diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:40 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:40 -0700 |
| commit | d73ae339be566b7445b62996d6bee283a1a1cbd5 (patch) | |
| tree | fffded27ef9bcbd3ecf09a12bd921804cc0cbe61 /14487-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '14487-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 14487-h/14487-h.htm | 15875 |
1 files changed, 15875 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/14487-h/14487-h.htm b/14487-h/14487-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5174ce3 --- /dev/null +++ b/14487-h/14487-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15875 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lion's Share, by Arnold Bennett. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 0em; +} + +h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.newChapter { + width: 65%; +} + +p.quotation { + text-align: center; +} + +p.letterSignature { + text-align: right; + margin-top: 0em; +} + +body{ + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +#byTheSameAuthor > p.header { + text-decoration: underline; + margin-left: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 0em; +} + +#byTheSameAuthor > p { + margin-top: 0em; + margin-left: 2em; +} + +#byTheSameAuthor > hr { + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +#by { + text-align: center; +} + +#firstPublished { + text-align: center; +} + </style> + </head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14487 ***</div> + +<p><em>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> + +<div id="byTheSameAuthor"> +<p class="header">NOVELS—</p> +<p> A MAN FROM THE NORTH<br /> + ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS<br /> + LEONORA<br /> + A GREAT MAN<br /> + SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE<br /> + WHOM GOD HATH JOINED<br /> + BURIED ALIVE<br /> + THE OLD WIVES’ TALE<br /> + THE GLIMPSE<br /> + HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND<br /> + CLAYHANGER<br /> + HILDA LESSWAYS<br /> + THESE TWAIN<br /> + THE CARD<br /> + THE REGENT<br /> + THE PRICE OF LOVE</p> + + +<p class="header">FANTASIAS—</p> +<p> THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL<br /> + THE GATES OF WRATH<br /> + TERESA OF WATLING STREET<br /> + THE LOOT OF CITIES<br /> + HUGO<br /> + THE GHOST<br /> + THE CITY OF PLEASURE</p> + + +<p class="header">SHORT STORIES—</p> +<p> TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS<br /> + THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS<br /> + THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS</p> + + +<p class="header">BELLES-LETTRES—</p> +<p> JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN<br /> + FAME AND FICTION<br /> + HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR<br /> + THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR<br /> + THE REASONABLE LIFE<br /> + HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY<br /> + THE HUMAN MACHINE<br /> + LITERARY TASTE<br /> + FRIENDSHIP AND HAPPINESS<br /> + THOSE UNITED STATES<br /> + MARRIAGE<br /> + LIBERTY</p> + + +<p class="header">DRAMA—</p> +<p> POLITE FARCES<br /> + CUPID AND COMMONSENSE<br /> + WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS<br /> + THE HONEYMOON<br /> + THE GREAT ADVENTURE<br /> + MILESTONES (in collaboration with Edward Knoblauch)</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>(In collaboration with Eden Phillpotts)<br /> +THE SINEWS OF WAR: A Romance<br /> +THE STATUE: A Romance</p> +</div> + +<hr class="newChapter" /> + + +<h1>The Lion’s Share</h1> + +<p id="by">by</p> + +<h2>Arnold Bennett</h2> + +<hr /> + +<p id="firstPublished">First Published 1916.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table id="contents"> +<tr> +<td align="right">CHAPTER</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_1">1.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_1">MISS INGATE, AND THE YACHT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_2">2.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_2">THE THIEF’S PLAN WRECKED</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_3">3.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_3">THE LEGACY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_4">4.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_4">MR. FOULGER</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_5">5.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_5">THE DEAD HAND</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_6">6.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_6">THE YOUNG WIDOW</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_7">7.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_7">THE CIGARETTE GIRL</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_8">8.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_8">EXPLOITATION OF WIDOWHOOD</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_9">9.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_9">LIFE IN PARIS</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_10">10.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_10">FANCY DRESS</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_11">11.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_11">A POLITICAL REFUGEE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_12">12.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_12">WIDOWHOOD IN THE STUDIO</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_13">13.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_13">THE SWOON</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_14">14.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_14">MISS INGATE POINTS OUT THE DOOR</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_15">15.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_15">THE RIGHT BANK</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_16">16.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_16">ROBES</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_17">17.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_17">SOIRÉE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_18">18.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_18">A DECISION</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_19">19.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_19">THE BOUDOIR</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_20">20.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_20">PAGET GARDENS</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_21">21.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_21">JANE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_22">22.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_22">THE DETECTIVE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_23">23.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_23">THE BLUE CITY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_24">24.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_24">THE SPATTS</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_25">25.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_25">THE MUTE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_26">26.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_26">NOCTURNE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_27">27.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_27">IN THE GARDEN</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_28">28.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_28">ENCOUNTER</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_29">29.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_29">FLIGHT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_30">30.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_30">ARIADNE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_31">31.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_31">THE NOSTRUM</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_32">32.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_32">BY THE BINNACLE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_33">33.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_33">AGUILAR’S DOUBLE LIFE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_34">34.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_34">THE TANK-ROOM</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_35">35.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_35">THE THIRD SORT OF WOMAN</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_36">36.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_36">IN THE DINGHY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_37">37.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_37">AFLOAT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_38">38.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_38">IN THE UNIVERSE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_39">39.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_39">THE IMMINENT DRIVE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_40">40.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_40">GENIUS AT BAY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_41">41.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_41">FINANCIAL NEWS</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_42">42.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_42">INTERVAL</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_43">43.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_43">ENTR’ACTE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_44">44.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_44">END OF THE CONCERT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_45">45.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_45">STRANGE RESULT OF A QUARREL</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"><a href="#chapter_46">46.</a></td> +<td><a href="#chapter_46">AN EPILOGUE</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_1" id="chapter_1" />CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>MISS INGATE, AND THE YACHT</h3> + + +<p>Audrey had just closed the safe in her father’s study when +she was startled by a slight noise. She turned like a +defensive animal to face danger. It had indeed occurred +to her that she was rather like an animal in captivity, and +she found a bitter pleasure in the idea, though it was not +at all original.</p> + +<p>“And Flank Hall is my Zoo!” she had said. (Not +that she had ever seen the Zoological Gardens or visited +London.)</p> + +<p>She was lithe; she moved with charm. Her short, plain +blue serge walking-frock disclosed the form of her limbs +and left them free, and it made her look younger even +than she was. Its simplicity suited her gestures and took +grace from them. But she wore the old thing without the +least interest in it—almost unconsciously. She had none of +the preoccupations caused by the paraphernalia of existence. +She scarcely knew what it was to own. She was aware only +of her body and her soul. Beyond these her possessions +were so few, so mean, so unimportant, that she might have +carried them to the grave and into heaven without protest +from the authorities earthly or celestial.</p> + +<p>The slight noise was due to the door of the study, +which great age had distorted and bereft of sense, and, in +fact, almost unhinged. It unlatched itself, paused, and +then calmly but firmly swung wide open. When it could +swing no farther it shook, vibrating into repose.</p> + +<p>Audrey condemned the door for a senile lunatic, and +herself for a poltroon. She became defiant of peril, until +the sound of a step on the stair beyond the door threw +her back into alarm. But when the figure of Miss Ingate +appeared in the doorway she was definitely reassured, to +the point of disdain. All her facial expression said: “It’s +only Miss Ingate.”</p> + +<p>And yet Miss Ingate was not a negligible woman. Her +untidy hair was greying; she was stout, she was fifty, she +was plain, she had not elegance; her accent and turns of +speech were noticeably those of Essex. But she had a +magnificent pale forehead; the eyes beneath it sparkled +with energy, inquisitiveness, and sagacity; and the mouth +beneath the eyes showed by its sardonic dropping corners +that she had come to a settled, cheerful conclusion about +human nature, and that the conclusion was not flattering. +Miss Ingate was a Guardian of the Poor, and the Local +Representative of the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Families Association. +She had studied intimately the needy and the rich +and the middling. She was charitable without illusions; +and, while adhering to every social convention, she did so +with a toleration pleasantly contemptuous; in her heart she +had no mercy for snobs of any kind, though, unfortunately, +she was at times absurdly intimidated by them—at other +times she was not.</p> + +<p>To the west, within a radius of twelve miles, she knew +everybody and everybody knew her; to the east her fame +was bounded only by the regardless sea. She and her +ancestors had lived in the village of Moze as long as even +Mr. Mathew Moze and his ancestors. In the village, and +to the village, she was Miss Ingate, a natural phenomenon, +like the lie of the land and the river Moze. Her opinions +offended nobody, not Mr. Moze himself—she was Miss +Ingate. She was laughed at, beloved and respected. Her +sagacity had one flaw, and the flaw sprang from her sincere +conviction that human nature in that corner of Essex, +which she understood so profoundly, and where she was +so perfectly at home, was different from, and more fondly +foolish than, human nature in any other part of the world. +She could not believe that distant populations could be +at once so pathetically and so naughtily human as the +population in and around Moze.</p> + +<p>If Audrey disdained Miss Ingate, it was only because +Miss Ingate was neither young nor fair nor the proprietress +of some man, and because people made out that she was +peculiar. In some respects Audrey looked upon Miss +Ingate as a life-belt, as the speck of light at the end of a +tunnel, as the enigmatic smile which glimmers always in +the frown of destiny.</p> + +<p>“Well?” cried Miss Ingate in her rather shrill voice, +grinning sardonically, with the corners of her lips still lower +than usual in anticipatory sarcasm. It was as if she had +said: “You cannot surprise me by any narrative of imbecility +or turpitude or bathos. All the same, I am dying +to hear the latest eccentricity of this village.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” parried Audrey, holding one hand behind her.</p> + +<p>They did not shake hands. People who call at ten +o’clock in the morning cannot expect to have their hands +shaken. Miss Ingate certainly expected nothing of the +sort. She had the freedom of Flank Hall, as of scores +of other houses, at all times of day. Servants opened front +doors for her with a careless smile, and having shut +front doors they left her loose, like a familiar cat, to find +what she wanted. They seldom “showed” her into any +room, nor did they dream of acting before her the unconvincing +comedy of going to “see” whether masters or +mistresses were out or in.</p> + +<p>“Where’s your mother?” asked Miss Ingate idly, quite +sure that interesting divulgations would come, and quite +content to wait for them. She had been out of the village +for over a week.</p> + +<p>“Mother’s taking her acetyl salicylic,” Audrey answered, +coming to the door of the study.</p> + +<p>This meant merely that Mrs. Moze had a customary +attack of the neuralgia for which the district is justly +renowned among strangers.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” murmured Miss Ingate callously. Mrs. Moze, +though she had lived in the district for twenty-five years, +did not belong to it. If she chose to keep on having +neuralgia, that was her affair, but in justice to natives +and to the district she ought not to make too much of it, +and she ought to admit that it might well be due to her +weakness after her operation. Miss Ingate considered the +climate to be the finest in England; which it was, on the +condition that you were proof against neuralgia.</p> + +<p>“Father’s gone to Colchester in the car to see the +Bishop,” Audrey coldly added.</p> + +<p>“If I’d known he was going to Colchester I should +have asked him for a lift,” said Miss Ingate, with +determination.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! He’d have taken <em>you!</em>“ said Audrey, reserved. +“I suppose you had fine times in London!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! It was vehy exciting! It was vehy exciting!” +Miss Ingate agreed loudly.</p> + +<p>“Father wouldn’t let me read about it in the paper,” +said Audrey, still reserved. “He never will, you know. +But I did!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! But you didn’t read about me playing the barrel +organ all the way down Regent Street, because that wasn’t +in any of the papers.”</p> + +<p>“You <em>didn’t!</em>“ Audrey protested, with a sudden dark +smile.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did. Yes, I did. Yes, I did. And vehy tiring +it was. Vehy tiring indeed. It’s quite an art to turn a +barrel organ. If you don’t keep going perfectly even it +makes the tune jerky. Oh! I know a bit about barrel +organs now. They smashed it all to pieces. Oh yes! All +to pieces. I spoke to the police. I said, ‘Aren’t you going +to protect these ladies’ property?’ But they didn’t lift a +finger.”</p> + +<p>“And weren’t you arrested?”</p> + +<p>“Me!” shrieked Miss Ingate. “Me arrested!” Then +more quietly, in an assured tone, “Oh no! I wasn’t +arrested. You see, as soon as the row began I just walked +away from the organ and became one of the crowd. I’m all +<em>for</em> them, but I wasn’t going to be arrested.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate’s sparkling eyes seemed to say: “Sylvia +Pankhurst can be arrested if she likes, and so can Mrs. +Despard and Annie Kenney and Jane Foley, or any of them. +But the policeman that is clever enough to catch Miss +Ingate of Moze does not exist. And the gumption of Miss +Ingate of Moze surpasses the united gumption of all the +other feminists in England.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” repeated Miss Ingate with +mingled complacency, glee, passion, and sardonic tolerance +of the whole panorama of worldly existence. “The police +were awful, shocking. But I was not arrested.”</p> + +<p>“Well, <em>I</em> was—this morning,” said Audrey in a low and +poignant voice.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate was startled out of her mood of the detached +ironic spectator.</p> + +<p>“What?” she frowned.</p> + +<p>They heard a servant moving about at the foot of the +stairs, and a capped head could be seen through the +interstices of the white Chinese balustrade. The study was +the only immediate refuge; Miss Ingate advanced right into +it, and Audrey pushed the door to.</p> + +<p>“Father’s given me a month’s C.B.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate, gazing at the girl’s face, saw in its quiet +and yet savage desperation the possibility that after all she +might indeed be surprised by the vagaries of human nature +in the village. And her glance became sympathetic, even +tender, as well as apprehensive.</p> + +<p>“‘C.B.’? What do you mean—‘C.B.’?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know what C.B. means?” exclaimed Audrey +with scornful superiority over the old spinster. “Confined to +barracks. Father says I’m not to go beyond the grounds for +a month. And to-day’s the second of April!”</p> + +<p>“No!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he does. He’s given me a week, you know, before. +Now it’s a month.”</p> + +<p>Silence fell.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate looked round at the shabby study, with its +guns, cigar-boxes, prints, books neither old nor new, +japanned boxes of documents, and general litter scattered +over the voluted walnut furniture. Her own house was old-fashioned, +and she realised it was old-fashioned; but +when she came into Flank Hall, and particularly into Mr. +Moze’s study, she felt as if she was stepping backwards +into history—and this in spite of the fact that nothing +in the place was really ancient, save the ceilings and the +woodwork round the windows. It was Mr. Moze’s habit of +mind that dominated and transmogrified the whole interior, +giving it the quality of a mausoleum. The suffragette procession +in which Miss Ingate had musically and discreetly +taken part seemed to her as she stood in Mr. Moze’s changeless +lair to be a phantasm. Then she looked at the young +captive animal and perceived that two centuries may coincide +on the same carpet and that time is merely a convention.</p> + +<p>“What you been doing?” she questioned, with delicacy.</p> + +<p>“I took a strange man by the hand,” said Audrey, +choosing her words queerly, as she sometimes did, to produce +a dramatic effect.</p> + +<p>“This morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Eight o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“What? Is there a strange man in the village?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean to say you haven’t seen the yacht!”</p> + +<p>“Yacht?” Miss Ingate showed some excitement.</p> + +<p>“Come and look, Winnie,” said Audrey, who occasionally +thought fit to address Miss Ingate in the manner of the +elder generation. She drew Miss Ingate to the window.</p> + +<p>Between the brown curtains Mozewater, the broad, +shallow estuary of the Moze, was spread out glittering in +the sunshine which could not get into the chilly room. The +tide was nearly at full, and the estuary looked like a mighty +harbour for great ships; but in six hours it would be +reduced to a narrow stream winding through mud flats of +marvellous ochres, greens, and pinks. In the hazy distance +a fitful white flash showed where ocean waves were breaking +on a sand-bank. And in the foreground, against a disused +Hard that was a couple of hundred yards lower down than +the village Hard, a large white yacht was moored, probably +the largest yacht that had ever threaded that ticklish +navigation. She was a shallow-draft barge-yacht, rigged +like a Thames barge, and her whiteness and the glint of her +brass, and the flicker of her ensign at the stern were +dazzling. Blue figures ran busily about on her, and a white-and-blue +person in a peaked cap stood importantly at the +wheel.</p> + +<p>“She was on the mud last night,” said Audrey eagerly, +“opposite the Flank buoy, and she came up this morning at +half-flood. I think they made fast at Lousey Hard, because +they couldn’t get any farther without waiting. They have +a motor, and it must be their first trip this season. I was +on the dyke. I wasn’t even looking at them, but they called +me, so I had to go. They only wanted to know if Lousey +Hard was private. Of course I told them it wasn’t. It was +a very middle-aged man spoke to me. He must be the +owner. As soon as they were tied up he wanted to jump +ashore. It was rather awkward, and I just held out my +hand to help him. Father saw me from here. I might have +known he would.”</p> + +<p>“Why! It’s going off!” exclaimed Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>The yacht swung slowly round, held by her stern to the +Hard. Then the last hawser was cast off, and she floated +away on the first of the ebb; and as she moved, her main-sail, +unbrailed, spread itself out and became a vast pinion. +Like a dream of happiness she lessened and faded, and +Lousey Hard was as lonely and forlorn as ever.</p> + +<p>“But didn’t you explain to your father?” Miss Ingate +demanded of Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Of course I did. But he wouldn’t listen. He never +does. I might just as well have explained to the hall-clock. +He raged. I think he enjoys losing his temper. He said I +oughtn’t to have been there at all, and it was just like me, +and he couldn’t understand it in a daughter of his, and it +would be a great shock to my poor mother, and he’d talked +enough—he should now proceed to action. All the usual +things. He actually asked me who ‘the man’ was.”</p> + +<p>“And who was it?”</p> + +<p>“How can I tell? For goodness’ sake don’t go imitating +father, Winnie! ... Rather a dull man, I should say. +Rather like father, only not so old. He had a beautiful +necktie; I think it must have been made out of a strip of +Joseph’s coat.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate giggled at a high pitch, and Audrey responsively +smiled.</p> + +<p>“Oh dear! Oh dear!” murmured Miss Ingate when her +giggling was exhausted. “How queer it is that a girl like +you can’t keep your father in a good temper!”</p> + +<p>“Father hates me to say funny things. If I say anything +funny he turns as black as ink—and he takes care to +keep gloomy all the rest of the day, too. He never laughs. +Mother laughs now and then, but I never heard father laugh. +Oh yes, I did. He laughed when the cat fell out of the bathroom +window on to the lawn-roller. He went quite red in +the face with laughing.... I say, Miss Ingate, do you +think father’s mad?”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t think he’s what you call mad,” replied Miss +Ingate judicially, with admirable sang-froid. “I’ve known +so many peculiar people in my time. And you must remember, +Audrey, this is a peculiar part of the world.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I believe he’s mad, anyway. I believe he’s got +men on the brain, especially young men. He’s growing +worse. Yesterday he told me I musn’t have the punt out on +Mozewater this season unless he’s with me. Fancy skiffing +about with father! He says I’m too old for that now. So +there you are. The older I get the less I’m allowed to do. +I can’t go a walk, unless it’s an errand. The pedal is off +my bike, and father is much too cunning to have it repaired. +I can’t boat. I’m never given any money. He grumbles +frightfully if I want any clothes, so I never want any. +That’s my latest dodge. I’ve read every book in the house +except the silly liturgical and legal things he’s always +having from the London Library—and I’ve read even some +of those. He won’t buy any new music. Golf! Ye gods, +Winnie, you should hear him talk about ladies and golf!”</p> + +<p>“I have,” said Miss Ingate. “But it doesn’t ruffle me, +because I don’t play.”</p> + +<p>“But he plays with girls, and young girls, too, all the +same. He’s been caught in the act. Ethel told me. He +little thinks I know. He’d let me play if he could be +the only man on the course. He’s mad about me and +men. He never looks at me without thinking of all the +boys in the district.”</p> + +<p>“But he’s really very fond of you, Audrey.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know,” said Audrey. “He ought to keep me in +the china cupboard.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s a great problem.”</p> + +<p>“He’s invented a beautiful new trick for keeping me in +when he’s out. I have to copy his beastly Society letters for +him.”</p> + +<p>“I see he’s got a new box,” observed Miss Ingate, +glancing into the open cupboard in which stood the safe. +On the top of the safe were two japanned boxes, each +lettered in white: “The National Reformation Society.” +The uppermost box was freshly unpacked and shone with all +the intact pride of virginity.</p> + +<p>“You should read some of the letters. You really +should, Winnie,” said Audrey. “All the bigwigs of the +Society love writing to each other. I bet you father will +get a typewriting machine this year, and make me learn it. +The chairman has a typewriter, and father means to be the +next chairman. You’ll see.... Oh! What’s that? +Listen!”</p> + +<p>“What’s what?”</p> + +<p>A faint distant throbbing could be heard.</p> + +<p>“It’s the motor! He’s coming back for something. +Fly out of here, Winnie, fly!”</p> + +<p>Audrey felt sick at the thought that if her father had +returned only a few minutes earlier he might have trapped +her at the safe itself. She still kept one hand behind her.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate, who with all her qualities was rather easily +flustered, ran out of the dangerous room in Audrey’s wake. +They met Mr. Mathew Moze at the half-landing of the stairs.</p> + +<p>He was a man of average size, somewhat past sixty +years. He had plump cheeks, tinged with red; his hair, +moustache and short, full beard, were quite grey. He wore +a thick wide-spreading ulster, and between his coat and +waistcoat a leather vest, and on his head a grey cap. Put +him in the Strand in town clothes, and he might have been +taken for a clerk, a civil servant, a club secretary, a retired +military officer, a poet, an undertaker—for anything except +the last of a long line of immovable squires who could not +possibly conceive what it was not to be the owner of land. +His face was preoccupied and overcast, but as soon as he +realised that Miss Ingate was on the stairs it instantly +brightened into a warm and rather wistful smile.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Miss Ingate,” he greeted her with +deferential cordiality. “I’m so glad to see you back.”</p> + +<p>“Good morning, good morning, Mr. Moze,” responded +Miss Ingate. “Vehy nice of you. Vehy nice of you.”</p> + +<p>Nobody would have guessed from their demeanour that +they differed on every subject except their loyalty to that +particular corner of Essex, that he regarded her and her +political associates as deadly microbes in the national +organism, and that she regarded him as a nincompoop +crossed with a tyrant. Each of them had a magic glass to +see in the other nothing but a local Effendi and familiar +guardian angel of Moze. Moreover, Mr. Moze’s public +smile and public manner were irresistible—until he lost his +temper. He might have had friends by the score, had it +not been for his deep constitutional reserve—due partly to +diffidence and partly to an immense hidden conceit. Mr. +Moze’s existence was actuated, though he knew it not, by +the conviction that the historic traditions of England were +committed to his keeping. Hence the conceit, which was +that of a soul secretly self-dedicated.</p> + +<p>Audrey, outraged by the hateful hypocrisy of persons +over fifty, and terribly constrained and alarmed, turned +vaguely back up the stairs. Miss Ingate, not quite knowing +what she did, with an equal vagueness followed her.</p> + +<p>“Come in. Do come in,” urged Mr. Moze at the door +of the study.</p> + +<p>Audrey, who remained on the landing, heard her elders +talk smoothly of grave Mozian things, while Mr. Moze +unlocked the new tin box above the safe.</p> + +<p>“I’d forgotten a most important paper,” said he, as +he relocked the box. “I have an appointment with the +Bishop of Colchester at ten-forty-five, and I fear I may +be late. Will you excuse me, Miss Ingate?”</p> + +<p>She excused him.</p> + +<p>Departing, he put the paper into his pocket with a +careful and loving gesture that well symbolised his passionate +affection for the Society of which he was already +the vice-chairman. He had been a member of the National +Reformation Society for eleven years. Despite the promise +of its name, this wealthy association of idealists had no +care for reforms in a sadly imperfect England. Its aim +was anti-Romanist. The Reformation which it had in mind +was Luther’s, and it wished, by fighting an alleged insidious +revival of Roman Catholicism, to make sure that so far as +England was concerned Luther had not preached in vain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moze’s connection with the Society had originated +in a quarrel between himself and a Catholic priest from +Ipswich who had instituted a boys’ summer camp on the +banks of Mozewater near the village of Moze. Until that +quarrel, the exceeding noxiousness of the Papal doctrine +had not clearly presented itself to Mr. Moze. In such +strange ways may an ideal come to birth. As Mr. Moze, +preoccupied and gloomy once more, steered himself rapidly +out of Moze towards the episcopal presence, the image of +the imperturbable and Jesuitical priest took shape in his +mind, refreshing his determination to be even with Rome +at any cost.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_2" id="chapter_2" />CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE THIEF’S PLAN WRECKED</h3> + + +<p>“The fact is,” said Audrey, “father has another woman +in the house now.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Moze had left Miss Ingate in the study and Audrey +had cautiously rejoined her there.</p> + +<p>“Another woman in the house!” repeated Miss Ingate, +sitting down in happy expectation. “What on earth do +you mean? Who on earth do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean me.”</p> + +<p>“You aren’t a woman, Audrey.”</p> + +<p>“I’m just as much of a woman as you are. All father’s +behaviour proves it.”</p> + +<p>“But your father treats you as a child.”</p> + +<p>“No, he doesn’t. He treats me as a woman. If he +thought I was a child he wouldn’t have anything to worry +about. I’m over nineteen.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t look it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I don’t. But I could if I liked. I simply +won’t look it because I don’t care to be made ridiculous. +I should start to look my age at once if father stopped +treating me like a child.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ve just said he treats you as a woman!”</p> + +<p>“You don’t understand, Winnie,” said the girl sharply. +“Unless you’re pretending. Now you’ve never told me +anything about yourself, and I’ve always told you lots about +myself. You belong to an old-fashioned family. How +were you treated when you were my age?”</p> + +<p>“In what way?”</p> + +<p>“You know what way,” said Audrey, gazing at her.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear. Things seemed to come very naturally, +somehow.”</p> + +<p>“Were you ever engaged?”</p> + +<p>“Me? Oh, no!” answered Miss Ingate with tranquillity. +“I’m vehy interested in them. Oh, vehy! Oh, +vehy! And I like talking to them. But anything more +than that gets on my nerves. My eldest sister was the +one. Oh! She was the one. She refused eleven men, +and when she was going to be married she made me +embroider the monograms of all of them on the skirt of her +wedding-dress. She made me, and I had to do it. I sat up +all night the night before the wedding to finish them.”</p> + +<p>“And what did the bridegroom say about it?”</p> + +<p>“The bridegroom didn’t say anything about it because +he didn’t know. Nobody knew except Arabella and me. +She just wanted to feel that the monograms were on her +dress, that was all.”</p> + +<p>“How strange!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it was. But this is a vehy strange part of the +world.”</p> + +<p>“And what happened afterwards?”</p> + +<p>“Bella died when she had her first baby, and the baby +died as well. And the father’s dead now, too.”</p> + +<p>“What a horrid story, Winnie!” Audrey murmured. +And after a pause: “I like your sister.”</p> + +<p>“She was vehy uncommon. But I liked her too. I +don’t know why, but I did. She could make the best +marmalade I ever tasted in my born days.”</p> + +<p>“I could make the best marmalade you ever tasted in +your born days,” said Audrey, sinking neatly to the floor +and crossing her legs, “but they won’t let me.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t let you! But I thought you did all sorts of +things in the house.”</p> + +<p>“No, Winnie. I only do one thing. I do as I’m +told—and not always even that. Now, if I wanted to +make the best marmalade you ever tasted in your born +days, first of all there would be a fearful row about the +oranges. Secondly, father would tell mother she must tell +me exactly what I was to do. He would also tell cook. +Thirdly and lastly, dear friends, he would come into the +kitchen himself. It wouldn’t be my marmalade at all. I +should only be a marmalade-making machine. They never +let me have any responsibility—no, not even when mother’s +operation was on—and I’m never officially free. The kitchen-maid +has far more responsibility than I have. And she +has an evening off and an afternoon off. She can write a +letter without everybody asking her who she’s writing to. +She’s only seventeen. She has the morning postman for +a young man now, and probably one or two others that +I don’t know of. And she has money and she buys her +own clothes. She’s a very naughty, wicked girl, and I +wish I was in her place. She scorns me, naturally. Who +wouldn’t?”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate said not a word. She merely sat with her +hands in the lap of her spotted pale-blue dress, faintly +and sadly smiling.</p> + +<p>Audrey burst out:</p> + +<p>“Miss Ingate, what can I do? I must do something. +What can I do?”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate shook her head, and put her lips tightly +together, while mechanically smoothing the sides of her +grey coat.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” she said. “It beats me.”</p> + +<p>“Then <em>I’ll</em> tell you what I can do!” answered Audrey +firmly, wriggling somewhat nearer to her along the floor. +“And what I shall do.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Will you promise to keep it a secret?”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate nodded, smiling and showing her teeth. +Her broad polished forehead positively shone with kindly +eagerness.</p> + +<p>“Will you swear?”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate hesitated, and then nodded again.</p> + +<p>“Then put your hand on my head and say, ‘I swear.’”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate obeyed.</p> + +<p>“I shall leave this house,” said Audrey in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“You won’t, Audrey!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll eat my hand off if I’ve not left this house by +to-morrow, anyway.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow!” Miss Ingate nearly screamed. “Now, +Audrey, do reflect. Think what you are!”</p> + +<p>Audrey bounded to her feet.</p> + +<p>“That’s what father’s always saying,” she exploded +angrily. “He’s always telling me to examine myself. The +fact is, I know too much about myself. I know exactly +the kind of girl it is who’s going to leave this house. +Exactly!”</p> + +<p>“Audrey, you frighten me. Where are you going to?”</p> + +<p>“London.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! That’s all right then. I am relieved. I thought +perhaps you waited to come to <em>my</em> house. You won’t +get to London, because you haven’t any money.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I have. I’ve got a hundred pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“Remember, you’ve sworn.... Here!” she cried +suddenly, and drawing her hand from behind her +back she most sensationally displayed a crushed roll of +bank-notes.</p> + +<p>“And who did you get those from?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t get them from anybody. I got them out of +father’s safe. They’re his reserve. He keeps them right +at the back of the left-hand drawer, and he’s so sure +they’re there that he never looks for them. He thinks +he’s a perfect model, but really he’s careless. There’s a +duplicate key to the safe, you know, and he leaves it +with a lot of other keys loose in his desk. I expect he +thought nobody would ever dream of guessing it was a +key of the safe. I know he never looked at this roll, +because I’ve been opening the safe every day for weeks +past, and the roll was always the same. In fact, it was +dusty. Then to-day I decided to take it, and here you +are! He finished himself off yesterday, so far as I’m +concerned, with the business about the punt.”</p> + +<p>“But do you know you’re a thief, Audrey?” breathed +Miss Ingate, extremely embarrassed, and for once somewhat +staggered by the vagaries of human nature.</p> + +<p>“You seem to forget, Miss Ingate,” said Audrey +solemnly, “that Cousin Caroline left me a legacy of two +hundred pounds last year, and that I’ve never seen a +penny of it. Father absolutely declined to let me have +the tiniest bit of it. Well, I’ve taken half. He can keep +the other half for his trouble.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate’s mouth stood open, and her eyes seemed +startled.</p> + +<p>“But you can’t go to London alone. You wouldn’t +know what to do.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I should. I’ve arranged everything. I shall +wear my best clothes. When I arrive at Liverpool Street +I shall take a taxi. I’ve got three addresses of boarding-houses +out of the <em>Daily Telegraph</em>, and they’re all in +Bloomsbury, W.C. I shall have lessons in shorthand and +typewriting at Pitman’s School, and then I shall get a +situation. My name will be Vavasour.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll be caught.”</p> + +<p>“I shan’t. I shall book to Ipswich first and begin +again from there. Girls like me aren’t so easy to catch +as all that.”</p> + +<p>“You’re vehy cunning.”</p> + +<p>“I get that from mother. She’s most frightfully cunning +with father.”</p> + +<p>“Audrey,” said Miss Ingate with a strange grin, “I +don’t know how I can sit here and listen to you. You’ll +ruin me with your father, because if you go I’m sure I shall +never be able to keep from him that I knew all about it.”</p> + +<p>“Then you shouldn’t have sworn,” retorted Audrey. +“But I’m glad you did swear, because I had to tell somebody, +and there was nobody but you.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate might possibly have contrived to employ +some of that sagacity in which she took a secret pride +upon a very critical and urgent situation, had not Mrs. +Moze, with a white handkerchief wrapped round her forehead, +at that moment come into the room. Immediately +the study was full of neuralgia and eau-de-Cologne.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Moze and Miss Ingate at length recovered +from the tenderness of meeting each other after a separation +of ten days or more, Audrey had vanished like an illusion. +She was not afraid of her mother; and she could trust +Miss Ingate, though Miss Ingate and Mrs. Moze were +dangerously intimate; but she was too self-conscious to +remain in the presence of her fellow-creatures; and in spite +of her faith in Miss Ingate she thought of the spinster +as of a vase filled now with a fatal liquor which by any +accident might spill and spread ruin—so that she could +scarcely bear to look upon Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>At the back of the house a young Pomeranian dog, +which had recently solaced Miss Ingate in the loss of a +Pekingese done to death by a spinster’s too-nourishing +love, was prancing on his four springs round the chained +yard-dog, his friend and patron. In a series of marvellous +short bounds, he followed Audrey with yapping eagerness +down the slope of the garden; and the yard-dog, aware +that none but the omnipotent deity, Mr. Moze, sole source +of good and evil, had the right to loose him, turned +round once and laid himself flat and long on the ground, +sighing.</p> + +<p>The garden, after developing into an orchard and +deteriorating into a scraggy plantation, ended in a low +wall that was at about the level of the sea-wall and +separated from it by a water-course and a strip of very +green meadow. Audrey glanced instinctively back at the +house to see if anybody was watching her.</p> + +<p>Flank Hall, which for a hundred years had been called +“the new hall,” was a seemly Georgian residence, warm +in colour, with some quaint woodwork; and like most such +buildings in Essex, it made a very happy marriage with +the landscape. Its dormers and fine chimneys glowed amid +the dark bare trees, and they alone would have captivated +a Londoner possessing those precious attributes, fortunately +ever spreading among the enlightened middle-classes, a +motor-car, a cultured taste in architecture, and a desire +to enter the squirearchy. Audrey loathed the house. For +her it was the last depth of sordidness and the commonplace. +She could imagine positively nothing less romantic. +She thought of the ground floor on chill March mornings +with no fires anywhere save a red gleam in the dining-room, +and herself wandering about in it idle, at a loss +for a diversion, an ambition, an effort, a real task; and +she thought of the upper floor, a mainly unoccupied wilderness +of iron bedsteads and yellow chests of drawers and +chipped earthenware and islands of carpets, and her mother +plaintively and weariedly arguing with some servant over +a slop-pail in a corner. The images of the interior, indelibly +printed in her soul, desolated her.</p> + +<p>Mozewater she loved, and every souvenir of it was exquisite—red +barges beating miraculously up the shallow +puddles to Moze Quay, equinoctial spring-tides when the +estuary was a tremendous ocean covered with foam and the +sea-wall felt the light lash of spray, thunderstorms in +autumn gathering over the yellow melancholy of deathlike +sunsets, wild birds crying across miles of uncovered mud at +early morning and duck-hunters crouching in punts behind +a waving screen of delicate grasses to wing them, and the +mysterious shapes of steamers and warships in the offing +beyond the Sand.... The sail of the receding yacht +gleamed now against the Sand, and its flashing broke her +heart; for it was the flashing of freedom. She thought of +the yachtsman; he was very courteous and deferential; a +mild creature; he had behaved to her as to a woman.... +Oh! To be the petted and capricious wife of such a man, +to nod commands, to enslave with a smile, to want a thing +and instantly to have it, to be consulted and to decide, to +spend with large gestures, to be charitable, to be adored by +those whom you had saved from disaster, to increase +happiness wherever you went ... and to be free!....</p> + +<p>The little dog jumped up at her because he was tired of +being ignored, and she caught him and kissed him again and +again passionately, and he wriggled with ecstasy and licked +her ears with all the love in him. And in kissing him she +kissed grave and affectionate husbands, she kissed the lovely +scenery of the Sound, and she kissed the magnificent ideal +of emancipation. But the dog had soon had enough of her +arms; he broke free, sprang, alighted, and rolled over, and +arose sniffing, with earth on his black muzzle....</p> + +<p>He looked up at her inquiringly.... Strange, short-frocked +blue figure looking down at him! She had a bulging +forehead; her brown eyes were tunnelled underneath it. +But what living eyes, what ardent eyes, that blazed up and +sank like a fire! What delicate and exact mirrors of the +secret traffic between her soul and the soul of the world! +She had full cheeks, and a large mouth ripe red, inviting +and provocative. In the midst, an absurd small unprominent +nose that meant nothing! Her complexion was divine, surpassing +all similes. To caress that smooth downy cheek (if +you looked close you could see the infinitesimal down against +the light like an aura on the edge of the silhouette), even to +let the gaze dwell on it, what an enchantment!... She +considered herself piquant and comely, and she was not +deceived. She had long hands.</p> + +<p>The wind from afar on her cheek reminded her +poignantly that she was a prisoner. She could not go to the +clustered village on the left, nor into the saltings on the +right, nor even on to the sea-wall where the new rushes and +grasses were showing. All the estuary was barred, and the +winding road that mounted the slope towards Colchester. +Her revolt against injustice was savage. Hatred of her +father surged up in her like glittering lava. She had long +since ceased to try to comprehend him. She despised herself +because she was unreasonably afraid of him, ridiculously +mute before him. She could not understand how anybody +could be friendly with him—for was he not notorious? Yet +everywhere he was greeted with respect and smiles, and he +would chat at length with all manner of people on a note of +mild and smooth cordiality. He and Miss Ingate would +enjoy together the most enormous talks. She was, however, +aware that Miss Ingate’s opinion of him was not very +different from her own. Each time she saw her father and +Miss Ingate in communion she would say in her heart to +Miss Ingate: “You are disloyal to me.” ...</p> + +<p>Was it possible that she had confided to Miss Ingate her +fearful secret? The conversation appeared to her unreal +now. She went over her plan. In the afternoon her father +was always out, and to-morrow afternoon her mother would +be out too. She would have a few things in a light bag that +she could carry—her mother’s bag! She would put on her +best clothes and a veil from her mother’s wardrobe. She +would take the 4.5 p.m. train. The stationmaster would be +at his tea then. Only the booking-clerk and the porter +would see her, and neither would dare to make an observation. +She would ask for a return ticket to Ipswich; that +would allay suspicion, and at Ipswich she would book again. +She had cut out the addresses of the boarding-houses. She +would have to buy things in London. She knew of two +shops—Harrod’s and Shoolbred’s; she had seen their +catalogues. And the very next morning after arrival she +would go to Pitman’s School. She would change the first +of the £5 notes at the station and ask for plenty of silver. +She glanced at the unlimited wealth still crushed in her +hand, and then she carefully dropped the fortune down the +neck of her frock.... Stealing? She repulsed the idea +with violent disdain. What she had accomplished against +her father was not a crime, but a vengeance.... She +would never be found in London. It was impossible. Her +plan seemed to her to be perfect in each detail, except one. +She was not the right sort of girl to execute it. She was +very shy. She suspected that no other girl could really be +as shy as she was. She recalled dreadful rare moments with +her mother in strange drawing-rooms. Still, she would +execute the plan even if she died of fright. A force within +her would compel her to execute it. This force did not make +for happiness; on the contrary, it uncomfortably scared her; +but it was irresistible.</p> + +<p>Something on the brow of the road from Colchester +attracted her attention. It was a handcart, pushed by a +labourer and by Police Inspector Keeble, whom she liked. +Following the handcart over the brow came a loose procession +of villagers, which included no children, because the +children were in school. Except on a Sunday Audrey had +never before seen a procession of villagers, and these +villagers must have been collected out of the fields, for the +procession was going in the direction of, and not away +from, the village. The handcart was covered with a +tarpaulin.... She knew what had happened; she knew +infallibly. Skirting the boundary of the grounds, she +reached the main entrance to Flank Hall thirty seconds +before the handcart. The little dog, delighted in a new +adventure, yapped ecstatically at her heels, and then +bounded onwards to meet the Inspector and the handcart.</p> + +<p>“Run and tell yer mother, Miss Moze,” Inspector +Keeble called out in a carrying whisper. “There’s been +an accident. He ditched the car near Ardleigh cross-roads, +trying to avoid some fowls.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Moze, hurrying too fast to meet the Bishop of +Colchester, had met a greater than the Bishop.</p> + +<p>Audrey glanced an instant with a sick qualm at the outlines +of the shape beneath the tarpaulin, and ran.</p> + +<p>In the dining-room, over the speck of fire, Mrs. Moze +and Miss Ingate were locked in a deep intimate gossip.</p> + +<p>“Mother!” cried Audrey, and then sank like a sack.</p> + +<p>“Why! The little thing’s fainted!” Miss Ingate exclaimed +in a voice suddenly hoarse.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_3" id="chapter_3" />CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE LEGACY</h3> + + +<p>Audrey and Miss Ingate were in the late Mathew Moze’s +study, fascinated—as much unconsciously as consciously—by +the thing which since its owner’s death had grown every +hour more mysterious and more formidable—the safe. It +was a fine afternoon. The secondary but still grandiose +enigma of the affair, Mr. Cowl, could be heard walking +methodically on the gravel in the garden. Mr. Cowl was +the secretary of the National Reformation Society.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the irregular sound of crunching receded.</p> + +<p>“He’s gone somewhere else,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“I’m so relieved,” said Miss Ingate. “I hope he’s gone +a long way off.”</p> + +<p>“Are you?” murmured Audrey, with an air of surprised +superiority.</p> + +<p>But in secret Audrey felt just as relieved as Miss Ingate, +despite the fact that, her mother being prostrate, she was +the mistress of the situation, and could have ordered Mr. +Cowl to leave, with the certainty of being obeyed. She was +astonished at her illogical sensations, and she had been frequently +so astonished in the previous four days.</p> + +<p>For example, she was free; she knew that she could +impose herself on her mother; never again would she be the +slave of an unreasoning tyrant; yet she was gloomy and +without hope. She had hated the unreasoning tyrant; yet +she felt very sorry for him because he was dead. And +though she felt very sorry for him, she detested hearing the +panegyrics upon him of the village, and particularly of those +persons with whom he had quarrelled; she actually stopped +Miss Ingate in the midst of an enumeration of his good +qualities—his charm, his smile, his courtesy, his integrity, +et cetera; she could not bear it. She thought that no child +had ever had such a strange attitude to a deceased parent as +hers to Mr. Moze. She had anticipated the inquest with an +awful dread; it proved to be a trifle, and a ridiculous trifle. +In the long weekly letter which she wrote to her adored +school-friend Ethel at Manningtree she had actually likened +the coroner to a pecking fowl! Was it possible that a +daughter could write in such a strain about the inquest on +her father’s body?</p> + +<p>The funeral had seemed a function by itself, with some +guidance from the undertaker and still more from Mr. Cowl. +Villagers and district acquaintances had been many at the +ceremony, but relatives rare. Mr. Moze’s four younger +brothers were all in the Colonies; Mrs. Moze had apparently +no connections. Madame Piriac, daughter of Mr. Moze’s +first wife by that lady’s first husband, had telegraphed +sympathies from Paris. A cousin or so had come in person +from Woodbridge for the day.</p> + +<p>It was from the demeanour of these cousins, grave men +twice her age or more, that Audrey had first divined her new +importance in the world. Their deference indicated that in +their opinion the future mistress of Flank Hall was not Mrs. +Moze, but Audrey. Audrey admitted that they were right. +Yet she took no pleasure in issuing commands. She spoke +firmly, but she said to herself: “There is no backbone to +this firmness, and I am a fraud.” She had always yearned +for responsibility, yet now that it was in her hand she +trembled, and she would have dropped it and run away from +it as from a bomb, had she not been too cowardly to show +her cowardice.</p> + +<p>The instance of Aguilar, the head-gardener and mechanic, +well illustrated her pusillanimity. She loathed Aguilar; her +mother loathed him; the servants loathed him. He had said +at the inquest that the car was in perfect order, but that Mr. +Moze was too excitable to be a good driver. His evidence +was true, but the jury did not care for his manner. Nor did +the village. He had only two good qualities—honesty and +efficiency; and these by their rarity excited jealousy rather +than admiration. Audrey strongly desired to throw the +gardener-mechanic upon the world; it nauseated her to see +his disobliging face about the garden. But he remained +scathless, to refuse demanded vegetables, to annoy the +kitchen, to pronounce the motor-car utterly valueless, and to +complain of his own liver. Audrey had legs; she had a +tongue; she could articulate. Neither wish nor power was +lacking in her to give Aguilar the supreme experience of his +career. And yet she did not walk up to him and say: +“Aguilar, please take a week’s notice.” Why? The +question puzzled her and lowered her opinion of herself.</p> + +<p>She was similarly absurd in the paramount matter of the +safe. The safe could not be opened. The village, having +been thrilled by four stirring days of the most precious and +rare fever, had suffered much after the funeral from a severe +reaction of dullness. It would have suffered much more had +the fact not escaped that the safe could not be opened. In +the deep depression of the day following the funeral the +village could still say to itself: “Romance and excitement +are not yet over, for the key of the Moze safe is lost, and the +will is in the safe!”</p> + +<p>The village did not know that there were two keys to the +safe and that they were both lost. Nobody knew that except +Audrey and Miss Ingate and Mr. Cowl. The official key was +lost because Mr. Moze’s key-ring was lost. The theory was +that it had been jerked out of his pocket in the accident. +Persistent search for it had been unsuccessful. As for the +unofficial or duplicate key, Audrey could not remember +where she had put it after her burglary, the conclusion of +which had been disturbed by Miss Ingate. At one moment +she was quite sure that she had left the key in the safe, but +at another moment she was equally sure that she was holding +the key in her right hand (the bank-notes being in her +left) when Miss Ingate entered the room; at still another +moment she was almost convinced that before Miss Ingate’s +arrival she had run to the desk and slipped the key back +into its drawer. In any case the second key was irretrievable. +She discussed the dilemma very fully with Miss Ingate, who +had obligingly come to stay in the house. They examined +every aspect of the affair, except Audrey’s guiltiness of +theft, which both of them tacitly ignored. In the end they +decided that it might be wiser not to conceal Audrey’s +knowledge of the existence of a second key; and they told +Mr. Cowl, because he happened to be at hand. In so doing +they were ill-advised, because Mr. Cowl at once acted in a +characteristic and inconvenient fashion which they ought to +have foreseen.</p> + +<p>On the day before the funeral Mr. Cowl had telegraphed +from some place in Devonshire that he should represent +the National Reformation Society at the funeral, and asked +for a bed, on the pretext that he could not get from +Devonshire to Moze in time for the funeral if he postponed +his departure until the next morning. The telegram was +quite costly. He arrived for dinner, a fat man about thirty-eight, +with chestnut hair, a low, alluring voice, and a small +handbag for luggage. Miss Ingate thought him very +interesting, and he was. He said little about the National +Reformation Society, but a great deal about the late Mr. +Moze, of whom he appeared to be an intimate friend; +presumably the friendship had developed at meetings of +the Society. After dinner he strolled nonchalantly to the +sideboard and opened a box of the deceased’s cigars, and +suggested that, as he was well acquainted with the brand, +having often enjoyed the hospitality of Mr. Moze’s cigar-case, +he should smoke a cigar now to the memory of the +departed. Miss Ingate then began to feel alarmed. He +smoked four cigars to the memory of the departed, and on +retiring ventured to take four more for consumption during +the night, as he seldom slept.</p> + +<p>In the morning he went into the bathroom at eight +o’clock and remained there till noon, reading and smoking +in continually renewed hot water. He descended blandly, +begged Miss Moze not to trouble about his breakfast, and +gently assumed a certain control of the funeral. After the +funeral he announced that he should leave on the morrow; +but the mystery of the safe held him to the house. When +he heard of the existence of the second key he organised +and took command of a complete search of the study, and +in the course of the search he inspected every document +in the study. He said he knew that the deceased had +left a legacy to the Society, and he should not feel justified +in quitting Moze until the will was found.</p> + +<p>Now in these circumstances Audrey ought certainly to +have telegraphed to her father’s solicitor at Chelmsford +at once. In the alternative she ought to have hired a +safe-opening expert or a burglar from Colchester. She +had accomplished neither of these downright things. With +absolute power, she had done nothing but postpone. She +wondered at herself, for up to her father’s death she had +been a great critic of absolute power.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The heavy policemanish step of Mr. Cowl was heard +on the landing.</p> + +<p>“He’s coming down on us!” exclaimed Miss Ingate, +partly afraid, and partly ironic at her own fear. “I’m +sure he’s coming down on us. Audrey, I liked that man +at first, but now I tremble before him. And I’m sure his +moustache is dyed. Can’t you ask him to leave?”</p> + +<p>“Is his moustache dyed, Winnie? Oh, what fun!”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate’s apprehension was justified. There was +a knock at the study door, discreet, insistent, menacing, +and it was Mr. Cowl’s knock. He entered, smiling +gravely and yet, as it were, teasingly. His easy bigness, +florid and sinister, made a disturbing contrast with the +artless and pure simplicity of Audrey in her new black robe, +and even with Miss Ingate’s pallid maturity, which, after all, +was passably innocent and ingenuous. Mr. Cowl resembled +a great beast good-humouredly lolloping into the cage in +which two rabbits had been placed for his diversion and +hunger.</p> + +<p>Pulling a key from the pocket of his vast waistcoat, +he said in his quiet voice, so seductive and ominous:</p> + +<p>“Is this the key of the safe?”</p> + +<p>He offered it delicately to Audrey.</p> + +<p>It was the key of the safe.</p> + +<p>“Did they find it in the ditch?” Audrey demanded, +blushing, for she knew that the key had not been found +in the ditch; she knew by a certain indentation on it that it +was the duplicate key which she herself had mislaid.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mr. Cowl. “I found it myself, and not +in the ditch. I remembered you had said that you had +changed at the dressmaker’s in the village and had left +there an old frock.”</p> + +<p>“Did I?” murmured Audrey, with a deeper blush.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cowl nodded.</p> + +<p>“I had the happy idea that you might have had the +key and left it in the pocket of the frock. So I trotted +down to the dressmaker’s and asked for the frock, in your +name, and lo! the result!”</p> + +<p>He pointed to the key lying in Audrey’s long hand.</p> + +<p>“But how should I have had the key, Mr. Cowl? Why +should I have had the key?” Audrey burst out like a +simpleton.</p> + +<p>“That, Miss Moze,” said he, with a peculiar grin and +in an equally peculiar tone, “is a matter about which +obviously you are better informed than I am. Shall we +try the key?”</p> + +<p>With a smooth undeniable gesture he took the key +again from Audrey, and bent his huge form to open the +safe. As he did so Miss Ingate made a sarcastic and yet +affrighted face at Audrey, and Audrey tried to send a signal +in reply, but failed, owing to imperfect self-control. However, +she managed to say to Mr. Cowl’s curved back:</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t have found the key in the pocket of +my old frock, Mr. Cowl.”</p> + +<p>“And why?” he inquired benevolently, raising and +turning his chestnut head. Even in that exciting instant +Audrey could debate within herself whether or not his +superb moustache was dyed.</p> + +<p>“Because it has no pocket.”</p> + +<p>“So I discovered,” said Mr. Cowl, after a little pause. +“I merely stated that I had the happy idea—for it proved +to be a happy idea—that you might have left the key in +the pocket. I discovered it, as a fact, in a slit of the +lining of the belt.... Conceivably you had slipped it in +there—in a hurry.” He put strange implications into the +last three words. “Yes, it is the authentic key,” he +concluded, as the door of the safe swung heavily and +silently open.</p> + +<p>Audrey, for the first time, felt rather like a thief as +she beheld the familiar interior of the safe which a few +days earlier she had so successfully rifled. “Is it possible,” +she thought, “that I really took bank-notes out of that +safe, and that they are at this very moment in my bedroom +between the leaves of ‘Pictures of Palestine’?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Cowl was cautiously fumbling among the serried +row of documents which, their edges towards the front, +filled the steel shelf above the drawers. Audrey had never +experienced any curiosity concerning the documents. Lucre +alone had interested the base creature. No documents +would have helped her to freedom. But now she thought +apprehensively: “My fate may be among those documents.” +She was quite prepared to learn that her father had done +something silly in his will.</p> + +<p>“This resembles a testament,” said Mr. Cowl, smiling +to himself, and pulling out a foolscap scrip, folded and +endorsed. “Yes. Dated last year.”</p> + +<p>He unfolded the document; a letter slipped from the +interior of it; he placed the letter on the small occasional +table next to the desk, and offered the will to Audrey with +precisely the same gesture as he had offered the key.</p> + +<p>Audrey tried to decipher the will, and completely failed.</p> + +<p>“Will you read it, Miss Ingate?” she muttered.</p> + +<p>“I can’t! I can’t!” answered Miss Ingate in excitement. +“I’m sure I can’t. I never could read wills. They’re +so funny, somehow. And I haven’t got my spectacles.” +She flushed slightly.</p> + +<p>“May <em>I</em> venture to tell you what it contains?” Mr. +Cowl suggested. “There can be no indiscretion on my +part, as all wills after probate are public property and +can be inspected by any Tom, Dick or Harry for a fee +of one shilling.”</p> + +<p>He took the document and gazed at it intently, turning +over a page and turning back, for an extraordinarily +long time.</p> + +<p>Audrey said to herself again and again, with exasperated +impatience: “He knows now, and I don’t know. He +knows now, and I don’t know. He knows now, and I +don’t know.”</p> + +<p>At length Mr. Cowl spoke:</p> + +<p>“It is a perfectly simple will. The testator leaves the +whole of his property to Mrs. Moze for life, and afterwards +to you, Miss Moze. There are only two legacies. +Ten pounds to James Aguilar, gardener. And the testator’s +shares in the Zacatecas Oil Development Corporation to the +National Reformation Society. I may say that the testator +had expressed to me his intention of leaving these shares +to the Society. We should have preferred money, free +of legacy duty, but the late Mr. Moze had a reason for +everything he did. I must now bid you good-bye, ladies,” +he went on strangely, with no pause. “Miss Moze, will +you convey my sympathetic respects to your mother and +my thanks for her most kind hospitality? My grateful +sympathies to yourself. Good-bye, Miss Ingate.... +Er, Miss Ingate, why do you look at me in that +peculiar way?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Cowl, you’re a very peculiar man. May +I ask whether you were born in this part of the +country?”</p> + +<p>“At Clacton, Miss Ingate,” answered Mr. Cowl imperturbably.</p> + +<p>“I knew it,” said Miss Ingate, and the corners of her +lips went sardonically down.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t trouble to come downstairs,” said Mr. +Cowl. “My bag is packed. I have tipped the parlourmaid, +and there is just time to catch the train,”</p> + +<p>He departed, leaving the two women speechless.</p> + +<p>After a moment, Miss Ingate said dryly:</p> + +<p>“He was so very peculiar I knew he must belong to +these parts.”</p> + +<p>“How did he know I left my blue frock at Miss +Pannell’s?” cried Audrey. “I never told him.”</p> + +<p>“He must have been eavesdropping!” cried Miss Ingate. +“He never found the key in your frock. He must have +found it here somewhere; I feel sure it must have dropped +by the safe, and I lay anything he had opened the safe +before and read the will before. I could tell from the +way he looked.”</p> + +<p>“And why should he suppose that I’d the key?” +Audrey put in.</p> + +<p>“Eavesdropping! I’m convinced that man knows too +much.” Audrey reddened once more. “I believe he thought +you’d be capable of burning the will. That’s why he made +you handle it in his presence and mine.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Winnie,” said Audrey, “I think you might have +told him all that while he was here, instead of letting +him go off so triumphant.”</p> + +<p>“I did begin to,” said Miss Ingate with a snigger. +“But you wouldn’t back me up, you little coward.”</p> + +<p>“I shall never be a coward again!” Audrey said +violently.</p> + +<p>They read the will together. They had no difficulty at +all in comprehending it now that they were alone.</p> + +<p>“I do think it’s a horrid shame Aguilar should have +that ten pounds,” said Audrey. “But otherwise I don’t +care. You can’t guess how relieved I am, Winnie. I +imagined the most dreadful things. I don’t know what +I imagined. But now we shall have all the property and +everything, just as much as ever there was, and only me +and mother to spend it.” Audrey danced an embryonic +jig. “Won’t I keep mother in order! Winnie, I shall +make her go with me to Paris. I’ve always wanted to +know that Madame Piriac—she does write such funny +English in her letters.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that you’re saying?” murmured Miss Ingate, +who had picked up the letter which Mr. Cowl had laid +on the small table.</p> + +<p>“I say I shall make mother go to Paris with me.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t,” said Miss Ingate. “Because she won’t +go. I know your mother better than you do.... Oh! +Audrey!”</p> + +<p>Audrey saw Miss Ingate’s face turn scarlet from the +roots of her hair to her chin.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate had dropped the letter. Audrey snatched it.</p> + +<p>“My dear Moze,” the letter ran. “I send you herewith +a report of the meeting of the Great Mexican Oil Company at +New York. You will see that they duly authorised the contract +by which the Zacatecas Oil Corporation transfers our +property to them in exchange for shares at the rate of four +Great Mexican shares for one Zacatecas share. As each of +the Development Syndicate shares represents ten of the +Corporation shares, and as on my recommendation you put +£4,500 into the Syndicate, you will therefore own 180,000 +Great Mexican shares. They are at present above par. +Mark my words, they will be worth from seven to ten dollars +apiece in a year’s time. I think you now owe me a good +turn, eh?”</p> + +<p>The letter was signed with a name unknown to either +of them, and it was dated from Coleman Street, E.C.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_4" id="chapter_4" />CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>MR. FOULGER</h3> + + +<p>Half an hour later the woman and the girl, still in the study +and severely damaged by the culminating events of Mr. +Cowl’s visit, were almost prostrated by the entirely unexpected +announcement of the arrival of Mr. Foulger. Mr. +Foulger was the late Mr. Moze’s solicitor from Chelmsford. +Audrey’s first thought was: “Has heaven telegraphed to +him on my behalf?” But her next was that all the solicitors +in the world would now be useless in the horrible calamity +that had befallen.</p> + +<p>It is to be noted that Audrey was no worse off than +before the discovery of the astounding value of the +Zacatecas shares. The Moze property, inherited through +generations and consisting mainly in farms and tithe-rents, +was not in the slightest degree impaired. On the contrary, +the steady progress of agriculture in Essex indicated that its +yield must improve with years. Nevertheless Audrey felt as +though she and her mother were ruined, and as though the +National Reformation Society had been guilty of a fearful +crime against a widow and an orphan. The lovely vision of +immeasurable wealth had flashed and scintillated for a month +in front of her dazzled eyes—and then blackness, nothingness, +the dark void! She knew that she would never be +happy again.</p> + +<p>And she thought, scornfully, “How could father +have been so preoccupied and so gloomy, with all those +riches?” She could not conceive anybody as rich as her +father secretly was not being day and night in a condition +of pure delight at the whole spectacle of existence. +Her opinion of Mathew Moze fell lower than ever, and +fell finally.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid, in a negligence of attire indicating that +no man was left alive in the house, waited at the door of the +study to learn whether or not Miss Moze was in.</p> + +<p>“You’ll <em>have</em> to see him,” said Miss Ingate firmly. +“It’ll be all right. I’ve known him all my life. He’s a very +nice man.”</p> + +<p>After the parlourmaid had gone, and while Audrey was +upbraiding her for not confessing earlier her acquaintance +with Mr. Foulger, Miss Ingate added:</p> + +<p>“Only his wife has a wooden leg.”</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Foulger entered. He was a shortish man of +about fifty, with a paunch, but not otherwise fat; dressed +like a sportsman. He trod very lightly. The expression on +his ruddy face was amiable but extremely alert, hardening at +intervals into decision or caution. He saw before him a +nervous, frowning girl in inelegant black, and Miss Ingate +with a curious look in her eyes and a sardonic and timid +twitching of her lips. For an instant he was discountenanced; +but he at once recovered, accomplishing a +bright salute.</p> + +<p>“Here you are at last, Mr. Foulger!” Miss Ingate +responded. “But you’re too late.”</p> + +<p>These mysterious words, and the speechlessness of +Audrey, upset him again.</p> + +<p>“I was away in Somersetshire for a little fishing,” he +said, after he had deplored the death of Mr. Moze, the illness +of Mrs. Moze, and the bereavement of Miss Moze, and had +congratulated Miss Moze on the protective friendship of his +old friend, Miss Ingate. “I was away for a little fishing, +and I only heard the sad news when I got back home at +noon to-day. I came over at once.” He cleared his throat +and looked first at Audrey and then at Miss Ingate. He felt +that he ought to be addressing Audrey, but somehow he +could not help addressing Miss Ingate instead. His grey +legs were spread abroad as he sat very erect on a chair, +and between them his dependent paunch found a comfortable +space for itself.</p> + +<p>“You must have been getting anxious about the will. +I have brought it with me,” he said. He drew a white +document from the breast-pocket of his cutaway coat, and +he perched a pair of eyeglasses carelessly on his nose. “It +was executed before your birth, Miss Moze. But a will +keeps like wine. The whole of the property of every +description is left to Mrs. Moze, and she is sole executrix. If +she should predecease the testator, then everything is left +to his child or children. Not perhaps a very businesslike +will—a will likely to lead to unforeseen complications, but the +sort of will that a man in the first flush of marriage often +does make, and there is no stopping him. Your father had +almost every quality, but he was not businesslike—if I may +say so with respect. However, I confess that for the present +I see no difficulties. Of course the death duties will +have to be paid, but your father always kept a considerable +amount of money at call. When I say ‘considerable,’ I +mean several thousands. That was a point on which he and +I had many discussions.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Foulger glanced around with satisfaction. Already +the prospect of legal business and costs had brought about +a change in his official demeanour of an adviser truly +bereaved by the death of a client. He saw the young girl, +gazing fiercely at the carpet, suddenly begin to weep. This +phenomenon, to which he was not unaccustomed, did not by +itself disturb him; but the face of Miss Ingate gave him +strange apprehensions, which reached a climax when Miss +Ingate, obviously not at all at ease, muttered:</p> + +<p>“There is a later will, Mr. Foulger. It was made last +year.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” he breathed, scarcely above a whisper.</p> + +<p>He thought he did see. He thought he understood why +he had been kept waiting, why Mrs. Moze pretended to be +ill, why the girl had frowned, why the naively calm Miss +Ingate was in such a state of nerves. The explanation was +that he was not wanted. The explanation was that Mr. +Moze had changed his solicitor. His face hardened, for he +and his uncle between them had “acted” for the Moze +family for over seventy years.</p> + +<p>He rose from the chair.</p> + +<p>“Then I need not trouble you any longer,” he said in a +firm tone, and turned with real dignity to leave.</p> + +<p>He was exceedingly astonished when with one swift +movement Audrey rose, and flashed like a missile to the door, +and stood with her back to it. The fact was that Audrey +had just remembered her vow never again to be afraid of +anybody. When Miss Ingate with extraordinary agility also +jumped up and approached him, he apprehended, recalling +rumours of Miss Ingate’s advanced feminism, that the fate +of an anti-suffragette Cabinet Minister might be awaiting +him, and he prepared his defence.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t go,” said Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“You are my solicitor, whatever mother may say, and +you mustn’t go,” added Audrey in a soft voice.</p> + +<p>The man was entranced. It occurred to him that +he would have a tale to tell and to re-tell at his club +for years, about “a certain fair client who shall be +nameless.”</p> + +<p>The next minute he had heard a somewhat romantic, if +not hysterical, version of the facts of the case, and he was +perusing the original documents. By chance he read first +the letter about the Zacatecas shares. That Mathew Moze +had made a will without his aid was a shock; that Mathew +Moze had invested money without his advice was another +shock quite as severe. But he knew the status of the Great +Mexican Oil Company, and his countenance lighted as he +realised the rich immensity of the business of proving the +will and devolving the estate; his costs would run to the most +agreeable figures. As soon as he glanced at the testament +which Mr. Cowl had found, he muttered, with satisfaction +and disdain:</p> + +<p>“H’m! He made this himself.”</p> + +<p>And he gazed at it compassionately, as a cabinetmaker +might gaze at a piece of amateur fretwork.</p> + +<p>Standing, he read it slowly and with extreme care. And +when he had finished he casually remarked, in the classic +legal phrase:</p> + +<p>“It isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”</p> + +<p>Then he sat down again, and his neat paunch resumed +its niche between his legs. He knew that he had made a +tremendous effect.</p> + +<p>“But—but——” Miss Ingate began.</p> + +<p>“Not worth the paper it’s written on,” he repeated. +“There is only one witness, and there ought to be two, and +even the one witness is a bad one—Aguilar, because he +profits under the will. He would have to give up his legacy +before his attestation could count, and even then it would be +no good alone. Mr. Moze has not even expressly revoked +the old will. If there hadn’t been a previous will, and if +Aguilar was a thoroughly reliable man, and if the family had +wished to uphold the new will, I dare say the Court <em>might</em> +have pronounced for it. But under the circumstances it +hasn’t the ghost of a chance.”</p> + +<p>“But won’t the National Reformation Society make +trouble?” demanded Miss Ingate faintly.</p> + +<p>“Let ’em try!” said Mr. Foulger, who wished that the +National Reformation Society would indeed try.</p> + +<p>Even as he articulated the words, he was aware of +Audrey coming towards him from the direction of the door; +he was aware of her black frock and of her white face, with +its bulging forehead and its deliciously insignificant nose. +She held out her hand.</p> + +<p>“You are a dear!” she whispered.</p> + +<p>Her lips seemed to aim uncertainly for his face. Did +they just touch, with exquisite contact, his bristly chin, or +was it a divine illusion? ... She blushed in a very marked +manner. He blinked, and his happy blinking seemed to say: +“Only wills drawn by me are genuine.... Didn’t I tell +you Mr. Moze was not a man of business?”</p> + +<p>Audrey ran to Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Mr. Foulger, suddenly ashamed, and determined to be a +lawyer, said sharply:</p> + +<p>“Has Mrs. Moze made a will?”</p> + +<p>“Mother made a will? Oh no!”</p> + +<p>“Then she should make one at once, in your favour, of +course. No time should be lost.”</p> + +<p>“But Mrs. Moze is ill in bed,” protested Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“All the more reason why she should make a will. It +may save endless trouble. And it is her duty. I shall +suggest that I be the executor and trustee, of course with +the usual power to charge costs.” His face was hard again. +“You will thank me later on, Miss Moze,” he added.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean <em>now?</em>“ shrilled Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“I do,” said he. “If you will give me some paper, we +might go to her at once. You can be one of the witnesses. +I could be a witness, but as I am to act under the will for a +consideration somebody else would be preferable.”</p> + +<p>“I should suggest Aguilar,” answered Miss Ingate, the +corners of her lips dropping.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate went first, to prepare Mrs. Moze.</p> + +<p>When Audrey was alone in the study—she had not even +offered to accompany her elders to the bedroom—she made a +long sound: “Ooo!” Then she gave a leap and stood still, +staring out of the window at the estuary. She tried to force +her mood to the colour of her dress, but the sense of propriety +was insufficient for the task. The magnificence of all +the world was unfolding itself to her soul. Events had +hitherto so dizzyingly beaten down upon her head that she +had scarcely been conscious of feeling. Now she luxuriously +felt. “I am at last born,” she thought. “Miracles have +happened.... It’s incredible.... I can do what I like +with mother.... But if I don’t take care I shall die of +relief this very moment!”</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_5" id="chapter_5" />CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE DEAD HAND</h3> + + +<p>Audrey was wakened up that night, just after she had +gone to sleep, by a touch on the cheek. Her mother, +palely indistinct in the darkness, was standing by the bedside. +She wore a white wrap over her night attire, and the +customary white bandage from which emanated a faint odour +of eau-de-Cologne, was around her forehead.</p> + +<p>“Audrey, darling, I must speak to you.”</p> + +<p>Instantly Audrey became the wise directress of her poor +foolish mother’s existence.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” she said, with firm kindness, “please do go +back to bed at once. This sort of thing is simply frightful +for your neuralgia. I’ll come to you in one moment.”</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Moze meekly obeyed; she had gone even +before Audrey had had time to light her candle. Audrey +was very content in thus being able to control her mother +and order everything for the best. She guessed that the +old lady had got some idea into her head about the +property, or about her own will, or about the solicitor, or +about a tombstone, and that it was worrying her. She +and Miss Ingate (who had now returned home) had had +a very extensive palaver, in low voices that never ceased, +after the triumphant departure of Mr. Foulger. Audrey +had cautiously protested; she was afraid her mother would +be fatigued, and she saw no reason why her mother should +be acquainted with all the details of a complex matter; +but the gossiping habit of a quarter of a century was too +powerful for Audrey.</p> + +<p>In the large parental bedroom the only light was Audrey’s +candle. Mrs. Moze was lying on the right half of the +great bed, where she had always lain. She might have +lain luxuriously in the middle, with vast spaces at either +hand, but again habit was too powerful.</p> + +<p>The girl, all in white, held the candle higher, and the +shadows everywhere shrunk in unison. Mrs. Moze blinked.</p> + +<p>“Put the candle on the night-table,” said Mrs. Moze +curtly.</p> + +<p>Audrey did so. The bedroom, for her, was full of +the souvenirs of parental authority. Her first recollections +were those of awe in regard to the bedroom. And when +she thought that on that bed she had been born, she had +a very queer sensation.</p> + +<p>“I’ve decided,” said Mrs. Moze, lying on her back, +and looking up at the ceiling, “I’ve decided that your +father’s wishes must be obeyed.”</p> + +<p>“What about, mother?”</p> + +<p>“About those shares going to the National Reformation +Society. He meant them to go, and they must go to the +Society. I’ve thought it well over and I’ve quite decided. +I didn’t tell Miss Ingate, as it doesn’t concern her. But +I felt I must tell you at once.”</p> + +<p>“Mother!” cried Audrey. “Have you taken leave of +your senses?” She shivered; the room was very cold, +and as she shivered her image in the mirror of the wardrobe +shivered, and also her shadow that climbed up the +wall and bent at right-angles at the cornice till it reached +the middle of the ceiling.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moze replied obstinately:</p> + +<p>“I’ve not taken leave of my senses, and I’ll thank +you to remember that I’m your mother. I have always +carried out your father’s wishes, and at my time of life +I can’t alter. Your father was a very wise man. We +shall be as well off as we always were. Better, because +I can save, and I shall save. We have no complaint to +make; I should have no excuse for disobeying your father. +Everything is mine to do as I wish with it, and I shall +give the shares to the Society. What the shares are +worth can’t affect my duty. Besides, perhaps they aren’t +worth anything. I always understood that things like that +were always jumping up and down, and generally worthless +in the end.... That’s all I wanted to tell you.”</p> + +<p>Why did Audrey seize the candle and walk straight out +of the bedroom, leaving darkness behind her? Was it +because the acuteness of her feelings drove her out, or was +it because she knew instinctively that her mother’s decision +would prove to be immovable? Perhaps both.</p> + +<p>She dropped back into her own bed with a soundless +sigh of exhaustion. She did not blow out the candle, but +lay staring at it. Her dream was annihilated. She foresaw +an interminable, weary and futile future in and about +Moze, and her mother always indisposed, always fretful, +and curiously obstinate in weakness. But Audrey, despite +her tragic disillusion, was less desolated than made solemn. +In the most disturbing way she knew herself to be the +daughter of her father and her mother; and she comprehended +that her destiny could not be broken off suddenly +from theirs. She was touched because her mother deemed +her father a very wise man, whereas she, Audrey, knew +that he was nothing of the sort. She felt sorry for both +of them. She pitied her father, and she was a mother +to her mother. Their relations together, and the mystic +posthumous spell of her father over her mother, impressed +her profoundly.... And she was proud of herself for +having demonstrated her courage by preventing the solicitor +from running away, and extraordinarily ashamed of her +sentimental and brazen behaviour to the solicitor afterwards. +These various thoughts mitigated her despair as +she gazed at the sinking candle. Nevertheless her dream +was annihilated.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_6" id="chapter_6" />CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE YOUNG WIDOW</h3> + + +<p>It was early October. Audrey stood at the garden door +of Flank Hall.</p> + +<p>The estuary, in all the colours of unsettled, mild, +bright weather, lay at her feet beneath a high arch of +changing blue and white. The capricious wind moved in +her hair, moved in the rich grasses of the sea-wall, bent +at a curtseying angle the red-sailed barges, put caps on +the waves in the middle distance, and drew out into long +horizontal scarves the smoke of faint steamers in the +offing.</p> + +<p>Audrey was dressed in black, but her raiment had +obviously not been fashioned in the village, nor even at +Colchester, nor yet at Ipswich, that great and stylish city. +She looked older; she certainly had acquired something +of an air of knowledge, assurance, domination, sauciness +and challenge, which qualities were all partly illustrated +in her large, audacious hat. The spirit which the late +Mr. Moze had so successfully suppressed was at length +coming to the surface for all beholders to see, and the +process of evolution begun at the moment when Audrey +had bounced up and prevented an authoritative solicitor +from leaving the study was already advanced. Nevertheless, +at frequent intervals Audrey’s eyes changed, and she seemed +for an instant to be a very naive, very ingenuous and +wistful little thing—and this though she had reached the +age of twenty. Perhaps she was feeling sorry for the +girl she used to be.</p> + +<p>And no doubt she was also thinking of her mother, +who had died within eight hours of their nocturnal interview. +The death of Mrs. Moze surprised everyone, except possibly +Mrs. Moze. As an unsuspected result of the operation +upon her, an embolism had been wandering in her veins; +it reached the brain, and she expired, to the great loss of +the National Reformation Society. Such was the brief +and simple history. When Audrey stood by the body, she +had felt that if it could have saved her mother she would +have enriched the National Reformation Society with all she +possessed.</p> + +<p>Gradually the sense of freedom had grown paramount +in her, and she had undertaken the enterprise of completely +subduing Mr. Foulger to her own ends.</p> + +<p>The back hall was carpetless and pictureless, and the +furniture in it was draped in grey-white. Every room in +the abode was in the same state, and, since all the +windows were shuttered, every room lay moribund in a +ghostly twilight. Only the clocks remained alive, probably +thinking themselves immortal. The breakfast things were +washed up and stored away. The last two servants had +already gone. Behind Audrey, forming a hilly background, +were trunks and boxes, a large bunch of flowers encased +in paper, and a case of umbrellas and parasols; the whole +strikingly new, and every single item except the flowers +labelled “Paris via Charing Cross and Calais.”</p> + +<p>Audrey opened her black Russian satchel, and the +purse within it. Therein were a little compartment full of +English gold, another full of French gold, another full +of multicoloured French bank-notes; and loose in the satchel +was a blue book of credit-notes, each for five hundred +francs, or twenty pounds—a thick book! And she would +not have minded much if she had lost the whole satchel +—it would be so easy to replace the satchel with all its +contents.</p> + +<p>Then a small brougham came very deliberately up the +drive. It was the vehicle in which Miss Ingate went +her ways; in accordance with Miss Ingate’s immemorial +command, it travelled at a walking pace up all the hills +to save the horse, and at a walking pace down all hills +lest the horse should stumble and Miss Ingate be destroyed. +It was now followed by a luggage-cart on which was a +large trunk.</p> + +<p>At the same moment Aguilar, the gardener, appeared +from somewhere—he who had been robbed of a legacy +of ten pounds, but who by his ruthless and incontestable +integrity had secured the job of caretaker of Flank +Hall.</p> + +<p>The drivers touched their hats to Audrey and jumped +down, and Miss Ingate, with a blue veil tied like a handkerchief +round her bonnet and chin—sign that she was a +traveller—emerged from the brougham, sardonically smiling +at her own and everybody’s expense, and too excited to +be able to give greetings. The three men started to move +the trunks, and the two women whispered together in +the back-hall.</p> + +<p>“Audrey,” demanded Miss Ingate, with a start, “what +are those rings on your finger?”</p> + +<p>Audrey replied:</p> + +<p>“One’s a wedding ring and the other’s a mourning ring. +I bought them yesterday at Colchester.... Hsh!” She +stilled further exclamations from Miss Ingate until the +men were out of the hall.</p> + +<p>“Look here! Quick!” she whispered, hastily unlocking +a large hat-case that was left. And Miss Ingate looked +and saw a block toque, entirely unsuitable for a young +girl, and a widow’s veil.</p> + +<p>“I look bewitching in them,” said Audrey, relocking +the case.</p> + +<p>“But, my child, what does it mean?”</p> + +<p>“It means that I’m not silly enough to go to Paris +as a girl. I’ve had more than enough of being a girl. +I’m determined to arrive in Paris as a young widow. It +will be much better in every way, and far easier for you. +In fact, you’ll have no chaperoning to do at all. I shall +be the chaperon. Now don’t say you won’t go, because +you will.”</p> + +<p>“You ought to have told me before.”</p> + +<p>“No, I oughtn’t. Nothing could have been more +foolish.”</p> + +<p>“But who are you the widow of?”</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” cried Audrey. “You are a sport, Winnie! +I’ll tell you all the interesting details in the train.”</p> + +<p>In another minute Aguilar, gloomy and unbending, had +received the keys of Flank Hall, and the procession crunched +down the drive on its way to the station.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_7" id="chapter_7" />CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE CIGARETTE GIRL</h3> + + +<p>Audrey did not deem that she had begun truly to live +until the next morning, when they left London, after having +passed a night in the Charing Cross Hotel. During several +visits to London in the course of the summer Audrey had +learnt something about the valuelessness of money in a +metropolis chiefly inhabited by people who were positively +embarrassed by their riches. She knew, for example, that +money being very plentiful and stylish hats very rare, large +quantities of money had to be given for infinitesimal quantities +of hats. The big and glittering shops were full of +people whose pockets bulged with money which they were +obviously anxious to part with in order to obtain goods, +while the proud shop-assistants, secure in the knowledge +that money was naught and goods were everything, did their +utmost, by hauteur and steely negatives, to render any +transaction possible. It was the result of a mysterious +“Law of Exchange.” She was aware of this. She had +lost her childhood’s naive illusions about the sovereignty +of money.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless she received one or two shocks on the +journey, which was planned upon the most luxurious scale +that the imagination of Messrs. Thomas Cook & Son could +conceive. There was four pounds and ninepence to pay for +excess luggage at Charing Cross. Half a year earlier four +pounds would have bought all the luggage she could have +got together. She very nearly said to the clerk at the window: +“Don’t you mean shillings?” But in spite of nervousness, +blushings, and all manner of sensitive reactions to new +experiences, her natural sang-froid and instinctive knowledge +of the world saved her from such a terrible lapse, and she +put down a bank-note without the slightest hint that she was +wondering whether it would not be more advantageous to +throw the luggage away.</p> + +<p>The boat was crowded, and the sea and wind full of +menace. Fighting their way along the deck after laden +porters, Audrey and Miss Ingate simultaneously espied the +private cabin list hung in a conspicuous spot. They perused +it as eagerly as if it had been the account of a <em>cause célèbre.</em> +Among the list were two English lords, an Honourable Mrs., +a baroness with a Hungarian name, several Teutonic names, +and Mrs. Moncreiff.</p> + +<p>Audrey blushed deeply at the sign of Mrs. Moncreiff, for +she was Mrs. Moncreiff. Behind the veil, and with the touch +of white in her toque, she might have been any age up to +twenty-eight or so. It would have been impossible to say +that she was a young girl, that she was not versed in the +world, that she had not the whole catechism of men at her +finger-ends. All who glanced at her glanced again—with +sympathy and curiosity; and the second glance pricked +Audrey’s conscience, making her feel like a thief. But her +moods were capricious. At one moment she was a thief, +a clumsy fraud, an ignorant ninny, and a suitable prey for +the secret police; and at the next she was very clever, +self-confident, equal to the situation, and enjoying the +situation more than she had ever enjoyed anything, and +determined to prolong the situation indefinitely.</p> + +<p>The cabin was very spacious, yet not more so than was +proper, considering that the rent of it came to about sixpence +a minute. There was room, even after all the packages +were stowed, for both of them to lie down. But instead +of lying down they eagerly inspected the little abode. They +found a lavatory basin with hot and cold water taps, but no +hot water and no cold water, no soap and no towels. And +they found a crystal water-bottle, but it was empty. Then +a steward came and asked them if they wanted anything, +and because they were miserable poltroons they smiled and +said “No.” They were secretly convinced that all the other +private cabins, inhabited by titled persons and by financiers, +were superior to their cabin, and that the captain of the +steamer had fobbed them off with an imitation of a real cabin.</p> + +<p>Then it was that Miss Ingate, who since Charing Cross +had been a little excited by a glimpsed newspaper contents-bill +indicating suffragette riots that morning, perceived, +through the open door of the cabin, a most beautiful and +most elegant girl, attired impeccably in that ritualistic garb +of travel which the truly cosmopolitan wear on combined +rail-and-ocean journeys and on no other occasions. It was +at once apparent that the celestial creature had put on that +special hat, that special veil, that special cloak, and those +special gloves because she was deeply aware of what was +correct, and that she would not put them on again until +destiny took her again across the sea, and that if destiny +never did take her again across the sea never again would +she show herself in the vestments, whose correctness was +only equalled by their expensiveness.</p> + +<p>The young woman, however, took no thought of her impressive +clothes. She was existing upon quite another plane. +Miss Ingate, preoccupied by the wrongs and perils of her +sex, and momentarily softened out of her sardonic irony, +suspected that they might be in the presence of a victim of +oppression or neglect. The victim lay Half-prone upon the +hard wooden seat against the ship’s rail. Her dark eyes +opened piteously at times, and her exquisite profile, surmounted +by the priceless hat all askew, made a silhouette +now against the sea and now against the distant white cliffs +of Albion, according to the fearful heaving of the ship. +Spray occasionally dashed over her. She heeded it not. A +few feet farther off she would have been sheltered by a +weather-awning, but, clinging fiercely to the rail, she would +not move.</p> + +<p>Then a sharp squall of rain broke, but she entirely ignored +the rain.</p> + +<p>The next moment Miss Ingate and Audrey, rushing forth, +had gently seized her and drawn her into their cabin. They +might have succoured other martyrs to the modern passion +for moving about, for there were many; but they chose this +particular martyr because she was so wondrously dressed, +and also perhaps a little because she was so young. As she +lay on the cabin sofa she looked still younger; she looked a +child. Yet when Miss Ingate removed her gloves in order +to rub those chill, fragile, and miraculously manicured hands, +a wedding ring was revealed. The wedding ring rendered +her intensely romantic in the eyes of Audrey and Miss Ingate, +who both thought, in private:</p> + +<p>“She must be the wife of one of those lords!”</p> + +<p>Every detail of her raiment, as she was put at her ease, +showed her to be clothed in precisely the manner which +Audrey and Miss Ingate thought peeresses always were +clothed. Hence, being English, they mingled respect with +their solacing pity. Nevertheless, their respect was tempered +by a peculiar pride, for both of them, in taking lemonade +on the Pullman, had taken therewith a certain preventive +or remedy which made them loftily indifferent to the heaving +of ships and the eccentricities of the sea. The specific had +done all that was claimed for it—which was a great deal—so +much so that they felt themselves superwomen among +a cargo of flaccid and feeble sub-females. And they grew +charmingly conceited.</p> + +<p>“Am I in my cabin?” murmured the martyr, about a +quarter of an hour after Miss Ingate, having obtained soda +water, had administered to her a dose of the miraculous +specific.</p> + +<p>Her delicious cheeks were now a delicate crimson. But +they had been of a delicate crimson throughout.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Audrey. “You’re in ours. Which is +yours?”</p> + +<p>“It’s on the other side of the ship, then. I came out for +a little air. But I couldn’t get back. I’d just as lief have +died as shift from that seat out there by the railings.”</p> + +<p>Something in the accent, something in those fine English +words “lief” and “shift,” destroyed in the minds of Audrey +and Miss Ingate the agreeable notion that they had a peeress +on their hands.</p> + +<p>“Is your husband on board?” asked Audrey.</p> + +<p>“He just is,” was the answer. “He’s in our cabin.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I fetch him?” Miss Ingate suggested. The +corners of her lips had begun to fall once more.</p> + +<p>“Will you?” said the young woman. “It’s Lord Southminster. +I’m Lady Southminster.”</p> + +<p>The two saviours were thrilled. Each felt that she had +misinterpreted the accent, and that probably peeresses did +habitually use such words as “lief” and “shift.” The +corners of Miss Ingate’s lips rose to their proper position.</p> + +<p>“I’ll look for the number on the cabin list,” said she +hastily, and went forth with trembling to summon the peer.</p> + +<p>As Audrey, alone in the cabin with Lady Southminster, +bent curiously over the prostrate form, Lady Southminster +exclaimed with an air of childlike admiration:</p> + +<p>“You’re real ladies, you are!”</p> + +<p>And Audrey felt old and experienced. She decided that +Lady Southminster could not be more than seventeen, and it +seemed to be about half a century since Audrey was seventeen.</p> + +<p>“He can’t come,” announced Miss Ingate breathlessly, +returning to the cabin, and supporting herself against the +door as the solid teak sank under her feet. “Oh yes! He’s +there all right. It was Number 12. I’ve seen him. I told +him, but I don’t think he heard me—to understand, that +is. If you ask me, he couldn’t come if forty wives sent +for him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, couldn’t he!” observed Lady Southminster, sitting +up. “Couldn’t he!”</p> + +<p>When the boat was within ten minutes of France, the +remedy had had such an effect upon her that she could walk +about. Accompanied by Audrey she managed to work her +way round the cabin-deck to No. 12. It was empty, save +for hand-luggage! The two girls searched, as well as they +could, the whole crowded ship for Lord Southminster, and +found him not. Lady Southminster neither fainted nor wept. +She merely said:</p> + +<p>“Oh! All right! If that’s it....!”</p> + +<p>Hand-luggage was being collected. But Lady Southminster +would not collect hers, nor allow it to be collected. +She agreed with Miss Ingate and Audrey that her husband +must ultimately reappear either on the quay or in the train. +While they were all standing huddled together in the throng +waiting for the gangway to put ashore, she said in a low +casual tone, à propos of nothing:</p> + +<p>“I only married him the day before yesterday. I don’t +know whether you know, but I used to make cigarettes in +Constantinopoulos’s window in Piccadilly. I don’t see why +I should be ashamed of it, d’you?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” said Miss Ingate. “But it <em>is</em> rather +romantic, isn’t it, Audrey?”</p> + +<p>Despite the terrific interest of the adventure of the +cigarette girl, disappointment began immediately after landing. +This France, of which Audrey had heard so much and +dreamed so much, was a very ramshackle and untidy and +one-horse affair. The custom-house was rather like a battlefield +without any rules of warfare; the scene in the refreshment-room +was rather like a sack after a battle; the station +was a desert with odd files of people here and there; the +platforms were ridiculous, and you wanted a pair of steps to +get up into the train. Whatever romance there might be in +France had been brought by Audrey in her secret heart and +by Lady Southminster.</p> + +<p>Audrey had come to France, and she was going to Paris, +solely because of a vision which had been created in her by +the letters and by the photographs of Madame Piriac. +Although Madame Piriac and she had absolutely no tie of +blood, Madame Piriac being the daughter by a first husband +of the French widow who became the first Mrs. Moze—and +speedily died, Audrey persisted privately in regarding +Madame Piriac as a kind of elder sister. She felt a very +considerable esteem for Madame Piriac, upon whom she had +never set eyes, and Madame Piriac had certainly given her +the impression that France was to England what paradise is +to purgatory. Further, Audrey had fallen in love with +Madame Piriac’s portraits, whose elegance was superb. And +yet, too, Audrey was jealous of Madame Piriac, and +especially so since the attainment of freedom and wealth. +Madame Piriac had most warmly invited her, after the death +of Mrs. Moze, to pay a long visit to Paris as a guest in her +home. Audrey had declined—from jealousy. She would not +go to Madame Piriac’s as a raw girl, overdone with money, +who could only speak one language and who knew nothing +at all of this our planet. She would go, if she went, as a +young woman of the world who could hold her own in any +drawing-room, be it Madame Piriac’s or another. Hence +Miss Ingate had obtained the address of a Paris boarding-house, +and one or two preliminary introductions from political +friends in London.</p> + +<p>Well, France was not equal to its reputation; and Miss +Ingate’s sardonic smile seemed to be saying: “So this is +your France!”</p> + +<p>However, the excitement of escorting the youngest +English peeress to Paris sufficed for Audrey, even if it did +not suffice for Miss Ingate with her middle-aged apprehensions. +They knew that Lady Southminster was the +youngest English peeress because she had told them so. At +the very moment when they were dispatching a telegram for +her to an address in London, she had popped out the +remark: “Do you know I’m the youngest peeress in England?” +And truth shone in her candid and simple smile. +They had not found the peer, neither on the ship, nor on the +quay, nor in the station. And the peeress would not wait. +She was indeed obviously frightened at the idea of remaining +in Calais alone, even till the next express. She said that her +husband’s “man” would meet the train in Paris. She ate +plenteously with Audrey and Miss Ingate in the refreshment-room, +and she would not leave them nor allow them to leave +her. The easiest course was to let her have her way, and +she had it.</p> + +<p>By dint of Miss Ingate’s unscrupulous tricks with small +baggage they contrived to keep a whole compartment to +themselves. As soon as the train started the peeress began +to cry. Then, wiping her heavenly silly eyes, and upbraiding +herself, she related to her protectresses the glory of a new +manicure set. Unfortunately she could not show them the +set, as it had been left in the cabin. She was actually in +possession of nothing portable except her clothes, some +English magazines bought at Calais, and a handbag which +contained much money and many bonbons.</p> + +<p>“He’s done it on purpose,” she said to Audrey as soon +as Miss Ingate went off to take tea in the tea-car. “I’m +sure he’s done it on purpose. He’s hidden himself, and he’ll +turn up when he thinks he’s beaten me. D’you know why +I wouldn’t bring that luggage away out of the cabin? +Because we had a quarrel about it, at the station, and he +said things to me. In fact we weren’t speaking. And we +weren’t speaking last night either. The radiator of his—our—car +leaked, and we had to come home from the Coliseum +in a motor-bus. He couldn’t get a taxi. It wasn’t his fault, +but a friend of mine told me the day before I was married +that a lady always ought to be angry when her husband +can’t get a taxi after the theatre—she says it does ’em good. +So first I told him he mustn’t leave me to look for one. +Then I said I’d wait where I was, and then I said we’d walk +on, and then I said we must take a motor-bus. It was that +that finished him. He said: ‘Did I expect him to invent a +taxi when there wasn’t one?’ And he swore. So of course +I sulked. You must, you know. And my shoes were too +thin and I felt chilly. But only a fortnight before I was +making cigarettes in the window of Constantinopoulos’s. +Funny, isn’t it? Otherwise he’s behaved splendid. Still, +what I do say is a man’s no right to be ill when he’s taking +you to Paris on your honeymoon. I knew he was going to +be ill when I left him in the cabin, but he stuck me out he +wasn’t. A man that’s so bad he can’t come to his wife when +<em>she’s</em> bad isn’t a man—that’s what I say. Don’t you think +so? You know all about that sort of thing, I lay.”</p> + +<p>Audrey said briefly that she did think so, glad that the +peeress’s intense and excusable interest in herself kept her +from being curious about others.</p> + +<p>“Marriage ain’t all chocolate-creams,” said the peeress +after a pause. “Have one?” And she opened her bag very +hospitably.</p> + +<p>Then she turned to her magazines. And no sooner had +she glanced at the cover of the second one than she gave +a squeal, and, fetching deep breaths, passed the periodical to +Audrey. At the top of the cover was printed in large letters +the title of a story by a famous author of short tales. It +ran:</p> + +<p class="quotation">“MAN OVERBOARD.”</p> + +<p>Henceforward a suspicion that had lain concealed in the +undergrowth of the hearts of the two girls stalked boldly +about in full daylight.</p> + +<p>“He’s done it, and he’s done it to spite me!” murmured +Lady Southminster tearfully.</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” Audrey protested. “Even if he had fallen +overboard he’d have been seen and the captain would have +stopped the boat.”</p> + +<p>“Where do you come from?” Lady Southminster +retorted with disdain. “That’s an <em>omen</em>, that is"—pointing +to the words on the cover of the magazine. “What else +could it be? I ask you.”</p> + +<p>When Miss Ingate returned the child was fast asleep. +Miss Ingate was paler than usual. Having convinced herself +that the sleeper did genuinely sleep, she breathed to Audrey:</p> + +<p>“He’s in the next compartment! ... He must have +hidden himself till nearly the last minute on the boat and then +got into the train while we were sending off that telegram.”</p> + +<p>Audrey blenched.</p> + +<p>“Shall you wake her?”</p> + +<p>“Wake her, and have a scene—with us here? No, I +shan’t. He’s a fool.”</p> + +<p>“How d’you know?” asked Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Well, he must have been a fool to marry her.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” whispered Audrey. “If I’d been a man I’d have +married that face like a shot.”</p> + +<p>“It might be all right if he’d only married the face. But +he’s married what she calls her mind.”</p> + +<p>“Is he young?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. And as good-looking in his own way as she is.”</p> + +<p>“Well—”</p> + +<p>But the Countess of Southminster stirred, and the slight +movement stopped conversation.</p> + +<p>The journey was endless, but it was no longer than the +sleep of the Countess. At length dusk and mist began to +gather in the hollows of the land; stations succeeded one +another more frequently. The reflections of the electric +lights in the compartment could be seen beyond the glass of +the windows. The train still ruthlessly clattered and shook +and swayed and thundered; and weary lords, ladies and +financiers had read all the illustrated magazines and six-penny +novels in existence, and they lolled exhausted and +bored amid the debris of literature and light refreshments. +Then the speed of the convoy slackened, and Audrey, looking +forth, saw a pale cathedral dome resting aloft amid dark +clouds. It was a magical glimpse, and it was the first +glimpse of Paris. “Oh!” cried Audrey, far more like a girl +than a widow. The train rattled through defiles of high +twinkling houses, roared under bridges, screeched, threaded +forests of cold blue lamps, and at last came to rest under a +black echoing vault.</p> + +<p>Paris!</p> + +<p>And, mysteriously, all Audrey’s illusions concerning +France had been born again. She was convinced that Paris +could not fail to be paradisiacal.</p> + +<p>Lady Southminster awoke.</p> + +<p>Almost simultaneously a young man very well dressed +passed along the corridor. Lady Southminster, with an +awful start, seized her bag and sprang after him, but was +impeded by other passengers. She caught him only after +he had descended to the platform, which was at the bottom +of a precipice below the windows. He had just been saluted +by, and given orders to, a waiting valet. She caught +him sharply by the arm. He shook free and walked quickly +away up the platform, guided by a wise instinct for avoiding +a scene in front of fellow-travellers. She followed close +after him, talking with rapidity. They receded. Audrey +and Miss Ingate leaned out of the windows to watch, and +still farther and farther out. Just as the honeymooning +pair disappeared altogether their two forms came into +contact, and Audrey’s eyes could see the arm of Lord +Southminster take the arm of Lady Southminster. They +vanished from view like one flesh. And Audrey and Miss +Ingate, deserted, forgotten utterly, unthanked, buffeted by +passengers and by the valet who had climbed up into the +carriage to take away the impedimenta of his master, gazed +at each other and then burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>“So that’s marriage!” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Miss Ingate. “That’s love. I’ve seen a +deal of love in my time, ever since my sister Arabella’s +first engagement, but I never saw any that wasn’t vehy, +vehy queer.”</p> + +<p>“I do hope they’ll be happy,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Do you?” said Miss Ingate.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_8" id="chapter_8" />CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>EXPLOITATION OF WIDOWHOOD</h3> + + +<p>The carriage had emptied, and the two adventurers stood +alone among empty compartments. The platform was also +empty. Not a porter in sight. One after the other, the +young widow and the elderly spinster, their purses bulging +with money, got their packages by great efforts down on +to the platform.</p> + +<p>An employee strolled past.</p> + +<p>“<em>Porteur?</em>” murmured Audrey timidly.</p> + +<p>The man sniggered, shrugged his shoulders, and +vanished.</p> + +<p>Audrey felt that she had gone back to her school days. +She was helpless, and Miss Ingate was the same. She +wished ardently that she was in Moze again. She could +not imagine how she had been such a fool as to undertake +this absurd expedition which could only end in ridicule +and disaster. She was ready to cry. Then another employee +appeared, hesitated, and picked up a bag, scowling and +inimical. Gradually the man, very tousled and dirty, +clustered all the bags and parcels around his person, and +walked off. Audrey and Miss Ingate meekly following. +The great roof of the station resounded to whistles and +the escape of steam and the clashing of wagons.</p> + +<p>Beyond the platforms there were droves of people, of +whom nearly every individual was preoccupied and hurried. +And what people! Audrey had in her heart expected a +sort of glittering white terminus full of dandiacal men +and elegant Parisiennes who had stepped straight out of +fashion-plates, and who had no cares—for was not this +Paris? Whereas, in fact, the multitude was the dingiest +she had ever seen. Not a gleam of elegance! No hint of +dazzling colour! No smiling and satiric beauty! They +were just persons.</p> + +<p>At last, after formalities, Audrey and Miss Ingate +reached the foul and chilly custom-house appointed for the +examination of luggage. Unrecognisable peers and other +highnesses stood waiting at long counters, forming bays, +on which was nothing at all. Then, far behind, a truck +hugely piled with trunks rolled in through a back door +and men pitched the trunks like toys here and there on +the counters, and officials came into view, and knots of +travellers gathered round trunks, and locks were turned +and lids were lifted, and the flash of linen showed in spots +on the drabness of the scene. Miss Ingate observed with +horror the complete undoing of a lady’s large trunk, and +the exposure to the world’s harsh gaze of the most intimate +possessions of that lady. Soon the counters were like a +fair. But no trunk belonging to Audrey or to Miss Ingate +was visible. They knew then, what they had both privately +suspected ever since Charing Cross, that their trunks would +be lost on the journey.</p> + +<p>“Oh! My trunk!” cried Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Beneath a pile of other trunks on an incoming truck +she had espied her property. Audrey saw it, too. The +vision was magical. The trunk seemed like a piece of +home, a bit of Moze and of England. It drew affection +from them as though it had been an animal. They sped +towards it, forgetting their small baggage. Their <em>porteur</em> +leaped over the counter from behind and made signs for +a key. All Audrey’s trunks in turn joined Miss Ingate’s; +none was missing. And finally an official, small and fierce, +responded to the invocations of the <em>porteur</em> and established +himself at the counter in front of them. He put his hand +on Miss Ingate’s trunk.</p> + +<p>“Op-en,” he said in English.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate opened her purse, and indicated to the +official by signs that she had no key for the trunk, +and she also cried loudly, so that he should comprehend:</p> + +<p>“No key! ... Lost!”</p> + +<p>Then she looked awkwardly at Audrey.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been told they only want to open one trunk +when there’s a lot. Let him choose another one,” she +murmured archly.</p> + +<p>But the official merely walked away, to deal with the +trunks of somebody else close by.</p> + +<p>Audrey was cross.</p> + +<p>“Miss Ingate,” she said formally, “you had the key +when we started, because you showed it to me. You can’t +possibly have lost it.”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Winnie calmly and knowingly. “I +haven’t lost it. But I’m not going to have the things in +my trunk thrown about for all these foreigners to see. It’s +simply disgraceful. They ought to have women officials +and private rooms at these places. And they would have, +if women had the vote. Let him open one of your trunks. +All your things are new.”</p> + +<p>The <em>porteur</em> had meanwhile been discharging French +into Audrey’s other ear.</p> + +<p>“Of course you must open it, Winnie,” said she. +“Don’t be so absurd!” There was a persuasive lightness +in her voice, but there was also command. For a moment +she was the perfect widow.</p> + +<p>“I’d rather not.”</p> + +<p>“The <em>porteur</em> says we shall be here all night,” Audrey +persisted.</p> + +<p>“Do you know French?”</p> + +<p>“I learnt French at school, Winnie,” said the perfect +widow. “I can’t understand every word, but I can make +out the drift.” And Audrey went on translating the porter +according to her own wisdom. “He says there have been +dreadful scenes here before, when people have refused to +open their trunks, and the police have had to be called +in. He says the man won’t upset the things in your trunk +at all.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate gazed into the distance, and privately smiled. +Audrey had never guessed that in Miss Ingate were such +depths of obstinate stupidity. She felt quite distinctly that +her understanding of human nature was increasing.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Look!” said Miss Ingate casually. “I’m sure +those must be real Parisians!” Her offhandedness, her +inability to realise the situation, were exasperating to the +young widow. Audrey glanced where Miss Ingate had +pointed, and saw in the doorway of the custom-house two +women and a lad, all cloaked but all obviously in radiant +fancy dress, laughing together.</p> + +<p>“Don’t they look French!” said Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Audrey tapped her foot on the asphalt floor, while people +whose luggage had been examined bumped strenuously +against her in the effort to depart. She was extremely +pessimistic; she knew she could do nothing with Miss +Ingate; and the thought of the vast, flaring, rumbling city +beyond the station intimidated her. The <em>porteur</em>, who had +gone away to collect their neglected small baggage, now +returned, and nudged her, pointing to the official who had +resumed his place behind the trunks. He was certainly +a fierce man, but he was a little man, and there was an +agreeable peculiarity in his eye.</p> + +<p>Audrey, suddenly inspired and emboldened, faced him; +she shrugged her shoulders Gallically at Miss Ingate’s +trunk, and gave a sad, sweet, wistful smile, and then +put her hand with an exquisite inviting gesture on the +smallest of her own trunks. The act was a deliberate +exploitation of widowhood. The official fiercely shrugged +his shoulders and threw up his arms, and told the <em>porteur</em> +to open the small trunk.</p> + +<p>“I told you they would,” said Miss Ingate negligently.</p> + +<p>Audrey would have turned upon her and slain her had +she not been busy with the tremendous realisation of the +fact that by a glance and a gesture she had conquered the +customs official—a foreigner and a stranger. She wanted +to be alone and to think.</p> + +<p>Just as the trunk was being relocked, Audrey heard +an American girlish voice behind her:</p> + +<p>“Now, you must be Miss Ingate!”</p> + +<p>“I am,” Miss Ingate almost ecstatically admitted.</p> + +<p>The trio in cloaked fancy dress were surrounding Miss +Ingate like a bodyguard.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_9" id="chapter_9" />CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>LIFE IN PARIS</h3> + + +<p>Miss Thompkins and Miss Nickall were a charm to +dissipate all the affrighting menace of the city beyond the +station. Miss Thompkins had fluffy red hair, with the +freckles which too often accompany red hair, and was +addressed as Tommy. Miss Nickall had fluffy grey hair, +with warm, loving eyes, and was addressed as Nick. The +age of either might have been anything from twenty-four +to forty. The one came from Wyoming, the other from +Arizona; and it was instantly clear that they were close +friends. They had driven up to the terminus before going +to a fancy-dress ball to be given that night in the studio +of Monsieur Dauphin, a famous French painter and a +delightful man. They had met Monsieur Dauphin on the +previous evening on the terrace of the Café de Versailles, +and Monsieur had said, in response to their suggestion, +that he would be enchanted and too much honoured if they +would bring their English friends to his little “leaping"—that +was, hop.</p> + +<p>Also they had thought that it would be nice for the +travellers to be met at the terminus, especially as Miss +Ingate had been very particularly recommended to Miss +Thompkins by a whole group of people in London. It +was Miss Thompkins who had supplied the address of +reliable furnished rooms, and she and Nick would personally +introduce the ladies to their landlady, who was a +sweet creature.</p> + +<p>Tommy and Nick and Miss Ingate were at once on +terms of cordial informality; but the Americans seemed to +be a little diffident before the companion. Their voices, +at the introduction, had reinforced the surprise of their +first glances. “Oh! <em>Mrs.</em> Moncreiff!” The slightest +insistence, no more, on the “Mrs."! Nothing said, but +evidently they had expected somebody else!</p> + +<p>Then there was the boy, whom they called Musa. He +was dark, slim, with timorous great eyes, and attired in +red as a devil beneath his student’s cloak. He apologised +slowly in English for not being able to speak English. +He said he was very French, and Tommy and Nick smiled, +and he smiled back at them rather wistfully. When Tommy +and Nick had spoken with the chauffeurs in French he +interpreted their remarks. There were two motor-taxis, +one for the luggage.</p> + +<p>Miss Thompkins accompanied the luggage; she insisted +on doing so. She could tell sinister tales of Paris cabmen, +and she even delayed the departure in order to explain +that once in the suburbs and in the pre-taxi days a cabman +had threatened to drive her and himself into the Seine +unless she would be his bride, and she saved herself by +promising to be his bride and telling him that she lived +in the Avenue de l’Opéra; as soon as the cab reached a +populous thoroughfare she opened the cab door and squealed +and was rescued; she had let the driver go free because +of his good taste.</p> + +<p>As the procession whizzed through nocturnal streets, +some thunderous with traffic, others very quiet, but all +lined with lofty regular buildings, Audrey was penetrated +by the romance of this city where cabmen passionately and +to the point of suicide and murder adored their fares. +And she thought that perhaps, after all, Madame Piriac’s +impression of Paris might not be entirely misleading. Miss +Ingate and Nick talked easily, very charmed with one +another, both excited. Audrey said little, and the dark +youth said nothing. But once the dark youth murmured +shyly to Audrey in English:</p> + +<p>“Do you play at ten-nis, Madame?”</p> + +<p>They crossed a thoroughfare that twinkled and glittered +from end to end with moving sky-signs. Serpents pursued +burning serpents on the heights of that thoroughfare, invisible +hands wrote mystic words of warning and invitation, +and blazing kittens played with balls of incandescent wool. +Throngs of promenaders moved under theatrical trees that +waved their pale emerald against the velvet sky, and the +ground floor of every edifice was a glowing café, whose +tables, full of idle sippers and loungers, bulged out on to +the broad pavements.... The momentary vision was shut +off instantly as the taxis shot down the mouth of a dark +narrow street; but it had been long enough to make Audrey’s +heart throb.</p> + +<p>“What is that?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“That?” exclaimed Nick kindly. “Oh! That’s only +the <em>grand boulevard</em>.”</p> + +<p>Then they crossed the sombre, lamp-reflecting Seine, and +soon afterwards the two taxis stopped at a vast black door +in a very wide street of serried palatial façades that were +continually shaken by the rushing tumult of electric cars. +Tommy jumped out and pushed a button, and the door +automatically split in two, disclosing a vast and dim tunnel. +Tommy ran within, and came out again with a coatless man +in a black-and-yellow striped waistcoat and a short white +apron. This man, Musa, and the two chauffeurs entered +swiftly into a complex altercation, which endured until +Audrey had paid the chauffeurs and all the trunks had been +transported behind the immense door and the door bangingly +shut.</p> + +<p>“Vehy amusing, isn’t it?” whispered Miss Ingate +caustically to Audrey. “Aren’t they dears?”</p> + +<p>“Madame Dubois’s establishment is on the third and +fourth floors,” said Nick.</p> + +<p>They climbed a broad, curving, carpeted staircase.</p> + +<p>“We’re here,” said Audrey to Miss Ingate after scores +of stairs.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate, breathless, could only smile.</p> + +<p>And Audrey profoundly felt that she was in Paris. The +mere shape of the doorknob by the side of a brass plate +lettered “Madame Dubois” told her that she was in an +exotic land.</p> + +<p>And in the interior of Madame Dubois’s establishment +Tommy and Nick together drew apart the curtains, opened +the windows, and opened the shutters of a pleasantly stuffy +sitting-room. Everybody leaned out, and they saw the +superb thoroughfare, straight and interminable, and the +moving roofs of the tram-cars, and dwarfs on the pavements. +The night was mild and languorous.</p> + +<p>“You see that!” Nick pointed to a blaze of electricity +to the left on the opposite side of the road. “That’s where +we shall take you to dine, after you’ve spruced yourselves up. +You needn’t bother about fancy dress. Monsieur Dauphin +always has stacks of kimonos—for his models, you know.”</p> + +<p>While the travellers spruced themselves up in different bedrooms, +Tommy chattered through one pair of double doors +ajar, and Nick through the other, and Musa strummed with +many mistakes on an antique Pleyel piano. And as Audrey +listened to the talk of these acquaintances, Tommy and Nick, +who in half an hour had put on the hue of her lifelong friends, +and as she heard the piano, and felt the vibration of cars far +beneath, she decided that she was still growing happier and +happier, and that life and the world were marvellous.</p> + +<p>A little later they passed into the café-restaurant through +a throng of seated sippers who were spread around its portals +like a defence. The interior, low, and stretching backwards, +apparently endless, into the bowels of the building, +was swimming in the brightest light. At a raised semicircular +counter in the centre two women were enthroned, +plump, sedate, darkly dressed, and of middle age. To these +priestesses came a constant succession of waiters, in the +classic garb of waiters, bearing trays which they offered +to the gaze of the women, and afterwards throwing down +coins that rang on the marble of the counter. One of the +women wrote swiftly in a great tome. Both of them, while +performing their duties, glanced continually into every part +of the establishment, watching especially each departure and +each arrival.</p> + +<p>At scores of tables were the most heterogeneous collection +of people that Audrey had ever seen; men and women, +girls and old men, even a few children with their mothers. +Liquids were of every colour, ices chromatic, and the scarlet +of lobster made a luscious contrast with the shaded tints of +salads. In the extreme background men were playing billiards +at three tables. Though nearly everybody was talking, +no one talked loudly, so that the resulting monotone of +conversation was a gentle drone, out of which shot up at +intervals the crash of crockery or a hoarse command. And +this drone combined itself with the glittering light, and with +the mild warmth that floated in waves through the open windows, +and with the red plush of the seats, and with the rosiness +of painted nymphs on the blue walls, and with the +complexions of women’s faces, and their hats and frocks, +and with the hues of the liquids—to produce a totality of +impression that made Audrey dizzy with ecstasy. This was +not the Paris set forth by Madame Piriac, but it was a wondrous +Paris, and in Audrey’s esteem not far removed from +heaven.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate, magnificently pale, followed Tommy and +Nick with ironic delight up the long passage between the +tables. Her eyes seemed to be saying: “I am overpowered, +and yet there is something in me that is not overpowered, and +by virtue of my kind-hearted derision I, from Essex, am +superior to you all!” Audrey, with glance downcast, followed +Miss Ingate, and Musa came last, sinuously. Nobody +looked up at them more than casually, but at intervals during +the passage Tommy and Nick nodded and smiled: “How +d’ye do? How d’ye do?” “<em>Bon soir,</em>“ and answers were +given in American or French voices.</p> + +<p>They came to rest near the billiard tables, and near an +aperture with a shelf where all the waiters congregated to +shout their orders. A grey-haired waiter, with the rapidity +and dexterity of a conjurer, laid a cloth over the marble +round which they sat, Audrey and Miss Ingate on the plush +bench, and Tommy and Nick, with Musa between them, on +chairs opposite. The waiter then discussed with them for +five minutes what they should eat, and he argued the problem +seriously, wisely, helpfully, as befitted. It was Audrey, +in full view of a buffet laden with shell-fish and fruit, who +first suggested lobster, and lobster was chosen, nothing but +lobster. Miss Ingate said that she was not a bit tired, and +that lobster was her dream. The sentiment was universal +at the table. When asked what she would drink, Audrey +was on the point of answering “lemonade.” But a doubt +about the propriety of everlasting lemonade for a widow with +much knowledge of the world, stopped her.</p> + +<p>“I vote we all have grenadines,” said Nick.</p> + +<p>Grenadine was agreeable to Audrey’s ear, and everyone +concurred.</p> + +<p>The ordering was always summarised and explained by +Musa in a few phrases which, to Audrey, sounded very different +from the French of Tommy and Nick. And she took +oath that she would instantly begin to learn to speak French, +not like Tommy and Nick, whose accent she cruelly despised, +but like Musa.</p> + +<p>Then Tommy and Nick removed their cloaks, and sat displayed +as a geisha and a contadina, respectively. Musa had +already unmasked his devilry. The café was not in the least +disturbed by these gorgeous and strange apparitions. An +orchestra began to play. Lobster arrived, and high glasses +full of glinting green. Audrey ate and drank with gusto, +with innocence, with the intensest love of life. And she was +the most beautiful and touching sight in the café-restaurant. +Miss Ingate, grinning, caught her eye with joyous mockery. +“We are going it, aren’t we, Audrey?” shrieked Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Miss Thompkins and Miss Nickall began slowly to differentiate +themselves in Audrey’s mind. At first they were +merely two American girls—the first Audrey had met. They +were of about the same age—whatever that age might be—and +if they were not exactly of the same age, then Tommy +with red hair was older than Nick with grey hair. Indeed, +Nick took the earliest opportunity to remark that her hair +had turned grey at nineteen. They both had dreamy eyes +that looked through instead of looking at; they were both +hazy concerning matters of fact; they were both attached +like a couple of aunts to Musa, who nestled between them +like a cat between two cushions; they were both extraordinarily +friendly and hospitable; they both painted and both +had studios—in the same house; they both showed quite +a remarkable admiration and esteem for all their acquaintances; +and they both lacked interest in their complexions +and their hair.</p> + +<p>The resemblance did not go very much farther. Tommy, +for all her praising of friends, was of a critical, curious, and +analytical disposition, and her greenish eyes were always at +work qualifying in a very subtle manner what her tongue +said, when her tongue was benevolent, as it often was. +Feminism and suffragism being the tie between the new +acquaintances, these subjects were the first material of conversation, +and an empress of militancy known to the world +as “Rosamund” having been mentioned, Miss Ingate said +with enthusiasm:</p> + +<p>“She lives only for one thing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Tommy. “And if she got it, I guess no +one would be more disgusted than she herself.”</p> + +<p>There was an instant’s silence.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tommy!” Nick lovingly protested.</p> + +<p>Said Miss Ingate with a comprehending satiric grin:</p> + +<p>“I see what you mean. I quite see. I quite see. You’re +right, Miss Thompkins. I’m sure you’re right.”</p> + +<p>Audrey decided she would have to be very clever in +order to be equal to Tommy’s subtlety. Nick, on the other +hand, was not a bit subtle, except when she tried to imitate +Tommy. Nick was kindness, and sympathy, and vagueness. +You could see these admirable qualities in every curve of her +face and gleam of her eyes. She was very sympathetic, but +somewhat shocked when Audrey blurted out that she had not +come to Paris in order to paint.</p> + +<p>“There are at least fifty painters in this café this very +minute,” said Tommy. And somehow it was just as if she +had said: “If you haven’t come to Paris to paint, what have +you come for?”</p> + +<p>“Does Mr. Musa paint, too?” asked Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Oh <em>no</em>!” Both his protectresses answered together, +pained. Tommy added: “Musa plays the violin—of course.”</p> + +<p>And Musa blushed. Later, he murmured to Audrey +across the table, while Tommy was ordering a salad, that +there were tennis courts in the Luxembourg gardens.</p> + +<p>“I used to paint,” Miss Ingate broke out. “And I’m +beginning to think I should like to paint again.”</p> + +<p>Said Nick, enraptured:</p> + +<p>“I’ll let you use my studio, if you will. I’d just love you +to, now! Where did you study?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was like this,” said Miss Ingate with satisfaction. +“It was a long time ago. I finished painting a +dog-kennel because the house-painter’s wife died and he had +to go to her funeral, and the dog didn’t like being kept waiting. +That gave me the idea. I went into water-colours, but +afterwards I went back to oils. Oils seemed more real. Then +I started on portraits, and I did a portrait of my Aunt Sarah +from memory. After she saw it she tore up her will, and +before I could get her into a good temper again she married +her third husband and she had to make a new will in favour +of him. So I found painting very expensive. Not that it +would have made any difference, I suppose, would it? After +that I went into miniatures. The same dog that I painted +the kennel for ate up the best miniature I ever did. It killed +him. I put a cross over his grave in the garden. All that +made me see what a fool I’d been, and I exchanged my painting +things for a lawn-mower, but it never turned out to be +any good.”</p> + +<p>“You dear! You precious! You priceless!” cooed Nick. +“I shall fix up my second best easel for you to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t she just too lovely!” Tommy murmured aside to +Audrey.</p> + +<p>“I not much understand,” said Musa.</p> + +<p>Tommy translated to him, haltingly, and Audrey was +moved to say, with energy:</p> + +<p>“What I want most is to learn French, and I’m going +to begin to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>Nick was kindly confusing and shaming Miss Ingate +with a short history and catechism of modern art, including +such names as Vuillard, Bonnard, Picasso, Signac, and +Matisse—all very eagerly poured out and all very unnerving +for Miss Ingate, whose directory of painting was practically +limited to the names of Raphael, Sir Joshua, Rembrandt, +Rubens, Gainsborough, Turner, Leighton, Millais, Gustave +Doré and Frank Dicksee. When, however, Nick referred +to Monsieur Dauphin, Miss Ingate was as it were washed +safely ashore and said with assurance: “Oh yes! Oh +yes! Oh yes!”</p> + +<p>Tommy listened for a few moments, and then, leaning +across the table and lighting a cigarette, she said in an +intimate undertone to Audrey: “I hope you don’t <em>mind</em> +coming to the ball to-night. We really didn’t know———” +She stopped. Her eyes, ferreting in Audrey’s black, completed +the communication.</p> + +<p>Unnerved for the tenth of a second, Audrey recovered +and answered:</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! I shall like it very much.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve been up against life!” murmured Tommy in a +melting voice, gazing at her. “But how wonderful all experience +is, isn’t it. I once had a husband. We separated—at +least, he separated. But I know the feel of being a wife.”</p> + +<p>Audrey blushed deeply. She wanted to push away all +that sympathy, and she was exceedingly alarmed by the +revelation that Tommy was an initiate. The widow was +the merest schoolgirl once more. But her blush had saved +her from a chat in which she could not conceivably have +held her own.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me being so clumsy,” said Tommy contritely. +“Another time.” And she waved her cigarette to the waiter +in demand for the bill.</p> + +<p>It was after the orchestra had finished a tango, and +while Tommy was examining the bill, that the first violin +and leader, in a magenta coat, approached the table, and +with a bow offered his violin deferentially to Musa. Many +heads turned to watch what would happen. But Musa only +shrugged his shoulders and with an exquisite gesture of +refusal signified that he had to leave. Whereupon the +magenta coat gracefully retired, starting a Hungarian +dance as he went.</p> + +<p>“Musa is supposed to be the greatest violinist in Paris—perhaps +in the world,” Tommy whispered casually to +Audrey. “He used to play here, till Dauphin discovered +him.”</p> + +<p>Audrey, overcome by this prodigious blow, trembled at +the contemplation of her blind stupidity.</p> + +<p>Beyond question, Musa now looked extremely important, +vivid, masterful. She had been mistaking him for a nice, +ornamental, useless boy.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_10" id="chapter_10" />CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>FANCY DRESS</h3> + + +<p>Just as the café-restaurant had been an intensification of +ordinary life, so was the ball in Dauphin’s studio an intensification +of the café-restaurant. It had more colour, more +noise, more music, more heat, more varied kinds of people, +and, of course, far more riotous movement than the café-restaurant. +The only quality in which the café-restaurant +stood first was that of sustenance. Monsieur Dauphin had +not attempted to rival the café-restaurant in the matter of +food and drink. And that there was no general hope of +his doing so could be deduced from the fact that many +of the more experienced guests arrived with bottles, fruit, +sausages, and sandwiches of their own.</p> + +<p>When Audrey and her friends entered the precincts of +the vast new white building in the Boulevard Raspail, upon +whose topmost floor Monsieur Dauphin painted the portraits +of the women of the French, British, and American plutocracies +and aristocracies, a lift full of gay-coloured figures +was just shooting upwards past the wrought-iron balustrades +of the gigantic staircase. Tommy and Nick stopped to speak +to a columbine who hovered between the pavement and the +threshold of the house.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whether it’s the grenadine or the lobster, +or whether it’s Paris,” said Miss Ingate confidentially in the +interval; “but I can scarcely tell whether I’m standing on +my head or my heels.”</p> + +<p>Before the Americans rejoined them, the lift had returned +and ascended with another covey of fancy costumes, including +a man with a nose a foot long and a girl with bright +green hair, dressed as an acrobat. On its next journey the +lift held Tommy and Nick’s party, and it held no more.</p> + +<p>When the party emerged from it, they were greeted with +a cheer, hoarse and half human, by a band of light amateur +mountebanks of both sexes who were huddled in a doorway. +Within a quarter of an hour Audrey and Miss Ingate, after +astounding struggles in a dressing-room in which Nick alone +saved their lives and reputations, appeared in Japanese disguise +according to promise, and nobody could tell whether +Audrey was maid, wife, or widow. She might have been a +creature created on the spot, for the celestial purpose of a +fancy-dress ball in Monsieur Dauphin’s studio.</p> + +<p>The studio was very large and rather lofty. Its walls +had been painted by gifted pupils of Monsieur Dauphin +and by fellow-artists, with scenes of life according to +Catullus, Theocritus, Propertius, Martial, Petronius, and +other classical writers. It is not too much to say that the +walls of the studio constituted a complete novelty for Audrey +and Miss Ingate. Miss Ingate opened her mouth to say +something, but, saying nothing, forgot for a long time to +shut it again.</p> + +<p>Chinese lanterns, electrically illuminated, were strung +across the studio at a convenient height so that athletic +dancers could prodigiously leap up and make them swing. +Beneath this incoherent but exciting radiance the guests +swayed and glided, in a joyous din, under the influence of +an orchestra of men snouted like pigs and raised on a dais. +In a corner was a spiral staircase leading to the flat roof +of the studio and a view of all Paris. Up and down this +corkscrew contending parties fought amiably for the right +of way.</p> + +<p>Tommy and Nick began instantly to perform introductions +between Audrey and Miss Ingate and the other guests. +In a few moments Audrey had failed to catch the names of +a score and a half of people—many Americans, some French, +some Argentine, one or two English. They were all very +talented people, and, according to Miss Ingate, the most +characteristically French were invariably either Americans +or Argentines.</p> + +<p>A telephone bell rang in the distance, and presently a +toreador stood on a chair and pierced the music with a +message of yells in French, and the room hugely guffawed +and cheered.</p> + +<p>“Where is the host?” Audrey asked.</p> + +<p>“That’s what the telephoning was about,” said Tommy, +speaking loudly against the hubbub. “He hasn’t come yet. +He had to rush off this afternoon to do pastel portraits of two +Russian princesses at St. Germain, and he hasn’t got back +yet. The telephone was to say that he’s started.”</p> + +<p>Then one of the introduced—it was a girl wearing a mask +—took Audrey by the waist and whirled her strongly away +and she was lost in the maze. Audrey’s first impulse was to +protest, but she said to herself: “Why protest? This is +what we’re here for.” And she gave herself up to the dance. +Her partner held her very firmly, somewhat bending over +her. Neither spoke. Gyrating in long curves, with the other +dancers swishing mysteriously about them like the dancers of +a dream, and the music as far off as another world, they +clung together in the rhythm and in the enchantment, until +the music ceased.... The strong girl threw Audrey carelessly +off, and walked away, breathing hard. And there was +something in the strong girl’s nonchalant and curt departure +which woke a chord in Audrey’s soul that had never been +wakened before. Audrey could scarcely credit that she was +on the same planet as Essex. She had many dances with +men whom she hoped and believed she had been introduced to +by Tommy, and no less than seventeen persons of either sex +told her in unusual English that they had heard she wanted +to learn French and that they would like to teach her; and +then she met Musa, the devil.</p> + +<p>Musa, with an indolent and wistful smile, suggested the +roof. Audrey was now just one of the throng, and quite +unconscious of herself; she fought archly and gaily on the +spiral staircase exactly as she had seen others do, and at last +they were on the roof, and the silhouettes of other fantastic +figures and of cowled chimney pots stood out dark against the +vague yellow glow of the city beneath. While Musa was +pointing out the historic landmarks to her, she was thinking +how she could never again be the girl who had left Moze +on the previous morning. And yet Musa was so natural and +so direct that it was impossible to take him for anything but +a boy, and hence Audrey sank back into early girlhood, +talking spasmodically to Musa as she used in school days to +talk to the brother of her school friend.</p> + +<p>“I will teach you French,” said Musa, unaware that he +had numerous predecessors in the offer. “But will you play +tennis with me in the gardens of the Luxembourg?”</p> + +<p>Audrey said she would, and that she would buy a +racket.</p> + +<p>“Tell me about all those artists Miss Nickall spoke of,” +she said. “I must know about all the artists, and all the +musicians, and all the authors. I must know all about them +at once. I shan’t sleep until I know all their names and I +can talk French. I shan’t <em>sleep</em>.”</p> + +<p>Musa began the catalogue. When a girl came and +chucked him under the chin, he angrily slapped her face. +Then, to avoid complications, they descended.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the studio, wearing a silk hat, a morning +coat, striped trousers, yellow gloves, and boots with spats, +stood a smiling figure.</p> + +<p>“<em>Voilà</em> Dauphin!” said Musa.</p> + +<p>“Musa!” called Monsieur Dauphin, espying the youth on +the staircase. Then he made a gesture to the orchestra: +“Give him a violin!”</p> + +<p>Audrey stood by Musa while he played a dance that nobody +danced to, and when he had finished she was rather +ashamed, under the curtain of wild cheering, because with her +Essex incredulity she had not sufficiently believed in Musa’s +greatness.</p> + +<p>“Permit your host to introduce himself,” said a voice +behind her, not in the correct English of a linguistic Frenchman, +but in utterly English English. She had now +descended to the floor of the studio.</p> + +<p>Emile Dauphin raised his glossy hat, and then asked to +be allowed to put it on again, as the company had decided +that it was part of his costume. He had a delicious smile, at +once respectful and intimate. Audrey had read somewhere +that really great men were always simple and unaffected—indeed +that it was often impossible to guess from their +demeanour that, etc., etc.—and this experience of the first +celebrity with whom she had ever spoken (except Musa, who +was somehow only Musa) confirmed the statement, and confirmed +also her young instinctive belief that what is printed +must be true. She was beginning to feel the stealthy on-comings +of fatigue, and certainly she was very nervous, but +Monsieur Dauphin’s quite particularly sympathetic manner, +and her own sudden determination not to be a little blushing +fool gave her new power.</p> + +<p>“I can’t express to you,” he said, moving towards the +dais and mesmerising her to keep by his side. “I can’t +express to you how sorry I was to be so late.” He made +the apology with lightness, but with sincerity. Audrey knew +how polite the French were. “But truly circumstances were +too much for me. Those two Russian princesses—they came +to me through a mutual friend, a dear old friend of mine, +very closely attached also to them. They leave to-morrow +morning by the St. Petersburg express, on which they have +engaged a special coach. What was I to do? I tried to +tear myself away earlier, but of course there were the portrait +sketches to finish, and no doubt you know the usage of the +best society in Russia.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” murmured Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Come up on the dais, will you?” he suggested. “And +let us survey the scene together.”</p> + +<p>They surveyed the scene together. The snouted band +was having supper on the floor in a corner, and many +of the guests also were seated on the floor. Miss Ingate, +intoxicated by the rapture of existence, and Miss +Thompkins were carefully examining the frescoes on +the walls. A young woman covered from head to foot with +gold tinsel was throwing chocolates into Musa’s mouth, or +as near to it as she could.</p> + +<p>“What a splendid player Mr. Musa is!” Audrey inaugurated +her career as a woman of the world. “I doubt +if I have ever heard such violin playing.”</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad you think so,” replied Monsieur Dauphin. +“Of course you know I’m very conceited about my +painting. Anybody will tell you so. But beneath all that +I’m not so sure. I often have the gravest doubts about +my work. But I never had any doubt that when I took +Musa out of the orchestra in the Café de Versailles I was +giving a genius to the world. And perhaps that’s how +I shall be remembered by posterity. And if it is I shall +be content.”</p> + +<p>Never before had Audrey heard anybody connect himself +with posterity, and she was very much impressed. Monsieur +Dauphin was resigned and yet brave. By no means convinced +that posterity would do the right thing, he nevertheless +had no grudge against posterity.</p> + +<p>Just then there was a sharp scream at the top of the +spiral staircase. With a smile that condoned the scream +and excused his flight, Monsieur Dauphin ran to the +staircase, and up it, and disappeared on to the roof. +Nobody seemed to be perturbed. Audrey was left alone +and conspicuous on the dais.</p> + +<p>“Charming, isn’t he?” said Miss Thompkins, arriving +with Miss Ingate in front of the flower-screened +platform.</p> + +<p>“Oh! he is!” answered Audrey with sincerity, leaning +downwards.</p> + +<p>“Has he told you all about the Russian princesses?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Audrey, pleased.</p> + +<p>“I thought he would,” said Miss Thompkins, with a +peculiar intonation.</p> + +<p>Audrey knew then that Miss Thompkins, having first +maliciously made sure that she was a ninny, was now +telling her to her face that she was a ninny.</p> + +<p>Tommy continued:</p> + +<p>“Then I guess he told you he’d given Musa to the +world.”</p> + +<p>Audrey nodded.</p> + +<p>“Ah! I knew he would. Well, when he comes back +he’ll tell you that you must come to one of his <em>real</em> +entertainments here, and that this one is nothing. Then +he’ll tell you about all the nobs he knows in London. And +at last he’ll say that you have a strangely expressive face, +and he’d like to paint it and show the picture in the +Salon. But he won’t tell you it’ll cost you forty thousand +francs. So I’ll tell you that, because perhaps later on, +if you don’t know, you might find yourself making a noise +like a tenderfoot. You see, Miss Ingate hasn’t concealed +that you’re a lady millionaire.”</p> + +<p>“No, I haven’t,” said Miss Ingate, glowing and yet +sarcastic. “I couldn’t bring myself to, because I was so +anxious to see if human nature in Paris is anything like +what it is in Essex.”</p> + +<p>“And why should you hide it, Winnie?” Audrey stoutly +demanded.</p> + +<p>“Well, au revoir,” Tommy murmured delicately, with +a very original gesture. “He’s coming back.”</p> + +<p>As Monsieur Dauphin, having apparently established +peace on the roof, approached again, Audrey discreetly +examined his face and his demeanour, to see if she could +perceive in him any of the sinister things that Tommy +had implied. She was unable to make up her mind whether +she could or not. But in the end she decided that she +was as shrewd as anybody in the place.</p> + +<p>“Have you been to my roof-garden, Mrs. Moncreiff?” +he asked in a persuasive voice, raising his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>She said she had, and that she thought the roof was +heavenly.</p> + +<p>Then from the corner of her eye she saw Miss Ingate +and Tommy sidling mischievously away, like conspirators +who have lighted a time fuse. She considered that Tommy, +with her red hair and freckles, and strange glances and +strange tones full of a naughty and malicious sweetness, +was even more peculiar than Miss Ingate. But she was +not intimidated by them nor by the illustrious Monsieur +Dauphin, so perfectly master of his faculties. Rather she +was exultant in the contagion of their malice. Once more +she felt as if she had ceased to be a girl a very long +time ago. And she was aware of agreeable and exciting +temptations.</p> + +<p>“Are you taking a house in Paris?” inquired Monsieur +Dauphin.</p> + +<p>Audrey answered primly:</p> + +<p>“I haven’t decided. Should you advise me to do so?”</p> + +<p>He waved a hand.</p> + +<p>“Ah! It depends on the life you wish to lead. Who +knows—with a young woman who has all experience behind +her and all life before her! But I do hope I may see +you again. And I trust I may persuade you to come to +my studio again.” Audrey felt the thrill of drama as he +proceeded. “This is scarcely a night for you. I ought +to tell you that I give three entertainments during the +autumn. To-night is the first. It is for students and those +English and Americans who think they are seeing Paris +here. Then I give another for the political and dramatic +worlds. Each is secretly proud to meet the other. The +third I reserve to my friends. Some of my many friends +in London are good enough to come over specially for it. +It is on Christmas Eve. I do wish you would come to +that one.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” she said, catching the diabolic glances of +Miss Ingate and Tommy, “I suppose you know almost +more people in London than in Paris?”</p> + +<p>He answered:</p> + +<p>“Well, I count among my friends more than two-thirds +of the subscribers to Covent Garden Opera.... By the +way, do you happen to be connected with the Moncreiffs +of Suddon Wester? They have a charming house in Hyde +Park Terrace. But probably you know it?”</p> + +<p>Audrey burst out laughing. She laughed loud and +violently till the tears stood in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, at a loss, deprecatingly. “Perhaps +these Moncreiffs <em>are</em> rather weird.”</p> + +<p>“I was only laughing,” she said in gasps, but with a +complete secret composure. “Because we had such an awful +quarrel with them last year. I couldn’t tell you the details. +They’re too shocking.”</p> + +<p>He gave a dubious smile.</p> + +<p>“D’you know, dear young lady,” he recommenced after +a brief pause, “I should adore to paint a portrait of you +laughing. It would be very well hung in the Salon. Your +face is so strangely expressive. It is utterly different, in +expression, from any other face I ever saw—and I have +studied faces.”</p> + +<p>Heedless of the general interest which she was arousing, +Audrey leaned on the rail of the screen of flowers, and +gave herself up afresh to laughter. Monsieur Dauphin +was decidedly puzzled. The affair might have ended in +hysteria and confusion had not Miss Ingate, with Nick +and Tommy, come hurrying up to the dais.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_11" id="chapter_11" />CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>A POLITICAL REFUGEE</h3> + + +<p>“Rosamund has come to my studio and wants to see me +at once. <em>She has sent for me.</em> Miss Ingate says she +shall go, too.”</p> + +<p>It was these words in a highly emotionalised voice from +Miss Nickall that, like a vague murmured message of vast +events, drew the entire quartet away from the bright +inebriated scene created by Monsieur Dauphin.</p> + +<p>The single word “Rosamund” sufficed to break one +mood and induce another in all bosoms save that of Audrey, +who was in a state of permanent joyous exultation that +she scarcely even attempted to control. The great militant +had a surname, but it was rarely used save by police +magistrates. Her Christian name alone was more impressive +than the myriad cognomens of queens and princesses. Miss +Nickall ran away home at once. Miss Thompkins was +left to deliver Miss Ingate and Audrey at Nick’s studio, +which, being in the Rue Delambre, was not far away. +And not the shedding of the kimono and the re-assumption +of European attire could affect Audrey’s spirits. Had +she been capable of regret in that hour, she would have +regretted the abandonment of the ball, where the refined, +spiritual, strange faces of the men, and the enigmatic +quality of the women, and the exceeding novelty of the +social code had begun to arouse in her sentiments of +approval and admiration. But she quitted the staggering +frolic without a sigh; for she carried within her a frolic +surpassing anything exterior or physical.</p> + +<p>The immense flickering boulevard with its double +roadway stretched away to the horizon on either hand, +empty.</p> + +<p>“What time is it?” asked Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Tommy looked at her wrist-watch.</p> + +<p>“Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me!” cried Audrey.</p> + +<p>“We might get a taxi in the Rue de Babylone,” Tommy +suggested. “Or shall we walk?”</p> + +<p>“We <em>must</em> walk,” cried Audrey.</p> + +<p>She knew the name of the street. In the distance she +could recognise the dying lights of the café-restaurant where +they had eaten. She felt already like an inhabitant of +the dreamed-of city. It was almost inconceivable to her +that she had been within it for only a few hours, and that +England lay less than a day behind her in the past, and +Moze less than two days. And Aguilar the morose, and +the shuttered rooms of Flank Hall, shot for an instant into +her mind and out again.</p> + +<p>The other two women walked rather quickly, mesmerised +possibly by the magic of the illustrious Christian name, +and Audrey gave occasional schoolgirlish leaps by their +side. A little policeman appeared inquisitive from a by-street, +and Audrey tossed her head as if saying: “Pooh! I belong +here. All the mystery of this city is mine, and I am as +at home as in Moze Street.”</p> + +<p>And as they surged through the echoing solitude of +the boulevard, and as they crossed the equally tremendous +boulevard that cut through it east and west, Tommy told +the story of Nick’s previous relations with Rosamund. Nick +had met Rosamund once before through her English chum, +Betty Burke, an art student who had ultimately sacrificed +art to the welfare of her sex, but who with Mrs. Burke +had shared rooms and studio with Nick for many months. +Tommy’s narrative was spotted with hardly perceptible +sarcasms concerning art, women, Betty Burke, Mrs. Burke, +and Nick; but she put no barb into Rosamund. And +when Miss Ingate, who had never met Rosamund, asked +what Rosamund amounted to in the esteem of Tommy, +Tommy evaded the question. Miss Ingate remembered, +however, what she had said in the café-restaurant.</p> + +<p>Then they turned into the Rue Delambre, and Tommy +halted them in the deep obscurity in front of another of +those huge black doors which throughout Paris seemed +to guard the secrets of individual life. An automobile +was waiting close by. A little door in the huge one +clicked and yielded, and they climbed over a step into +black darkness.</p> + +<p>“Thompkins!” called Miss Thompkins loudly to the +black darkness, to reassure the drowsy concierge in his +hidden den, shutting the door with a bang behind them; +and, groping for the hands of the others, she dragged +them forward stumbling.</p> + +<p>“I never have a match,” she said.</p> + +<p>They blundered up tenebrous stairs.</p> + +<p>“We’re just passing my door,” said Tommy. “Nick’s +is higher up.”</p> + +<p>Then a perpendicular slit of light showed itself—and +a portal slightly open could be distinguished.</p> + +<p>“I shall quit here,” said Tommy. “You go right in.”</p> + +<p>“You aren’t leaving us?” exclaimed Miss Ingate in +alarm.</p> + +<p>“I won’t go in,” Tommy persisted in a quiet satiric +tone. “I’ll leave my door open below, and see you when +you come down.”</p> + +<p>She could be heard descending.</p> + +<p>“Why, I guess they’re here,” said a voice, Nick’s, +within, and the door was pulled wide open.</p> + +<p>“My legs are all of a tremble!” muttered Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Nick’s studio seemed larger than reality because of its +inadequate illumination. On a small paint-stained table +in the centre was an oil-lamp beneath a round shade that +had been decorated by some artist’s hand with a series +of reclining women in many colours. This lamp made a +moon in the midnight of the studio, but it was a moon +almost without rays; the shade seemed to imprison the +light, save that which escaped from its superior orifice. +Against the table stood a tall thin woman in black. Her +face was lit by the rays escaping upward; a pale, firm, +bland face, with rather prominent cheeks, loose grey hair +above, surmounted by a toque. The dress was dark, and +the only noticeable feature of it was that the sleeves were +finished in white linen; from these the hands emerged +calm and veined under the lampshade; in one of them +a pair of gloves were clasped. On the table lay a thin +mantle.</p> + +<p>At the back of the studio there sat another woman, so +engloomed that no detail of her could be distinguished.</p> + +<p>“As I was saying,” the tall upright woman resumed as +soon as Miss Ingate and Audrey had been introduced. +“Betty Burke is in prison. She got six weeks this morning. +She may never come out again. Almost her last words from +the dock were that you, Miss Nickall, should be asked to go +to London to look after Mrs. Burke, and perhaps to take +Betty’s place in other ways. She said that her mother preferred +you to anybody else, and that she was sure you would +come. Shall you?”</p> + +<p>The accents were very clear, the face was delicately +smiling, the little gestures had a quite tranquil quality. +Rosamund did not seem to care whether Miss Nickall obeyed +the summons or not. She did not seem to care about anything +whatever except her own manner of existing. She was +the centre of Paris, and Paris was naught but a circumference +for her. All phenomena beyond the individuality of the +woman were reduced to the irrelevant and the negligible. It +would have been absurd to mention to her costume balls. +The frost of her indifference would have wilted them into +nothingness.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course, I shall go,” Nick answered.</p> + +<p>“When?” was the implacable question.</p> + +<p>“Oh! By the first train,” said Nick eagerly. As she +approached the lamp, the gleam of the devotee could be seen +in her gaze. In one moment she had sacrificed Paris and art +and Tommy and herself, and had risen to the sacred ardour +of a vocation. Rosamund was well accustomed to watching +the process, and she gave not the least sign of satisfaction or +approval.</p> + +<p>“I ought to tell you,” she went on, “that I came over +from London suddenly by the afternoon service in order to +escape arrest. I am now a political refugee. Things have +come to this pass. You will do well to leave by the first +train. That is why I decided to call here before going to +bed.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s Tommy?” asked Nick, appealing wildly to +Miss Ingate and Audrey. Upon being answered she said, +still more wildly: “I must see her. Can you—No, I’ll run +down myself.” In the doorway she turned round: “Mrs. +Moncreiff, would you and Miss Ingate like to have my studio +while I’m away? I should just love you to. There’s a very +nice bed over there behind the screen, and a fair sort of couch +over here. Do say you will! <em>Do</em>!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! We will!” Miss Ingate replied at once, reassuringly, +as though in haste to grant the supreme request of +some condemned victim. And indeed Miss Nickall appeared +ready to burst into tears if she should be thwarted.</p> + +<p>As soon as Nick had gone, Miss Ingate’s smiling face, +nervous, intimidated, audacious, sardonic, and good +humoured, moved out of the gloom nearer to Rosamund.</p> + +<p>“You knew I played the barrel organ all down Regent +Street?” she ventured, blushing.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” murmured Rosamund, unmoved. “It was you +who played the barrel-organ? So it was.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Miss Ingate. “But I’m like you. I don’t +care passionately for prison. Eh! Eh! I’m not so vehy, +vehy fond of it. I don’t know Miss Burke, but what a pity +she has got six weeks, isn’t it? Still, I was vehy much +struck by what someone said to me to-day—that you’d be +vehy sorry if women <em>did</em> get the vote. I think I should be +sorry, too—you know what I mean.”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly,” ejaculated Rosamund, with a pleasant smile.</p> + +<p>“I hope I’m not skidding,” said Miss Ingate still more +timidly, but also with a sardonic giggle, looking round into +the gloom. “I do skid sometimes, you know, and we’ve just +come away from a——”</p> + +<p>She could not finish.</p> + +<p>“And Mrs. Moncreiff, if I’ve got the name right, is she +with us, too?” asked Rosamund, miraculously urbane. And +added: “I hear she has wealth and is the mistress of it.”</p> + +<p>Audrey jumped up, smiling, and lifting her veil. She +could not help smiling. The studio, the lamp, Rosamund +with her miraculous self-complacency, Nick with her soft, +mad eyes and wistful voice, the blundering ruthless Miss +Ingate, all seemed intensely absurd to her. Everything +seemed absurd except dancing and revelry and coloured lights +and strange disguises and sensuous contacts. She had the +most careless contempt, stiffened by a slight loathing, for +political movements and every melancholy effort to reform +the world. The world did not need reforming and did not +want to be reformed.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you don’t know my story,” Audrey began, not +realising how she would continue. “I am a widow. I made +an unhappy marriage. My husband on the day after our +wedding-day began to eat peas with his knife. In a week +I was forced to leave him. And a fortnight later I heard +that he was dead of blood-poisoning. He had cut his +mouth.”</p> + +<p>And she thought:</p> + +<p>“What is the matter with me? I have ruined myself.” +All her exultation had collapsed.</p> + +<p>But Rosamund remarked gravely:</p> + +<p>“It is a common story.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a movement in the obscure corner +where sat the unnamed and unintroduced lady. This lady +rose and came towards the table. She was very elegant in +dress and manner, and she looked maturely young.</p> + +<p>“Madame Piriac,” announced Rosamund.</p> + +<p>Audrey recoiled.... Gazing hard at the face, she saw +in it a vague but undeniable resemblance to certain admired +photographs which had arrived at Moze from France.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me!” said Madame Piriac in English with a +strong French accent. “I shall like very much to hear the +details of this story of <em>petits pois</em>.” The tone of Madame +Piriac’s question was unexceptionable; it took account of +Audrey’s mourning attire, and of her youthfulness; but +Audrey could formulate no answer to it. Instead of speaking +she gave a touch to her veil, and it dropped before her +piquant, troubled, inscrutable face like a screen.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate said with noticeable calm, but also with +the air of a conspirator who sees danger to a most secret +machination:</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid Mrs. Moncreiff won’t care to go into details.”</p> + +<p>It was neatly done. Madame Piriac brought the episode +to a close with a sympathetic smile and an apposite gesture. +And Audrey, safe behind her veil, glanced gratefully and +admiringly at Miss Ingate, who, taken quite unawares, had +been so surprisingly able thus to get her out of a scrape. +She felt very young and callow among these three women, +and the mere presence of Madame Piriac, of whom years +ago she had created for herself a wondrous image, put her +into a considerable flutter. On the whole she was ready to +believe that the actual Madame Piriac was quite equal to the +image of her founded on photographs and letters. She set +her teeth, and decided that Madame Piriac should not +learn her identity—yet! There was little risk of her discovering +it for herself, for no photograph of Audrey had +gone to Paris for a dozen years, and Miss Ingate’s loyalty +was absolute.</p> + +<p>As Audrey sat down again, the illustrious Rosamund took +a chair near her, and it could not be doubted that the woman +had the mien and the carriage of a leader.</p> + +<p>“You are very rich, are you not?” asked Rosamund, in +a tone at once deferential and intimate, and she smiled very +attractively in the gloom. Impossible not to reckon with +that smile, as startling as it was seductive!</p> + +<p>Evidently Nick had been communicative.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I am,” murmured Audrey, like a child, and +feeling like a child. Yet at the same time she was asking +herself with fierce curiosity: “What has Madame Piriac got +to do with this woman?”</p> + +<p>“I hear you have eight or ten thousand a year and can +do what you like with it. And you cannot be more than +twenty-three.... What a responsibility it must be for you! +You are a friend of Miss Ingate’s and therefore on our side. +Indeed, if a woman such as you were not on our side, I +wonder whom we <em>could</em> count on. Miss Ingate is, of course, +a subscriber to the Union—”</p> + +<p>“Only a very little one,” cried Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Audrey had never felt so abashed since an ex-parlourmaid +at Flank Hall, who had left everything to join the Salvation +Army, had asked her once in the streets of Colchester +whether she had found salvation. She knew that she, if any +one, ought to subscribe to the Suffragette Union, and to +subscribe largely. For she was a convinced suffragette by +faith, because Miss Ingate was a convinced suffragette. If +Miss Ingate had been a Mormon, Audrey also would have +been a Mormon. And, although she hated to subscribe, she +knew also that if Rosamund demanded from her any subscription, +however large—even a thousand pounds—she would +not know how to refuse. She felt before Rosamund as +hundreds of women, and not a few men, had felt.</p> + +<p>“I may be leaving for Germany to-morrow,” Rosamund +proceeded. “I may not see you again—at any rate for many +weeks. May I write to London that you mean to support +us?”</p> + +<p>Audrey was giving herself up for lost, and not without +reason. She foreshadowed a future of steely self-sacrifice, +propaganda, hammers, riots, and prison; with no self-indulgence +in it, no fine clothes, no art, and no young men +save earnest young men. She saw herself in the iron clutch +of her own conscience and sense of duty. And she was +frightened. But at that moment Nick rushed into the room, +and the spell was broken. Nick considered that she had the +right to monopolise Rosamund, and she monopolised her.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate prudently gathered Audrey to her side, and +was off with her. Nick ran to kiss them, and told them that +Tommy was waiting for them in the other studio. They +groped downstairs, guided by a wisp of light from Tommy’s +studio.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you come up?” asked Miss Ingate of +Tommy in Tommy’s antechamber. “Have you and <em>she</em> +quarrelled?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” said Tommy. “But I’m afraid of her. She’d +grab me if she had the least chance, and I don’t want to be +grabbed.”</p> + +<p>Tommy was arranging to escort them home, and had +already got out on the landing, when Rosamund and Madame +Piriac, followed by Nick holding a candle aloft, came down +the stairs. A few words of explanation, a little innocent +blundering on the part of Nick, a polite suggestion by +Madame Piriac, and an imperious affirmative by Rosamund—and +the two strangers to Paris found themselves +in Madame Piriac’s waiting automobile on the way to +their rooms!</p> + +<p>In the darkness of the car the four women could not distinguish +each other’s faces. But Rosamund’s voice was +audible in a monologue, and Miss Ingate trembled for +Audrey and for the future.</p> + +<p>“This is the most important political movement in the +history of the world,” Rosamund was saying, not at all in a +speechifying manner, but quite intimately and naturally. +“Everybody admits that, and that’s what makes it so extraordinarily +interesting, and that is why we have had such +magnificent help from women in the very highest positions +who wouldn’t dream of touching ordinary politics. It’s a +marvellous thing to be in the movement, if we can only +realise it. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Moncreiff?”</p> + +<p>Audrey made no response. The other two sat silent. +Miss Ingate thought:</p> + +<p>“What’s the girl going to do next? Surely she could +mumble something.”</p> + +<p>The car curved and stopped.</p> + +<p>“Here we are,” said Miss Ingate, delighted. “And +thank you so much. I suppose all we have to do is just +to push the bell and the door opens. Now Audrey, dear.”</p> + +<p>Audrey did not stir.</p> + +<p>“<em>Mon Dieu!</em>“ murmured Madame Piriac, “What has +she, little one?”</p> + +<p>Rosamund said stiffly and curtly:</p> + +<p>“She is asleep.... It is very late. Four o’clock.”</p> + +<p>Excellent as was Audrey’s excuse for her lapse, Rosamund +was not at all pleased. That slumber was one of +Rosamund’s rare defeats.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_12" id="chapter_12" />CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>WIDOWHOOD IN THE STUDIO</h3> + + +<p>Audrey was in a white piqué coat and short skirt, with +pale blue blouse and pale blue hat—and at the extremity +blue stockings and white tennis shoes. She picked up a +tennis racket in its press, and prepared to leave the studio. +She had bought the coat, the skirt, the blouse, the hat, the +tennis shoes, the racket, the press, and practically all she +wore, visible and invisible, at that very convenient and immense +shop, the Bon Marché, whose only drawback was +that it was always full. Everybody in the Quarter, except +a few dolls not in earnest, bought everything at the Bon +Marché, because the Bon Marché was so comprehensive and +so reliable. If you desired a toothbrush, the Bon Marché +not only supplied it, but delivered it in a 30-h.p. motor-van +manned by two officials in uniform. And if you desired a +bedroom suite, a pair of corsets, a box of pastels, an anthracite +stove, or a new wallpaper, the Bon Marché would never +shake its head.</p> + +<p>And Audrey was now of the Quarter. Many simple +sojourners in the Quarter tried to imply the Latin Quarter +when they said the Quarter. But the Quarter was only the +Montparnasse Quarter. Nevertheless, it sufficed. It had +its own boulevards, restaurants, cafés, concerts, theatres, +palaces, shops, gardens, museums, and churches. There +was no need to leave it, and if you were a proper amateur +of the Quarter, you never did leave it save to scoff at other +Quarters. Sometimes you fringed the Latin Quarter in the +big cafés of the Boulevard St. Michel, and sometimes you +strolled northwards as far as the Seine, and occasionally +even crossed the Seine in order to enter the Louvre, which +lined the other bank, but you did not go any farther. Why +should you?</p> + +<p>Audrey had become so acclimatised to the Quarter that +Miss Nickall’s studio seemed her natural home. It was very +typically a woman’s studio of the Quarter. About thirty feet +each way and fourteen feet high, with certain irregularities +of shape, it was divided into corners. There were the two +bed-corners, which were lounge-corners during the day; the +afternoon-tea corner, with a piece or two of antique furniture +and some old silk hangings, where on high afternoons +tea was given to droves of visitors; and there was the culinary +corner, with spirit-lamps, gas-rings, kettles, and a bowl +or two over which you might spend a couple of arduous hours +in ineffectually whipping up a mayonnaise for an impromptu +lunch. Artistic operations were carried out in the middle of +the studio, not too far from the stove, which never went out +from November to May. A large mirror hung paramount +on one wall. The remaining spaces of the studio were filled +with old easels, canvases, old frames, old costumes and +multifarious other properties for pictures, trunks, lamps, +boards, tables, and bric-à-brac bought at the Ham-and-Old-Iron +Fair. There were a million objects in the studio, and +their situations had to be, and were, learnt off by heart. +The scene of the toilette was a small attached chamber.</p> + +<p>The housekeeping combined the simplicity of the early +Christians with the efficient organising of the twentieth century. +It began at about half-past seven, when unseen but +heard beings left fresh rolls and the <em>New York Herald</em> or +the <em>Daily Mail</em> at the studio door. You made your own bed, +just as you cleaned your own boots or washed your own face. +The larder consisted of tins of coffee, tea, sugar, and cakes, +with an intermittent supply of butter and lemons. The infusing +of tea and coffee was practised in perfection. It +mattered not in the least whether toilette or breakfast came +first, but it was exceedingly important that the care of the +stove should precede both. Between ten and eleven the concierge’s +wife arrived with tools and utensils; she swept and +dusted under a considerable percentage of the million objects—and +the responsibilities of housekeeping were finished until +the next day, for afternoon tea, if it occurred, was a diversion +and not a toil.</p> + +<p>A great expanse of twelve to fifteen hours lay in front +of you. It was not uncomfortably and unchangeably cut +into fixed portions by the incidence of lunch and dinner. +You ate when you felt inclined to eat, and nearly always at +restaurants where you met your acquaintances. Meals were +the least important happenings of the day. You had no +reliable watch, and you needed none, for you had no fixed +programme. You worked till you had had enough of work. +You went forth into the world exactly when the idea took +you. If you were bored, you found a friend and went to +sit in a café. You were ready for anything. The word +“rule” had been omitted from your dictionary. You retired +to bed when the still small voice within murmured +that there was naught else to do. You woke up in the +morning amid cups and saucers, lingerie, masterpieces, and +boots. And the next day was the same. All the days were +the same. Weeks passed with inexpressible rapidity, and +all things beyond the Quarter had the quality of vague +murmurings and noises behind the scenes.</p> + +<p>May had come. Audrey and Miss Ingate had lived in +the studio for six months before they realised that they had +settled down there and that habits had been formed. Still, +they had accomplished something. Miss Ingate had gone +back into oils and was attending life classes, and Audrey, +by terrible application and by sitting daily at the feet of an +oldish lady in black, and by refusing to speak English between +breakfast and dinner, had acquired a good accent and +much fluency in the French tongue. Now, when she spoke +French, she thought in French, and she was extremely proud +of the achievement. Also she was acquainted with the names +and styles of all known modern painters from pointillistes to +cubistes, and, indeed, with the latest eccentricities in all the +arts. She could tell who was immortal, and she was fully +aware that there was no real painting in England. In brief, +she was perhaps more Parisian even than she had hoped. She +had absorbed Paris into her system. It was still not the Paris +of her early fancy; in particular, it lacked elegance; but it +richly satisfied her.</p> + +<p>She had on this afternoon of young May an appointment +with a young man. And the appointment seemed quite +natural, causing no inward disturbance. Less than ever could +she understand her father’s ukases against young men and +against every form of self-indulgence. Now, when she had +the idea of doing a thing, she merely did it. Her instincts +were her only guide, and, though her instincts were often +highly complex, they seldom puzzled her. The old instinct +that the desire to do a thing was a sufficient reason against +doing it, had expired. For many weeks she had lived with +a secret fear that such unbridled conduct must lead to terrible +catastrophes, but as nothing happened this fear also +expired. She was constantly with young men, and often with +men not young; she liked it, but just as much she liked being +with women. She never had any difficulties with men. Miss +Thompkins insinuated at intervals that she flirted, but she +had the sharpest contempt for flirtation, and as a practice +put it on a level with embezzlement or arson. Miss Thompkins, +however, kept on insinuating. Audrey regarded herself +as decidedly wiser than Miss Thompkins. Her opinions +on vital matters changed almost weekly, but she was always +absolutely sure that the new opinion was final and incontrovertible. +Her scorn of the old English Audrey, though concealed, +was terrific.</p> + +<p>And it is to be remembered that she was a widow. She was +never half a second late, now, in replying when addressed +as “Mrs. Moncreiff.” Frequently she thought that she in +fact was a widow. Widowhood was a very advantageous +state. It had a free pass to all affairs of interest. It opened +wide the door of the world. It recked nothing of girlish +codes. It abolished discussions concerning conventional propriety. +Its chief defect, for Audrey, was that if she met +another widow, or even a married woman, she had to take +heed lest she stumbled. Fortunately, neither widows nor +wives were very prevalent in the Quarter. And Audrey had +attained skill in the use of the state of widowhood. She told +no more infantile perilous tales about husbands who ate peas +with a knife. In her thankfulness that the tyrannic Rosamund +had gone to Germany, and that Madame Piriac had +vanished back into unknown Paris, Audrey was at pains to +take to heart the lesson of a semi-hysterical blunder.</p> + +<p>She descended the dark, dusty oak stairs utterly content. +And at the door of the gloomy den of the concierge the concierge’s +wife was standing. She was a new wife, the young +mate of a middle-aged husband, and she had only been illuminating +the den (which was kitchen, parlour, and bedroom +in a space of ten feet by eight) for about a month. She was +plump and pretty, and also she was fair, which was unusual +for a Frenchwoman. She wore a striped frock and a little +black apron, and her yellow hair was waved with art. Audrey +offered her the key of the studio with a smile, and, as Audrey +expected, the concierge’s wife began to chatter. The concierge’s +wife loved to chatter with Anglo-Saxon tenants, and +she specially enjoyed chattering with Audrey, because of the +superior quality of Audrey’s French and of her tips. Audrey +listened, proud because she could understand so well and +answer so fluently.</p> + +<p>The sun, which in May shone on the courtyard for about +forty minutes in the afternoon on clear days, caught these +two creatures in the same beam. They made a delicious +sight—Audrey dark, with her large forehead and negligible +nose, and the concierge’s wife rather doll-like in the regularity +of her features. They were delicious not only because +of their varied charm, but because they were so absurdly +wise and omniscient, and because they had come to settled +conclusions about every kind of worldly problem. Youth and +vitality equalised their ranks, and the fact that Audrey possessed +many ascertained ancestors, and a part of the earth’s +surface, and much money, and that the concierge’s wife possessed +nothing but herself and a few bits of furniture, was +not of the slightest importance.</p> + +<p>The concierge’s wife, after curiosity concerning tennis, +grew confidential about herself, and more confidential. And +at last she lowered her tones, and with sparkling eyes +communicated information to Audrey in a voice that was +little more than a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Oh! truly? I must go,” hastily said Audrey, blushing, +and off she ran, reduced in an instant to the schoolgirl. +Her departure was a retreat. These occasional discomfitures +made a faint blot on the excellence of being a +widow.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_13" id="chapter_13" />CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE SWOON</h3> + + +<p>In the north-east corner of the Luxembourg Gardens, +where the lawn-tennis courts were permitted by a public +authority which was strangely impartial and cosmopolitan +in the matter of games, Miss Ingate sat sketching a group +of statuary with the Rue de Vaugirard behind it. She +was sketching in the orthodox way, on the orthodox stool, +with the orthodox combined paint-box and easel, and the +orthodox police permit in the cover of the box.</p> + +<p>The bright and warm weather was tonic; it accounted +for the whole temperament of Parisians. Under such a +sky, with such a delicate pricking vitalisation in the air, +it was impossible not to be Parisian. The trees, all +arranged in beautiful perspectives, were coming into leaf, +and through their screens could be seen everywhere children +shouting as they played at ball and top, and both kinds +of nurses, and scores of perambulators and mothers, and +a few couples dallying with their sensations, and old men +reading papers, and old women knitting and relating +anecdotes or entire histories. And nobody was curious +beyond his own group. The people were perfectly at home +in this grandiose setting of gardens and fountains and +grey palaces, with theatres, boulevards and the odour and +roar of motor-buses just beyond the palisades. And Miss +Ingate in the exciting sunshine gazed around with her +subdued Essex grin, as if saying: “It’s the most topsy-turvy +planet that I was ever on, and why am I, of all +people, trying to make this canvas look like a piece of +sculpture and a street?”</p> + +<p>“Now, Miss Ingate,” said tall red-haired Tommy, who +was standing over her. “Before you go any farther, do +look at the line of roofs and see how interesting it is; +it’s really full of interest. And you’ve simply not got on +speaking terms with it yet.”</p> + +<p>“No more I have! No more I have!” cried Miss +Ingate, glancing round at Audrey, who was swinging her +racket. “Thank you, Tommy. I ought to have thought +of it for my own sake, because roofs are so much +easier than statues, and I must get an effect somewhere, +mustn’t I?”</p> + +<p>Tommy winked at Audrey. But Tommy’s wink was +as naught to the great invisible wink of Miss Ingate, +the everlasting wink that derided the universe and the sun +himself.</p> + +<p>Then Musa appeared, with paraphernalia, at the end +of a path. Accompanying him was a specimen of the +creature known on tennis lawns as “a fourth.” He was +almost nameless, tall, very young, with the seedlings of +a moustache and a space of nude calf between his knickerbockers +and his socks. He was very ceremonious, shy, +ungainly and blushful. He played a fair-to-middling game; +and nothing more need be said of him.</p> + +<p>Musa by contrast was an accomplished man of the +world, and the fact that the fourth obviously regarded +him as a hero helped Musa to behave in a manner satisfactory +to himself in front of these English and American +women, so strange, so exotic, so kind, and so disconcerting. +Musa looked upon Britain as a romantic isle where people +died for love. And as for America, in his mind it was +as sinister, as wondrous, and as fatal as the Indies might +seem to a bank clerk in Bradford. He had need of every +moral assistance in this or any other social ordeal. For, +though he was still the greatest violinist in Paris, and +perhaps in the world, he could not yet prove this profound +truth by the only demonstration which the world +accepts.</p> + +<p>If he played in studios he was idolised. If he played +at small concerts in unknown halls he was received with +rapture. But he was never lionised. The great concert +halls never saw him on their platforms; his name was +never in the newspapers; and hospitable personages never +fought together for his presence at their tables, even if +occasionally they invited him to perform for charity in +return for a glass of claret and a sandwich. Monsieur +Dauphin had attempted to force the invisible barriers for +him, but without success. All his admirers in the Quarter +stuck to it that he was in the rank of Kreisler and Ysaye; +at the same time they were annoyed with him inasmuch +as he did not force the world to acknowledge the prophetic +good taste of the Quarter. And Musa made mistakes. +He ought to have arrived at studios in a magnificent +automobile, and to have given superb and uproarious +repasts, and to have rendered innumerable women exquisitely +unhappy. Whereas he arrived by tube or bus, never +offered hospitality of any sort, and was like a cat with +women. Hence the attitude of the Quarter was patronising, +as if the Quarter had said: “Yes, he is the greatest +violinist in Paris and perhaps in the world; but that’s all, +and it isn’t enough.”</p> + +<p>The young man and the boy made ready for the game +as for a gladiatorial display. Their frowning seriousness +proved that they had comprehended the true British idea +of sport. Musa came round the net to Audrey’s side, but +Audrey said in French:</p> + +<p>“Miss Thompkins and I will play together. See, we +are going to beat you and Gustave.”</p> + +<p>Musa retired. A few indifferent spectators had collected. +Gustave, the fourth, had to serve.</p> + +<p>“Play!” he muttered, in a thick and threatening voice, +whose depth was the measure of his nervousness.</p> + +<p>He served a double fault to Tommy, and then a fault +to Audrey. The fourth ball he got over. Audrey played it. +The two males rushed with appalling force together on +the centre line in pursuit, and a terrible collision occurred. +Musa fell away from Gustave as from a wall. When he +arose out of the pebbly dust his right arm hung very +limp from the shoulder. No sooner had he risen than he +sank again, and the blood began to leave his face, and +his eyes closed. The fourth, having recovered from the +collision, knelt down by his side, and gazed earnestly at +him. Tommy and Audrey hurried towards the statuesque +group, and Audrey was thinking: “Why did I refuse to +let him play with me? If he had played with me there +would have been no accident.” She reproached herself +because she well knew that only out of the most absurd +contrariness had she repulsed Musa. Or was it that she +had repulsed him from fear of something that Tommy +might say or look?</p> + +<p>In a few seconds, strongly drawn by this marvellous +piece of luck, promenaders were darting with joyous rapidity +from north, south, east and west to witness the tragedy. +There were nurses with coloured streamers six feet long, +lusty children, errand boys, lads, and sundry nondescript +men, some of whom carefully folded up their newspapers +as they hurried to the cynosure. They beheld the body +as though it were a corpse, and the corpse of an enemy; +they formulated and discussed theories of the event; they +examined minutely the rackets which had been thrown on +the ground. They were exercising the immemorial rights +of unmoved curiosity; they held themselves as indifferent +as gods, and the murmur of their impartial voices floated +soothingly over Musa, and the shadow of their active +profiles covered him from the sparkling sunshine. Somebody +mentioned policemen, in the plural, but none came. +All remarked in turn that the ladies were English, as +though that were a sufficient explanation of the whole +affair.</p> + +<p>No one said:</p> + +<p>“It is Musa, the greatest violinist in Paris and perhaps +in Europe.”</p> + +<p>Desperately Audrey stooped and seized Musa beneath +the armpits to lift him to a sitting position.</p> + +<p>“You’d better leave him alone,” said Tommy, with a +kind of ironic warning and innuendo.</p> + +<p>But Audrey still struggled with the mass, convinced that +she was showing initiative and firmness of character. The +fourth with fierce vigour began to aid her, and another +youth from the crowd was joining the enterprise when +Miss Ingate arrived from her stool.</p> + +<p>“Drop him, you silly little thing!” adjured Miss +Ingate. “Instead of lifting his head you ought to lift +his feet.”</p> + +<p>Audrey stared uncertain for a moment, and then let +the mass subside. Whereupon Miss Ingate with all her +strength lifted both legs to the height of her waist, giving +Musa the appearance of a wheelless barrow.</p> + +<p>“You want to let the blood run <em>into</em> his head,” said +Miss Ingate with a self-conscious grin at the increasing +crowd. “People only faint because the blood leaves their +heads—that’s why they go pale.”</p> + +<p>Musa’s cheeks showed a tinge of red. You could almost +see the precious blood being decanted by Miss Ingate out +of the man’s feet into his head. In a minute he opened +his eyes. Miss Ingate lowered the legs.</p> + +<p>“It was only the pain that made him feel queer,” she +said.</p> + +<p>The episode was over, and the crowd very gradually +and reluctantly scattered, disappointed at the lack of a +fatal conclusion. Musa stood up, smiling apologetically, +and Audrey supported him by the left arm, for the right +could not be touched.</p> + +<p>“Hadn’t you better take him home, Mrs. Moncreiff?” +Tommy suggested. “You can get a taxi here in the +Rue de Vaugirard.” She did not smile, but her green +eyes glinted.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will,” said Audrey curtly.</p> + +<p>And Tommy’s eyes glinted still more.</p> + +<p>“And I shall get a doctor,” said Audrey. “His arm +may be broken.”</p> + +<p>“I should,” Tommy concurred with gravity.</p> + +<p>“Well, if it is, <em>I</em> can’t set it,” said Miss Ingate +quizzically. “I was getting on so well with the high +lights on that statue. I’ll come along back to the studio +in about half an hour.”</p> + +<p>The fourth, who had been hovering near like a criminal +magnetised by his crime, bounded off furiously at the +suggestion that he should stop a taxi at the entrance to +the gardens.</p> + +<p>“I hope he has broken his arm and he can never play +any more,” thought Audrey, astoundingly, as she and +the fourth helped pale Musa into the open taxi. “It will +just serve those two right.” She meant Miss Ingate and +Tommy.</p> + +<p>No sooner did the taxi start than Musa began to cry. +He did not seem to care that he was in the midst of a +busy street, with a piquant widow by his side.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_14" id="chapter_14" />CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>MISS INGATE POINTS OUT THE DOOR</h3> + + +<p>“Why did you cry this afternoon, Musa?”</p> + +<p>Musa made no reply.</p> + +<p>Audrey was lighting the big lamp in the Moncreiff-Ingate +studio. It made exactly the same moon as it had +made on the night in the previous autumn when Audrey +had first seen it. She had brought Musa to the studio +because she did not care to take him to his own lodgings. +(As a fact, nobody that she knew, except Musa, had ever +seen Musa’s lodgings.) This was almost the first moment +they had had to themselves since the visit of the little +American doctor from the Rue Servandoni. The rumour +of Musa’s misfortune had spread through the Quarter like +the smell of a fire, and various persons of both sexes +had called to inspect, to sympathise, and to take tea, +which Audrey was continually making throughout the late +afternoon. Musa had had an egg for his tea, and more +than one girl had helped to spread the yolk and the +white on pieces of bread-and-butter, for the victim of +destiny had his right arm in a sling. Audrey had let +them do it, as a mother patronisingly lets her friends +amuse her baby.</p> + +<p>In the end they had all gone; Tommy had enigmatically +looked in and gone, and Miss Ingate had gone to dine at +the favourite restaurant of the hour in the Rue Léopold +Robert. Audrey had refused to go, asserting that which +was not true; namely, that she had had an enormous +tea, including far too many <em>petits fours</em>. Miss Ingate in +departing had given a glance at her sketch (fixed on the +easel), and another at Audrey, and another at Musa, all +equally ironic and kindly.</p> + +<p>Musa also had declined dinner, but he had done nothing +to indicate that he meant to leave. He sat mournful and +passive in a basket chair, his sling making a patch of +white in the gloom. The truth was that he suffered from +a disability not uncommon among certain natures: he did +not know how to go. He could arrive with ease, but he +was no expert at vanishing. Audrey was troubled. As +suited her age and condition, she was apt to feel the +responsibility of the whole universe. She knew that she +was responsible for Musa’s accident, and now she was +beginning to be aware that she was responsible for his +future as well. She was sure that he needed encouragement +and guidance. She pictured him with his fiddle under +his chin, masterful, confident, miraculous, throwing a spell +over everyone within earshot. But actually she saw him +listless and vanquished in the basket chair, and she +perceived that only a strongly influential and determined +woman, such as herself, could save him from disaster. +No man could do it. His tears had shaken her. She was +willing to make allowances for a foreigner, but she had +never seen a man cry before, and the spectacle was very +disturbing. It inspired her with a fear that even she +could not be the salvation of Musa.</p> + +<p>“I demanded something of you,” she said, after lowering +the wick of the lamp to exactly the right point, and +staring at it for a greater length of time than was +necessary or even seemly. She spoke French, and as she +listened to her French accent she heard that it was good.</p> + +<p>“I am done for!” came the mournful voice of Musa +out of the obscurity behind the lamp.</p> + +<p>“What! You are done for? But you know what the +doctor said. He said no bone was broken. Only a little +strain, and the pain from your——” Admirable though +her French accent was, she could not think of the French +word for “funny-bone.” Indeed she had never learnt it. +So she said it in English. Musa knew not what she +meant, and thus a slight chasm was opened between them +which neither could bridge. She finished: “In one week +you are going to be able to play again.”</p> + +<p>Musa shook his head.</p> + +<p>Relieved as she was to discover that Musa had cried +because he was done for, and not because he was hurt, +she was still worried by his want of elasticity, of resiliency. +Nevertheless she was agreeably worried. The doctor had +disappointed her by his light optimism, but he could not +smile away Musa’s moral indisposition. The large vagueness +of the studio, the very faint twilight still showing +through the great window, the silence and intimacy, the +sounds of the French language, the gleam of the white +sling, all combined to permeate her with delicious melancholy. +And not for everlasting bliss would she have had Musa +strong, obstinate, and certain of success.</p> + +<p>“A week!” he murmured. “It is for ever. A week +of practice lost is eternally lost. And on Wednesday one +had invited me to play at Foa’s. And I cannot.”</p> + +<p>“Foa? Who is Foa?”</p> + +<p>“What! You do not know Foa? In order to succeed +it is necessary, it is essential, to play at Foa’s. That +alone gives the <em>cachet</em>. Dauphin told me last week. He +arranged it. After having played at Foa’s all is possible. +Dauphin was about to abandon me when he met Foa. +Now I am ruined. This afternoon after the tennis I was +going to Durand’s to get the new Caprice of Roussel—he +is an intimate friend of Foa. I should have studied +it in five days. They would have been ravished by the +attention .... But why talk I thus? No, I could not +have played Caprice to please them. I am cursed. I will +never again touch the violin, I swear it. What am I? +Do I not live on the money <em>lent</em> to me regularly by +Mademoiselle Thompkins and Mademoiselle Nickall?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t, Musa?” Audrey burst out in English.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes!” said Musa violently. “But last month, +from Mademoiselle Nickall—nothing! She is in London; +she forgets. It is better like that. Soon I shall be +playing in the Opéra orchestra, fourth desk, one hundred +francs a month. That will be the end. There can be +no other.”</p> + +<p>Instead of admiring the secret charity of Tommy and +Nick, which she had never suspected, Audrey was very +annoyed by it. She detested it and resented it. And +especially the charity of Miss Thompkins. She considered +that from a woman with eyes and innuendoes like Tommy’s +charity amounted to a sneer.</p> + +<p>“It is extremely unsatisfactory,” she said, dropping on +to Miss Ingate’s sofa.</p> + +<p>Not another word was spoken. Audrey tapped her foot. +Musa creaked in the basket chair. He avoided her eyes, +but occasionally she glared at him like a schoolmistress. +Then her gaze softened—he looked so ill, so helpless, so +hopeless. She wanted to light a cigarette for him, but she +was somehow bound to the sofa. She wanted him +to go—she hated the prospect of his going. He could not +possibly go, alone, to his solitary room. Who would +tend him, soothe him, put him to bed? He was an +infant....</p> + +<p>Then, after a long while, Miss Ingate entered sharply. +Audrey coughed and sprang up.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” ejaculated Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“I—I think I shall just change my boots,” said Audrey, +smoothing out the short white skirt. And she disappeared +into the dressing-room that gave on to the studio.</p> + +<p>As soon as she was gone, Miss Ingate went close up +to Musa’s chair. He had not moved.</p> + +<p>She said, smiling, with the corners of her mouth well +down:</p> + +<p>“Do you see that door, young man?”</p> + +<p>And she indicated the door.</p> + +<p>When Audrey came back into the studio.</p> + +<p>“Audrey,” cried Miss Ingate shrilly. “What you been +doing to Musa? As soon as you went out he up vehy +quickly and ran away.”</p> + +<p>At this information Audrey was more obviously troubled +and dashed than Miss Ingate had ever seen her, in Paris. +She made no answer at all. Fortunately, lying on the table +in front of the mirror was a letter for Miss Ingate which had +arrived by the evening post. Audrey went for it, pretending +to search, and then handed it over with a casual gesture.</p> + +<p>“It looks as if it was from Nick,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate, as she was putting on her spectacles, +remarked:</p> + +<p>“I hope you weren’t hurt—me not coming with you and +Musa in the taxi from the gardens this afternoon, dear.”</p> + +<p>“Me? Oh no!”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t that I was so vehy interested in my sketch. +But to my mind there’s nothing more ridiculous than +several women all looking after one man. Miss Thompkins +thought so, too.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Did she?... What does Nick say?”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate had put the letter flat on the table in the full +glare of the lamp, and was leaning over it, her grey hair +brilliantly illuminated. Audrey kept in the shadow and in +the distance. Miss Ingate had a habit of reading to herself +under her breath. She read slowly, and turned pages over +with a deliberate movement.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Miss Ingate twisting her head sideways so +as to see Audrey standing like a ghost afar off. “Well, she +<em>has</em> been going it! She’s broken a window in Oxford +Street with a hammer; she had one night in the cells for +that. And she’d have had to go to prison altogether only +some unknown body paid the fine for her. She says: +’There are some mean persons in the world, and he was +one. I feel sure it was a man, and an American, too. +The owners of the shops are going to bring a law action +against me for the value of the plate-glass. It is such fun. +And our leaders are splendid and so in earnest. They say +we are doing a great historical work, and we are. The +London correspondent of the <em>New York Times</em> interviewed +me because I am American. I did not want to be interviewed, +but our instructions are—never to avoid publicity. +There is to be no more window breaking for the present. +Something new is being arranged. The hammer is so +heavy, and sometimes the first blow does not break the +window. The situation is <em>very</em> serious, and the Government +is at its wits’ end. This we <em>know</em>. We have our +agents everywhere. All the most thoughtful people are +strongly in favour of votes for women; but of course some +of them are afraid of our methods. This only shows that +they have not learnt the lessons of history. I wonder that +you and dear Mrs. Moncreiff do not come and help. Many +women ask after you, and everybody at Kingsway is very +curious to know Mrs. Moncreiff. Since Mrs. Burke’s +death, Betty has taken rooms in this house, but perhaps +Tommy has told you this already. If so, excuse. Betty’s +health is very bad since they let her out last. With regard +to the rent, will you pay the next quarter direct to the +concierge yourselves? It will save so much trouble. I +must tell you——’”</p> + +<p>Slowly Audrey moved up to the table and leaned over the +letter by Miss Ingate’s side.</p> + +<p>“So you see!” said Miss Ingate. “Well, we must +show it to Tommy in the morning. ‘Not learnt the lessons +of history,’ eh? I know who’s been talking to Nick. <em>I</em> +know as well as if I could hear them speaking.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think we ought to go to London?” Audrey +demanded bluntly.</p> + +<p>“Well,” Miss Ingate answered, with impartial irony on +her long upper lip. “I don’t know. Of course I played the +organ all the way down Regent Street. I feel very strongly +about votes for women, and once when I was helping in the +night and day vigil at the House of Commons and some +Ministers came out smoking their <em>cigahs</em> and asked us how +we liked it, I was vehy, vehy angry. However, the next +morning I had a cigarette myself and felt better. But I’m +not a professional reformer, like a lot of them are at Kingsway. +It isn’t my meat and drink. And I don’t think it +matters much whether we get the vote next year or in ten +years. I’m Winifred Ingate before I’m anything else. And +so long as I’m pretty comfortable no one’s going to make +me believe that the world’s coming to an end. I know one +thing—if we did get the vote it would take me all my time +to keep most of the women I know from, voting for something +silly.”</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” said Audrey. “You’re very sensible sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“I’m always very sensible,” Winnie retorted, “until I +get nervous. Then I’m apt to skid.”</p> + +<p>Without more words they transformed the studio, by a +few magical strokes, from a drawing-room into a bedroom. +Audrey, the last to retire, extinguished the lamp, and +tripped to her bed behind her screen. Only a few slight +movements disturbed the silence.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” said Audrey suddenly. “I do believe you’re +one of those awful people who compromise. You’re always +right in the middle of the raft.”</p> + +<p>But Miss Ingate, being fast asleep, offered no answer.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_15" id="chapter_15" />CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>THE RIGHT BANK</h3> + + +<p>The next day, after a studio lunch which contained too +much starch and was deficient in nitrogen, Miss Ingate, +putting on her hat and jacket, said with a caustic gesture:</p> + +<p>“Well, I must be off to my life class. And much good +may it do me!”</p> + +<p>The astonishing creature had apparently begun existence +again, and begun it on the plane of art, but this did not prevent +the observer within her from taking the same attitude +towards her second career as she had taken towards her first. +Nothing seemed more meet for Miss Ingate’s ironic contemplation +than the daily struggle for style and beauty in +the academies of the Quarter.</p> + +<p>Audrey made no reply. The morning had been unusually +silent, giving considerable scope for Miss Ingate’s faculty +for leaving well alone.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you aren’t coming out?” added Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“No. I went out a bit this morning. You know I have +my French lesson in twenty minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate seized her apparatus and departed. The +instant she was alone Audrey began in haste to change into +all her best clothes, which were black, and which the +Quarter seldom saw. Fashionably arrayed, she sat down +and wrote a note to Madame Schmitt, her French instructress, +to say that she had been suddenly called away on +urgent business, and asking her nevertheless to count the +time as a lesson given. This done, she put her credit notes +and her cheque-book into her handbag, and, leaving the note +with the concierge’s wife, who bristled with interesting +suspicions, she vanished into Paris.</p> + +<p>The weather was even more superb than on the previous +day. Paris glittered around her as she drove, slowly, in a +horse-taxi, to the Place de l’Opéra on the right bank, +where the <em>grand boulevard</em> meets the Avenue de l’Opéra and +the Rue de la Paix. Here was the very centre of the +fashionable and pleasure-ridden district which the Quarter +held in noble scorn. She had seen it before, because she had +started a banking account (under advice from Mr. Foulger), +and the establishment of her bankers was situate at the +corner of the Avenue de l’Opéra and the Rue de la Paix. +But she knew little of the district, and such trifling information +as she had acquired was tinged by the natural hostility +of a young woman who for over six months, with no compulsion +to do so, had toiled regularly and fiercely in the +pursuit of knowledge. She paid off the cab, and went to +test the soundness of her bankers. The place was full of +tourists, and in one department of it young men in cages, +who knew not the Quarter, were counting, and ladling, and +pinning together, and engorging, and dealing forth, the +currency and notes of all the great nations of the earth. +The spectacle was inspiring.</p> + +<p>In half a year the restive but finally obedient Mr. Foulger +had sent three thousand pounds to Paris in the unpoetic +form of small oblong pieces of paper signed with his own +dull signature. Audrey desired to experience the thrill of +authentic money. She waited some time in front of a cage, +with her cheque-book open on the counter, until a young +man glanced at her interrogatively through the bars.</p> + +<p>“How much money have I got here, please?” she asked. +She ought to have said: “What is my balance, please?” +But nobody had taught her the sacred formula.</p> + +<p>“What name?” said the clerk.</p> + +<p>“Moze—Audrey Moze,” she answered, for she had not +dared to acquaint Mr. Foulger with her widowhood, and his +cheques were made out to herself.</p> + +<p>The clerk vanished, and in a moment reappeared, +silently wrote something on a little form, and pushed it to +her under the grille. She read:</p> + +<p>/* +“73,065 frs. 50c.” +*/</p> + +<p>The fact was that in six months she had spent little more +than the amount which she had brought with her from +London. Having begun in simplicity, in simplicity she had +continued, partly because she had been too industrious and +too earnest for luxurious caprices, partly because she had +never been accustomed to anything else but simplicity, and +partly from wilfulness. It had pleased her to think that she +was piling tens of thousands upon tens of thousands—in +francs.</p> + +<p>But in the night she had decided that the moment had +arrived for a change in the great campaign of seeing life +and tasting it.</p> + +<p>She timorously drew a cheque for eleven thousand +francs, and asked for ten thousand in notes and a thousand +in gold. The clerk showed no trace of either astonishment +or alarm; but he insisted on her endorsing the cheque. +When she saw the gold, she changed half of it for ten notes +of fifty francs each.</p> + +<p>Emerging with false but fairly plausible nonchalance +from the crowded establishment, where other clerks were +selling tickets to Palestine, Timbuctoo, Bagdad, Berlin, and +all the abodes of happiness in the world, she saw at the +newspaper kiosk opposite the little blue poster of an +English daily. It said: “More Suffragette Riots.” She +had a qualm, for her conscience was apt to be tyrannic, and +its empire over her had been strengthened by the long, +steady course of hard work which she had accomplished. +Miss Ingate’s arguments had not placated that conscience. +It had said to her in the night: “If ever there was a girl +who ought to assist heartily in the emancipation of women, +that girl is you, Audrey Moze.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh!” she replied to her conscience, for she could +always confute it with a sharp word—for a time.</p> + +<p>And she crossed to the <em>grand boulevard</em>, and turned +westward along the splendid, humming, roaring thoroughfare +gay with flags and gleaming with such plate-glass as +Nick the militant would have loved to shatter. Certainly +there was nothing like this street in the Quarter. The +Quarter could equal it neither in shops, nor in cafés, nor in +vehicles, nor in crowds. It was an exultant thoroughfare, +and Audrey caught its buoyancy, which could be distinctly +seen in the feather on her hat. At the end of it she passed +into the cool shade of a music-shop with the name +“Durand” on its façade. She had found the address, and +another one, in the telephone book at the Café de Versailles +that morning. It was an immense shop containing millions +of pieces of music for all instruments and all tastes. Yet +when she modestly asked for the Caprice for violin of +Roussel, the <em>morceau</em> was brought to her without the slightest +hesitation, together with the pianoforte accompaniment. +The price was twelve francs.</p> + +<p>Her gloved hand closed round the slim roll with the +delicate firmness which was actuating all her proceedings on +that magnificent afternoon. She was determined to save +Musa not merely from himself, but from Miss Thompkins +and everybody. It was not that she was specially interested +in Musa. No! She was interested in a clean, neat job—that +was all. She had begun to take charge of Musa, and +she intended to carry the affair through. He had the ability +to succeed, and he should succeed. It would be ridiculous +for him not to succeed. From certain hints, and from a +deeply sagacious instinct, she had divined that money and +management were the only ingredients lacking to Musa’s +triumph. She could supply both these elements; and she +would. And her reward would be the pride of the workman +in his job.</p> + +<p>Now her firmness hesitated. She retraced the boulevard +to the Place de l’Opéra, and then took the Rue de la Paix. +In the first shop on the left-hand side, next to her bankers, +she saw amid a dazzling collection of jewelled articles for +travellers and letter-writers and diary-keepers, a sublime +gold handbag, or, as the French say, hand-sack. Its clasp +was set with a sapphire. Impulse sent her gliding right +into the shop, with the words already on her lips: “How +much is that gold hand-sack in the window?” But when +she reached the hushed and shadowed interior, which was +furnished like a drawing-room with soft carpets and +tapestried chairs, she beheld dozens of gold hand-sacks +glinting like secret treasure in a cave; and she was +embarrassed by the number and variety of them. A well-dressed +and affable lady and gentleman, with a quite remarkable +similarity of prominent noses, welcomed her in general +terms, and seemed surprised, and even a little pained, when +she talked about buying and selling. She came out of the +shop with a gold hand-sack which had cost twelve hundred +francs, and all her money was in it.</p> + +<p>Fortified by the impressive bauble, she walked along the +street to the Place Vendôme, where she descried in the distance +the glittering signs and arms of the Hôtel du Danube. +Then she walked up the opposite pavement of the Rue de la +Paix, and down again and up again until she had grasped +its significance.</p> + +<p>It was a street of jewellery, perfumes, antiques, gloves, +hats, frocks, and furs. It was a street wherein the lily was +painted and gold was gilded. Every window was a miracle +of taste, refinement, and costliness. Every article in every +window was so dear that no article was ticketed with its +price, save a few wafer-like watches and jewelled rings that +bore tiny figures, such as 12,500 francs, 40,000 francs. +Despite her wealth, Audrey felt poor. The upper windows +of nearly all the great buildings were arrayed with plants +in full bloom. The roadway was covered with superb +automobiles, some of them nearly as long as trains. About +half of them stood in repose at the kerb, and Audrey as she +strolled could see through their panes of bevelled glass the +complex luxury within of toy dogs, clocks, writing-pads, +mirrors, powder boxes, parasols, and the lounging arrogance +of uniformed menials. At close intervals women passed +rapidly across the pavements to or from these automobiles. +If they were leaving a shop, the automobile sprang into life, +dogs, menials, and all, the door was opened, the woman +slipped in like a mechanical toy, the door banged, the +menial jumped, and with trumpet tones the entire machine +curved and swept away. The aspect of these women made +Audrey feel glad that she was wearing her best clothes, and +simultaneously made her feel that her best clothes were worse +than useless.</p> + +<p>She saw an automobile shop with a card at the door: +“Town and touring cars for hire by day, week, or month.” +A gorgeous Mercédès, too spick, too span, altogether too +celestial for earthly use, occupied most of the shop.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon, Madame,” said a man in bad English. +For Audrey had misguided herself into the emporium. She +did not care to be addressed in her own tongue; she even +objected to the instant discovery of her nationality, of which +at the moment she was ashamed. And so it was with +frigidity that she inquired whether cars were to be hired.</p> + +<p>The shopman hesitated. Audrey knew that she had +committed an indiscretion. It was impossible that cars +should be handed out thus unceremoniously to anybody who +had the fancy to enter the shop! Cars were naturally the +subject of negotiations and references.... And then the +shopman, espying the gold bag, and being by it and by the +English frigidity humbled to his proper station, fawned and +replied that he had cars for hire, and the best cars. Did the +lady want a large car or a small car? She wanted a large +car. Did she want a town or a touring car? She wanted a +town car, and by the week. When did she want it? She +wanted it at once—in half an hour.</p> + +<p>“I can hire you a car in half an hour, with liveried +chauffeur,” said the shopman, after telephoning. “But he +cannot speak English.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Ça m’est égal</em>,” answered Audrey with grim satisfaction. +“What kind of a car will it be?”</p> + +<p>“Mercédès, Madame.”</p> + +<p>The price was eight hundred francs a week, inclusive. +As Audrey was paying for the first week the man murmured:</p> + +<p>“What address, Madame?”</p> + +<p>“Hôtel du Danube,” she answered like lightning—indeed +far quicker than thought. “But I shall call here for +the car. It must be waiting outside.”</p> + +<p>The dispenser of cars bowed.</p> + +<p>“Can you get a taxi for me?” Audrey suggested. “I +will leave this roll here and this bag,” producing her old +handbag which she had concealed under her coat. And she +thought: “All this is really very simple.”</p> + +<p>At the other address which she had found in the +telephone book—a house in the Rue d’Aumale—she said to +an aged concierge:</p> + +<p>“Monsieur Foa—which floor?”</p> + +<p>A very dark, rather short and negligently dressed man +of nearly middle-age who was descending the staircase, +raised his hat with grave ceremony:</p> + +<p>“Pardon, Madame. Foa—it is I.”</p> + +<p>Audrey was not prepared for this encounter. She had +intended to compose her face and her speech while mounting +the staircase. She blushed.</p> + +<p>“I come from Musa—the violinist,” she began hesitatingly. +“You invited him to play at your flat on Friday +night, Monsieur.”</p> + +<p>Monsieur Foa gave a sudden enchanting smile:</p> + +<p>“Yes, Madame. I hear much good of him from my +friend Dauphin, much good. And we long to hear him +play. It appears he is a great artist.”</p> + +<p>“He has had an accident,” said Audrey. Monsier Foa’s +face grew serious. “It is nothing—a few days. The elbow—a +trifle. He cannot play next Friday. But he will be +desolated if he may not play to you later. He has so few +friends.... I came.... I....”</p> + +<p>“Madame, every Friday we are at home, every Friday. +My wife will be ravished. I shall be ravished. Believe +me. Let him be reassured.”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur, you are too amiable. I shall tell Musa.”</p> + +<p>“Musa, he may have few friends—it is possible, Madame—but +he is nevertheless fortunate. Madame is English, +is it not so? My wife and I adore England and the +English. For us there is only England. If Madame would +do us the honour of coming when Musa plays.... My +wife will send an invitation, to the end of remaining within +the rules. You, Madame, and any of your friends.”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur is too amiable, truly.”</p> + +<p>In the end they were standing together on the pavement +by the waiting taxi. She gave him her card, and +breathed the words “Hôtel du Danube.” He was enchanted. +She offered her hand. He took it, raised it, +and kissed the back of it. Then he stood with his hat +off until she had passed from his sight.</p> + +<p>Audrey was burning with excitement. She said to +herself:</p> + +<p>“I have discovered Paris.”</p> + +<p>When the taxi turned again into the Rue de la Paix, +she thought:</p> + +<p>“The car will not be waiting. It would be too lovely +if it were.”</p> + +<p>But there the car was, huge, glistening, unreal, incredible. +And a chauffeur gloved and liveried in brown, +to match the car, stood by its side, and the shopman +was at the door, holding the Caprice of Roussel and the +old handbag ready in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Here is Madame,” said he.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur saluted.</p> + +<p>The car was closed.</p> + +<p>“Will Madame have the carriage open or closed?”</p> + +<p>“Closed.”</p> + +<p>Having paid the taxi-driver, Audrey entered the car, +and as she did so, she threw over her shoulder:</p> + +<p>“Hôtel du Danube.”</p> + +<p>While the chauffeur started the engine, the shopman +with brilliant smiles delivered the music and the bag. The +door clicked. Audrey noticed the clock, the rug, the powder-box, +the speaking-tube, and the mirror. She gazed, and +saw a face triumphant and delicious in the mirror. The +car began to glide forward. She leaned back against the +pale grey upholstery, but in her soul she was standing +and crying with a wild wave of the hand, to the whole +street:</p> + +<p>“It is a miracle!”</p> + +<p>In a moment the gigantic car stopped in front of the +Hôtel du Danube. Two attendants rushed out in uniforms +of delicate blue. They did not touch their hats—they raised +them. Audrey descended and penetrated into the portico, +where a tall dandy saluted and inquired her will. She +wanted rooms; she wanted a flat? Certainly. They had +nothing but flats. A large flat on the ground-floor was at +her disposal absolutely. Two bedrooms, sitting-room, +bathroom. It had its own private entrance in the courtyard. +She inspected it. The suite was furnished in the +Empire style. Herself and maid? No. A friend! Well, +the maids could sleep upstairs. It could arrange itself. She +had no maid? Her friend had no maid? Ah! So much +the better. Sixty francs a day.</p> + +<p>“Where is the dining-room?” demanded Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Madame,” said the dandy, shocked. “We have no +dining-room. All meals are specially cooked to order and +served in the private rooms. We have the reputation....” +He opened his arms and bowed.</p> + +<p>Good! Good! She would return with her friend in one +hour or so.</p> + +<p>“106 Rue Delambre,” she bade the chauffeur, after being +followed to the pavement by the dandy and a suite.</p> + +<p>“Rue de Londres?” said the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>“No. Rue Delambre.”</p> + +<p>It had to be looked out on the map, but the chauffeur, +trained to the hour, did not blench. However, when he +found the Rue Delambre, the success with which he +repudiated it was complete.</p> + +<p>“Winnie!” began Audrey in the studio, with assumed +indifference. Miss Ingate was at tea.</p> + +<p>“Oh! You are a swell. Where you been?”</p> + +<p>“Winnie! What do you say to going and living on the +right bank for a bit?”</p> + +<p>“Well, well!” said Miss Ingate. “So that’s it, is it? +I’ve been ready to go for a long time. Of course you want +to go first thing to-morrow morning. I know you.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” said Audrey. “I want to go to-night. +Now! Pack the trunks quick. I’ve got the finest auto you +ever saw waiting at the door.”</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_16" id="chapter_16" />CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>ROBES</h3> + + +<p>On the second following Friday evening, Audrey’s suite of +rooms at the Hôtel du Danube glowed in every corner with +pink-shaded electricity. According to what Audrey had +everywhere observed to be the French custom, there was in +this flat the minimum of corridor and the maximum of doors. +Each room communicated directly with all the other rooms. +The doors were open, and three women continually in a +feverish elation passed to and fro. Empire chairs and sofas +were covered with rich garments of every colour and form +and material, from the transparent blue silk <em>matinée</em> to the +dark heavy cloak of velvet ornamented with fur. The place +was in fact very like the showrooms of a cosmopolitan dressmaker +after a vast trying-on. Sundry cosmopolitan dressmakers +had contributed to the rich confusion. None had +hesitated for an instant to execute Audrey’s commands. +They had all been waiting, apparently since the beginning +of time, to serve her. All that district of Paris had been +thus waiting. The flat had been waiting, the automobile +had been waiting, the chauffeur had been waiting, and +purveyors of every sort. A word from her seemed to have +released them from an enchantment. For the most part +they were strange people, these magical attendants, never +mentioning money, but rather deprecating the sound of it, +and content to supply nothing but the finest productions of +their unquestionable genius. Still, Audrey reckoned that +she owed about twenty-five thousand francs to Paris.</p> + +<p>The third woman was the maid, Elise. The hotel had +invented and delivered Elise, and thereafter seemed easier +in its mind. Elise was thirty years of age and not repellent +of aspect. On a black dress she wore the smallest white +muslin apron that either Audrey or Miss Ingate had ever +seen. She kept pins in her mouth, but in other respects +showed few eccentricities beyond an extreme excitability. +When at eight o’clock Mademoiselle’s new gown, promised +for seven, had not arrived, Elise begged permission to use +Madame’s salts. When the bell rang at eight-thirty, and a +lackey brought in an oval-shaped box with a long loop to it +of leathern strap, she only just managed not to kiss the +lackey. The rapid movement of Mademoiselle and Elise +with the contents of the box from the drawing-room into +Mademoiselle’s bedroom was the last rushing and swishing +that preceded a considerable peace.</p> + +<p>Madame was absolutely ready, in her bedroom. In the +large mirror of the dark wardrobe she surveyed her +victoriously young face, the magnificent grey dress, the +coiffure, the jewels, the spangled shoes, the fan; and the +ensemble satisfied her. She was intensely and calmly happy. +No thought of the past nor of the future, nor of what was +going on in other parts of the earth’s surface could in the +slightest degree impair her happiness. She had done +nothing herself, she had neither earned money nor created +any of the objects which adorned her; nor was she capable +of doing the one or the other. Yet she felt proud as well as +happy, because she was young and superbly healthy, and not +unattractive. These were her high virtues. And her attitude +was so right that nobody would have disagreed with her.</p> + +<p>Her left ear was listening for the sound, through the +unlatched window, of the arrival of the automobile with +Musa and his fiddle inside it.</p> + +<p>Then the door leading from Mademoiselle’s bedroom +opened sharply, and Mademoiselle appeared, with her grey +hair, her pale shining forehead, her sardonic grin, and the +new dress of those Empire colours, magenta and green. +Elise stood behind, trembling with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Well——” Audrey began. But she heard the automobile, +and told Elise to run and be ready to open the front +door of the flat.</p> + +<p>“Rather showy, isn’t it? Rather daring?” said Miss +Ingate, advancing self-consciously and self-deprecating.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” answered Audrey. “It’s a nice question +between you and the Queen of Sheba.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Miss Ingate beheld in the mirror the masterpiece +of an illustrious male dressmaker-a masterpiece in +which no touch of the last fashion was abated-and little +Essex Winnie grinning from within it.</p> + +<p>She screamed. And forthwith putting her hands behind +her neck she began to unhook the corsage.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing, Winnie?”</p> + +<p>“I’m taking it off.”</p> + +<p>“But why?”</p> + +<p>“Because I’m not going to wear it.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ve nothing else to wear.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help that.”</p> + +<p>“But you can’t come. What on earth shall you do?”</p> + +<p>“I dare say I shall go to bed. Or I might shoot myself. +But if you think that I’m going outside this room in this +dress, you’re a perfect simpleton, Audrey. I don’t mind +being a fool, but I won’t look one.”</p> + +<p>Audrey heard Musa enter the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>She pulled the door to, keeping her hand on the knob.</p> + +<p>“Very well, Winnie,” she said coldly, and swept into +the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>As she and Musa left the pink rose-shaded flat, she heard +a burst of tears from Elise in the bedroom.</p> + +<p>“21 Rue d’Aumale,” she curtly ordered the chauffeur, +who sat like a god obscurely in front of the illuminated +interior of the carriage. Musa’s violin case lay amid the +cushions therein.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur approvingly touched his hat. The Rue +d’Aumale was a good street.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what his surname is?” Audrey thought +curiously. “And whether he’s in love or married, and has +children.” She knew nothing of him save that his Christian +name was Michel.</p> + +<p>She was taciturn and severe with Musa.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_17" id="chapter_17" />CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>SOIRÉE</h3> + + +<p>“Monsieur Foa—which floor?” Audrey asked once again +of the aged concierge in the Rue d’Aumale. This time she +got an answer. It was the fifth or top floor. Musa said +nothing, permitting himself to be taken about like a parcel, +though with a more graceful passivity. There was no lift, +but at each floor a cushioned seat for travellers to use and +a palm in a coloured pot in a niche for travellers to gaze +upon as they rested. The quality of the palms, however, +deteriorated floor by floor, and on the fourth and fifth floors +the niches were empty. A broad embroidered bell-pull, +twitched, gave rise to one clanging sound within the abode +of the Foas, and the clanging sound reacted upon a small +dog which yapped loudly and continued to yap until the +visitors had entered and the door been closed again. +Monsieur came out of a room into the small entrance-hall, +accompanied by a considerable noise of conversation. He +beamed his ravishment; he kissed hands; he helped with the +dark blue cloak.</p> + +<p>“I brought Monsieur Musa in my car,” said Audrey. +“The weather——”</p> + +<p>Monsieur Foa bowed low to Monsieur Musa, and +Monsieur Musa bowed low to Monsieur Foa.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur!”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur!”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur, your accident I hope....”</p> + +<p>And so on.</p> + +<p>Cloak, overcoat, hat, stick—everything except the violin +case—were thrown pell-mell on to a piece of furniture in +the entrance-hall. Monsieur Foa, instead of being in evening +dress, was in exactly the same clothes as he had worn +at his first meeting with Audrey.</p> + +<p>Madame Foa appeared in the doorway. She was a slim +blonde Italian of pure descent, whereas only the paternal +grandfather of Monsieur Foa had been Italian. Madame +Foa, who had called on Audrey at the Danube, exhibited the +same symptoms of pleasure as her husband.</p> + +<p>“But your friend? But your friend?” cried she.</p> + +<p>Audrey, being led gradually into the drawing-room, explained +that Miss Ingate had been prevented at the last +moment, etc., etc.</p> + +<p>The distinction of Madame Foa’s simple dress had +reassured Audrey to a certain extent, but the size of the +drawing-room disconcerted her again. She had understood +that the house of the Foas was the real esoteric centre of +musical Paris, and she had prepared herself for vast and +luxurious salons, footmen, fountains of wine, rare flowers, +dandies, and the divine shoulders of operatic sopranos who +combined wit with the most seductive charm. The drawing-room +of the Foas was not as large as her own drawing-room +at the Danube. Still it was full, and double doors leading +to an unseen dining-room at right angles to its length produced +an illusion of space. Some of the men and some of +the women were elegant, and even very elegant; others +were not. Audrey instantly with her expert eye saw that +the pictures on the walls were of the last correctness, and a +few by illustrious painters. Here and there she could see +scrawled on them “à mon ami, André Foa.” Such +phenomena were balm. Everybody in the room was presented +to her, and with the greatest particularity, and the +host and hostess gazed on her as on an idol, a jewel, an +exquisite and startling discovery. Musa found two men he +knew. The conversation was resumed with energy.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said Madame Foa in English, sitting down +intimately beside Audrey, with a loving gesture, “We will +have a little talk, you and I. I find our friend Madame +Piriac met you last year.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Yes,” murmured Audrey, fatally struck, but +admirably dissembling, for she was determined to achieve +the evening successfully. “Madame Piriac, will she come +to-night?”</p> + +<p>“I fear not,” replied Madame Foa. “She would if she +could.”</p> + +<p>“I should so like to have seen her again,” said Audrey +eagerly. She was so relieved at Madame Piriac’s not +coming that she felt she could afford to be eager.</p> + +<p>And Monsieur Foa, a little distance off, threw a sign into +the duologue, and called:</p> + +<p>“You permit me? Your dress ... <em>Exquise! Exquise!</em> +And these pigs of French persist in saying that the English +lack taste!” He clapped his hand to his forehead in +despair of the French.</p> + +<p>Then the clanging sound supervened, and the little fox-terrier +yapped, and Monsieur Foa went out, ejaculating +“Ah!” and Madame Foa went into the doorway. Audrey +glanced round for Musa, but he was out of sight in the +dining-room. Several people turned at once and spoke to +her, including two composers who had probably composed +more impossibilities for amateur pianists than any other two +men who ever lived, and a musical critic with large dark +eyes and an Eastern air, who had come from the Opera very +sarcastic about the Opera. One of the composers asked the +critic whether he had not heard Musa play.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the critic. “I heard him in the Ternes +Quarter—somewhere. He plays very agreeably. Madame,” +he addressed Audrey. “I was discussing with these gentlemen +whether it be not possible to define the principle of +beauty in music. Once it is defined, my trade will be much +simplified, you see. What say you?”</p> + +<p>How could she discourse on the principle of beauty in +music when she had the whole weight of the evening on her +shoulders? Musa was the whole weight of the evening. +Would he succeed? She was his mother, his manager, his +creator. He was her handiwork. If he failed she would +have failed. That was her sole interest in him, but it was +an overwhelming interest. When would he be asked to +play? Useless for them to flatter her about her dress, to +treat her like a rarity, if they offered callous, careless, off-hand +remarks, such as “He plays very agreeably.”</p> + +<p>She stammered:</p> + +<p>“I—I only know what I like.”</p> + +<p>One of the composers jumped up excitedly:</p> + +<p>“<em>Voilà</em> Madame has said the final word. You hear +me, the final word, the most profound. Argue as you will, +perfect the art of criticism to no matter what point, and you +will never get beyond the final word of Madame.”</p> + +<p>The critic shrugged his shoulders, and with a smile bowed +to the ravishing utterer of last words on the most baffling of +subjects. This fluttered person soon perceived that she had +been mistaken in supposing that the room was full. The +clanging sound kept recurring, the dog kept barking, and +new guests continually poured into the room, thereby proving +that it was not full. All comers were introduced to Audrey, +whose head was a dizzy riot of strange names. Then at last +a girl sang, and was applauded. Madame Foa played for +her. “Now,” thought Audrey, “they will ask Musa.” +Then one of the composers played the piano, his themes +punctuated by the clanging sound and by the dog. The +room was asphyxiating, but no one except Audrey seemed +to be inconvenienced. Then several guests rang in quick +succession.</p> + +<p>“Madame!” the suave and ardent voice of Foa could +be heard in the entrance-hall. “And thou, Roussel ... +Ippolita, Ippolita!” he called to his wife. “It is Roussel.”</p> + +<p>Audrey did not turn her head. She could not. But presently +Roussel, in a blue suit with a wonderful flowing bow +of a black necktie in <em>crêpe de Chine</em>, was led before her. And +Musa was led before Roussel. Audrey, from nervousness, was +moved to relate the history of Musa’s accident to Roussel.</p> + +<p>The moment had arrived. Roussel sat down to the piano. +Musa tuned his fiddle.</p> + +<p>“From what appears,” murmured Monsieur Foa to nobody +in particular, with an ecstatic expectant smile on his +face, “this Musa is all that is most amazing.”</p> + +<p>Then, in the silence, the clanging sound was renewed, +and the fox-terrier reacted.</p> + +<p>“André, my friend,” cried Madame Foa, skipping into +the hall. “Will you do me the pleasure of exterminating +this dog?”</p> + +<p>Delicate osculatory explosions and pretty exclamations +in the hall! The hostess was encountering an old friend. +There was also a man’s deep English voice. Then a hush. +The man’s voice produced a very strange effect upon Audrey. +Roussel began to play. Musa held his bow aloft. Creeping +steps in the doorway made Audrey look round. A lady +smiled and bowed to her. It was Madame Piriac, resplendent +and serene.</p> + +<p>Musa played the Caprice. Audrey did not hear him, +partly because the vision of Madame Piriac, and the man’s +deep voice, had extremely perturbed her, and partly because +she was so desperately anxious for Musa’s triumph. She +had decided that she could make his triumph here the +prelude to tremendous things. When he had finished she +held her breath....</p> + +<p>The applause, after an instant, was sudden and extremely +cordial. Monsieur Foa loudly clapped, smiling at Audrey. +Roussel patted Musa on the back and chattered to him +fondly. On each side of her Audrey could catch murmured +exclamations of delight. Musa himself was certainly +pleased and happy.... He had played at Foa’s, where it +was absolutely essential to play if one intended to conquer +Paris and to prove one’s pretensions; and he had found +favour with this satiated and fastidious audience.</p> + +<p>“<em>Ouf!”</em> sighed the musical critic Orientally lounging on +a chair. “André, has it occurred to you that we are +expiring for want of air?”</p> + +<p>A window was opened, and a shiver went through the +assembly.</p> + +<p>The clanging sounded again, but no dog, for the dog had +been exterminated.</p> + +<p>“Dauphin, my old pig!” Foa’s greeting from the +entrance floated into the drawing-room, and then a very impressed: “Mademoiselle” from Madame Foa.</p> + +<p>“What?” cried Dauphin. “Musa has played? He +played well? So much the better. What did I tell you?”</p> + +<p>And he entered the drawing-room with the satisfied air +of having fed Musa from infancy and also of having taught +him all he knew about the violin.</p> + +<p>Madame Foa followed him, and with her was Miss Ingate, +gorgeous and blushing. The whole company was now on its +feet and moving about. Miss Ingate scuttered to Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she whispered. “Here I am. I came partly to +satisfy that hysterical Elise, and Monsieur Dauphin met me +on the stairs. But really I came because I’ve had another +letter from Miss Nickall. She’s been and got her arm +broken in a street row. I knew those policemen would do +it one day. I always said they would.”</p> + +<p>But Audrey seemed not to be listening. With a side-long +gaze she saw Madame Piriac talking with a middle-aged +Englishman, whose back alone was visible to her. +Madame Piriac laughed and vanished out of sight into the +dining-room. The Englishman turned and met Audrey’s +glance.</p> + +<p>Abruptly leaving Miss Ingate, Audrey walked straight +up to the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Good evening,” she said in a low voice. “What is +your name?”</p> + +<p>“Gilman,” he answered, with a laugh. “I only this +instant recognised you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Gilman,” said Audrey, “will you oblige me +very much by not recognising me? I want us to be introduced. +I am most particularly anxious that no one should +know I’m the same girl who helped you to jump off your +yacht at Lousey Hard last year.”</p> + +<p>And she moved quickly away.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_18" id="chapter_18" />CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>A DECISION</h3> + + +<p>The entire company was sitting or standing round the table +in the dining-room. It was a table at which eight might +have sat down to dinner with a fair amount of comfort; and +perhaps thirty-eight now were successfully claiming an +interest in it. Not at the end, but about a third of the way +down one side, Madame Foa brewed tea in a copper +receptacle over a spirit lamp. At the other extremity was a +battalion of glasses, some syphons and some lofty bottles. +Except for a border of teacups and glasses the rest of the +white expanse was empty, save that two silver biscuit boxes +and a silver cigarette box wandered up and down it according +to the needs of the community. Audrey was sitting next +to the Oriental musical critic, on her left, and on her right +she had a beautiful stout woman who could speak nothing +but Polish, but who expressed herself very clearly in the +language of smiles, nods, and shrugs; to Audrey she seemed +to be extremely romantic; the musical critic could converse +somewhat in Polish, and occasionally he talked across Audrey +to the Pole. Several other languages were flying about. +The subject of discussion was feminism, chiefly as practised +in England. It was Miss Ingate who had begun it; her +striking and peculiar appearance, and in particular her +frock, had given importance to her lightest word. People +who comprehended naught of English listened to her +entranced. The host, who was among these, stood behind +her in a state of ecstasy. Her pale forehead reddened; her +sardonic grin became deliciously self-conscious. “I know +I’m skidding,” she cried. “I know I’m skidding.”</p> + +<p>“What does she say? Skeed—skeed?” demanded the +host.</p> + +<p>Audrey interpreted. Shouts of laughter!</p> + +<p>“Oh! These English! These Englishwomen!” said +the host. “I adore them. I adore them all. They alone +exist.”</p> + +<p>“It’s vehy serious!” protested Miss Ingate. “It’s vehy +serious!”</p> + +<p>“We shall go to London to-morrow, shan’t we, +Winnie?” said Audrey across the table to her.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” agreed Miss Ingate. “I think we ought. We’re +as free as birds. When the police have broken our arms we +can come back to Paris to recover. I shan’t feel comfortable +until I’ve been and had my arm broken—it’s vehy +serious.”</p> + +<p>“What does she say? What is it that she says?” from +the host.</p> + +<p>More interpretation. More laughter, but this time an +impressed laughter. And Audrey perceived that just as she +was regarding the Polish woman as romantic, so the whole +company was regarding herself and Miss Ingate as romantic. +She could feel the polite, curious eyes of twenty men upon +her; and her mind seemed to stiffen into a formidable +resolve. She grew conscious of the lifting of all depression, +all anxiety. Her conscience was at rest. She had been +thinking for more than a week past: “I ought to go to +London.” How often had she not said to herself: “If any +woman should be in this movement, I should be in this +movement. I am a coward as long as I stay here, dallying +my time away.” Now the decision was made, absolutely.</p> + +<p>The Oriental musical critic turned to glance upward +behind his chair. Then he vacated it. The next instant +Madame Piriac was sitting in his place.</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>“Are you really going to London to-morrow, Madame?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Madame, really!” answered Audrey firmly, without +the least hesitation.</p> + +<p>“How I regret it! For this reason. I wished so much +to make your acquaintance. I mean—to know you a little. +You go perhaps in the afternoon? Could you not do me +the great pleasure of coming to lunch with me? I inhabit +the Quai Voltaire. It is all that is most convenient.”</p> + +<p>Audrey was startled and suspicious, but she could not +deny the persuasiveness of the invitation.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Madame!” she said. “I know not at what hour +we go. But even if it should be in the afternoon there is +the packing—you know—in a word....”</p> + +<p>“Listen,” Madame Piriac proceeded, bending even more +intimately towards her. “Be very, very kind. Come to see +me to-night. Come in my car. I will see that you reach +the Rue Delambre afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“But Madame, we are at the Hôtel du Danube. I have +my own car. You are very amiable.”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac was a little taken aback.</p> + +<p>“So much the better,” she said, in a new tone. “The +Hôtel du Danube is nearer still. But come in my car. +Mademoiselle Ingate can return in yours. Do not desolate +me.”</p> + +<p>“Does she know who I am?” thought Audrey, and +then: “What do I care if she does?”</p> + +<p>And she said aloud:</p> + +<p>“Madame, it is I who would be desolated to deprive +myself of this pleasure.”</p> + +<p>A considerable period elapsed before they could leave, +because of the complex discussion concerning feminism +which was delicately raging round the edge of the table. +The animation was acute, but it was purely intellectual. +The guests discussed the psychology of English suffragettes, +sympathetically, admiringly; they were even wonderstruck; +yet they might have been discussing the psychology of the +ancient Babylonians, so perfect was their detachment, so +completely unclouded by any prejudice was their desire to +reach the truth. Many of the things which they imperturbably +and politely said made Audrey feel glad that she +was a widow. Had she not been a widow, possibly they +would not have been uttered.</p> + +<p>And when Madame Piriac and Audrey did rise to go, +both host and hostess began to upbraid. The host, indeed, +barred the doorway with his urbane figure. They were not +kind, they were not true friends, to leave so soon. The +morrow had no sort of importance. The hour was scarcely +one o’clock. Other guests were expected.... Madame +Piriac alone knew how to handle the situation; she appealed +privately to Madame Foa. Having appealed to Madame +Foa, she disappeared with Madame Foa, and could not be +found when Audrey and Miss Ingate were ready to leave. +While these two waited in the antechamber, Monsieur Foa +said suddenly in a confidential tone to Audrey:</p> + +<p>“He is charming, Musa, quite charming.”</p> + +<p>“Did you like his playing?” Audrey demanded boldly.</p> + +<p>She could not understand why it should be necessary for +a violinist to play and to succeed at this house before he could +capture Paris. She was delighted excessively with the +home, but positively it bore no resemblance to what she had +anticipated; nor did it seem to her to possess any of the +attributes of influence; for one of her basic ideas about the +world was that influential people must be dull and formal, +moving about with deliberation in sombrely magnificent +interiors.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Monsieur Foa. “I like it. He plays +admirably.” And he spoke sincerely. Audrey, however, +was a little disappointed because Monsieur Foa did not +assert that Musa was the most marvellous genius he had +ever listened to.</p> + +<p>“I am very, very content to have heard him,” said +Monsieur Foa.</p> + +<p>“Do you think he will succeed in Paris?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Madame! There is the Press. There are the +snobs.... In fine....”</p> + +<p>“I suppose if he had money?” Audrey murmured.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Madame! In Paris, if one has money, one has +everything. Paris—it is not London, where to succeed one +must be truly successful. But he is a player very highly +accomplished. It is miraculous that he should have played +so long in a café—Dauphin told me the history.”</p> + +<p>Musa appeared, and after him Madame Piriac. More +appeals, more reproaches, more asseverations that friends +who left so early as one o’clock in the morning were not +friends—and the host at length consented to open the door. +At that very instant the bell clanged. Another guest had +arrived.</p> + +<p>When, after the long descent of the stairs (which, however, +unlike the stairs of the Rue Delambre, were lighted), +Audrey saw seven automobiles in the street, she veered again +towards the possibility that the Foas might after all be +influential. Musa and Mr. Gilman, the yachtsman, had +left with the women. Audrey told Miss Ingate to drive +Musa home. She said not a word to him about her +departure the next afternoon, and he made no reference to +it. As the most imposing automobile moved splendidly +away, Mr. Gilman held open the door of Madame Piriac’s +vehicle.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman sat down opposite to the women. In the +enclosed space the rumour of his heavy breathing was +noticeable. Madame Piriac began to speak in English—her +own English—with a unique accent that Audrey at once +loved.</p> + +<p>“You commence soon the yachting, my oncle?” said +she, and turning to Audrey: “Mistair Gilman is no oncle +to me. But he is a great friend of my husband. I call +always him oncle. Do not I, oncle? Mistair Gilman lives +only for the yachting. Every year in May we lose him, till +September.”</p> + +<p>“Really!” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>Her heart was apprehensively beating. She even suspected +for an instant that both of them knew who she was, +and that Mr. Gilman, before she had addressed him in the +drawing-room, had already related to Madame Piriac the +episode of Mozewater. Then she said to herself that the +idea was absurd; and lastly, repeating within her breast +that she didn’t care, she became desperately bold.</p> + +<p>“I should love to buy a yacht,” she said, after a pause. +“We used to live far inland and I know nothing of the sea; +in fact I scarcely saw it till I crossed the Channel, but I +have always dreamed about it.”</p> + +<p>“You must come and have a look at my new yacht, Mrs. +Moncreiff,” said Mr. Gilman in his solemn, thick voice. “I +always say that no yacht is herself without ladies on board, +a yacht being feminine, you see.” He gave a little laugh.</p> + +<p>“Ah! My oncle!” Madame Piriac broke in. “I see +in that no reason. If a yacht was masculine then I could +see the reason in it.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not one of my happiest efforts,” said Mf. +Gilman with resignation. “I am a dull man.”</p> + +<p>“No, no!” Madame Piriac protested. “You are a dear. +But why have you said nothing to-night at the Foas in the +great discussion about feminism? Not one word have you +said!”</p> + +<p>“I really don’t understand it,” said Mr. Gilman. +“Either everybody is mad, or I am mad. I dare say I am +mad.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Madame Piriac. “I said not much myself, +but I enjoyed it. It was better than the music, music, which +they talk always there. People talk too much shops in +these days. It is out-to-place and done over.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean overdone?” asked Mr. Gilman mildly.</p> + +<p>“Well, overdone, if you like better that.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean shop, Hortense?” asked Mr. Gilman +further.</p> + +<p>“Shop, shop! The English is impossible!”</p> + +<p>The automobile crossed the Seine and arrived in the +deserted Quai Voltaire.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_19" id="chapter_19" />CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>THE BOUDOIR</h3> + + +<p>In the setting of her own boudoir Madame Piriac equalled, +and in some ways surpassed, the finest pictures which +Audrey had imagined of her. Her evening dress made +Audrey doubt whether after all her own was the genuine +triumph which she had supposed; in Madame Piriac’s +boudoir, and close by Madame Piriac, it had disconcertingly +the air of being an ingenious but unconvincing imitation of +the real thing.</p> + +<p>But Madame Piriac’s dress had the advantage of being +worn with the highest skill and assurance; Madame Piriac +knew what the least fold of her dress was doing, in the way +of effect, on the floor behind her back. And Madame +Piriac was mistress, not only of her dress, but of herself +and all her faculties. A handsome woman, rather more than +slim, but not plump, she had an expression of confidence, of +knowing exactly what she was about, of foreseeing all her +effects, which Audrey envied more than she had ever envied +anything.</p> + +<p>As soon as Audrey came into the room she had said to +herself: “I will have a boudoir like this.” It was an +interior in which every piece of furniture was loaded with +objects personal to its owner. So many signed photographs, +so much remarkable bric-à-brac, so many intimate +contrivances of ornamental comfort, Audrey had never +before seen within four walls. The chandelier, comprising +ten thousand crystals, sparkled down upon a +complex aggregate of richness overwhelming to everybody +except Madame Piriac, who subdued it, understood it, and +had the key to it. Audrey wondered how many servants +took how many hours to dust the room. She was sure, +however, that whatever the number of servants required, +Madame Piriac managed them all to perfection. She longed +violently to be as old as Madame Piriac, whom she +assessed at twenty-nine and a half, and to be French, and to +know all about everything in life as Madame Piriac did. +Yet at the same time she was extremely determined to be +Audrey, and not to be intimidated by Madame Piriac or by +anyone.</p> + +<p>Just as they were beginning to suck iced lemonade up +straws—a delightful caprice of Madame Piriac’s, well suited +to catch Audrey’s taste—the door opened softly, and a tall, +very dark, bearded man, appreciably older than Madame +Piriac, entered with a kind of soft energy, and Mr. Gilman +followed him.</p> + +<p>“Ah! My friend!” murmured Madame Piriac. “You +give me pleasure. This is Madame Moncreiff, of whom I +have spoken to you. Madame—my husband. We have just +come from the Foas.”</p> + +<p>Monsieur Piriac bent over Audrey’s hand, and smiled +with vivacity, and they talked a little of the evening, carelessly, +as though time existed not. And then Monsieur +Piriac said to his wife:</p> + +<p>“Dear friend. I have to work with this old Gilman. +We shall therefore ask you to excuse us. Till to-morrow, +then. Good night.”</p> + +<p>“Good night, my friend. Do not do harm to yourself. +Good night, my oncle.”</p> + +<p>Monsieur Piriac saluted with formality but with sincerity.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” thought Audrey, as the men went away. “I +should want to marry exactly him if I did want to marry. +He doesn’t interfere; he isn’t curious; he doesn’t want to +know. He leaves her alone. She leaves him alone. How +clever they are!”</p> + +<p>“My husband is now chief of the Cabinet of the Foreign +Minister,” said Madame Piriac with modest pride. “They +kill themselves, you know, in that office—especially in these +times. But I watch. And I tell Monsieur Gilman to watch.... +How nice you are when you sit in a chair like that! +Only Englishwomen know how to use an easy chair.... +To say nothing of the frock.”</p> + +<p>“Madame Piriac,” Audrey brusquely demanded with an +expression of ingenuous curiosity. “Why did you bring me +here?” It was the cry of an animal at once rash and +rather desperate, determined to unmask all the secret +dangers that might be threatening.</p> + +<p>“I much desired to see you,” Madame Piriac answered +very smoothly, “in order to apologise to you for my +indiscreet question on the night when we first met. Your +fairy tale about your late husband was a very proper reply to +the attitude of Madame Rosamund—as you all call her. It +was very clever—so clever that I myself did not appreciate +it until after I had spoken. Ever since that moment I have +wanted to explain, to know you more. Also your pretence +of going to sleep in the automobile showed what in a woman +I call distinguished talent.”</p> + +<p>“But, Madame, I assure you that I really was asleep.”</p> + +<p>“So much the better. The fact proves that your +instinct for the right thing is quite exceptional. It is not +that I would criticise Madame Rosamund, who has genius. +Nevertheless her genius causes her to commit errors of +which others would be incapable.... So she has captured +you, too.”</p> + +<p>“Captured me!” Audrey protested—and she was +made stronger by the flattering reference to her distinguished +talent. “I’ve never seen her from that day to +this!”</p> + +<p>“No. But she has captured you. You are going.”</p> + +<p>“Going where?”</p> + +<p>“To London, to take part in these riots.”</p> + +<p>“I shan’t have anything to do with riots.”</p> + +<p>“Within a month you will have been in a riot, Madame ... +and I shall regret it.”</p> + +<p>“And even if I am, Madame! You are a friend of +Rosamund’s. You must be in sympathy.”</p> + +<p>“In sympathy with what?”</p> + +<p>“With—with all this suffragism, feminism. I am anyway!” +Audrey sat up straight. “It’s horrible that women +don’t have the Vote. And it’s horrible the things they have +to suffer in order to get it. But they <em>will</em> get it!”</p> + +<p>“Why do you say ‘they’?”</p> + +<p>“I mean ‘we.’”</p> + +<p>“Supposing you meant ‘they,’ after all? And you did, +Madame. Let me tell you. You ask me if I sympathise +with suffragism. You might as well ask me if I sympathise +with a storm or with an earthquake, or with a river running +to the sea. Perhaps I do. But perhaps I do not. That +has no importance. Feminism is a natural phenomenon; it +was unavoidable. You Englishwomen will get your vote. +Even we in France will get it one day. It cannot be denied.... +Sympathy is not required. But let us suppose that all +women joined the struggle. What would happen to women? +What would happen to the world? Just as nunneries were +a necessity of other ages, so even in this age women must +meditate. Far more than men they need to understand +themselves. Until they understand themselves how can they +understand men? The function of women is to understand. +Their function is also to preserve. All the beautiful and +luxurious things in the world are in the custody of women. +Men would never of themselves keep a tradition. If there is +anything on earth worth keeping, women must keep it. +And the tradition will be lost if every woman listens to +Madame Rosamund. That is what she cannot see. Her +genius blinds her. You say I am a friend of Madame +Rosamund. I am. Madame Rosamund was educated in +Paris, at the same school as my aunt and myself. But I +have never helped her in her mission. And I never will. +My vocation is elsewhere. When she fled over here from +the English police, she came to me. I received her. She +asked me to drive her to certain addresses. I did so. She +was my guest. I surrounded her with all that she had +abandoned, all that her genius had forced her to abandon. +But I never spoke to her of her work, nor she to me of it. +Still, I dare to think that I was of some value to the woman +in Madame Rosamund.”</p> + +<p>Audrey felt very young and awkward and defiant. She +felt defiant because Madame Piriac had impressed her, +and she was determined not to be impressed.</p> + +<p>“So you wanted to tell me all this,” said she, putting +down her glass, with the straws in it, on a small round +table laden with tiny figures in silver. “Why did you +want to tell me, Madame?”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to tell you because I want you to do nothing +that you will regret. You greatly interested me the moment +I saw you. And when I saw you in that studio, in that +Quarter, I feared for you.”</p> + +<p>“Feared what?”</p> + +<p>“I feared that you might mistake your vocation—that +vocation which is so clearly written on your face. I saw +a woman young and free and rich, and I was afraid that +she might waste everything.”</p> + +<p>“But do you know anything about me?”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac paused before replying.</p> + +<p>“Nothing but what I see. But I see that you are in +a high degree what all women are to a greater extent +than men—an individualist. You know the feeling that +comes over a woman in hours of complete intimacy with +a man? You know what I mean?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” Audrey agreed, blushing.</p> + +<p>“In those moments we perceive that only the individual +counts with us. And with you, above all, the individual +should count. Unless you use your youth and your freedom +and your money for some individual, you will never be +content; you will eternally regret. All that is in your face.”</p> + +<p>Audrey blushed more, thinking of certain plans formed +in that head of hers. She said nothing. She was both +very pleased and very exasperated.</p> + +<p>“I have a relative in England, a young girl,” Madame +Piriac proceeded, “in some unpronounceable county. We +write to each other. She is excessively English.”</p> + +<p>Audrey was scarlet. Several times during the sojourn +in Paris she had sent letters (to Madame Piriac) to be +posted in Essex by Mr. Foulger. These letters were full +of quaint inventions about winter life in Essex, and other +matters.</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac, looking reflectively at the red embers +of wood in the grate, went on:</p> + +<p>“She says she may come to Paris soon. I have often +asked her to come, but she has refused. Perhaps next +month I shall go to England to fetch her. I should like +her to know you—very much. She is younger than you +are, but only a little, I think.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be delighted, if I am here,” Audrey stammered, +and she rose. “You are a very kind woman. Very, very +amiable. You do not know how much I admire you. I +wish I was like you. But I am not. You have seen only +one side of me. You should see the inside. It is very +strange. I must go to London. I am forced to go to +London. I should be a coward if I did not go to London. +Tell me, is my dress really good? Or is it a deception?”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac smiled, and kissed her on both cheeks.</p> + +<p>“It is good,” said Madame Piriac. “But your maid is +not all that she ought to be. However, it is good.”</p> + +<p>“If you had simply praised it, and only that, I should +not have been content,” said Audrey, and kissed Madame +Piriac in the English way, the youthful and direct way.</p> + +<p>Not another word about the male sex, the female sex, +tradition or individualism, passed between them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman was summoned to take Audrey across the +river to the right bank. They went in a taxi. He was +protective and very silent. But just as the cab was +turning out of the Rue de Rivoli into the Rue Castiglione +he said:</p> + +<p>“I shall obey you absolutely, Mrs. Moncreiff. It is +a great pleasure for an old, lonely man to keep a secret +for a young and charming woman. A greater pleasure +than you can possibly imagine. You may count on me. +I am not a talker, but you have put me under an obligation, +and I am very grateful.”</p> + +<p>She took care that her thanks should reward him.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” she burst out in the rose-coloured secrecy +of the bedroom, “has Elise gone to bed? ... All right. +Well, I’m lost. Madame Piniac is going to England to +fetch me.”</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_20" id="chapter_20" />CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>PAGET GARDENS</h3> + + +<p>“Has anything happened in this town?” asked Audrey +of Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>It was the afternoon of the day following their arrival +in London from Paris, and it was a fine afternoon. They +were walking from the Charing Cross Hotel, where they +had slept, to Paget Gardens.</p> + +<p>“Anything happened?” repeated Miss Ingate. “What +you mean? I don’t see anything vehy particular on the +posters.”</p> + +<p>“Everybody looks so sad and worried, compared with +people in Paris.”</p> + +<p>“So they do! So they do!” cried Miss Ingate. “Oh, +yes! So they do! I wondered what it was seemed so +queer. That’s it. Well, of course you mustn’t forget we’re +in England. I always did say it was a vehy peculiar place.”</p> + +<p>“Do <em>we</em> look like that?” Audrey suggested.</p> + +<p>“I expect we do.”</p> + +<p>“I’m quite sure that I don’t, Winnie, anyway. I’m +really very cheerful. I’m surprisingly cheerful.”</p> + +<p>It was true. Also she both looked and felt more girlish +than ever in Paris. Impossible to divine, watching her in +her light clothes, and with her airy step, that she was the +relict of a man who had so tragically died of blood-poisoning +caused by bad table manners.</p> + +<p>“I’ve a good mind to ask a policeman,” said she.</p> + +<p>“You’d better not,” Miss Ingate warned her.</p> + +<p>Audrey instantly turned into the roadway, treating the +creosoted wood as though it had been rose-strewn velvet, +and reached a refuge where a policeman was standing. The +policeman bent with benevolence and politeness to listen to +her tale.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” she said, smiling innocently up at him, +“but is anything the matter?”</p> + +<p>“<em>What</em> street, miss?” he questioned, bending lower.</p> + +<p>“Is anything the matter? All the people round here are +so gloomy.”</p> + +<p>The policeman glanced at her.</p> + +<p>“There will be something the matter,” he remarked +calmly. “There will be something the matter pretty soon +if I have much more of that suffragette sauce. I thought +you was one of them the moment I saw you, but I wasn’t +sure.”</p> + +<p>This was the first time Audrey had ever spoken to a +policeman, save Inspector Keeble, at Moze, who was a +friendly human being. And she had a little pang of fear. +The policeman was like a high wall of blue cloth, with a +marvellous imitation of a human face at the top, and above +the face a cupola.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she murmured reproachfully, and +hastened back to Miss Ingate, who heard the tale with a +grinning awe that was, nevertheless, sardonic. They +pressed onwards to Piccadilly Circus, where the only normal +and cheerful living creatures were the van horses and the +flower-women; and up Regent Street, through crowds of +rapt and mystical women and romantical men who had +apparently wandered out of a play by Henrik Ibsen.</p> + +<p>They then took a motor-bus, which was full of the same +enigmatic, far-gazing heroines and heroes. When they +got off, the conductor pointed dreamily in a certain direction +and murmured the words: “Paget Square.” Their desire +was Paget Gardens, and, after finding Paget Square, Paget +Mansions, Paget Houses, Paget Street, Paget Mews, and +Upper Paget Street, they found Paget Gardens. It was a +terrace of huge and fashionable houses fronting on an +immense, blank brick wall. The houses were very lofty; +so lofty that the architect, presumably afraid of hitting +heaven with his patent chimney cowls, had sunk the lowest +storey deep into the earth. Looking over the high palisades +which protected the pavement from the precipice thus made, +one could plainly see the lowest storey and all that was +therein.</p> + +<p>“Whoever can she be staying with?” exclaimed Miss +Ingate. “It’s a marchioness at least. There’s no doubt +the very best people are now in the movement.”</p> + +<p>Audrey went first up massive steps, and, choosing with +marked presence of mind the right bell, rang it, expecting +to see either a butler or a footman.</p> + +<p>A young woman, however, answered the ring. She wore +a rather shabby serge frock, but no apron, and she did not +resemble any kind of servant. Her ruddy, heavy, and +slightly resentful face fronted the visitors with a steady, +challenging stare.</p> + +<p>“Does Miss Nickall live here?” asked Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Aye! She does!” came the answer, with a northern +accent.</p> + +<p>“We’ve come to see how she is.”</p> + +<p>“Happen ye’d better step inside, then,” said the young +woman.</p> + +<p>They stepped inside to an enormous and obscure interior; +the guardian banged the door, and negligently led them +forward.</p> + +<p>“It is a large house,” Miss Ingate ventured, against the +silent intimidation of the place.</p> + +<p>“One o’ them rich uns,” said the guardian. “She +lends it to the Cause when she doesn’t want it herself, to +show her sympathy. Saves her a caretaker—they all know +I’m one to look right well after a house.”</p> + +<p>Having passed two very spacious rooms and a wide +staircase, she opened the door of a smaller but still a considerable +room.</p> + +<p>“Here y’are,” she muttered.</p> + +<p>This room, like the others, was thoroughly sheeted, and +thus presented a misty and spectral appearance. All the +chairs, the chandelier, and all the pictures, were masked +in close-fitting pale yellow. The curtains were down, the +carpet was up, and a dust sheet was spread under the table +in the middle of the floor.</p> + +<p>“Here’s some friends of yours,” said the guardian, +throwing her words across the room.</p> + +<p>In an easy chair near the fireplace sat Miss Nickall, her +arm in splints and in a sling. She was very thin and very +pallid, and her eyes brightly glittered. The customary kind +expression of her face was modified, though not impaired, +by a look of vague apprehension.</p> + +<p>“Mind how ye handle her,” the guardian gave warning, +when Nick yielded herself to be embraced.</p> + +<p>“You’re just a bit of my Paris come to see me,” said +Nick, with her American accent. Then through her tears: +“How’s Tommy, and how’s Musa, and how’s—how’s my +studio? Oh! This is Miss Susan Foley, sister of Jane +Foley. Jane will be here for tea. Susan—Miss Ingate and +Mrs. Moncreiff.”</p> + +<p>Susan gave a grim bob.</p> + +<p>“Is Jane Foley coming? Does she live here?” asked +Miss Ingate, properly impressed by the name of her who +was the St. George of Suffragism, and perhaps the most +efficient of all militants. “Audrey, we are in luck!”</p> + +<p>When Nick had gathered items of information about +Paris, she burst out:</p> + +<p>“I can’t believe I’ve only met you once before. You’re +just like old friends.”</p> + +<p>“So we are old friends,” said Audrey. “Your letters +to Winnie have made us old friends.”</p> + +<p>“And when did you come over?”</p> + +<p>“Last night,” Miss Ingate replied. “We should have +called this morning to see you, but Mrs. Moncreiff had so +much business to do and people to see. I don’t know what +it all was. She’s very mysterious.”</p> + +<p>As a fact, Audrey had had an interview with Mr. +Foulger, who, with laudable obedience, had come up to +town from Chelmsford in response to a telegram. Miss +Ingate was aware of this, but she was not aware of other +and more recondite interviews which Audrey had accomplished.</p> + +<p>“And how did this happen?” eagerly inquired Miss +Ingate, at last, pointing to the bandaged arm.</p> + +<p>Nick’s face showed discomfort.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t let us talk about that,” said Nick. “It +was a policeman. I don’t think he meant it. I had +chained myself to the railings of St. Margaret’s Church.”</p> + +<p>Susan Foley put in laconically:</p> + +<p>“She’s not to be worried. I hope ye’ll stay for tea. +We shall have tea at five sharp. Janey’ll be in.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t they sleep here, Susan?” Nick whimpered.</p> + +<p>“Of course they can, and welcome,” said Susan. +“There’s more empty beds in this barracks than they could +sleep in if they slept all day and all night.”</p> + +<p>“But we’re staying at an hotel. We can’t possibly put +you to all this trouble,” Audrey protested.</p> + +<p>“No trouble. It’s my business. It’s what I’m here +for,” said Susan Foley. “I’d sooner have it than mill work +any day o’ the week.”</p> + +<p>“You’re just going to be very mean if you don’t stay +here,” Nick faltered. Tears stood in her eyes again. “You +don’t know how I feel.” She murmured something about +Betty Burke’s doings,</p> + +<p>“We will stay! We will stay!” Miss Ingate agreed +hastily. And, unperceived by Nick, she gave Audrey a +glance in which irony and tenderness were mingled. It +was as if she had whispered, “The nerves of this angel have +all gone to pieces. We must humour the little sentimental +simpleton.”</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_21" id="chapter_21" />CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>JANE</h3> + + +<p>“We’ve begun, ye see,” said Susan Foley.</p> + +<p>It was two minutes past five, and Miss Ingate and +Audrey, followed by Nick with her slung arm, entered the +sheeted living-room. Tremendous feats had been performed. +All the Moncreiff and Ingate luggage, less than two hours +earlier lying at the Charing Cross Hotel, was now in two +adjoining rooms on the third floor of the great house in +Paget Gardens. Drivers and loiterers had assisted, under +the strict and taciturn control of Susan Foley. Also Nick, +Miss Ingate, and Audrey had had a most intimate conversation, +and the two latter had changed their attire to suit the +station of campers in a palace.</p> + +<p>“It’s lovely to be quite free and independent,” Audrey +had said, and the statement had been acclaimed.</p> + +<p>Jane Foley was seated opposite her sister at the small +table plainly set for five. She rose vivaciously, and came +forward with outstretched hand. She wore a blue skirt and +a white blouse and brown boots. She was twenty-eight, +but her rather small proportions and her plentiful golden, +fluffy hair made her seem about twenty. Her face was less +homely than Susan’s, and more mobile. She smiled somewhat +shyly, with an extraordinary radiant cheerfulness. It +was impossible for her to conceal the fact that she was very +good-natured and very happy. Finally, she limped.</p> + +<p>“Susan <em>will</em> have the meals prompt,” she said, as they +all sat down. “And as Susan left home on purpose to look +after me, of course she’s the mistress. As far as that goes, +she always was.”</p> + +<p>Susan was spreading jam on a slice of bread-and-butter +for the one-armed Nick.</p> + +<p>“I dare say you don’t remember me playing the barrel +organ all down Regent Street that day, do you?” said +Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; quite well. You were magnificent!” answered +Jane, with blue eyes sparkling.</p> + +<p>“Well, though I only just saw you—I was so busy—I +should remember you anywhere, Miss Foley,” said Miss +Ingate.</p> + +<p>“Do you notice any difference in her?” questioned +Susan Foley harshly.</p> + +<p>“N-o,” said Miss Ingate. “Except, perhaps, she looks +even younger.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you notice she’s lame?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well—yes, I did. But you didn’t expect me to +mention that, did you? I thought your sister had just +sprained her ankle, or something.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Susan. “It’s for life. Tell them about it, +Jenny. They don’t know.”</p> + +<p>Jane Foley laughed lightly.</p> + +<p>“It was all in the day’s work,” she said. “It was at +my last visit to Holloway.”</p> + +<p>Audrey, gazing at her entranced, like a child, murmured +with awe:</p> + +<p>“Have you been to prison, then?”</p> + +<p>“Three times,” said Jane pleasantly. “And I shall be +going again soon. I’m only out while they’re trying to +think of some new way of dealing with me, poor things! +I’m generally watched. It must cost them a fearful lot of +money. But what are they to do?”</p> + +<p>“But how were you lamed? I can’t eat any tea if you +don’t tell me—really I can’t!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, all right!” Jane laughed. “It was after that +Liberal mass meeting in Peel Park, at Bradford. I’d begun +to ask questions, as usual, you know—questions they can’t +answer—and then some Liberal stewards, with lovely rosettes +in their buttonholes, came round me and started cutting my +coat with their penknives. They cut it all to pieces. You +see that was the best argument they could think of in the +excitement of the moment. I believe they’d have cut up +every stitch I had, only perhaps it began to dawn on them +that it might be awkward for them. Then two of them +lifted me up, one by the feet and the other by the shoulders, +and carried me off. They wouldn’t let me walk. I told +them they’d hurt my leg, but they were too busy to listen. +As soon as they came across a policeman they said they had +done it all to save me from being thrown into the lake by +a brutal and infuriated mob. I just had enough breath left +to thank them. Of course, the police weren’t going to stand +that, so I was taken that night to London. Everything was +thought of except my tea. But I expect they forgot that on +purpose so that I should be properly hungry when I got to +Holloway. However, I said to myself, ‘If I can’t eat and +drink when <em>I</em> want, I won’t eat and drink when <em>they</em> want!’ +And I didn’t.</p> + +<p>“After I’d paid my respects at Bow Street, and was +back at Holloway, I just stamped on everything they offered +me, and wrote a petition to the Governor asking to be +treated as a political prisoner. Instead of granting the petition +he kept sending me more and more beautiful food, and +I kept stamping on it. Then three magistrates arrived and +sat on my case, and sentenced me to the punishment cells. +They ran off as soon as they’d sentenced me. I said I +wouldn’t go to their punishment cells. I told everybody +again how lame I was. So five wardresses carried me there, +but they dropped me twice on the way. It was a very +interesting cell, the punishment cell was. If it had been +in the Tower, everybody would go to look at it because of +its quaintness. There were two pools of water near to the +bed. I was three days in the cell, and those pools of water +were always there; I could see them because from where I +lay on the bed the light glinted on them. Just one gleam +from the tiny cobwebby window high up. I hadn’t anything +to read, of course, but even if I’d had something I +couldn’t see to read. The bed was two planks, just raised +an inch or two above the water, and the pillow was wooden. +Never any trouble about making beds like that! The entire +furniture of this cosy drawing-room was—you’ll never +guess—a tree-stump, meant for a chair, I think. And on +this tree-stump was an india-rubber cup. I could just see it +across the cell.</p> + +<p>“At night the wardresses were struck with pity, or +perhaps it was the Governor. Anyhow, they brought me +a mattress and a rug. They told me to get up off the +bed, and I told them I couldn’t get up, couldn’t even +turn over. So they said, ‘Very well, then; you can do +without these things,’ and they took them away. The +funny thing was that I really couldn’t get up. If I tried +to move, my leg made me want to shriek.</p> + +<p>“After three days they decided to take me to the prison +hospital. I shrieked all the way—couldn’t help it. They +laughed. So then I laughed. In the hospital, the doctor +decided that my left ankle was sprained and my right +thigh broken. So I had the best of them, after all. They +had to admit they were wrong. It was most awkward +for them. Then I thought I might as well begin to eat. +But they had to be very careful what they gave me. I +hadn’t had anything for nearly six days, you see. They +were in a fearful stew. Doctor was there day and night. +And it wasn’t his fault. I told him he had all my sympathies. +He said he was very sorry I should be lame for life, but +it couldn’t be helped, as the thigh had been left too long. +I said, ‘Please don’t mention it.’”</p> + +<p>“But did they keep you after that?”</p> + +<p>“Keep me! They implored my friends to take me away. +No man was ever more relieved that the poor dear Governor +of Holloway Prison, and the Home Secretary himself, too, +when I left in a motor ambulance. The Governor raised +his hat to two of my friends. He would have eaten out +of my hand if I’d had a few more days to tame him.”</p> + +<p>Audrey’s childlike and intense gaze had become extremely +noticeable. Jane Foley felt it upon herself, and grew a +little self-conscious. Susan Foley noticed it with eager +and grim pride, and she made a sharp movement instead +of saying: “Yes, you do well to stare. You’ve got +something worth staring at.”</p> + +<p>Nick noticed it, with moisture in her glittering, hysteric +eyes. Miss Ingate noticed it ironically. “You, pretending +to be a widow, and so knowing and so superior! Why, +you’re a schoolgirl!” said the expressive curve of Miss +Ingate’s shut lips.</p> + +<p>And, in fact, Audrey was now younger than she had +ever been in Paris. She was the girl of six or seven +years earlier, who, at night at school, used to insist upon +hearing stories of real people, either from a sympathetic +teacher or from the other member of the celebrated secret +society. But she had never heard any tale to compare +with Jane Foley’s. It was incredible that this straightforward, +simple girl at the table should be the world-renowned +Jane Foley. What most impressed Audrey in +Jane was Jane’s happiness. Jane was happy, as Audrey +had not imagined that anyone could be happy. She had +within her a supply of happiness that was constantly +bubbling up. The ridiculousness and the total futility of +such matters as motor-cars, fine raiment, beautiful boudoirs +and correctness smote Audrey severely. She saw that there +was only one thing worth having, and that was the +mysterious thing that Jane Foley had. This mysterious +thing rendered innocuous cruelty, stupidity and injustice, +and reduced them to rather pathetic trifles.</p> + +<p>“But I never saw all this in the papers!” Audrey +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“No paper—I mean no respectable paper—would print it. +Of course, we printed it in our own weekly paper.”</p> + +<p>“Why wouldn’t any respectable paper print it?”</p> + +<p>“Because it’s not nice. Don’t you see that I ought +to have been at home mending stockings instead of gallivanting +round with Liberal stewards and policemen and +prison governors?”</p> + +<p>“And why aren’t you mending stockings?” asked Audrey, +with a delicious quizzical smile that crept gradually through +the wonder and admiration in her face.</p> + +<p>“You pal!” cried Jane Foley impulsively. “I must +hug you!” And she did. “I’ll tell you why I’m not +mending stockings, and why Susan has had to leave off +mending stockings in order to look after me. Susan and +I worked in a mill when she was ten and I was eleven. +We were ‘tenters.’ We used to get up at four or five +in the morning and help with the housework, and then +put on our clogs and shawls and be at the mill at six. +We worked till twelve, and then in the afternoon we went +to school. The next day we went to school in the morning +and to the mill in the afternoon. When we were thirteen +we left school altogether, and worked twelve hours a day +in the mill. In the evenings we had to do housework. +In fact, all our housework was done before half-past five +in the morning and after half-past six in the evening. +We had to work just as hard as the men and boys in the +mill. We got a great deal less money and a great deal +less decent treatment; but to make up we had to slave +in the early morning and late at night, while the men +either snored or smoked. I was all right. But Susan +wasn’t. And a lot of women weren’t, especially young +mothers with babies. So I learnt typewriting on the quiet, +and left it all to try and find out whether something couldn’t +be done. I soon found out—after I’d heard Rosamund +speak. That’s the reason I’m not mending stockings. +I’m not blaming anybody. It’s no one’s fault, really. It +certainly isn’t men’s fault. Only something has to be +altered, and most people detest alterations. Still, they +do get done somehow in the end. And so there you +are!”</p> + +<p>“I should love to help,” said Audrey. “I expect I’m +not much good, but I should love to.”</p> + +<p>She dared not refer to her wealth, of which, in fact, +she was rather ashamed.</p> + +<p>“Well, you can help, all right,” said Jane Foley, rising. +“Are you a member?”</p> + +<p>“No. But I will be to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll give you something to do,” said Jane Foley.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes!” remarked Miss Ingate. “They’ll keep you +busy enough—<em>and</em> charge you for it.”</p> + +<p>Susan Foley began to clear the table.</p> + +<p>“Supper at nine,” said she curtly.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_22" id="chapter_22" />CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE DETECTIVE</h3> + + +<p>Audrey and Miss Ingate were writing letters to Paris. +Jane Foley had gone forth again to a committee meeting, +which was understood to be closely connected with a great +Liberal demonstration shortly to be held in a Midland +fortress of Liberalism. Miss Nickall, in accordance with +medical instructions, had been put to bed. Susan Foley +was in the basement, either clearing up tea or preparing +supper.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate, putting her pen between her teeth and +looking up from a blotting-pad, said to Audrey across +the table:</p> + +<p>“Are you writing to Musa?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not!” said Audrey, with fire. “Why should +I write to Musa?” She added: “But you can write to +him, if you like.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Can I?” observed Miss Ingate, grinning.</p> + +<p>Audrey knew of no reason why she should blush before +Miss Ingate, yet she began to blush. She resolved not to +blush; she put all her individual force into the enterprise +of resisting the tide of blood to her cheeks, but the tide +absolutely ignored her, as the tide of ocean might have +ignored her.</p> + +<p>She rose from the table, and, going into a corner, +fidgeted with the electric switches, turning certain additional +lights off and on.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Miss Ingate; “I’ll write to him. +I’m sure he’ll expect something. Have you finished your +letters?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what’s this one on the table, then?”</p> + +<p>“I shan’t go on with that one.”</p> + +<p>“Any message for Musa?”</p> + +<p>“You might tell him,” said Audrey, carefully examining +the drawn curtains of the window, “that I happened to +meet a French concert agent this morning who was very +interested in him.”</p> + +<p>“Did you?” cried Miss Ingate. “Where?”</p> + +<p>“It was when I was out with Mr. Foulger. The agent +asked me whether I’d heard a man named Musa play in +Paris. Of course I said I had. He told me he meant +to take him up and arrange a tour for him. So you might +tell Musa he ought to be prepared for anything.”</p> + +<p>“Wonders will never cease!” said Miss Ingate. “Have +I got enough stamps?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see anything wonderful in it,” Audrey sharply +replied. “Lots of people in Paris know he’s a great +player, and those Jew concert agents are always awfully +keen—at least, so I’m told. Well, perhaps, after all, you’d +better not tell him. It might make him conceited.... +Now, look here, Winnie, do hurry up, and let’s go out +and post those letters. I can’t stand this huge house. +I keep on imagining all the empty rooms in it. Hurry +up and come along.”</p> + +<p>Shortly afterwards Miss Ingate shouted downstairs into +the earth:</p> + +<p>“Miss Foley, we’re both just going out to post some +letters.”</p> + +<p>The faint reply came:</p> + +<p>“Supper at nine.”</p> + +<p>At the farther corner of Paget Square they discovered +a pillar-box standing solitary in the chill night among the +vast and threatening architecture.</p> + +<p>“Do let’s go to a café,” suggested Audrey.</p> + +<p>“A café?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I want to be jolly. I must break loose somewhere +to-night. I can’t wait till to-morrow. I was feeling +splendid till Jane Foley went. Then the house began to +get on my nerves, not to mention Susan Foley, with her +supper at nine. Do all people in London fix their meals +hours and hours beforehand? I suppose they do. We +used to at Moze. But I’d forgotten. Come <em>along</em>, Winnie.”</p> + +<p>“But there are no cafés in London.”</p> + +<p>“There must be some cafés somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Only public-houses and restaurants. Of course, we +could go to a teashop, but they’re all shut up now.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, what do people do in London when they +want to be jolly? I always thought London was a +terrific town.”</p> + +<p>“They never want to be jolly,” said Miss Ingate. “If +they feel as if they couldn’t help being jolly, then they +hire a private room somewhere and draw the blinds +down.”</p> + +<p>With no more words, Audrey seized Miss Ingate by +the arm and they walked off, out of the square and into +empty and silent streets where highly disciplined gas-lamps +kept strict watch over the deportment of colossal houses. +In their rapid stroll they seemed to cover miles, but they +could not escape from the labyrinth of tremendous and +correct houses, which in squares and in terraces and in +crescents displayed the everlasting characteristics of comfort, +propriety and self-satisfaction. Now and then a wayfarer +passed them. Now and then a taxicab sped through the +avenues of darkness like a criminal pursued by the impalpable. +Now and then a red light flickered in a porch instead +of a white one. But there was no surcease from the sinister +spell until suddenly they emerged into a long, wide, illumined +thoroughfare of shut shops that stretched to infinity on +either hand. And a vermilion motor-bus meandered by, +and this motor-bus was so sad, so inexpressibly wistful, in +the solemn wilderness of the empty artery, that the two +women fled from the strange scene and penetrated once +more into the gigantic and fearful maze from which they +had for an instant stood free. Soon they were quite lost. +Till that day and night Audrey had had a notion that Miss +Ingate, though bizarre, did indeed know every street in +London. The delusion was destroyed.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said Miss Ingate. “If we keep on we’re +bound to come to a cabstand, and then we can take a taxi +and go wherever we like—Regent Street, Piccadilly, anywhere. +That’s the convenience of London. As soon as +you come to a cabstand you’re all right.”</p> + +<p>And then, in the distance, Audrey saw a man apparently +tampering with a gate that led to an area.</p> + +<p>“Why,” she said excitedly, “that’s the house we’re +staying in!”</p> + +<p>“Of course it isn’t!” said Miss Ingate. “This isn’t +Paget Gardens, because there are houses on both sides of it +and there’s a big wall on one side of Paget Gardens. I’m +sure we’re at least two miles off our beds.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, how is it Nick’s hairbrushes are on the +window-sill there, where she put them when she went to +bed? I can see them quite plain. This is the side street—what’s-its-name? +There’s the wall over there at the end. +Don’t you remember—it’s a corner house. This is the side +of it.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you’re right,” admitted Miss Ingate. “What +can that man be doing there?”</p> + +<p>They plainly saw him open the gate and disappear down +the area steps.</p> + +<p>“It’s a burglar,” said Audrey. “This part must be a +regular paradise for burglars.”</p> + +<p>“More likely a detective,” Miss Ingate suggested.</p> + +<p>Audrey was thrilled.</p> + +<p>“I do hope it is!” she murmured. “How heavenly! +Miss Foley said she was being watched, didn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“What had we better do?” Miss Ingate faltered.</p> + +<p>“Do, Winnie?” Audrey whispered, tugging at her arm. +“We must run in at the front door and tell Supper-at-nine-o’clock.”</p> + +<p>They kept cautiously on the far side of the street until +the end of it, when they crossed over, nipped into the dark +porch of the house and rang the bell.</p> + +<p>Susan Foley opened for them. There was no light in +the hall.</p> + +<p>“Oh, is there?” said Susan Foley, very calmly, when +she heard the news. “I think I know who it is. I’ve seen +him hanging round my scullery door before. How did he +climb over those railings?”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t. He opened the gate.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I locked the gate myself this afternoon. So he’s +got a key. I shall manage him all right. We’ll get the +fire-extinguishers. There’s about a dozen of ’em, I should +think, in this house. They’re rather heavy, but we can +do it.”</p> + +<p>Turning on the light in the hall, she immediately lifted +from its hook a red-coloured metal cone about twenty inches +long and eight inches in diameter at the base. “In case of +fire drive in knob by hard blow against floor, and let +liquid play on flames,” she read the instructions on the +side. “I know them things,” she said. “It spurts out +like a fountain, and it’s a rather nasty chemistry sort of a +fluid. I shall take one downstairs to the scullery, and the +others we’ll have upstairs in the room over Miss Nickall’s. +We can put ’em in the housemaid’s lift.... I shall open +the scullery door and leave it a bit open like, and when he +comes in I’ll be ready for him behind the door with this. +If he thinks he can come spying after our Janey like +this——”</p> + +<p>“But——” Miss Ingate began.</p> + +<p>“You aren’t feeling very well, are ye, miss?” Susan +Foley demanded, as she put two extinguishers into the +housemaid’s lift. “Better go and sit down in the parlour. +You won’t be wanted. Mrs. Moncreiff and me can +manage.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we can!” agreed Audrey enthusiastically. “Run +along, Winnie.”</p> + +<p>After about two minutes of hard labour Susan ran away +and brought a key to Audrey.</p> + +<p>“You sneak out,” she said, “and lock the gate on him. +I lay he’ll want a new suit of clothes when I done with +him!”</p> + +<p>Ecstatically, joyfully, Audrey took the key and departed. +Miss Ingate was sitting in the hall, staring about her like an +undecided bird. Audrey crept round into the side street. +Nobody was in sight. She could not see over the railings, +but she could see between them into the abyss of the area. +The man was there. She could distinguish his dark form +against the inner wall. With every conspiratorial precaution, +she pulled the gate to, inserted the key, and locked it.</p> + +<p>A light went up in the scullery window, of which the +blind was drawn. The man peeped at the sides of the +blind. Then the scullery door was opened. The man +started. A piece of wood was thrown out on to the floor +of the area, and the door swung outwards. Then the +light in the scullery was extinguished. The man waited +a few moments. He had noticed that the door was not +quite closed, and the interstice irresistibly fascinated him. +He approached and put his hand against the door. It +yielded. He entered. The next instant there was a bang +and a cry, and a strong spray of white liquid appeared, in +the middle of which was the man’s head. The door slammed +and a bolt was shot. The man, spluttering, coughing, and +swearing, rubbed his eyes and wiped water from his face +with his hands. His hat was on the ground. At first he +could not see at all, but presently he felt his way towards +the steps and began to climb them. Audrey ran off towards +the corner. She could see and hear him shaking the gate and +then trying to get a key into it. But as Audrey had left her +key in the other side of the lock, he failed in the attempt.</p> + +<p>The next thing was that a window opened in the high +wall-face of the house and an immense stream of liquid +descended full on the man’s head. Susan Foley was at +the window, but only the nozzle of the extinguisher could +be seen. The man tried to climb over the railings; he did +not succeed; they had been especially designed to prevent +such feats. He ran down the steps. The shower faithfully +followed him. In no corner of his hiding did the bountiful +spray neglect him. As soon as one supply of liquid +slackened another commenced. Sometimes there were two +at once. The man ran up the steps again and made another +effort to reach the safety of the street. Audrey could restrain +herself no more. She came, palpitating with joyous +vitality, towards the area gate with the innocent mien of +a passer-by.</p> + +<p>“Whatever is the matter?” she exclaimed, stopping as +if thunderstruck. But in the gloom her eyes were dancing +fires. She was elated as she had never been.</p> + +<p>The man only coughed.</p> + +<p>“You oughtn’t to take shower-baths like this in the +street,” she said, veiling the laughter in her voice. “It’s +not allowed. But I suppose you’re doing it for a bet or +something.”</p> + +<p>The downpour ceased.</p> + +<p>“Here, miss,” said he, between coughs, “unlock this +gate for me. Here’s the key.”</p> + +<p>“I shall do no such thing,” Audrey replied. “I believe +you’re a burglar. I shall fetch a policeman.”</p> + +<p>And she turned back.</p> + +<p>In the house, Miss Ingate was coming slowly down the +stairs, a fire-extinguisher in her arms, like a red baby. She +had a sardonic smile, but there was diffidence in it, which +showed, perhaps, that it was directed within.</p> + +<p>“I’ve saved one,” she said, pointing to an extinguisher, +“in case there should be a fire in the night.”</p> + +<p>A little later Susan Foley appeared at the door of the +living-room.</p> + +<p>“Nine o’clock,” she announced calmly. “Supper’s +ready. We shan’t wait for Jane.”</p> + +<p>When Jane Foley arrived, a reconnaissance proved that +the martyrised detective had contrived to get away.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_23" id="chapter_23" />CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>THE BLUE CITY</h3> + + +<p>In the following month, on a Saturday afternoon, Audrey, +Miss Ingate, and Jane Foley were seated at an open-air +café in the Blue City.</p> + +<p>The Blue City, now no more, was, as may be remembered, +Birmingham’s reply to the White City of London, +and the imitative White City of Manchester. Birmingham, +in that year, was not imitative, and, with its chemical +knowledge, it had discovered that certain shades of blue +would resist the effects of smoke far more successfully than +any shade of white. And experience even showed that these +shades of blue were improved, made more delicate and +romantic, by smoke. The total impression of the show—which +it need hardly be said was situated in the polite +Edgbaston district—was ethereal, especially when its +minarets and towers, all in accordance with the taste of the +period, were beheld from a distance. Nor was the exhibition +entirely devoted to pleasure. It had a moral object, and +that object was to demonstrate the progress of civilisation +in our islands. Its official title, indeed, was “The National +Progress Exhibition,” but the citizens of Birmingham and +the vicinity never called it anything but the Blue City.</p> + +<p>On that Saturday afternoon a Cabinet Minister historically +hostile to the idols of Birmingham was about to +address a mass meeting in the Imperial Hall of the +Exhibition, which held seven thousand people, in order to +prove to Birmingham that the Government of which he was +a member had done far more for national progress than any +other Government had done for national progress in the same +length of time. The presence of the Cabinet Minister +accounted for the presence of Jane Foley; the presence of +Jane Foley accounted for the presence of Audrey; and the +presence of Audrey accounted for the presence of Miss +Ingate.</p> + +<p>Although she was one of the chief organisers of victory, +and perhaps—next to Rosamund and the family trio whose +Christian names were three sweet symphonies—the principal +asset of the Suffragette Union, Jane Foley had not taken +an active part in the Union’s arrangements for suitably +welcoming the Cabinet Minister; partly because of her +lameness, partly because she was writing a book, and partly +for secret reasons which it would be unfair to divulge. +Nearly at the last moment, however, in consequence of news +that all was not well in the Midlands, she had been sent to +Birmingham, and, after evading the watch of the police, she +had arrived on the previous day in Audrey’s motor-car, +which at that moment was waiting in the automobile park +outside the principal gates of the Blue City.</p> + +<p>The motor-car had been chosen as a means of transit +for the reason that the railway stations were being watched +for notorious suffragettes by members of a police force +whose reputations were at stake. Audrey owed her +possession of a motor-car to the fact that the Union officials +had seemed both startled and grieved when, in response to +questions, she admitted that she had no car. It was communicated +to her that members of the Union as rich as she +reputedly was were expected to own cars for the general +good. Audrey thereupon took measures to own a car. +Having seen in many newspapers an advertisement in which +a firm of middlemen implored the public thus: “Let us run +your car for you. Let us take all the worry and responsibility,” +she interviewed the firm, and by writing out a +cheque disembarrassed herself at a stroke of every anxiety +incident to defective magnetos, bad petrol, bad rubber, +punctures, driving licences, bursts, collisions, damages, and +human chauffeurs. She had all the satisfactions of owning +a car without any of the cares. One of the evidences of +progress in the Blue City was an exhibit of this very firm +of middlemen.</p> + +<p>From the pale blue tripod table at which sat the three +women could be plainly seen the vast Imperial Hall, flanked +on one side by the great American Dragon Slide, a side-show +loudly demonstrating progress, and on the other by +the unique Joy Wheel side-show. At the doorway of the +latter a man was bawling proofs of progress through a +megaphone.</p> + +<p>Immense crowds had been gathering in the Imperial +Hall, and the lines of political enthusiasts bound thither +were now thinning. The Blue City was full of rumours, as +that the Cabinet Minister was too afraid to come, as that +he had been smuggled to the hall inside a tea-chest, and +as that he had walked openly and unchallenged through the +whole Exhibition. It was no rumour, but a sure fact, that +two women had been caught hiding on the roof of the +Imperial Hall, under natural shelters formed by the beams +and boarding supporting the pediment of the eastern façade, +and that they were ammunitioned with flags and leaflets and +a silk ladder, and had made a hole in the roof exactly over +the platform. These two women had been seen in charge +of policemen at the Exhibition police-station. It was understood +by many that they were the last hope of militancy +that afternoon; many others, on the contrary, were convinced +that they had been simply a feint.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Miss Ingate suddenly, glancing up at the +Imperial clock, “I think I shall move outside and sit in the +car. I think that’ll be the best place for me. I said that +night in Paris that I’d get my arm broken, but I’ve changed +my mind about that.” She rose.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” protested Audrey, “aren’t you going to see +it out?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I’m afraid. I played the barrel +organ all the way down Regent Street, and it was smashed +to pieces. But I don’t want to go to prison. Really, I +don’t <em>want</em> to. If me going to prison would bring the Vote +a single year nearer, I should say: ‘Let it wait a year.’ If +me not going to prison meant no Vote for ever and ever, I +should say: ‘Well, struggle on without the Vote.’ I’ve no +objection to other people going to prison, if it suits them, +but it wouldn’t suit me. I know it wouldn’t. So I shall +go outside and sit in the car. If you don’t come, I shall +know what’s happened, and you needn’t worry about me.”</p> + +<p>The dame duly departed, her lips and eyes equally ironic +about her own prudence and about the rashness of others.</p> + +<p>“Let’s have some more lemonade—shall we?” said +Jane Foley.</p> + +<p>“Oh, let’s!” agreed Audrey, with rapture. “And more +sponge-cake, too! You do look lovely like that!”</p> + +<p>“Do I?”</p> + +<p>Jane Foley had her profuse hair tightly bound round her +head and powdered grey. It was very advisable for her +to be disguised, and her bright hair was usually the chief +symptom of her in those disturbances which so harassed +the police. She now had the appearance of a neat old lady +kept miraculously young by a pure and cheerful nature. +Audrey, with a plain blue frock and hat which had cost +more than Jane Foley would spend on clothes in twelve +months, had a face dazzling by its ingenuous excitement +and expectation. Her little nose was extraordinarily pert; +her forehead superb; and all her gestures had the same +vivacious charm as was in her eyes. The white-aproned, +streamered girl who took the order for lemonade and +sponge-cakes to a covered bar ornamented by advertisements +of whisky, determined to adopt a composite of the +styles of both the customers on her next ceremonious +Sunday. And a large proportion of the other sippers and +nibblers and of the endless promenading crowds regarded +the pair with pleasure and curiosity, never suspecting that +one of them was the most dangerous woman in England.</p> + +<p>The new refreshments, which had been delayed by +reason of an altercation between the waitress and three +extreme youths at a neighbouring table, at last arrived, +and were plopped smartly down between Audrey and Miss +Foley. Having received half a sovereign from Audrey, the +girl returned to the bar for change. “None o’ your sauce!” +she threw out, as she passed the youths, who had +apparently discovered new arguments in support of their +case. Audrey was fired by the vigorous independence of the +girl against three males.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care if we are caught!” she murmured low, +looking for the future through the pellucid tumbler. She +added, however: “But if we are, I shall pay my own fine. +You know I promised that to Miss Ingate.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, so long as you don’t pay mine, my +dear,” said Jane Foley with an affectionate smile.</p> + +<p>“Jenny!” Audrey protested, full of heroine-worship. +“How could you think I would ever do such a mean thing!”</p> + +<p>There came a dull, vague, voluminous sound from the +direction of the Imperial Hall. It lasted for quite a number +of seconds.</p> + +<p>“He’s beginning,” said Jane Foley. “I do feel sorry +for him.”</p> + +<p>“Are we to start now?” Audrey asked deferentially.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” Jane laughed. “The great thing is to let +them think everything’s all right. And then, when they’re +getting careless, let go at them full bang with a beautiful +surprise. There’ll be a chance of getting away like that. +I believe there are a hundred and fifty stewards in the meeting, +and they’ll every one be quite useless.”</p> + +<p>At intervals a muffled roar issued from the Imperial +Hall, despite the fact that the windows were closely shut.</p> + +<p>In due time Jane Foley quietly rose from the table, and +Audrey did likewise. All around them stretched the imposing +blue architecture of the Exhibition, forming vistas +that ended dimly either in the smoke of Birmingham or the +rustic haze of Worcestershire. And, although the Imperial +Hall was crammed, every vista was thickly powdered with +pleasure-seekers and probably pleasure-finders. Bands +played. Flags waved. Brass glinted. Even the sun +feebly shone at intervals through the eternal canopy of +soot. It was a great day in the annals of the Blue City +and of Liberalism.</p> + +<p>And Jane Foley and Audrey turned their backs upon all +that, and—Jane concealing her limp as much as possible—sauntered +with affected nonchalance towards the precincts +of the Joy Wheel enclosure. Audrey was inexpressibly uplifted. +She felt as if she had stepped straight into romance. +And she was right—she had stepped into the most vivid +romance of the modern age, into a world of disguises, +flights, pursuits, chicane, inconceivable adventures, ideals, +martyrs and conquerors, which only the Renaissance or the +twenty-first century could appreciate.</p> + +<p>“Lend me that, will you?” said Jane persuasively to +the man with the megaphone at the entrance to the enclosure.</p> + +<p>He was, quite properly, a very loud man, with a loud +thick voice, a loud purple face, and a loud grey suit. To +Audrey’s astonishment, he smiled and winked, and gave up +the megaphone at once.</p> + +<p>Audrey paid sixpence at the turnstile, admittance for two +persons, and they were within the temple, which had a +roof like an umbrella over the central, revolving portion of +it, but which was somewhat open to the skies around the +rim. There were two concentric enclosing walls, the inner +one was unscalable, and the outer one about five feet six +inches high. A second loud man was calling out: +“Couples please. Ladies <em>and</em> gentlemen. Couples if <em>you</em> please.” Obediently, numbers of the crowd disposed themselves +in pairs in the attitudes of close affection on the +circling floor which had just come to rest, while the +remainder of the numerous gathering gazed upon them with +sarcastic ecstasy. Then the wheel began slowly to turn, +and girls to shriek in the plenitude of happiness. And +progress was proved geometrically.</p> + +<p>Jane, bearing the megaphone, slipped by an aperture +into the space between the two walls, and Audrey followed. +Nobody gave attention to them except the second loud man, +who winked the wink of knowledge. The fact was that +both the loud men, being unalterable Tories, had been very +willing to connive at Jane Foley’s scheme for the affliction +of a Radical Minister.</p> + +<p>The two girls over the wall had an excellent and +appetising view of the upper part of the side of the Imperial +Hall, and of its high windows, the nearest of which was +scarcely thirty feet away.</p> + +<p>“Hold this, will you?” said Jane, handing the megaphone +to Audrey.</p> + +<p>Jane drew from its concealment in her dress a small +piece of iron to which was attached a coloured streamer +bearing certain words. She threw, with a strong movement +of the left arm, because she was left-handed. She +had practised throwing; throwing was one of her several +specialties. The bit of iron, trailing its motto like a comet +its tail, flew across space and plumped into the window +with a pleasing crash and disappeared, having triumphed +over uncounted police on the outskirts and a hundred and +fifty stewards within. A roar from the interior of the hall +supervened, and varied cries.</p> + +<p>“Give me the meg,” said Jane gently.</p> + +<p>The next instant she was shouting through the megaphone, +an instrument which she had seriously studied:</p> + +<p>“Votes for women. Why do you torture women? +Votes for women. Why do you torture women?”</p> + +<p>The uproar increased and subsided. A masterful voice +resounded within the interior. Many people rushed out of +the hall. And there was a great scurry of important and +puzzled feet within a radius of a score of yards.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll try the next window,” said Jane, handing +over the megaphone. “You shout while I throw.”</p> + +<p>Audrey’s heart was violently beating. She took the +megaphone and put it to her lips, but no sound would come. +Then, as though it were breaking through an obstacle, the +sound shot forth, and to Audrey it was a gigantic voice +that functioned quite independently of her will. Tremendously +excited by the noise, she bawled louder and still +louder.</p> + +<p>“I’ve missed,” said Jane calmly in her ear. “That’s +enough, I think. Come along.”</p> + +<p>“But they can’t possibly see us,” said Audrey, breathless, +lowering the instrument.</p> + +<p>“Come along, dear,” Jane Foley insisted.</p> + +<p>People with open mouths were crowding at the aperture +of the inner wall, but, Jane going first, both girls pushed +safely through the throng. The wheel had stopped. The +entire congregation was staring agog, and in two seconds +everybody divined, or had been nudged to the effect, that +Jane and Audrey were the authoresses of the pother.</p> + +<p>Jane still leading, they made for the exit. But the first +loud man rushed chivalrously in.</p> + +<p>“Perlice!” he cried. “Two bobbies a-coming.”</p> + +<p>“Here!” said the second loud man. “Here, misses. +Get on the wheel. They’ll never get ye if ye sit in the +middle back to back.” He jumped on to the wheel himself, +and indicated the mathematical centre. Jane took the suggestion +in a flash; Audrey was obedient. They fixed themselves +under directions, dropping the megaphone. The +wheel started, and the megaphone rattled across its smooth +surface till it was shot off. A policeman ran in, and hesitated; +another man, in plain clothes, and wearing a rosette, +ran in.</p> + +<p>“That’s them,” said the rosette. “I saw her with the +grey hair from the gallery.”</p> + +<p>The policeman sprang on to the wheel, and after terrific +efforts fell sprawling and was thrown off. The rosette met +the same destiny. A second policeman appeared, and with +the fearless courage of his cloth, undeterred by the spectacle +of prostrate forms, made a magnificent dash, and was +equally floored.</p> + +<p>As Audrey sat very upright, pressing her back against +the back of Jane Foley and clutching at Jane Foley’s skirts +with her hands behind her—the locked pair were obliged thus +to hold themselves exactly over the axis of the wheel, for +the slightest change of position would have resulted in their +being flung to the circumference and into the blue grip of +the law—she had visions of all her life just as though she +had been drowning. She admitted all her follies and +wondered what madness could have prompted her remarkable +escapades both in Paris and out of it. She remembered +Madame Piriac’s prophecy. She was ready to wish +the past year annihilated and herself back once more in +parental captivity at Moze, the slave of an unalterable +routine imposed by her father, without responsibility, without +initiative and without joy. And she lived again through +the scenes in which she had smiled at the customs official, +fibbed to Rosamund, taken the wounded Musa home in the +taxi, spoken privily with the ageing yacht-owner, and +laughed at the drowned detective in the area of the palace +in Paget Gardens.</p> + +<p>Everything happened in her mind while the wheel went +round once, showing her in turn to the various portions +of the audience, and bringing her at length to a second view +of the sprawling policemen. Whereupon she thought +queerly: “What do I care about the vote, really?” And +finally she thought with anger and resentment: “What a +shame it is that women haven’t got the vote!” And then +she heard a gay, quiet sound. It was Jane Foley laughing +gently behind her.</p> + +<p>“Can you see the big one now, darling?” asked Jane +roguishly. “Has he picked himself up again?”</p> + +<p>Audrey laughed.</p> + +<p>And at last the audience laughed also. It laughed +because the big policeman, unconquerable, had made +another intrepid dash for the centre of the wheel and fallen +upon his stomach as upon a huge india-rubber ball. The +audience did more than laugh—it shrieked, yelled, and +guffawed. The performance to be witnessed was worth ten +times the price of entry. Indeed no such performance had +ever before been seen in the whole history of popular amusement. +And in describing the affair the next morning as +“unique” the <em>Birmingham Daily Post</em> for once used that +adjective with absolute correctness. The policemen tried +again and yet again. They got within feet, within inches, +of their prey, only to be dragged away by the mysterious +protector of militant maidens—centrifugal force. Probably +never before in the annals of the struggle for political +freedom had maidens found such a protection, invisible, +sinister and complete. Had the education of policemen in +England included a course of mechanics, these particular +two policemen would have known that they were seeking +the impossible and fighting against that which was stronger +than ten thousand policemen. But they would not give up. +At each fresh attempt they hoped by guile to overcome their +unseen enemy, as the gambler hopes at each fresh throw to +outwit chance. The jeers of the audience pricked them to +desperation, for in encounters with females like Jane Foley +and Audrey they had been accustomed to the active +sympathy of the public. But centrifugal force had +rendered them ridiculous, and the public never sympathises +with those whom ridicule has covered. The strange and side-splitting +effects of centrifugal force had transformed about a +hundred indifferent young men and women into ardent and +convinced supporters of feminism in its most advanced form.</p> + +<p>In the course of her slow revolution Audrey saw the +rosetted steward arguing with the second loud man, no +doubt to persuade him to stop the wheel. Then out of the +tail of her eye she saw the steward run violently from the +tent. And then while her back was towards the entrance +she was deafened by a prodigious roar of delight from the +mob. The two policemen had fled also—probably for reinforcements +and appliances against centrifugal force. In +their pardonable excitement they had, however, committed +the imprudence of departing together. An elementary +knowledge of strategy should have warned them against +such a mistake. The wheel stopped immediately. The +second loud man beckoned with laughter to Jane Foley and +Audrey, who rose and hopefully skipped towards him. +Audrey at any rate was as self-conscious as though she had +been on the stage.</p> + +<p>“Here’s th’ back way,” said the second loud man, +pointing to a coarse curtain in the obscurity of the nether +parts of the enclosure.</p> + +<p>They ran, Jane Foley first, and vanished from the +regions of the Joy Wheel amid terrific acclamations given +in a strong Midland accent.</p> + +<p>The next moment they found themselves in a part of +the Blue City which nobody had taken the trouble to paint +blue. The one blue object was a small patch of sky, amid +clouds, overhead. On all sides were wooden flying +buttresses, supporting the boundaries of the Joy Wheel +enclosure to the south-east, of the Parade Restaurant and +Bar to the south-west, and of a third establishment of good +cheer to the north. Upon the ground were brick-ends, +cinders, bits of wood, bits of corrugated iron, and all the +litter and refuse cast out of sight of the eyes of visitors to +the Exhibition of Progress.</p> + +<p>With the fear of the police behind them they stumbled +forward a few yards, and then saw a small ramshackle +door swinging slightly to and fro on one hinge. Jane Foley +pulled it open. They both went into a narrow passage. +On the mildewed wall of the passage was pinned up a notice +in red ink: “Any waitress taking away any apron or cap +from the Parade Restaurant and Bar will be fined one +shilling.” Farther on was another door, also ajar. Jane +Foley pushed against it, and a tiny room of irregular shape +was disclosed. In this room a stout woman in grey was +counting a pile of newly laundered caps and aprons, and +putting them out of one hamper into another. Audrey +remembered seeing the woman at the counter of the +restaurant and bar.</p> + +<p>“The police are after us. They’ll be here in a minute,” +said Jane Foley simply.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed the woman in grey, with the carelessness +of fatigue. “Are you them stone-throwing lot? +They’ve just been in to tell me about it. What d’ye do +it for?”</p> + +<p>“We do it for you—amongst others,” Jane Foley smiled.</p> + +<p>“Nay! That ye don’t!” said the woman positively. +“I’ve got a vote for the city council, and I want no more.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you don’t want us to get caught, do you?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t know as I do. Ye look a couple o’ bonny +wenches.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s have two caps and aprons, then,” said Jane +Foley smoothly. “We’ll pay the shilling fine.” She +laughed lightly. “And a bit more. If the police get in +here we shall have to struggle, you know, and they’ll break +the place up.”</p> + +<p>Audrey produced another half-sovereign.</p> + +<p>“But what shall ye do with yer hats and coats?” the +woman demanded.</p> + +<p>“Give them to you, of course.”</p> + +<p>The woman regarded the hats and coats.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t get near them coats,” she said. “And if I +put on one o’ them there hats my old man ’ud rise from the +grave—that he would. Still, I don’t wish ye any harm.”</p> + +<p>She shut and locked the door.</p> + +<p>In about a minute two waitresses in aprons and +streamered caps of immaculate purity emerged from the +secret places of the Parade Restaurant and Bar, slipped +round the end of the counter, and started with easy indifference +to saunter away into the grounds after the manner +of restaurant girls who have been gifted with half an hour +off. The tabled expanse in front of the Parade erection was +busy with people, some sitting at the tables and supporting +the establishment, but many more merely taking advantage +of the pitch to observe all possible exciting developments of +the suffragette shindy.</p> + +<p>And as the criminals were modestly getting clear, a loud +and imperious voice called:</p> + +<p>“Hey!”</p> + +<p>Audrey, lacking experience, hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Hey there!”</p> + +<p>They both turned, for the voice would not be denied. +It belonged to a man sitting with another man at a table +on the outskirts of the group of tables. It was the voice +of the rosetted steward, who beckoned in a not unfriendly +style.</p> + +<p>“Bring us two liqueur brandies, miss,” he cried. “And +look slippy, if ye please.”</p> + +<p>The sharp tone, so sure of obedience, gave Audrey a +queer sensation of being in reality a waitress doomed to +tolerate the rough bullying of gentlemen urgently desiring +alcohol. And the fierce thought that women—especially +restaurant waitresses—must and should possess the Vote +surged through her mind more powerfully than ever.</p> + +<p>“I’ll never have the chance again,” she muttered to herself. +And marched to the counter.</p> + +<p>“Two liqueur brandies, please,” she said to the woman +in grey, who had left her apron calculations. “That’s all +right,” she murmured, as the woman stared a question at +her. Then the woman smiled to herself, and poured out +the liqueur brandies from a labelled bottle with startling +adroitness, and dashed the full glasses on to a brass tray.</p> + +<p>As Audrey walked across the gravel carefully balancing +the tray, she speculated whether the public eye would notice +the shape of her small handbag, which was attached by a +safety pin to her dress beneath the apron, and whether her +streamers were streaming out far behind her head.</p> + +<p>Before she could put the tray down on the table, the +rosetted steward, who looked pale, snatched one of the +glasses and gulped down its entire contents.</p> + +<p>“I wanted it!” said he, smacking his lips. “I wanted +it bad. They’ll catch ’em all right. I should know the +young ’un again anywhere. I’ll swear to identify her in +any court. And I will. Tasty little piece o’ goods, too! ... +But not so good-looking as you,” he added, gazing +suddenly at Audrey.</p> + +<p>“None o’ your sauce,” snapped Audrey, and walked off, +leaving the tray behind.</p> + +<p>The two men exploded into coarse but amiable laughter, +and called to her to return, but she would not. “You can +pay the other young lady,” she said over her shoulder, +pointing vaguely to the counter where there was now a +bevy of other young ladies.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Miss Ingate, and the chauffeur also, +received a very appreciable shock. Half an hour later the +car, having called at the telegraph office, and also at the +aghast lodgings of the waitresses to enable them to reattire +and to pack, had quitted Birmingham.</p> + +<p>That night they reached Northampton. At the post +office there Jane Foley got a telegram. And when the three +were seated in a corner of the curtained and stuffy dining-room +of the small hotel, Jane said, addressing herself +specially to Audrey:</p> + +<p>“It won’t be safe for us to return to Paget Gardens +to-morrow. And perhaps not to any of our places in +London.”</p> + +<p>“That won’t matter,” said Audrey, who was now +becoming accustomed to the world of conspiracy and +chicane in which Jane Foley carried on her existence with +such a deceiving air of the matter-of-fact. “We’ll go anywhere, +won’t we, Winnie?”</p> + +<p>And Miss Ingate assented.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Jane Foley. “I’ve just had a telegram +arranging for us to go to Frinton.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean Frinton-on-Sea?” exclaimed Miss +Ingate, suddenly excited.</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> on the sea,” said Jane. “We have to go +through Colchester. Do you know it?”</p> + +<p>“Do I know it!” repeated Miss Ingate. “I know +everybody in Frinton, except the Germans. When I’m at +home I buy my bacon at Frinton. Are you going to an +hotel there?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Jane. “To some people named Spatt.”</p> + +<p>“There’s nobody that is anybody named Spatt living at +Frinton,” said Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“They haven’t been there long.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” murmured Miss Ingate. “Of course if that’s +it...! I can’t guarantee what’s happened since I began +my pilgrimages. But I think I shall wriggle off home +quietly as soon as we get to Colchester. This afternoon’s +business has been too feverish for me. When the policeman +held up his hand as we came through Ellsworth I thought +you were caught. I shall just go home.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care much about going to Frinton, Jenny,” said +Audrey.</p> + +<p>Indeed, Moze lay within not many miles of Frinton-on-Sea.</p> + +<p>Then Audrey and Miss Ingate observed a phenomenon +that was both novel and extremely disturbing. Tears came +into the eyes of Jane Foley.</p> + +<p>“Don’t say it, Audrey, don’t say it!” she appealed in +a wet voice. “I shall have to go myself. And you simply +can’t imagine how I hate going all alone into these houses +that we’re invited to. I’d much sooner be in lodgings, as +we were last night. But these homes in quiet places here +and there are very useful sometimes. They all belong to +members of the Union, you know; and we have to use them. +But I wish we hadn’t. I’ve met Mrs. Spatt once. I didn’t +think you’d throw me over just at the worst part. The +Spatts will take all of us and be glad.”</p> + +<p>("They won’t take me,” said Miss Ingate under her +breath.)</p> + +<p>“I shall come with you,” said Audrey, caressing the +recreant who, while equal to trifles such as policemen, magistrates, +and prisons, was miserably afraid of a strange +home. In fact Audrey now liked Jane much more than +ever, liked her completely—and perhaps admired her rather +less, though her admiration was still intense. And the +thought in Audrey’s mind was: “Never will I desert this +girl! I’m a militant, too, now, and I shall stick by her.” +And she was full of a happiness which she could not understand +and which she did not want to understand.</p> + +<p>The next morning all the newspaper posters in Northhampton +bore the words: “Policemen and suffragettes on +Joy Wheel,” or some variation of these words. And they +bore nothing else. And in all the towns and many of the +villages through which they passed on the way to Colchester, +the same legend greeted their flying eyes. Audrey +and Miss Ingate, in the motor-car, read with great care all +the papers. Audrey blushed at the descriptions of herself, +which were flattering. It seemed that the Cabinet Minister’s +political meeting had been seriously damaged by the episode, +for the reason that rumours of the performance on the Joy +Wheel had impaired the spell of eloquence and partially +emptied the hall. And this was the more disappointing in +that the police had been sure that nothing untoward would +occur. It seemed also that the police were on the track of +the criminals.</p> + +<p>“Are they!” exclaimed Jane Foley with a beautiful +smile.</p> + +<p>Then the car approached a city of towers on a hill, and +as it passed by the station, which was in the valley, Miss +Ingate demanded a halt. She got out in the station yard +and transferred her belongings to a cab.</p> + +<p>“I shall drive home from here,” she said. “I’ve often +done it before. After all, I did play the barrel organ all +the way down Regent Street. Surely I can rest on the +barrel organ, can’t I, Miss Foley—at my age? ... What +a business I shall have when I <em>do</em> get home, and nobody +expecting me!”</p> + +<p>And when certain minor arrangements had been made, +the car mounted the hill into Colchester and took the +Frinton road, leaving Miss Ingate’s fly far behind.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_24" id="chapter_24" />CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE SPATTS</h3> + + +<p>The house of the Spatts was large, imposing and variegated. +It had turrets, balconies, and architectural nooks in such +quantity that the unaided individual eye could not embrace +it all at once. It overlooked, from a height, the grounds +of the Frinton Sports Club, and a new member of this club, +upon first beholding the residence, had made the immortal +remark: “It wants at least fourteen people to look at it.” +The house stood in the middle of an unfinished garden, +which promised ultimately to be as heterogeneous as itself, +but which at present was merely an expanse of sorely +wounded earth.</p> + +<p>The time was early summer, and therefore the summer +dining-room of the Spatts was in use. This dining-room +consisted of one white, windowed wall, a tiled floor, and a +roof of wood. The windows gave into the winter dining-room, +which was a white apartment, sparsely curtained and +cushioned with chintz, and containing very few pieces of +furniture or pictures. The Spatts considered, rightly, that +furniture and pictures were unhygienic and the secret lairs +of noxious germs. Had the Spatts flourished twenty-five years +earlier their dining-room would have been covered with +brown paper upon which would have hung permanent photographs +of European masterpieces of graphic art, and there +would have been a multiplicity of draperies and specimens +of battered antique furniture, with a warming-pan or so +suspended here and there in place of sporting trophies. But +the Spatts had not begun to flourish twenty-five years ago. +They flourished very few years ago and they still flourish.</p> + +<p>As the summer dining-room had only one wall, it follows +that it was open to the powers of the air. This result had +been foreseen by the Spatts—had indeed been expressly +arranged, for they believed strongly in the powers of the +air, as being beneficent powers. It is true that they generally +had sniffling colds, but their argument was that these +maladies had no connection whatever with the powers of the +air, which, according to their theory, saved them from +much worse.</p> + +<p>They and their guests were now seated at dinner. +Twilight was almost lost in night. The table was +illuminated by four candles at the corners, and flames of +these candles flickered in the healthful evening breeze, +dropping pink wax on the candlesticks. They were surrounded +by the mortal remains of tiny moths, but other +tiny moths would not heed the warning and continually shot +themselves into the flames. On the outskirts of the table +moved with silent stealth the forms of two middle-aged and +ugly servants.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spatt was very tall and very thin, and the +simplicity of her pale green dress—sole reminder of the +brown-paper past—was calculated to draw attention to these +attributes. She had an important reddish nose, and a +mysterious look of secret confidence, which never left her +even in the most trying crises. Mr. Spatt also was very +tall and very thin. His head was several sizes too small, +and part of his insignificant face, which one was apt to miss +altogether in contemplating his body, was hidden under a +short grey beard. Siegfried Spatt, the sole child of the +union, though but seventeen, was as tall and as thin as his +father and his mother; he had a pale face and red hands.</p> + +<p>The guests were Audrey, Jane Foley, and a young +rubicund gentleman, beautifully clothed, and with fair +curly locks, named Ziegler. Mr. Ziegler was far more perfectly +at ease than anybody else at the table, which indeed +as a whole was rendered haggard and nervous by the precarious +state of the conversation, expecting its total +decease at any moment. At intervals someone lifted the +limp dying body—it sank back—was lifted again—struggled +feebly—relapsed. Young Siegfried was excessively tongue-tied +and self-conscious, and his demeanour frankly admitted +it. Jane Foley, acknowledged heroine in certain fields, sat +like a schoolgirl at her first dinner-party. Audrey maintained +her widowhood, but scarcely with credit. Mr. and +Mrs. Spatt were as usual too deeply concerned about the +awful condition of the universe to display that elasticity of +mood which continuous chatter about nothing in particular +demands. And they were too worshipful of the best London +conventions not to regard silence at table as appalling. In +the part of the country from which Jane Foley sprang, hosts +will sit mute through a meal and think naught of it. But +Mr. and Mrs. Spatt were of different stuff. All these five +appeared to be in serious need of conversation pills. Only +Mr. Ziegler beheld his companions with a satisfied equanimity +that was insensible to spiritual suffering. Happily at the +most acute moments the gentle night wind, meandering +slowly from the east across leagues of North Sea, would +induce in one or another a sneeze which gave some semblance +of vitality and vigour to the scene.</p> + +<p>After one of these sneezes it was that Jane Foley, +conscience-stricken, tried to stimulate the exchanges by an +effort of her own.</p> + +<p>“And what are the folks like in Frinton?” she demanded, +blushing, and looking up. As she looked up young Siegfried +looked down, lest he might encounter her glance and be +utterly discountenanced.</p> + +<p>Jane Foley’s question was unfortunate.</p> + +<p>“We know nothing of them,” said Mrs. Spatt, pained. +“Of course I have received and paid a few purely formal +calls. But as regards friends and acquaintances, we prefer +to import them from London. As for the holiday-makers, +one sees them, naturally. They appear to lead an exclusively +physical existence.”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” put in Mr. Spatt stiffly. “The residents +are no better. The women play golf all day on that +appalling golf course, and then after tea they go into the +town to change their library books. But I do not believe +that they ever read their library books. The mentality of +the town is truly remarkable. However, I am informed +that there are many towns like it.”</p> + +<p>“You bet!” murmured Siegfried Spatt, and then tried, +vainly, to suck back the awful remark whence it had come.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ziegler, speaking without passion or sorrow, added +his views about Frinton. He asserted that it was the worst +example of stupid waste of opportunities he had ever encountered, +even in England. He pointed out that there +was no band, no pier, no casino, no shelters—and not even +a tree; and that there were no rules to govern the place. +He finished by remarking that no German state would +tolerate such a pleasure resort. In this judgment he +employed an excellent English accent, with a scarcely perceptible +thickening of the t’s and thinning of the d’s.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ziegler left nothing to be said.</p> + +<p>Then the conversation sighed and really did expire. It +might have survived had not the Spatts had a rule, explained +previously to those whom it concerned, against +talking shop. Their attachment to this rule was heroic. +In the present instance shop was suffragism. The Spatts +had developed into supporters of militancy in a very +curious way. Mrs. Spatt’s sister, a widow, had been +mixed up with the Union for years. One day she was fined +forty shillings or a week’s imprisonment for a political +peccadillo involving a hatpin and a policeman. It was useless +for her to remind the magistrate that she, like Mrs. +Spatt, was the daughter of the celebrated statesman B——, +who in the fifties had done so much for Britain. (Lo! +The source of that mysterious confidence that always supported +Mrs. Spatt!) The magistrate had no historic sense. +She went to prison. At least she was on the way thither +when Mr. Spatt paid the fine in spite of her. The same +night Mr. Spatt wrote to his favourite evening paper to +point out the despicable ingratitude of a country which would +have imprisoned a daughter of the celebrated B——, and +announced that henceforward he would be an active supporter +of suffragism, which hitherto had interested him only +academically. He was a wealthy man, and his money and +his house and his pen were at the service of the Union—but +always with discretion.</p> + +<p>Audrey and Jane Foley had learnt all this privately from +Mrs. Spatt on their arrival, after they had told such part +of their tale as Jane Foley had deemed suitable, and they +had further learnt that suffragism would not be a welcome +topic at their table, partly on account of the servants and +partly on account of Mr. Ziegler, whose opinions were quite +clearly opposed to the movement, but whom they admired +for true and rare culture. He was a cousin of German +residents in First Avenue and, visiting them often, +had been discovered by Mr. Spatt in the afternoon-tea +train.</p> + +<p>And just as the ices came to compete with the night +wind, the postman arrived like a deliverer. The postman +had to pass the dining-room <em>en route</em> by the circuitous drive +to the front door, and when dinner was afoot he would +hand the letters to the parlourmaid, who would divide +them into two portions, and, putting both on a salver, +offer the salver first to Mrs. and then to Mr. Spatt, while +Mr. or Mrs. Spatt begged guests, if there were any, to +excuse the quaint and indeed unusual custom, pardonable +only on the plea that any tidings from London ought to be +savoured instantly in such a place as Frinton.</p> + +<p>After leaving his little pile untouched for some time, +Mr. Spatt took advantage of the diversion caused by the +brushing of the cloth and the distribution of finger-bowls to +glance at the topmost letter, which was addressed in a +woman’s hand.</p> + +<p>“She’s coming!” he exclaimed, forgetting to apologise +in the sudden excitement of news, “Good heavens!” He +looked at his watch. “She’s here. I heard the train +several minutes ago! She must be here! The letter’s +been delayed.”</p> + +<p>“Who, Alroy?” demanded Mrs. Spatt earnestly. “Not +that Miss Nickall you mentioned?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dove.” And then in a grave tone to the +parlourmaid: “Give this letter to your mistress.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Spatt, cheered by the new opportunity for conversation, +and in his eagerness abrogating all rules, explained +how he had been in London on the previous day for a performance +of Strauss’s <em>Elektra</em>, and according to his custom +had called at the offices of the Suffragette Union to see +whether he could in any manner aid the cause. He had +been told that a house in Paget Gardens lent to the Union +had been basely withdrawn from service by its owner on +account of some embroilment with the supreme police +authorities at Scotland Yard, and that one of the inmates, +a Miss Nickall, the poor young lady who had had her arm +broken and was scarcely convalescent, had need of quietude +and sea air. Mr. Spatt had instantly offered the hospitality +of his home to Miss Nickall, whom he had seen in a cab +and who was very sweet. Miss Nickall had said that she +must consult her companion. It now appeared that the companion +was gone to the Midlands. This episode had +occurred immediately before the receipt of the telegram from +head-quarters asking for shelter for Miss Jane Foley and +Mrs. Moncreiff.</p> + +<p>Mr. Spatt’s excitement had now communicated itself +to everybody except Mr. Ziegler and Siegfried Spatt. Jane +Foley almost recovered her presence of mind, and Mrs. +Spatt was extraordinarily interested to learn that Miss +Nickall was an American painter who had lived long in +Paris, and that Audrey had first made her acquaintance in +Paris, and knew Paris well. Audrey’s motor-car had produced +a considerable impression on Aurora Spatt, and this +impression was deepened by the touch about Paris. After +breathing mysterious orders into the ear of the parlourmaid +Mrs. Spatt began to talk at large about music in +Paris, and Mr. Spatt made comparisons between the principal +opera houses in Europe. He proclaimed for the Scala at +Milan; but Mr. Ziegler, who had methodically according to +a fixed plan lived in all European capitals except Paris—whither +he was soon going, said that Mr. Spatt was quite +wrong, and that Milan could not hold a candle to Munich. +Mrs. Spatt inquired whether Audrey had heard Strauss’s +<em>Elektra</em> at the Paris Opera House. Audrey replied that +Strauss’s <em>Elektra</em> had not been given at the Paris Opera +House.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Mrs. Spatt. “This prejudice against the +greatest modern masterpieces because they are German is +a very sad sign in Paris. I have noticed it for a long +time.”</p> + +<p>Audrey, who most irrationally had begun to be annoyed +by the blandness of Mr. Ziegler’s smile, answered with a +rival blandness:</p> + +<p>“In Paris they do not reproach Strauss because he is +German, but because he is vulgar.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spatt had a martyrised expression. In her heart +she felt a sick trembling of her religious belief that <em>Elektra</em> +was the greatest opera ever composed. For Audrey had the +prestige of Paris and of the automobile. Mrs. Spatt, however, +said not a word. Mr. Ziegler, on the other hand, +after shuffling some seconds for utterance, ejaculated with +sublime anger:</p> + +<p>“Vulgar!”</p> + +<p>His rubicundity had increased and his blandness was +dissolved. A terrible sequel might have occurred, had not +the crunch of wheels on the drive been heard at that very +instant. The huge, dim form of a coach drawn by a ghostly +horse passed along towards the front door, just below the +diners. Almost simultaneously the electric light above the +front door was turned on, casting a glare across a section +of the inchoate garden, where no flower grew save the +dandelion. Everybody sprang up. Host and hostess, +urged by hospitality, spun first into the drive, and came +level with the vehicle precisely as the vehicle opened its +invisible interior. Jane Foley and Audrey saw Miss Nickall +emerge from it rather slowly and cautiously, with her white +kind face and her arm all swathed in white.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Spatt,” came the American benevolent +voice of Nick. “How glad I am to see you. And this is +Mrs. Spatt? Mrs. Spatt! Delighted. Your husband is +the kindest, sweetest man, Mrs. Spatt, that I’ve met in +years. It is perfectly sweet of you to have me. I shouldn’t +have inflicted myself on you—no, I shouldn’t—only you +know we have to obey orders. I was told to come here, +and here I’ve come, with a glad heart.”</p> + +<p>Audrey was touched by the sight and voice of grey-haired +Nick, with her trick of seeing nothing but the best +in everybody, transforming everybody into saints, angels, +and geniuses. Her smiles and her tones were irresistible. +They were like the wand of some magical princess come to +break a sinister thrall. They nearly humanised the gaunt +parlourmaid, who stood grimly and primly waiting until +these tedious sentimental preliminaries should cease from +interfering with her duties in regard to the luggage.</p> + +<p>“We have friends of yours here, Miss Nickall,” +simpered Mrs. Spatt, after she had given a welcome. She +had seen Jane Foley and Audrey standing expectant just +behind Mr. Spatt, and outside the field of the electric beam.</p> + +<p>Nick glanced round, hesitated, and then with a sudden +change of all her features rushed at the girls regardless +of her arm. Her joy was enchanting.</p> + +<p>“I was afraid—I was afraid——” she murmured as she +kissed them. Her eyes softly glistened.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed, after a moment. “And I <em>have</em> +got a surprise for you! I have just! You may say it’s +some surprise.” She turned towards the cab. “Musa, +now do come out of that wagon.”</p> + +<p>And from the blackness of the cab’s interior gingerly +stepped Musa, holding a violin case in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Spatt,” said Nick. “Let me introduce Mr. Musa. +Mr. Musa is perhaps the greatest violinist in Paris—or +in Europe. Very old friend of ours. He came over to +London unexpectedly just as I was starting for Liverpool +Street station this afternoon. So I did the only thing +I could do. I couldn’t leave him there—I brought him +along, and we want Mr. Spatt to recommend us an hotel +in Frinton for him.” And while Musa was shyly in his +imperfect English greeting Mr. and Mrs. Spatt, she whispered +to Audrey: “You don’t know. You’d never guess. +A big concert agent in Paris has taken him up at last. +He’s going to play at a lot of concerts, and they actually +paid him two thousand five hundred francs in advance. +Isn’t it a perfect dream?”</p> + +<p>Audrey, who had seen Musa’s trustful glance at Nick +as he descended from the cab, was suddenly aware of +a fierce pang of hate for the benignant Nick, and a +wave of fury against Musa. The thing was very disconcerting.</p> + +<p>After self-conscious greetings, Musa almost dragged +Audrey away from the others.</p> + +<p>“It’s you I came to London to see,” he muttered in +an unusual voice.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_25" id="chapter_25" />CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>THE MUTE</h3> + + +<p>It was upon this evening that Audrey began alarmingly +to develop the quality of being incomprehensible—even to +herself. Like most young women and men, she had been +convinced from an early age that she was mysteriously +unlike all other created beings, and—again like most young +men and women—she could find, in the secrecy of her +own heart, plenty of proof of a unique strangeness. But +now her unreason became formidable. There she sat with +her striking forehead and her quite unimportant nose, in +the large austere drawing-room of the Spatts, which was +so pervaded by artistic chintz that the slightest movement +in it produced a crackle—and wondered why she was so +much queerer than other girls could possibly be.</p> + +<p>Neither the crackling of chintz nor the aspect of the +faces in the drawing-room was conducive to clear psychological +analysis. Mr. Ziegler, with a glass of Pilsener +by his side on a small table and a cigar in his richly +jewelled hand, reposed with crossed legs in an easy chair. +He had utterly recovered from the momentary irritation +caused by Audrey’s attack on Strauss, and his perfect +beaming satisfaction with himself made a spectacle which +would have distracted an Indian saint from the contemplation +of eternity and nothingness. Mr. and Mrs. Spatt, +seated as far as was convenient from one another on a +long sofa, their emaciated bodies very upright and alert, +gazed with intense expectation at Musa. Musa stood in +the middle of the room, tuning his violin with little twangs +and listening to the twangs as to a secret message.</p> + +<p>Miss Nickall, being an invalid, had excusably gone to +bed, and Jane Foley, sharer of her bedroom, had followed. +The happy relief on Jane’s face as she said good night +to her hosts had testified to the severity of the ordeal of +hospitality through which she had so heroically passed. +She might have been going out of prison instead of going +out of the most intellectual drawing-room in Frinton.</p> + +<p>Audrey, too, would have liked to retire, for automobiles +and sensations had exhausted her; but just at this point +her unreason had begun to operate. She would not leave +Musa alone, because Miss Nickall was leaving him alone. +Yet she did not feel at all benevolent towards Musa. She +was angry with him for having quitted Paris. She was +angry with him for having said to her, in such a peculiar +tone: “It’s you I came to London to see.” She was angry +with him for not having found an opportunity, during the +picnic meal provided for the two new-comers after the +regular dinner, to explain why he had come to London +to see her. She was angry with him for that dark hostility +which he had at once displayed towards Mr. Ziegler, +though she herself hated the innocent Mr. Ziegler with +the ferocity of a woman of the Revolution. And further, +she was glad, ridiculously glad, that Musa had come to +London to see her. Lastly she was aware of a most +irrational objection to the manner in which Miss Nickall +and Musa said good night to one another, and the obvious +fact that Musa in less than an hour had reached terms of +familiarity with Jane Foley.</p> + +<p>She thought:</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the faintest idea why he has given up his +practising in Paris to come to see me. But if it is what +I feel sure it is, there will be trouble.... Why do I +stay in this ghastly drawing-room? I am dying to go to +sleep, and I simply detest everybody in the room. I detest +Musa more than all, because as usual he has been acting +like a child.... Why can’t you smile at him, Audrey +Moze? Why frown and pretend you’re cross when you +know you aren’t, Audrey Moze? ... I am cross, and +he shall suffer. Was this a time to leave his practising—and +the concerts soon coming on? I positively prefer this +Ziegler man to him. Yes, I do.” So ran her reflections, +and they annoyed her.</p> + +<p>“What would you wish me to play?” asked Musa, +when he had definitely finished twanging. Audrey noticed +that his English accent was getting a little less French. +She had to admit that, though his appearance was extravagantly +un-British, it was distinguished. The immensity +of his black silk cravat made the black cravat of Mr. Spatt +seem like a bootlace round his thin neck.</p> + +<p>“Whatever you like, Mr. Musa,” replied Aurora Spatt. +“<em>Please!</em>”</p> + +<p>And as a fact the excellent woman, majestic now in +spite of her red nose and her excessive thinness, did not +care what Musa played. He had merely to play. She +had decided for herself, from the conversation, that he +was a very celebrated performer, and she had ascertained, +by direct questioning, that he had never performed in +England. She was determined to be able to say to all +comers till death took her that “Musa—the great Musa, +you know—first played in England in my own humble +drawing-room.” The thing itself was actually about to +occur; nothing could stop it from occurring; and the thought +of the immediate realisation of her desire and ambition +gave Mrs. Spatt greater and more real pleasure than she +had had for years; it even fortified her against the possible +resentment of her cherished Mr. Ziegler.</p> + +<p>“French music—would you wish?” Musa suggested.</p> + +<p>“Is there any French music? That is to say, of artistic +importance?” asked Mr. Ziegler calmly. “I have never +heard of it.”</p> + +<p>He was not consciously being rude. Nor was he trying +to be funny. His question implied an honest belief. His +assertion was sincere. He glanced, blinking slightly, round +the room, with a self-confidence that was either terrible +or pathetic, according to the degree of your own self-confidence.</p> + +<p>Audrey said to herself.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad this isn’t my drawing-room.” And she was +almost frightened by the thought that that skull opposite +to her was absolutely impenetrable, and that it would +go down to the grave unpierced with all its collection of +ideas intact and braggart.</p> + +<p>As for Mr. and Mrs. Spatt they were both in the +state of not knowing where to look. Immediately their +gaze met another gaze it leapt away as from something +dangerous or obscene.</p> + +<p>“I will play Debussy’s Toccata for violin solo,” Musa +announced tersely. He had blushed; his great eyes were +sparkling. And he began to play.</p> + +<p>And as soon as he had played a few bars, Audrey +gave a start, fortunately not a physical start, and she +blushed also. Musa sternly winked at her. Frenchmen +do not make a practice of winking, but he had learnt the +accomplishment for fun from Miss Thompkins in Paris. +The wink caused Audrey surreptitiously to observe Mr. +and Mrs. Spatt. It was no relief to her to perceive that +these two were listening to Debussy’s Toccata for solo +violin with the trained and appreciative attention of people +who had heard it often before in the various capitals of +Europe, who knew it by heart, and who knew at just what +passages to raise the head, to give a nod of recognition +or a gesture of ecstasy. The bare room was filled with +the sound of Musa’s fiddle and with the high musical +culture of Mr. and Mrs. Spatt. When the piece was over +they clapped discreetly, and looked with soft intensity at +Audrey, as if murmuring: “You, too, are a cultured +cosmopolitan. You share our emotion.” And across the +face of Mrs. Spatt spread a glow triumphant, for Musa +now positively had played for the first time in England in +her drawing-room, and she foresaw hundreds of occasions +on which she could refer to the matter with a fitting air of +casualness. The glow triumphant, however, paled somewhat +as she felt upon herself the eye of Mr. Ziegler.</p> + +<p>“Where is Siegfried, Alroy?” she demanded, after +having thanked Musa. “I wouldn’t have had him miss +that Debussy for anything, but I hadn’t noticed that he +was gone. He adores Debussy.”</p> + +<p>“I think it is like bad Bach,” Mr. Ziegler put in +suddenly. Then he raised his glass and imbibed a good +portion of the beer specially obtained and provided for +him by his hostess and admirer, Mrs. Spatt.</p> + +<p>“Do you <em>really</em>?” murmured Mrs. Spatt, with deprecation.</p> + +<p>“There’s something in the comparison,” Mr. Spatt +admitted thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Why not like good Bach?” Musa asked, glaring in +a very strange manner at Mr. Ziegler.</p> + +<p>“Bosh!” ejaculated Mr. Ziegler with a most notable +imperturbability. “Only Bach himself could com-pose good +Bach.”</p> + +<p>Musa’s breathing could be heard across the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>“<em>Eh bien!</em>“ said Musa. “Now I will play for you +Debussy’s Toccata. I was not playing it before. I was +playing the Chaconne of Bach, the most famous composition +for the violin in the world.”</p> + +<p>He did not embroider the statement. He left it in its +nakedness. Nor did he permit anybody else to embroider +it. Before a word of any kind could be uttered he had +begun to play again. Probably in all the annals of artistic +snobbery, no cultured cosmopolitan had ever been made +to suffer a more exquisite moral torture of humiliation +than Musa had contrived to inflict upon Mr. and Mrs. +Spatt in return for their hospitality. Their sneaped +squirmings upon the sofa were terrible to witness. But +Mr. Ziegler’s sensibility was apparently quite unaffected. +He continued to smile, to drink, and to smoke. He seemed +to be saying to himself: “What does it matter to me that +this miserable Frenchman has caught me in a mistake? +I could eat him, and one day I shall eat him.”</p> + +<p>After a little while Musa snatched out of his right-hand +lower waistcoat pocket the tiny wooden “mute” +which all violinists carry without fail upon all occasions +in all their waistcoats; and, sticking it with marvellous +rapidity upon the bridge of the violin, he entered upon a +pianissimo, but still lively, episode of the Toccata. And +simultaneously another melody faint and clear could be +heard in the room. It was Mr. Ziegler humming “The +Watch on the Rhine” against the Toccata of Debussy. +Thus did it occur to Mr. Ziegler to take revenge on Musa +for having attempted to humiliate him. Not unsurprisingly, +Musa detected at once the competitive air. He continued +to play, gazing hard at his violin and apparently entranced, +but edging little by little towards Mr. Ziegler. Audrey +desired either to give a cry or to run out of the room. +She did neither, being held to inaction by the spell of Mr. +Ziegler’s perfect unconcern as, with the beer glass lifted +towards his mouth, he proceeded steadily to work through +“The Watch on the Rhine,” while Musa lilted out the +delicate, gay phrases of Debussy. The enchantment upon +the whole room was sinister and painful. Musa got closer +to Mr. Ziegler, who did not blench nor cease from his +humming. Then suddenly Musa, lowering his fiddle and +interrupting the scene, snatched the mute from the bridge +of the violin.</p> + +<p>“I have put it on the wrong instrument,” he said thickly, +with a very French intonation, and simultaneously he +shoved the mute with violence into the mouth of Mr. +Ziegler. In doing so, he jerked up Mr. Ziegler’s elbow, +and the remains of the beer flew up and baptised Mr. +Ziegler’s face and vesture. Then he jammed the violin +into its case, and ran out of the room.</p> + +<p>“<em>Barbare! Imbécile! Sauvage!</em>“ he muttered ferociously +on the threshold.</p> + +<p>The enchantment was broken. Everybody rose, and not +the least precipitately the streaming Mr. Ziegler, who, ejecting +the mute with much spluttering, and pitching away his +empty glass, sprang towards the door, with justifiable +homicide in every movement.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ziegler!” Audrey appealed to him, snatching at +his dress-coat and sticking to it.</p> + +<p>He turned, furious, his face still dripping the finest +Pilsener beer.</p> + +<p>“If your dress-coat is not wiped instantly, it will be +ruined,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“<em>Ach! Meiner Frack!</em>“ exclaimed Mr. Ziegler, forgetting +his deep knowledge of English. His economic +instincts had been swiftly aroused, and they dominated all +the other instincts. “<em>Meiner Frack!</em> Vill you vipe it?” +His glance was imploring.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Mrs. Spatt will attend to it,” said Audrey with +solemnity, and walked out of the room into the hall. There +was not a sign of Musa; the disappearance of the violinist +was disquieting; and yet it made her glad—so much so +that she laughed aloud. A few moments later Mr. Ziegler +stalked forth from the house which he was never to enter +again, and his silent scorn and the grandeur of his displeasure +were terrific. He entirely ignored Audrey, who had +nevertheless been the means of saving his <em>Frack</em> for him.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_26" id="chapter_26" />CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>NOCTURNE</h3> + + +<p>Soon afterwards Audrey, who had put on a hat, went out +with Mr. Spatt to look for Musa. Not until shortly before +the musical performance had the Spatts succeeded in persuading +Musa to “accept their hospitality for the night.” +(The phrase was their own. They were incapable of saying +“Let us put you up.") Meanwhile his bag had been left in +the hall. This bag had now vanished. The parlourmaid, +questioned, said frigidly that she had not touched it because +she had received no orders to touch it. Musa himself must +therefore have removed it. With bag in one hand and +fiddle case in the other, he must have fled, relinquishing +nothing but the mute in his flight. He knew naught of +England, naught of Frinton, and he was the least practical +creature alive. Hence Audrey, who was in essence his +mother, and who knew Frinton as some people know London, +had said that she would go and look for him. Mr. +Spatt, ever chivalrous, had impulsively offered to accompany +her. He could indeed do no less. Mrs. Spatt, overwhelmed +by the tragic sequel to her innocent triumphant, had retired +to the first floor.</p> + +<p>The wind blew, and it was very dark, as Audrey and +her squire passed along Third Avenue to the front. They +did not converse—they were both too shy, too impressed by +the peculiarity of the predicament. They simply peered. +They peered everywhere for the truant form of Musa +balanced on one side by a bag and on the other by a fiddle +case. From the trim houses, each without exception new, +twinkled discreet lights, with glimpses of surpassingly +correct domesticity, and the wind rustled loudly through the +foliage of the prim gardens, ruffling them as it might have +ruffled the unwilling hair of the daughters of an arch-deacon. +Nobody was abroad. Absurd thoughts ran +through Audrey’s head. A letter from Mr. Foulger had +followed her to Birmingham, and in the letter Mr. Foulger +had acquainted her with the fact that Great Mexican Oil +shares had just risen to £2 3s. apiece. She knew that she +had 180,000 of them, and now under the thin protection of +Mr. Spatt she tried to reckon 180,000 times £2 3s. She +could not do the sum. At any rate she could not be sure +that she did it correctly. However, she was fairly well convinced +beneath the dark, impenetrable sky that the answer +totalled nearly £400,000, that was, ten million francs. +And the ridiculousness of an heiress who owned over ten +million francs wandering about a place like Frinton with a +man like Mr. Spatt, searching for another man like Musa, +struck her as exceeding the bounds of the permissible. She +considered that she ought to have been in a magnificent +drawing-room of her own in Park Lane or the Avenue du +Bois de Boulogne, welcoming counts, princes, duchesses, +diplomats and self-possessed geniuses of finished manners, +with witty phrase that displayed familiarity with all that +was profoundest and most brilliant in European civilisation. +Life seemed to be disappointing her, and assuredly money +was not the thing that she had imagined it to be.</p> + +<p>She thought:</p> + +<p>“If this walking lamp-post does not say something soon +I shall scream.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Spatt said:</p> + +<p>“It seems to be blowing up for rain.”</p> + +<p>She screamed in the silent solitude of Frinton.</p> + +<p>“I’m so sorry,” she apologised quickly. “I thought I +saw something move.”</p> + +<p>“One does,” faltered Mr. Spatt.</p> + +<p>They were now in the shopping street, where in the +mornings the elect encounter each other on expeditions to +purchase bridge-markers, chocolate, bathing costumes and +tennis balls. It was a black and empty canyon through +which the wind raced.</p> + +<p>“He may be down—down on the shore,” Mr. Spatt +timidly suggested. He seemed to be suggesting suicide.</p> + +<p>They turned and descended across the Greensward to +the shore, which was lined with hundreds of bathing huts, +each christened with a name, and each deserted, for the +by-laws of the Frinton Urban District Council judiciously +forbade that the huts should be used as sleeping-chambers. +The tide was very low. They walked over the wide flat +sands, and came at length to the sea’s roar, the white +tumbling of foamy breakers, and the full force of the south-east +wind. Across the invisible expanse of water could be +discerned the beam of a lightship. And Audrey was aware +of mysterious sensations such as she had not had since she +inhabited Flank Hall and used to steal out at nights to +watch the estuary. And she thought solemnly: “Musa is +somewhere near, existing.” And then she thought: “What +a silly thought! Of course he is!”</p> + +<p>“I see somebody coming!” Mr. Spatt burst out in a +dramatic whisper. But the precaution of whispering was +useless, because the next instant, in spite of himself, he +loudly sneezed.</p> + +<p>And about two hundred yards off on the sands Audrey +made out a moving figure, which at that distance did in +fact seem to have vague appendages that might have resembled +a bag and a fiddle case. But the atmosphere of +the night was deceptive, and the figure as it approached +resolved itself into three figures—a black one in the middle +of two white ones. A girl’s coarse laugh came down the +wind. It could not conceivably have been the laugh of any +girl who went into the shopping street to buy bridge-markers, +chocolate, bathing costumes or tennis balls. But +it might have been—it not improbably was—the laugh of +some girl whose mission was to sell such things. The trio +meandered past, heedless. Mr. Spatt said no word, but he +appreciably winced. The black figure in the midst of the +two white ones was that of his son Siegfried, reputedly so +fond of Debussy. As the group receded and faded, a fragment +of a music-hall song floated away from it into the +firmament.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid it’s not much use looking any longer,” said +Mr. Spatt weakly. “He—he may have gone back to the +house. Let us hope so.”</p> + +<p>At the chief garden gate of the Spatt residence they +came upon Miss Nickall, trying to open it. The sling +round her arm made her unmistakable. And Miss Nickall +having allowed them to recover from a pardonable astonishment +at the sight of her who was supposed to be exhausted +and in bed, said cheerfully:</p> + +<p>“I’ve found him, and I’ve put him up at the Excelsior +Hotel.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spatt had related the terrible episode to her guest, +who had wilfully risen at once. Miss Nickall had had luck, +but Audrey had to admit that these American girls were +stupendously equal to an emergency. And she hated the +angelic Nick for having found Musa.</p> + +<p>“We tried first to find a café,” said Nick. “But there +aren’t any in this city. What do you call them in England—public-houses, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“No,” agreed Mr. Spatt in a shaking voice. “Public-houses +are not permitted in Frinton, I am glad to say.” And +he began to form an intention, subject to Aurora’s approval, +to withdraw altogether from the suffrage movement, which +appeared to him to be getting out of hand.</p> + +<p>As they were all separating for the night Audrey and +Nick hesitated for a moment in front of each other, and +then they kissed with a quite unusual effusiveness.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I’ve ever really liked her,” said Audrey +to herself.</p> + +<p>What Nick said to herself is lost to history.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_27" id="chapter_27" />CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>IN THE GARDEN</h3> + + +<p>The next morning, after a night spent chiefly in thought, +Audrey issued forth rather early. Indeed she was probably +the first person afoot in the house of the Spatts, the parlour-maid +entering the hall just as Audrey had managed to open +the front door. As the parlour-maid was obviously not yet +in that fullness and spruceness of attire which parlour-maids +affect when performing their mission in life, Audrey decided +to offer no remark, explanatory or otherwise, and passed +into the garden with nonchalance as though her invariable +habit when staying in strange houses was to get up before +anybody else and spy out the whole property while the +helpless hosts were yet in bed and asleep.</p> + +<p>Now it was a magnificent morning: no wind, no cloud, +and the sun rising over the sea; not a trace of the previous +evening’s weather. Audrey had not been in the leafy street +more than a moment when she forgot that she was tired +and short of sleep, and also very worried by affairs both +private and public. Her body responded to the sun, and +her mind also. She felt almost magically healthy, strong +and mettlesome, and, further, she began to feel happy; she +rather blamed herself for this tendency to feel happy, calling +herself heedless and indifferent. She did not understand +what it is to be young. She had risen partly because of the +futility of bed, but more because of a desire to inspect again +her own part of the world after the unprecedented absence +from it.</p> + +<p>Frinton was within the borders of her own part of the +world, and, though she now regarded it with the condescending +eyes of a Parisian and Londoner, she found pleasure in +looking upon it and in recognising old landmarks and recent +innovations. She saw, on the Greensward separating the +promenade from the beach, that a rustic seat had been +elaborately built by the Council round the great trunk of the +only tree in Frinton; and she decided that there had been +questionable changes since her time. And in this way she +went on. However, the splendour and reality of the sun, +making such an overwhelming contrast with the insubstantial +phenomena of the gloomy night, prevented undue +cerebral activity. She reflected that Frinton on a dark night +and Frinton on a bright morning were not like the same +place, and she left it at that, and gazed at the façade of the +Excelsior Hotel, wondering for an instant why she should be +interested in it, and then looking swiftly away.</p> + +<p>She had to glance at all the shops, though none of +them was open except the dairy-shop; and in the shopping +street, which had a sunrise at one end and the +railway station at the other, she lit on the new palatial +garage.</p> + +<p>“My car may be in there,” she thought.</p> + +<p>After the manner of most car-owners on tour, she had +allowed the chauffeur to disappear with the car in the +evening where he listed, confident that the next morning +he and it would reappear cleansed and in good running +order.</p> + +<p>The car was in the garage, almost solitary on a floor +of asphalt under a glass roof. An untidy youth, with the +end of a cigarette clinging to his upper lip in a way to +suggest that it had clung there throughout the night and +was the last vestige of a jollification, seemed to be dragging +a length of hose from a hydrant towards the car, the while +his eyes rested on a large notice: “Smoking absolutely +prohibited. By order.”</p> + +<p>Then from the other extremity of the garage came a +jaunty, dapper, quasi-martial figure, in a new grey uniform, +with a peaked grey cap, bright brown leggings, and bright +brown boots to match—the whole highly brushed, polished, +smooth and glittering. This being pulled out of his pocket +a superb pair of kid gloves, then a silver cigarette-case, and +then a silver match-box, and he ignited a cigarette—the +unrivalled, wondrous first cigarette of the day—casting down +the match with a large, free gesture. At sight of him the +untidy youth grew more active.</p> + +<p>“Look ’ere,” said the being to the youth, “what the ’ell +time did I tell you to have that car cleaned by, and you +not begun it!”</p> + +<p>Pointing to the clock, he lounged magnificently to and +fro, spreading smoke around the intimidated and now industrious +youth. The next second he caught sight of +Audrey, and transformed himself instantaneously into what +she had hitherto imagined a chauffeur always was; but in +those few moments she had learnt that the essence of a +chauffeur is godlike, and that he toils not, neither does +he swab.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, madam,” in a soft, courtly voice.</p> + +<p>“Good morning.”</p> + +<p>“Were you wanting the car, madam?”</p> + +<p>She was not, but the suggestion gave her an idea.</p> + +<p>“Can we take it as it is?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam. I’ll just look at the petrol gauge ... +But ... I haven’t had my breakfast, madam.”</p> + +<p>“What time do you have it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, madam, when you have yours.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, then. You’ve got hours yet. I want +you to take me to Flank Hall.”</p> + +<p>“Flank Hall, madam?” His tone expressed the fact +that his mind was a blank as to Flank Hall.</p> + +<p>As soon as Audrey had comprehended that the situation +of Flank Hall was not necessarily known to every chauffeur +in England, and that a stay of one night in Frinton might +not have been enough to familiarise this particular one with +the geography of the entire district, she replied that she +would direct him.</p> + +<p>They were held up by a train at the railway crossing, +and a milk-cart and a young pedestrian were also held up. +When Audrey identified the pedestrian she wished momentarily +that she had not set out on the expedition. Then +she said to herself that really it did not matter, and why +should she be afraid ... etc., etc. The pedestrian was +Musa. In French they greeted each other stiffly, like +distant acquaintances, and the train thundered past.</p> + +<p>“I was taking the air, simply, Madame,” said Musa, +with his ingenuous shy smile.</p> + +<p>“Take it in my car,” said Audrey with a sudden resolve. +“In one hour at the latest we shall have returned.”</p> + +<p>She had a great deal to say to him and a great deal +to listen to, and there could not possibly be any occasion +equal to the present, which was ideal.</p> + +<p>He got in; the chauffeur manoeuvred to oust the milk-cart +from its rightful precedence, the gates opened, and the +car swung at gathering speed into the well-remembered road +to Moze. And the two passengers said nothing to each +other of the slightest import. Musa’s escape from Paris +was between them; the unimaginable episode at the Spatts +was between them; the sleepless night was between them. +(And had she not saved him by her presence of mind from +the murderous hand of Mr. Ziegler?) They had a million +things to impart. And yet naught was uttered save a few +banalities about the weather and about the healthfulness of +being up early. They were bashful, constrained, altogether +too young and inexperienced. They wanted to behave in +the grand, social, easeful manner of a celebrated public performer +and an heiress worth ten million francs. And they +could only succeed in being a boy and a girl. The chauffeur +alone, at from thirty to forty miles an hour, was worthy of +himself and his high vocation. Both the passengers regretted +that they had left their beds. Happily the car +laughed at the alleged distance between Frinton and Moze. +In a few minutes, as it seemed, with but one false turning, +due to the impetuosity of the chauffeur, the vehicle drew +up before the gates of Flank Hall. Audrey had avoided +the village of Moze. The passengers descended.</p> + +<p>“This is my house,” Audrey murmured.</p> + +<p>The gates were shut but not locked. They creaked as +Audrey pushed against them. The drive was covered with +a soft film of green, as though it were gradually being +entombed in the past. The young roses, however, belonged +emphatically to the present. Dewdrops hung from them +like jewels, and their odour filled the air. Audrey turned +off the main drive towards the garden front of the house, +which had always been the aspect that she preferred, and +at the same moment she saw the house windows and the +thrilling perspective of Mozewater. One of the windows +was open. She was glad, because this proved that the +perfect Aguilar, gardener and caretaker, was after all +imperfect. It was his crusty perfection that had ever set +Audrey, and others, against Aguilar. But he had gone to +bed and forgotten a window—and it was the French +window. While, in her suddenly revived character of a +harsh Essex inhabitant, she was thinking of some sarcastic +word to say to Aguilar about the window, another window +slowly opened from within, and Aguilar’s head became +visible. Once more he had exasperatingly proved his perfection. +He had not gone to bed and forgotten a window. +But he had risen with exemplary earliness to give air to +the house.</p> + +<p>“’d mornin’, miss,” mumbled the unsmiling Aguilar, +impassively, as though Audrey had never been away from +Moze.</p> + +<p>“Well, Aguilar.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t expect ye so early, miss.”</p> + +<p>“But how could you be expecting me at all?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Ingate come home yesterday. She said you +couldn’t be far off, miss.”</p> + +<p>“Not Miss ... <em>Mrs.</em>—Moncreiff,” said Audrey firmly.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, madam,” Aguilar responded with absolute +imperturbability. “She never said nothing about that.”</p> + +<p>And he proceeded mechanically to the next window.</p> + +<p>The yard-dog began to bark. Audrey, ignoring Musa, +went round the shrubbery towards the kennel. The +chained dog continued to bark, furiously, until Audrey was +within six feet of him, and then he crouched and squirmed +and gave low whines and his tail wagged with extreme +rapidity. Audrey bent down, trembling.... She could +scarcely see.... There was something about the green +film on the drive, about the look of the house, about the +sheeted drawing-room glimpsed through the open window, +about the view of Mozewater...! She felt acutely and +painfully sorry for, and yet envious of, the young girl in a +plain blue frock who used to haunt the house and the +garden, and who had somehow made the house and the +garden holy for evermore by her unhappiness and her longings.... +Audrey was crying.... She heard a step and +stood upright. It was Musa’s step.</p> + +<p>“I have never seen you so exquisite,” said Musa in a +murmur subdued and yet enthusiastic. All his faculties +seemed to be dwelling reflectively upon her with passionate +appreciation.</p> + +<p>They had at last begun to talk, really—he in French, and +she partly in French and partly in English. It was her +tears, or perhaps her gesture in trying to master them, that +had loosed their tongues. The ancient dog was forgotten, +and could not understand why. Audrey was excusably +startled by Musa’s words and tone, and by the sudden change +in his attitude. She thought that his personal distinction +at the moment was different from and superior to any other +in her experience. She had a comfortable feeling of condescension +towards Nick and towards Jane Foley. And +at the same time she blamed Musa, perceiving that as usual +he was behaving like a child who cannot grasp the great +fact that life is very serious.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said. “That’s all very fine, that is. You +pretend this, that, and the other. But why are you here? +Why aren’t you at work in Paris? You’ve got the chance +of a lifetime, and instead of staying at home and +practising hard and preparing yourself, you come gadding +over to England simply because there’s a bit of money in +your pocket!”</p> + +<p>She was very young, and in the splendour of the +magnificent morning she looked the emblem of simplicity; +but in her heart she was his mother, his sole fount of +wisdom and energy and shrewdness.</p> + +<p>Pain showed in his sensitive features, and then appeal, +and then a hot determination.</p> + +<p>“I came because I could not work,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Because you couldn’t work? Why couldn’t you +work?” There was no yielding in her hard voice.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know! I don’t know! I suppose it is because +you are not there, because you have made yourself +necessary to me; or,” he corrected quickly, “because <em>I</em> +have made you necessary to myself. Oh! I can practise +for so many hours per day. But it is useless. It is not +authentic practice. I think not of the music. It is as if +some other person was playing, with my arm, on my violin. +I am not there. I am with you, where you are. It is the +same day after day, every day, every day. I am done for. +I am convinced that I am done for. These concerts will +infallibly be my ruin, and I shall be shamed before all Paris.”</p> + +<p>“And did you come to England to tell me this?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>She was relieved, for she had thought of another explanation +of his escapade, and had that explanation proved +to be the true one, she was very ready to make unpleasantness +to the best of her ability. Nevertheless, though +relieved in one direction, she was gravely worried in another. +She had undertaken the job of setting Musa grandiosely +on his artistic career, and the difficulties of it were growing +more and more complex and redoubtable.</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>“But you seemed so jolly when you arrived last night. +Nobody would have guessed you had a care in the world.”</p> + +<p>“I had not,” he replied eagerly, “as soon as I saw you. +The surprise of seeing you—it was that.... And you left +Paris without saying good-bye! Why did you leave Paris +without saying good-bye? Never since the moment when +I learnt that you had gone have I had the soul to practise. +My violin became a wooden box; my fingers, too, were of +wood.”</p> + +<p>He stopped. The dog sniffed round.</p> + +<p>Audrey was melting in bliss. She could feel herself +dissolving. Her pleasure was terrible. It was true that +she had left Paris without saying good-bye to Musa. She +had done it on purpose. Why? She did not know. +Perhaps out of naughtiness, perhaps.... She was aware +that she could be hard, like her father. But she was glad, +intensely glad, that she had left Paris so, because the result +had been this avowal. She, Audrey, little Audrey, scarcely +yet convinced that she was grown up, was necessary to the +genius whom all the Quarter worshipped! Miss Thompkins +was not necessary to him, Miss Nickall was not necessary +to him, though both had helped to provide the means to +keep him alive. She herself alone was necessary to him. +And she had not guessed it. She had not even hoped for +it. The effect of her personality upon Musa was mysterious—she +did not affect to understand it—but it was obviously +real and it was vital. If anything in the world could surpass +the pleasure, her pride surpassed it. All tears were forgotten. +She was the proudest young woman in the world; +and she was the wisest, and the most harassed, too. But the +anxieties were delicious to her.</p> + +<p>“I am essential to him,” she thought ecstatically. “I +stand between him and disaster. When he has succeeded +his success will be my work and nobody else’s. I have a +mission. I must live for it.... If anyone had told me +a year ago that a great French genius would be absolutely +dependent upon me, and that I meant for him all the +difference between failure and triumph, I should have +laughed.... And yet!...” She looked at him surreptitiously. +“He’s an angel. But he’s also a baby.” The +feelings of motherhood were as naught compared to hers.</p> + +<p>Then she remarked harshly, icily:</p> + +<p>“Well, I shall be much obliged if you will go back to +Paris at once—to-day. <em>Somebody</em> must have a little sense.”</p> + +<p>Just at this point Aguilar interrupted. He came slouching +round the corner of the clipped bushes, untidy, shabby, +implacable, with some set purpose in his hard blue eyes. +She could have annihilated him with satisfaction, but the +fellow was indestructible as well as implacable.</p> + +<p>“Could I have a word with ye, madam?” he mumbled, +putting on his well-known air of chicane.</p> + +<p>With the unexplained Musa close by her she could not +answer: “Wait a little. I’m engaged.” She had to be +careful. She had to make out especially that she and the +young man were up to nothing in particular, nothing that +had the slightest importance.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Aguilar?” she questioned, inimically.</p> + +<p>“It’s down here,” said Aguilar, who recked not of the +implications of a tone. And by the mere force of his glance +he drew his mistress away, out of sight of Musa and the +dog.</p> + +<p>“Is that your motor-car at the gates, madam?” he +demanded gloomily and confidentially, his gaze now fixed +on the ground or on his patched boots.</p> + +<p>“Of course it is,” said Audrey. “Why, what’s the +matter?”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right then,” said he. “But I thought it +might belong to another person, and I had to make sure. +Now if ye’ll just step along a bit farther, I’ve a little thing +as I want to point out to ye, madam. It’s my duty to point +it out, let others say <em>what</em> they will.”</p> + +<p>He walked ahead doggedly, and Audrey crossly came +after, until they arrived nearly at the end of the hedge +which, separating the upper from the lower garden, hid +from those immediately behind it all view of the estuary. +Here, still sheltered by the hedge, he stopped and Audrey +stopped, and Aguilar absently plucked up a young plantain +from the turf and dropped it into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“There’s been a man a-hanging round this place since +yesterday mornin’,” said Aguilar intimately. “I call him a +suspicious character—at least, I <em>did</em>, till last night. He +ain’t slept in the village, that I do know, but he’s about +again this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Audrey with impatience. “Why don’t you +tell Inspector Keeble? Or have you quarrelled with +Inspector Keeble again?”</p> + +<p>“It’s not that as would ha’ stopped me from acquainting +Inspector Keeble with the circumstances if I thought +it my duty so to do,” replied Aguilar. “But the fact is I +saw the chap talking to Inspector Keeble yesterday evening. +He don’t know as I saw him. It was that as made me +think; now is he a suspicious character or ain’t he? Of +course Keeble’s a rare simple-minded ’un, as we all know.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you want me to do?”</p> + +<p>“I thought you might like to have a look at him yeself, +madam. And if you’ll just peep round the end of this hedge +casual-like, ye’ll see him walking across the salting from +Lousey Hard. He’s a-comin’ this way. Casual-like now—and +he won’t see ye.”</p> + +<p>Audrey had to obey. She peeped casual-like, and she +did in fact see a man on the salting, and this man was +getting nearer. She could see him very plainly in the +brilliant clearness of the summer morning. After the +shortest instant of hesitation she recognised him beyond +any doubt. It was the detective who had been so +plenteously baptised by Susan Foley in the area of the house +at Paget Gardens. Aguilar looked at Audrey, and Audrey +annoyed herself somewhat by blushing. However, an agreeable +elation quickly overcame the blush.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_28" id="chapter_28" />CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>ENCOUNTER</h3> + + +<p>“Good morning,” Audrey cried, very gaily, to the still +advancing detective, who, after the slightest hesitation in +the world, responded gaily:</p> + +<p>“Good morning.”</p> + +<p>The man’s accent struck her. She said to herself, with +amusement:</p> + +<p>“He’s Irish!”</p> + +<p>Audrey had left the astonished but dispassionate gardener +at the hedge, and was now emerging from the scanty and +dishevelled plantation close to the boundary wall of the +estate. She supposed that the police must have been on her +track and on the track of Jane Foley, and that by some +mysterious skill they had hunted her down. But she did +not care. She was not in the least afraid. The sudden +vision of a jail did not affright her. On the contrary her +chief sensation was one of joyous self-confidence, which +sensation had been produced in her by the remarks and the +attitude of Musa. She had always known that she was both +shy and adventurous, and that the two qualities were +mutually contradictory; but now it appeared to her that +diffidence had been destroyed, and that that change which +she had ever longed for in her constitution had at least +really come to pass.</p> + +<p>“You don’t seem very surprised to see me,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Well, madam,” said the detective, “I’m not paid to +be surprised—in my business.”</p> + +<p>He had raised his hat. He was standing on the dyke, +and from that height he looked somewhat down upon +Audrey leaning against the wall. The watercourse and the +strip of eternally emerald-green grass separated them. +Though neither tall nor particularly handsome, he was a +personable man, with a ready smile and alert, agile movements. +Audrey was too far off to judge of his eyes, but +she was quite sure that they twinkled. The contrast +between this smart, cheerful fellow and the half-drowned +victim in the area of the house in Paget Gardens was quite +acute.</p> + +<p>“Now I’ve a good mind to hold a meeting for your +benefit,” said Audrey, striving to recall the proper phrases +of propaganda which she had heard in the proper quarters +in London during her brief connection with the cause. +However, she could not recall them, “But there’s no need +to,” she added. “A gentleman of your intelligence must be +of our way of thinking.”</p> + +<p>“About what?”</p> + +<p>“About the vote, of course. And so your conduct is all +the more shocking.”</p> + +<p>“Why!” he exclaimed, laughing. “If it comes to that, +your own sex is against you.”</p> + +<p>Audrey had heard this argument before, and it had the +same effect on her as on most other stalwarts of the new +political creed. It annoyed her, because there was something +in it.</p> + +<p>“The vast majority of women are with us,” said she.</p> + +<p>“My wife isn’t.”</p> + +<p>“But your wife isn’t the vast majority of women,” +Audrey protested.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, she is,” said the detective, “so far as I’m +concerned. Every wife is, so far as her husband is concerned. +Sure, you ought to know that!” In his Irish +way he doubled the “r” of the word “sure,” and somehow +this trick made Audrey like him still more. “My wife +believes,” he concluded, “that woman’s sphere is the +home.”</p> + +<p>("His wife is stout,” Audrey decided within herself, on +no grounds whatever. “If she wasn’t, she couldn’t be a +vast majority.")</p> + +<p>Aloud she said:</p> + +<p>“Well, then, why can’t you leave them alone in their +sphere, instead of worrying them and spying on them down +areas?”</p> + +<p>“D’ye mean at Paget Gardens?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” he laughed. “That wasn’t professional—if +you’ll excuse me being so frank. That was just due to +human admiration. It’s not illegal to admire a young +woman, I suppose, even if she is a suffragette.”</p> + +<p>“What young woman are you talking about?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Susan Foley, of course. I won’t tell you what +I think of her, in spite of all she did, because I’ve learnt +that it’s a mistake to praise one woman to another. But +I don’t mind admitting that her going off to the north has +made me life a blank. If I’d thought she’d go, I should +never have reported the affair at the Yard. But I was +annoyed, and I’m rather hasty.” He paused, and ended +reflectively: “I committed follies to get a word with the +young lady, and I didn’t get it, but I’d do the same again.”</p> + +<p>“And you a married man!” Audrey burst out, startled, +and diverted, at the explanation, but at the same time outraged +by a confession so cynical.</p> + +<p>The detective pulled a silky moustache.</p> + +<p>“When a wife is very strongly convinced that her +sphere is the home,” he retorted slowly and seriously, +“you’re tempted at times to let her have the sphere all +to herself. That’s the universal experience of married men, +and ye may believe me, miss—madam.”</p> + +<p>Audrey said:</p> + +<p>“And now Miss Foley’s gone north, you’ve decided to +come and admire <em>me</em> in <em>my</em> home!”</p> + +<p>“So it is your home!” murmured the detective with +an uncontrolled quickness which wakened Audrey’s old +suspicions afresh—and which created a new suspicion, the +suspicion that the fellow was simply playing with her. +“I assure you I came here to recover; I’d heard it was +the finest climate in England.”</p> + +<p>“Recover?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, from fire-extinguishers. D’ye know I coughed +for twenty-four hours after that reception?... And you +should have seen my clothes! The doctor says my lungs +may never get over it.... That’s what comes of +admiration.”</p> + +<p>“It’s what comes of behaving as no married man ought +to behave.”</p> + +<p>“Did I say I was married?” asked the detective with +an ingenuous air. “Well, I may be. But I dare say I’m +only married just about as much as you are yourself, +madam.”</p> + +<p>Upon this remark he raised his hat and departed along +the grassy summit of the sea-wall.</p> + +<p>Audrey flushed for the second time that morning, and +more strikingly than before. She was extremely discontented +with, and ashamed of, herself, for she had meant +to be the equal of the detective, and she had not been. +It was blazingly clear that he had indeed played with her—or, +as she put it in her own mind: “He just stuffed +me up all through.”</p> + +<p>She tried to think logically. Had he been pursuing +the motor-car all the way from Birmingham? Obviously +he had not, since according to Aguilar he had been in the +vicinity of Moze since the previous morning. Hence he +did not know that Audrey was involved in the Blue City +affair, and he did not know that Jane Foley was at +Frinton. How he had learnt that Audrey belonged to +Moze, and why and what he had come to investigate at +Moze, she could not guess. Nor did these problems appear +to her to have an importance at all equal to the importance +of hiding from the detective that she had been staying +at Frinton. If he followed her to Frinton he would inevitably +discover that Jane Foley was at Frinton, and the +sequel would be more imprisonment for Jane. Therefore +Audrey must not return to Frinton. Having by a masterly +process of ratiocination reached this conclusion, she began +to think rather better of herself, and ceased blushing.</p> + +<p>“Aguilar,” she demanded excitedly, having gone back +through the plantation. “Did Miss Ingate happen to say +where I was staying last night?”</p> + +<p>“No, madam.”</p> + +<p>“I must run into the house and write a note to her, +and you must take it down instantly.” In her mind she +framed the note, which was to condemn Miss Ingate to +the torture of complete and everlasting silence about the +episode at the Blue City and the flight eastwards.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_29" id="chapter_29" />CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>FLIGHT</h3> + + +<p>”Fast, madam, did you say?” asked the chauffeur, bending +his head back from the wheel as the car left the gates +of Flank Hall.</p> + +<p>“Fast.”</p> + +<p>“The Colchester road?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“It’s really just as quick to take the Frinton road for +Colchester—it’s so much straighter.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, no! On no account. Don’t go near Frinton.”</p> + +<p>Audrey leaned back in the car. And as speed increased +the magnificence of the morning again had its effect on +her. The adventure pleased her far more than the perils +of it, either for herself or for other people, frightened +her. She knew that she was doing a very strange thing +in thus leaving the Spatts and her luggage without a +word of explanation before breakfast; but she did not +care. She knew that for some reason which she did not +comprehend the police were after her, as they had been +after nearly all the great ones of the movement; but she +did not care. She was alive in the rushing car amid the +magnificence of the morning. Musa sat next to her. She +had more or less incompletely explained the situation to +him—it was not necessary to tell everything to a boy who +depended upon you absolutely for his highest welfare—such +boys must accept, thankfully, what they received. +And Musa had indeed done so. He appeared to be quite +happy and without anxieties. That was the worst +He had wanted to be with her, and he was with her, and +he cared for nothing else. He had no interest in what +might happen next. He yielded himself utterly to the enjoyment +of her presence and of the magnificent morning.</p> + +<p>And yet Musa, whom Audrey considered that she understood +as profoundly as any mother had ever understood +any child—even Musa could surprise.</p> + +<p>He said, without any preparation:</p> + +<p>“I calculate that I shall have 3,040 francs in hand after +the concerts, assuming that I receive only the minimum. +That is, after paying the expenses of my living.”</p> + +<p>“But do you know how much it costs you to live?” +Audrey demanded, with careless superiority.</p> + +<p>“Assuredly. I write all my payments down in a little +book. I have done so since some years.”</p> + +<p>“Every sou?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Every sou.”</p> + +<p>“But do you save, Musa?”</p> + +<p>“Save!” he repeated the word ingenuously. “Till +now to save has been impossible for me. But I have +always kept in hand one month’s subsistence. I could not +do more. Now I shall save. You reproached me with +having spent money in order to come to see you in +England. But I regarded the money so spent as part of +the finance of the concerts. Without seeing you I could +not practise. Without practice I could not play. Without +playing I could not earn money. Therefore I spent money +in order to get money. Such, Madame, was the commercial +side. What a beautiful lawn for tennis you have +in your garden!”</p> + +<p>Audrey was more than surprised, she was staggered +by the revelation of the attitude of genius towards money. +She had not suspected it. Then she remembered the simple +natural tome in which Musa had once told her that both +Tommy and Nick contributed to his income. She ought +to have comprehended from that avowal more than she, +in fact, had comprehended. And now the first hopes of +worldly success were strongly developing that unsuspected +trait in the young man’s character. Audrey was aware +of a great fear. Could he be a genius, after all? Was +it conceivable that an authentic musical genius should enter +up daily in a little book every sou he spent?</p> + +<p>A rapid, spitting, explosive sound, close behind the +car and a little to the right, took her mind away from +Musa and back to the adventure. She looked round, half +expecting what she should see—and she saw it, namely, +the detective on a motor-cycle. It was an “Indian” machine +and painted red. And as she looked, the car, after taking +a corner, got into a straight bit of the splendid road and +the motor-bicycle dropped away from it.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you shake off that motor-bicycle thing?” Audrey +rather superciliously asked the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>Having first looked at his mirror, the chauffeur, who, +like a horse, could see in two directions at once, gazed +cautiously at the road in front and at the motor-bicycle +behind, simultaneously.</p> + +<p>“I doubt it, madam,” he said. And yet his tone and +glance expressed deep scorn of the motor-bicycle. “As +a general rule you can’t.”</p> + +<p>“I should have thought you could beat a little thing +like that,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Them things can do sixty when they’ve a mind to,” +said the chauffeur, with finality, and gave all his attention +to the road.</p> + +<p>At intervals he looked at his mirror. The motor-bicycle +had vanished into the past, and as it failed to reappear he +gradually grew confident and disdainful. But just as the +car was going down the short hill into the outskirts of +Colchester the motor-bicycle came into view once more.</p> + +<p>“Where to, madam?” inquired the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>“This is Colchester, isn’t it?” she demanded nervously, +though she knew perfectly well that it was Colchester.</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> + +<p>“Straight through! Straight through!”</p> + +<p>“The London road?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. The London road,” she agreed. London was, +of course, the only possible destination.</p> + +<p>“But breakfast, madam?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! The usual thing,” said Audrey. “You’ll have +yours when I have mine.”</p> + +<p>“But we shall run out of petrol, madam.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said Audrey sublimely.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur, with characteristic skill, arranged that +the car should run out of petrol precisely in front of the +best hotel in Chelmsford, which was about half-way to +London. The motor-bicycle had not been seen for several +miles. But scarcely had they resumed the journey, by +the Epping road, when it came again into view—in front +of them. How had the fellow guessed that they would +take the longer Epping road instead of the shorter +Romford road?</p> + +<p>“When shall we be arriving in Frinton?” Musa inquired, +beatific.</p> + +<p>“We shan’t be arriving in Frinton any more,” said +Audrey. “We must go straight to London.”</p> + +<p>“It is like a dream,” Musa murmured, as it were +in ecstasy. Then his features changed and he almost +screamed: “But my violin! My violin! We must go +back for it.”</p> + +<p>“Violin!” said Audrey. “That’s nothing! I’ve even +come without gloves.” And she had.</p> + +<p>She reassured Musa as to the violin, and the chauffeur +as to the abandoned Gladstone bag containing the chauffeur’s +personal effects, and herself as to many things. An +hour and twenty minutes later the car, with three people +in it, thickly dusted even to the eyebrows, drew up in +the courtyard of Charing Cross railway station, and the +motor-cycle was visible, its glaring red somewhat paled, +in the Strand outside. The time was ten-fifteen.</p> + +<p>“We shall take the eleven o’clock boat train for Paris,” +she said to Musa.</p> + +<p>“You also?”</p> + +<p>She nodded. He was in heaven. He could even do +without his violin.</p> + +<p>“How nice it is not to be bothered with luggage,” +she said.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur was pacified with money, of which Audrey +had a sufficiency.</p> + +<p>And all the time Audrey kept saying to herself:</p> + +<p>“I’m not going to Paris to please Musa, so don’t let +him think it! I’m only going so as to put the detective +off and keep Jane Foley out of his clutches, because if I +stay in London he’ll be bound to find everything out.”</p> + +<p>While Musa kept watch for the detective at the door +of the telegraph office Audrey telegraphed, as laconically +as possible, to Frinton concerning clothes and the violin, +and then they descended to subterranean marble chambers +in order to get rid of dust, and they came up to earth +again, each out of a separate cellar, renewed. And, lastly, +Audrey slipped into the Strand and bought a pair of gloves, +and thereafter felt herself to be completely equipped against +the world’s gaze.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_30" id="chapter_30" />CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>ARIADNE</h3> + + +<p>A few days later an automobile—not Audrey’s but a large +limousine—bumped, with slow and soft dignity, across the +railway lines which diversify the quays of Boulogne harbour +and, having hooted in a peculiar manner, came to a stop +opposite nothing in particular.</p> + +<p>“Here we are,” said Mr. Gilman, reaching to open +the door. “You can see her masthead light.”</p> + +<p>It was getting dark. Behind, over the station, a very +faint flush lightened the west, and in front, across the +water, and reflected in the water, the thousand lamps of +the town rose in tiers to the lofty church which stood out +a dark mass against the summer sky. On the quays the +forms of men moved vaguely among crates and packages, +and on the water, tugs and boats flitted about, puffing, +or with the plash of oars, or with no sound whatever. +And from the distance arrived the reverberation of electric +trams running their courses in the maze of the town.</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac and Audrey descended, after Mr. Gilman, +from the car and Mr. Gilman turned off the electric light +in the interior and shut the door.</p> + +<p>“Do not trouble about the luggage, I beg you,” said +Mr. Gilman, breathing, as usual, rather noticeably. “<em>Bon +soir</em>, Leroux. Don’t forget to meet the nine-thirty-five.” +This last to the white-clad chauffeur, who saluted sharply.</p> + +<p>At the same moment two sailors appeared over the edge +of the quay, and a Maltese cross of light burst into radiance +at the end of a sloping gangway, whose summit was +just perched on the solid masonry of the port. The sailors +were clothed in blue, with white caps, and on their breasts +they bore the white-embroidered sign: “<em>Ariadne, R.T.Y.C.</em>“</p> + +<p>“Look lively, lads, with the luggage,” said Mr. Gilman.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Then another figure appeared under the Maltese cross. +It was clad in white ducks, with a blue reefer ornamented +in gold, and a yachting cap crowned in white: a stoutish +and middle-aged figure, much like Mr. Gilman himself in +bearing and costume, except that Mr. Gilman had no gold +on his jacket.</p> + +<p>“Well, skipper!” greeted Mr. Gilman, jauntily and +spryly. In one moment, in one second, Mr. Gilman had +grown at least twenty years younger.</p> + +<p>“Captain Wyatt,” he presented the skipper to the +ladies. “And this is Mr. Price, my secretary, and Doctor +Cromarty,” as two youths, clothed exactly to match Mr. +Gilman, followed the skipper up the steep incline of the +gangway.</p> + +<p>And now Audrey could see the <em>Ariadne</em> lying below, for +it was only just past low water and the tide was scarcely +making. At the next berth higher up, with lights gleaming +at her innumerable portholes and two cranes hard at work +producing a mighty racket on her, lay a Channel steamer, +which, by comparison with the yacht, loomed enormous, like +an Atlantic liner. Indeed, the yacht seemed a very little and +a very lowly and a very flimsy flotation on the dark water, +and her illuminated deck-house was no better than a toy. +On the other hand, her two masts rose out of the deep high +overhead and had a certain impressiveness, though not +quite enough.</p> + +<p>Audrey thought:</p> + +<p>“Is this what we’re going on? I thought it was a big +yacht.” And she had a qualm.</p> + +<p>And then a bell rang twice, extremely sweet and mellow, +somewhere on the yacht. And Audrey was touched by the +beauty of its tone.</p> + +<p>“Two bells. Nine o’clock,” said Mr. Gilman. “Will +you come aboard? I’ll show you the way.” He tripped +down the gangway like a boy. Behind could be heard the +sailors giving one another directions about the true method +of handling luggage.</p> + +<p>Audrey had met Madame Piriac by sheer hazard in a +corset shop in the Rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin. The fugitive +from justice had been obliged, in the matter of wardrobe, +to begin life again on her arrival trunkless in Paris, and +the business of doing so was not disagreeable. Madame +Piriac had greeted her with most affectionate warmth. One +of her first suggestions had been that Audrey should accompany +her on a short yachting trip projected by Mr. Gilman. +She had said that though the excellent Gilman was her +uncle, and her adored uncle, he was not her real uncle, and +that therefore, of course, she was incapable of going unaccompanied, +though she would hate to disappoint the dear +man. As for Monsieur Piriac, the destiny of France was in +his hands, and the moment being somewhat critical, he +would not quit the Ministry of Foreign Affairs without +leaving a fixed telegraphic address.</p> + +<p>On the next day Mr. Gilman and Madame Piriac had +called on Audrey at the Hôtel du Danube, and the invitation +became formal. It was pressing and flattering. Why +refuse it? Mr. Gilman was obviously prepared to be her +slave. She accepted, with enthusiasm. And she said to +herself that in doing so she was putting yet another spoke +in the wheel of the British police. Immediately afterwards +she learnt that Musa also had been asked. Madame Piriac +informed her, in reply to a sort of protest, that Musa’s first +concert was postponed by the concert agency until the +autumn. “I never heard of that!” Audrey had cried. +“And why should you have heard of it? Have you not +been in England?” Madame Piriac had answered, a little +surprised at Audrey’s tone. Whereupon Audrey had said +naught. The chief point was that Musa could take a holiday +without detriment to his career. Moreover, Mr. Gilman, +who possessed everything, possessed a marvellous violin, +which he would put at the disposal of Musa on the yacht if +Musa’s own violin had not been found in the meantime. +The official story was that Musa’s violin had been mislaid or +lost on the Métropolitain Railway, and the fact that he had +been to England somehow did not transpire at all.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman had gone forward in advance to make sure +that his yacht was in a state worthy to receive two such +ladies, and he had insisted on meeting them in his car +at Abbeville on the way to Boulogne. He had not insisted +on meeting Musa similarly. He was a peculiar and in +some respects a stiff-necked man. He had decided, in his +own mind, that he would have the two women to himself +in the car, and so indeed it fell out. Nevertheless his attitude +to Musa, and Madame Piriac’s attitude to Musa, and +everybody’s attitude to Musa, had shown that the mere +prospect of star-concerts in a first-class hall had very +quickly transformed Musa into a genuine Parisian lion. He +was positively courted. His presence on the yacht was +deemed an honour, and that was why Mr. Gilman had asked +him. Audrey both resented the remarkable change and was +proud of it—as a mother perhaps naturally would do and +be. The admitted genius was to arrive the next morning.</p> + +<p>On boarding the <em>Ariadne</em> in the wake of Mr. Gilman and +Madame Piriac, the first thing that impressed Audrey was +the long gangway itself. It was made of thin resilient steel, +and the handrails were of soft white rope, almost like silk, +and finished off with fancy knots; and at the beginning of +the gangway, on the dirty quay, lay a beautiful mat bearing +the name of the goddess, while at the end, on the pale, +smooth deck, was another similar mat. The obvious costliness +of that gangway and those superlative mats made +Audrey feel poor, in spite of her ten million francs. And +the next thing that impressed her was that immediately she +got down on deck the yacht, in a very mysterious manner, +had grown larger, and much larger. At the forward extremity +of the deck certain blue figures lounging about +seemed to be quite a long way off, indeed in another world. +Here and there on the deck were circles of yellow or white +rope, coiled as precisely and perfectly as Audrey could coil +her own hair. Mr. Gilman led them to the door of the deck-house +and they gazed within. The sight of the interior +drew out of the ravished Audrey an ecstatic exclamation: +“What a darling!” And at the words she saw that Mr. +Gilman, for all his assumed nonchalant spryness, almost +trembled with pleasure. The deck-house was a drawing-room +whose walls were of carved and inlaid wood. Orange-shaded +electric bulbs hung on short, silk cords from the +ceiling, and flowers in sconces showed brilliantly between +the windows, which were draped with curtains of silk matching +the thick carpet. Several lounge chairs and a table of +bird’s-eye maple completed the place, and over the table +were scattered newspapers and illustrated weeklies. Everything, +except the literature, was somewhat diminished in +size, but the smallness of the scale only intensified the +pleasure derived from the spectacle.</p> + +<p>Then they went “downstairs,” as Audrey said; but Mr. +Gilman corrected her and said “below,” whereupon Audrey +retorted that she should call it the “ground floor,” and Mr. +Gilman laughed as she had never heard a man of his age +laugh. The sight of the ground floor still further increased +Audrey’s notion of the dimensions of the yacht, whose corridors +and compartments appeared to stretch away endlessly +in two directions. At the foot of the curving staircase Mr. +Gilman, pulling aside a curtain, announced: “This is the +saloon.” When she heard the word Audrey expected a +poky cubicle, but found a vast drawing-room with more +books than she had ever seen in any other drawing-room, +many pictures, an open piano, with music on it; sofas in +every quarter, and about a thousand cupboards and drawers, +each with a silver knob or handle. Above all was a dome of +multi-coloured glass, and exactly beneath the dome a table +set for supper, with the finest napery, cutlery and crystal. +The apartment was dazzlingly lighted, and yet not a single +lamp could be detected in the act of illumination. A real +parlourmaid suddenly appeared at the far end of the room, +and behind her two stewards in gilt-buttoned white Eton +jackets and black trousers. Mr. Gilman, with seriousness, +bade the parlourmaid take charge of the ladies and show +them the sleeping-cabins.</p> + +<p>“Choose any cabins you like,” said he, as Madame +Piriac and Audrey rustled off.</p> + +<p>There might have been hundreds of sleeping-cabins. And +there did, in fact, appear to be quite a number of them, +to say nothing of two bathrooms. They inspected all of +them save one, which was locked. In an awed voice the +parlourmaid said, “That is the owner’s cabin.” At another +door she said, in a different, disdainful voice, “That only +leads to the galley and the crew’s quarters.” Audrey +wondered what a galley could be, and the mystery of that +name, and the mystery of the two closed doors, merely made +the whole yacht perfect. The sleeping-cabins surpassed all +else—they were so compact, so complex, so utterly complete. +No large bedchamber, within Audrey’s knowledge, held so +much apparatus, and offered so much comfort and so much +wardrobe room as even the least of these cabins. It was +impossible, to be sure, that in one’s amused researches one +had not missed a cupboard ingeniously disguised somewhere. +And the multiplicity of mirrors, and the message of the +laconic monosyllable “Hot” on silver taps, and the discretion +of the lighting, all indicated that the architect and +creator of these marvellous microcosms had “understood.” +The cosy virtue of littleness, and the entire absurdity of +space for the sake of space, were strikingly proved, and +the demonstration amounted, in Audrey’s mind, to a new and +delicious discovery.</p> + +<p>The largest of the cabins had two berths at right angles +to one another, each a lovely little bed with a running screen +of cashmere. Having admired it once, they returned to it.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, my dear,” said Madame Piriac in +French, “I have an idea. You will tell me if it is not +good.... If we shared this cabin ...! In this so curious +machine one feels a satisfaction, somehow, in being very +near the one to the other. The ceiling is so low.... That +gives you sensations—human sensations.... I know not +if you experience the same....”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Let’s!” Audrey exclaimed impulsively in +English. “Do let’s!”</p> + +<p>When the parlourmaid had gone, and before the luggage +had come down, Madame Piriac caught Audrey to her and +kissed her fervently on both cheeks, amid the glinting confusion +of polished woods and draperies and silver mountings +and bevelled glass.</p> + +<p>“I am so content that you came, my little one!” +murmured Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>The next minute the cabin and the corridor outside were +full of open trunks and bags, over which bent the forms of +Madame Piriac, Audrey and the parlourmaid. And all the +drawers were gaping, and the doors of all the cupboards +swinging, and the narrow beds were hidden under piles of +variegated garments. And while they were engaged in the +breathless business of installing themselves in the celestial +domain, strange new thoughts flitted about like mice in +Audrey’s head. She felt as though she were in a refuge +from the world, and as though her conscience was being +narcotised. In that cabin, firm as solid land and yet floating +on the water, with Mr. Gilman at hand her absolute slave—in +that cabin the propaganda of women’s suffrage presented +itself as a very odd and very remote phenomenon, a phenomenon +scarcely real. She had positively everything she +wanted without fighting for it. The lion’s share of life was +hers. Comfort and luxury were desirable and beautiful +things, not to be cast aside nor scorned. Madame Piriac +was a wise woman and a good woman. She was a happy +woman.... There was a great deal of ugliness in sitting +on Joy Wheels and being chased by policemen. True, as she +had heard, a crew of nineteen human beings was necessary +to the existence of Mr. Gilman and his guests on board the +yacht. Well, what then? The nineteen were undoubtedly +well treated and in clover. And the world was the world; +you had to take it as you found it.... And then in her +mind she had a glimpse of the blissful face of Jane Foley—blissful +in a different way from any other face she had met +in all her life. Disconcerting, this glimpse, for an instant, +but only for an instant! She, Audrey, was blissful, too. +The intense desire for joy and pleasure surged up in her.... +The bell which she had previously heard struck three; +its delicate note vibrated long through the yacht, unwilling +to expire. Half-past nine, and supper and the chivalry of +Mr. Gilman waiting for them in the elegance of the saloon!</p> + +<p>As the two women approached the <em>portière</em> which +screened the forward entrance to the saloon, they heard +Mr. Gilman say, in a weary and resigned voice:</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose there’s nothing better than a whisky +and soda.”</p> + +<p>And the vivacious reply of a steward:</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> + +<p>The owner was lounging in a corner, with a gloomy, +bored look on his face. But as soon as the <em>portière</em> stirred +and he saw the smiles of Madame Piriac and Audrey upon +him, his whole demeanour changed in an instant. He +sprang up, laughed, furtively smoothed his waistcoat, and +managed to convey the general idea that he had a keen +interest in life, and that the keenest part of that interest +was due to a profound instinctive desire to serve these two +beautiful benefactors of mankind—the idea apparently being +that the charming creatures had conferred a favour on the +human race by consenting to exist. He cooed round them, +he offered them cushions, he inquired after their physical +condition, he expressed his fear lest the cabins had not +contained every convenience that caprice might expect. He +was excited; surely he was happy! Audrey persuaded herself +that this must, after all, be his true normal condition +while aboard the yacht, and that the ennui visible on his +features a moment earlier could only have been transient and +accidental.</p> + +<p>“I am sure the piano is as wonderful as all else on +board,” said Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>“Do play!” he entreated. “I love to hear music here. +My secretary plays for me when I am alone.”</p> + +<p>“I, who do not adore music!” Madame Piriac protested +against the invitation. But she sat down on the clamped +music stool and began a waltz.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Mr. Gilman, dropping into a seat by Audrey. +“I wish I danced!”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t mean to say you don’t,” said Audrey, +with fascination. She felt that she could fascinate him, and +that it was her duty to fascinate him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman responded to the challenge.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I do,” he said modestly. “We must have a +dance on deck one night. I’ll tell my secretary to get the +gramophone into order. I have a pretty good one.”</p> + +<p>“How lovely!” Audrey agreed. “I do think the +<em>Ariadne’s</em> the most heavenly thing, Mr. Gilman! I’d no +idea what a yacht was! I hope you’ll tell me the proper +names for all the various parts—you know what I mean. +I hate to use the wrong words. It’s not polite on a yacht, +is it?”</p> + +<p>His smile was entranced.</p> + +<p>“You and I will go round by ourselves to-morrow morning, +Mrs. Moncreiff,” he said.</p> + +<p>Just then the steward appeared with the whisky and +soda, but Mr. Gilman dismissed him with a sharp gesture, +and he vanished back into the unexplored parts of the +vessel. The implication was that the society of Audrey +made whisky and soda a superfluity for Mr. Gilman. +Although she was so young, he treated her with exactly +the same deference as he lavished on Madame Piriac, +indeed with perhaps a little more. If Madame Piriac was +for him the incarnation of sweetness and balm and majesty, +so also was Audrey, and Audrey had the advantage of +novelty. She was growing, morally, every minute. The +confession of Musa had filled her with a good notion of +herself. The impulsive flattery of Madame Piriac in the +joint cabin, and now the sincere, grave homage of Mr. Gilman, +caused her to brim over with consciousness that she +was at last somebody.</p> + +<p>An automobile hooted on the quay, and at the disturbing +sound Madame Piriac ceased to play and swung round on +the stool.</p> + +<p>“That—that must be our other lady guest,” said Mr. +Gilman, who had developed nervousness; his cheeks flushed +darkly.</p> + +<p>“Ah?” cautiously smiled Madame Piriac, who was +plainly taken aback.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Gilman. “Miss Thompkins. Before I +knew for certain that Mrs. Moncreiff could come with you, +Hortense, I asked Miss Thompkins if she would care to +come. I only got her answer this morning—it was delayed. +I meant to tell you.... You are a friend of Miss Thompkins, +aren’t you?” He turned to Audrey.</p> + +<p>Audrey replied gaily that she knew Tommy very well.</p> + +<p>“I’d better go up,” said Mr. Gilman, and he departed, +and his back, though a nervous back, seemed to be defying +Madame Piriac and Audrey to question in the slightest +degree his absolute right to choose his own guests on his +own yacht.</p> + +<p>“Strange man!” muttered Madame Piriac. It was a +confidence to Audrey, who eagerly accepted it as such. +“Imagine him inviting Mees Thompkins without a word to +us, without a word! But, you know, my dear uncle was +always bizarre, mysterious. Yet—is he mysterious, or is +he ingenuous?”</p> + +<p>“But how did he come to know Miss Thompkins?” +Audrey demanded.</p> + +<p>“Ah! You have not heard that? Miss Thompkins gave +a—a musical tea in her studio, to celebrate these concerts +which are to occur. Musa asked the Foas to come. They +consented. It was understood they should bring friends. +Thus I went also, and Monsieur Gilman being at my orders +that afternoon, he went too. Never have I seen so strange +a multitude! But it was amusing. And all Paris has begun +to talk of Musa. Miss Thompkins and my uncle became +friends on the instant. I assume that it was her eyes. Also +those Americans have vivacity, if not always distinction. +Do you not think so?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! And do you mean to say that on the strength +of that he asked her to go yachting?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he had called several times.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you surprised she accepted?” asked Audrey.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Madame Piriac. “It is another code, that +is all. It is a surprise, but she will be amusing.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure she will,” Audrey concurred. “I’m frightfully +fond of her myself.”</p> + +<p>They glanced at each other very intimately, like long-established +allies who fear an aggression—and are ready +for it.</p> + +<p>Then steps were heard. Miss Thompkins entered.</p> + +<p>“Well,” drawled Miss Thompkins, gazing first at +Audrey and then at Madame Piriac. “Of all the loveliest +shocks——Say, Musa——”</p> + +<p>Behind her stood Musa. It appeared that he had been +able to get away by the same train as Tommy.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_31" id="chapter_31" />CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3>THE NOSTRUM</h3> + + +<p>The hemisphere of heaven was drenched in moonlight, and—rare +happening either on British earth or on the waters +surrounding it, in mid-summer—the night was warm. In +the midst of the glittering sea the yacht moved without the +appearance of motion; only by leaning over the rail and +watching the bubbles glide away from her could you detect +her progress. There were no waves, no ripples, nothing +but a scarcely perceptible swell. The gentle breeze, unnoticeable +on deck, was abaft; all the sails had been +lowered and stowed except the large square sail bent on a +yard to the mainmast and never used except with such a +wind. The <em>Ariadne</em> had a strong flood tide under her, and +her 200-h.p. twin motors were stopped. Hence there +was no tremor in the ship and no odour of paraffin in the +nostrils of those who chanced to wander aft of the engine-room. +The deck awning had been rolled up to the centre, +and at the four corners of its frame had been hung four +temporary electric lights within Chinese lanterns. A +radiance ascended from the saloon skylight; the windows +of the deck-house blazed as usual, but the deck-house was +empty; a very subdued glow indicated where the binnacle +was. And, answering these signs of existence, could be +distinguished the red and green lights of steamers, the firm +rays of lighthouses, and the red or white warnings of gas-buoys +run by clockwork.</p> + +<p>The figures of men and women—the women in pale +gowns, the men in blue-and-white—lounged or strolled on +the spotless deck which unseen hands swabbed and stoned +every morning at 6 o’clock; and among these figures passed +the figure of a steward with a salver, staying them with +flagons, comforting them with the finest exotic fruit. +Occasionally the huge square sail gave an idle flap. “Get +that lead out, ’Orace,” commanded a grim voice from the +wheel. A splash followed, as a man straddled himself over +the starboard bow, swung a weighted line to and fro and +threw it from him. “Four.” Another splash. “Four.” +Another splash. “Four.” Another splash. “Three-half.” +Another splash. “Three-half.” Another splash. “Three.” +Another splash. “Two-half.” Another splash. “Three.” +Another splash. “Five.” “That’ll do, ’Orace,” came the +voice from the wheel. Then an entranced silence.</p> + +<p>The scene had the air of being ideal. And yet it was +not. Something lacked. That something was the owner. +The owner lay indisposed in the sacred owner’s cabin. And +this was a pity because a dance had been planned for that +night. It might have taken place without the owner, but +the strains of the gramophone and especially the shuffling +of feet on the deck would have disturbed him. True, he +had sent up word by Doctor Cromarty that he was not to +be considered. But the doctor had delivered the message +without any conviction, and the unanimous decision was +that the owner must, at all costs, be considered.</p> + +<p>It was Ostend, on top of the owner’s original offer to +Audrey, that had brought about the suggestion of a dance. +They had coasted up round Gris-Nez from Boulogne to +Ostend, and had reached the harbour there barely in time +to escape from the worst of a tempest that had already +begun to produce in the minds of sundry passengers a grave +doubt whether yachting was, after all, the most delightful +of pursuits. Some miles before the white dome of the +Kursaal was sighted the process of moral decadence had set +in, and passengers were lying freely to each other, and +boastfully lying, just as though somebody had been accusing +them of some dreadful crime of cowardice or bad breeding +instead of merely inquiring about the existence of physical +symptoms over which they admittedly had no control whatever. +The security of a harbour, with a railway station not +fifty yards from the yacht’s bowsprit, had restored them, +by dint of calming secret fears, to their customary condition +of righteousness and rectitude. Several days of +gusty rainstorms had elapsed at Ostend, and the passengers +had had the opportunity to study the method of managing +a yacht, and to visit the neighbourhood. The one was as +wondrous as the other. They found letters and British and +French newspapers on their plates at breakfast. And the +first object they had seen on the quay, and the last object +they saw there, was the identical large limousine which they +had left on the quay at Boulogne. It would have taken +them to Ghent but for the owner’s powerful objection to +their eating any meal off the yacht. Seemingly he had a +great and sincere horror of local viands and particularly of +local water. He was their slave; they might demand anything +from him; he was the very symbol of hospitality and +chivalry, but somehow they could not compass a meal +away from the yacht. Similarly, he would have them leave +the Kursaal not later than ten o’clock, when the evening had +not veritably begun. They did not clearly understand by +what means he imposed his will, but he imposed it.</p> + +<p>The departure from Ostend was accomplished after the +glass had begun to rise, but before it had finished rising, and +there were apprehensions in the saloon and out of it, when +the spectacle of the open sea, and the feel of it under the +feet, showed that, as of old, water was still unstable. The +process of moral decadence would have set in once more +but for the prudence and presence of mind of Audrey, who +had laid in a large stock of the specific which had been of +such notable use to herself and Miss Ingate on previous +occasions. Praising openly its virtues, confessing frankly +her own weakness and preaching persuasively her own +faith, she had distributed the nostrum, and in about a +quarter of an hour had established a justifiable confidence. +Mr. Gilman alone would not partake, and indeed she had +hardly dared to offer the thing to so experienced a sailor. +The day had favoured her. The sea grew steadily more +tranquil, and after skirting the Belgian and French coasts +for some little distance the <em>Ariadne</em>, under orders, had +turned her nose boldly northward for the estuary of the +Thames. The <em>Ariadne</em> was now in the midst of that very +complicated puzzle of deeps and shallows. The passengers, +in fact, knew that they were in the region of the North +Edinburgh, but what or where the North Edinburgh was +they had only the vaguest idea. The blot on the voyage +had been the indisposition of Mr. Gilman, who had taken +to his berth early, and who saw nobody but his doctor, +through whom he benignantly administered the world of the +yacht. Doctor Cromarty had a face which imparted nothing +and yet implied everything. He said less and meant more +than even the average pure-blooded Scotsman. It was +imparted that Mr. Gilman had a chronic complaint. The +implications were vast and baffling.</p> + +<p>“We shall dance after all,” said Miss Thompkins, bending +with a mysterious gesture over Audrey, who reclined in +a deck-chair near the companion leading to the deserted +engine-room. Miss Thompkins was dressed in lacy white, +with a string of many tinted beads round her slim neck. +Her tawny hair was arranged in a large fluffiness, and the +ensemble showed to a surprised Audrey what Miss +Thompkins could accomplish when she deemed the occasion +to be worthy of an effort.</p> + +<p>“Shall we? What makes you think so, dear?” absently +asked Audrey, in whom the scene had induced profound +reflections upon life and the universe.</p> + +<p>“He’ll come up on deck,” said Miss Thompkins, disclosing +her teeth in an inscrutable smile that the moonbeams +made more strange than it actually was. “Like to know +how I know? Sure you’d like to know, Mrs. Simplicity?” +Her beads rattled above Audrey’s insignificant upturned +nose. “Isn’t a yacht the queerest little self-contained state +you ever visited? It’s as full of party politics as +Massachusetts; and that’s some. Well, I didn’t use all my +medicine you gave me. Didn’t need it. So I’ve shared it +with <em>him</em>. I got the empty packet with all the instructions +on it, and I put two of my tablets in it, and if he hasn’t +swallowed them by this time my name isn’t Anne Tuckett +Thompkins.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t mean he’s been——”</p> + +<p>“Audrey, you’re making a noise like a goose. ’Course +I do.”</p> + +<p>“But how did you manage to——”</p> + +<p>“I gave them to Mr. Price, with instructions to leave +them by the—er—bedside. Mr. Price is a friend. I hope +I’ve made that plain these days to everybody, including Mr. +Gilman. Mr. Price is a good sample of what painters are +liable to come to after they’ve found out they don’t care +for the smell of oil-tubes. I knew him when he always +said ‘Puvis’ instead of ‘Puvis de Chavannes.’ He’s cured +now. If I hadn’t happened to know he’d be on board I +shouldn’t have dared to come. He’s my lifebuoy.”</p> + +<p>“But I assure you, Tommy, Mr. Gilman refused the +stuff from me. He did.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Dove! Wood-pigeon! Of course he refused it. +He was bound to. Owner of a two-hundred-and-fifty-ton +yacht taking a remedy for sea-sickness in public on the +two-hundred-and-fifty-ton yacht! The very idea makes you +shiver. But he’ll take it down there. And he won’t ask +any questions. And he’ll hide it from the doctor. And +he’ll pretend, and he’ll expect everybody else to pretend, +that he’s never been within a mile of the stuff.”</p> + +<p>“Tommy, I don’t believe you.”</p> + +<p>“And he’s a lovely man, all the same.”</p> + +<p>“Tommy, I don’t believe you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you do. You’d like not to, but you can’t help it. +I sometimes do bruise people badly in their organ of +illusions-about-human-nature, but it is fun, after all, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Getting down to the facts.”</p> + +<p>Accompanied by the tattoo of her necklace, Miss +Thompkins moved away in the direction of Madame Piriac, +who was engaged with Musa.</p> + +<p>“Admit I’m rather brilliant to-night,” she threw over +her shoulder.</p> + +<p>The dice seem to be always loaded in favour of the +Misses Thompkins of society. Less than a quarter of an +hour later Doctor Cromarty, showing his head just above +the level of the deck, called out:</p> + +<p>“Price, ye can wind up that box o’ yours. Mr. Gilman +is coming on deck. He’s wonderful better.”</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_32" id="chapter_32" />CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3>BY THE BINNACLE</h3> + + +<p>The owner was at the wheel. But he had not got there +at once. This singular man, who strangely enough was +wearing one of his most effulgent and heterogeneous club +neckties, had begun by dancing. He danced with all three +ladies, one after the other; and he did not merely dance—he +danced modernly, he danced the new dances to the new +tunes, given off like intoxicating gas from the latest of +gramophones. He knew how to hold the arm of a woman +above her head, while coiling his own around it in the +manner of a snake, and he knew how to make his very +body a vast syncopation. The effect of his arrival was as +singular as himself. Captain Wyatt, Doctor Cromarty and +Mr. Price withdrew to that portion of the deck about the +wheel which convention had always roped off for them with +invisible ropes. The captain, by custom, messed by himself, +whereas the other two had their meals in the saloon, +entering and leaving quickly and saying little while at table. +But apart from meals the three formed a separate clan on +the yacht. The indisposition of the owner had dissolved +this clan into the general population of the saloon. The +recovery of the owner re-created it. Mr. Price had suddenly +begun to live arduously for the gramophone alone. +And when summoned by the owner to come and form half +of the third couple for dancing, Doctor Cromarty had the +air of arousing himself from a meditation upon medicine. +Also, the passengers themselves danced with conscientiousness, +with elaborate gusto and with an earnest desire to +reach a high standard. And between dances everybody +went up to Mr. Gilman and said how lovely it all was. And +it really was lovely.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman had taken the wheel after about the sixth +dance. Approaching Audrey, who owed him the next dance, +he had said that the skipper had hinted something about his +taking the wheel and he thought he had better oblige the +old fellow, if Audrey was quite, quite sure she didn’t mind, +and would she come and sit by him instead—for one dance? +... As soon as two sailors had fixed cushions for Audrey, +and the skipper had given the owner the course, all persons +seemed to withdraw respectfully from the pair, who were +in the shadow of a great spar, with the glimmer of the +binnacle just in front of them. The square sail had been +lowered, and the engines started, and a steady, faint throb +kept the yacht mysteriously alive in every plank of her. +The gramophone and the shuffle of feet continued, because +Mr. Gilman had expressly desired that his momentary +defection with a lady and in obedience to duty should not +bring the ball to an end. Laughter and even giggles came +from the ballroom. Males were dancing together. The +power of the moon had increased. The binnacle-light, however, +threw up a radiance of its own on to Mr. Gilman’s +lowered face, the face of a kind, a good, and a dependably +expert individuality who was watching over the +safety, the welfare and the highest interests of every soul +on board.</p> + +<p>“I was very sorry to be laid up to-day,” Mr. Gilman +began suddenly, in a very quiet voice, frowning benevolently +at the black pointer on the compass. “But, of +course, you know my great enemy.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” said Audrey gently.</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t Doc told you?”</p> + +<p>“Doctor Cromarty? No, he doesn’t tell much.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Gilman, looking round quickly and +shyly, rather in the manner of a boy, “it’s liver.”</p> + +<p>Audrey seemed to read in his face, first, that Doctor +Cromarty had received secret orders never to tell anybody +anything, and, second, that the great enemy was not liver. +And she thought: “So this is human nature! Mature +men, wise men, dignified men, do descend to these paltry +deceits just in order to keep up appearances, though they +must know quite well that they don’t deceive anyone who +is worth deceiving.” The remarkable fact was that she +did not feel in the least shocked or disdainful. She merely +decided—and found a certain queer pleasure in the decision—that +human nature was a curious phenomenon, and that +there must be a lot of it on earth. And she felt kindly +towards Mr. Gilman.</p> + +<p>“If you’d said gout——” she remarked. “I always +understood that men generally had gout.” And she consciously, +with intention, employed a simple, innocent tone, +knowing that it misled Mr. Gilman, and wanting it to +mislead him.</p> + +<p>“No!” he went on. “Liver. All sailors suffer from +it, more or less. It’s the bugbear of the sea. I have a +doctor on board because, with a score or so of crew, it’s +really a duty to have a doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I quite see that,” Audrey agreed, thinking mildly: +“You only have a doctor on board because you’re always +worrying about your own health.”</p> + +<p>“However,” said Mr. Gilman, “he’s not much use to +me personally. He doesn’t understand liver. Scotsmen +never do. Fortunately, I have a very good doctor in Paris. +I prefer French doctors. And I’m sure they’re right on the +great liver question. All English doctors tell you to take +plenty of violent exercise if you want to shake off a liver +attack. Quite wrong. Too much exercise tires the body +and so it tires the liver as well—obviously. What’s the +result? You can see, can’t you? The liver works worse +than ever. Now, a French doctor will advise complete rest +until the attack is over. <em>Then</em> exercise, if you like; but not +before. Of course, <em>you</em> don’t know you’ve got a liver, and +I dare say you think it’s very odd of me to talk about my +liver. I’m sure you do.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t, honestly. I like you to talk like that. It’s +very interesting.” And she thought: “Suppose Tommy +was wrong, after all! ... She’s very spiteful.”</p> + +<p>“That’s you all over, Mrs. Moncreiff. You understand +men far better than any other woman I ever saw, unless, +perhaps, it’s Madame Piriac.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Gilman! How can you say such a thing?”</p> + +<p>“It’s not the first time you’ve heard it, I wager!” said +Mr. Gilman. “And it won’t be the last! Any man who +knows women can see at once that you are one of the +women who understand. Otherwise, do you imagine I +should have begun upon my troubles?”</p> + +<p>Now, at any rate, he was sincere—she was convinced +of that. And he looked very smart as he spied the horizon +for lights and peered at the compass, and moved the wheel +at intervals with a strong, accustomed gesture. And, +assuredly, he looked very experienced. Audrey blushed. +She just had to believe that there must be something in +what he said concerning her talent. She had noticed it herself +several times.</p> + +<p>In an interval of the music the sea washed with a long +sound against the bow of the yacht; then silence.</p> + +<p>“I do love that sudden wash against the yacht,” said +Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” agreed Mr. Gilman, “so do I. All doctors tell +me that I should be better if I gave up yachting. But I +won’t. I couldn’t. Whatever it costs in health, yachting’s +worth it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! It must be!” cried Audrey, with enthusiasm. +“I’ve never been on a yacht before, but I quite agree with +you. I feel as if I could live on a yacht for ever—always +going to new places, you know; that’s how I feel.”</p> + +<p>“You do?” Mr. Gilman exclaimed and gazed at her for +a moment with a sort of ecstasy. Audrey instinctively +checked herself. “There’s a freemasonry among those +who like yachting.” His eyes returned to the compass. +“I’ve kept your secret. I’ve kept it like something precious. +I’ve enjoyed keeping it. It’s been a comfort to me. Now +I wonder if you’ll do the same for me, Mrs. Moncreiff?”</p> + +<p>“Do what?” Audrey asked weakly, intimidated.</p> + +<p>“Keep a secret. I shouldn’t dream of telling it to +Madame Piriac. Will you? May I tell you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if you think you can trust me,” said Audrey, concealing, +with amazing ease and skill, her excitement and +her mighty pleasure in the scene.... “He wouldn’t dream +of telling it to Madame Piriac.” ... It is doubtful whether +she had ever enjoyed anything so much, and yet she was +as prim as a nun.</p> + +<p>“I’m not a happy man, Mrs. Moncreiff. Materially, I’ve +everything a man can want, I suppose. But I’m not happy. +You may laugh and say it’s my liver. But it isn’t. You’re +a woman of the world; you know what life is; and yet +experience hasn’t spoilt you. I could say anything +to you; anything! And you wouldn’t be shocked, would +you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Audrey, hoping, nevertheless, that he would +not say “anything, anything,” but somehow simultaneously +hoping that he would. It was a disconcerting sensation.</p> + +<p>“I want you always to remember that I’m unhappy and +never to tell anybody,” Mr. Gilman resumed.</p> + +<p>“But why?”</p> + +<p>“It will be a kindness to me.”</p> + +<p>“I mean, why are you unhappy?”</p> + +<p>“My opinions have all changed. I used to think I could +be independent of women. Not that I didn’t like women! +I did. But when I’d left them I was quite happy. You +know what the facts of life are, Mrs. Moncreiff. Young as +you are you are older than me in some respects, though I +have a long life before me. It’s just because I have a long +life before me—dyspeptics are always long-lived—that I’m +afraid for the future. It wouldn’t matter so much if I was +an old man.”</p> + +<p>“But,” asked Audrey adventurously, “why should you +be unhappy because your opinions have changed? What +opinions?” She endeavoured to be perfectly judicial and +indifferent, and yet kind.</p> + +<p>“What opinions? Well, about Woman Suffrage, for +instance. You remember that night at the Foas’, and +what I remarked afterwards about what you all said?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I remember,” said Audrey. “But can <em>you</em> +remember it? Fancy you remembering a thing like that!”</p> + +<p>“I remember every word that was said. It changed me.... +Not at first. Oh, no! Not for several days, perhaps +weeks. I fought against it. Then I said to myself, ‘How +absurd to fight against it!’ ... Well, I’ve come to believe +in women having the vote. You’ve no more stanch supporter +than I am. I <em>want</em> women to have the vote. And +you’re the first person I’ve ever said that to. I want <em>you</em> +to have the vote.”</p> + +<p>He smiled at her, and she saw scores and scores of +excellent qualities in his smile; she could not believe that +he had any defect whatever. His secret was precious to +her. She considered that he had confided it to her in a +manner both distinguished and poetical. He had shown a +quality which no youth could have shown. Youths were +inferior, crude, incomplete. Not that Mr. Gilman was not +young! Emphatically he was young, but her conception +of the number of years comprised in youthfulness had been +enlarged. She saw, as in a magical enlightenment, that +forty was young, fifty was young, any age was young provided +it had the right gestures. As for herself, she was +without age. The obvious fact that Mr. Gilman was her +slave touched her; it saddened her, but sweetly; it gave her +a new sense of responsibility.</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>“I still don’t see why this change of view should make +you unhappy. I should have thought it would have just the +opposite effect.”</p> + +<p>“It has altered all my desires,” he replied. “Do you +know, I’m not really interested in this new yacht now! And +that’s the truth.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gilman!” she checked him. “How can you say +such a thing?”</p> + +<p>It now appeared that she was not a nice girl. If she +had been a nice girl she would not have comprehended +what Mr. Gilman was ultimately driving at. The word +“marriage” would never have sounded in her brain. And +she would have been startled and shocked had Mr. Gilman +even hinted that there was such a word in the dictionary. +But not being, after all, a nice girl, she actually dwelt on +the notion of marriage with somebody exactly like Mr. +Gilman. She imagined how fine and comfortable and final +it would be. She admitted that despite her riches and her +independence she would be and could be simply naught until +she possessed a man and could show him to the world as +her own. Strange attitude for a wealthy feminist, but she +had the attitude! And, moreover, she enjoyed having it; +she revelled in it. She desired, impatiently, that Mr. +Gilman should proceed further. She thirsted for his next +remark. And her extremely deceptive features displayed +only a blend of simplicity and soft pity. Those features did +not actually lie, for she was ingenuous without being aware +of it and her pity for the fellow-creature whose lot she could +assuage with a glance was real enough. But they did +suppress about nine-tenths of the truth.</p> + +<p>“I tell you,” said Mr. Gilman, “there is nothing I could +not say to you. And—and—of course, you’ll say I scarcely +know you—yet——”</p> + +<p>Clearly he was proceeding further. She waited as +in a theatre one waits for a gun to go off on the stage. +And then the gun did go off, but not the gun she was +expecting.</p> + +<p>Skipper Wyatt’s head popped up like a cannon shot out +of a hole in the forward deck, and it gazed sharply and +apprehensively around the calm, moonlit sea. Mr. Gilman +was, beyond question, perturbed by the movements of that +head, though he could not see the expression of the eyes. +This was the first phenomenon. The second phenomenon +was a swirling of water round the after part of the ship, and +this swirling went on until the water was white with a thin +foam.</p> + +<p>“Reverse those d——d engines!” shouted Captain +Wyatt, quite regardless of the proximity of refined women. +He had now sprung clear of the hole and was running aft. +The whole world of the yacht could not but see that he was +coatless and that his white shirtsleeves, being rather long, +were kept in position by red elastic rings round his arms. +“Is that blithering engineer asleep?” continued Captain +Wyatt, ignoring the whole system of yacht etiquette. +“She’s getting harder on every second!”</p> + +<p>“Ay, ay, skipper!” came a muffled voice from the engine-room.</p> + +<p>“And not too soon either!” snapped the captain.</p> + +<p>The yacht throbbed more violently; the swirling increased +furiously. The captain stared over the rail. Then, +after an interval, he stamped on the deck in disgust.</p> + +<p>“Shut off!” he yelled. “It’s no good.”</p> + +<p>The yacht ceased to throb. The swirling came to an +end, and the thin white foam faded into flat sombre water. +Whereupon Captain Wyatt turned back to the wheel, which, +in his extreme haste, he had passed by.</p> + +<p>“You’ve run her on to the sand, sir,” said he to Mr. +Gilman, respectfully but still accusingly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! Impossible!” Mr. Gilman defended himself, +pained by the charge.</p> + +<p>“She’s hard on, anyhow, sir. And many a good yacht’s +left her bones on this Buxey.”</p> + +<p>“But you gave me the course,” protested Mr. Gilman, +with haughtiness.</p> + +<p>Captain Wyatt bent down and looked at the binnacle. +He was contentedly aware that the compass of a yacht hard +aground cannot lie and cannot be made to lie. The camera +can lie; the speedometer of an automobile after an accident +can lie—or can conceal the truth and often does, but the +compass of a yacht aground is insusceptible to any +blandishment; it shows the course at the moment of striking +and nothing will persuade it to alter its evidence.</p> + +<p>“What course did I give you, sir?” asked Captain +Wyatt.</p> + +<p>And as Mr. Gilman hesitated in his reply, the skipper +pointed silently to the compass.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the chart? Let me see the chart,” said Mr. +Gilman with sudden majesty.</p> + +<p>The chart in its little brass frame was handy. Mr. +Gilman examined it in a hostile manner; one might say that +he cross-examined it, and with it the horizon. “Ah!” he +muttered at length, peering at the print under the chart, +“‘Corrected 1906.’ Out of date. Pity they don’t re-issue +these charts oftener.”</p> + +<p>His observations had no relation whatever to the matter +in hand; considered as a contribution to the unravelling of +the matter in hand they were merely idiotic. Nevertheless, +such were the exact words he uttered, and he appeared to +get great benefit and solace from them. They somehow +enabled him to meet, quite satisfactorily, the gaze of his +guests who had now gathered in the vicinity of the wheel.</p> + +<p>Audrey alone showed a desire to move away from the +wheel. The fact was that the skipper had glanced at her +in a peculiar way and his eyes had seemed to say, with +disdain: “Women! Women again!” Nothing but that! +The implications, however, were plain. Audrey may have +been discountenanced by the look in the captain’s eyes, but +at the same time she had an inward pride, because it was +undeniable that Mr. Gilman, owing to his extreme and +agitated interest in herself, had put the yacht off the course +and was thereby imperilling numerous lives. Audrey liked +that. And she exonerated Mr. Gilman, and she hated the +captain for daring to accuse him, and she mysteriously +nursed the wounded dignity of Mr. Gilman far better than +he could nurse it himself.</p> + +<p>Her feelings were assuredly complex, and they grew +more complex when the sense of danger began to dominate +them. The sense of danger came to her out of the +demeanour of her companions and out of the swift appearance +on deck of every member of the crew, including the +parlourmaid, and including three men who were incompletely +clothed. The yacht was no longer a floating hotel, +automobile and dancing-saloon; it was a stranded wreck. +Not a passenger on board knew whether the tide was +making or ebbing, but, secretly, all were convinced that it +was ebbing and that they would be left on the treacherous +sand and ultimately swallowed up therein, even if a storm +did not supervene and smash the craft to bits in the classical +manner. The skipper’s words about the bones of many a +good yacht had escaped no ear.</p> + +<p>Further, not a passenger knew where the yacht was or +whither, exactly, she was bound or whether the glass was +rising or falling, for guests on yachts seldom concern themselves +about details. Of course, signals might be made to +passing ships, but signals were often, according to maritime +history, unheeded, and the ocean was very large and empty, +though it was only the German Ocean.... Musa was +nervous and angry. Audrey knew from her intimate knowledge +of him that he was angry and she wondered why he +should be angry. Madame Piriac, on the other hand, was +entirely calm. Her calmness seemed to say to those +responsible, and even to the not-responsible passenger: +“You got me into this and it is inconceivable that you should +not get me out of it. I have always been looked after and +protected, and I must be looked after and protected now. +I absolutely decline to be worried.” But Miss Thompkins +was worried, she was very seriously alarmed; fear was in +her face.</p> + +<p>“I do think it’s a shame!” she broke out almost loudly, +in a trembling voice, to Audrey. “I do think it’s a shame +you should go flirting with poor Mr. Gilman when he’s steering.” +And she meant all she said.</p> + +<p>“Me flirting!” Audrey exclaimed, passionately resentful.</p> + +<p>Withal, the sense of danger continued to increase. Still +there were the boats. There were the motor-launch, the +cutter and the dinghy. The sea was—for the present—calm +and the moon encouraging.</p> + +<p>“Lower the dinghy there and look lively now!” cried +the captain.</p> + +<p>This command more than ever frightened all the +passengers who, in their nervousness and alarm, had tried +to pretend to themselves that nervousness and alarm were +absurd, and that first-class yachts never did, and could not, +get wrecked. The command was a thunderstroke. It +proved that the danger was immediate and intense. And +the thought of all the beautiful food and drink on board, +and all the soft cushions and the electric hair-curlers and the +hot-water supply and the ice gave no consolation whatever. +The idea of the futility and wickedness of luxury desolated +the guests and made them austere, and yet even in that +moment they speculated upon what goods they might take +with them.</p> + +<p>And why the dinghy, though it was a dinghy of large +size? Why not the launch?</p> + +<p>After the dinghy had been dropped into the sea an old +sail was carefully spread amidships over her bottom and she +was lugged, by her painter, towards the bow of the yacht +where, with much grating of windlasses and of temperaments +and voices, an anchor was very gently lowered into her and +rested on the old sail. The anchor was so immense that it +sank the dinghy up to Her gunwale, and then she was +rowed away to a considerable distance, a chain grinding +after her, and in due time the anchor was pitched with a +great splash into the water. The sound of orders and of +replies vibrated romantically over the surface of the water. +Then a windlass was connected with the engine, and the +passengers comprehended that the intention was to drag +the yacht off the sand by main force. The chain clacked +and strained horribly. The shouting multiplied, as though +the vessel had been a great beast that could be bullied into +obedience. The muscles of all passengers were drawn taut +in sympathy with the chain, and at length there was a lurch +and the chain gradually slackened.</p> + +<p>“She’s off!” breathed the captain. “We’ve saved a +good half-hour.”</p> + +<p>“She’d have floated off by herself,” said Mr. Gilman +grandly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said the captain. “But if it had happened +to be the ebb, sir—” He left it at that and began on a +new series of orders, embracing the dinghy, the engines, the +anchor and another anchor.</p> + +<p>And all the passengers resumed their courage and their +ancient notions about the excellence of luxury, and came to +the conclusion that navigation was a very simple affair, and +in less than five minutes were sincerely convinced that they +had never known fear.</p> + +<p>Later, the impressive sight was witnessed of Madame +Piriac, on her shoulders such a cloak as certainly had never +been seen on a yacht before, bearing Mr. Gilman’s valuable +violin like a jewel casket. She had found it below and +brought it up on deck.</p> + +<p>The <em>Ariadne</em>, was now passing to port those twinkling +cities of delight, Clacton and Frinton, and the long pier of +Walton stretched out towards it, a string of topazes. The +moon was higher and brighter than ever, but clouds had +heaped themselves up to windward, and the surface of the +water was rippled. Moreover, the yacht was now working +over a strong, foul tide. The company, with the exception +of Mr. Gilman, who had gone below—apparently in order +to avoid being on the same deck with Captain Wyatt—had +decided that Musa should be asked to play. Although the +sound of his practising had escaped occasionally through +the porthole of a locked cabin, he had not once during +the cruise performed for the public benefit. Dancing was +finished. Why should not the yacht profit by the presence +of a great genius on board? The doctor and the +secretary were of one mind with the women that there +was no good answer to this question, and even the crew +obviously felt that the genius ought to show what he was +made of.</p> + +<p>“Dare we ask you?” said Madame Piriac to the youth, +offering him the violin case. Her supplicatory tone and +attitude, though they were somewhat assumed, proved to +what a height Musa had recently risen as a personage.</p> + +<p>He hesitated, leaning against the rail and nervously +fingering it.</p> + +<p>“I know it is a great deal to ask. But you would give +us so much pleasure,” said Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>Musa replied in a dry, curt voice:</p> + +<p>“I should prefer not to play.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! But Musa—” There was a general protest.</p> + +<p>“I cannot play,” Musa exclaimed with impatience, and +moved almost savagely away.</p> + +<p>The experience was novel for Madame Piriac, left +standing there, as it were, respectfully presenting the +violin case to the rail. This beautiful and not unpampered +lady was accustomed to see her commands received as an +honour; and when she condescended to implore, the effect +usually was to produce a blissful and deprecatory confusion +in the person besought. Her husband and Mr. Gilman had +for a number of years been teaching her that whatever +she desired was the highest good and the most complete +felicity to everybody concerned in the fulfilment of the +desire. She bore the blow from Musa admirably, keeping +both her smile and her dignity, and with one gesture +excusing Musa to all beholders as a capricious and a +sensitive artist in whom moodiness was lawful. It was +exquisitely done. It could not have been better done. But +not even Madame Piriac’s extreme skill could save the +episode from having the air of a social disaster. The +gaiety which had been too feverishly resumed after the +salvage of the yacht from the sandbank expired like a +pricked balloon. People silently vanished, and only Audrey +was left on the after deck.</p> + +<p>It was after a long interval that she became aware +of the reappearance of Musa. Seemingly, he had been in +the engine-room; since the beginning of the cruise he had +shown a fancy for both the engine-room and the engineer. +To her surprise, he marched straight towards her deckchair.</p> + +<p>“I must speak to you,” he said with emotion.</p> + +<p>“Must you?” Audrey replied, full of hot resentment. +“I think you’ve been horrid, Musa. Perfectly horrid! But +I suppose you have your own notions of politeness now. +Everything has been done for you, and—”</p> + +<p>“What is that?” he stopped her. “Everything has +been done for me. What is it that has been done for +me? I play for years, I am ignored. Then I succeed. +I am noticed. Men of affairs offer me immense sums. +But am I surprised? Not the least in the world. It is +the contrary which would have surprised me. It was +inevitable that I should succeed. But note well—it is I +myself who succeed. It is not my friends. It is not +the concert agent. Do I regard the concert agent as a +benefactor? Again, not the least in the world. You say +everything has been done for me. Nothing has been done +for me, Madame.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” faltered Audrey, who was in a dilemma, +and therefore more resentful than ever. “I—I only mean +your friends have always stood by you.” She gathered +courage, sat up erect in her deck-chair, and finished +haughtily: “And now you’re conceited. You’re insufferably +conceited.”</p> + +<p>“Because I refused to play?” He laughed stridently +and grimly. “No. I refused to play because I could +not, because I was outside myself with jealousy. Yes, +jealousy. You do not know jealousy. Perhaps you +are incapable of it. But permit me to tell you, Madame, +that jealousy is one of the finest and most terrible emotions. +And that is why I must speak to you. I cannot live +and see you flirt so seriously with that old idiot. I +cannot live.”</p> + +<p>Audrey jumped up from the chair.</p> + +<p>“Musa! I shall never speak to you again.... Me ... +flirt.... And you call Mr. Gilman an old idiot!”</p> + +<p>“What words would you employ, Madame? He was +so agitated by your intimate conversation that he brought +us all near to death, in any case. Moreover, it jumps +to the eyes that the decrepit satyr is mad about you. +Mad!”</p> + +<p>And Musa’s voice broke. In the midst of all her fury +Audrey was relieved that it did break, for the reason that +it was getting very loud, and the wheel, with Captain +Wyatt thereat, was not far off.</p> + +<p>There was one thing to do, and Audrey did it. She +walked away rapidly. And, as she did so, she was startled +to discover a sob in her throat. The drawn, highly +emotionalised face of Musa remained with her. She was +angry, indignant, infuriated, and yet her feelings were +not utterly unpleasant, though she wanted them to be so. +In the first place, they were exciting. And in the second +place—what was it?—well, she had the strange, sweet +sensation of being, somehow, the mainspring of the universe, +of being immensely important in the scheme of things.</p> + +<p>She thought her cup was full. It was not. Staring +blankly over the side of the ship she saw a buoy float +slowly by. She saw it with the utmost clearness, and on +its round black surface was painted in white letters the +word “Flank.” There could not be two Flank buoys. It +was the Flank buoy of the Mozewater navigable channel. +... She glanced around. The well-remembered shores of +Mozewater were plainly visible under the moon. In the +distance, over the bowsprit, she could discern the mass +of the tower of Mozewater church. She could not distinguish +Flank Hall, but she knew it was there. Why +were they threading the Mozewater channel? It had been +distinctly given out that the yacht would make Harwich +harbour. Almost unconsciously she turned in the direction +of the wheel, where Captain Wyatt was. Then, controlling +herself, she moved away. She knew that she could not +speak to the captain. She went below, and, before she +could escape, found the saloon populated.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Mrs. Moncreiff!” cried Madame Piriac. “It is +a miraculous coincidence. You will never guess. One tells +me we are going to the village of Moze for the night; +it is because of the tide. You remember, I told you. It +is where lives my little friend, Audrey Moze. To-morrow +I visit her, and you must come with me. I insist that +you come with me. I have never seen her. It will be +all that is most palpitating.”</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_33" id="chapter_33" />CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + + +<h3>AGUILAR’S DOUBLE LIFE</h3> + +<p>Madame Piriac came down into the saloon the next +afternoon.</p> + +<p>“Oh! You are still hiding yourself here!” she murmured +gaily to Audrey, who was alone among the cushions.</p> + +<p>“I was just resting,” said Audrey. “Remember what +a night we had!”</p> + +<p>It was true that the yacht had not been berthed at +Lousey Hard until between two and three o’clock in the +morning, and that no guest had slept until after the job +was done, though more than one had tried to sleep. It +was also true that in consequence the saloon breakfast +had been abrogated, that even the saloon lunch lacked +vicacity, and that at least one passenger was at that +moment dozing in his cabin. But not on account of fatigue +and somnolence was Audrey remaining in the saloon instead +of taking the splendid summer afternoon on deck under +the awning. She felt neither tired nor sleepy. The true +secret was that she feared the crowd of village idlers, +quidnuncs, tattlers and newsmongers who all day gazed +from Lousey Hard at the wonder-yacht.</p> + +<p>Examining the line of faces as well as she could through +portholes, she recognised nearly every one of them, and +was quite sure that every one of them would recognise her +face. To go ashore or to stay prominently on deck would, +therefore, be to give away her identity and to be forced, +sooner or later, to admit that she had practised a long +and naughty deception. She could conceive some of those +villagers greeting her loudly from the Hard if she should +appear; for Essex manners were marked by strange freedoms. +Her situation would be terrible. It, in fact, was terrible. +Risks surrounded her like angry dogs. Musa, for example, +ought surely to have noticed that the estuary in which +the yacht lay was the same estuary which he had seen +not long before from the garden of the house stated by +Audrey to be her own, and he ought to have commented +eagerly on the marvellous coincidence. Happily, he had +not yet done so—no doubt because he had spent most of +the time in bed. If and when he did so there would naturally +be an excited outcry and a heavy rain of amazed questions +which simply could not be answered.</p> + +<p>“I am going almost at once to call on my little friend +Audrey Moze, at Flank Hall,” said Madame Piriac. “The +house looks delicious from the deck. If you will come +up I will show it to you. It is precisely like the picture +post card which the dear little one sent to me last year. +Are you ready to come with me?”</p> + +<p>“But, darling, hadn’t you better go alone?”</p> + +<p>“But certainly not, darling! You are not serious. +The meeting will be very agitating. With a third person, +however, it will be less so. I count on you absolutely, +as I have said already. Nay, I insist. I invoke your +friendship.”</p> + +<p>“She may be out. She may be away altogether.”</p> + +<p>“In that case we shall return,” said Madame Piriac +briefly, and, not giving Audrey time to reply further, she +vanished, with a firm carriage and an obstinate look in +her eyes, towards the sleeping-cabins.</p> + +<p>The next instant Mr. Gilman himself entered the saloon.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Moncreiff,” he started nervously, in a confidential +and deprecating tone, “this is the first chance I have had +to tell you. We came into Mozewater without my orders. +I won’t say against my orders, but certainly not with them. +On the plea that I had retired, Captain Wyatt changed +our destination last night without going through the formality +of consulting me. We ought to have made Harwich, +but I am now told that we were running short of paraffin, +and that if we had continued to Harwich we should have +had the worst of the tide against us, whereas in coming +up Mozewater the tide helped us; also that Captain Wyatt +did not care about trying to get into Harwich harbour at +night with the wind in its present quarter, and rising as +it was then. Of course, Wyatt is responsible for the +safety of the ship, and it is true that I had her designed +with a very light draught on purpose for such waters as +Mozewater; but he ought to have consulted me. We might +get away again on this tide, but Hortense will not hear +of it. She has a call to pay, she says. I can only tell you +how sorry I am. And I do hope you will forgive me.” The +sincerity and alarm of his manly apology were touching.</p> + +<p>“But, Mr. Gilman,” said Audrey, with the simplicity +which more and more she employed in talking to her host, +“there is nothing to forgive. What can it matter to me +whether we come here or go to Harwich?”</p> + +<p>“I thought, I was afraid—” Mr. Gilman hesitated.</p> + +<p>“In short ... your secret, Mrs. Moncreiff, which you +asked me to keep, and which I have kept. It was here, +at this very spot, with my old barge-yacht, that I first +had the pleasure of meeting you. And I thought ... +perhaps you had reasons.... However, your secret is +safe.”</p> + +<p>“How nice you are, Mr. Gilman!” Audrey said, with +a gentle smile. “You’re kindness itself. But there is +nothing to trouble about, really. Keep my little secret by +all means, if you don’t mind. As for anything else—that’s +perfectly all right.... Shall we go on deck?”</p> + +<p>He thanked her without words.</p> + +<p>She was saying to herself, rather desperately:</p> + +<p>“After all, what do I care? I haven’t committed a +crime. It’s nobody’s business but my own. And I’m +worth ten million francs. And if the fat’s in the fire, and +anything is found out, and people don’t like it—well, they +must do the other thing.”</p> + +<p>Thus she went on deck, and her courage was rewarded +by the discovery of a chair on the starboard side of the +deck-house, from which she could not possibly be seen by +any persons on the Hard. She took this chair like a gift +from heaven. The deck was busy enough. Mr. Price, +the secretary, was making entries in an account book. +Dr. Cromarty was pacing to and fro, expectant. Captain +Wyatt was arguing with the chauffeur of a vast motor-van +from Clacton, and another motor-van from Colchester was +also present on the Hard. Rows of paraffin cans were +ranged against the engine-room hatchway, and the odour +of paraffin was powerfully conflicting with the odour of +ozone and possibly ammonia from the marshes. Parcels +kept coming down by hand from the village of Moze. Fresh +water also came in barrels on a lorry, and lumps of ice +in a dog-cart. The arrival of six bottles of aspirin, brought +by a heated boy on a bicycle, from Clacton, and seized +with gusto by Dr. Cromarty, completed the proof that +money will not only buy anything, but will infallibly draw +it to any desired spot, however out of the way the spot +may be. The probability was that neither paraffin nor ice +nor aspirin had ever found itself on Lousey Hard before +in the annals of the world. Yet now these things forgathered +with ease and naturalness owing to the magic +of the word “yacht” in telegrams.</p> + +<p>And over the scene floated the wavy, inspiring folds of +the yacht’s immense blue ensign, with the Union Jack in +the top inside corner.</p> + +<p>Mr. Price went into the deck-house and began to count +money.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Price,” demanded Mr. Gilman urgently, “did you +look up the facts about this village?”</p> + +<p>“I was just looking up the place in ‘East Coast Tours,’ +sir, when the paraffin arrived,” replied Mr. Price. “It says +that Moze is mentioned in ‘Green’s Short History of the +English People.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Very interesting. That work is a classic. It +really treats of the English people, and not solely of their +kings and queens. Dr. Cromarty, Mr. Price is busy, will +you mind bringing me the catalogue of the library up here?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Cromarty obeyed, and Mr. Gilman examined the +typewritten, calf-bound volume.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he. “Yes. I thought we had Green on +board, and we have. I should like extremely to know what +Green says about Moze. It must have been in the Anglo-Saxon +or Norman period. Dr. Cromarty, will you mind +bringing me up the first three volumes of Green? You +will find them on shelf Z8. Also the last volume, for the +index.”</p> + +<p>A few moments later Mr. Gilman, with three volumes of +Green on his knees and one in his hand, said reproachfully +to Mr. Price:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Price, I requested you to see that the leaves of +all our books were cut. These volumes are absolutely +uncut.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, I’m working through them as fast as I can. +But I haven’t got to shelf Z8 yet.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot stop to cut them now,” said Mr. Gilman, +politely displeased. “What a pity! It would have been +highly instructive to know what Green says about Moze. +I always like to learn everything I can about the places we +stop at. And this place must be full of historic interest. +Wyatt, have you had that paraffin counted properly?” He +spoke very coldly to the captain.</p> + +<p>It thus occurred that what John Richard Green +said about Moze was never known on board the yacht +<em>Ariadne</em>.</p> + +<p>Audrey listened to the episode in a reverie. She was +thinking about Musa’s intractability and inexcusable rudeness, +and about what she should do in the matter of Madame +Piriac’s impending visit to Audrey Moze at Flank Hall, and +through the texture of these difficult topics she could see, +as it were, shining the sprightly simplicity, the utter ingenuousness, +the entirely reliable fidelity of Mr. Gilman. +She felt, rather than consciously realised, that he was a dull +man. But she liked his dullness; it reassured her; it was +tranquillising; it was even adorable. She liked also his +attitude towards Moze. She had never suspected, no one +had ever hinted to her, that Moze was full of historic interest. +But looking at it now from the yacht which had miraculously +wafted her past the Flank buoy at dead of night, she perceived +Moze in a quite new aspect—a pleasure which she +owed to Mr. Gilman’s artless interest in things. (Not that +he was artless in all affairs! No; in the great masculine +affairs he must be far from artless, for had he not made all +his money himself?)</p> + +<p>Then Madame Piriac appeared on deck, armed and determined. +Audrey found, as hundreds of persons had found, +that it was impossible to deny Madame Piriac. Beautiful, +gracious, elegant, kind, when she would have a thing she +would have it. Audrey had to descend and prepare herself. +She had to reascend ready for the visit. But at the critical +and dreadful moment of going ashore to affront the crowd +she had a saving idea. She pointed to Flank Hall and its +sloping garden, and to the sea-wall against which the high +spring tide was already washing, and she suggested that +they should be rowed thither in the dinghy instead of +walking around by the sea-wall or through’ the village.</p> + +<p>“But we cannot climb over that dyke,” Madame Piriac +protested.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, we can,” said Audrey. “I can see steps in +it from here, and I can see a gate at the bottom of the +garden.”</p> + +<p>“What a vision you have, darling!” murmured Madame +Piriac. “As you wish, provided we get there.”</p> + +<p>The dinghy, at Audrey’s request, was brought round +to the side of the yacht opposite from the Hard, and, +screening her face as well as she could with an open +parasol, she tripped down by the steps into it. If only +Aguilar was away from the premises she might be saved, +for the place would be shut up, and there would be nothing +to do but return. Should Madame Piriac suggest going into +the village to inquire—well, Audrey would positively refuse +to go into the village. Yes, she would refuse!</p> + +<p>As the boat moved away from the yacht, Musa showed +himself on deck. Madame Piriac signalled to him a salutation +of the finest good humour. She had forgotten his +pettishness. By absolutely ignoring it she had made it as +though it had never existed. This was her art. Audrey, +observing the gesture, and Musa’s smiling reply to it, +acquired wisdom. She saw that she must treat Musa as +Madame Piriac treated him. She had undertaken the enterprise +of launching him on a tremendous artistic career, and +she must carry it through. She wanted to make a neat, +clean job of the launching, and she would do it dispassionately, +like a good workwoman. He had admitted—nay, he +had insisted—that she was necessary to him. Her pride in +that fact had a somewhat superior air. He might be the +most marvellous of violinists, but he was also a child, helpless +without her moral support. She would act accordingly. +It was absurd to be angry with a child, no matter what his +vagaries.... At this juncture of her reflections she noticed +that Mr. Gilman and Miss Thompkins had quitted the yacht +together and were walking seawards. They seemed very +intimate, impregnated with mutual understanding. And +Audrey was sorry that Mr. Gilman was quite so simple, +quite so straightforward and honest.</p> + +<p>When the dinghy arrived at the sea-wall Audrey won +the stalled admiration of the sailor in charge of the boat by +pointing at once to the best—if not the only—place fit for a +landing. The sailor was by no means accustomed to such +<em>flair</em> in a yacht’s guests. Indeed, it had often astonished him +that people who, as a class, had so little notion of how to +get into or out of a dinghy could have succeeded, as they +all apparently had, in any department of life.</p> + +<p>With continuing skill, Audrey guided Madame Piriac +over the dyke and past sundry other obstacles, including a +watercourse, to a gate in the wall which formed the frontier +of the grounds of Flank Hall. The gate seemed at first to +be unopenably fastened, but Audrey showed that she +possessed a genius with gates, and opened it with a twist +of the hand. They wandered through a plantation and then +through an orchard, and at length saw the house. There +was not a sign of Aguilar, but the unseen yard-dog began +to bark, hearing which, Madame Piriac observed in French: +“The property seems a little neglected, but there must +be someone at home.”</p> + +<p>“Aguilar is bound to come now!” thought Audrey. +“And I am lost!” Then she added to herself: “And I +don’t care if I <em>am</em> lost. What an unheard-of lark!” +And to Madame Piriac she said lightly: +“Well, we must explore.”</p> + +<p>The blinds were nearly all up on the garden front. And +one window—the French window of the drawing-room—was +wide open.</p> + +<p>“The crisis will be here in one minute at the latest,” +thought Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Evidently Miss Moze is at home,” said Madame Piriac, +gazing at the house. “Yes, it is distinguished. It is what +I had expected.... But ought we not to go to the front +door?”</p> + +<p>“I think we ought,” Audrey agreed.</p> + +<p>They went round the side of the house, into the main +drive, and without hesitation Madame Piriac rang the front +door bell, which they could plainly hear. “I must have my +cards ready,” said she, opening her bag. “One always +hears how exigent you are in England about such details, +even in the provinces. And, indeed, why not?”</p> + +<p>There was no answer to the bell. Madame Piriac rang +again, and there was still no answer. And the dog had +ceased to bark.</p> + +<p>“<em>Mon Dieu!</em>“ she muttered. “Have you observed, +darling, that all the blinds are down on this façade?”</p> + +<p>She rang a third time. Then, without a word, they +returned slowly to the garden front.</p> + +<p>“How mysterious! <em>Mon Dieu!</em> How English it all +is!” muttered Madame Piriac. “It gives me fear.”</p> + +<p>Audrey had almost decided definitely that she was saved +when she happened to glance through the open window of +the drawing-room. She thought she saw a flicker within. +She looked again. She could not be mistaken. Then she +noticed that all the dust sheets had been removed from the +furniture, that the carpet had been laid, that a table had +been set for tea, that there were flowers and china and a +teapot and bread-and-butter and a kettle and a spirit-lamp +on the table. The flicker was the flicker of the blue flame +of the spirit-lamp. The kettle over it was puffing out steam.</p> + +<p>Audrey exclaimed, within herself:</p> + +<p>“Aguilar!”</p> + +<p>She had caught him at last. There were two cups and +saucers—the best ancient blue-and-white china, out of the +glass-fronted china cupboard in that very room! The +celibate Aguilar, never known to consort with anybody at +all, was clearly about to entertain someone to tea, and the +aspect of things showed that he meant to do it very well. +True, there was no cake, but the bread-and-butter was +expertly cut and attractively arranged. Audrey felt sure +that she was on the track of Aguilar’s double life, and that +a woman was concerned therein. She was angry, but she +was also enormously amused and uplifted. She no longer +cared the least bit about the imminent danger threatening +her incognito. Her sole desire was to entrap Aguilar, and +with deep joy she pictured his face when he should come into +the room with his friend and find the mistress of the house +already installed.</p> + +<p>“I think we had better go in here, darling,” she said to +Madame Piriac, with her hand on the French window. +“There is no other entrance.”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac looked at her.</p> + +<p>“<em>Eh bien!</em> It is your country, not mine. You know +the habits. I follow you,” said Madame Piriac calmly. +“After all, my dear little Audrey ought to be delighted to +see me. I have several times told her that I should come. +All the same, I expected to announce myself.... What a +charming room! So this is the English provinces!”</p> + +<p>The room was certainly agreeable to the eye. And +Audrey seemed to see it afresh, to see it for the first time +in her life. And she thought: “Can this be the shabby old +drawing-room that I hated so?”</p> + +<p>The kettle continued to puff vigorously.</p> + +<p>“If they don’t come soon,” said Audrey, “the water will +be all boiled away and the kettle burnt. Suppose we make +the tea?”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac raised her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“It is your country,” she repeated. “That appears to +be singular, but I have not the English habits.”</p> + +<p>And she sat down, smiling.</p> + +<p>Audrey opened the tea caddy, put three spoonfuls of tea +into the pot, and made the tea.</p> + +<p>The clock struck on the mantelpiece. The clock was +actually going. Aguilar was ever thorough in his actions.</p> + +<p>“Four minutes to brew, and if they don’t come we’ll +have tea,” said Audrey, tranquil in the assurance that the +advent of Aguilar could not now be long delayed.</p> + +<p>“Do you take milk and sugar, darling?” she asked +Madame Piriac at the end of the four minutes, which they +had spent mainly in a curious silence. “I believe you do.”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac nodded.</p> + +<p>“A little bread-and-butter? I’m sorry there’s no cake +or jam.”</p> + +<p>It was while Madame Piriac was stirring her first cup +that the drawing-room door opened, and at once there was +a terrific shriek.</p> + +<p>“Audrey!”</p> + +<p>The invader was Miss Ingate. Close behind Miss Ingate +came Jane Foley.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_34" id="chapter_34" />CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE TANK-ROOM</h3> + + +<p>”Did you get my letter?” breathed Miss Ingate weakly, +after she had a little recovered from the shock, which had +the appearance of being terrific.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Audrey. “How could I? We’re yachting. +Madame Piriac, you know Miss Ingate, don’t you? And +this is my friend Jane Foley.” She spoke quite easily and +naturally, though Miss Ingate in her intense agitation had +addressed her as Audrey, whereas the Christian name of +Mrs. Moncreiff, on the rare occasions when a Christian name +became necessary or advisable, had been Olivia—or, infrequently, +Olive.</p> + +<p>“Yachting!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Haven’t you seen the yacht at the Hard?”</p> + +<p>“No! I did hear something about it, but I’ve been too +busy to run after yachts. We’ve been too busy, haven’t we, +Miss Foley? I even have to keep my dog locked up. I +don’t know what you’ll say. Aud—Mrs. Moncreiff! I +really don’t! But we acted for the best. Oh! How +dreadfully exciting my life does get at times! Never since +I played the barrel organ all the way down Regent Street +have I—! Oh! dear!”</p> + +<p>“Have my tea, and do sit down, Winnie, and remember +you’re an Essex woman!” Audrey adjured her, going to +the china cupboard to get more cups.</p> + +<p>“<em>I’ll</em> just tell you all about it, Mrs. Moncreiff, if you’ll +let me,” Jane Foley began with a serene and happy smile, +as she limped to a chair. “I’m quite ready to take all the +consequences. It’s the police again, that’s all. I don’t +know how exactly they got on the track of the Spatts at +Frinton. But I dare say you’ve seen that the police have +seized a lot of documents at our head-quarters. Perhaps +that explains it. Anyway I caught sight of our old friend +at Paget Gardens nosing about, and so as soon as it was +dark I left the Spatts. It’s a horrid thing to say, but I +never was so glad about anything as I was at leaving the +Spatts. I didn’t tell them where I was going, and they +didn’t ask. I’m sure the poor things were very relieved to +have me go. Miss Ingate tells me to-day she’s heard they’ve +both resigned from the Union. Mr. Spatt went up to +London on purpose to do it. And can you be surprised?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can, and yet you can’t!” exclaimed Miss +Ingate. “You can, and yet you can’t!”</p> + +<p>“I met Miss Ingate on Frinton front,” Jane Foley proceeded. +“She was just getting into her carriage. I had +my bag and I asked her to drive me to the station. ‘To the +station?’ she said. ‘What for? There’s no train to-night.’”</p> + +<p>“No more there wasn’t!” Miss Ingate put in, “I’d been +dining at the Proctors’ and it was after ten, I know it was +after ten because they never let me leave until after ten, in +spite of the long drive I have. Fancy there being a train +from Frinton after ten! So of course I brought Miss Foley +along. Oh! It was vehy interesting. Vehy interesting. +You see we had to think of the police. I didn’t want the +police coming poking round my house. It would never do, +in a little place like Moze. I should never hear the last of +it. So I—I thought of Flank Hall. I——”</p> + +<p>Jane Foley went on:</p> + +<p>“Miss Ingate was sure you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Moncreiff. +And personally I was quite certain you wouldn’t +mind. We left the carriage at Miss Ingate’s, and carried +the bag in turns. And I stood outside while Miss Ingate +woke up Mr. Aguilar. It was soon all right.”</p> + +<p>“I must say Aguilar was vehy reasonable,” said Miss +Ingate. “Vehy reasonable. And he’s got a great spite +against my dear Inspector Keeble. He suggested everything. +He never asked any questions, so I told him. You +do, you know. He suggested Miss Foley should have a +bed in the tank-room, so that if there was any trouble all +the bedrooms should look innocent.”</p> + +<p>“Did he tell you I’d come here to see him not long +since?” Audrey demanded.</p> + +<p>“And why didn’t you pop in to see <em>me?</em> I was hurt +when I got your note.”</p> + +<p>“Did he tell you?”</p> + +<p>“Of course he didn’t. He never tells anybody anything. +That sort of thing’s very useful at times, especially when +it’s combined with a total lack of curiosity. He fixed every, +thing up. And he keeps the gates locked, so that people +can’t wander in.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t lock the gate at the bottom of the garden, +because it won’t lock,” said Audrey. “And so he didn’t +keep me from wandering in.” She felt rather disappointed +that Aguilar should once more have escaped her reproof and +that the dream of his double life should have vanished away, +but she was determined to prove that he was not perfect.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Miss Ingate. +“It wouldn’t startle me to hear that he knew you were intending +to come. All I know is that Miss Foley’s been +here for several days. Not a soul knows except me and +Aguilar. And it seems to get safer every day. She does +venture about the house now, though she never goes into +the garden while it’s light. It was Aguilar had the idea +of putting this room straight for her.”</p> + +<p>“And it was he who cut the bread-and-butter,” added +Jane Foley.</p> + +<p>“And this was to be our first tea-party!” Miss Ingate +half shrieked. “I’d come—I do come, you know, to keep +an eye on things as you asked me—I’d come, and we were +just having a cosy little chat in the tank-room. Aguilar’s +gone to Colchester to get a duplicate key of the front gates. +He left me his, so I could get in and lock up after myself, +and he put the water on to boil before leaving. I said to +Miss Foley, I said, up in the tank-room: ‘Was that a ring +at the door?’ But she said it wasn’t.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been a little deaf since I was in prison,” said +Jane Foley.</p> + +<p>“And now we come down and find you here! I—I hope +I’ve done right.” This, falteringly, from Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>“Of course you have, you silly old thing,” Audrey +reassured her. “It’s splendid!”</p> + +<p>“Whenever I think of the police I laugh,” said Miss +Ingate in an unsettled voice. “I can’t help it. They can’t +possibly suspect. And they’re looking everywhere, everywhere! +I can’t help laughing.” And suddenly she burst +into tears.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Now! Winnie, dear. Don’t spoil it all!” +Audrey protested, jumping up.</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac, who had hitherto maintained the most +complete passivity, restrained her.</p> + +<p>“Leave her tranquil!” murmured Madame Piriac in +French. “She is not spoiling it. On the contrary! One is +content to see that she is a woman!”</p> + +<p>And then Miss Ingate laughed, and blushed, and called +herself names.</p> + +<p>“And so you haven’t had my letter,” said she. “I wish +you had had it. But what is this yachting business? I +never heard of such goings-on. Is it your yacht? This +world is getting a bit too wonderful for me.”</p> + +<p>The answer to these questions was cut short by rather +heavy masculine footsteps approaching the door of the +drawing-room. Miss Ingate grew instantly serious. Audrey +and Jane looked at each other, and Jane Foley went quickly +but calmly to the door and opened it.</p> + +<p>“Oh! It’s Mr. Aguilar—returned!” she said, quietly. +“Is anything the matter, Mr. Aguilar?”</p> + +<p>Aguilar, hat in hand, entered the room.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon, Aguilar,” Audrey greeted him.</p> + +<p>“’Noon, madam,” he responded, exactly as though he +had been expecting to find the mistress there. “It’s like +this. I’ve just seen Inspector Keeble and that there detective +as was here afore—<em>you</em> know, madam” (nodding to +Audrey) “and I fancy they’re a-coming this way, so I +thought I’d better cut back and warn ye. I don’t think they +saw me. I was too quick for ’em. Was the bread-and-butter +all right, Miss Ingate? Thank ye.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate had risen.</p> + +<p>“I ought to go home,” she said. “I feel sure it would +be wiser for me to go home. I never could talk to +detectives.”</p> + +<p>Jane Foley snatched at one of the four cups and saucers +on the table, and put it back, all unwashed, into the china +cupboard.</p> + +<p>“Three cups will be enough for them to see, if they +come,” she said, with a bright, happy smile to Audrey. +“Yes, Miss Ingate, you go home. I’m ever so much +obliged to you. Now, I’ll go upstairs and Aguilar shall +lock me in the tank-room and push the key under the door. +We are causing you a lot of trouble, Mrs. Moncreiff, but +you won’t mind. It might have been so much worse.” She +laughed as she went.</p> + +<p>“And suppose I meet those police on the way out, what +am I to say to them?” asked Miss Ingate when Jane Foley +and Aguilar had departed.</p> + +<p>“If they’re very curious, tell them you’ve been here to +have tea with me and that Aguilar cut the bread-and-butter,” +Audrey replied. “The detective will be interested to see me. +He chased me all the way to London not long since. Au +revoir, Winnie.”</p> + +<p>“Dear friend,” said Madame Piriac, with admirable +though false calm. “Would it not be more prudent to +fly back at once to the yacht—if in truth this is the same +police agent of whom you recounted to me with such +drollness the exploits? It is not that I am afraid——”</p> + +<p>“Nor I,” said Audrey. “There is no danger except to +Jane Foley.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! You cannot abandon her. That is true. Nevertheless +I regret ...”</p> + +<p>“Well, darling,” Audrey exclaimed. “You would insist +on my coming!”</p> + +<p>The continuing presence of Miss Ingate, who had lost one +glove and her purse, rendered this brief conversation somewhat +artificial. And no sooner had Miss Ingate got away—by +the window, for the sake of dispatch—than a bell made +itself heard, and Aguilar came back to the drawing-room in +the rôle of butler.</p> + +<p>“Inspector Keeble and a gentleman to see you, madam.”</p> + +<p>“Bring them in,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>Aguilar’s secret glance at Inspector Keeble as he brought +in the visitors showed that his lifelong and harmless enemy +had very little to hope from his goodwill.</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment, you!” called the detective as Aguilar, +like a perfect butler, was vanishing. “Good afternoon, +ladies. Excuse me, I wish to question this man.” He +indicated Aguilar with a gesture of apologising for Aguilar.</p> + +<p>Inspector Keeble, an overgrown mass of rectitude and +kindliness, greeted Audrey with that constraint which +always afflicted him when he was beneath any roof more +splendid than that of his own police-station.</p> + +<p>“Now, Aguilar,” said the detective, “it’s you that’ll be +telling me. Ye’ve got a woman concealed in the house. +Where is she?”</p> + +<p>He knew, then, this ferreting and divinatory Irishman! +Of course Miss Ingate must have committed some indiscretion, +or was it that Aguilar was less astute than he +gave the impression of being? Audrey considered that all +was lost, and she was aware of a most unpleasant feeling +of helplessness and inefficiency. Then she seemed to receive +inspiration and optimism from somewhere. She knew not +exactly from where, but perhaps it was from the shy stiffness +of the demeanour of her old acquaintance, Inspector Keeble. +Moreover, the Irishman’s twinkling eyes were a challenge +to her.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Aguilar!” she exclaimed. “I’m very sorry to +hear this. I knew women were always your danger, but +I never dreamt you would start carrying on in my +absence.”</p> + +<p>Aguilar fronted her, and their eyes met. Audrey gazed +at him steadily. There was no smile in Audrey’s eyes, +but there was a smile glimmering mysteriously behind +them, and after a couple of seconds this phenomenon +aroused a similar phenomenon behind the eyes of Aguilar. +Audrey had the terrible and god-like sensation of lifting +a hired servant to equality with herself. She imagined +that she would never again be able to treat him as Aguilar, +and she even feared that she would soon begin to cease +to hate him. At the same time she observed slight signs +of incertitude in the demeanour of the detective.</p> + +<p>Aguilar replied coldly, not to Audrey, but to the +police:</p> + +<p>“If Inspector Keeble or anybody else has been mixing +my name up with any scandal about females, I’ll have +him up for slander and libel and damages as sure as I +stand here.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Keeble looked away, and then looked at the +detective—as if for support in peril.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say, Aguilar, that you haven’t got +a woman hidden in the house at this very moment?” the +detective demanded.</p> + +<p>“I’ll thank ye to keep a civil tongue in your head,” +said Aguilar. “Or I’ll take ye outside and knock yer face +sideways. Pardon me, madam. Of course I ain’t got no +woman concealed on the premises. And mark ye, if I +lose my place through this ye’ll hear of it. And I shall +put a letter in the <em>Gardeners’ Chronicle</em>, too.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ye can go,” the detective responded.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” sneered Aguilar. “I can go. Yes, and I shall +go. But not so far but what I can protect my interests. +And I’ll make this village too hot for Keeble before I’ve +done, police or no police.”</p> + +<p>And with a look at Audrey like the look of a knight +at his lady after a joust, Aguilar turned to leave the +room.</p> + +<p>“Aguilar,” Audrey rewarded him. “You needn’t be +afraid about your place.”</p> + +<p>“Thank ye, m’m.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask what your name is?” Audrey inquired of +the detective as soon as Aguilar had shut the door.</p> + +<p>“Hurley,” replied the detective.</p> + +<p>“I thought it might be,” said Audrey, sitting down, +but not offering seats. “Well, Mr. Hurley, after all your +running after Miss Susan Foley, don’t you think it’s rather +unfair to say horrid things about a respectable man like +Aguilar? You were funny about that stout wife of +yours last time I saw you, but you must remember that +Aguilar can’t be funny about his wife, because he hasn’t +got one.”</p> + +<p>“I really don’t know what you’re driving at, miss,” +said Mr. Hurley simply.</p> + +<p>“Well, what were you driving at when you followed +me all the way to London the other day?”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” said Mr. Hurley, “I didn’t follow you to +London. I only happened to arrive at Charing Cross about +twenty seconds after you, that was all. As a matter of +fact, nearly half of the way you were following me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope you were satisfied.”</p> + +<p>“I only want to know one thing,” the detective retorted. +“Am I speaking to Mrs. Olivia Moncreiff?”</p> + +<p>Audrey hesitated, glancing at Madame Piriac, who, in +company with the vast Inspector Keeble, was carefully +inspecting the floor. She invoked wisdom and sagacity +from heaven, and came to a decision.</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Then, if you please, who are you?”</p> + +<p>“What!” exclaimed Audrey. “You’re in the village +of Moze itself and you ask who I am. Everybody knows +me. My name is Audrey Moze, of Flank Hall, Moze, +Essex. Any child in Moze Street will tell you that. Inspector +Keeble knows as well as anybody.”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac proceeded steadily with the inquiry into +the carpet. Audrey felt her heart beating.</p> + +<p>“Unmarried?” pursued the detective.</p> + +<p>“Most decidedly,” said Audrey with conviction.</p> + +<p>“Then what’s the meaning of that ring on your finger, +if you don’t mind my asking?” the detective continued.</p> + +<p>Certainly Audrey was flustered, but only for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurley,” said she; “I wear it as a protection +from men of all ages who are too enterprising.”</p> + +<p>She spoke archly, with humour; but now there was no +answering humour in the features of Mr. Hurley, who +seemed to be a changed man, to be indeed no longer even +an Irishman. And Audrey grew afraid. Did he, after all, +know of her share in the Blue City enterprise? She had +long since persuaded herself that the police had absolutely +failed to connect her with that affair, but now uncertainty +was born in her mind.</p> + +<p>“I must search the house,” said the detective.</p> + +<p>“What for?”</p> + +<p>“I have to arrest a woman named Jane Foley,” answered +Mr. Hurley, adding somewhat grimly: “The name will be +known to ye, I’m thinking.... And I have reason to +believe that she is now concealed on these premises.”</p> + +<p>The directness of the blow was terrific. It was almost +worse than the blow itself. And Audrey now believed +everything that she had ever heard or read about the +miraculous ingenuity of detectives. Still, she did not +regard herself as beaten, and the thought of the yacht +lying close by gave her a dim feeling of security. If she +could only procure delay!...</p> + +<p>“I’m not going to let you search my house,” she said +angrily. “I never heard of such a thing! You’ve got +no right to search my house.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I have!” Mr. Hurley insisted.</p> + +<p>“Well, let me see your paper—I don’t know what you +call it. But I know you can’t do anything-without a +paper. Otherwise any bright young-man might walk into +my house and tell me he meant to search it. Keeble, I’m +really surprised at <em>you</em>.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Keeble blushed.</p> + +<p>“I’m very sorry, miss,” said he contritely. “But the +law’s the law. Show the lady your search-warrant, Mr. +Hurley.” His voice resembled himself.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurley coughed. “I haven’t got a search-warrant +yet,” he remarked. “I didn’t expect——”</p> + +<p>“You’d better go and get one, then,” said Audrey, +calculating how long it would take three women to transport +themselves from the house to the yacht, and perpending +upon the probable behaviour of Mr. Gilman under a given +set of circumstances.</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Mr. Hurley. “And I shan’t be long. +Keeble, where is the nearest justice of the peace?... +You’d better stay here or hereabouts.”</p> + +<p>“I got to go to the station to sign on my three constables,” +Inspector Keeble protested awkwardly, looking +at his watch, which also resembled himself.</p> + +<p>“You’d better stay here or hereabouts,” repeated Mr. +Hurley, and he moved towards the door. Inspector Keeble, +too, moved towards the door.</p> + +<p>Audrey let them get into the passage, and then she +was vouchsafed a new access of inspiration.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurley,” she called, in a bright, unoffended tone. +“After all, I see no reason why you shouldn’t search the +house. I don’t really want to put you to any unnecessary +trouble. It is annoying, but I’m not going to be annoyed.” +The ingenuous young creature expected Mr. Hurley to be +at once disarmed and ashamed by this kind offer. She +was wrong. He was evidently surprised, but he gave no +evidence of shame or of the sudden death in his brain of +all suspicions.</p> + +<p>“That’s better,” he said calmly. “And I’m much +obliged.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll come with you,” said Audrey. “Madame Piriac,” +she addressed Hortense with averted eyes. “Will you +excuse me for a minute or two while I show these gentlemen +the house?” The fact was that she did not care just +then to be left alone with Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I beg you, darling! “Madame Piriac granted +the permission with overpowering sweetness.</p> + +<p>The procedure of Mr. Hurley was astonishing to Audrey; +nay, it was unnerving. First he locked the front door +and the garden door and pocketed the keys. Then he +locked the drawing-room on the passage side and pocketed +that key. He instructed Inspector Keeble to remain in +the hall at the foot of the stairs. He next went into the +kitchen and the sculleries and locked the outer doors in +that quarter. Then he descended to the cellars, with Audrey +always in his wake. Having searched the cellars and the +ground floor, he went upstairs, and examined in turn all +the bedrooms with a thoroughness and particularity which +caused Audrey to blush. He left nothing whatever to +chance, and no dust sheet was undisturbed. Audrey said +no word. The detective said no word. But Audrey kept +thinking: “He is getting nearer to the tank-room.” A +small staircase led to the attic floor, upon which were only +servants’ bedrooms and the tank-room. After he had +mounted this staircase and gone a little way along the +passage he swiftly and without warning dashed back and +down the staircase. But nothing seemed to happen, and +he returned. The three doors of the three servants’ +bedrooms were all ajar. Mr. Hurley passed each of them +with a careless glance within. At the end of the corridor, +in obscurity, was the door of the tank-room.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” he asked abruptly. And he knocked +nonchalantly on the door of the tank-room.</p> + +<p>Audrey was acutely alarmed lest Jane Foley should +respond, thinking the knock was that of a friend. She +saw how idiotic she had been not to warn Jane by means +of loud conversation with the detective.</p> + +<p>“That’s the tank-room,” she said loudly. “I’m afraid +it’s locked.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” murmured Mr. Hurley negligently, and he turned +the searchlight of his gaze upon the three bedrooms, which +he examined as carefully as he had examined anything in +the house. The failure to discover in any cupboard or +corner even the shadow of a human being did not appear +to discourage him in the slightest degree. In the third +bedroom—that is to say, the one nearest the head of +the stairs and farthest from the tank-room—he suddenly +beckoned to Audrey, who was standing in the doorway. +She went within the room and he pushed the door to, +without, however, quite shutting it.</p> + +<p>“Now about the tank-room, Miss Moze,” he began +quietly. “You say it’s locked?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the quaking Audrey.</p> + +<p>“As a matter of form I’d better just look in. Will +you kindly let me have the key?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>Audrey acquired tranquillity as she went on: “It’s at +Frinton. Friends of mine there keep a punt on Mozewater, +and I let them store the sail and things in +the tank-room. There’s plenty of room. I give them +the key because that’s more satisfactory. The tank-room +isn’t wanted at all, you see, while I’m away from +home.”</p> + +<p>“Who are these friends?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. and Mrs. Spatt,” said Audrey at a venture.</p> + +<p>“I see,” said the detective.</p> + +<p>They came downstairs, and the detective made it known +that he would re-visit the drawing-room. Inspector Keeble +followed them. In that room Audrey remarked:</p> + +<p>“And now I hope you’re satisfied.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurley merely said:</p> + +<p>“Will you please ring for Aguilar?”</p> + +<p>Audrey complied. But she had to ring three times before +the gardener’s footsteps were heard on the uncarpeted stone +floor of the hall.</p> + +<p>“Aguilar,” Mr. Hurley demanded. “Where is the key +of the tank-room?”</p> + +<p>Audrey sank into a chair, knowing profoundly that +all was lost.</p> + +<p>“It’s at Mrs. Spatt’s at Frinton,” replied Aguilar glibly. +“Mistress lets her have that room to store some boat-gear +in. I expected she’d ha’ been over before this to get it +out. But the yachting season seems to start later and +later every year these times.”</p> + +<p>Audrey gazed at the man as at a miracle-worker.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think that’s all,” said Mr. Hurley.</p> + +<p>“No, it isn’t,” Audrey corrected him. “You’ve got all +my keys in your pocket—except one.”</p> + +<p>When the police had gone Audrey said to Aguilar in +the hall:</p> + +<p>“Aguilar, how on earth did you——”</p> + +<p>But she was in such a state of emotion at the realisation +of dangers affronted and past that she could not finish.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry I was so long answering the bell, m’m,” +replied Aguilar strangely. “But I’d put my list slippers +on—them as your father made me wear when I come into +the house, mornings, to change the plants, and I thought +it better to put my boots on again before I come.... +Shall I put the keys back in the doors, madam?”</p> + +<p>So saying he touched his front hair, after his manner, +and took the keys and retired. Audrey was as full of +fear as of gratitude. Aguilar daunted her.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_35" id="chapter_35" />CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<h3>THE THIRD SORT OF WOMAN</h3> + + +<p>“It was quite true what I told the detective. So I +suppose you’ve finished with me for evermore!” Audrey +burst out recklessly, as soon as she and Madame Piriac +were alone together. The supreme moment had come, and +she tried to grasp it like a nettle. Her adventurous +rashness was, she admitted, undeniable. She had spoken +the truth to the police officer about her identity and her +spinsterhood because with unusual wisdom she judged that +fibs or even prevarication on such a subject to such an +audience might entangle her in far more serious difficulties +later on. Moreover, with Inspector Keeble present, she +could not successfully have gone very far from the truth. +It was a pity that Madame Piriac had witnessed the scene, +for really, when Audrey came to face it, the deception +which she had practised upon Madame Piriac was of a +monstrous and inexcusable kind. And now that Madame +Piriac knew the facts, many other people would have +to know the facts—including probably Mr. Gilman. The +prospect of explanations was terrible. In vain Audrey +said to herself that the thing was naught, that she had +acted within her rights, and that anyhow she had long +ago ceased to be diffident and shy!... She was intimidated +by her own enormities. And she also thought: “How +could I have been silly enough to tell that silly tale about +the Spatts? More complications. And poor dear Inspector +Keeble will be so shocked.”</p> + +<p>After a short pause Madame Piriac replied, in a grave +but kind tone:</p> + +<p>“Why would you that I should have finished with you +for ever? You had the right to call yourself by any name +you wished, and to wear any ring-that pleased your caprice. +It is the affair of nobody but yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I’m so glad you take it like that,” said Audrey +with eager relief. “That’s just what <em>I</em> thought all along!”</p> + +<p>“But it <em>is</em> your affair!” Madame Piriac finished, with +a peculiar inflection of her well-controlled voice. “I mean,” +she added, “you cannot afford to neglect it.”</p> + +<p>“No—of course not,” Audrey agreed, rather dashed, and +with a vague new apprehension. “Naturally I shall tell you +everything, darling. I had my reasons. I——”</p> + +<p>“The principal question is, darling,” Madame Piriac +stopped her. “What are you going to do now? Ought we +not to return to the yacht?”</p> + +<p>“But I must look after Jane Foley!” cried Audrey. “I +can’t leave her here.”</p> + +<p>“And why not? She has Miss Ingate.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, worse luck for her! Winnie would make the most +dreadful mess of things if she wasn’t stopped. If Winnie +was right out of it, and Jane Foley had only herself and +Aguilar to count on, there might be a chance. But not else.”</p> + +<p>“It is by pure hazard that you are here. Nobody expected +you. What would this young girl Mees Foley have +done if you had not been here?”</p> + +<p>“It’s no good wasting time about that, darling, because +I <em>am</em> here, don’t you see?” Audrey straightened her +shoulders and put her hands behind her back.</p> + +<p>“My little one,” said Madame Piriac with a certain +solemnity. “You remember our conversation in my boudoir. +I then told you that you would find yourself in a riot within +a month, if you continued your course. Was I right? +Happily you have escaped from that horrible complication. +Go no farther. Listen to me. You were not created for +these adventures. It is impossible that you should be +happy in them.”</p> + +<p>“But look at Jane Foley,” said Audrey eagerly. “Is she +not happy? Did you ever see anybody as happy as Jane? +I never did.”</p> + +<p>“That is not happiness,” replied Madame Piriac. “That +is exaltation. It is morbid. I do not say that it is not right +for her. I do not say that she is not justified, and that that +which she represents is not justified. But I say that a rôle +such as hers is not your rôle. To commence, she does not +interest herself in men. For her there are no men in the +world—there are only political enemies. Do you think I +do not know the type? We have it, <em>chez nous</em>. It is full of +admirable qualities—but it is not your type. For you, +darling, the world is inhabited principally by men, and the +time will come—perhaps soon—when for you it will be inhabited +principally by one man. If you remain obdurate, +there must inevitably arrive a quarrel between that man and +these—these riotous adventures.”</p> + +<p>“No man that I could possibly care for,” Audrey retorted, +“would ever object to me having an active interest +in—er—politics.”</p> + +<p>“I agree, darling,” said Madame Piriac. “He would +not object. It is you who would object. The quarrel would +occur within your own heart. There are two sorts of women—individualists +and fanatics. It was always so. I am a +woman, and I know what I’m saying. So do you. Well, +you belong to the first sort of woman.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t,” Audrey protested. Nevertheless she recollected +her thoughts on the previous night, near the +binnacle and Mr. Gilman, about the indispensability of a +man and about the futility of the state of not owning and +possessing a man. The memory of these thoughts only +rendered her more obstinate.</p> + +<p>“But you will not have the courage to tell me that you +are a fanatic?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then what?”</p> + +<p>“There is a third sort of woman.”</p> + +<p>“Darling, believe me, there is not.”</p> + +<p>“There’s going to be, anyhow!” said Audrey with +decision, and in English. “And I won’t leave Jane +Foley in the lurch, either!... Now I’ll just run up +and have a talk with her, if you don’t mind waiting a +minute or two.”</p> + +<p>“But what are you going to do?” Madame Piriac +demanded.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Audrey. “It is obvious that there is only +one safe thing to do. I shall take Jane on board the yacht. +We shall sail off, and she’ll be safe.”</p> + +<p>“On the yacht!” repeated Madame Piriac, truly +astounded. “But my poor oncle will never agree. You do +not know him. You do not know how peculiar he is. Never +will he agree! Besides——”</p> + +<p>“Darling,” said Audrey quietly and confidently. “If he +does not agree, I undertake to go into a convent for the rest +of my days.”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac was silent.</p> + +<p>Just as she was opening the door to go upstairs, Audrey +suddenly turned back into the room.</p> + +<p>“Darling,” she said, kissing Madame Piriac. “How +calmly you’ve taken it!”</p> + +<p>“Taken what?”</p> + +<p>“About me not being Mrs. Moncreiff nor a widow nor +anything of that kind.”</p> + +<p>“But, darling,” answered Madame Piriac with exquisite +tranquillity. “Of course I knew it before.”</p> + +<p>“You knew it before!”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I knew it the first time I saw you, in the +studio of Mademoiselle Nickall. You were the image of +your father! The image, I repeat—except perhaps the nose. +Recollect that as a child I saw your father. I was left with +my mother’s relatives, until matters should be arranged; +but he came to Paris. Then before matters could be +arranged my mother died, and I never saw him again. But +I could never forget him.... Then also, in my boudoir that +night, you blushed—it was very amusing—when I mentioned +Essex and Audrey Moze. And there were other +things.”</p> + +<p>“For instance?”</p> + +<p>“Darling, you were never quite convincing as a widow—at +any rate to a Frenchwoman. You may have deceived +American and English women. But not myself. You did +not say the convincing things when the conversation took +certain turns. That is all.”</p> + +<p>“You knew who I was, and you never told me!” +Audrey pouted.</p> + +<p>“Had I the right, darling? You had decided upon your +identity. It would have been inexcusable on my part to +inform you that you were mistaken in so essential a detail.”</p> + +<p>Madame Piriac gently returned Audrey’s kiss.</p> + +<p>“So that was why you insisted on me coming with you +to-day!” murmured Audrey, crestfallen. “You are a +marvellous actress, darling.”</p> + +<p>“I have several times been told so,” Madame Piriac +admitted simply.</p> + +<p>“What on earth did you expect would happen?”</p> + +<p>“Not that which has happened,” said Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you ask me,” said Audrey with gaiety and a +renewal of self-confidence.” I think it’s all happened +splendidly.”</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_36" id="chapter_36" />CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + +<h3>IN THE DINGHY</h3> + + +<p>When the pair got back to the sea-wall the tide had considerably +ebbed, and where the dinghy had floated there +was nothing more liquid than exquisitely coloured mud. +Nevertheless water still lapped the yacht, whereas on the +shore side of the yacht was now no crowd. The vans and +carts had all departed, and the quidnuncs and observers of +human nature, having gazed steadily at the yacht for some +ten hours, had thought fit to depart also. The two women +looked about rather anxiously, as though Mr. Gilman had +basely marooned them.</p> + +<p>“But what must we do?” demanded Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>“Oh! We can walk round on the dyke,” said Audrey +superiorly. “Unless the stiles frighten you.”</p> + +<p>“It is about to rain,” said Madame Piriac, glancing at +the high curved heels of her shoes.</p> + +<p>The sky, which was very wide and variegated over +Mozewater, did indeed seem to threaten.</p> + +<p>At that moment the dinghy appeared round the forefoot +of the <em>Ariadne</em>. Mr. Gilman and Miss Thompkins were in +it, and Mr. Gilman was rowing with gentleness and dignity. +They had, even afar off, a tremendous air of intimacy; each +leaned towards the other, face to face, and Tommy had +her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees. And +in addition to an air of intimacy they had an air of mystery. +It was surprising, and perhaps a little annoying, to Audrey +that those two should have gone on living to themselves, in +their own self-absorbed way, while such singular events had +been happening to herself in Flank Hall. She put several +fingers in her mouth and produced a piercing long-distance +whistle which effectively reached the dinghy.</p> + +<p>“My poor little one!” exclaimed Madame Piriac, +shocked in spite of her broadmindedness by both the sound +and the manner of its production.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I learnt that when I was twelve,” said Audrey. +“It took me four months, but I did it. And nobody except +Miss Ingate knows that I can do it.”</p> + +<p>The occupants of the dinghy were signalling their +intention to rescue, and Mr. Gilman used his back nobly.</p> + +<p>“But we cannot embark here!” Madame Piriac complained.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” said Audrey. “You see those white stones? ... +It’s quite easy.”</p> + +<p>When the dinghy had done about half the journey +Madame Piriac murmured:</p> + +<p>“By the way, who are you, precisely, for the present? +It would be prudent to decide, darling.”</p> + +<p>Audrey hesitated an instant.</p> + +<p>“Who am I? ... Oh! I see. Well, I’d better keep +on being Mrs. Moncreiff for a bit, hadn’t I?”</p> + +<p>“It is as you please, darling.”</p> + +<p>The fact was that Audrey recoiled from a general confession, +though admitting it to be ultimately inevitable. +Moreover, she had a slight fear that each of her friends in +turn might make a confession ridiculous by saying: “We +knew all along, of course.”</p> + +<p>The dinghy was close in.</p> + +<p>“My!” cried Tommy. “Who did that whistle? It was +enough to beat the cars.”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Audrey retorted.</p> + +<p>The embarkation, under Audrey’s direction, was accomplished +in safety, and, save for one tiny French scream, in +silence. The silence, which persisted, was peculiar. Each +pair should have had something to tell the other, yet nothing +was told, or even asked. Mr. Gilman rowed with careful +science, and brought the dinghy alongside the yacht in an +unexceptionable manner. Musa stood on deck apart, acting +indifference. Madame Piriac, having climbed into the +<em>Ariadne</em>, went below at once. Miss Thompkins, seeing her +friend Mr. Price half-way down the saloon companion, +moved to speak to him, and they vanished together. Mr. +Gilman was respectfully informed by the engineer that the +skipper and Dr. Cromarty were ashore.</p> + +<p>“How nice it is on the water!” said Audrey to Mr. +Gilman in a low, gentle voice. “There is a channel round +there with three feet of water in it at low tide.” She +sketched a curve in the air with her finger. +“Of course you know this part,” said Mr. Gilman +cautiously and even apprehensively. His glance seemed to +be saying: “And it was you who gave that fearful whistle, +too! Are you, can you be, all that I dreamed?”</p> + +<p>“I do,” Audrey answered. “Would you like me to show +it you.”</p> + +<p>“I should be more than delighted,” said Mr. Gilman.</p> + +<p>With a gesture he summoned a man to untie the dinghy +again and hold it, and the man slid down into the dinghy +like a monkey.</p> + +<p>“I’ll pull,” said Audrey, in the boat.</p> + +<p>The man sprang out of the dinghy.</p> + +<p>“One instant!” Mr. Gilman begged her, standing up in +the sternsheets, and popping his head through a porthole +of the saloon. “Mr. Price!”</p> + +<p>“Sir?” From the interior.</p> + +<p>“Will you be good enough to play that air with thirty-six +variations, of Beethoven’s? We shall hear splendidly +from the dinghy.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir.”</p> + +<p>And Audrey said to herself: “You don’t want him to +flirt with Tommy while you’re away, so you’ve given him +something to keep him busy.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman remarked under his breath to Audrey: +“I think there is nothing finer than to hear Beethoven +on the water.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! There isn’t!” she eagerly concurred.</p> + +<p>Ignoring the thirty-six variations of Beethoven, Audrey +rowed slowly away, and after about a hundred yards the +boat had rounded a little knoll which marked the beginning +of a narrow channel known as the Lander Creek. The +thirty-six variations, however, would not be denied; they +softly impregnated the whole beautiful watery scene.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” said Mr. Gilman suddenly, “perhaps your +ladyship was not quite pleased at me rowing-about with +Miss Thompkins—especially after I had taken her for a +walk.” He smiled, but his voice was rather wistful. +Audrey liked him prodigiously in that moment.</p> + +<p>“Foolish man!” she replied, with a smile far surpassing +his, and she rested on her oars, taking care to keep the +boat in the middle of the channel. “Do you know why I +asked you to come out? I wanted to talk to you quite +privately. It is easier here.”</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad!” he said simply and sincerely. And +Audrey thought: “Is it possible to give so much +pleasure to an important and wealthy man with so little +trouble?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said. “Of course you know who I really am, +don’t you, Mr. Gilman?”</p> + +<p>“I only know you’re Mrs. Moncreiff,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“But I’m not! Surely you’ve heard something? Surely +it’s been hinted in front of you?”</p> + +<p>“Never!” said he.</p> + +<p>“But haven’t you asked—about my marriage, for +instance?”</p> + +<p>“To ask might have been to endanger your secret,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“I see!” she murmured. “How frightfully loyal you +are, Mr. Gilman! I do admire loyalty. Well, I dare say +very, very few people do know. So I’ll tell you. That’s +my home over there.” And she pointed to Flank Hall, +whose chimneys could just be seen over the bank.</p> + +<p>“I admit that I had thought so,” said Mr. Gilman.</p> + +<p>“But naturally that was your home as a girl, before your +marriage.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve never been married, Mr. Gilman,” she said. “I’m +only what the French call a <em>jeune fille</em>.”</p> + +<p>His face changed; he seemed to be withdrawing alarmed +into himself.</p> + +<p>“Never—been married?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! You <em>must</em> understand me!” she went on, with +an appealing vivacity. “I was all alone. I was in mourning +for my father and mother. I wanted to see the world. +I just had to see it! I expect I was very foolish, but it +was so easy to put a ring on my finger and call myself Mrs. +And it gave me such advantages. And Miss Ingate agreed. +She was my mother’s oldest friend.... You’re vexed +with me.”</p> + +<p>“You always seemed so wise,” Mr. Gilman faltered.</p> + +<p>“Ah! That’s only the effect of my forehead!”</p> + +<p>“And yet, you know, I always thought there was something +very innocent about you, too.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what <em>that</em> was,” said Audrey. “But +honestly I acted for the best. You see I’m rather rich. +Supposing I’d only gone about as a young marriageable +girl—what frightful risks I should have run, shouldn’t I? +Somebody would be bound to have married me for my +money. And look at all I should have missed—without this +ring! I should never have met you in Paris, for instance, +and we should never have had those talks.... And—and +there’s a lot more reasons—I shall tell you another time—about +Madame Piriac and so on. Now do say you aren’t +vexed!”</p> + +<p>”I think you’ve been splendid,” he said, with enthusiasm. +“I think the girls of to-day <em>are</em> splendid! I’ve +been a regular old fogey, that’s what it is.”</p> + +<p>“Now there’s one thing I want you not to do,” Audrey +proceeded. “I want you not to alter the way you talk to +me. Because I’m really just the same girl I was last night. +And I couldn’t bear you to change.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t! I won’t! But of course——”</p> + +<p>“No, no! No buts. I won’t have it. Do you know +why I told you just this afternoon? Well, partly because +you were so perfectly sweet last night. And partly because +I’ve got a favour to ask you, and I wouldn’t ask it until +I’d told you.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t ask me a favour,” he replied, “because it +wouldn’t be a favour. It would be my privilege.”</p> + +<p>“But if you put it like that I can’t ask you.”</p> + +<p>“You must!” he said firmly.</p> + +<p>Then she told him something of the predicament of +Jane Foley. He listened with an expression of trouble. +Audrey finished bluntly: “She’s my friend. And I want +you to take her on the yacht to-night after it’s dark. +Nobody but you can save her. There! I’ve asked +you!”</p> + +<p>“Jane Foley!” he murmured.</p> + +<p>She could see that he was aghast. The syllables of that +name were notorious throughout Britain. They stood for +revolt, damage to property, defiance of law, injured policemen, +forcible feeding, and all sorts of phenomena that +horrified respectable pillars of society.</p> + +<p>“She’s the dearest thing!” said Audrey. “You’ve no +idea. You’d love her. And she’s done as much for +Women’s Suffrage as anybody in the world. She’s a real +heroine, if you like. You couldn’t help the cause better +than by helping her. And I know how keen you are to +help.” And Audrey said to herself: “He’s as timid as a +girl about it. How queer men are, after all!”</p> + +<p>“But what are we to do with her afterwards?” asked +Mr. Gilman. There was perspiration on his brow.</p> + +<p>“Sail straight to France, of course. They couldn’t +touch her there, you see, because it’s political. It <em>is</em> +political, you know,” Audrey insisted proudly.</p> + +<p>“And give up all our cruise?”</p> + +<p>Audrey bent forward, as she had seen Tommy do. She +smiled enchantingly. “I quite understand,” she said, with +a sort of tenderness. “You don’t want to do it. And it +was a shame of me even to suggest it.”</p> + +<p>“But I do want to do it,” he protested with splendid +despairful resolve. “I was only thinking of you—and the +cruise. I do want to do it. I’m absolutely at your disposal. +When you ask me to do a thing, I’m only too +proud. To do it is the greatest happiness I could have.”</p> + +<p>Audrey replied softly:</p> + +<p>“You deserve the Victoria Cross.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever do you mean?” he demanded nervously.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know exactly what I mean,” she said. “But +you’re the nicest man I ever knew.”</p> + +<p>He blushed.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t say that to me,” he deprecated.</p> + +<p>“I shall, and I shall.”</p> + +<p>The sound of the thirty-six variations still came very +faintly over the water. The sun sent cataracts of warm +light across all the estuary. The water lapped against the +boat, and Audrey was overwhelmed by the inexplicable +marvel of being alive in the gorgeous universe.</p> + +<p>“I shall have to back water,” she said, low. “There’s +no room to turn round here.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose we’d better say as little about it as possible,” +he ventured.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Not a word! Not a word till it’s done.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course.” He was drenched in an agitating +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Five bells rang clear from the yacht, overmastering the +thirty-six variations.</p> + +<p>Audrey thought:</p> + +<p>“So he’d never agree, wouldn’t he, Madame Piriac!”</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_37" id="chapter_37" />CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> + + +<h3>AFLOAT</h3> + + +<p>That night, which was an unusually dark night for the time +of year, Audrey left the yacht, alone, to fetch Jane Foley. +She had made a provisional plan with Jane and Aguilar, and +the arrangement with Mr. Gilman had been of the simplest, +necessitating nothing save a brief order from the owner to +the woman whom Audrey could always amuse Mr. Gilman by +calling the “parlourmaid,” but who was more commonly +known as the stewardess. This young married creature had +prepared a cabin. For the rest little had been said. The +understanding between Mr. Gilman and Audrey was that +Mrs. Moncreiff should continue to exist, and that not a +word as to the arrival of Jane Foley should escape either of +them until the deed was accomplished. It is true that +Madame Piriac knew of the probable imminence of the +affair, but Madame Piriac was discretion elegantly attired, +and from the moment they had left Flank Hall together she +had been wise enough not even to mention Jane Foley +to Audrey. Madame Piriac appreciated the value of +ignorance in a questionable crisis. Mr. Gilman had been +less guarded. Indeed he had shown a tendency to discuss +the coming adventure with Audrey in remote corners—a +tendency which had to be discouraged because it gave to +both of them a too obvious air of being tremendous conspirators, +Also Audrey had had to dissuade him from +accompanying her to the Hall. He had rather conventional +ideas about women being abroad alone after dark, and he +abandoned them with difficulty even now.</p> + +<p>As there were no street lamps alight in summer in the +village of Moze, Audrey had no fear of being recognised; +moreover, recognition by her former fellow-citizens could +now have no sinister importance; she did not much care +who recognised her. The principal gates of Flank Hall were +slightly ajar, as arranged with Aguilar, and she passed with +a suddenly aroused heart up the drive towards the front +entrance of the house. In spite of herself she could not get +rid of an absurd fear that either Mr. Hurley or Inspector +Keeble or both would jump out of the dark bushes and slip +handcuffs upon her wrists. And the baffling invisibility of +the sky further affected her nerves. There ought to have +been a lamp in the front hall, but no ray showed through +the eighteenth century fanlight over the door. She rang +the bell cautiously. She heard the distant ting. Aguilar, +according to the plan, ought to have opened; but he did not +open; nobody opened. She was instantly sure that she knew +what had happened. Mr. Hurley had been to Frinton and +ascertained that the Spatt story as to the tank-room was +an invention, and had returned with a search warrant and +some tools. But in another ten seconds she was equally sure +that nothing of the sort could have happened, for it was an +axiom with her that Aguilar’s masterly lying, based on +masterly listening at an attic door, had convinced Mr. +Hurley of the truth of the story about the tank-room.</p> + +<p>Accidentally pushing against the front door with an +elbow in the deep obscurity, she discovered that it was not +latched. This was quite contrary to the plan. She stepped +into the house. The unforeseeing simpleton had actually +come on the excursion without a box of matches! She felt +her way, aided by the swift returning memories of childhood, +to the foot of the stairs, and past the stairs into the +kitchen, for in ancient days a candlestick with a box of +matches in it had always been kept on the ledge of the +small square window that gave light to the passage between +the hall and the kitchen. Her father had been most severely +particular about that candlestick (with matches) being-always +ready on that ledge in case of his need. Ridiculous, +of course, to expect a candlestick to be still there! Times +change so. But she felt for it, and there it was, and the +matches too! She lit the candle. The dim scene thus +revealed seemed strange enough to her after the electricity +of the Hôtel du Danube and of the yacht. It made her +want to cry....</p> + +<p>She was one of those people who have room in their +minds for all sorts of things at once. And thus she could +simultaneously be worried to an extreme about Jane Foley, +foolish and sad about her immensely distant childhood, and +even regretful that she had admitted the fraudulence of the +wedding-ring on her hand. On the last point she had a +very strong sense of failure and disillusion. When she had +first donned a widow’s bonnet she had meant to have wondrous +adventures and to hear marvellous conversations as a +widow. And what had she done with her widowhood after +all? Nothing. She could not but think that she ought to +have kept it a little longer, on the chance....</p> + +<p>Aguilar made a practice of sleeping in the kitchen; he +considered that a house could only be well guarded at night +from the ground floor. There was his bed, in the corner +against the brush and besom cupboard, all made up. Its +creaselessness, so characteristic of Aguilar, had not been +disturbed. The sight of the narrow bed made Audrey think +what a strange existence was the existence of Aguilar. +... Then, with a boldness that was half bluster, she went +upstairs, and the creaking of the woodwork was affrighting.</p> + +<p>“Jane! Jane, dear!” she called out, as she arrived +at the second-storey landing. The sound of her voice was +uncanny in the haunted stillness. All Audrey’s infancy +floated up the well of the stairs and wrapped itself round +her and tightened her throat. She went along the passage +to the door of the tank-room.</p> + +<p>“Jane, Jane!”</p> + +<p>No answer! The door was locked. She listened. She +put her ear against the door in order to catch the faintest +sound of life within. But she could only hear the crude, +sharp ticking of the cheap clock which, as she knew, +Aguilar had supplied to Jane Foley. The vision of Jane +lying unconscious or dead obsessed her. Then she thrust +it away and laughed at it. Assuredly Aguilar and Jane +must have received some alarm as to a reappearance of +the police; they must have fled while there had yet been +time. Where could they have gone? Of course, through +the garden and plantation and down to the sea-wall, +whence Jane might steal to the yacht. Audrey turned +back towards the stairs, and the vast intimidating emptiness +of the gloomy house, lit by a single flickering candle, +assaulted her. She had to fight it before she could descend. +The garden door was latched, but not locked. Extinguishing +the candle, she went forth. The gusty breeze from the +estuary was now damp on her cheek with the presage +of rain. She hurried, fumbling as it were, through the +garden. When she achieved the hedge the spectacle of +the yacht, gleaming from stem to stern with electricity, +burst upon her; it shone like something desired and unattainable. +Carefully she issued from the grounds by the +little gate and crossed the intervening space to the dyke. +A dark figure moved in front of her, and her heart violently +jumped.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, madam?”</p> + +<p>It was the cold, imperturbable voice of Aguilar. At +once she felt reassured.</p> + +<p>“Where is Miss Foley?” she demanded in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got her down here, ma’am,” said Aguilar. “I +presume as you’ve been to the house. We had to leave +it.”</p> + +<p>“But the door of the tank-room was locked!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am. I locked it a-purpose.... I thought +as it would keep the police employed a bit when they +come. I seen my cousin Sarah when I went to tell Miss +Ingate as you instructed me. My cousin Sarah seen +Keeble. They been to Frinton to Mrs. Spatt’s, and they +found out about <em>that</em>. And now the ’tec’s back, or nearly. +I reckon it was the warrant as was delaying him. So I +out with Miss Foley. I thought I could take her across +to the yacht from here. It wouldn’t hardly be safe for +her to walk round by the dyke. Hurley may have several +of his chaps about by this time.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s not water enough, Aguilar.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam. I dragged the old punt down. She +don’t draw three inches. She’s afloat now, and Miss +Foley’s in her. I was just a-going off. If you don’t mind +wetting your feet——”</p> + +<p>In one minute Audrey had splashed into the punt. +Jane Foley took her hand in silence, and she heard Jane’s +low, happy laugh.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it funny?” Jane whispered.</p> + +<p>Audrey squeezed her hand.</p> + +<p>Aguilar pushed off with an oar, and he continued to +use the oar as a punt-pole, so that no sound of their +movement should reach the bank. Water was pouring into +the old sieve, and they touched ground once. But Aguilar +knew precisely what he was about and got her off again. +They approached the yacht with the slow, sure inexorability +of Aguilar’s character. A beam from the portholes of +the saloon caught Aguilar’s erect figure. He sat down, +poling as well as he could from the new position. When +they were a little nearer he stopped dead, holding the +punt firm by means of the pole fixed in the mud.</p> + +<p>“He’s there afore us!” he murmured, pointing.</p> + +<p>Under the Maltese cross of electric lights at the inner +end of the gangway could clearly be seen the form of +Mr. Hurley, engaged in conversation with Mr. Gilman. +Mr. Hurley was fairly on board.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_38" id="chapter_38" />CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> + + +<h3>IN THE UNIVERSE</h3> + +<p>When Audrey, having been put ashore in execution of +a plan arranged with those naturally endowed strategists, +Aguilar and Jane Foley, arrived at the Hard by way of +the sea-wall, Mr. Hurley was still in parley with Mr. +Gilman under the Maltese cross of electric lights. From +the distance Mr. Gilman had an air of being somewhat +intimidated by the Irishman, but as soon as he distinguished +the figure of Audrey at the shore end of the +gangway his muscles became mysteriously taut, and his +voice charged with defiance.</p> + +<p>“I have already told you, sir,” Audrey heard him say, +“there is no such person aboard the yacht. And I most +certainly will not allow you to search. You have no right +whatever to search, and you know it. You have my word. +My name is Gilman. You may have heard of me. I’m +chairman of the Board of Foodstuffs, Limited. Gilman, sir. +And I shall feel obliged if you will leave my decks.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sailing to-night?” asked Mr. Hurley placidly.</p> + +<p>“What the devil has that got to do with you, sir?” +replied Mr. Gilman gloriously.</p> + +<p>Audrey, standing behind the detective and unseen by +him, observed the gloriousness of Mr. Gilman’s demeanour +and also Mr. Gilman’s desire that she should note the +same and appreciate it. She nodded violently several times +to Mr. Gilman, to urge him to answer the detective in +the affirmative.</p> + +<p>“Ye-es, sir. Since you are so confoundedly inquisitive, +I am sailing to-night. I shall sail as soon as the tide +serves,” said Mr. Gilman hurriedly and fiercely, and then +glanced again at Audrey for further approval.</p> + +<p>“Where for?” Mr. Hurley demanded.</p> + +<p>“Where I please, sir,” Mr. Gilman snorted. By this +time he evidently imagined that he was furious, and was +taking pleasure in his fury.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurley, having given a little ironic bow, turned +to leave and found himself fronting Audrey, who stiffly +ignored his salute. The detective gone, Mr. Gilman walked +to and fro, breathing more loudly than ever, and unsuccessfully +pretending to a scattered audience, which consisted +of the skipper, Mr. Price, Dr. Cromarty, and sundry deck-hands, +that he had done nothing in particular and was +not a hero. As Audrey approached him he seemed to lay +all his glory with humble pride at her feet.</p> + +<p>“Well, he brought that on himself!” said Audrey, +smiling.</p> + +<p>“He did,” Mr. Gilman concurred, gazing at the Hard +with inimical scorn.</p> + +<p>“She can’t come—now,” said Audrey. “It wouldn’t +be safe. He means to stay on the Hard till we’re gone. +He’s a very suspicious man.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurley was indeed lingering just beyond the immediate +range of the <em>Ariadne’s</em> lamps.</p> + +<p>“Can’t come! What a pity! What a pity!” murmured +Mr. Gilman, with an accent that was not a bit +sincere. The news was the best he had heard for hours. +“But I suppose,” he added, “we’d better sail just the +same, as I’ve said we should?” He did not want to run +the risk of getting Jane Foley after all.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Do!” Audrey exclaimed. “It will be lovely! If it +doesn’t rain—and even if it does rain! We all like sailing at +night.... Are the others in the saloon? I’ll run down.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wyatt,” the owner sternly accosted the captain. +“When can we get off?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! About midnight,” Audrey answered quickly, +before Mr. Wyatt could compose his lips.</p> + +<p>The men gazed at each other surprised by this show of +technical knowledge in a young widow. By the time Mr. +Wyatt had replied, Audrey was descending into the saloon. +It was Aguilar who, having ascertained the <em>Ariadne’s</em> +draught, had made the calculation as to the earliest possible +hour of departure.</p> + +<p>And in the saloon Musa was, as it were, being enveloped +and kept comfortable in the admiring sympathy of Madame +Piriac and Miss Thompkins. Mr. Gilman’s violin lay +across his knees—perhaps he had been tuning it—and the +women inclined towards him, one on either side. It was +a sight that somewhat annoyed Audrey, who told herself +that she considered it silly. Admitting that Musa had +genius, she could not understand this soft flattery of +genius. She never flattered genius herself, and she did +not approve of others doing so. Certainly Musa was now +being treated on the yacht as a celebrity of the first +order, and Audrey could find no explanation of the steady +growth in the height and splendour of his throne. +Her arrival dissolved the spectacle. Within one minute, +somehow, the saloon was empty and everybody on deck +again.</p> + +<p>And then, drawing her away, Musa murmured to Audrey +in a disconcerting tone that he must speak to her on a +matter of urgency, and that in order that he might do +so, they must go ashore and walk seawards, far from +interruption. She consented, for she was determined to +prove to him at close quarters that she was a different +creature from the other two. They moved to the gangway +amid discreet manifestations from the doctor and the +secretary—manifestations directed chiefly to Musa and +indicative of his importance as a notability. Audrey was +puzzled. For her, Musa was more than ever just Musa, +and less than ever a personage.</p> + +<p>“I shall not return to the yacht,” he said, with an +excited bitterness, after they had walked some distance +along one of the paths leading past low bushes into the +wilderness of the marsh land that bounded the estuary +to the south. The sky was still invisible, but there was +now a certain amount of diffused light, and the pale path +could easily be distinguished amid the sombreness of +green. The yacht was hidden behind one of the knolls. +No sound could be heard. The breeze had died. That +which was around them—on either hand, above, below—was +the universe. They knew that they stood still in the +universe, and this idea gave their youth the sensation of +being very important.</p> + +<p>“What is that which you say?” Audrey demanded +sharply in French, as Musa had begun in French. She +was aware, not for the first time with Musa, of the +sudden possibilities of drama in a human being. She +could scarcely make out his face, but she knew that he +was in a mood for high follies; she knew that danger was +gathering; she knew that the shape of the future was +immediately to be moulded by her and him, and chiefly +by herself. She liked it. The sensation of her importance +was reinforced.</p> + +<p>“I say I shall never return to the yacht,” he repeated.</p> + +<p>She thought compassionately:</p> + +<p>“Poor foolish thing!”</p> + +<p>She was incalculably older and wiser than this irrational +boy. She was the essence of wisdom.</p> + +<p>She said, with acid detachment:</p> + +<p>“But your luggage, your belongings? What an idea to +leave in this manner! It is so polite, so sensible!”</p> + +<p>“I shall not return.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” she said, “I do not at all understand +why you are going. But what does that matter? You +are going.” Her indifference was superb. It was so +superb that it might have driven some men to destroy +her on the spot.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you understand! I told you last night,” said +Musa, overflowing with emotion.</p> + +<p>“Oh! You told me? I forget.”</p> + +<p>“Naturally Monsieur Gilman is rich. I am not rich, +though I shall be. But you can’t wait,” Musa sneered.</p> + +<p>“I do not know what you mean,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Musa. “Once I told you that Tommy +and Nick lent me the money with which to live. For me, +since then, you have never been the same being. How +stupid I was to tell you! You could not comprehend +such a thing. Your soul is too low to comprehend it. +Permit me to say that I have already repaid Nick. And +at the first moment I shall repay Tommy. My position +is secure. I have only to wait. But you will not wait. +You are a bourgeoise of the most terrible sort. Opulence +fascinates you. Mr. Gilman has opulence. He has nothing +else. But he has opulence, and for you that is all.”</p> + +<p>In an instant her indifference, self-control, wisdom +vanished. It was a sad exhibition of frailty; but she +enjoyed it, she revelled in it, giving play to everything +in herself that was barbaric. The marsh around them +was probably as it had been before the vikings had sailed +into it, and Audrey rushed back with inconceivable speed +into the past and became the primeval woman of twenty +centuries earlier. Like almost all women she possessed +this wondrous and affrighting faculty.</p> + +<p>“You are telling a wicked untruth!” she exploded in +English. “And what’s more, you know you are. You +disgust me. You know as well as I do I don’t care anything +for money—anything. Only you’re a horrid, spoilt +beast. You think you can upset me, but you can’t. I +won’t have it, either from you or from anybody else. It’s +a shame, that’s what it is. Now you’ve got to apologise +to me. I absolutely insist on it. You aren’t going to +bully me, even if you think you are. I’ll soon show you +the sort of girl I am, and you make no mistake! Are +you going to apologise or aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>The indecorous creature was breathing as loudly as Mr. +Gilman himself.</p> + +<p>“I admit it,” said Musa yielding.</p> + +<p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>“I demand your pardon. I knew that what I said was +not true. I am outside myself. But what would you? It +is stronger than I. This existence is terrible, on the yacht. +I cannot support it. I shall become mad. I am ruined. +My jealousy is intolerable.”</p> + +<p>“It is!” said Audrey, using French again, more calmly, +having returned to the twentieth century.</p> + +<p>“It is intolerable to me.” Then Musa’s voice changed +and grew persuasive, rather like a child’s. “I cannot live +without you. That is the truth. I am an artist, and you +are necessary to me and to my career.” He lifted his head. +“And I can offer you everything that is most brilliant.”</p> + +<p>“And what about my career?” Audrey questioned +inimically.</p> + +<p>“Your career?” He seemed at a loss.</p> + +<p>“Yes. My career. It has possibly not occurred to you +that I also may have a career.”</p> + +<p>Musa became appealing.</p> + +<p>“You understand me,” he said. “I told you you do not +comprehend, but you comprehend everything. It is that +which enrages me. You have had experience. You know +what men are. You could teach me so much. I hate young +girls. I have always hated them. They are so tasteless, so +insufferably innocent. I could not talk to a young girl as I +talk to you. It would be absurd. Now as to my career—what +I said——”</p> + +<p>“Musa,” she interrupted him, with a sinister quietude, +“I want to tell you something. But you must promise to +keep it secret. Will you?”</p> + +<p>He assented, impatient.</p> + +<p>“It is not possible!” he exclaimed, when she had told +him that she belonged to precisely the category of human +beings whom he hated and despised.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it?” said she. “Now I hope you see how little +you know, really, about women.” She laughed.</p> + +<p>“It is not possible!” he repeated. And then he said +with deliberate ingenuousness: “I am so content. I am so +happy. I could not have hoped for it. It is overwhelming. +I am everything you like of the most idiotic, blind, stupid. +But now I am happy. Could I ever have borne that you +had loved before I knew you? I doubt if I could have borne +it. Your innocence is exquisite. It is intoxicating to me.”</p> + +<p>“Musa,” she remarked dryly; “I wish you would remember +that you are in England. People do not talk in that +way in England. It simply is not done. And I will not +listen to it.” Her voice grew a little tender. “Why can +we not just be friends?”</p> + +<p>“It is folly,” said he, with sudden disgust. “And it +would kill me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” she replied, receding. “You’re entitled +to die.”</p> + +<p>He advanced towards her. She kept him away with a +gesture.</p> + +<p>“You want me to marry you?” she questioned.</p> + +<p>“It is essential,” he said, very seriously. “I adore you. +I can’t do anything because of you. I can’t think of anything +but you. You are more marvellous than anyone can +be. You cannot appreciate what you are to me!”</p> + +<p>“And suppose you are nothing to me?”</p> + +<p>“But it is necessary that you should love me!”</p> + +<p>“Why? I see no necessity. You want me—because you +want me. That’s all. I can’t help it if you’re mad. Your +attitude is insulting. You have not given one thought to +my feelings. And if I said ‘yes’ to you, you’d marry +me whatever my feelings were. You think only of yourself. +It is the old attitude. And when I offer you my friendship, +you instantly decline it. That shows how horribly French +you are. Frenchmen can’t understand the idea of friendship +between a man and a girl. They sneer at it. It shows +what brutes you all are. Why should I marry you? I +should have nothing to gain by it. You’ll be famous. Well, +what do I care? Do you think it would be very amusing +for me to be the wife of a famous man that was run after +by every silly creature in Paris or London or New York? +Not quite! And I don’t see myself. You don’t like young +girls. I don’t like young men. They’re rude and selfish +and conceited. They’re like babies.”</p> + +<p>“The fact is,” Musa broke in, “you are in love with +the old Gilman.”</p> + +<p>“He is not old!” cried Audrey. “In some ways he is +much less worn out than you are. And supposing I am in +love with Mr. Gilman? Does it regard you? Do not be +rude. Mr. Gilman is at any rate polite. He is not capricious. +He is reliable. You aren’t reliable. You want someone +upon whom you can rely. How nice for your wife! You +play the violin. True. You are a genius. But you cannot +always be on the platform. And when you are not on the +platform...! Heavens! If I wish to hear you play I +can buy a seat and come and hear you and go away again. +But your wife, responsible for your career—she will never +be free. Her life will be unbearable. What anxiety! +Misery, I should say rather! You would have the lion’s +share of everything. Now for myself I intend to have the +lion’s share. And why shouldn’t I? Isn’t it about time +some woman had it? You can’t have the lion’s share if you +are not free. I mean to be free. If I marry I shall want +a husband that is not a prison.... Thank goodness I’ve +got money.... Without that——!”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Musa, “you have no feeling for me.”</p> + +<p>“Love?” she laughed exasperatingly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Not that much!” She snapped her fingers. “But"—in +a changed tone—"I <em>should</em> like to like you. I shall be +very disgusted if your concerts are not a tremendous success. +And they will not be if you don’t keep control over yourself +and practise properly. And it will be your fault.”</p> + +<p>“Then, good-bye!” he said, coldly ignoring all her +maternal suggestions. And turned away.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going to?”</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>“I do not know. But if I do not deceive myself I have +already informed you that in certain circumstances I should +not return to the yacht.”</p> + +<p>“You are worse than a schoolboy.”</p> + +<p>“It is possible.”</p> + +<p>“Anyway, <em>I</em> shan’t explain on the yacht. I shall tell +them that I know nothing about it.”</p> + +<p>“But no one will believe you,” he retorted maliciously +over his shoulder. And then he was gone.</p> + +<p>She at any rate was no longer surrounded by the largeness +of the universe. He might still be, but she was not. +She was in mind already on the yacht trying to act a +surprise equal to the surprise of the others when Musa +failed to reappear. She was very angry with him, not +because he had been a rude schoolboy and was entirely impossible +as a human being, but because she had allowed +herself to leave the yacht with him and would therefore be +compelled sooner or later to answer questions about him. +She seriously feared that Mr. Gilman might refuse to sail +unless she confessed to him her positive knowledge that +Musa would not be seen again, and that thus she might +have to choose between the failure of her plans for Jane +Foley and her own personal discomfiture.</p> + +<p>Instead of being in the mighty universe she was +struggling amid the tiresome littleness of society on a yacht. +She hated yachts for their very cosiness and their quality +of keeping people close together who wanted to be far +apart. And as she watched the figure of Musa growing +fainter she was more than ever impressed by the queerness of +men. Women seemed to be so logical, so realistic, so +understandable, so calculable, whereas men were enigmas +of waywardness and unreason. At just that moment her +feet reminded her that they had been wetted by the adventure +in the punt, and she said to herself sagely that she +must take precautions against a chill.</p> + +<p>And then she thought she detected some unusual phenomenon +behind a clump of bushes to the right which hid a +plank-bridge across a waterway. She would have been +frightened if she had not been very excited. And in her +excitement she marched straight up to the clump, and +found Mr. Hurley in a crouching posture. She started, and +recovered.</p> + +<p>“I might have known!” she said disdainfully.</p> + +<p>“We all make mistakes,” said Mr. Hurley defensively. +“We all make mistakes. I knew I’d made a mistake as +soon as I got here, but I couldn’t get away quietly enough. +And you talked so loud. Ye’ll admit I had just cause for +suspicion. And being a very agreeable lady ye’ll pardon +me.”</p> + +<p>She blushed, and then ceased blushing because it was +too dark for him to perceive the blush, and she passed on +without a word. When, across the waste, she had come +within sight of the yacht again, she heard footsteps behind +her, and turned to withstand the detective. But the +overtaker was Musa.</p> + +<p>“It is necessary that I should return to the yacht,” he +said savagely. “The thought of you and Monsieur Gilman +together, without me.... No! I did not know myself. + ... I did not know myself.... It is impossible for me +to leave.”</p> + +<p>She made no answer. They boarded the yacht as though +they had been for a stroll. Few could have guessed that +they had come back from the universe terribly scathed. +Accepting deferential greetings as a right, Musa vanished +rapidly to his cabin.</p> + +<p>Several hours later Audrey and Mr. Gilman, alone among +the passengers, were standing together, both tarpaulined, +on the starboard bow, gazing seaward as the yacht cautiously +felt her way down Mozewater. Captain Wyatt, and not +Mr. Gilman, was at the binnacle. A little rain was falling +and the night was rather thick but not impenetrable.</p> + +<p>“There’s the light!” said Audrey excitedly.</p> + +<p>“What sharp eyes you have!” said Mr. Gilman. “I +can see it, too.” He spoke a word to the skipper, and +the skipper spoke, and then the engine went still more +slowly.</p> + +<p>The yacht approached the Flank buoy dead slow, +scarcely stemming the tide. The Moze punt was tied up +to the buoy, and Aguilar held a lantern on a boathook, +while Jane Foley, very wet, was doing a spell of baling. +Aguilar dropped the boathook and, casting off, brought +the punt alongside the yacht. The steps were lowered and +Jane Foley, with laughing, rain-sprinkled face, climbed up. +Aguilar handed her bag which contained nearly everything +she possessed on earth. She and Audrey kissed calmly, and +Audrey presented Mr. Gilman to a suddenly shy Jane. In +the punt Miss Foley had been seen to take an affectionate +leave of Aguilar. She now leaned over the rail.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye!” she said, with warmth. “Thanks ever so +much. It’s been splendid. I do hope you won’t be too +wet. Can you row all the way home?” She shivered.</p> + +<p>“I shall go back on the tide, Miss Foley,” answered +Aguilar.</p> + +<p>He touched his cap to Audrey, mumbled gloomily a +salutation, and loosed his hold on the yacht; and at once the +punt felt the tide and began to glide away in the darkness +towards Moze. The yacht’s engine quickened. Flank +buoy faded.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman and the two girls made a group.</p> + +<p>“You’re wonderful! You really are!” said Mr. Gilman, +addressing apparently the pair of them. He was enthusiastic. +... He added with grandeur, “And now for +France!”</p> + +<p>“I do hope Mr. Hurley is still hanging about Moze,” +said Audrey. “Mr. Gilman, shall I show Miss Foley her +cabin? She’s rather wet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do! Oh, do, please! But don’t forget that we +are to have supper together. I insist on supper.”</p> + +<p>And Audrey thought: “How agreeable he is! How +kind-hearted! He hasn’t got any ‘career’ to worry about, +and I adore him, and he’s as simple as knitting.”</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_39" id="chapter_39" />CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> + +<h3>THE IMMINENT DRIVE</h3> + + +<p>“Oh!” cried Miss Thompkins. “You can see it from +here. It’s funny how unreal it seems, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>She pointed at one of the large white-curtained windows +of the restaurant, through which was visible a round +column covered with advertisements of theatres, music-halls, +and concert-halls, printed in many colours and announcing +superlative delights. Names famous wherever +pleasure is understood gave to their variegated posters a +pleasant air of distinguished familiarity—names of theatres +such as “Variétés,” “Vaudeville,” “Châtelet,” “Théâtre +Français,” “Folies-Bergère,” and names of persons such as +“Sarah Bernhardt,” “Huegenet,” “Le Bargy,” “Litvinne,” +“Lavallière.” But the name in the largest type—dark +crimson letters on rose paper—the name dominating all the +rest, was the name of Musa. The ingenuous stranger to +Paris was compelled to think that as an artist Musa was +far more important than anybody else. Along the length of +all the principal boulevards, and in many of the lesser +streets, the ingenuous stranger encountered, at regular distances +of a couple of hundred yards or so, one of these +columns planted on the kerb; and all the scores of them +bore exactly the same legend; they all spoke of nothing but +blissful diversions, and they all put Musa ahead of anybody +else in the world of the stage and the platform. Sarah +Bernhardt herself, dark blue upon pale, was a trifle compared +to Musa on the columns. And it had been so for +days. Other posters were changed daily—changed by +mysterious hands before even bread-girls were afoot with +their yards of bread—but the space given to Musa repeated +always the same tidings, namely that Musa ("the great +violinist") was to give an orchestral concert at the Salle +Xavier, assisted by the Xavier orchestra, on Thursday, +September 24, at 9 P.M. Particulars of the programme +followed.</p> + +<p>Paris was being familiarised with Musa. His four +letters looked down upon the fever of the thoroughfares; +they were perused by tens of thousands of sitters in cafés +and in front of cafés; they caught the eye of men and +women fleeing from the wrath to come in taxicabs; they +competed successfully with newspaper placards; and on that +Thursday—for the Thursday in question had already run +more than half its course—they had so entered into the +sub-conscious brain of Paris that no habitué of the streets, +whatever his ignorant indifference to the art of music, +could have failed to reply with knowledge, on hearing Musa +mentioned, “Oh, yes!” implying that he was fully acquainted +with the existence of the said Musa.</p> + +<p>Tommy was right: there did seem to be a certain unreality +about the thing, yet it was utterly real.</p> + +<p>All the women turned to glance at the name through the +window, and some of them murmured sympathetic and interested +exclamations and bright hopes. There were five +women: Miss Thompkins, Miss Nickall, Madame Piriac, +Miss Ingate and Audrey. And there was one man—Mr. +Gilman. And the six were seated at a round table in the +historic Parisian restaurant. Mr. Gilman had the air +triumphant, and he was entitled to it. The supreme moment +of his triumph had come. Having given a luncheon to these +ladies, he had just asked, with due high negligence, for the +bill. If there was one matter in which Mr. Gilman was a +truly great expert, it was the matter of giving a meal in a +restaurant. He knew how to dress for such an affair—with +strict conventionality but a touch of devil-may-care youthfulness +in the necktie. He knew how to choose the +restaurant; he had about half a dozen in his répertoire—all +of the first order and for the most part combining the +exclusive with the amusing—entirely different in kind from +the pandemonium where Audrey had eaten on the night of +her first arrival in Paris; he knew how to get the best out +of head-waiters and waiters, who in these restaurants were +not head-waiters and waiters but worldly priests and +acolytes; his profound knowledge of cookery sprang from +a genuine interest in his stomach, and he could compose a +menu in a fashion to command the respect of head-waiters +and to excite the envy of musicians composing a sonata; he +had the wit to look in early and see to the flowers; above all +he was aware what women liked in the way of wine, and +since this was never what he liked in the way of wine, he +would always command a half-bottle of the extra dry for +himself, but would have it manipulated with such discretion +that not a guest could notice it. He paid lavishly and +willingly, convinced by hard experience that the best is +inestimable, but he felt too that the best was really quite +cheap, for he knew that there were imperfectly educated +people in the world who thought nothing of paying the price +of a good meal for a mere engraving or a bit of china. +Withal, he never expected his guests truly to appreciate the +marvels he offered them. They could not, or very rarely. +Their twittering ecstatic praise, which was without understanding, +sufficed for him, though sometimes he would give +gentle diffident instruction. This trait in him was very +attractive, proving the genuineness of his modesty.</p> + +<p>The luncheon was partly to celebrate the return of various +persons to Paris, but chiefly in honour of Musa’s concert. +Musa could not be present, for distinguished public performers +do not show themselves on the day of an appearance. +Mr. Gilman had learnt this from Madame Piriac, whom he +had consulted as to the list of guests. It is to be said that +he bore the absence of Musa from his table with stoicism. +For the rest, Madame Piriac knew that he wanted no other +men, and she had suggested none. She had assumed that +he desired Audrey, and had pointed out that Audrey could +not well be invited without Miss Ingate, who, sick of her +old Moze, had rejoined Audrey in the splendour of the Hôtel +du Danube. Mr. Gilman had somehow mentioned Miss +Thompkins, whereupon Madame Piriac had declared that +Miss Thompkins involved Miss Nickall, who after a complete +recovery from the broken arm had returned for a while to +her studio. And then Mr. Gilman had closed the list, saying +that six was enough, and exactly the right number.</p> + +<p>“At what o’clock are you going for the drive?” asked +Madame Piriac in her improved, precise English. She +looked equally at her self-styled uncle and at Audrey.</p> + +<p>“I ordered the car for three o’clock,” answered Mr. +Gilman. “It is not yet quite three.”</p> + +<p>The table with its litter of ash-trays, empty cups, empty +small glasses, and ravaged sweets, and the half-deserted +restaurant, and the polite expectant weariness of the priests +and acolytes, all showed that the hour was in fact not quite +three—an hour at which such interiors have invariably the +aspect of roses overblown and about to tumble to pieces.</p> + +<p>And immediately upon the reference to the drive everybody +at the table displayed a little constraint, avoiding the +gaze of everybody else, thus demonstrating that the imminent +drive was a delicate, without being a disagreeable, topic. +Which requires explanation.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman had not been seen by any of his guests +during the summer. He had landed them at Boulogne from +the <em>Ariadne</em>—sound but for one casualty. That casualty +was Jane Foley, suffering from pneumonia, which had presumably +developed during the evening of exposure spent +with Aguilar in the leaking punt and in rain showers. +Madame Piriac and Audrey took her to Wimereux and there +nursed her through a long and sometimes dangerous illness. +Jane possessed no constitution, but she had obstinacy, which +saved her. In her convalescence, part of which she spent +alone with Audrey (Madame Piriac having to pay visits to +Monsieur Piriac), she had proceeded with the writing of a +book, and she had also received in conclave the rarely seen +Rosamund, who like herself was still a fugitive from British +justice. These two had been elaborating a new plan of +campaign, which was to include an incursion by themselves +into England, and which had in part been confided by Jane +to Audrey, who, having other notions in her head, had been +somewhat troubled thereby. Audrey’s conscience had +occasionally told her to throw herself heartily into the campaign, +but her individualistic instincts had in the end kept +her safely on a fence between the campaign and something +else. The something else was connected with Mr. Gilman.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman had written to her regularly; he had sent +dazzling subscriptions to the Suffragette Union; and +Audrey had replied regularly. His letters were very simple, +very modest, and quite touching. They were dated from +various coastal places. However, he never came near +Wimereux, though it was a coastal place. Audrey had +excusably deemed this odd; but Madame Piriac having once +said with marked casualness, “I hinted to him that he might +with advantage stay away,” Audrey had concealed her +thoughts on the point. And one of her thoughts was that +Madame Piriac was keeping them apart so as to try them, +so as to test their mutual feelings. The policy, if it was +a policy, was very like Madame Piriac; it had the effect +of investing Mr. Gilman in Audrey’s mind with a peculiar +romantic and wistful charm, as of a sighing and obedient +victim. Then Jane Foley and Rosamund had gone off somewhere, +and Madame Piriac and Audrey had returned to +Paris, and had found that practically all Paris had returned +to Paris too. And on the first meeting with Mr. Gilman it +had been at once established that his feelings and those of +Audrey had surmounted the Piriac test. Within forty-eight +hours all persons interested had mysteriously assumed +that Mr. Gilman and Audrey were coupled together by fate +and that a delicious crisis was about to supervene in their +earthly progress. And they had become objects of exquisite +solicitude. They had also become perfect. A circle of +friends and acquaintances waited in excited silence for a +palpitating event, as a populace waits for the booming gunfire +which is to inaugurate a national rejoicing. And when +the news exuded that he was taking her for a drive to +Meudon, which she had never seen, alone, all decided beyond +any doubt that <em>he would do it during the drive</em>.</p> + +<p>Hence the nice constraint at the table when the drive +grew publicly and avowedly imminent.</p> + +<p>Audrey, as the phrase is, “felt her position keenly,” but +not unpleasantly, nor with understanding. Not a word had +passed of late between herself and Mr. Gilman that any +acquaintance might not have listened to. Indeed, Mr. +Gilman had become slightly more formal. She liked him +for that, as she liked him for a large number of qualities. +She did not know whether she loved him. And strange to +say, the question did not passionately interest her. The +only really interesting questions were: Would he propose +to her? And would she accept him? She had no logical +ground for assuming that he would propose to her. None +of her friends had informed her of the general expectation +that he would propose to her. Yet she knew that everybody +expected him to propose to her quite soon—indeed within +the next couple of hours. And she felt that everybody was +right. The universe was full of mysteries for Audrey. As +regards her answer to any proposal, she foresaw—another +mystery—that it would not depend upon self-examination or +upon reason, or upon anything that could be defined. It +would depend upon an instinct over which her mind—nay, +even her heart—had no control. She was quite certainly +aware that this instinct would instruct her brain to instruct +her lips to say “Yes.” The idea of saying “No” simply +could not be conceived. All the forces in the universe would +combine to prevent her from saying “No.”</p> + +<p>The one thing that might have countered that enigmatic +and powerful instinct was a consideration based upon the +difference between her age and that of Mr. Gilman. It is +true that she did not know what the difference was, because +she did not know Mr. Gilman’s age. And she could not ask +him. No! Such is the structure of society that she could +not say to Mr. Gilman, “By the way, Mr. Gilman, how old +are you?” She could properly ascertain his tastes about +all manner of fundamental points, such as the shape of chair-legs, +the correct hour for dining, or the comparative merits +of diamonds and emeralds; but this trifle of information +about his age could not be asked for. And he did not make +her a present of it. She might have questioned Madame +Piriac, but she could not persuade herself to question Madame +Piriac either. However, what did it matter? Even if she +learnt his age to a day, he would still be precisely the same +Mr. Gilman. And let him be as old or as young as he might, +she was still his equal in age. She was far more than six +months older than she had been six months ago.</p> + +<p>The influence of Madame Piriac through the summer had +indirectly matured her. For above all Madame Piriac had +imperceptibly taught her the everlasting joy and duty of +exciting the sympathy, admiration and gratitude of the other +sex. Hence Audrey had aged at a miraculous rate because +in order to please Mr. Gilman she wished—possibly without +knowing it—to undo the disparity between herself and him. +This may be strange, but it is assuredly more true than +strange. To the same ends she had concealed her own age. +Nobody except Miss Ingate knew how old she was. She +only made it clear, when doubts seemed to exist, that she +had passed her majority long before. Further, her wealth, +magnified by legend, assisted her age. Not that she was so +impressed by her wealth as she had been. She had met +American women in Paris compared to whom she was at +destitution’s door. She knew one woman who had kept a +2,000-ton yacht lying all summer in the outer harbour at +Boulogne, and had used it during that period for exactly +eleven hours.</p> + +<p>Few of these people had an establishment. They would +rent floors in hotels, or châteaux in Touraine, or yachts, but +they had no home, and yet they seemed very content and +beyond doubt they were very free. And so Audrey did not +trouble about having a home. She had Moze, which was +more than many of her acquaintances had. She would not +use it, but she had it. And she was content in the knowledge +of the power to create a home when she felt inclined +to create one. Not that it would not have been absurd to set +about creating a home with Mr. Gilman hanging over her +like a destiny. It would have been rude to him to do so; +it would have been to transgress against the inter-sexual +code as promulgated by Madame Piriac.... She wondered +what sort of a place Meudon was, and whether he +would propose to her while they were looking at the view +together.... She trembled with the sense of adventure, +which had little to do with happiness or unhappiness.... +But <em>would</em> he propose to her? Not improbably the whole +conception of the situation was false and she was being +ridiculous!</p> + +<p>Still the nice constraint persisted as the women began +to put on their gloves, while Mr. Gilman had a word with +the chief priest. And Audrey had the illusion of being a +dedicated victim. As she self-consciously and yet proudly +handled her gloves she could not help but notice the simple +gold wedding-ring on a certain finger. She had never +removed it. She had never formally renounced her claim +to the status of a widow. That she was not a widow, that +she had been guilty of a fraud on a gullible public, was +somehow generally known; but the facts were not referred +to, save perhaps in rare hints by Tommy, and she had continued +to be known as Mrs. Moncreiff. Ignominious close +to a daring enterprise! And in the circumstances nothing +was more out of place than the ring, bought in cold, wilful, +calculating naughtiness at Colchester.</p> + +<p>Just when Miss Ingate was beginning to discuss her own +plans for the afternoon, Mr. Price entered the restaurant, +and as he did so Miss Thompkins, saying something about +the small type on the poster outside, went to the window to +examine it. Mr. Price, disguised as a discreet dandy-about-town, +bore a parcel of music. He removed a most glossy +hat; he bowed to the whole company of ladies, who +responded with smiles in which was acknowledge that +he was a dandy in addition to being a secretary; and +lastly with deference he handed the parcel of music to +Mr. Gilman.</p> + +<p>“So you did get it! What did I tell you?” said Mr. +Gilman with negligent condescension. “A minute later, +and we should have been gone.... Has Mr. Price got this +right?” he asked Audrey, putting the music respectfully in +front of her.</p> + +<p>It included the reduced score of the Beethoven violin +concerto, and other items to be performed that night at the +Salle Xavier.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Thank you, Mr. Price!” said Audrey. The +music was so fresh and glossy and luscious to the eye that +it was like a gift of fruit.</p> + +<p>“That’ll do, then, Price,” said Mr. Gilman. “Don’t forget +about those things for to-night, will you?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I have a note of all of them.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Price bowed and turned away, assuming his perfect +hat. As he approached the door Tommy intercepted him; +and said something to him in a low voice, to which he uncomfortably +mumbled a reply. As they had admittedly been +friends in Mr. Price’s artistic days, exception could not be +taken to this colloquy. Nevertheless Audrey, being as +suspicious as a real widow, regarded it ill, thinking all +manner of things. And when Tommy, humming, came +back to her seat on Mr. Gilman’s left hand, Audrey +thought: “And why, after all, should she be on his left +hand? It is of course proper that I should be on his right, +but why should Tommy be on his left? Why not Madame +Piriac or Miss Ingate?”</p> + +<p>“And what am <em>I</em> going to do this afternoon?” demanded +Miss Ingate, lengthening the space between her nose and her +upper lip, and turning down the corners of her lower lip.</p> + +<p>“You have to try that new dress on, Winnie,” said +Audrey rather reprovingly.</p> + +<p>“Alone? Me go alone there? I wouldn’t do it. It’s +not respectable the way they look at you and add you up +and question you in those trying-on rooms, when they’ve +<em>got</em> you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, take Elise with you.”</p> + +<p>“Me take Elise? I won’t do it, not unless I could keep +her mouth full of pins all the time. Whenever we’re alone, +and her mouth isn’t full of pins, she always talks to me as +if I was an actress. And I’m not.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said Miss Nickall kindly, “come with me +and Tommy. We haven’t anything to do, and I’m taking +Tommy to see Jane Foley. Jane would love to see you.”</p> + +<p>“She might,” replied Miss Ingate. “Oh! She might. +But I think I’ll walk across to the hotel and just go to bed +and sleep it off.”</p> + +<p>“Sleep what off?” asked Tommy, with necklace rattling +and orchidaceous eyes glittering.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Everything! Everything!” shrieked Miss +Ingate.</p> + +<p>There was one other customer left in the restaurant, a +solitary fair, fat man, and as Mr. Gilman’s party was leaving, +Audrey last, this solitary fair, fat man caught her eye, +bowed, and rose. It was Mr. Cowl, secretary of the +National Reformation Society. He greeted her with the +assurance of an old and valued friend, and he called her +neither Miss nor Mrs.; he called her nothing at all. Audrey +accepted his lead.</p> + +<p>“And is your Society still alive?” she asked with casual +polite disdain.</p> + +<p>“Going strong!” said Mr. Cowl. “More flourishing +than ever—in spite of our bad luck.” He lifted his sandy-coloured +eyebrows. “Of course I’m here on Society business. +In fact, I often have to come to Paris on Society +business.” His glance deprecated the appearance of the +table over which his rounded form was protruding.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m glad to have seen you again,” said Audrey, +holding out her hand.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” said Mr. Cowl, drawing some tickets from +his pocket. “I wonder whether you—and your friends—would +care to go to a concert to-night at the Salle Xavier. +The concierge at my hotel is giving tickets away, and I +took some—rather to oblige him than anything else. For +one never knows when a concierge may not be useful. I +don’t suppose it will be anything great, but it will pass the +time, and—er—strangers in Paris——”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Cowl, but I’m not a stranger in Paris. +I live here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Cowl. “Excuse +me. Then you won’t take them? Pity! I hate to see +anything wasted.”</p> + +<p>Audrey was both desolated and infuriated.</p> + +<p>“Remember me respectfully to Miss Ingate, please,” +finished Mr. Cowl. “She didn’t see me as she passed.”</p> + +<p>He returned the tickets to his pocket.</p> + +<p>Outside, Madame Piriac, standing by her automobile, +which had rolled up with the silence of an hallucination, +took leave of Audrey.</p> + +<p>“<em>Eh bien! Au revoir!</em>“ said she shortly, with a peculiar +challenging half-smile, which seemed to be saying, “Are you +going to be worthy of my education? Let us hope so.”</p> + +<p>And Miss Nickall, with her grey hair growing fluffier +under a somewhat rakish hat, said with a smile of sheer +intense watchful benevolence:</p> + +<p>“Well, good-bye!”</p> + +<p>While Nick was ecstatically thanking Mr. Gilman for +his hospitality, Tommy called Audrey aside. Madame +Piriac’s car had vanished.</p> + +<p>“Have you heard about the rehearsal this morning?” +she asked, in a confidential tone, anxious and yet quizzical.</p> + +<p>“No! What about it?” Audrey demanded. Various +apprehensions were competing for attention in her brain. +The episode of Mr. Cowl had agitated her considerably. +And now she was standing right against the column +bearing Musa’s name in those large letters, and other +columns up and down the gay, busy street echoed clear +the name. And how unreal it was!... Tickets being +given away in half-dozens!... She ought to have been +profoundly disturbed by such a revelation, and she was. +But here was the drive with Mr. Gilman insisting on a +monopoly of all her faculties. And on the top of everything—Tommy +with her strange gaze and tone! Tommy +carefully hesitated before replying.</p> + +<p>“He lost his temper and left it in the middle—orchestra +and conductor and Xavier and all! And he swore he +wouldn’t play to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he did.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you?”</p> + +<p>Already the two women were addressing each other +as foes.</p> + +<p>“A man I know in the orchestra.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you tell us at once—when you came?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I didn’t want to spoil the luncheon. But of +course I ought to have done. You, at any rate, seeing +your interest in the concert! I’m sorry.”</p> + +<p>“My interest in the concert?” Audrey objected.</p> + +<p>“Well, my girl,” said Tommy, half cajolingly and half +threateningly, “you aren’t going to stand there and tell +me to my face that you haven’t put up that concert +for him?”</p> + +<p>“Put up the concert! Put up the——” Audrey knew +she was blushing.</p> + +<p>“Paid for it! Paid for it!” said Tommy, with +impatience.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_40" id="chapter_40" />CHAPTER XL</h2> + + +<h3>GENIUS AT BAY</h3> + +<p>Audrey got away from the group in front of the restaurant +with stammering words and crimson confusion. She ran. +She stopped a taxi and stumbled into it. There remained +with her vividly the vision of the startled, entirely puzzled +face of Mr. Gilman, who in an instant had been transformed +from a happy, dignified and excusably self-satisfied +human male into an outraged rebel whose grievance had +overwhelmed his dignity. She had said hurriedly: “Please +excuse me not coming with you. But Tommy says something’s +happened to Musa, and I must go and see. It’s +very important.” And that was all she had said. Had +she asked him to drive her to Musa’s, Mr. Gilman would +have been very pleased to do so; but she did not think +of that till it was too late. Her precipitancy had been +terrible, and had staggered even Tommy. She had no +idea how the group would arrange itself. And she had +no very clear idea as to what was wrong with Musa or +how matters stood in regard to the concert. Tommy had +asserted that she did not know whether the orchestra and +its conductor meant to be at their desks in the evening +just as though nothing whatever had occurred at the +rehearsal. All was vague, and all was disturbing. She +had asked Tommy the authority for her assertion that +she, Audrey, was financing the concert. To which Tommy +had replied that she had “guessed, of course.” And seeing +that Audrey had only interviewed a concert agent once—and +he a London concert agent with relations in Paris +—and that she had never uttered a word about the affair +to anybody except Mr. Foulger, who had been keeping +an eye on the expenditure, it was not improbable that +Tommy had just guessed. But she had guessed right. +She was an uncanny woman. “Have you ever spoken +to Musa about—it?” Audrey had passionately demanded; +and Tommy had answered also passionately: “Of course +not. I’m a white woman all through. Haven’t you learnt +that yet?”</p> + +<p>The taxi, although it was a horse-taxi and incapable of +moving at more than five miles an hour, reached the Rue +Cassette, which was on the other side of the river and +quite a long way off, in no time. That is to say, Audrey +was not aware that any time had passed. She had +received the address from Tommy, for it was a new +address, Musa having admittedly risen in the world. The +house was an old one; it had a curious staircase, with +china knobs on the principal banisters of the rail, and +crimson-tasselled bell cords at all the doors of the flats. +Musa lived at the summit of it. Audrey arrived there +short of breath, took the crimson-tasselled cord in her +hand to pull, and then hesitated in order to think.</p> + +<p>Why had she come? The response was clear. She +had come solely because she hated to see a job botched, +and there was not a moment to lose if it was not to be +botched. She had come, not because she had the slightest +sympathetic interest in Musa—on the contrary, she was +coldly angry with him—but because she had a horror of +fiascos. She had found a genius who needed financing, +and she, possessing some tons of money, had financed +him, and she did not mean to see an ounce of her money +wasted if she could help it. Her interest in the affair +was artistic and impersonal, and none other. It was the +duty of wealthy magnates to foster art, and she was +fostering art, and she would have the thing done neatly +and completely, or she would know the reason. Fancy +a rational creature making a scene at a final rehearsal +and swearing that he would not play, and then bolting! +It was monstrous! People really did not do such things. +Assuredly no artist had ever done such a thing before. +Artists who had a concert all to themselves invariably +appeared according to advertised promise. An artist who +was only one among several in a programme might fall +ill and fail to appear, for such artists are liable to the +accidents of earthly existence. But an artist who shared +the programme with nobody else was above the accidents +of earthly existence and magically protected against colds, +coughs, influenza, orange peel, automobiles, and all the +other enemies of mankind. But, of course, Musa was +peculiar, erratic and unpredictable beyond even the wide +range granted by society to genius. And yet of late he +had been behaving himself in a marvellous manner. He +had never bothered her. On the voyage back to France +he had not bothered her. They had separated with +punctilious cordiality. Neither of them had written to the +other, but she knew that he was working diligently and +satisfactorily. He was apparently cured of her. It was +perhaps due to the seeming completeness of his cure that +her relations with Mr. Gilman had been what they were. +... And now, suddenly, this!</p> + +<p>So with clear conscience she pulled the bell cord.</p> + +<p>Musa himself opened the door. He was coatless and +in a dressing-gown, under which showed glimpses of a new +smartness. As soon as he saw her he went very pale.</p> + +<p>“<em>Bon jour</em>,” she said.</p> + +<p>He repeated the phrase stiffly.</p> + +<p>“Can I come in?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He silently signified, with a certain annoying resignation, +that she might. For one instant she was under a +tremendous impulse to walk grandly and haughtily down the +stairs. But she conquered the impulse. He was so pale.</p> + +<p>“This way, excuse me,” he said, and preceded her along +a short, narrow passage which ended in an open door leading +into a small room. There was no carpet on the floor of +the passage, and only a quite inadequate rug on the floor +of the room. The furniture was scanty and poor. There +was a table, a music stand, a cheap imitation of a Louis +Quatorze chair, two other chairs, and some piles of music. +No curtains to the window! Not a picture on the walls! +On the table a dusty disorder of small objects, including ash-trays, +and towards the back of it a little account book, open, +with a pencil on it and a low pile of coppers and a silver +ten-sou piece on the top of the coppers. Nevertheless this +interior represented a novel luxuriousness for Musa; for +previously, as Audrey knew, he had lived in one room, and +there was no bed here. The flat, indeed, actually comprised +three rooms. The account book and the pitiful heap +of coins touched her. She had expended much on the enterprise +of launching him to glory, and those coins seemed to +be all that had filtered through to him. The whole dwelling +was pathetic, and she thought of the splendours of her own +daily life, of the absolute unimportance to her of such sums +as would keep Musa in content for a year or for ten years, +and of the grandiose, majestic, dazzling career of herself and +Mr. Gilman when their respective fortunes should be joined +together. And she mysteriously saw Mr. Gilman’s face +again, and that too was pathetic. Everything was pathetic. +She alone seemed to be hard, dominating, overbearing. Her +conscience waked to fresh activity. Was she losing her +soul? Where were her ideals? Could she really work in +full honesty for the feminist cause as the wife of a man +like Mr. Gilman? He was adorable: she felt in that +moment that she had a genuine affection for him; but could +Mrs. Gilman challenge the police, retort audaciously upon +magistrates, and lie in prison? In a word, could she be a +martyr? Would Mr. Gilman, with all his amenability, consent? +Would she herself consent? Would it not be +ridiculous? Thus her flying, shamed thoughts in front of +the waiting Musa!</p> + +<p>“Then you aren’t ill?” she began.</p> + +<p>“Ill!” he exclaimed. “Why do you wish that I should +be ill?”</p> + +<p>As he answered her he removed his open fiddle case, with +the violin inside it, from the Louis Quatorze chair, and +signed to her to sit down. She sat down.</p> + +<p>“I heard that—this morning—at the rehearsal——”</p> + +<p>“Ah! You have heard that?”</p> + +<p>“And I thought perhaps you were ill. So I came to see.”</p> + +<p>“What have you heard?”</p> + +<p>“Frankly, Musa, it is said that you said you would not +play to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Does it concern you?”</p> + +<p>“It concerns everyone.... And you have been so +good lately.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! I have been good lately. You have heard that. +And did you expect me to continue to be good when you +returned to Paris and passed all your days in public with +that antique and grotesque Monsieur Gilman? All the world +sees you. I myself have seen you. It is horrible.”</p> + +<p>She controlled herself. And the fact that she was intensely +flattered helped her to do so.</p> + +<p>“Now Musa,” she said, firmly and kindly, as on previous +occasions she had spoken to him. “Do be reasonable. I +refuse to be angry, and it is impossible for you to insult me, +however much you try. But do be reasonable. Do think +of the future. We are all wishing for your success. We +shall all be there. And now you say you aren’t going to +play. It is really too much.”</p> + +<p>“You have perhaps bought tickets,” said Musa, and a +flush gradually spread over his cheeks. “You have perhaps +bought tickets, and you are afraid lest you have been +robbed. Tranquillise yourself, Madame. If you have the +least fear, I will instruct my agent to reimburse you. And +why should I not play? Naturally I shall play. Accept my +word, if you can.” He spoke with an icy and convincing +decision.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so glad!” Audrey murmured.</p> + +<p>“What right have you to be glad, Madame? If you are +glad it is your own affair. Have I troubled you since we +last met? I need the sympathy of nobody. I am assured +of a large audience. My impresario is excessively optimistic. +And if this is so, I owe it to none but myself. You speak +of insults. Permit me to say that I regard your patronage +as an insult. I have done nothing, I imagine, to deserve +it. I crack my head to divine what I have done to deserve +it. You hear some silly talk about a rehearsal and you +precipitate yourself <em>chez moi</em>—”</p> + +<p>Without a word Audrey rose and departed. He followed +her to the door and held it open.</p> + +<p>“<em>Bon jour</em>, Madame.”</p> + +<p>She descended the stairs. Perhaps it was his sudden +illogical change of tone; perhaps it was the memory of his +phrase, “assured of a large audience,” coupled with a +picture of the sinister Mr. Cowl unsuccessfully trying to +give away tickets—but whatever was the origin of the sob, +she did give a sob. As she walked downcast through the +courtyard she heard clearly the sounds of Musa’s violin, +played with savage vigour.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_41" id="chapter_41" />CHAPTER XLI</h2> + + +<h3>FINANCIAL NEWS</h3> + +<p>The Salle Xavier, or Xavier Hall, had been built, with +other people’s money, by Xavier in order to force the +general public to do something which the general public +does not want to do and never would do of its own accord. +Namely, to listen to high-class music. It had not been built, +and it was not run, strange to say, to advertise a certain +brand of piano. Xavier was an old Jew, of surpassing +ugliness, from Cracow or some such place. He looked a +rascal, and he was one—admittedly; he himself would imply +it, if not crudely admit it. He had no personal interest in +music, either high-class or low-class. But he possessed a +gift for languages and he had mixed a great deal with +musicians in an informal manner. Wagner, at Venice, had +once threatened Xavier with a stick, and also Xavier had +twice run away with great exponents of the rôle of Isolde. +His competence as a connoisseur of Wagner’s music, and +of the proper methods of rendering Wagner’s music, could +therefore not be questioned, and it was not questioned.</p> + +<p>He had a habit of initiating grandiose schemes for opera +or concerts and of obtaining money therefor from wealthy +amateurs. After a few months he would return the money +less ten per cent. for preliminary expenses and plus his +regrets that the schemes had unhappily fallen through owing +to unforeseen difficulties. And wealthy amateurs were so +astonished to get ninety per cent. of their money back from +a rascal that they thought him almost an honest man, asked +him to dinner, and listened sympathetically to details of +his next grandiose scheme. The Xavier Hall was one of the +few schemes—and the only real estate scheme—that had +ever gone through. With the hall for a centre, Xavier laid +daily his plans and conspiracies for persuading the public +against its will. To this end he employed in large numbers +clerks, printers, bill posters, ticket agents, doorkeepers, programme +writers, programme sellers, charwomen, and even +artists. He always had some new dodge or hope. The hall +was let several times a week for concerts or other entertainments, +and many of them were private speculations of +Xavier. They were nearly all failures. And the hall, +thoroughly accustomed to seeing itself half empty, did not +pay interest on its capital. How could it? Upon occasions +there had actually been more persons in the orchestra than +in the audience. Seated in the foyer, with one eye upon a +shabby programme girl and another upon the street outside, +Xavier would sometimes refer to these facts in conversation +with a titled patron, and would describe the public +realistically and without pretence of illusion. Nevertheless, +Xavier had grown to be a rich man, for percentages were his +hourly food; he received them even from programme sellers. +At nine o’clock the hall was rather less than half full, +and this was rightly regarded as very promising, for the +management, like the management of every place of distraction +in Paris, held it a point of honour to start from twenty +to thirty minutes late—as though all Parisians had many +ages ago decided that in Paris one could not be punctual, +and that, long since tired of waiting for each other, they +had entered into a competition to make each other wait, the +individual who arrived last being universally regarded as +the winner. The members of the orchestra were filing +negligently in from the back of the vast terraced platform, +yawning, and ravaged by the fearful ennui of eternal high-class +music. They entered in dozens and scores, and they +kept on entering, and as they gazed inimically at each other, +fingering their instruments, their pale faces seemed to be +asking: “Why should it be necessary to collect so many +of us in order to prove that just one single human being +can play the violin? We can all play the violin, or something +else just as good. And we have all been geniuses in +our time.”</p> + +<p>In strong contrast to their fatigued and disastrous indifference +was the demeanour of a considerable group of +demonstrators in the gallery. This body had crossed the +Seine from the sacred Quarter, and, not owning a wardrobe +sufficiently impressive to entitle it to ask for free seats, it +had paid for its seats. Hence naturally its seats were the +worst in the hall. But the group did not care. It was +capable of exciting itself about high-class music. Moreover +it had, for that night, an article of religious faith, to +wit, that Musa was the greatest violinist that had ever lived +or ever could live, and it was determined to prove this article +of faith by sheer force of hands and feet. Therefore it was +very happy, and just a little noisy.</p> + +<p>In the main part of the hall the audience could be +divided into two species, one less numerous than the other. +First, the devotees of music, who went to nearly every +concert, extremely knowing, extremely blasé, extremely +disdainful and fastidious, with precise views about every +musical composition, every conductor, and every performer; +weary of melodious nights at which the same melodies were +ever heard, but addicted to them, as some people are +addicted to vices equally deleterious. These devotees would +have had trouble with their conscience or their instincts had +they not, by coming to the concert, put themselves in a +position to affirm exactly and positively what manner of a +performer Musa was. They had no hope of being pleased +by him. Indeed they knew beforehand that he was yet +another false star, but they had to ascertain the truth for +themselves, because—you see—there was a slight chance +that he might be a genuine star, in which case their careers +would have been ruined had they not been able to say to +succeeding generations: “I was at his first concert. It was +a memorable,” etc. etc. They were an emaciated tribe, +and in fact had the air of mummies temporarily revived and +escaped out of museums. They were shabby, but not with +the gallery shabbiness; they were shabby because shabbiness +was part of their unworldly refinement; and it did not +matter—they would have got their free seats even if they +had come in sacks and cerements.</p> + +<p>The second main division of the audience—and the +larger—consisted of the jolly pleasure seekers, who had +dined well, who respected Beethoven no more than Oscar +Straus, and who demanded only one boon—not to be bored. +They had full dimpled cheeks, and they were adequately +attired, and they dropped cigarettes with reluctance in the +foyer, and they entered adventurously with marked courage, +well aware that they had come to something queer and +dangerous, something that was neither a revue nor a +musical comedy, and, while hoping optimistically for the +best, determined to march boldly out again in the event +of the worst. They had seven mortal evenings a week to +dispose of somehow, and occasionally they were obliged to +take risks. Their expressions for the most part had that +condescension which is characteristic of those who take a +risk without being paid for it.</p> + +<p>All around the hall ran a horseshoe of private boxes, +between the balcony and the gallery. These boxes gradually +filled. At a quarter-past nine over half of them were +occupied; which fact, combined with the stylishness of the +hats in them, proved that Xavier had immense skill in +certain directions, and that on that night, for some reason +or other, he had been doing his very best.</p> + +<p>At twenty minutes past nine the audience had coalesced +and become an entity, and the group from the Quarter was +stamping an imitation of the first bars of the C minor +Symphony, to indicate that further delay might involve +complications.</p> + +<p>Audrey sat with Miss Ingate modestly and inconspicuously +in the fifth row of the stalls. Miss Ingate, prodigious +in crimson, was in a state of beatitude, because she +never went to concerts and imagined that she had inadvertently +slipped into heaven. The mere size of the +orchestra so overwhelmed her that she was convinced that +it was an orchestra specially enlarged to meet the unique +importance of Musa’s genius. “They <em>must</em> think highly of +him!” she said. She employed the time in looking about +her. She had already found, besides many other Anglo-Saxon +acquaintances, Rosamund, in black, Tommy with +Nick, and Mr. Cowl, who was one seat to Audrey’s left in +the sixth row of the stalls. Also Mr. Gilman and Madame +Piriac and Monsieur Piriac in a double box. Audrey and +herself ought to have been in that box, and had the afternoon +developed otherwise they probably would have been in that +box. Fortunately at the luncheon, Audrey, who had +bought various lots of seats, had with the strange cautiousness +of a young girl left herself free to utilise or not to +utilise the offered hospitality of Mr. Gilman’s double box, +and Mr. Gilman had not pressed her for a decision. Was +it not important that the hall should seem as full as +possible? When Miss Ingate, pushing her investigations +farther, had discovered not merely Monsieur Dauphin, but +Mr. Ziegler, late of Frinton and now resident in Paris, her +cup was full.</p> + +<p>“It’s vehy wonderful, <em>vehy</em> wonderful!” said she.</p> + +<p>But it was Audrey who most deeply had the sense of +the wonderfulness of the thing. For it was Audrey who +had created it. Having months ago comprehended that a +formal and splendid debut was necessary for Musa if he +was to succeed within a reasonable space of time, she had +willed the debut within her own brain. She alone had +thought of it. And now the realisation seemed to her to be +absolutely a miracle. Had she read of such an affair a +year earlier in a newspaper—with the words “Paris,” “<em>tout +Paris</em>,” “young genius,” and so on—she would have +pictured it as gloriously, thrillingly romantic, and it indeed +was gloriously and thrillingly romantic. She thought: +“None of these people sitting around me know that +I have brought it about, and that it is all mine.” The +thought was sweet. She felt like an invisible African genie +out of the Thousand and One Nights.</p> + +<p>And yet what had she done to bring it about? Nothing, +simply nothing, except to command it! She had not even +signed cheques. Mr. Foulger had signed the cheques! Mr. +Foulger, who set down the whole enterprise as incomprehensible +lunacy! Mr. Foulger, who had never been to +aught but a smoking-concert in his life, and who could +not pronounce the name of Beethoven without hesitations! +The great deed had cost money, and it would cost more +money; it would probably cost four hundred pounds ere it +was finished with. An extravagant sum, but Xavier had +motor-cars and toys even more expensive than motor-cars +to keep up! Audrey, however, considered it a small sum, +compared to the terrific spectacular effect obtained. And +she was right. The attributes of money seemed entirely +magical to her. And she was right again. She respected +money with a new respect. And she respected herself for +using money with such large grandeur.</p> + +<p>And withal she was most horribly nervous, just as +nervous as though it was she who was doomed to face +the indifferent and exacting audience with nothing but a +violin bow for weapon. She was so nervous that she +could not listen, could not even follow Miss Ingate’s simple +remarks; she heard them as from a long distance, and +grasped them after a long interval. Still, she was uplifted, +doughty, and proud. The humiliation of the afternoon had +vanished like a mist. Nay, she felt glad that Musa had +behaved to her just as he did behave. His mien pleased +her; his wounding words, each of which she clearly remembered, +were a source of delight. She had never +admired him so much. She had now no resentment against +him. He had proved that her hopes of him were, after all, +well justified. He would succeed. Only some silly and improbable +accident could stop him from succeeding. She +was not nervous about his success. She was nervous for +him. She became him. She tuned his fiddle, gathered +herself together and walked on to the platform, bowed to +the dim multitudinous heads in front of him, looked at the +conductor, waited for the opening bars, drew his bow +across his strings at precisely the correct second, and heard +the resulting sound under her ear. And all that before the +conductor had appeared! Such were the manifestations of +her purely personal desire for the achievement of a neat, +clean job.</p> + +<p>“See!” said Miss Ingate. “Mr. Gilman is bowing to +us. He does look splendid, and isn’t Madame Piriac lovely? +I must say I don’t care so much for these French husbands.”</p> + +<p>Audrey had to turn and join Miss Ingate in acknowledging +the elaborate bow. At any rate, then, Mr. Gilman had +not been utterly estranged by her capricious abandonment of +him. And why should he be? He was a man of sense; +he would understand perfectly when she explained to-morrow. +Further, he was her slave. She was sure of him. She +would apologise to him. She would richly recompense him +by smiles and honey and charming persuasive simplicity. +And he would see that with all her innocent and modest +ingenuousness she was capable of acting seriously and +effectively in a sudden crisis. She would rise higher in +his esteem. As for the foreseen proposal, well——</p> + +<p>A sporadic clapping wakened her out of those reflections. +The conductor was approaching his desk. The orchestra +applauded him. He tapped the desk and raised his stick. +And there was a loud noise, the thumping of her heart. +The concert had begun. Musa was still invisible—what +was he doing at that instant, somewhere behind?—but the +concert had begun. Stars do not take part in the first +item of an orchestral concert. There is a convention that +they shall be preluded; and Musa was preluded by the +overture to <em>Die Meistersinger</em>. In the soft second section +of the overture, a most noticeable babble came from a +stage-box. “Oh! It’s the Foas,” muttered Miss Ingate. +“What a lot of people are fussing around them!” “Hsh!” +frowned Audrey, outraged by the interruption. Madame +Foa took about fifty bars in which to settle herself, and +Monsieur Foa chattered to people behind him as freely as +if he had been in a café Nobody seemed to mind.</p> + +<p>The overture was applauded, but Madame Foa, instead +of applauding, leaned gracefully back, smiling, and waved +somebody to the seat beside her.</p> + +<p>Violent demonstrations from the gallery!... He was +there, tripping down the stepped pathway between the +drums. The demonstrations grew general. The orchestra +applauded after its own fashion. He reached the conductor, +smiled at the conductor and bowed very admirably. +He seemed to be absolutely at his ease. Then there was +a delay. The conductor’s scores had got themselves mixed +up. It was dreadful. It was enough to make a woman +shriek.</p> + +<p>“I say!” said a voice in Audrey’s ear. She turned as +if shot. Mr. Cowl’s round face was close to hers. “I +suppose you saw the <em>New York Herald</em> this morning.”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Audrey impatiently.</p> + +<p>The orchestra started the Beethoven violin Concerto. +But Mr. Cowl kept his course.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you?” he said. “About the Zacatecas Oil +Corporation? It’s under a receivership. It’s gone smash. +I’ve had an idea for some time it would. All due to these +Mexican revolutions. I thought you might like to know.”</p> + +<p>Musa’s bow hung firmly over the strings.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_42" id="chapter_42" />CHAPTER XLII</h2> + + +<h3>INTERVAL</h3> + +<p>The most sinister feature of entertainments organised by +Xavier was the intervals. Xavier laid stress on intervals; +they gave repose, and in many cases they saved money. All +Paris managers are inclined to give to the interval the +importance of a star turn, and Xavier in this respect surpassed +his rivals, though he perhaps regarded his cloak-rooms, +which were organised to cause the largest possible +amount of inconvenience to the largest possible number of +people, as his surest financial buttress. Xavier could or +would never see the close resemblance of intervals to wet +blankets, extinguishers, palls and hostile critics. The +Allegro movement of the Concerto was a real success, and +the audience as a whole would have applauded even more if +the gallery in particular had not applauded so much. The +second or Larghetto movement was also a success, but to a +less degree. As for the third and last movement, it put the +gallery into an ecstasy while leaving the floor in possession +of full critical faculties. Musa retired and had to return, +and when he returned the floor good-humouredly joined the +vociferous gallery in laudations, and he had to return again. +Then the interminable interval. Silence! Murmurings! +Silence! Creepings towards exits! And in many, very +many hearts the secret trouble question: “Why are we +here? What have we come for? What is all this pother +about art and genius? Honestly, shall we not be glad and +relieved when the solemn old thing is over?"... And +the desolating, cynical indifference of the conductor and the +orchestra! Often there is a clearer vision of the truth +during the intervals of a classical concert than on a +deathbed.</p> + +<p>Audrey was extremely depressed in the interval after +the Beethoven Concerto and before the Lalo. But she was +not depressed by the news of the accident to the Zacatecas +Oil Corporation in which was the major part of her wealth. +The tidings had stunned rather than injured that part of her +which was capable of being affected by finance. She had +not felt the blow. Moreover she was protected by the +knowledge that she had thousands of pounds in hand and +also the Moze property intact, and further she was already +reconsidering her newly-acquired respect for money. No! +What depressed her was a doubt as to the genius of Musa. +In the long dreadful pause it seemed impossible that he +should have genius. The entire concert presented itself as +a grotesque farce, of which she as its creator ought to be +ashamed. She was ready to kill Xavier or his responsible +representative.</p> + +<p>Then she saw the tall and calm Rosamund, with her +grey hair and black attire and her subduing self-complacency, +making a way between the rows of stalls towards +her.</p> + +<p>“I wanted to see you,” said Rosamund, after the formal +greetings. “Very much.” Her voice was as kind and as +unrelenting as the grave.</p> + +<p>At this point Miss Ingate ought to have yielded her +seat to the terrific Rosamund, but she failed to do so, +doubtless by inadvertence.</p> + +<p>“Will you come into the foyer for a moment?” Rosamund +inflexibly suggested.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t the interval nearly over?” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!”</p> + +<p>And as a fact there was not the slightest sign of the +interval being nearly over. Audrey obediently rose. But +the invitation had been so conspicuously addressed to herself +that Miss Ingate, gathering her wits, remained in her +chair.</p> + +<p>The foyer—decorated in the Cracovian taste—was dotted +with cigarette smokers and with those who had fled from +the interval. Rosamund did not sit down; she did not try +for seclusion in a corner. She stepped well into the foyer, +and then stood still, and absently lighted a cigarette, +omitting to offer a cigarette to Audrey. Rosamund’s air of +a deaconess made the cigarette extremely remarkable.</p> + +<p>“I wanted to tell you about Jane Foley,” began +Rosamund quietly. “Have you heard?”</p> + +<p>“No! What?”</p> + +<p>“Of course you haven’t. I alone knew. She has run +away to England.”</p> + +<p>“Run away! But she’ll be caught!”</p> + +<p>“She may be. But that is not all. She has run away +to get married. She dared not tell me. She wrote me. +She put the letter in the manuscript of the last chapter +but one of her book, which I am revising for her. She will +almost certainly be caught if she tries to get married in +her own name. Therefore she will get married in a false +name. All this, however, is not what I wanted to tell +you about.”</p> + +<p>“Then you shouldn’t have begun to talk about it,” said +Audrey suddenly. “Did you expect me to let you leave it +in the middle! Jane getting married! I do think she +might have told me.... What next, I wonder! I suppose +you’ve—er—lost her now?”</p> + +<p>“Not entirely, I believe,” said Rosamund. “Certainly +not entirely. But of course I could never trust her again. +This is the worst blow I have ever had. She says—but why +go into that? Well, she does say she will work as hard +as ever, nearly; and that her future husband strongly +supports us—and so on.” Rosamund smiled with complete +detachment.</p> + +<p>“And who’s he?” Audrey demanded.</p> + +<p>“His name is Aguilar,” said Rosamund. “So she says.”</p> + +<p>“Aguilar?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I gather—I say I gather—that he belongs to +the industrial class. But of course that is precisely the +class that Jane springs from. Odd! Is it not? Heredity, +I presume.” She raised her shoulders.</p> + +<p>Audrey said nothing. She was too shocked to speak—not +pained or outraged, but simply shaken. What in the +name of Juno could Jane see in Aguilar? Jane, to whom +every man was the hereditary enemy! Aguilar, who had +no use for either man or woman! Aguilar, a man without +a Christian name, one of those men in connection with +whom a Christian name is impossibly ridiculous. How +should she, Audrey, address Aguilar in future? Would he +have to be asked to tea? These vital questions naturally +transcended all others in Audrey’s mind.... Still (she +veered round), it was perhaps after all just the union that +might have been expected.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said Rosamund at length, “I have a +question to put to you.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want a definite answer here and now.” She +looked round disdainfully at the foyer. “But I do want +to set your mind on the right track at the earliest possible +moment—before any accidents occur.” She smiled +satirically. “You see how frank I am with you. I’ll be +more frank still, and tell you that I came to this concert +to-night specially to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Did you?” Audrey murmured. “Well!”</p> + +<p>The older woman looked down upon her from a superior +height. Her eyes were those of an autocrat. It was +quite possible to see in them the born leader who had +dominated thousands of women and played a drawn game +with the British Government itself. But Audrey, at the +very moment when she was feeling the overbearing magic +of that gaze, happened to remember the scene in Madame +Piriac’s automobile on the night of her first arrival in +Paris, when she herself was asleep and Rosamund, not +knowing that she was asleep, had been solemnly addressing +her. Miss Ingate’s often repeated account of the scene +always made her laugh, and the memory of it now caused +her to smile faintly.</p> + +<p>“I want to suggest to you,” Rosamund proceeded, +“that you begin to work for me.”</p> + +<p>“For the suffrage—or for you?”</p> + +<p>“It is the same thing,” said Rosamund coldly. “I +am the suffrage. Without me the cause would not have +existed to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Audrey, “of course I will. I have done +a bit already, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know,” Rosamund admitted. “You did very +well at the Blue City. That’s why I’m approaching you. +That’s why I’ve chosen you.”</p> + +<p>“Chosen me for what?”</p> + +<p>“You know that a new great campaign will soon begin. +It is all arranged. It will necessitate my returning to +England and challenging the police. You know also that +Jane Foley was to have been my lieutenant-in-chief—for +the active part of the operation. You will admit that I +can no longer count on her completely. Will you take +her place?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll help,” said Audrey. “I’ll do what I can. I dare +say I shan’t have much money, because one of those +’accidents’ you mentioned has happened to me already.”</p> + +<p>“That need not trouble you,” replied Rosamund imperturbable. +“I have always been able to get all the +money that was needed.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll help all I can.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not what I ask,” said Rosamund inflexibly. +“Will you take Jane Foley’s place? Will you give yourself +utterly?”</p> + +<p>Audrey answered with sudden vehemence:</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t. You didn’t want a definite answer, but +there it is.”</p> + +<p>“But surely you believe in the cause?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the greatest of all causes.”</p> + +<p>“I’m rather inclined to think it is.”</p> + +<p>“Why not give yourself, then? You are free. I have +given myself, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Audrey, who resented the appellation of +“child.” “But, you see, it’s your hobby.”</p> + +<p>“My hobby, Mrs. Moncreiff!” exclaimed Rosamund.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, your hobby,” Audrey persisted.</p> + +<p>“I have sacrificed everything to it,” said Rosamund.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” said Audrey. “I don’t think you’ve +sacrificed anything to it. You just enjoy bossing other +people above everything, and it gives you every chance +to boss. And you enjoy plots too, and look at the chances +you get for that’. Mind you, I like you for it. I think +you’re splendid. Only <em>I</em> don’t want to be a monomaniac, +and I won’t be.” Her convictions seemed to have become +suddenly clear and absolutely decided.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to infer that I am a monomaniac?” +asked Rosamund, raising her eyebrows—but only a little.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Audrey, “as you mentioned frankness—what +else would you call yourself but a monomaniac? +You only live for one thing—don’t you, now?”</p> + +<p>“It is the greatest thing.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t say it isn’t,” Audrey admitted. “But I’ve +been thinking a good deal about all this, and at last I’ve +come to the conclusion that one thing-isn’t enough for +me, not nearly enough. And I’m not going to be peculiar +at any price. Neither a fanatic nor a monomaniac, nor +anything like that.”</p> + +<p>“You are in love,” asserted Rosamund.</p> + +<p>“And what if I am? If you ask me, I think a girl +who isn’t in love ought to be somewhat ashamed of herself, +or at least sorry for herself. And I am sorry for myself, +because I am not in love. I wish I was. Why shouldn’t +I be? It must be lovely to be in love. If I was in love +I shouldn’t be <em>only</em> in love. You think you understand +what girls are nowadays, but you don’t. I didn’t myself +until just lately. But I’m beginning to. Girls were +supposed to be only interested in one thing—in your time. +Monomaniacs, that’s what they had to be. You changed +all that, or you’re trying to change it, but you only mean +women to be monomaniacs about something else. It isn’t +good enough. I want everything, and I’m going to get it—or +have a good try for it. I’ll never be a martyr if I can +help it. And I believe I can help it. I believe I’ve got +just enough common sense to save me from being a martyr +—either to a husband or a house or family—or a cause. +I want to have a husband and a house and a family, +and a cause too. That’ll be just about everything, won’t +it? And if you imagine I can’t look after all of them at +once, all I can say is I don’t agree with you. Because +I’ve got an idea I can. Supposing I had all these things, +I fancy I could have a tiff with my husband and make +it up, play with my children, alter a dress, change the +furniture, tackle the servants, and go out to a meeting +and perhaps have a difficulty with the police—all in one +day. Only if I did get into trouble with the police I +should pay the fine—you see. The police aren’t going to +have me altogether. Nobody is. Nobody, man or woman, +is going to be able to boast that he’s got me altogether. +You think you’re independent. But you aren’t. We girls +will show you what independence is.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a rather surprising young creature,” observed +Rosamund with a casual air, unmoved. “You’re quite +excited.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I surprise myself. But these things do come +in bursts. I’ve noticed that before. They weren’t clear +when you began to talk. They’re clear now.”</p> + +<p>“Let me tell you this,” said Rosamund. “A cause +must have martyrs.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see it,” Audrey protested. “I should have +thought common sense would be lots more useful than +martyrs. And monomaniacs never do have common +sense.”</p> + +<p>“You’re very young.”</p> + +<p>“Is that meant for an insult, or is it just a statement?” +Audrey laughed pleasantly.</p> + +<p>And Rosamund laughed too.</p> + +<p>“It’s just a statement,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Well, here’s another statement,” said Audrey. “You’re +very old. That’s where I have the advantage of you. +Still, tell me what I can do in your new campaign, and +I’ll do it if I can. But there isn’t going to be any utterly +—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“I think the interval is over,” said Rosamund with +finality. “Perhaps we’d better adjourn.”</p> + +<p>The foyer had nearly emptied. The distant sound of +music could be heard.</p> + +<p>As she was re-entering the hall, Audrey met Mr. Cowl, +who was coming out.</p> + +<p>“I have decided I can’t stand any more,” Mr. Cowl +remarked in a loud whisper. “I hope you didn’t mind +me telling you about the Zacatecas. As I said, I thought +you might be interested. Good-bye. So pleasant to have +met you again, dear lady.” His face had the same +enigmatic smile which had made him so formidable at +Moze.</p> + +<p>Musa had already begun to play the Spanish Symphony +of Lalo, without which no genius is permitted to make +his formal debut on the violin in France.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_43" id="chapter_43" />CHAPTER XLIII</h2> + + +<h3>ENTR’ACTE</h3> + +<p>After the Spanish Symphony not only the conductor but +the entire orchestra followed Musa from the platform, and +Audrey understood that the previous interval had not really +been an interval and that the first genuine interval was +about to begin. The audience seemed to understand this +too, for practically the whole of it stood up and moved +towards the doors. Audrey would have stayed in her +seat, but Miss Ingate expressed a desire to go out and +“see the fun” in the foyer, and, moreover, she asserted +that the Foas from their box had been signalling to her +and Audrey an intention to meet them in the foyer. Miss +Ingate was in excellent spirits. She said it beat her how +Musa’s fingers could get through so many notes in so +short a time, and also that it made her feel tired even +to watch the fingers. She was convinced that nobody had +ever handled the violin so marvellously before. As for +success, Musa had been recalled, and the applause from +the gallery, fired by its religious belief, was obstinate and +extremely vociferous. Audrey, however, was aware of +terrible sick qualms, for she knew that Musa was not so +far dominating his public. Much of the applause had +obviously the worst quality that applause can have—it was +good-natured. Yet she could not accept failure for Musa. +Failure would be too monstrous an injustice, and therefore +it could not happen.</p> + +<p>The emptiness of the Foas’ box indicated that Miss +Ingate might be correct in her interpretation of signals, +and Audrey allowed herself to be led away from the now +forlorn auditorium. As they filed along the gangways she +had to listen to the indifferent remarks of utterly unprejudiced +and uninterested persons about the performance +of genius, and further she had to learn that a fair proportion +of them were departing with no intention to return. +In the thronged foyer they saw Mr. Gilman, alone, before +he saw them. He was carrying a box of chocolates—doubtless +one of the little things that Mr. Price had had +instructions to provide for the evening, Mr. Gilman perhaps +would not have caught sight of them had it not been +for the stridency of Miss Ingate’s voice, which caused him +to turn round.</p> + +<p>Audrey experienced once again the sensation—which +latterly was apt to recur in her—of having too many +matters on her mind simultaneously; in a phrase, the +sensation of the exceeding complexity of existence. And +she resented it. The interview with Rosamund was quite +enough for one night. It had been a triumph for her; she +had surprised herself in that interview; it had left her with +a conviction of freedom; it had uplifted her. She ought +to have been in a state of exaltation after that interview, +and she was. Only, while in a state of exaltation, she +was still in the old state of depression—about the tendency +of the concert, of her concert, and about the rumoured +disappearance of her fortune. Also she was preoccupied +by the very strange affair of Jane Foley and Aguilar.</p> + +<p>And now—a further intricacy of mood—came a whole +new set of emotions due to the mere spectacle of Mr. +Gilman’s august back! She was intimidated by Mr. Gilman’s +back. She knew horribly that in the afternoon she had +treated Mr. Gilman as Mr. Gilman ought never to have +been treated. And, quite apart from intimidation, she had +another feeling, a feeling which was ghastly and of which +she was ashamed.... Assuming the disappearance of her +fortune, would Mr. Gilman’s attitude towards her be thereby +changed? ... She admitted that young girls ought not +to have such suspicions against respectable and mature +men of established position in the world. Nevertheless, +she could not blow the suspicion away.</p> + +<p>But the instant Mr. Gilman’s eye met hers the suspicion +vanished, and not the suspicion only, but all her +intimidation. The miracle was produced by something in +the gaze of Mr. Gilman as it rested on her, something +wistful—not more definable than that, something which she +had noticed in Mr. Gilman’s gaze on other occasions. It +perfectly restored her. It gave her the positive assurance +of a fact which marvellously enheartens young girls of +about Audrey’s years—to wit, that they have a mysterious +power surpassing the power of age, knowledge, wisdom, +or wealth, that they influence and decide the course of +history, and are the sole true mistresses of the world. +Whence the mysterious power sprang she did not exactly +know, but she surmised—rightly—that it was connected +with her youth, with a dimple, with the incredibly soft +down on her cheek, with the arch softness of her glance, +with a gesture of the hand, with a turn of the shoulder, +with a pleat of the skirt.... Anyhow, she possessed it, +and to possess it was to wield it. It transformed her +into a delicious tyrant, but a tyrant; it inspired her with +exquisite cruelty, but cruelty. Her thoughts might have +been summed up in eight words:</p> + +<p>“Pooh! He has suffered. Well, he must suffer.”</p> + +<p>Ah! But she meant to be very kind to him. He was +so reliable, so adorable, and so dependent. She had +genuine affection for him. And he was at once a rock +and a cushion.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it going splendidly—splendidly, Mr. Gilman?” +exclaimed Miss Ingate in her enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>“Apparently,” said Mr. Gilman, with comfort in his +voice.</p> + +<p>At that moment the musical critic with large, dark +Eastern eyes, whom Audrey had met at the Foas’, strolled +nonchalantly by, and, perceiving Miss Ingate, described a +huge and perfect curve in the air with his glossy silk hat, +which had been tipped at the back of his head. Mr. +Gilman had come close to Audrey.</p> + +<p>“The Foas started down with me,” said Mr. Gilman +mildly. “But they always meet such crowds of acquaintances +at these affairs that they seldom get anywhere. +Hortense would not leave the box. She never will.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I’m so glad I’ve seen you,” Audrey began +excitedly, but with simplicity and compelling sweetness. +“You’ve no idea how sorry I am about this afternoon! +I’m frightfully sorry, really! But I was so upset. I +didn’t know what to do. You know how anxious everybody +was about Musa for to-night. He’s the pet of the +Quarter, and, of course, I belong to the Quarter. At +least—I did. I thought he might be ill, or something. +However, it was all right in the end. I was looking +forward tremendously to that drive. Are you going to +forgive me?”</p> + +<p>“Please, please!” he eagerly entreated, with a faint +blush. “Of course, I quite understand. There’s nothing +whatever to forgive.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! but there is,” she insisted. “Only you’re so +good-natured.”</p> + +<p>She was being magnanimous. She was pretending that +she had no mysterious power. But her motive was quite +pure. If he was good-natured, so was she. She honestly +wanted to recompense him, and to recompense him richly. +And she did. Her demeanour was enchanting in its ingenuous +flattery. She felt happy despite all her anxieties, +for he was living up to her ideal of him. She felt happy, +and her resolve to make him happy to the very limit of +his dreams was intense. She had a vision of her future +existence stretching out in front of her, and there was +not a shadow on it. She thought he was going to offer +her the box of chocolates, but he did not.</p> + +<p>“I rather wanted to ask your advice,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would,” he replied.</p> + +<p>Just then the Foas arrived, and with them Dauphin, +the great and fashionable painter and the original discoverer +of Musa. And as they all began to speak at once +Audrey heard the Oriental musical critic say slowly to an +inquiring Miss Ingate:</p> + +<p>“It is not a concert talent that he has.”</p> + +<p>“You hear! You hear!” exclaimed Monsieur Foa to +Monsieur Dauphin and Madame Foa, with an impressed +air. “You hear what Miquette says. He has not a +concert talent. He has everything that you like, but not +a concert talent.”</p> + +<p>Foa seemed to be exhibiting the majestic Oriental, nicknamed +Miquette, as the final arbiter, whose word settled +problems like a sword, and Miquette seemed to be trying +to bear the high rôle with negligent modesty.</p> + +<p>“But, yes, he has! But, yes, he has!” Dauphin protested, +sweeping all Miquettes politely away. And then +there was an urbane riot of greetings, salutes, bowings, +smilings, cooings and compliments.</p> + +<p>Dauphin was magnificent, playing the part of the +opulent painter <em>à la mode</em> with the most finished skill, +the most splendid richness of detail. It was notorious that +in the evenings he wore the finest silk shirts in Paris, +and his waistcoat was designed to give scope to these +shirts. He might have come—he probably had come—straight +from the bower of archduchesses; but he produced +in Audrey the illusion that archduchesses were a trifle +compared to herself. He had not seen her for a long +time. Gazing at her, he breathed relief; all his features +indicated the sudden, unexpected assuaging of eternal and +intense desires. He might have been travelling through +the desert for many days and she might have been the +oasis—the pool of living water and the palm.</p> + +<p>“Now—like that! Just like that!” he said, holding +her hand and, as it were, hypnotising her in the pose in +which she happened to be. He looked hard at her. +“It is unique. Madame, where did you find that +dress?”</p> + +<p>“Callot,” answered Audrey submissively.</p> + +<p>“I thought so. Well, Madame, I can wait no more. +I will wait no more. It is Dauphin who implores you to +come to his studio. To come—it is your duty. Madame +Foa, you will bring her. I count on you absolutely to +bring her. Even if it is only to be a sketch—the merest +hint. But I must do it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Madame,” said Madame Foa with all the +Italian charm. “Dauphin must paint you. The contrary +is unthinkable. My husband and I have often said so.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow?” Dauphin suggested.</p> + +<p>“Ah! To-morrow, my little Dauphin, I cannot,” said +Madame Foa.</p> + +<p>“Nor I,” said Audrey.</p> + +<p>“The day after to-morrow, then. I will send my auto. +What address? Half-past eleven. That goes? In any +case, I insist. Be kind! Be kind!”</p> + +<p>Audrey blushed. Half the foyer was staring at the +group. She was flattered. She saw herself remarkable. +She thought she would look more particularly, with perfect +detachment, at the mirror that night, in order to decide +whether her appearance was as striking, as original, as +distinguished, as Dauphin’s attitude implied. There must +surely be something in it.</p> + +<p>“About that advice—may I call to-morrow?” It was +Mr. Gilman’s voice at her elbow.</p> + +<p>“Advice?” She had forgotten her announced intention +of asking his advice. (The subject was to be Zacatecas.) +“Oh, yes. How nice of you! Please do call. Come for +tea.” She was delightful to him, but at the same time +there was in her tone a little of the condescending casualness +proper to the tone of a girl openly admired by the +confidant and painter of princesses and archduchesses, the +man who treated all plain women and women past the +prime with a desolating indifference.</p> + +<p>She thought:</p> + +<p>“I am a rotten little snob.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman gave thanksgivings and departed, explaining +that he must return to Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>Foa and Dauphin and the Oriental resumed the argument +about Musa’s talent and the concert. Miquette would say +nothing as to the success of the concert. Foa asserted +that the concert was not and would not be a success. +Dauphin pooh-poohed and insisted vehemently that the +success was unmistakable and increasing. Moreover, he +criticised the hall, the choice of programme, the orchestra, +the conductor. “I discovered Musa,” said he. “I have +always said that he is a great concert player, and that +he is destined for a great world-success, and to-night I +am more sure of it than ever.” Whereupon Madame Foa +said with much sympathy that she hoped it was so, and +Foa said: “You create illusions for yourself, on purpose.” +Dauphin bore him down with wavy gestures and warm +cries of “No! No! No!” And he appealed to Audrey +as-a woman incapable of illusions. And Audrey agreed +with Dauphin. And while she was agreeing she kept +saying to herself: “Why do I pretend to agree with him? +He is not sincere. He knows he is not sincere. We all +know—except perhaps Winnie Ingate. The concert is a +failure. If it were not a failure, Madame Foa would not +be so sympathetic. She is more subtle even than Madame +Piriac. I shall never be subtle like that. I wish I could +be. I wish I was at Moze. I am too Essex for all this. +And Winnie here is too comic for words.”</p> + +<p>An aged and repellent Jew came into sight. He raised +Madame Foa’s hand to his odious lips and kissed it, and +Audrey wondered how Madame Foa could tolerate the +formality.</p> + +<p>“Well, Monsieur Xavier?”</p> + +<p>Xavier shrugged his round shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Do not say,” said he, in a hoarse voice to the company, +“do not say that I have not done my best on this occasion.” +He lifted his eyes heavenward, and as he did so his passing +glance embraced Audrey, and she violently hated him.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” said she, “I think we ought to be getting +back to our seats.”</p> + +<p>“But,” cried Madame Foa, “we are going round with +Dauphin to the artists’ room. You do not come with us, +Madame Moncreiff?”</p> + +<p>“In your place ...” muttered Xavier discouragingly, +with a look at Dauphin, and another shrug of the shoulders. +“I have been ...”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Dauphin, in a strange new tone. And then +very brightly to Audrey: “Now, as to Saturday, dear +lady——”</p> + +<p>Xavier engaged in private converse with Foa, and his +demeanour to Foa was extremely deferential, whereas he +almost ignored the Oriental critic. And Audrey puzzled her +head once again to discover why the Foas should exert such +influence upon the fate of music in Paris. The enigma was +only one among many.</p> + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_44" id="chapter_44" />CHAPTER XLIV</h2> + +<h3>END OF THE CONCERT</h3> + + +<p>The first item after the true interval was the Chaconne of +Bach, which Musa had played upon a memorable occasion +in Frinton. He stood upon the platform utterly alone, +against a background of empty chairs, double-basses and +drums. He seemed to be unfriended and forlorn. It +appeared to Audrey that he was playing with despair. She +wished, as she looked from Musa to the deserted places in +the body of the hall, that the piece was over, and that the +entire concert was over. How could anyone enjoy such +an arid maze of sounds? The whole theory of classical +composition and its vogue was hollow and ridiculous. +People did not like the classics; they could not and they +never would. Now a waltz ... after a jolly dinner and +wine! ... But the Chaconne! But Bach! But culture! +The audience was visibly and audibly restless. For about +two hundred years the attempt to force this Chaconne upon +the public had been continuous, and it was still boring them. +Of course it was! The thing was unnatural.</p> + +<p>And she herself was a fool; she was a ninny. And the +alleged power of money was an immense fraud. She had +thought to perform miracles by means of a banking account. +For a moment she had imagined that the miracles had come +to pass. But they had not come to pass. The public was +too old, too tired, and too wary. It could not thus be +tricked into making a reputation. The forces that made +reputations were far less amenable than she had fancied. +The world was too clever and too experienced for her ingenuous +self. Geniuses were not lying about and waiting +to be picked up. Musa was not a genius. She had been a +simpleton, and the sacred Quarter had been a simpleton. +She was rather angry with Musa for not being a genius. +And the confidence which he had displayed a few hours +earlier was just grotesque conceit! And men and women +who were supposed to be friendly human hearts were not +so in truth. They were merely indifferent and callous spectators. +The Foas, for example, were chattering in their +box, apparently oblivious of the tragedy that was enacting +under their eyes. But then, it was perhaps not a tragedy; +it was perhaps a farce.</p> + +<p>And what would these self-absorbed spectators of existence +say and do, if and when it was known that she was +no longer a young woman of enormous wealth? Would +Dauphin have sought to compel her to enter his studio had +he been aware that her fortune had gone tip in smoke? +She was not in a real world. She was in a world of shams. +And she was a sham in the world of shams. She wanted +to be back again in the honest realities of Moze, where in +the churchyard she could see the tombs of her great-great-grandfathers. +Only one extraneous interest drew her +thoughts away from Moze. That interest was Mr. Gilman. +Mr. Gilman was her conquest and her slave. She adored +him because he was so wistful and so reliable and so +adoring. Mr. Gilman sat intent and straight upright in +Madame Piriac’s box and behaved just as though Bach +himself was present. He understood nothing of Bach, but +he could be trusted to behave with benevolence.</p> + +<p>The music suddenly ceased. The Chaconne was finished. +The gallery of enthusiasts still applauded with vociferation, +with mystic faith, with sublime obstinacy. It was carrying +on a sort of religious war against the base apathy of the +rest of the audience. It was determined to force its belief +down the throats of the unintelligent mob. It had made +up its mind that until it had had its way the world should +stand still. No encore had yet been obtained, and the +gallery was set on an encore. The clapping fainted, expired, +and then broke into new life, only to expire again +and recommence. A few irritated persons hissed. The +gallery responded with vigour. Musa, having retired, reappeared, +very white, and bowed. The applause was +feverish and unconvincing. Musa vanished. But the +gallery had thick soles and hard hands and stout sticks, +even serviceable umbrellas. It could not be appeased by +bows alone. And after about three minutes of tedious +manoeuvring, Musa had at last to yield an encore that in +fact nobody wanted. He played a foolish pyrotechnical +affair of De Bériot, which resembled nothing so much as a +joke at a funeral. After that the fate of the concert could +not be disputed even by the gallery. At the finish of the +evening there was, in the terrible idiom of the theatre, +“not a hand.”</p> + +<p>Whether Musa had played well or ill, Audrey had not +the least idea. Nor did that point seem to matter. Naught +but the attitude of the public seemed to matter. This was +strange, because for a year Audrey had been learning steadily +in the Quarter that the attitude of the public had no importance +whatever. She suffered from the delusion that +the public was staring at her and saying to her: “You, you +silly little thing, are responsible for this fiasco. We condescended +to come—and this is what you have offered us. +Go home, and let your hair down and shorten your skirts, +for you are no better than a schoolgirl, after all.” She +was really self-conscious. She despised Musa, or rather +she threw to him a little condescending pity. And yet at +the same time she was furious against that group in the +foyer for being so easily dissuaded from going to see Musa +in the artists’ room.... Rats deserting a sinking ship!... +People, even the nicest, would drop a failure like a +match that was burning out.... Yes, and they would +drop her.... No, they would not, because of Mr. Gilman. +Mr. Gilman was calling-to see her to-morrow. He was +the rock and the cushion. She would send Miss Ingate +out for the afternoon. As the audience hurried eagerly +forth she spoke sharply to Miss Ingate. She was indeed +very rude to Miss Ingate. She was exasperated, and Miss +Ingate happened to be handy.</p> + +<p>In the foyer not a trace of the Foa clan nor of Madame +Piriac and her husband, nor of Mr. Gilman! But Tommy +and Nick were there, putting on their cloaks, and with +them, but not helping them, was Mr. Ziegler. The blond +Mr. Ziegler greeted Audrey as though the occasion of their +previous meeting had been a triumph for him. His self-satisfaction, +if ever it had been damaged, was repaired to +perfection. The girls were silent; Miss Ingate was silent; +but Mr. Ziegler was not silent.</p> + +<p>“He played better than I did anticipate,” said Mr. +Ziegler, lighting a cigarette, after he had nonchalantly +acknowledged the presentation to him of Miss Ingate. +“But of what use is this French public? None. Even had +he succeeded here it would have meant nothing. Nothing. +In music Paris does not exist. There are six towns in +Germany where success means vorldt-reputation. Not that +he would succeed in Germany. He has not studied in Germany. +And outside Germany there are no schools. However, +we have the intention to impose our culture upon all +European nations, including France. In one year our army +will be here—in Paris. I should wait for that, but probably +I shall be called up. In any case, I shall be present.”</p> + +<p>“But whatever do you mean?” cried Miss Ingate, +aghast.</p> + +<p>“What do I mean? I mean our army will be here. +All know it in Germany. They know it in Paris! But what +can they do? How can they stop us?... Decadent!...” +He laughed easily.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my chocolates!” exclaimed Miss Thompkins. +“I’ve left them in the hall!”</p> + +<p>“No, here they are,” said Nick, handing the box.</p> + +<p>To Audrey it seemed to be the identical box that Mr. +Gilman had been carrying. But of course it might not be. +Thousands of chocolate boxes resemble each other exactly.</p> + +<p>Carefully ignoring Mr. Ziegler, Audrey remarked to +Tommy with a light-heartedness which she did not feel:</p> + +<p>“Well, what did you think of Jane this afternoon?”</p> + +<p>“Jane?”</p> + +<p>“Jane Foley. Nick was taking you to see her, wasn’t +she?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” said Tommy with a bright smile. “But I +didn’t go. I went for a motor drive with Mr. Gilman.”</p> + +<p>There was a short pause. At length Tommy said:</p> + +<p>“So he’s got the goods on you at last!”</p> + +<p>“Who?” Audrey sharply questioned.</p> + +<p>“Dauphin. I knew he would. Remember my words. +That portrait will cost you forty thousand francs, not +counting the frame.”</p> + +<p>This was the end of the concert.</p> + + + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_45" id="chapter_45" />CHAPTER XLV</h2> + +<h3>STRANGE RESULT OF A QUARREL</h3> + + +<p>The next afternoon Audrey sat nervous and expectant, but +highly finished, in her drawing-room at the Hôtel du +Danube. Miss Ingate had gone out, pretending to be +quite unaware that she had been sent out. The more detailed +part of Audrey’s toilette had been accomplished +subsequent to Miss Ingate’s departure, for Audrey had +been at pains to inform Miss Ingate that she, Audrey, was +even less interested than usual in her appearance that afternoon. +They were close and mutually reliable friends; but +every friendship has its reservations. Elise also was out; +indeed, Miss Ingate had taken her.</p> + +<p>Audrey had the weight of all the world on her, and so +long as she was alone she permitted herself to look as +though she had. She had to be wise, not only for Audrey +Moze, but for others. She had to be wise for Musa, whose +failure, though the newspapers all spoke (at about twenty +francs a line) of his overwhelming success, was admittedly +lamentable; and she hated Musa; she confessed that she had +been terribly mistaken in Musa, both as an artist and as a +man; still, he was on her mind. She had to be wise about +her share in the new campaign of Rosamund, which, while +not on her mind, was on her conscience. She had to be +wise about the presumable loss of her fortune; she had +telegraphed to Mr. Foulger early that morning for information, +and an answer was now due. Finally she had to be +wise for Mr. Gilman, whose happiness depended on a tone +of her voice, on a single monosyllable breathed through those +rich lips. She looked forward with interest to being wise +for Mr. Gilman. She felt capable of that. The other +necessary wisdoms troubled her brow. She seemed to be +more full of responsibility and sagacity than any human +being could have been expected to be. She was, however, +very calm. Her calmness was prodigious.</p> + +<p>Then the bell rang, and she could hear one of the hotel +attendants open the outer door with his key. Instantly her +calmness, of which she had been so proud, was dashed to +pieces and she had scarcely begun in a hurry to pick the +pieces up and put them together again when the attendant +entered the drawing-room. She was afraid, but she thought +she was happy.</p> + +<p>Only it was not Mr. Gilman the attendant announced. +The man said:</p> + +<p>“Mademoiselle Nickall.”</p> + +<p>Audrey said to herself that she must get Nick very +quickly away. She was in no humour to talk even to Nick, +and, moreover, she did not want Nick to know that Mr. +Gilman was calling upon her.</p> + +<p>Miss Nickall was innocent and sweet. Good nature +radiated from her soft, tired features, and was somehow +also entangled in her fluffy grey hair. She kissed Audrey +with affection.</p> + +<p>“I’ve just come to say good-bye, you dear!” she said, +sitting down and putting her check parasol across her knees. +“How lovely you look!”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye?” Audrey questioned. “Do I?”</p> + +<p>“I have to cross for England to-night. I’ve had my +orders. Rosamund came this morning. What about yours?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Audrey. “I don’t take orders. But I +expect I shall join in, one of these days, when I’ve had +everything explained to me properly. You see, you and I +haven’t got the same tastes, Nick. You aren’t happy +without a martyrdom. I am.”</p> + +<p>Nick smiled gravely and uncertainly.</p> + +<p>“It’s very serious this time,” said she. “Hasn’t +Rosamund spoken to you yet?”</p> + +<p>“She’s spoken to me. And I’ve spoken to her. It was +deuce, I should say. Or perhaps my ’vantage. Anyhow, +I’m not moving just yet.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said Nick, “if you’re staying in Paris, I +hope you’ll keep an eye on Musa. He needs it. Tommy’s +going away. At least I fancy she is. We both went to +see him this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Both of you!”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, we’ve always looked after him. He +was in a terrible state about last night. That’s really one +reason why I called. Not that I’d have gone without +kissing you——”</p> + +<p>She stopped. There was another ring at the bell. The +attendant came in with great rapidity.</p> + +<p>“I’m lost!” thought Audrey, disgusted and perturbed. +“Her being here will spoil everything.”</p> + +<p>But the attendant handed her a card, and the card bore +the name of Musa. Audrey flushed. Almost instinctively, +without thinking, she passed the card to Nick.</p> + +<p>“My land!” exclaimed Nick. “If he sees me here he’ll +think I’ve come on purpose to talk about him and pity him, +and he’ll be just perfectly furious. Can I get out any other +way?” She glanced interrogatively at the half-open door +of the bedroom.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t want to see him, either!” Audrey protested.</p> + +<p>“Oh! You must! He’ll listen to sense from you, +perhaps. Can I go this way?”</p> + +<p>Impelled to act in spite of herself, Audrey took Nick +into the bedroom, and as soon as Musa had been introduced +into the drawing-room she embraced Nick in silence +and escorted her on tiptoe through Miss Ingate’s bedroom +to the vestibule and waved an adieu. Then she retraced her +steps and made a grand entry into the drawing-room from +her own bedroom. She meant to dispose of Musa immediately. +A meeting between him and Mr. Gilman on her +hearthrug might involve the most horrible complications.</p> + +<p>The young man and the young woman shook hands. +But it was the handshaking of bruisers when they enter the +ring, and before the blood starts to flow.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you please sit down?” said Audrey. He was +obliged now to obey her, as she had been obliged to obey +him on the previous afternoon in the Rue Cassette.</p> + +<p>If Audrey looked as though the whole world was on her +shoulders, Musa’s face seemed to contradict hers and to say +that the world, far from being on anybody’s shoulders, had +come to an end. All the expression of the violinist showed +that in his honest conviction a great mundane calamity had +occurred, the calamity of course being that his violin bow +had not caused catgut to vibrate in such a way as to affect +the ears of a particular set of people in a particular manner. +But in addition to this sense of a calamity he was under +the influence of another emotion—angry resentment. However, +he sat down, holding firmly his hat, gloves, and stick.</p> + +<p>“I saw my agent this morning,” said he, in a grating +voice, in French. He was pale.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” said Audrey. She suddenly guessed what was +coming, and she felt a certain alarm, which nevertheless +was not entirely disagreeable.</p> + +<p>“Why did you pay for that concert, and the future +concerts, without telling me, Madame?”</p> + +<p>“Paid for the concerts?” she repeated, rather weakly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Madame. To do so was to make me ridiculous—not +to the world, but to myself. For I believed all the +time that I had succeeded in gaining the genuine interest +of an agent who was prepared to risk money upon the +proper exploitation of my talent. I worked in that belief. +In spite of your attitude to me I did work. Your antipathy +was bad for me; but I conquered myself, and I worked. I +had confidence in myself. If last night I did not have a +triumph, it was not because I did not work, but because I +had been upset—and again by you, Madame. Even after +the misfortune of last night I still had confidence, for I +knew that the reasons of my failure were accidental and +temporary. But I now know that I was living in a fool’s +paradise, which you had kindly created for me. You have +money. Apparently you have too much money. And with +money you possess the arrogance of wealth. You knew that +I had accepted assistance from good friends. And you +thought in your arrogance that you might launch me without +informing me of your intention. You thought it would +amuse you to make a little fairy-tale in real life. It was a +negligent gesture on the part of a rich and idle woman. It +cost you nothing save a few bank-notes, of which you had +so many that it bored you to count them. How amusing to +make a reputation! How charitable to help a starving +player! But you forgot one thing. You forgot my dignity +and my honour. It was nothing to you that you exposed +these to the danger of the most grave affront. It was +nothing to you that I was received just as though I had +been a child, and that for months I was made, without knowing +it, to fulfil the rôle of a conceited jackanapes. When +one is led to have confidence in oneself one is tempted to +adopt a certain tone and to use certain phrases, which may +or may not be justified. I yielded to the temptation. I +was wrong, but I was also victimised. This morning, with +a moment’s torture under the impertinent tongue of a +rascally impresario, I paid for all the spurious confidence +which I have felt and for all the proud words I have uttered. +I came to-day in order to lay at your feet my thanks for the +unique humiliation which I owe to you.”</p> + +<p>His mien was undoubtedly splendid. It ought to have +cowed and shamed Audrey. But it did not. She absolutely +refused to acknowledge, even within her own heart, that +she had committed any wrong. On the contrary, she +remembered all the secret sympathy which she had lavished +on Musa, all her very earnest and single-minded desires +for his apotheosis at the hands of the Parisian public; +and his ingratitude positively exasperated her. She was +aroused. But she tried to hide the fact that she was +roused, speaking in a guarded and sardonic voice.</p> + +<p>“And did this agent of yours—I do not know his name—tell +you that I was paying for the concert—I mean, the +concerts?” she demanded with an air of impassivity. +“He did not give your name.”</p> + +<p>“That’s something,” Audrey put in, her body trembling. +“I am much obliged to him.”</p> + +<p>“But he clearly indicated that money had been paid—that +he had not paid it himself—that the enterprise was +not genuine. He permitted himself to sneer until I corrected +him. He then withdrew what he had said and +told me that I had misunderstood. But he was not convincing. +It was too late. And I had not misunderstood. +Far from that, I had understood. At once the truth +traversed my mind like a flash of lightning. It was you +who had paid.”</p> + +<p>“And how did you guess that?” She laughed carelessly, +though she could not keep her foot from shaking +on the carpet.</p> + +<p>“I knew because I knew!” cried Musa. “It explained +all your conduct, your ways of speaking to me, your +attitude of a schoolmistress, everything. How ingenuous +I have been not to perceive it before!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Audrey firmly. “You are wrong. It is +absolutely untrue that I have ever paid a penny, or ever +shall, to any agent on your behalf. Do you hear? Why +should I, indeed! And now what have you to reply?”</p> + +<p>She was aware of not the slightest remorse for this +enormous and unqualified lie. Nay, she held it was not +a lie, because Musa deserved to hear it. Strange logic, +but her logic! And she was much uplifted and enfevered, +and grandly careless of all consequences.</p> + +<p>“You are a woman,” said Musa curtly and obstinately.</p> + +<p>“That, at any rate, is true.”</p> + +<p>“Therefore I cannot treat you as a man.”</p> + +<p>“Please do,” she said, rising.</p> + +<p>“No. If you were a man I should call you out.” And +Musa rose also. “And I should be right. As you are +a woman I have told you the truth, and I can do no +more. I shall not characterise your denial. I have no +taste for recrimination. Besides, in such a game, no man +can be the equal of a woman. But I maintain what I +have said, and I affirm that I know it to be true, and +that there is no excuse for your conduct. And so I +respectfully take leave.” He moved towards the door and +then stopped. “There never had been any excuse for +your conduct to me,” he added. “It has always been +the conduct of a rich and capricious woman who amused +herself by patronising a poor artist.”</p> + +<p>“You may be interested to know,” she said fiercely, +“that I am no longer rich. Last night I heard that +my fortune is gone. If I have amused myself, that may +amuse you.”</p> + +<p>“It does amuse me,” he retorted grimly and more +loudly. “I wish that you had never possessed a son. +For then I might have been spared many mournful hours. +All would have been different. Yes! From three days +ago when I saw you walking intimately in the Tuileries +Gardens with the unspeakable Gilman—right back to last +year when you first, from caprice, did your best to make +me love you—did it deliberately, so that all the Quarter +could see!”</p> + +<p>In a furious temper Audrey rushed past Musa to the +door, and stood with her back to it, palpitating. She +vaguely recalled a similar movement of hers long ago, and +the slightly comic figure of Mr. Foulger flitted through +her memory.</p> + +<p>“You shall apologise for that! You shall apologise +before you leave this room!” she exploded. Her chin +was aloft and her mouth remained open. “I say you +shall apologise for that monstrous untruth!”</p> + +<p>He approached her, uttering not a word. She was +quite ready to kill him. She had no fear of anything +whatever. Not once since his arrival had she given one +thought to the imminent advent of Mr. Gilman.</p> + +<p>She said to herself, watching Musa intently:</p> + +<p>“Yes, he shall apologise. It is shameful, what he says. +It’s worse than horrid. I am as strong as he is.”</p> + +<p>Musa dropped his hat, stick and gloves. The hat, +being English and hard, bounced on the carpet. Then he +put his trembling arms around her waist, and his trembling +lips came nearer and nearer to hers.</p> + +<p>She thought, very puzzled:</p> + +<p>“What is happening? This is all wrong. I am furious +with him! I will never speak to him again! What is +he doing? This is all wrong. I must stop it. I’m saying +nothing to him about my career, and my independence, +and how horrid it is to be the wife of a genius, and all +that.... I must stop it.”</p> + +<p>But she had no volition to stop it.</p> + +<p>She thought:</p> + +<p>“Am I fainting?”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It was upon this scene that Mr. Gilman intruded. +Mr. Gilman looked from one to the other. Perhaps the +thought in his mind was that if they added their ages +together they could not equal his age. Perhaps it was +not. He continued to look from one to the other, and +this needed some ocular effort, for they were as far apart +as two persons in such a situation usually get when they +are surprised. Then he caught sight of the hat, stick and +gloves on the floor.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been expecting you for a long time,” said Audrey, +with that miraculous bland tranquillity of which young +girls alone have the secret when the conventions are +imperilled. “I was just going to order tea.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilman hesitated and then replied:</p> + +<p>“How kind of you! But please don’t order tea for +me. The—er—fact is, I have been unexpectedly called +away, and I only called to explain that—er—I could not +call.” After all, he was a man of some experience.</p> + +<p>She let him go. His demeanour to Musa, like Musa’s +to him, was a marvel of high courtesy.</p> + +<p>“Musa,” said Audrey, with an intimidated, defiant, proud +smile, when the door had shut on Mr. Gilman, “I am +still frightfully angry with you. If we stay here I shall +suffocate. Let us go out for a walk. Besides, other +people might call.”</p> + +<p>Simultaneously there was another ring. It was a cable. +She read:</p> + +<p>“Sold Zacatecas at an average of six and a quarter +dollars three weeks ago. Wrote you at length to Wimereux. +Writing again as to new investments.</p> + +<p class="letterSignature">“FOULGER.”</p> + +<p>“This comes of having no fixed address,” she said, +throwing the blue cablegram carelessly down in front of +Musa. “I’m not quite ruined, after all. But I might have +known—with Mr. Foulger.” Then she explained.</p> + +<p>“I wish——” he began.</p> + +<p>“No, you don’t,” she stopped him. “So you needn’t +start on that line. You are brilliant at figures. At least +I long since suspected you were. How much is one hundred +and eighty thousand times six and a quarter?”</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding his brilliance, it took two pencils, two +heads, and one piece of paper to solve the problem. They +were not quite certain, but the answer seemed to be +£225,000 in English money.</p> + +<p>“We cannot starve,” said Audrey, and then paused.... +“Musa, are we friends? We shall quarrel horribly. +Do you know, I never knew that proposals of marriage +were made like that!”</p> + +<p>“I have not told you one thing,” said Musa. “I am +going to play in Germany, instead of further concerts in +Paris. It is arranged.”</p> + +<p>“Not in Germany,” she pleaded, thinking of Ziegler.</p> + +<p>“Yes, in Germany,” said Musa masterfully. “I have +a reputation to make. It is the agent who has suggested +it.”</p> + +<p>“But the concerts in London?”</p> + +<p>“You are English. I wish not to wound you.”</p> + +<p>When Audrey stood up again, she had to look at the +floor in order to make sure that it was there. Once +she had tasted absinthe. She had had to take the same +precaution then.</p> + +<p>“Stop! I entreat thee!” said Musa suddenly, just +as, all arrayed in her finery, she was opening the door +for the walk.</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>He kissed her, and with his lips almost on hers he +murmured:</p> + +<p>“Thou shalt not go out without avowing. And if thou +art angry—well, I adore thy anger. The concerts were ... +thy enterprise? I guessed well?”</p> + +<p>“You see,” she replied like a shot, “you weren’t sure, +although you pretended you were.”</p> + +<p>In the Rue de Rivoli, and in the resplendent Champs +Elysées they passed column after column of entertainment +posters. But the name of Musa had been mysteriously +removed from all of them.</p> + + + +<hr class="newChapter" /> +<h2><a name="chapter_46" id="chapter_46" />CHAPTER XLVI</h2> + +<h3>AN EPILOGUE</h3> + + +<p>Audrey was walking along Piccadilly when she overtook +Miss Ingate, who had been arrested by a shop window, +the window of one of the shops recently included in the +vast edifice of the Hotel Majestic.</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate gave a little squeal of surprise. The two +kissed very heartily in the street, which was full of spring +and of the posters of evening papers bearing melodramatic +tidings of the latest nocturnal development of the terrible +suffragette campaign.</p> + +<p>“You said eleven, Audrey. It isn’t eleven yet.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m behind time. I meant to be all spruced +up and receive you in state at the hotel. But the boat +was three hours late at Harwich. I jumped into a cab +at Liverpool Street, but I got out at Piccadilly Circus +because the streets looked so fine and I felt I really must +walk a bit.”</p> + +<p>“And where’s your husband?”</p> + +<p>“He’s at Liverpool Street trying to look after the +luggage. He lost some of it at Hamburg. He likes +looking after luggage, so I just left him at it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate’s lower lip dropped at the corners.</p> + +<p>“You’ve had a tiff.”</p> + +<p>“Winnie, we haven’t.”</p> + +<p>“Did you go to all his concerts?”</p> + +<p>“All. I heard all his practising, and I sat in the +stalls at all his concerts. Quite contrary to my principles, +of course. But, Winnie, it’s very queer, I <em>wanted</em> to +do it. So naturally I did it. We’ve never been apart—until +now.”</p> + +<p>“And it’s not exaggerated, what you’ve written me +about his success?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit. I’ve been most careful not to exaggerate. +In fact, I’ve tried to be gloomy. No use, however! It +was a triumph.... And how’s all this business?” Audrey +demanded, in a new key, indicating an orange-tinted newspaper +bill that was being flaunted in front of her.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I believe it’s dreadful. Of course, you know +Rosamund’s in prison. But they’ll have to let her out +soon. Jane Foley—she still calls herself Foley—hasn’t +been caught. And that’s funny. I doubled my subscription. +We had to, you see. But that’s all I’ve done. They don’t +have processions and things now, and barrel organs are +<em>quite</em> out of fashion. What with that, and my rheumatism!... +I used to think I should live to vote myself. I feel +I shan’t now. So I’ve gone back into water-colours. +They’re very soothing, if you let the paper dry after each +wash and don’t take them seriously.... Now, I’m a +very common-sense woman, Audrey, as you must have +noticed, and I’m not subject to fancies. Will you just +look at the girl on the left hand in this window here, and +tell me whether I’m dreaming or not?”</p> + +<p>Miss Ingate indicated the shop window which had +arrested her. The establishment was that of a hair +specialist, and the window was mainly occupied by two +girls who sat in arm-chairs with their backs to the glass, +and all their magnificent hair spread out at length over +the backs of the chairs for the inspection of the public; +the implication being that the magnificent hair was due +to the specific of the hair specialist. Passers-by continually +stopped to gaze at the spectacle, but they never stopped +long, because the spectacle was monotonous.</p> + +<p>“Well, what about her?” said Audrey, staring.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it Lady Southminster?”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens!” Audrey’s mind went back to the +Channel packet and the rain squall and the scenes on the +Paris train. “So it is! Whatever can have happened to +her? Let’s go in.”</p> + +<p>And in they went, Audrey leading, and demanding at +once a bottle of the specific; Audrey had scarcely spoken +when the left-hand girl in the window, who, of course, +from her vantage had a full view of the shop, screamed +lightly and jumped down from the window.</p> + +<p>“Don’t give me away!” she whispered appealingly in +Audrey’s ear. The next moment, not heeding the excitement +of the shop manager, she had drawn Audrey and +Miss Ingate through another door which led into the +entrance-hall of the Majestic Hotel. The shop was thus +contrived to catch two publics at once.</p> + +<p>“If they knew I was Lady Southminster in there,” +said Lady Southminster in a feverish murmur—she seemed +not averse to the sensation caused by her hair in the +twilight of the hotel—“I expect I should lose my place, +and I don’t want to lose it. <em>He’ll</em> be coming by presently, +and he’ll see me, and it’ll be a lesson to him. We’re +always together. Race meetings, dances, golf, restaurants, +bridge. Twenty-four hours every day. He won’t lose +sight of me. He’s that fond of me, you know. I couldn’t +stand it. I’d as lief be in prison—only I’m that fond of +him, you know. But I was so homesick, and I felt if I +didn’t have a change I should burst. This is Constantinopoulos’s +old shop, you know, where I used to make +cigarettes in the window. He’s dead, Constantinopoulos is. +I don’t know what <em>he’d</em> have said to hair restorers. I +asked for the place, and I showed ’em my hair, and I +got it. And me sitting there—it’s quite like old times. +Only before, you know, I used to have my face to the +street. I don’t know which I like best. But, anyhow, +you can see my profile from the side window. And <em>he</em> +will. He always looks at that sort of thing. He’ll be +furious. But it will do him no end of good. Well, +good-bye. But come back in and buy a bottle, or I shall +be let in for a shindy. In fact, you might buy two +bottles.”</p> + +<p>“So that’s love!” said Audrey when the transaction +was over and they were in the entrance-hall again.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Miss Ingate. “That’s marriage. And don’t +you forget it.... Hallo, Tommy!”</p> + +<p>“You’d better not let Mr. Gilman hear me called +Tommy in this hotel,” laughed Miss Thompkins, who was +attired with an unusual richness, as she advanced towards +Miss Ingate and Audrey. “And what are you doing +here?” she questioned Audrey.</p> + +<p>“I’m staying here,” said Audrey. “But I’ve only just +arrived. I’m advance agent for my husband. How are +you? And what are <em>you</em> doing here? I thought you hated +London.”</p> + +<p>“I came the day before yesterday,” Tommy replied. +“And I’m very fit. You see, Mr. Gilman preferred us +to be married in London. And I’d no objection. So +here I am. The wedding’s to-morrow. You aren’t very +startled, are you? Had you heard?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Audrey, “not what you’d call ‘heard.’ +But I’d a sort of a kind of a—”</p> + +<p>“You come right over here, young woman.”</p> + +<p>“But I want to get my number.”</p> + +<p>“You come right over here right now,” Tommy insisted. +And in another corner of the entrance-hall she +spoke thus, and there was both seriousness and fun in +her voice: “Don’t you run away with the idea that I’m +taking your leavings, young woman. Because I’m not. +We all knew you’d lost your head about Musa, and it +was quite right of you. But you never had a chance +with Ernest, though you thought you had, after I’d met +him. Admit I’m much better suited for him than you’d +have been. I’d only one difficulty, and that was the nice +boy Price, who wanted to drown himself for my beautiful +freckled face. That’s all. Now you can go and get your +number.”</p> + +<p>The incident might not have ended there had not +Madame Piriac appeared in the entrance-hall out of the +interior of the hotel.</p> + +<p>“He exacted my coming,” said Madame Piriac privately +to Audrey. “You know how he is strange. He asks for +a quiet wedding, but at the same time it must be all that +is most correct. There are things, he says, which demand +a woman.... I know four times nothing of the English +etiquette. I have abandoned my husband. And here I +am. <em>Voilà</em>! Listen. She has great skill with him, <em>cette +Tommy</em>. Nevertheless, I have the intention to counsel her +about her complexion. Impossible to keep any man with a +complexion like hers!”</p> + +<p>They saw Mr. Gilman himself enter the hotel. He +was very nervous and very important. As soon as he +caught sight of Miss Thompkins he said to the door-keeper:</p> + +<p>“Tell my chauffeur to wait.”</p> + +<p>He was punctiliously attentive to Miss Thompkins, and +held her hand for two seconds after he had practically +finished with it.</p> + +<p>“Are you ready, dear?” he said. “You’ll be sorry +to hear that my liver is all wrong again. I knew it was +because I slept so heavily.”</p> + +<p>These words were distinctly heard by Audrey herself.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll slip upstairs now,” she murmured to +Madame Piriac. And vanished, before Mr. Gilman had +observed her presence.</p> + +<p>She thought:</p> + +<p>“How he has aged!”</p> + +<p>Scarcely ten minutes later, when Audrey was upstairs +in her sitting-room, waiting idly for the luggage and her +husband to arrive, and thinking upon the case of Lady +Southminster, the telephone bell rang out startlingly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Shinner to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Shinner? Oh! Mr. Shinner. Send him up, +please.”</p> + +<p>This Mr. Shinner was the concert agent with connections +in Paris whom Audrey had first consulted in the +enterprise of launching Musa upon the French public. He +was a large, dark man, black moustached and bearded, +with heavy limbs and features, and an opaque, pimpled +skin. In spite of these characteristics, he entered the +room soft-footed as a fairy, ingratiating as a dog aware +of his own iniquity, reassuring as applause.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Shinner. But how did you know we were +here? As a matter of fact we aren’t here. My husband +has not arrived yet.”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” said Mr. Shinner, “I happened to hear that +you had telegraphed for rooms, and as I was in the neighbourhood +I thought I would venture to call.”</p> + +<p>“But who told you we had telegraphed for rooms?”</p> + +<p>“The manager is a good friend of mine, and as you +are now famous——” Ah! I have heard all about the German +tour. I mean I have read about it. I subscribe to the +German musical papers. One must, in my profession. Also +I have had direct news from my correspondents in Germany. +It was a triumph there, was it not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Audrey. “After Dusseldorf. My husband +did not make much money——”</p> + +<p>“That will not trouble you,” Mr. Shinner smiled easily.</p> + +<p>“But somebody did—the agents did.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not so much as you think, madam, if I may +say so. Perhaps not so much as you think. And we must +all live—unfortunately. Has your husband made any +arrangements yet for London or for a provincial tour? I +have reason to think that the season will be particularly +brilliant. And I can now offer advantages——”</p> + +<p>“But, Mr. Shinner, when I last saw you, and it isn’t +so very long ago, you told me that my husband was not a +concert-player, which was exactly what I had heard in +Paris.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t go quite so far as that, surely, did I?” Mr. +Shinner softly insinuated. He might have been pouring +honey from his mouth. “Surely I didn’t say quite that? +And perhaps I had been too much influenced by Paris.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you said he wasn’t a concert-player and never +would be——”</p> + +<p>“Don’t rub it in, madam,” said Mr. Shinner merrily. +”<em>Peccavi</em>.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, nothing, madam,” he disclaimed.</p> + +<p>“And you said there were far too many violinists on the +market, and that it was useless for a French player to offer +himself to the London musical public. And I don’t know +what you didn’t say.”</p> + +<p>“But I didn’t know then that your husband would have +such a success in Germany.”</p> + +<p>“What difference does that make?”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” said Mr. Shinner, “it makes every difference.”</p> + +<p>“But England and Germany hate each other. At least +they despise each other. And what’s more, nearly everybody +in Germany was talking about going to war this +summer. I was told they are all ready to invade England +after they have taken Paris and Calais. We heard it +everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything about any war,” said Mr. +Shinner with tranquillity. “But I do know that the London +musical public depends absolutely on Germany. The +only first-class instrumentalist that England has ever produced +had no success here until he went to Germany and +Germanised his name and himself and announced that he +despised England. Then he came back, and he has caused a +furore ever since. So far as regards London, a success in +Karlsruhe, Wiesbaden, Leipzig, Dusseldorf, and so on, is +worth far more than a success in the Queen’s Hall. Indeed—can +you get a success in the Queen’s Hall without a +success in these places first? I doubt it. Your husband +now has London at his feet. Not Paris, though he may +capture Paris after he has captured London. But London +certainly. He cannot find a better agent than myself. All +artists like me, because I <em>understand</em>. You see, my mother +was harpist to the late Queen.”</p> + +<p>“But——”</p> + +<p>“Your husband is assuredly a genius, madam!” Mr. +Shinner stood up in his enthusiasm, and banged his left fist +with his right palm.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know that,” said Audrey. “But you are such +an expensive luxury.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Shinner pushed away the accusation with both +hands. “Madam, madam, I shall take all the risks. I +should not dream, now, of asking for a cheque on account. +On the contrary, I should guarantee a percentage of the +gross receipts. Perhaps I am unwise to take risks—I dare +say I am—but I could not bear to see your husband in the +hands of another agent. We professional men have our +feelings.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, Mr. Shinner,” said Audrey impulsively. It +was not a proper remark to make, but the sudden impetuous +entrance of Musa himself, carrying his violin case, +eased the situation.</p> + +<p>“There is a man which is asking for you outside in the +corridor,” said Musa to his wife. “It is the gardener, +Aguilar, I think. I have brought all the luggage, not excluding +that which was lost at Hamburg.” He had a +glorious air, and was probably more proud of his still +improving English and of his ability as a courier than of +his triumphs on the fiddle. “Ah!” Mr. Shinner was +bowing before him.</p> + +<p>“This is Mr. Shinner, the agent, my love,” said Audrey. +“I’ll leave you to talk to him. He sees money in you.”</p> + +<p>In the passage the authentic Aguilar stood with Miss +Ingate.</p> + +<p>“Here’s Mr. Aguilar,” said Miss Ingate. “I’m just +going into No. 37, Madame Piriac’s room. Don’t you think +Mr. Aguilar looks vehy odd in London?”</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Aguilar. You in town on business?”</p> + +<p>Aguilar touched his forehead. It is possible that he +looked very odd in London, but he was wearing a most +respectable new suit of clothes, and might well have passed +for a land agent.</p> + +<p>“’Mornin’, ma’am. I had to come up because I couldn’t +get delivery of those wallpapers you chose. Otherwise all +the repairs and alterations are going on as well as could +be expected.”</p> + +<p>“And how is your wife, Aguilar?”</p> + +<p>“She’s nicely, thank ye, ma’am. I pointed out to the +foreman that it would be a mistake to make the dining-room +door open the other way, as the architect suggested. +But he would do it. However, I’ve told you, ma’am. It’ll +only have to be altered back. Perhaps I ought to tell you +that I took the liberty of taking a fortnight’s holiday, +ma’am. It’s the only holiday I ever did take, except the +annual day off for the Colchester Rose Show, which is +perhaps more a matter of business with a head gardener +than a holiday, as ye might say. My wife wanted me in +London.”</p> + +<p>“She’s not caught yet?”</p> + +<p>“No’m. And I don’t think as she will be, not with me +about. I never did allow myself to be bossed by police, and +I always been too much for ’em. And as I’m on the +matter, ma’am, I should like to give you notice as soon +as it’s convenient. I wouldn’t leave on any account till that +foreman’s off the place; he’s no better than a fool. But as +soon afterwards as you like.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Aguilar. I was quite expecting it. Where +are you going to live?”</p> + +<p>“Well, ma’am, I’ve got hold of a little poultry run +business in the north of London. It’ll be handy for Holloway +in case—And Jane asked me to give you this letter, +ma’am. I see her this morning.”</p> + +<p>Audrey read the note. Very short, it was signed +“Jane” and “Nick,” and dated from a house in Fitzroy +Street. It caused acute excitement in Audrey.</p> + +<p>“I shall come at once,” said she.</p> + +<p>Getting rid of Aguilar, she knocked at the door of +No. 37.</p> + +<p>“Read that,” she ordered Miss Ingate and Madame +Piriac, giving them the note jointly.</p> + +<p>“And are you going?” said Miss Ingate, nervous and +impressed.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Audrey answered. “Don’t they ask me +to go at once? I meant to write to my cousins at Woodbridge +and my uncles in the colonies, and tell them all that +I was settling down at last. And I meant to look at those +new flats in Park Lane with Musa. But I shall have to +leave all that for the present. Also my lunch.”</p> + +<p>“But, darling,” put in Madame Piriac, who had been +standing before the dressing-table trying on a hat. “But, +darling, it is very serious, this matter. What about your +husband?”</p> + +<p>“He’ll keep,” said Audrey. “He’s had his turn. I +must have mine now. I haven’t had a day off from being +a wife for ever so long. And it’s a little enervating, you +know. It spoils you for the fresh air.”</p> + +<p>“I imagined to myself that you two were happy in an +ideal fashion,” murmured Madame Piriac.</p> + +<p>“So we are!” said Audrey. “Though a certain coolness +did arise over the luggage this morning. But I don’t +want to be ideally happy all the time. And I won’t be. I +want—I want all the sensations there are; and I want to +be everything. And I can be. Musa understands.”</p> + +<p>“If he does,” said Miss Ingate, “he’ll be the first +husband that ever did.” Her lips were sardonic.</p> + +<p>“Well, of course,” said Audrey nonchalantly, “he <em>is</em>. +Didn’t you know that?... And didn’t you tell me not +to forget Lady Southminster?”</p> + +<p>“Did I?” said Miss Ingate.</p> + +<p>Audrey heard voices in the corridor. Musa was parting +from a subservient Shinner. Also the luggage was bumping +along the carpet. She called her husband into No. 37 +and kissed him rather violently in front of Madame Piriac +and Miss Ingate, and showed him the note. Then she +whispered to him, smiling.</p> + +<p>“What’s that you’re whispering?” Miss Ingate archly +demanded.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. I was only asking him to come and help +me to open my big trunk. I want something out of it. +Au revoir, you two.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think of it all, Madame Piriac?” Miss +Ingate inquired when the pair were alone.</p> + +<p>“‘All the sensations there are!’ ‘Everything!’” +Madame Piriac repeated Audrey’s phrases. “One is forced +to conclude that she has an appetite for life.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Miss Ingate, “she wants the lion’s share of +it, that’s what she wants. No mistake. But of course she’s +young.”</p> + +<p>“I was never young like that.”</p> + +<p>“Neither was I! Neither was I!” Miss Ingate asseverated. +“But something vehy, vehy strange has come over +the world, if you ask me.”</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14487 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |