were a +supreme crisis.</p> + +<p>"The other lady has had notice too," she said, +and went on: "It's the same everywhere in this +quarter. I know not if it is the same in other +districts, but quite probably it is.... It is the +end."</p> + +<p>She saw by the lifting of his eyebrows that he +was impressed, that he secretly admitted the +justifiability of her summons to him. And instantly +she took a reasonable, wise, calm tone.</p> + +<p>"It is a little serious, is it not? I do not frighten +myself, but it is serious. Above all, I do not wish +to trouble thee. I know all thy anxieties, and I am +<span class="newpage"><a name="page302" id="page302">[302]</a></span> +a woman who understands. But except thee I +have not a friend, as I have often told thee. +In my heart there is a place only for one. I have +a horror of all those women. They weary me. I +am not like them, as thou well knowest. Thus my +existence is solitary. I have no relations. Not one. +See! Go into no matter what interior, and there +are photographs. But here—not one. Yes, one. +My own. I am forced to regard my own portrait. +What would I not give to be able to put on my +chimney-piece thy portrait! But I cannot. Do +not deceive thyself. I am not complaining. I +comprehend perfectly. It is impossible that a +woman like me should have thy photograph on +her chimney-piece." She smiled, smoothing for a +moment the pucker out of her brow. "And lately +I see thee so little. Thou comest less frequently. +And when thou comest, well—one embraces—a +little music—and then <i>pouf</i>! Thou art gone. Is it +not so?"</p> + +<p>He said:</p> + +<p>"But thou knowest the reason, I am terribly +busy. I have all the preoccupations in the world. +My committee—it is not all smooth, my committee. +Everything and everybody depends on +me. And in the committee I have enemies too. +The fact is, I have become a beast of burden. I +dream about it. And there are others in worse +case. We shall soon be in the third year of the +war. We must not forget that."</p> + +<p>"My little rabbit," she replied very calmly +and reasonably and caressingly. "Do not imagine +to thyself that I blame thee. I do not blame thee. +I comprehend too well all that thou dost, all that +<span class="newpage"><a name="page303" id="page303">[303]</a></span> +thou art worth. In every way thou art stronger +than me. I am ten times nothing. I know it. +I have no grievance against thee. Thou hast +always given me what thou couldst, and I on my +part have never demanded too much. Say, have +I been excessive? At this hour I make no claim +on thee. I have done all that to me was possible +to make thee happy. In my soul I have always +been faithful to thee. I do not praise myself for +that. I did not choose it. These things are not +chosen. They come to pass—that is all. And it +arrived that I was bound to go mad about thee, +and to remain so. What wouldst thou? Speak +not of the war. Is it not because of the war that +I am in exile, and that I am ruined? I have +always worked honestly for my living. And there +is not on earth an officer who has encountered me +who can say that I have not been particularly nice +to him—because he was an officer. Thou wilt +excuse me if I speak of such matters. I know I am +wrong. It is contrary to my habit. But what +wouldst thou? I also have done what I could for +the war. But it is my ruin. Oh, my Gilbert! Tell +me what I must do. I ask nothing from thee but advice. +It was for that that I dared to telephone thee."</p> + +<p>G.J. answered casually:</p> + +<p>"I see nothing to worry about. It will be +necessary to take another flat. That is all."</p> + +<p>"But I—I know nothing of London. One tells +me that it is in future impossible for women who +live alone—like me—to find a flat—that is to +say, respectable."</p> + +<p>"Absurd! I will find a flat. I know precisely +where there is a flat."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page304" id="page304">[304]</a></span> +<p>"But will they let it to me?"</p> + +<p>"They will let it to <i>me</i>, I suppose," said he, +still casually.</p> + +<p>A pause ensued.</p> + +<p>She said, in a voice trembling:</p> + +<p>"Thou art not going to say to me that thou +wilt put me among my own furniture?"</p> + +<p>"The flat is furnished. But it is the same thing."</p> + +<p>"Do not let such a hope shine before me—me +who saw before me only the pavement. Thou +art not serious."</p> + +<p>"I never was more serious. For whom dost +thou take me, little-foolish one?"</p> + +<p>She cried:</p> + +<p>"Oh, you English! You are <i>chic</i>. You make love +as you go to war. Like <i>that</i>!... One word—it is +decided! And there is nothing more to say! Ah! +You English!"</p> + +<p>She had almost screamed, shuddering under +the shock of his decision, for which she had +impossibly hoped, but whose reality overwhelmed +her. He sat there in front of her, elegant, impeccably +dressed, distinguished, aristocratic, rich, +in the full wisdom of his years, and in the strength +of his dominating will, and in the righteousness of +his heart. One could absolutely trust such as him +to do the right thing, and to do it generously, and +to do it all the time. And she, <i>she</i> had won him. +He had recognised her qualities. She had denied +any claim upon him, but by his decision he had +admitted a claim—a claim that no money could +satisfy. After all, for eighteen months she had +been more to him than any other woman. He +had talked freely to her. He had concealed +<span class="newpage"><a name="page305" id="page305">[305]</a></span> +naught from her. He had spoken to her of his +discouragements and his weaknesses. He had had +no shame before her. By her acquiescences, her +skill, her warmth, her adaptability, her intense +womanliness, she had created between them a +bond stronger than anything that could keep them +apart. The bond existed. It could not during the +whole future be broken save by a disloyalty. A +disloyalty, she divined, would irrevocably destroy +it. But she had no fear on that score, for she knew +her own nature. His decision did more than fill +her with a dizzy sense of relief, a mad, intolerable +happiness—it re-established her self-respect. No +ordinary woman, handicapped as she was, could +have captured this fastidious and shy paragon ... +And the notion that her passion for him had +dwindled was utterly ridiculous, like the notion +that he would tire of her. She was saved. She +burst into wild tears.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Pardon me!" she sobbed. "I am quite +calm, really. But since the air-raid, thou knowest, +I have not been quite the same ... Thou! Thou +art different. Nothing could disturb thy calm. +Ah! If thou wert a general at the front! What +sang-froid! What presence of mind! But I—"</p> + +<p>He bent towards her, and she suddenly sprang +up and seized him round the neck, and ate his +lips, and while she strangled and consumed him +she kept muttering to him:</p> + +<p>"Hope not that I shall thank thee. I cannot. +I cannot! The words with which I could thank +thee do not exist. But I am thine, thine! All of +me is thine. Humiliate me! Demand of me +impossible things! I am thy slave, thy creature! +<span class="newpage"><a name="page306" id="page306">[306]</a></span> +Ah! Let me kiss thy beautiful grey hairs. I love +thy hair. And thy ears ..."</p> + +<p>The thought of her insatiable temperament +flashed through her as she held him, and of his +northern sobriety, and of the profound, unchangeable +difference between these two. She would +discipline her temperament; she would subjugate +it. Women were capable of miracles—and women +alone. And she was capable of miracles.</p> + +<p>A strange, muffled noise came to them across +the darkness of the sitting-room, and G.J. raised +his head slightly to listen.</p> + +<p>"Repose! Repose thyself in the arms of thy +little mother," she breathed softly. "It is nothing. +It is but the wind blowing the blind against the +curtains."</p> + +<p>And later, when she had distilled the magic of +the hour and was tranquillised, she said:</p> + +<p>"And where is it, this flat?"</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page307" id="page307">[307]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_39"></a><h2>Chapter 39</h2> + +<h4>IDYLL</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Christine said to Marie, otherwise La Mère +Gaston, the new servant in the new flat, who was +holding in her hand a telegram addressed to +"Hoape, Albany":</p> + +<p>"Give it to me. I will put it in front of the clock +on the mantelpiece."</p> + +<p>And she lodged it among the gilt cupids that +supported the clock on the fringed mantelpiece +in the drawing-room. She did so with a little +gesture of childlike glee expressing her satisfaction +in the flat as a whole.</p> + +<p>The flat was dark; she did not object, loving +artificial light. The rooms were all very small; +she loved cosiness. There was a garage close by, +which might have disturbed her nights; but it did +not. The bathroom was open to the bedroom; +no arrangement could be better. G.J. in +enumerating the disadvantages of the flat had said +also that it was too much and too heavily furnished. +Not at all. She adored the cumbrous and rich +furniture; she did not want in her flat the empty +spaces of a ball-room; she wanted to feel that she +was within an interior—inside something. She +gloried in the flat. She preferred it even to her +memory of G.J.'s flat in the Albany. Its golden +<span class="newpage"><a name="page308" id="page308">[308]</a></span> +ornateness flattered her. The glittering cornices, +and the big carved frames of the pictures of +impossible flowers and of ladies and gentlemen +in historic coiffures and costumes, appeared +marvellous to her. She had never seen, and +certainly had never hoped to inhabit, anything +like it. But then Gilbert was always better than +his word.</p> + +<p>He had been quite frank, telling her that he +knew of the existence of the flat simply because +it had been occupied for a brief time by the Mrs. +Carlos Smith of whom she had heard and read, +and who had had to leave it on account of health. +(She did not remind him that once at the beginning +of the war when she had noticed the name +and portrait of Mrs. Carlos Smith in the paper, +he, sitting by her side, had concealed from her +that he knew Mrs. Carlos Smith. Judiciously, she +had never made the slightest reference to that +episode.) Though she detested the unknown Mrs. +Carlos Smith, she admired and envied her for a +great illustrious personage, and was secretly very +proud of succeeding Mrs. Carlos Smith in the +tenancy. And when Gilbert told her that he had +had his eye on the flat for her before Mrs. Carlos +Smith took it, and had hesitated on account of its +drawbacks, she was even more proud. And +reassured also. For this detail was a proof that +Gilbert had really had the intention to put her +"among her own furniture" long before the night +of the supreme appeal to him.... Only he was +always so cautious.</p> + +<p>And Gilbert was the discoverer of la mère +Gaston, too, and as frank about her as about the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page309" id="page309">[309]</a></span> +flat. La mère Gaston was the widow of a French +soldier, domiciled in London previous to the war, +who had died of wounds in one of the Lechford +hospitals; and it was through the Lechford Committee +that Gilbert had come across her. A few +weeks earlier than the beginning of the formal +liaison Mrs. Braiding had fallen ill for a space, and +Madame Gaston had been summoned as charwoman +to aid Mrs. Braiding's young sister in the +Albany flat. With excellent judgment Gilbert +had chosen her to succeed Marthe, whom he himself +had reproachfully dismissed from Cork Street.</p> + +<p>He was amazingly clever, was Gilbert, for he +had so arranged things that Christine had been +able to cut off her Cork Street career as with a +knife. She had departed from Cork Street with +two trunks and a few cardboard boxes—her stove +was abandoned to the landlord—and vanished +into London and left no trace. Except Gilbert, +nobody who knew her in Cork Street was aware of +her new address, and nobody who knew her in +Mayfair knew that she had come from Cork Street. +Her ancient acquaintances in Cork Street would +ring the bell there in vain.</p> + +<p>Madame Gaston was a neat, plump woman of +perhaps forty, not looking her years. She had a +comprehending eye. After three words from +Gilbert she had mastered the situation, and as she +perfectly realised where her interest lay she could +be relied upon for discretion. In all delicate +matters only her eye talked. She was a Protestant, +and went to the French church in Soho Square, +which she called the "Temple". Christine and +she had had but one Sunday together—and +<span class="newpage"><a name="page310" id="page310">[310]</a></span> +Christine had gone with her to the Temple! The +fact was that Christine had decided to be a +Protestant. She needed a religion, and Catholicism +had an inconvenience—confession. She had +regularised her position, so much so that by +comparison with the past she was now perfectly +respectable. Yet if she had been candid in the +confessional the priest would still have convicted +her of mortal sin; which would have been very +unfair; and she could not, in view of her respectability, +have remained a Catholic without confessing, +however infrequently. Madame Gaston, as soon as +she was sure of her convert, referred to Catholicism as +"idolatry".</p> + +<p>"Put your apron on, Marie," said Christine. +"Monsieur will be here directly."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, madame!"</p> + +<p>"Have you opened the kitchen-window to take +away the smell of cooking?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madame."</p> + +<p>"Am I all right, Marie?"</p> + +<p>Madame Gaston surveyed her mistress, who +turned round.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madame. I think that monsieur will +much like that <i>négligée</i>." She departed to don +the apron.</p> + +<p>Between these two it was continually "monsieur," +"monsieur". He was seldom there, but +he was always there, always being consulted, +placated, invoked, revered, propitiated, magnified. +He was the giver of all good, and there was no +other Allah, and he had two prophets.</p> + +<p>Christine sang, she twittered, she pirouetted, +out of sheer youthful joy. She had forgotten +<span class="newpage"><a name="page311" id="page311">[311]</a></span> +care and forgotten promiscuity; good fortune had +washed her pure. She looked at herself in the +massive bevelled mirror, and saw that she was +fresh and young and lithe and graceful. And she +felt triumphant. Gilbert had expressed the fear +that she might get lonely and bored. He had +even said that occasionally he might bring along +a man, and that perhaps the man would have a +very nice woman friend. She had not very +heartily responded. She was markedly sympathetic +towards Englishmen, but towards English +women—no! And especially she did not want to +know any English women in the same situation as +herself. Lonely? Impossible! Bored? Impossible! +She had an establishment. She had a civil list. +Her days passed like an Arabian dream. She +never had an unfilled moment, and when each +day was over she always remembered little things +which she had meant to do and had not found +time to do.</p> + +<p>She was a superb sleeper, and arose at noon. +Three o'clock usually struck before her day had +fairly begun—unless, of course, she happened to +be very busy, in which case she would be ready +for contact with the world at the lunch-hour. Her +main occupation was to charm, allure, and gratify +a man; for that she lived. Her distractions were +music, the reading of novels, <i>Le Journal</i>, and <i>Les +Grandes Modes</i>. And for the war she knitted. In +her new situation it was essential that she should +do something for the war. Therefore she knitted, +being a good knitter, and her knitting generally +lay about.</p> + +<p>She popped into the dining-room to see if the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page312" id="page312">[312]</a></span> +table was well set for dinner. It was, but in order +to show that Marie did not know everything, she +rearranged somewhat the flowers in the central +bowl. Then she returned to the drawing-room, +and sat down at the piano and waited. The +instant of arrival approached. Gilbert's punctuality +was absolute, always had been; sometimes +it alarmed her. She could not have to wait more +than a minute or two, according to the inexactitude +of her clock.... The bell rang, and simultaneously +she began to play a five-finger exercise. +Often in the old life she had executed upon him +this innocent subterfuge, to make him think she +practised the piano to a greater extent than she +actually did, that indeed she was always practising. +It never occurred to her that he was not +deceived.</p> + +<p>Hear Marie fly to the front door! See Christine's +face, see her body, as in her pale, bright gown +she peeps round the half-open door of the drawing-room! +She lives, then. Her eyes sparkle for the +giver of all good, for the adored, and her brow is +puckered for him, and the jewels on her hand +burn for him, and every pleat of her garments +visible and invisible is pleated for him. She is a +child. She has snatched up a chocolate, and put +it between her teeth, and so she offers the half of +it to him, smiling, silent. She is a child, but she is +also a woman intensely skilled in her art....</p> + +<p>"Monster!" she said. "Come this way." And +she led him down the tunnel to the bedroom. +There, in a corner of the bathroom, stood an +antique closed toilet-stand, such as was used by +men in the days before splashing and sousing were +<span class="newpage"><a name="page313" id="page313">[313]</a></span> +invented. She had removed it from the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"Open it," she commanded.</p> + +<p>He obeyed. Its little compartments, which +had been empty, were filled with a man's toilet +instruments—brushes, file, scissors, shaving-soap +(his own brand), a safety-razor, &c. The set was +complete. She had known exactly the requirements.</p> + +<p>"It is a little present from thy woman," she +said. "In future thou wilt have no excuse—Sit +down. Marie!"</p> + +<p>"Madame?"</p> + +<p>"Take off the boots of Monsieur."</p> + +<p>Marie knelt.</p> + +<p>Christine found the new slippers.</p> + +<p>"And now this!" she said, after he had washed +and used the new brushes, producing a black +house-jacket with velvet collar and cuffs.</p> + +<p>"How tired thou must be after thy day!" she +murmured, patting him with tiny pats.</p> + +<p>"Thou knowest, my little one," she said, +pointing to the gas-stove in the bedroom fireplace. +"For the other rooms a gas-stove—I am indifferent. +But the bedroom is something else. The +bedroom is sacred. I could not tolerate a gas-stove +in the bedroom. A coal fire is necessary to +me. You do not think so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. "You are quite right. It shall +be seen to."</p> + +<p>"Can I give the order? Thou permittest me +to give the order?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room she cushioned him well +<span class="newpage"><a name="page314" id="page314">[314]</a></span> +in the best easy-chair, and, sitting down on a +pouf near him, began to knit like an industrious +wife who understands the seriousness of war. +Nothing escaped the attention of that man. He +espied the telegram.</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she cried, springing up and giving it to +him. "Stupid that I am! I forgot."</p> + +<p>He looked at the address.</p> + +<p>"How did this come here?" he asked mildly.</p> + +<p>"Marie brought it—from the Albany."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>He opened the telegram and read it, having +dropped the envelope into the silk-lined, gilded +waste-paper basket by the fender.</p> + +<p>"It is nothing serious?" she questioned.</p> + +<p>"No. Business."</p> + +<p>He might have shown it to her—he had shown +her telegrams before—but he stuck it into his +pocket. Then, without a word to Christine, he +rang the bell, and Marie appeared.</p> + +<p>"Marie! The telegram—why did you bring +it here?"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur, it was like this. I went to monsieur's +flat to fetch two aprons that I had left there. The +telegram was on the console in the ante-chamber. +Knowing that monsieur was to come direct here, +I brought it."</p> + +<p>"Does Mrs. Braiding know you brought it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! As for Mrs. Braiding, monsieur—"</p> + +<p>Marie stopped, disclaiming any responsibility for +Mrs. Braiding, of whom she was somewhat jealous. +"I thought to do well."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it. But surely you can see you +<span class="newpage"><a name="page315" id="page315">[315]</a></span> +have been indiscreet. Don't do it again."</p> + +<p>"No, monsieur. I ask pardon of monsieur."</p> + +<p>Immediately afterwards he said to Christine in +a gay, careless tone:</p> + +<p>"And this gas-stove here? Is it all right? Have +we tried it? Let us try it."</p> + +<p>"The weather is warm, dearest."</p> + +<p>"But just to try it. I always like to satisfy +myself—in time."</p> + +<p>"Fusser!" she exclaimed, and ignited the stove.</p> + +<p>He gazed at it absently, then picked up a +cigarette and, taking the telegram from his pocket, +folded it into a spill and with it lit the cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said meditatively. "It seems not a +bad stove." And he held the spill till it had burnt +to his finger-ends. Then he extinguished the stove.</p> + +<p>She said to herself:</p> + +<p>"He has burned the telegram on purpose. But +how cleverly he did it! Ah! That man! There is +none but him!"</p> + +<p>She was disquieted about the telegram. She +feared it. Her superstitiousness was awakened. +She thought of her apostasy from Catholicism to +Protestantism. She thought of a Holy Virgin +angered. And throughout the evening and +throughout the night, amid her smiles and teasings +and coaxings and caresses and ecstasies and all her +accomplished, voluptuous girlishness, the image +of a resentful Holy Virgin flitted before her. Why +should he burn a business telegram? Also, was +he not at intervals a little absent-minded?</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page316" id="page316">[316]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_40"></a><h2>Chapter 40</h2> + +<h4>THE WINDOW</h4> +<br /> + +<p>G.J. sat on the oilcloth-covered seat of the +large overhanging open bay-window. Below him +was the river, tributary of the Severn; in front the +Old Bridge, with an ancient street rising beyond, +and above that the silhouette of the roofs of +Wrikton surmounted by the spire of its vast church. +To the left was the weir, and the cliffs were there +also, and the last tints of the sunset.</p> + +<p>Somebody came into the coffee-room. G.J. +looked round, hoping that it might, after all, be +Concepcion. But it was Concepcion's maid, +Emily, an imitative young woman who seemed to +have caught from her former employer the quality +of strange, sinister provocativeness.</p> + +<p>She paused a moment before speaking. Her +thin figure was somewhat indistinct in the +twilight.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Smith wishes me to say that she will +certainly be well enough to take you to the station +in the morning, sir," said she in her specious tones. +"But she hopes you will be able to stay till the +afternoon train."</p> + +<p>"I shan't." He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir."</p> + +<p>And after another moment's pause Emily, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page317" id="page317">[317]</a></span> +apparently with a challenging reluctance, receded +through the shadows of the room and vanished.</p> + +<p>G.J. was extremely depressed and somewhat +indignant. He gazed down bitterly at the water, +following with his eye the incredibly long branches +of the tree that from the height of the buttresses +drooped perpendicularly into the water. He had +had an astounding week-end; and for having +responded to Concepcion's telegram, for having +taken the telegram seriously, he had deserved +what he got. Thus he argued.</p> + +<p>She had met him on the hot Saturday afternoon +in a Ford car. She did not look ill. She looked +as if she had fairly recovered from her acute +neurasthenia. She was smartly and carelessly +dressed in a summer sporting costume, and had +made a strong contrast to every other human +being on the platform of the small provincial +station. The car drove not to the famous principal +hotel, but to a small hotel just beyond the bridge. +She had given him tea in the coffee-room and +taken him out again, on foot, showing him the +town—the half-timbered houses, the immense +castle, the market-hall, the spacious flat-fronted +residences, the multiplicity of solicitors, banks and +surveyors, the bursting provision shops with +imposing fractions of animals and expensive pies, +and the drapers with ladies' blouses at 2s. 4d. +Then she had conducted him to an organ recital +in the vast church where, amid faint gas-jets and +beadles and stalls and stained glass and holiness +and centuries of history and the high respectability +of the town, she had whispered sibilantly, and other +people had whispered, in the long intervals of the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page318" id="page318">[318]</a></span> +organ. She had removed him from the church +before the collection for the Red Cross, and when +they had eaten a sort of dinner she had borne him +away to the Russian dancers in the Moot Hall.</p> + +<p>She said she had seen the Russian dancers once +already, and that they were richly worth to him a +six-hours' train journey. The posters of the +Russian dancers were rather daring and seductive. +The Russian dancers themselves were the most +desolating stage spectacle that G.J. had ever +witnessed. The troupe consisted of intensely +English girls of various ages, and girl-children. +The costumes had obviously been fabricated by the +artistes. The artistes could neither dance, pose, +group, make an entrance, make an exit, nor even +smile. The ballets, obviously fabricated by the +same persons as the costumes, had no plot, no +beginning and no end. Crude amateurishness was +the characteristic of these honest and hard-working +professionals, who somehow contrived to be +neither men nor women—and assuredly not +epicene—but who travelled from country town to +country town in a glamour of posters, exciting the +towns, in spite of a perfect lack of sex, because +they were the fabled Russian dancers. The Moot +Hall was crammed with adults and their cackling +offspring, who heartily applauded the show, which +indeed was billed as a "return visit" due to +"terrific success" on a previous occasion. "Is it +not too marvellous," Concepcion had said. He +had admitted that it was. But the boredom had +been excruciating. In the street they had bought +an evening paper of which he had never before +heard the name, to learn news of the war. The +<span class="newpage"><a name="page319" id="page319">[319]</a></span> +war, however, seemed very far off; it had grown +unreal. "We'll talk to-morrow," Concepcion had +said, and gone abruptly to bed! Still, he had +slept well in the soft climate, to the everlasting +murmur of the weir.</p> + +<p>Then the Sunday. She was indisposed, could +not come down to breakfast, but hoped to come +down to lunch, could not come down to lunch, but +hoped to come down to tea, could not come down +to tea—and so on to nightfall. The Sunday had +been like a thousand years to him. He had learnt +the town, and the suburbs of it; the grass-grown +streets, the main thoroughfares, and the slums; +by the afternoon he was recognising familiar faces +in the town. He had twice made the classic round—along +the cliffs, over the New Bridge (which was +an antique), up the hill to the castle, through the +market-place, down the High Street to the Old +Bridge. He had explored the brain of the landlord, +who could not grapple with a time-table, and +who spent most of the time during closed hours in +patiently bolting the front door which G.J. was +continually opening. He had talked to the old +customer who, whenever the house was open, sat +at a table in the garden over a mug of cider. He +had played through all the musical comedies, +dance albums and pianoforte albums that littered +the piano. He had read the same Sunday papers +that he read in the Albany. And he had learnt the +life-history of the sole servant, a very young +agreeable woman with a wedding-ring and a baby, +which baby she carried about with her when +serving at table. Her husband was in France. She +said that as soon as she had received his permission +<span class="newpage"><a name="page320" id="page320">[320]</a></span> +to do so she should leave, as she really could not +get through all the work of the hotel and mind +and feed a baby. She said also that she played +the piano herself. And she regretted that baby +and pressure of work had deprived her of a sight +of the Russian dancers, because she had heard so +much about them, and was sure they were +beautiful. This detail touched G.J.'s heart to a +mysterious and sweet and almost intolerable +melancholy. He had not made the acquaintance +of fellow-guests—for there were none, save +Concepcion and Emily.</p> + +<p>And in the evening as in the morning the weir +placidly murmured, and the river slipped +smoothly between the huge jutting buttresses of +the Old Bridge; and the thought of the perpetuity +of the river, in whose mirror the venerable town +was a mushroom, obsessed him, mastered him, and +made him as old as the river. He was wonder-struck +and sorrow-struck by life, and by his own +life, and by the incomprehensible and angering +fantasy of Concepcion. His week-end took on the +appearance of the monstrous. Then the door +opened again, and Concepcion entered in a white +gown, the antithesis of her sporting costume of the +day before. She approached through the thickening +shadows of the room, and the vague whiteness +of her gown reminded him of the whiteness of the +form climbing the chimney-ladder on the roof of +Lechford House in the raid. Knowing her, he +ought to have known that, having made him +believe that she would not come down, she would +certainly come down. He restrained himself, +showed no untoward emotion, and said in a calm, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page321" id="page321">[321]</a></span> +genial voice: "Oh! I'm so glad you were well +enough to come down."</p> + +<p>She sat opposite to him in the window-seat, +rather sideways, so that her skirt was pulled close +round her left thigh and flowed free over the right. +He could see her still plainly in the dusk.</p> + +<p>"I've never yet apologised to you for my style +of behaviour at the committee of yours," she +began abruptly in a soft, kind, reasonable voice. +"I know I let you down horribly. Yes, yes! I +did. And I ought to apologise to you for to-day +too. But I don't think I'll apologise to you for +bringing you to Wrikton and this place. They're +not real, you know. They're an illusion. There +is no such place as Wrikton and this river and this +window. There couldn't be, could there? Queen +and I motored over here once from Paulle—it's +not so very far—and we agreed that it didn't really +exist. I never forgot it; I was determined to come +here again some time, and that's why I chose +this very spot when half Harley Street stood up +and told me I must go away somewhere after my +cure and be by myself, far from the pernicious +influence of friends. I think I gave you a very +fair idea of the town yesterday. But I didn't show +you the funniest thing in it—the inside of a +solicitor's office. You remember the large grey +stone house in Mill Street—the grass street, you +know—with 'Simpover and Simpover' on the +brass plate, and the strip of green felt nailed all +round the front door to keep the wind out in +winter. Well, it's all in the same key inside. And +I don't know which is the funniest, the Russian +dancers, or the green felt round the front door, +<span class="newpage"><a name="page322" id="page322">[322]</a></span> +or Mr. Simpover, or the other Mr. Simpover. +I'm sure neither of those men is real, though +they both somehow have children. You remember +the yellow cards that you see in so many of +the windows: 'A MAN has gone from this house +to fight for King and Country!'—the elder Mr. +Simpover thinks it would be rather boastful to put +the card in the window, so he keeps it on the +mantelpiece in his private office. It's for his son. +And yet I assure you the father isn't real. He is +like the town, he simply couldn't be real."</p> + +<p>"What have <i>you</i> been up to in the private +office?" G.J. asked lightly.</p> + +<p>"Making my will."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it the proper thing to do? I've left +everything to you."</p> + +<p>"You haven't, Con!" he protested. There was +absolutely no tranquillity about this woman. +With her, the disconcerting unexpected happened +every five minutes.</p> + +<p>"Did you suppose I was going to send any of +my possessions back to my tropical relatives in +South America? I've left everything to you to +do what you like with. Squander it if you like, +but I expect you'll give it to war charities. Anyhow, +I thought it would be safest in your hands."</p> + +<p>He retorted in a tone quietly and sardonically +challenging:</p> + +<p>"But I was under the impression you were +cured."</p> + +<p>"Of my neurasthenia?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I believe I am. I gained thirteen pounds in +<span class="newpage"><a name="page323" id="page323">[323]</a></span> +the nursing home, and slept like a greengrocer. +In fact, the Weir-Mitchell treatment, with +modern improvements of course, enjoyed a +marvellous triumph in my case. But that's not the +point. G.J., I know you think I behaved very +childishly yesterday, and that I deserved to be ill +to-day for what I did yesterday. And I admit +you're a saint for not saying so. But I wasn't really +childish, and I haven't really been ill to-day. +I've only been in a devil of a dilemma. I wanted +to tell you something. I telegraphed for you so +that I could tell you. But as soon as I saw you I +was afraid to tell you. Not afraid, but I couldn't +make up my mind whether I ought to tell you or +not. I've lain in bed all day trying to decide the +point. To-night I decided I oughtn't, and then +all of a sudden, just now, I became an automaton +and put on some things, and here I am telling you."</p> + +<p>She paused. G.J. kept silence. Then she +continued, in a voice in which persuasiveness was +added to calm, engaging reasonableness:</p> + +<p>"Now you must get rid of all your conventional +ideas, G.J. Because you're rather conventional. +You must be completely straight—I mean +intellectually—otherwise I can't treat you as an +intellectual equal, and I want to. You must be a +realist—if any man can be." She spoke almost +with tenderness.</p> + +<p>He felt mysteriously shy, and with a brusque +movement of the head shifted his glance from her +to the river.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he questioned, his gaze fixed on the +water that continually slipped in large, swirling, +glinting sheets under the bridge.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page324" id="page324">[324]</a></span> +<p>"I'm going to kill myself."</p> + +<p>At first the words made no impression on him. +He replied:</p> + +<p>"You were right when you said this place was +an illusion. It is."</p> + +<p>And then he began to be afraid. Did she mean +it? She was capable of anything. And he was +involved in her, inescapably. Yes, he was afraid. +Nevertheless, as she kept silence he went on—with +bravado:</p> + +<p>"And how do you intend to do it?"</p> + +<p>"That will be my affair. But I venture to say +that my way of doing it will make Wrikton +historic," she said, curiously gentle.</p> + +<p>"Trust you!" he exclaimed, suddenly looking +at her. "Con, why <i>will</i> you always be so +theatrical?"</p> + +<p>She changed her posture for an easier one, half +reclining. Her face and demeanour seemed to +have the benign masculinity of a man's.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she answered. "I oughtn't to have +said that. At any rate, to you. I ought to have had +more respect for your feelings."</p> + +<p>He said:</p> + +<p>"You aren't cured. That's evident. All this is +physical."</p> + +<p>"Of course it's physical, G.J.," she agreed, +with an intonation of astonishment that he +should be guilty of an utterance so obvious +and banal. "Did you ever know anything that +wasn't? Did you ever even conceive anything +that wasn't? If you can show me how to conceive +spirit except in terms of matter, I'd like to listen to +you."</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page325" id="page325">[325]</a></span> +<p>"It's against nature—to kill yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she murmured. "I'm quite used to +that charge. You aren't by any means the first +to accuse me of being against nature. But can +you tell me where nature ends? That's another +thing I'd like to know.... My dear friend, you're +being conventional, and you aren't being realistic. +You must know perfectly well in your heart that +there's no reason why I shouldn't kill myself if I +want to. You aren't going to talk to me about the +Ten Commandments, I suppose, are you? There's +a risk, of course, on the other side—shore—but +perhaps it's worth taking. You aren't in a position +to say it isn't worth taking. And at worst the +other shore must be marvellous. It may possibly +be terrible, if you arrive too soon and without +being asked, but it must be marvellous.... +Naturally, I believe in immortality. If I didn't, +the thing wouldn't be worth doing. Oh! I should +hate to be extinguished. But to change one +existence for another, if the fancy takes you—that +seems to me the greatest proof of real +independence that anybody can give. It's +tremendous. You're playing chess with fate and +fate's winning, and you knock up the chess-board +and fate has to begin all over again! Can't you +see how tremendous it is—and how tempting it +is? The temptation is terrific."</p> + +<p>"I can see all that," said G.J. He was surprised +by a sudden sense of esteem for the mighty +volition hidden behind those calm, worn, gracious +features. But Concepcion's body was younger +than her face. He perceived, as it were for the +first time, that Concepcion was immeasurably +<span class="newpage"><a name="page326" id="page326">[326]</a></span> +younger than himself; and yet she had passed far +beyond him in experience. "But what's the +origin of all this? What do you want to do it for? +What's happened?"</p> + +<p>"Then you believe I mean to do it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied sincerely, and as naturally +as he could.</p> + +<p>"That's the tone I like to hear," said she, +smiling. "I felt sure I could count on you not to +indulge in too much nonsense. Well, I'm going +to try the next avatar just to remind fate of my +existence. I think fate's forgotten me, and I can +stand anything but that. I've lost Carly, and I've +lost Queen.... Oh, G.J.! Isn't it awful to think +that when I offered you Queen she'd already gone, +and it was only her dead body I was offering +you? ... And I've lost my love. And I've failed, and +I shall never be any more good here. I swore I +would see a certain thing through, and I haven't +seen it through, and I can't! But I've told you all +this before.... What's left? Even my unhappiness +is leaving me. Unless I kill myself I shall cease +to exist. Don't you understand? Yes, you do."</p> + +<p>After a marked pause she added:</p> + +<p>"And I may overtake Queen."</p> + +<p>"There's one thing I don't understand," he +said, "as we're being frank with each other. Why +do you tell me? Has it occurred to you that you're +really making me a party to this scheme of yours?"</p> + +<p>He spoke with a perfectly benevolent detachment +deriving from hers. And as he spoke he +thought of a man whom he had once known and +who had committed suicide, and of all that he had +read about suicides and what he had thought of +<span class="newpage"><a name="page327" id="page327">[327]</a></span> +them. Suicides had been incomprehensible to +him, and either despicable or pitiable. And he +said to himself: "Here is one of them! (Or is it +an illusion?) But she has made all my notions of +suicide seem ridiculous."</p> + +<p>She answered his spoken question with vivacity: +"Why do I tell you? I don't know. That's the +point I've been arguing to myself all night and +all day. <i>I'm</i> not telling you. Something <i>in</i> me is +forcing me to tell you. Perhaps it's much more +important that you should comprehend me than +that you should be spared the passing worry that +I'm causing you by showing you the inside of my +head. You're the only friend I have left. I knew +you before I knew Carly. I practically committed +suicide from my particular world at the +beginning of the war. I was going back to my +particular world—you remember, G.J., in that +little furnished flat—I was going back to it, but +you wouldn't let me. It was you who definitely +cut me off from my past. I might have been +gadding about safely with Sarah Churcher and +her lot at this very hour, but you would have it +otherwise, and so I finished up with neurasthenia. +You commanded and I obeyed."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, ignoring all her utterance +except the last words, "obey me again."</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do?" she demanded +wistfully and yet defiantly. Her features were +tending to disappear in the tide of night, but she +happened to sit up and lean forward and bring +them a little closer to him. "You've no right to +stop me from doing what I want to do. What +right have you to stop me? Besides, you can't +<span class="newpage"><a name="page328" id="page328">[328]</a></span> +stop me. Nothing can stop me. It is settled. +Everything is arranged."</p> + +<p>He, too, sat up and leaned forward. In a voice +rendered soft by the realisation of the fact that he +had indeed known her before Carlos Smith knew +her and had imagined himself once to be in love +with her, and of the harshness of her destiny and +the fading of her glory, he said simply and yet, in +spite of himself, insinuatingly:</p> + +<p>"No! I don't claim any right to stop you. I +understand better, perhaps, than you think. But +let me come down again next week-end. Do let +me," he insisted, still more softly.</p> + +<p>Even while he was speaking he expected her to +say, "You're only suggesting that in order to gain +time."</p> + +<p>But she said:</p> + +<p>"How can you be sure it wouldn't be my +inquest and funeral I should be 'letting' you come +down to?"</p> + +<p>He replied:</p> + +<p>"I could trust you."</p> + +<p>A delicate night-gust charged with the scent +of some plant came in at the open window and +deranged ever so slightly a glistening lock on her +forehead. G.J., peering at her, saw the masculinity +melt from her face. He saw the mysterious +resurrection of the girl in her, and felt in himself +the sudden exciting outflow from her of that +temperamental fluid whose springs had been dried +up since the day when she learnt of her widowhood. +She flushed. He looked away into the dark +water, as though he had profanely witnessed that +which ought not to be witnessed. Earlier in the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page329" id="page329">[329]</a></span> +interview she had inspired him with shyness. He +was now stirred, agitated, thrilled—overwhelmed +by the effect on her of his own words and his own +voice. He was afraid of his power, as a prophet +might be afraid of his power. He had worked a +miracle—a miracle infinitely more convincing +than anything that had led up to it. The miracle +had brought back the reign of reality.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she quivered.</p> + +<p>And there was a movement and she was gone. +He glanced quickly behind him, but the room lay +black.... A transient pallor on the blackness, +and the door banged. He sat a long time, solemn, +gazing at the serrated silhouette of the town +against a sky that obstinately held the wraith of +daylight, and listening to the everlasting murmur +of the invisible weir. Not a sound came from the +town, not the least sound. When at length he +stumbled out, he saw the figure of the landlord +smoking the pipe of philosophy, and waiting with +a landlord's fatalism for the last guest to go to +bed. And they talked of the weather.</p> +<span class="newpage"><a name="page330" id="page330">[330]</a></span> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="Chapter_41"></a><h2>Chapter 41</h2> + +<h4>THE ENVOY</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The next night G.J., having been hailed by +an acquaintance, was talking at the top of the +steps beneath the portal of a club in Piccadilly. It +was after ten by the clocks, and nearly, but not +quite, dark. A warm, rather heavy, evening +shower had ceased. This was the beginning of the +great macintosh epoch, by-product of the war, +when the paucity of the means of vehicular +locomotion had rendered macintoshes permissible, +even for women with pretensions to smartness; +and at intervals stylish girls on their way home +from unaccustomed overtime, passed the doors in +transparent macintoshes of pink, yellow or green, +as scornful as military officers of the effeminate +umbrella, whose use was being confined to clubmen +and old dowdies.</p> + +<p>The acquaintance sought advice from G.J. +about the shutting up of households for Belgian +refugees. G.J. answered absently, not concealing +that he was in a hurry. He had, in fact, been held +up within three minutes of the scene of his secret +idyll, and was anxious to arrive there. He had +promised himself this surprise visit to Christine as +some sort of recompense and narcotic for the +<span class="newpage"><a name="page331" id="page331">[331]</a></span> +immense disturbance of spirit which he had +suffered at Wrikton.</p> + +<p>That morning Concepcion had been invisible, +but at his early breakfast he had received a note +from her, a brief but masterly composition, if ever +so slightly theatrical. He was conscious of tenderness +for Concepcion, of sympathy with her, of a +desire to help to restore her to that which by misfortune +she had lost. But the first of these sentiments +he resolutely put aside. He was determined +to change his mood towards her for the sake of his +own tranquillity; and he had convinced himself +that his wise, calm, common sense was capable of +saving her from any tragic and fatal folly. He +had her in the hollow of his hand; but if she was +expecting too much from him she would be +gradually disappointed. He must have peace; he +could not allow a bomb to be thrown into his +habits; he was a bachelor of over fifty whose habits +had the value of inestimable jewels and whose +perfect independence was the most precious thing +in the world. At his age he could not marry a +volcano, a revolution, a new radio-active element +exhibiting properties which were an enigma to +social science. Concepcion would turn his existence +into an endless drama of which she alone, +with her deep-rooted, devilish talent for the +sensational, would always choose the setting, as +she had chosen the window and the weir. No; he +must not mistake affectionate sympathy for +tenderness, nor tolerate the sexual exploitation of +his pity.</p> + +<p>As he listened and talked to the acquaintance +his inner mind shifted with relief to the vision of +<span class="newpage"><a name="page332" id="page332">[332]</a></span> +Christine, contented and simple and compliant in +her nest—Christine, at once restful and exciting, +Christine, the exquisite symbol of acquiescence +and response. What a contrast to Concepcion! +It had been a bold and sudden stroke to lift +Christine to another plane, but a stroke well +justified and entirely successful, fulfilling his +dream.</p> + +<p>At this moment he noticed a figure pass the +doorway in whose shadow he was, and he +exclaimed within himself incredulously:</p> + +<p>"That is Christine!"</p> + +<p>In the shortest possible delay he said "Good-night" +to his acquaintance, and jumped down the +steps and followed eastwards the figure. He +followed warily, for already the strange and +distressing idea had occurred to him that he must +not overtake her—if she it was. It was she. He +caught sight of her again in the thick obscurity by +the prison-wall of Devonshire House. He recognised +the peculiar brim of the new hat and the +new "military" umbrella held on the wrist by a +thong.</p> + +<p>What was she doing abroad? She could not be +going to a theatre. She had not a friend in London. +He was her London. And la mère Gaston was not +with her. Theoretically, of course, she was free. +He had laid down no law. But it had been clearly +understood between them that she should never +emerge at night alone. She herself had promulgated +the rule, for she had a sense of propriety +and a strong sense of reality. She had belonged +to the class which respectable, broadminded +women, when they bantered G.J., always called +<span class="newpage"><a name="page333" id="page333">[333]</a></span> +"the pretty ladies," and as a postulant for +respectability she had for her own satisfaction to +mind her p's and q's. She could not afford not to +keep herself above suspicion.</p> + +<p>She had been a courtesan. Did she look like +one? As an individual figure in repose, no! +None could have said that she did. He had long +since learnt that to decide always correctly by +appearance, and apart from environment and +gesture, whether an unknown woman was or +was not a wanton, presented a task beyond the +powers of even the completest experience. But +Christine was walking in Piccadilly at night, and +he soon perceived that she was discreetly showing +the demeanour of a courtesan at her profession—she +who had hated and feared the pavement! +He knew too well the signs—the waverings, +the turns of the head, the variations in speed, +the scarcely perceptible hesitations, the unmistakable +air of wandering with no definite +objective.</p> + +<p>Near Dover Street he hastened through the +thin, reflecting mire, amid beams of light and +illuminated numbers that advanced upon him in +both directions thundering or purring, and crossed +Piccadilly, and hurried ahead of her, to watch her +in safety from the other side of the thoroughfare. +He could hardly see her; she was only a moving +shadow; but still he could see her; and in the +long stretch of gloom beneath the facade of the +Royal Academy he saw the shadow pause in front +of a military figure, which by a flank movement +avoided the shadow and went resolutely forward. +He lost her in front of the Piccadilly Hotel, and +<span class="newpage"><a name="page334" id="page334">[334]</a></span> +found her again at the corner of Air Street. She +swerved into Air Street and crossed Regent Street; +he was following. In Denman Street, close to +Shaftesbury Avenue, she stood still in front of +another military figure—a common soldier as it +proved—who also rebuffed her. The thing was +flagrant. He halted, and deliberately let her go +from his sight. She vanished into the dark crowds +of the Avenue.</p> + +<p>In horrible humiliation, in atrocious disgust, +he said to himself:</p> + +<p>"Never will I set eyes on her again! Never! +Never!"</p> + +<p>Why was she doing it? Not for money. She +could only be doing it from the nostalgia of +adventurous debauch. She was the slave of her +temperament, as the drunkard is the slave of his +thirst. He had told her that he would be out of +town for the week end, on committee business. +He had distinctly told her that she must on no +account expect him on the Monday night. And +her temperament had roused itself from the +obscene groves of her subconsciousness like a tiger +and come up and driven her forth. How easy +for her to escape from la mère Gaston if she chose! +And yet—would she dare, even at the bidding of +the tiger, to introduce a stranger into the flat? +Unnecessary, he reflected. There were a hundred +accommodating dubious interiors between Shaftesbury +Avenue and Leicester Square. He understood; +he neither accused nor pardoned; but he +was utterly revolted, and wounded not merely in +his soul but in the most sensitive part of his soul—his +pride. He called himself by the worst epithet +<span class="newpage"><a name="page335" id="page335">[335]</a></span> +of opprobrium: Simpleton! The bold and sudden +stroke had now become the fatuous caprice of a +damned fool. Had he, at his age, been capable +of overlooking the elementary axiom: once +a wrong 'un, always a wrong 'un? Had he +believed in reclamation? He laughed out his +disgust ...</p> + +<p>No! He did not blame her. To blame her +would have been ridiculous. She was only what +she was, and not worth blame. She was nothing +at all. How right, how cursedly right, were +the respectable dames in the accent of amused +indifference which they employed for their +precious phrase, "the pretty ladies"! Well, he +would treat her generously—but through his +lawyer.</p> + +<p>And in the desolation, the dismay, the disillusion, +the nausea which ravaged him he was +unwillingly conscious of fragments of thoughts +that flickered like transient flames far below in the +deep mines of his being.... "You are an astounding +woman, Con." ... "Do you want me to go +to the bad altogether?" ... In offering him Queen +had not Concepcion made the supreme double +sacrifice of attempting to bring together, at the +price of her own separation from both of them, +the two beings to whom she was most profoundly +attached? It was a marvellous deed.... Worry, +volcanoes, revolutions—was he afraid of them?... +Were they not the very essence of life?... A +figure of nobility!... Sitting there now by the +window over the river, listening to the weir.... +"I shall never be any more good." ... But she +never had a gesture that was not superb.... Was +<span class="newpage"><a name="page336" id="page336">[336]</a></span> +he really encrusted in habits? Really like men +whom he knew and despised at his club?... She +loved him.... And what rich, flattering love was +her love compared to—!... She was young.... +Tenderness.... Such were the flames of dim +promise that nickered immeasurably beneath the +dark devastation of his mind. He ignored them, +but he could not ignore them. He extinguished +them, but they were continually relighted.... +A wedding?... What sort of a wedding?... +Poor Carlos, pathetically buried under the ruthless +happiness of others! What a shame!... Poor +Carlos!</p> + +<p>(Nice enough little cocotte, nothing else! But, +of course, incurable!... He remembered all her +crimes now. How she had been late in dressing +for their first dinner. Her inexplicable vanishing +from the supper-party, never explained, but easily +explicable now, perhaps. And so on and so on.... +Simpleton! Ass!)</p> + +<p>He had walked heedless of direction. He was +near Lechford House. Many of its windows were +lit. The great front doors were open. A commissionaire +stood on guard in front of them. To +the railings was affixed a newly-painted notice: +"No person will be allowed to enter these premises +without a pass. To this rule there is no exception." +Lechford House had been "taken over" in its +entirety by a Government department that +believed in the virtue of mystery and of long +hours. He looked up at the higher windows. He +could not distinguish the chimney amid the +newly-revealed stars. He thought of Queen, +the white woman. Evidently he had never +<span class="newpage"><a name="page337" id="page337">[337]</a></span> +understood Queen, for if Concepcion admired +her she was worth admiration. Concepcion never +made a mistake in assessing fundamental +character.</p> + +<p>The complete silent absorption of Lechford +House into the war-machine rather dismayed him. +He had seen not a word as to the affair in the +newspapers—and Lechford House was one of the +final strongholds of privilege! He strolled on into +the quietness of the Park—of which one of the +gate-keepers said to him that it would be shutting +in a few minutes.</p> + +<p>He was in solitude, and surrounded by +London. He stood still, and the vast sea of war +seemed to be closing over him. The war was +growing, or the sense of its measureless scope +was growing. It had sprung, not out of this +crime or that, but out of the secret invisible +roots of humanity, and it was widening to the +limits of evolution itself. It transcended judgment. +It defied conclusions and rendered equally +impossible both hope and despair. His pride in +his country was intensified as months passed; his +faith in his country was not lessened. And yet, +wherein was the efficacy of grim words about +British tenacity? The great new Somme offensive +was not succeeding in the North. Was victory +possible? Was victory deserved? In his daily +labour he was brought into contact with too many +instances of official selfishness, folly, ignorance, +stupidity, and sloth, French as well as British, not +to marvel at times that the conflict had not come +to an ignominious end long ago through simple +lack of imagination. He knew that he himself +<span class="newpage"><a name="page338" id="page338">[338]</a></span> +had often failed in devotion, in rectitude, in sheer +grit.</p> + +<p>The supreme lesson of the war was its revelation +of what human nature actually was. And the +solace of the lesson, the hope for triumph, lay in +the fact that human nature must be substantially +the same throughout the world. If we were +humanly imperfect, so at least was the +enemy.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the frame of society was about to +collapse. Perhaps Queen, deliberately courting +destruction, and being destroyed, was the symbol +of society. What matter? Perhaps civilisation, by +its nobility and its elements of reason, and by the +favour of destiny, would be saved from disaster +after frightful danger, and Concepcion was its +symbol....</p> + +<p>All he knew was that he had a heavy day's work +before him on the morrow, and in relief from pain +and insoluble problems he turned to face that +work, thankful; thankful that (owing originally to +Queen!) he had discovered in the war a task which +suited his powers, which was genuinely useful, and +which would only finish with the war; thankful +for the prospect of meeting Concepcion at the +week-end and exploring with her the marvellous +provocative potentialities that now drew them +together; thankful, too, that he had a balanced +and sagacious mind, and could judge justly. (Yes, +he was already forgetting his bitter condemnation +of himself as a simpleton!)</p> + +<p>How in his human self-sufficiency could he be +expected to know that he had judged the negligible +Christine unjustly? Was he divine that he could +<span class="newpage"><a name="page339" id="page339">[339]</a></span> +see in the figure of the wanton who peered at +soldiers in the street a self-convinced mystic envoy +of the most clement Virgin, an envoy passionately +repentant after apostasy, bound at all costs to +respond to an imagined voice long unheard, and +seeking—though in vain this second time—the +protégé of the Virgin so that she might once more +succour and assuage his affliction?</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12673 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |