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diff --git a/14487-0.txt b/14487-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..faf1148 --- /dev/null +++ b/14487-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13002 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14487 *** + +THE LION'S SHARE + +by + +Arnold Bennett + +First Published 1916. + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + +NOVELS-- + A MAN FROM THE NORTH + ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS + LEONORA + A GREAT MAN + SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE + WHOM GOD HATH JOINED + BURIED ALIVE + THE OLD WIVES' TALE + THE GLIMPSE + HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND + CLAYHANGER + HILDA LESSWAYS + THESE TWAIN + THE CARD + THE REGENT + THE PRICE OF LOVE + + +FANTASIAS-- + THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL + THE GATES OF WRATH + TERESA OF WATLING STREET + THE LOOT OF CITIES + HUGO + THE GHOST + THE CITY OF PLEASURE + + +SHORT STORIES-- + TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS + THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS + THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS + + +BELLES-LETTRES-- + JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN + FAME AND FICTION + HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR + THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR + THE REASONABLE LIFE + HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY + THE HUMAN MACHINE + LITERARY TASTE + FRIENDSHIP AND HAPPINESS + THOSE UNITED STATES + MARRIAGE + LIBERTY + + +DRAMA-- + POLITE FARCES + CUPID AND COMMONSENSE + WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS + THE HONEYMOON + THE GREAT ADVENTURE + MILESTONES (in collaboration with Edward Knoblauch) + + * * * * * + + (In collaboration with Eden Phillpotts) + THE SINEWS OF WAR: A Romance + THE STATUE: A Romance + + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + +1. MISS INGATE, AND THE YACHT +2. THE THIEF'S PLAN WRECKED +3. THE LEGACY +4. MR. FOULGER +5. THE DEAD HAND +6. THE YOUNG WIDOW +7. THE CIGARETTE GIRL +8. EXPLOITATION OF WIDOWHOOD +9. LIFE IN PARIS +10. FANCY DRESS +11. A POLITICAL REFUGEE +12. WIDOWHOOD IN THE STUDIO +13. THE SWOON +14. MISS INGATE POINTS OUT THE DOOR +15. THE RIGHT BANK +16. ROBES +17. SOIRÉE +18. A DECISION +19. THE BOUDOIR +20. PAGET GARDENS +21. JANE +22. THE DETECTIVE +23. THE BLUE CITY +24. THE SPATTS +25. THE MUTE +26. NOCTURNE +27. IN THE GARDEN +28. ENCOUNTER +29. FLIGHT +30. ARIADNE +31. THE NOSTRUM +32. BY THE BINNACLE +33. AGUILAR'S DOUBLE LIFE +34. THE TANK-ROOM +35. THE THIRD SORT OF WOMAN +36. IN THE DINGHY +37. AFLOAT +38. IN THE UNIVERSE +39. THE IMMINENT DRIVE +40. GENIUS AT BAY +41. FINANCIAL NEWS +42. INTERVAL +43. ENTR'ACTE +44. END OF THE CONCERT +45. STRANGE RESULT OF A QUARREL +46. AN EPILOGUE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +MISS INGATE, AND THE YACHT + + +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. + +"And Flank Hall is my Zoo!" she had said. (Not that she had ever seen the +Zoological Gardens or visited London.) + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Well?" parried Audrey, holding one hand behind her. + +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. + +"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. + +"Mother's taking her acetyl salicylic," Audrey answered, coming to the door +of the study. + +This meant merely that Mrs. Moze had a customary attack of the neuralgia +for which the district is justly renowned among strangers. + +"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. + +"Father's gone to Colchester in the car to see the Bishop," Audrey coldly +added. + +"If I'd known he was going to Colchester I should have asked him for a +lift," said Miss Ingate, with determination. + +"Oh, yes! He'd have taken _you!_" said Audrey, reserved. "I suppose you +had fine times in London!" + +"Oh! It was vehy exciting! It was vehy exciting!" Miss Ingate agreed +loudly. + +"Father wouldn't let me read about it in the paper," said Audrey, still +reserved. "He never will, you know. But I did!" + +"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." + +"You _didn't!_" Audrey protested, with a sudden dark smile. + +"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." + +"And weren't you arrested?" + +"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 _for_ them, +but I wasn't going to be arrested." + +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." + +"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." + +"Well, _I_ was--this morning," said Audrey in a low and poignant voice. + +Miss Ingate was startled out of her mood of the detached ironic spectator. + +"What?" she frowned. + +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. + +"Father's given me a month's C.B." + +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. + +"'C.B.'? What do you mean--'C.B.'?" + +"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!" + +"No!" + +"Yes, he does. He's given me a week, you know, before. Now it's a month." + +Silence fell. + +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. + +"What you been doing?" she questioned, with delicacy. + +"I took a strange man by the hand," said Audrey, choosing her words +queerly, as she sometimes did, to produce a dramatic effect. + +"This morning?" + +"Yes. Eight o'clock." + +"What? Is there a strange man in the village?" + +"You don't mean to say you haven't seen the yacht!" + +"Yacht?" Miss Ingate showed some excitement. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Why! It's going off!" exclaimed Miss Ingate. + +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. + +"But didn't you explain to your father?" Miss Ingate demanded of Audrey. + +"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." + +"And who was it?" + +"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." + +Miss Ingate giggled at a high pitch, and Audrey responsively smiled. + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"I have," said Miss Ingate. "But it doesn't ruffle me, because I don't +play." + +"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." + +"But he's really very fond of you, Audrey." + +"Yes, I know," said Audrey. "He ought to keep me in the china cupboard." + +"Well, it's a great problem." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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!" + +"What's what?" + +A faint distant throbbing could be heard. + +"It's the motor! He's coming back for something. Fly out of here, Winnie, +fly!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Good morning, Miss Ingate," he greeted her with deferential cordiality. +"I'm so glad to see you back." + +"Good morning, good morning, Mr. Moze," responded Miss Ingate. "Vehy nice +of you. Vehy nice of you." + +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. + +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. + +"Come in. Do come in," urged Mr. Moze at the door of the study. + +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. + +"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?" + +She excused him. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE THIEF'S PLAN WRECKED + + +"The fact is," said Audrey, "father has another woman in the house now." + +Mr. Moze had left Miss Ingate in the study and Audrey had cautiously +rejoined her there. + +"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?" + +"I mean me." + +"You aren't a woman, Audrey." + +"I'm just as much of a woman as you are. All father's behaviour proves it." + +"But your father treats you as a child." + +"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." + +"You don't look it." + +"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." + +"But you've just said he treats you as a woman!" + +"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?" + +"In what way?" + +"You know what way," said Audrey, gazing at her. + +"Well, my dear. Things seemed to come very naturally, somehow." + +"Were you ever engaged?" + +"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." + +"And what did the bridegroom say about it?" + +"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." + +"How strange!" + +"Yes, it was. But this is a vehy strange part of the world." + +"And what happened afterwards?" + +"Bella died when she had her first baby, and the baby died as well. And the +father's dead now, too." + +"What a horrid story, Winnie!" Audrey murmured. And after a pause: "I like +your sister." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Won't let you! But I thought you did all sorts of things in the house." + +"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?" + +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. + +Audrey burst out: + +"Miss Ingate, what can I do? I must do something. What can I do?" + +Miss Ingate shook her head, and put her lips tightly together, while +mechanically smoothing the sides of her grey coat. + +"I don't know," she said. "It beats me." + +"Then _I'll_ tell you what I can do!" answered Audrey firmly, wriggling +somewhat nearer to her along the floor. "And what I shall do." + +"What?" + +"Will you promise to keep it a secret?" + +Miss Ingate nodded, smiling and showing her teeth. Her broad polished +forehead positively shone with kindly eagerness. + +"Will you swear?" + +Miss Ingate hesitated, and then nodded again. + +"Then put your hand on my head and say, 'I swear.'" + +Miss Ingate obeyed. + +"I shall leave this house," said Audrey in a low voice. + +"You won't, Audrey!" + +"I'll eat my hand off if I've not left this house by to-morrow, anyway." + +"To-morrow!" Miss Ingate nearly screamed. "Now, Audrey, do reflect. Think +what you are!" + +Audrey bounded to her feet. + +"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!" + +"Audrey, you frighten me. Where are you going to?" + +"London." + +"Oh! That's all right then. I am relieved. I thought perhaps you waited to +come to _my_ house. You won't get to London, because you haven't any +money." + +"Oh, yes, I have. I've got a hundred pounds." + +"Where?" + +"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. + +"And who did you get those from?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +Miss Ingate's mouth stood open, and her eyes seemed startled. + +"But you can't go to London alone. You wouldn't know what to do." + +"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 _Daily Telegraph_, 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." + +"But you'll be caught." + +"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." + +"You're vehy cunning." + +"I get that from mother. She's most frightfully cunning with father." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!.... + +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.... + +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. + +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." ... + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Mr. Moze, hurrying too fast to meet the Bishop of Colchester, had met a +greater than the Bishop. + +Audrey glanced an instant with a sick qualm at the outlines of the shape +beneath the tarpaulin, and ran. + +In the dining-room, over the speck of fire, Mrs. Moze and Miss Ingate were +locked in a deep intimate gossip. + +"Mother!" cried Audrey, and then sank like a sack. + +"Why! The little thing's fainted!" Miss Ingate exclaimed in a voice +suddenly hoarse. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE LEGACY + + +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. + +Suddenly the irregular sound of crunching receded. + +"He's gone somewhere else," said Audrey. + +"I'm so relieved," said Miss Ingate. "I hope he's gone a long way off." + +"Are you?" murmured Audrey, with an air of surprised superiority. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +The heavy policemanish step of Mr. Cowl was heard on the landing. + +"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?" + +"Is his moustache dyed, Winnie? Oh, what fun!" + +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. + +Pulling a key from the pocket of his vast waistcoat, he said in his quiet +voice, so seductive and ominous: + +"Is this the key of the safe?" + +He offered it delicately to Audrey. + +It was the key of the safe. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Did I?" murmured Audrey, with a deeper blush. + +Mr. Cowl nodded. + +"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!" + +He pointed to the key lying in Audrey's long hand. + +"But how should I have had the key, Mr. Cowl? Why should I have had the +key?" Audrey burst out like a simpleton. + +"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?" + +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: + +"You couldn't have found the key in the pocket of my old frock, Mr. Cowl." + +"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. + +"Because it has no pocket." + +"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. + +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'?" + +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. + +"This resembles a testament," said Mr. Cowl, smiling to himself, and +pulling out a foolscap scrip, folded and endorsed. "Yes. Dated last year." + +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. + +Audrey tried to decipher the will, and completely failed. + +"Will you read it, Miss Ingate?" she muttered. + +"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. + +"May _I_ 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." + +He took the document and gazed at it intently, turning over a page and +turning back, for an extraordinarily long time. + +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." + +At length Mr. Cowl spoke: + +"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?" + +"Well, Mr. Cowl, you're a very peculiar man. May I ask whether you were +born in this part of the country?" + +"At Clacton, Miss Ingate," answered Mr. Cowl imperturbably. + +"I knew it," said Miss Ingate, and the corners of her lips went +sardonically down. + +"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." + +He departed, leaving the two women speechless. + +After a moment, Miss Ingate said dryly: + +"He was so very peculiar I knew he must belong to these parts." + +"How did he know I left my blue frock at Miss Pannell's?" cried Audrey. "I +never told him." + +"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." + +"And why should he suppose that I'd the key?" Audrey put in. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I did begin to," said Miss Ingate with a snigger. "But you wouldn't back +me up, you little coward." + +"I shall never be a coward again!" Audrey said violently. + +They read the will together. They had no difficulty at all in comprehending +it now that they were alone. + +"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." + +"What's that you're saying?" murmured Miss Ingate, who had picked up the +letter which Mr. Cowl had laid on the small table. + +"I say I shall make mother go to Paris with me." + +"You won't," said Miss Ingate. "Because she won't go. I know your mother +better than you do.... Oh! Audrey!" + +Audrey saw Miss Ingate's face turn scarlet from the roots of her hair to +her chin. + +Miss Ingate had dropped the letter. Audrey snatched it. + +"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?" + +The letter was signed with a name unknown to either of them, and it was +dated from Coleman Street, E.C. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +MR. FOULGER + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"You'll _have_ 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." + +After the parlourmaid had gone, and while Audrey was upbraiding her for not +confessing earlier her acquaintance with Mr. Foulger, Miss Ingate added: + +"Only his wife has a wooden leg." + +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. + +"Here you are at last, Mr. Foulger!" Miss Ingate responded. "But you're too +late." + +These mysterious words, and the speechlessness of Audrey, upset him again. + +"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. + +"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." + +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: + +"There is a later will, Mr. Foulger. It was made last year." + +"I see," he breathed, scarcely above a whisper. + +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. + +He rose from the chair. + +"Then I need not trouble you any longer," he said in a firm tone, and +turned with real dignity to leave. + +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. + +"You mustn't go," said Miss Ingate. + +"You are my solicitor, whatever mother may say, and you mustn't go," added +Audrey in a soft voice. + +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." + +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: + +"H'm! He made this himself." + +And he gazed at it compassionately, as a cabinetmaker might gaze at a piece +of amateur fretwork. + +Standing, he read it slowly and with extreme care. And when he had finished +he casually remarked, in the classic legal phrase: + +"It isn't worth the paper it's written on." + +Then he sat down again, and his neat paunch resumed its niche between his +legs. He knew that he had made a tremendous effect. + +"But--but----" Miss Ingate began. + +"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 +_might_ have pronounced for it. But under the circumstances it hasn't the +ghost of a chance." + +"But won't the National Reformation Society make trouble?" demanded Miss +Ingate faintly. + +"Let 'em try!" said Mr. Foulger, who wished that the National Reformation +Society would indeed try. + +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. + +"You are a dear!" she whispered. + +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?" + +Audrey ran to Miss Ingate. + +Mr. Foulger, suddenly ashamed, and determined to be a lawyer, said sharply: + +"Has Mrs. Moze made a will?" + +"Mother made a will? Oh no!" + +"Then she should make one at once, in your favour, of course. No time +should be lost." + +"But Mrs. Moze is ill in bed," protested Miss Ingate. + +"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. + +"Do you mean _now?_" shrilled Miss Ingate. + +"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." + +"I should suggest Aguilar," answered Miss Ingate, the corners of her lips +dropping. + +Miss Ingate went first, to prepare Mrs. Moze. + +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!" + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE DEAD HAND + + +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. + +"Audrey, darling, I must speak to you." + +Instantly Audrey became the wise directress of her poor foolish mother's +existence. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +The girl, all in white, held the candle higher, and the shadows everywhere +shrunk in unison. Mrs. Moze blinked. + +"Put the candle on the night-table," said Mrs. Moze curtly. + +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. + +"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." + +"What about, mother?" + +"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." + +"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. + +Mrs. Moze replied obstinately: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE YOUNG WIDOW + + +It was early October. Audrey stood at the garden door of Flank Hall. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Audrey," demanded Miss Ingate, with a start, "what are those rings on your +finger?" + +Audrey replied: + +"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. + +"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. + +"I look bewitching in them," said Audrey, relocking the case. + +"But, my child, what does it mean?" + +"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." + +"You ought to have told me before." + +"No, I oughtn't. Nothing could have been more foolish." + +"But who are you the widow of?" + +"Hurrah!" cried Audrey. "You are a sport, Winnie! I'll tell you all the +interesting details in the train." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE CIGARETTE GIRL + + +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. + +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. + +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 _cause +célèbre._ Among the list were two English lords, an Honourable Mrs., a +baroness with a Hungarian name, several Teutonic names, and Mrs. Moncreiff. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then a sharp squall of rain broke, but she entirely ignored the rain. + +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: + +"She must be the wife of one of those lords!" + +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. + +"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. + +Her delicious cheeks were now a delicate crimson. But they had been of a +delicate crimson throughout. + +"No," said Audrey. "You're in ours. Which is yours?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Is your husband on board?" asked Audrey. + +"He just is," was the answer. "He's in our cabin." + +"Shall I fetch him?" Miss Ingate suggested. The corners of her lips had +begun to fall once more. + +"Will you?" said the young woman. "It's Lord Southminster. I'm Lady +Southminster." + +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. + +"I'll look for the number on the cabin list," said she hastily, and went +forth with trembling to summon the peer. + +As Audrey, alone in the cabin with Lady Southminster, bent curiously over +the prostrate form, Lady Southminster exclaimed with an air of childlike +admiration: + +"You're real ladies, you are!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh, couldn't he!" observed Lady Southminster, sitting up. "Couldn't he!" + +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: + +"Oh! All right! If that's it....!" + +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, propos of +nothing: + +"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?" + +"Certainly not," said Miss Ingate. "But it _is_ rather romantic, isn't it, +Audrey?" + +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. + +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. + +Well, France was not equal to its reputation; and Miss Ingate's sardonic +smile seemed to be saying: "So this is your France!" + +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. + +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. + +"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 _she's_ 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." + +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. + +"Marriage ain't all chocolate-creams," said the peeress after a pause. +"Have one?" And she opened her bag very hospitably. + +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: + +"MAN OVERBOARD." + +Henceforward a suspicion that had lain concealed in the undergrowth of the +hearts of the two girls stalked boldly about in full daylight. + +"He's done it, and he's done it to spite me!" murmured Lady Southminster +tearfully. + +"Oh no!" Audrey protested. "Even if he had fallen overboard he'd have been +seen and the captain would have stopped the boat." + +"Where do you come from?" Lady Southminster retorted with disdain. "That's +an _omen_, that is"--pointing to the words on the cover of the magazine. +"What else could it be? I ask you." + +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: + +"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." + +Audrey blenched. + +"Shall you wake her?" + +"Wake her, and have a scene--with us here? No, I shan't. He's a fool." + +"How d'you know?" asked Audrey. + +"Well, he must have been a fool to marry her." + +"Well," whispered Audrey. "If I'd been a man I'd have married that face +like a shot." + +"It might be all right if he'd only married the face. But he's married what +she calls her mind." + +"Is he young?" + +"Yes. And as good-looking in his own way as she is." + +"Well--" + +But the Countess of Southminster stirred, and the slight movement stopped +conversation. + +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. + +Paris! + +And, mysteriously, all Audrey's illusions concerning France had been born +again. She was convinced that Paris could not fail to be paradisiacal. + +Lady Southminster awoke. + +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. + +"So that's marriage!" said Audrey. + +"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." + +"I do hope they'll be happy," said Audrey. + +"Do you?" said Miss Ingate. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +EXPLOITATION OF WIDOWHOOD + + +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. + +An employee strolled past. + +"_Porteur?_" murmured Audrey timidly. + +The man sniggered, shrugged his shoulders, and vanished. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh! My trunk!" cried Miss Ingate. + +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 _porteur_ 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 _porteur_ and established himself at the counter in +front of them. He put his hand on Miss Ingate's trunk. + +"Op-en," he said in English. + +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: + +"No key! ... Lost!" + +Then she looked awkwardly at Audrey. + +"I've been told they only want to open one trunk when there's a lot. Let +him choose another one," she murmured archly. + +But the official merely walked away, to deal with the trunks of somebody +else close by. + +Audrey was cross. + +"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." + +"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." + +The _porteur_ had meanwhile been discharging French into Audrey's other +ear. + +"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. + +"I'd rather not." + +"The _porteur_ says we shall be here all night," Audrey persisted. + +"Do you know French?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"Don't they look French!" said Miss Ingate. + +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 _porteur_, 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. + +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 _porteur_ to open the small trunk. + +"I told you they would," said Miss Ingate negligently. + +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. + +Just as the trunk was being relocked, Audrey heard an American girlish +voice behind her: + +"Now, you must be Miss Ingate!" + +"I am," Miss Ingate almost ecstatically admitted. + +The trio in cloaked fancy dress were surrounding Miss Ingate like a +bodyguard. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +LIFE IN PARIS + + +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. + +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. + +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! _Mrs._ Moncreiff!" The slightest insistence, +no more, on the "Mrs."! Nothing said, but evidently they had expected +somebody else! + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Do you play at ten-nis, Madame?" + +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. + +"What is that?" she asked. + +"That?" exclaimed Nick kindly. "Oh! That's only the _grand boulevard_." + +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. + +"Vehy amusing, isn't it?" whispered Miss Ingate caustically to Audrey. +"Aren't they dears?" + +"Madame Dubois's establishment is on the third and fourth floors," said +Nick. + +They climbed a broad, curving, carpeted staircase. + +"We're here," said Audrey to Miss Ingate after scores of stairs. + +Miss Ingate, breathless, could only smile. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" "_Bon soir,_" and answers were given in American or +French voices. + +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. + +"I vote we all have grenadines," said Nick. + +Grenadine was agreeable to Audrey's ear, and everyone concurred. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"She lives only for one thing." + +"Yes," replied Tommy. "And if she got it, I guess no one would be more +disgusted than she herself." + +There was an instant's silence. + +"Oh, Tommy!" Nick lovingly protested. + +Said Miss Ingate with a comprehending satiric grin: + +"I see what you mean. I quite see. I quite see. You're right, Miss +Thompkins. I'm sure you're right." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Does Mr. Musa paint, too?" asked Audrey. + +"Oh _no_!" Both his protectresses answered together, pained. Tommy added: +"Musa plays the violin--of course." + +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. + +"I used to paint," Miss Ingate broke out. "And I'm beginning to think I +should like to paint again." + +Said Nick, enraptured: + +"I'll let you use my studio, if you will. I'd just love you to, now! Where +did you study?" + +"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." + +"You dear! You precious! You priceless!" cooed Nick. "I shall fix up my +second best easel for you to-morrow." + +"Isn't she just too lovely!" Tommy murmured aside to Audrey. + +"I not much understand," said Musa. + +Tommy translated to him, haltingly, and Audrey was moved to say, with +energy: + +"What I want most is to learn French, and I'm going to begin to-morrow +morning." + +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!" + +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 _mind_ coming to the ball to-night. We really didn't know------" +She stopped. Her eyes, ferreting in Audrey's black, completed the +communication. + +Unnerved for the tenth of a second, Audrey recovered and answered: + +"Oh, no! I shall like it very much." + +"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." + +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. + +"Excuse me being so clumsy," said Tommy contritely. "Another time." And +she waved her cigarette to the waiter in demand for the bill. + +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. + +"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." + +Audrey, overcome by this prodigious blow, trembled at the contemplation of +her blind stupidity. + +Beyond question, Musa now looked extremely important, vivid, masterful. She +had been mistaking him for a nice, ornamental, useless boy. + + + +CHAPTER X + +FANCY DRESS + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Where is the host?" Audrey asked. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Audrey said she would, and that she would buy a racket. + +"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 _sleep_." + +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. + +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. + +"_Voilà_ Dauphin!" said Musa. + +"Musa!" called Monsieur Dauphin, espying the youth on the staircase. Then +he made a gesture to the orchestra: "Give him a violin!" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," murmured Audrey. + +"Come up on the dais, will you?" he suggested. "And let us survey the scene +together." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Charming, isn't he?" said Miss Thompkins, arriving with Miss Ingate in +front of the flower-screened platform. + +"Oh! he is!" answered Audrey with sincerity, leaning downwards. + +"Has he told you all about the Russian princesses?" + +"Oh, yes," said Audrey, pleased. + +"I thought he would," said Miss Thompkins, with a peculiar intonation. + +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. + +Tommy continued: + +"Then I guess he told you he'd given Musa to the world." + +Audrey nodded. + +"Ah! I knew he would. Well, when he comes back he'll tell you that you must +come to one of his _real_ 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." + +"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." + +"And why should you hide it, Winnie?" Audrey stoutly demanded. + +"Well, au revoir," Tommy murmured delicately, with a very original gesture. +"He's coming back." + +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. + +"Have you been to my roof-garden, Mrs. Moncreiff?" he asked in a persuasive +voice, raising his eyebrows. + +She said she had, and that she thought the roof was heavenly. + +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. + +"Are you taking a house in Paris?" inquired Monsieur Dauphin. + +Audrey answered primly: + +"I haven't decided. Should you advise me to do so?" + +He waved a hand. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He answered: + +"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?" + +Audrey burst out laughing. She laughed loud and violently till the tears +stood in her eyes. + +"Well," he said, at a loss, deprecatingly. "Perhaps these Moncreiffs _are_ +rather weird." + +"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." + +He gave a dubious smile. + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A POLITICAL REFUGEE + + +"Rosamund has come to my studio and wants to see me at once. _She has sent +for me._ Miss Ingate says she shall go, too." + +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. + +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. + +The immense flickering boulevard with its double roadway stretched away to +the horizon on either hand, empty. + +"What time is it?" asked Miss Ingate. + +Tommy looked at her wrist-watch. + +"Don't tell me! Don't tell me!" cried Audrey. + +"We might get a taxi in the Rue de Babylone," Tommy suggested. "Or shall we +walk?" + +"We _must_ walk," cried Audrey. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"I never have a match," she said. + +They blundered up tenebrous stairs. + +"We're just passing my door," said Tommy. "Nick's is higher up." + +Then a perpendicular slit of light showed itself--and a portal slightly +open could be distinguished. + +"I shall quit here," said Tommy. "You go right in." + +"You aren't leaving us?" exclaimed Miss Ingate in alarm. + +"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." + +She could be heard descending. + +"Why, I guess they're here," said a voice, Nick's, within, and the door was +pulled wide open. + +"My legs are all of a tremble!" muttered Miss Ingate. + +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. + +At the back of the studio there sat another woman, so engloomed that no +detail of her could be distinguished. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Yes, of course, I shall go," Nick answered. + +"When?" was the implacable question. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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! _Do_!" + +"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. + +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. + +"You knew I played the barrel organ all down Regent Street?" she ventured, +blushing. + +"Ah!" murmured Rosamund, unmoved. "It was you who played the barrel-organ? +So it was." + +"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 +_did_ get the vote. I think I should be sorry, too--you know what I mean." + +"Perfectly," ejaculated Rosamund, with a pleasant smile. + +"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----" + +She could not finish. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +And she thought: + +"What is the matter with me? I have ruined myself." All her exultation had +collapsed. + +But Rosamund remarked gravely: + +"It is a common story." + +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. + +"Madame Piriac," announced Rosamund. + +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. + +"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 _petits pois_." +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. + +Miss Ingate said with noticeable calm, but also with the air of a +conspirator who sees danger to a most secret machination: + +"I'm afraid Mrs. Moncreiff won't care to go into details." + +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. + +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. + +"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! + +Evidently Nick had been communicative. + +"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?" + +"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 _could_ count on. Miss Ingate is, of course, a subscriber to the +Union--" + +"Only a very little one," cried Miss Ingate. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"Why didn't you come up?" asked Miss Ingate of Tommy in Tommy's +antechamber. "Have you and _she_ quarrelled?" + +"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." + +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! + +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. + +"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?" + +Audrey made no response. The other two sat silent. Miss Ingate thought: + +"What's the girl going to do next? Surely she could mumble something." + +The car curved and stopped. + +"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." + +Audrey did not stir. + +"_Mon Dieu!_" murmured Madame Piriac, "What has she, little one?" + +Rosamund said stiffly and curtly: + +"She is asleep.... It is very late. Four o'clock." + +Excellent as was Audrey's excuse for her lapse, Rosamund was not at all +pleased. That slumber was one of Rosamund's rare defeats. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +WIDOWHOOD IN THE STUDIO + + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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 _New York +Herald_ or the _Daily Mail_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE SWOON + + +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. + +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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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: + +"Miss Thompkins and I will play together. See, we are going to beat you and +Gustave." + +Musa retired. A few indifferent spectators had collected. Gustave, the +fourth, had to serve. + +"Play!" he muttered, in a thick and threatening voice, whose depth was the +measure of his nervousness. + +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? + +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. + +No one said: + +"It is Musa, the greatest violinist in Paris and perhaps in Europe." + +Desperately Audrey stooped and seized Musa beneath the armpits to lift him +to a sitting position. + +"You'd better leave him alone," said Tommy, with a kind of ironic warning +and innuendo. + +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. + +"Drop him, you silly little thing!" adjured Miss Ingate. "Instead of +lifting his head you ought to lift his feet." + +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. + +"You want to let the blood run _into_ 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." + +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. + +"It was only the pain that made him feel queer," she said. + +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. + +"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. + +"Yes, I will," said Audrey curtly. + +And Tommy's eyes glinted still more. + +"And I shall get a doctor," said Audrey. "His arm may be broken." + +"I should," Tommy concurred with gravity. + +"Well, if it is, _I_ 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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MISS INGATE POINTS OUT THE DOOR + + +"Why did you cry this afternoon, Musa?" + +Musa made no reply. + +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. + +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 +_petits fours_. 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"I am done for!" came the mournful voice of Musa out of the obscurity +behind the lamp. + +"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." + +Musa shook his head. + +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. + +"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." + +"Foa? Who is Foa?" + +"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 _cachet_. 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 _lent_ to me regularly by Mademoiselle Thompkins and Mademoiselle +Nickall?" + +"You don't, Musa?" Audrey burst out in English. + +"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." + +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. + +"It is extremely unsatisfactory," she said, dropping on to Miss Ingate's +sofa. + +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.... + +Then, after a long while, Miss Ingate entered sharply. Audrey coughed and +sprang up. + +"Oh!" ejaculated Miss Ingate. + +"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. + +As soon as she was gone, Miss Ingate went close up to Musa's chair. He had +not moved. + +She said, smiling, with the corners of her mouth well down: + +"Do you see that door, young man?" + +And she indicated the door. + +When Audrey came back into the studio. + +"Audrey," cried Miss Ingate shrilly. "What you been doing to Musa? As soon +as you went out he up vehy quickly and ran away." + +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. + +"It looks as if it was from Nick," she murmured. + +Miss Ingate, as she was putting on her spectacles, remarked: + +"I hope you weren't hurt--me not coming with you and Musa in the taxi from +the gardens this afternoon, dear." + +"Me? Oh no!" + +"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." + +"Oh! Did she?... What does Nick say?" + +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. + +"Well," said Miss Ingate twisting her head sideways so as to see Audrey +standing like a ghost afar off. "Well, she _has_ 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 _New York Times_ 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 _very_ serious, and the Government is at its wits' end. This +we _know_. 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----'" + +Slowly Audrey moved up to the table and leaned over the letter by Miss +Ingate's side. + +"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. _I_ know as well as if I could hear them speaking." + +"Do you think we ought to go to London?" Audrey demanded bluntly. + +"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 _cigahs_ 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." + +"Winnie," said Audrey. "You're very sensible sometimes." + +"I'm always very sensible," Winnie retorted, "until I get nervous. Then I'm +apt to skid." + +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. + +"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." + +But Miss Ingate, being fast asleep, offered no answer. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE RIGHT BANK + + +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: + +"Well, I must be off to my life class. And much good may it do me!" + +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. + +Audrey made no reply. The morning had been unusually silent, giving +considerable scope for Miss Ingate's faculty for leaving well alone. + +"I suppose you aren't coming out?" added Miss Ingate. + +"No. I went out a bit this morning. You know I have my French lesson in +twenty minutes." + +"Of course." + +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. + +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 _grand boulevard_ 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"What name?" said the clerk. + +"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. + +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: + + "73,065 frs. 50c." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"Pooh!" she replied to her conscience, for she could always confute it with +a sharp word--for a time. + +And she crossed to the _grand boulevard_, 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 +_morceau_ was brought to her without the slightest hesitation, together +with the pianoforte accompaniment. The price was twelve francs. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"I can hire you a car in half an hour, with liveried chauffeur," said the +shopman, after telephoning. "But he cannot speak English." + +"_Ça m'est égal_," answered Audrey with grim satisfaction. "What kind of a +car will it be?" + +"Mercédès, Madame." + +The price was eight hundred francs a week, inclusive. As Audrey was paying +for the first week the man murmured: + +"What address, Madame?" + +"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." + +The dispenser of cars bowed. + +"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." + +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: + +"Monsieur Foa--which floor?" + +A very dark, rather short and negligently dressed man of nearly middle-age +who was descending the staircase, raised his hat with grave ceremony: + +"Pardon, Madame. Foa--it is I." + +Audrey was not prepared for this encounter. She had intended to compose her +face and her speech while mounting the staircase. She blushed. + +"I come from Musa--the violinist," she began hesitatingly. "You invited +him to play at your flat on Friday night, Monsieur." + +Monsieur Foa gave a sudden enchanting smile: + +"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." + +"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...." + +"Madame, every Friday we are at home, every Friday. My wife will be +ravished. I shall be ravished. Believe me. Let him be reassured." + +"Monsieur, you are too amiable. I shall tell Musa." + +"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." + +"Monsieur is too amiable, truly." + +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. + +Audrey was burning with excitement. She said to herself: + +"I have discovered Paris." + +When the taxi turned again into the Rue de la Paix, she thought: + +"The car will not be waiting. It would be too lovely if it were." + +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. + +"Here is Madame," said he. + +The chauffeur saluted. + +The car was closed. + +"Will Madame have the carriage open or closed?" + +"Closed." + +Having paid the taxi-driver, Audrey entered the car, and as she did so, she +threw over her shoulder: + +"Hôtel du Danube." + +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: + +"It is a miracle!" + +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. + +"Where is the dining-room?" demanded Audrey. + +"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. + +Good! Good! She would return with her friend in one hour or so. + +"106 Rue Delambre," she bade the chauffeur, after being followed to the +pavement by the dandy and a suite. + +"Rue de Londres?" said the chauffeur. + +"No. Rue Delambre." + +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. + +"Winnie!" began Audrey in the studio, with assumed indifference. Miss +Ingate was at tea. + +"Oh! You are a swell. Where you been?" + +"Winnie! What do you say to going and living on the right bank for a bit?" + +"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." + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +ROBES + + +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 _matinée_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well----" Audrey began. But she heard the automobile, and told Elise to +run and be ready to open the front door of the flat. + +"Rather showy, isn't it? Rather daring?" said Miss Ingate, advancing +self-consciously and self-deprecating. + +"Winnie," answered Audrey. "It's a nice question between you and the Queen +of Sheba." + +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. + +She screamed. And forthwith putting her hands behind her neck she began to +unhook the corsage. + +"What are you doing, Winnie?" + +"I'm taking it off." + +"But why?" + +"Because I'm not going to wear it." + +"But you've nothing else to wear." + +"I can't help that." + +"But you can't come. What on earth shall you do?" + +"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." + +Audrey heard Musa enter the drawing-room. + +She pulled the door to, keeping her hand on the knob. + +"Very well, Winnie," she said coldly, and swept into the drawing-room. + +As she and Musa left the pink rose-shaded flat, she heard a burst of tears +from Elise in the bedroom. + +"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. + +The chauffeur approvingly touched his hat. The Rue d'Aumale was a good +street. + +"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. + +She was taciturn and severe with Musa. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SOIRÉE + + +"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. + +"I brought Monsieur Musa in my car," said Audrey. "The weather----" + +Monsieur Foa bowed low to Monsieur Musa, and Monsieur Musa bowed low to +Monsieur Foa. + +"Monsieur!" + +"Monsieur!" + +"Monsieur, your accident I hope...." + +And so on. + +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. + +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. + +"But your friend? But your friend?" cried she. + +Audrey, being led gradually into the drawing-room, explained that Miss +Ingate had been prevented at the last moment, etc., etc. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I fear not," replied Madame Foa. "She would if she could." + +"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. + +And Monsieur Foa, a little distance off, threw a sign into the duologue, +and called: + +"You permit me? Your dress ... _Exquise! Exquise!_ 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +She stammered: + +"I--I only know what I like." + +One of the composers jumped up excitedly: + +"_Voilà_ 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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 _crêpe de +Chine_, 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. + +The moment had arrived. Roussel sat down to the piano. Musa tuned his +fiddle. + +"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." + +Then, in the silence, the clanging sound was renewed, and the fox-terrier +reacted. + +"André, my friend," cried Madame Foa, skipping into the hall. "Will you do +me the pleasure of exterminating this dog?" + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +"_Ouf!"_ sighed the musical critic Orientally lounging on a chair. "André, +has it occurred to you that we are expiring for want of air?" + +A window was opened, and a shiver went through the assembly. + +The clanging sounded again, but no dog, for the dog had been exterminated. + +"Dauphin, my old pig!" Foa's greeting from the entrance floated into the +drawing-room, and then a very impressed: "Mademoiselle" from Madame Foa. + +"What?" cried Dauphin. "Musa has played? He played well? So much the +better. What did I tell you?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Abruptly leaving Miss Ingate, Audrey walked straight up to the Englishman. + +"Good evening," she said in a low voice. "What is your name?" + +"Gilman," he answered, with a laugh. "I only this instant recognised you." + +"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." + +And she moved quickly away. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A DECISION + + +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." + +"What does she say? Skeed--skeed?" demanded the host. + +Audrey interpreted. Shouts of laughter! + +"Oh! These English! These Englishwomen!" said the host. "I adore them. I +adore them all. They alone exist." + +"It's vehy serious!" protested Miss Ingate. "It's vehy serious!" + +"We shall go to London to-morrow, shan't we, Winnie?" said Audrey across +the table to her. + +"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." + +"What does she say? What is it that she says?" from the host. + +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. + +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. + +She said: + +"Are you really going to London to-morrow, Madame?" + +"Yes, Madame, really!" answered Audrey firmly, without the least +hesitation. + +"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." + +Audrey was startled and suspicious, but she could not deny the +persuasiveness of the invitation. + +"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...." + +"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." + +"But Madame, we are at the Hôtel du Danube. I have my own car. You are very +amiable." + +Madame Piriac was a little taken aback. + +"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." + +"Does she know who I am?" thought Audrey, and then: "What do I care if she +does?" + +And she said aloud: + +"Madame, it is I who would be desolated to deprive myself of this +pleasure." + +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. + +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: + +"He is charming, Musa, quite charming." + +"Did you like his playing?" Audrey demanded boldly. + +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. + +"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. + +"I am very, very content to have heard him," said Monsieur Foa. + +"Do you think he will succeed in Paris?" + +"Ah! Madame! There is the Press. There are the snobs.... In fine...." + +"I suppose if he had money?" Audrey murmured. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Really!" said Audrey. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Perhaps not one of my happiest efforts," said Mr. Gilman with +resignation. "I am a dull man." + +"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!" + +"I really don't understand it," said Mr. Gilman. "Either everybody is mad, +or I am mad. I dare say I am mad." + +"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." + +"Do you mean overdone?" asked Mr. Gilman mildly. + +"Well, overdone, if you like better that." + +"Do you mean shop, Hortense?" asked Mr. Gilman further. + +"Shop, shop! The English is impossible!" + +The automobile crossed the Seine and arrived in the deserted Quai Voltaire. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE BOUDOIR + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"Dear friend. I have to work with this old Gilman. We shall therefore ask +you to excuse us. Till to-morrow, then. Good night." + +"Good night, my friend. Do not do harm to yourself. Good night, my oncle." + +Monsieur Piriac saluted with formality but with sincerity. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"But, Madame, I assure you that I really was asleep." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"No. But she has captured you. You are going." + +"Going where?" + +"To London, to take part in these riots." + +"I shan't have anything to do with riots." + +"Within a month you will have been in a riot, Madame ... and I shall +regret it." + +"And even if I am, Madame! You are a friend of Rosamund's. You must be in +sympathy." + +"In sympathy with what?" + +"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 _will_ get it!" + +"Why do you say 'they'?" + +"I mean 'we.'" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Feared what?" + +"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." + +"But do you know anything about me?" + +Madame Piriac paused before replying. + +"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?" + +"Oh, yes!" Audrey agreed, blushing. + +"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." + +Audrey blushed more, thinking of certain plans formed in that head of hers. +She said nothing. She was both very pleased and very exasperated. + +"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." + +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. + +Madame Piriac, looking reflectively at the red embers of wood in the grate, +went on: + +"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." + +"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?" + +Madame Piriac smiled, and kissed her on both cheeks. + +"It is good," said Madame Piriac. "But your maid is not all that she ought +to be. However, it is good." + +"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. + +Not another word about the male sex, the female sex, tradition or +individualism, passed between them. + +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: + +"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." + +She took care that her thanks should reward him. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XX + +PAGET GARDENS + + +"Has anything happened in this town?" asked Audrey of Miss Ingate. + +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. + +"Anything happened?" repeated Miss Ingate. "What you mean? I don't see +anything vehy particular on the posters." + +"Everybody looks so sad and worried, compared with people in Paris." + +"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." + +"Do _we_ look like that?" Audrey suggested. + +"I expect we do." + +"I'm quite sure that I don't, Winnie, anyway. I'm really very cheerful. I'm +surprisingly cheerful." + +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. + +"I've a good mind to ask a policeman," said she. + +"You'd better not," Miss Ingate warned her. + +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. + +"Excuse me," she said, smiling innocently up at him, "but is anything the +matter?" + +"_What_ street, miss?" he questioned, bending lower. + +"Is anything the matter? All the people round here are so gloomy." + +The policeman glanced at her. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Does Miss Nickall live here?" asked Audrey. + +"Aye! She does!" came the answer, with a northern accent. + +"We've come to see how she is." + +"Happen ye'd better step inside, then," said the young woman. + +They stepped inside to an enormous and obscure interior; the guardian +banged the door, and negligently led them forward. + +"It is a large house," Miss Ingate ventured, against the silent +intimidation of the place. + +"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." + +Having passed two very spacious rooms and a wide staircase, she opened the +door of a smaller but still a considerable room. + +"Here y'are," she muttered. + +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. + +"Here's some friends of yours," said the guardian, throwing her words +across the room. + +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. + +"Mind how ye handle her," the guardian gave warning, when Nick yielded +herself to be embraced. + +"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." + +Susan gave a grim bob. + +"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!" + +When Nick had gathered items of information about Paris, she burst out: + +"I can't believe I've only met you once before. You're just like old +friends." + +"So we are old friends," said Audrey. "Your letters to Winnie have made us +old friends." + +"And when did you come over?" + +"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." + +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. + +"And how did this happen?" eagerly inquired Miss Ingate, at last, pointing +to the bandaged arm. + +Nick's face showed discomfort. + +"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." + +Susan Foley put in laconically: + +"She's not to be worried. I hope ye'll stay for tea. We shall have tea at +five sharp. Janey'll be in." + +"Can't they sleep here, Susan?" Nick whimpered. + +"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." + +"But we're staying at an hotel. We can't possibly put you to all this +trouble," Audrey protested. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +JANE + + +"We've begun, ye see," said Susan Foley. + +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. + +"It's lovely to be quite free and independent," Audrey had said, and the +statement had been acclaimed. + +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. + +"Susan _will_ 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." + +Susan was spreading jam on a slice of bread-and-butter for the one-armed +Nick. + +"I dare say you don't remember me playing the barrel organ all down Regent +Street that day, do you?" said Miss Ingate. + +"Oh, yes; quite well. You were magnificent!" answered Jane, with blue eyes +sparkling. + +"Well, though I only just saw you--I was so busy--I should remember you +anywhere, Miss Foley," said Miss Ingate. + +"Do you notice any difference in her?" questioned Susan Foley harshly. + +"N-o," said Miss Ingate. "Except, perhaps, she looks even younger." + +"Didn't you notice she's lame?" + +"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." + +"No," said Susan. "It's for life. Tell them about it, Jenny. They don't +know." + +Jane Foley laughed lightly. + +"It was all in the day's work," she said. "It was at my last visit to +Holloway." + +Audrey, gazing at her entranced, like a child, murmured with awe: + +"Have you been to prison, then?" + +"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?" + +"But how were you lamed? I can't eat any tea if you don't tell me--really I +can't!" + +"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 _I_ want, I won't +eat and drink when _they_ want!' And I didn't. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.'" + +"But did they keep you after that?" + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"But I never saw all this in the papers!" Audrey exclaimed. + +"No paper--I mean no respectable paper--would print it. Of course, we +printed it in our own weekly paper." + +"Why wouldn't any respectable paper print it?" + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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!" + +"I should love to help," said Audrey. "I expect I'm not much good, but I +should love to." + +She dared not refer to her wealth, of which, in fact, she was rather +ashamed. + +"Well, you can help, all right," said Jane Foley, rising. "Are you a +member?" + +"No. But I will be to-morrow." + +"They'll give you something to do," said Jane Foley. + +"Oh yes!" remarked Miss Ingate. "They'll keep you busy enough--_and_ charge +you for it." + +Susan Foley began to clear the table. + +"Supper at nine," said she curtly. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE DETECTIVE + + +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. + +Miss Ingate, putting her pen between her teeth and looking up from a +blotting-pad, said to Audrey across the table: + +"Are you writing to Musa?" + +"Certainly not!" said Audrey, with fire. "Why should I write to Musa?" She +added: "But you can write to him, if you like." + +"Oh! Can I?" observed Miss Ingate, grinning. + +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. + +She rose from the table, and, going into a corner, fidgeted with the +electric switches, turning certain additional lights off and on. + +"All right," said Miss Ingate; "I'll write to him. I'm sure he'll expect +something. Have you finished your letters?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, what's this one on the table, then?" + +"I shan't go on with that one." + +"Any message for Musa?" + +"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." + +"Did you?" cried Miss Ingate. "Where?" + +"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." + +"Wonders will never cease!" said Miss Ingate. "Have I got enough stamps?" + +"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." + +Shortly afterwards Miss Ingate shouted downstairs into the earth: + +"Miss Foley, we're both just going out to post some letters." + +The faint reply came: + +"Supper at nine." + +At the farther corner of Paget Square they discovered a pillar-box standing +solitary in the chill night among the vast and threatening architecture. + +"Do let's go to a café," suggested Audrey. + +"A café?" + +"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 +_along_, Winnie." + +"But there are no cafés in London." + +"There must be some cafés somewhere." + +"Only public-houses and restaurants. Of course, we could go to a teashop, +but they're all shut up now." + +"Well, then, what do people do in London when they want to be jolly? I +always thought London was a terrific town." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +And then, in the distance, Audrey saw a man apparently tampering with a +gate that led to an area. + +"Why," she said excitedly, "that's the house we're staying in!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I believe you're right," admitted Miss Ingate. "What can that man be doing +there?" + +They plainly saw him open the gate and disappear down the area steps. + +"It's a burglar," said Audrey. "This part must be a regular paradise for +burglars." + +"More likely a detective," Miss Ingate suggested. + +Audrey was thrilled. + +"I do hope it is!" she murmured. "How heavenly! Miss Foley said she was +being watched, didn't she?" + +"What had we better do?" Miss Ingate faltered. + +"Do, Winnie?" Audrey whispered, tugging at her arm. "We must run in at the +front door and tell Supper-at-nine-o'clock." + +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. + +Susan Foley opened for them. There was no light in the hall. + +"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?" + +"He didn't. He opened the gate." + +"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." + +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----" + +"But----" Miss Ingate began. + +"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." + +"Yes, we can!" agreed Audrey enthusiastically. "Run along, Winnie." + +After about two minutes of hard labour Susan ran away and brought a key to +Audrey. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +The man only coughed. + +"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." + +The downpour ceased. + +"Here, miss," said he, between coughs, "unlock this gate for me. Here's the +key." + +"I shall do no such thing," Audrey replied. "I believe you're a burglar. I +shall fetch a policeman." + +And she turned back. + +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. + +"I've saved one," she said, pointing to an extinguisher, "in case there +should be a fire in the night." + +A little later Susan Foley appeared at the door of the living-room. + +"Nine o'clock," she announced calmly. "Supper's ready. We shan't wait for +Jane." + +When Jane Foley arrived, a reconnaissance proved that the martyrised +detective had contrived to get away. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE BLUE CITY + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Winnie," protested Audrey, "aren't you going to see it out?" + +"No," said Miss Ingate. + +"Are you afraid?" + +"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 _want_ 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." + +The dame duly departed, her lips and eyes equally ironic about her own +prudence and about the rashness of others. + +"Let's have some more lemonade--shall we?" said Jane Foley. + +"Oh, let's!" agreed Audrey, with rapture. "And more sponge-cake, too! You +do look lovely like that!" + +"Do I?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"That's all right, so long as you don't pay mine, my dear," said Jane Foley +with an affectionate smile. + +"Jenny!" Audrey protested, full of heroine-worship. "How could you think I +would ever do such a mean thing!" + +There came a dull, vague, voluminous sound from the direction of the +Imperial Hall. It lasted for quite a number of seconds. + +"He's beginning," said Jane Foley. "I do feel sorry for him." + +"Are we to start now?" Audrey asked deferentially. + +"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." + +At intervals a muffled roar issued from the Imperial Hall, despite the fact +that the windows were closely shut. + +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. + +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. + +"Lend me that, will you?" said Jane persuasively to the man with the +megaphone at the entrance to the enclosure. + +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. + +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 _and_ gentlemen. Couples +if _you_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Hold this, will you?" said Jane, handing the megaphone to Audrey. + +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. + +"Give me the meg," said Jane gently. + +The next instant she was shouting through the megaphone, an instrument +which she had seriously studied: + +"Votes for women. Why do you torture women? Votes for women. Why do you +torture women?" + +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. + +"I think I'll try the next window," said Jane, handing over the megaphone. +"You shout while I throw." + +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. + +"I've missed," said Jane calmly in her ear. "That's enough, I think. Come +along." + +"But they can't possibly see us," said Audrey, breathless, lowering the +instrument. + +"Come along, dear," Jane Foley insisted. + +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. + +Jane still leading, they made for the exit. But the first loud man rushed +chivalrously in. + +"Perlice!" he cried. "Two bobbies a-coming." + +"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. + +"That's them," said the rosette. "I saw her with the grey hair from the +gallery." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Can you see the big one now, darling?" asked Jane roguishly. "Has he +picked himself up again?" + +Audrey laughed. + +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 _Birmingham Daily Post_ 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. + +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. + +"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. + +They ran, Jane Foley first, and vanished from the regions of the Joy Wheel +amid terrific acclamations given in a strong Midland accent. + +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. + +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. + +"The police are after us. They'll be here in a minute," said Jane Foley +simply. + +"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?" + +"We do it for you--amongst others," Jane Foley smiled. + +"Nay! That ye don't!" said the woman positively. "I've got a vote for the +city council, and I want no more." + +"Well, you don't want us to get caught, do you?" + +"No, I don't know as I do. Ye look a couple o' bonny wenches." + +"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." + +Audrey produced another half-sovereign. + +"But what shall ye do with yer hats and coats?" the woman demanded. + +"Give them to you, of course." + +The woman regarded the hats and coats. + +"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." + +She shut and locked the door. + +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. + +And as the criminals were modestly getting clear, a loud and imperious +voice called: + +"Hey!" + +Audrey, lacking experience, hesitated. + +"Hey there!" + +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. + +"Bring us two liqueur brandies, miss," he cried. "And look slippy, if ye +please." + +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. + +"I'll never have the chance again," she muttered to herself. And marched +to the counter. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"None o' your sauce," snapped Audrey, and walked off, leaving the tray +behind. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"It won't be safe for us to return to Paget Gardens to-morrow. And perhaps +not to any of our places in London." + +"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?" + +And Miss Ingate assented. + +"Well," said Jane Foley. "I've just had a telegram arranging for us to go +to Frinton." + +"You don't mean Frinton-on-Sea?" exclaimed Miss Ingate, suddenly excited. + +"It _is_ on the sea," said Jane. "We have to go through Colchester. Do you +know it?" + +"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?" + +"No," said Jane. "To some people named Spatt." + +"There's nobody that is anybody named Spatt living at Frinton," said Miss +Ingate. + +"They haven't been there long." + +"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." + +"I don't care much about going to Frinton, Jenny," said Audrey. + +Indeed, Moze lay within not many miles of Frinton-on-Sea. + +Then Audrey and Miss Ingate observed a phenomenon that was both novel and +extremely disturbing. Tears came into the eyes of Jane Foley. + +"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." + +("They won't take me," said Miss Ingate under her breath.) + +"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. + +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. + +"Are they!" exclaimed Jane Foley with a beautiful smile. + +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. + +"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 _do_ get home, and nobody expecting me!" + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE SPATTS + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +After one of these sneezes it was that Jane Foley, conscience-stricken, +tried to stimulate the exchanges by an effort of her own. + +"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. + +Jane Foley's question was unfortunate. + +"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." + +"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." + +"You bet!" murmured Siegfried Spatt, and then tried, vainly, to suck back +the awful remark whence it had come. + +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. + +Mr. Ziegler left nothing to be said. + +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. + +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. + +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 _en +route_ 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Who, Alroy?" demanded Mrs. Spatt earnestly. "Not that Miss Nickall you +mentioned?" + +"Yes, my dove." And then in a grave tone to the parlourmaid: "Give this +letter to your mistress." + +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 _Elektra_, 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. + +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 _Elektra_ at the +Paris Opera House. Audrey replied that Strauss's _Elektra_ had not been +given at the Paris Opera House. + +"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." + +Audrey, who most irrationally had begun to be annoyed by the blandness of +Mr. Ziegler's smile, answered with a rival blandness: + +"In Paris they do not reproach Strauss because he is German, but because he +is vulgar." + +Mrs. Spatt had a martyrised expression. In her heart she felt a sick +trembling of her religious belief that _Elektra_ 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: + +"Vulgar!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"I was afraid--I was afraid----" she murmured as she kissed them. Her eyes +softly glistened. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, after a moment. "And I _have_ 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." + +And from the blackness of the cab's interior gingerly stepped Musa, holding +a violin case in his hand. + +"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?" + +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. + +After self-conscious greetings, Musa almost dragged Audrey away from the +others. + +"It's you I came to London to see," he muttered in an unusual voice. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE MUTE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She thought: + +"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. + +"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. + +"Whatever you like, Mr. Musa," replied Aurora Spatt. "_Please!_" + +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. + +"French music--would you wish?" Musa suggested. + +"Is there any French music? That is to say, of artistic importance?" asked +Mr. Ziegler calmly. "I have never heard of it." + +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. + +Audrey said to herself. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Do you _really_?" murmured Mrs. Spatt, with deprecation. + +"There's something in the comparison," Mr. Spatt admitted thoughtfully. + +"Why not like good Bach?" Musa asked, glaring in a very strange manner at +Mr. Ziegler. + +"Bosh!" ejaculated Mr. Ziegler with a most notable imperturbability. "Only +Bach himself could com-pose good Bach." + +Musa's breathing could be heard across the drawing-room. + +"_Eh bien!_" 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." + +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." + +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. + +"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. + +"_Barbare! Imbécile! Sauvage!_" he muttered ferociously on the threshold. + +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. + +"Mr. Ziegler!" Audrey appealed to him, snatching at his dress-coat and +sticking to it. + +He turned, furious, his face still dripping the finest Pilsener beer. + +"If your dress-coat is not wiped instantly, it will be ruined," said +Audrey. + +"_Ach! Meiner Frack!_" exclaimed Mr. Ziegler, forgetting his deep knowledge +of English. His economic instincts had been swiftly aroused, and they +dominated all the other instincts. "_Meiner Frack!_ Vill you vipe it?" His +glance was imploring. + +"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 _Frack_ +for him. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +NOCTURNE + + +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. + +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. + +She thought: + +"If this walking lamp-post does not say something soon I shall scream." + +Mr. Spatt said: + +"It seems to be blowing up for rain." + +She screamed in the silent solitude of Frinton. + +"I'm so sorry," she apologised quickly. "I thought I saw something move." + +"One does," faltered Mr. Spatt. + +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. + +"He may be down--down on the shore," Mr. Spatt timidly suggested. He seemed +to be suggesting suicide. + +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!" + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"I've found him, and I've put him up at the Excelsior Hotel." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +"I don't think I've ever really liked her," said Audrey to herself. + +What Nick said to herself is lost to history. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +IN THE GARDEN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My car may be in there," she thought. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Good morning, madam," in a soft, courtly voice. + +"Good morning." + +"Were you wanting the car, madam?" + +She was not, but the suggestion gave her an idea. + +"Can we take it as it is?" + +"Yes, madam. I'll just look at the petrol gauge ... But ... I haven't had +my breakfast, madam." + +"What time do you have it?" + +"Well, madam, when you have yours." + +"That's all right, then. You've got hours yet. I want you to take me to +Flank Hall." + +"Flank Hall, madam?" His tone expressed the fact that his mind was a blank +as to Flank Hall. + +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. + +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. + +"I was taking the air, simply, Madame," said Musa, with his ingenuous shy +smile. + +"Take it in my car," said Audrey with a sudden resolve. "In one hour at +the latest we shall have returned." + +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. + +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. + +"This is my house," Audrey murmured. + +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. + +"'d mornin', miss," mumbled the unsmiling Aguilar, impassively, as though +Audrey had never been away from Moze. + +"Well, Aguilar." + +"I didn't expect ye so early, miss." + +"But how could you be expecting me at all?" + +"Miss Ingate come home yesterday. She said you couldn't be far off, miss." + +"Not Miss ... _Mrs._--Moncreiff," said Audrey firmly. + +"I beg your pardon, madam," Aguilar responded with absolute +imperturbability. "She never said nothing about that." + +And he proceeded mechanically to the next window. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +Pain showed in his sensitive features, and then appeal, and then a hot +determination. + +"I came because I could not work," he said. + +"Because you couldn't work? Why couldn't you work?" There was no yielding +in her hard voice. + +"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 _I_ 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." + +"And did you come to England to tell me this?" + +"Yes." + +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. + +She said: + +"But you seemed so jolly when you arrived last night. Nobody would have +guessed you had a care in the world." + +"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." + +He stopped. The dog sniffed round. + +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. + +"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. + +Then she remarked harshly, icily: + +"Well, I shall be much obliged if you will go back to Paris at +once--to-day. _Somebody_ must have a little sense." + +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. + +"Could I have a word with ye, madam?" he mumbled, putting on his well-known +air of chicane. + +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. + +"What is it, Aguilar?" she questioned, inimically. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Of course it is," said Audrey. "Why, what's the matter?" + +"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 _what_ they will." + +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. + +"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 +_did_, till last night. He ain't slept in the village, that I do know, but +he's about again this morning." + +"Well," said Audrey with impatience. "Why don't you tell Inspector Keeble? +Or have you quarrelled with Inspector Keeble again?" + +"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." + +"And what do you want me to do?" + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +ENCOUNTER + + +"Good morning," Audrey cried, very gaily, to the still advancing detective, +who, after the slightest hesitation in the world, responded gaily: + +"Good morning." + +The man's accent struck her. She said to herself, with amusement: + +"He's Irish!" + +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. + +"You don't seem very surprised to see me," said Audrey. + +"Well, madam," said the detective, "I'm not paid to be surprised--in my +business." + +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. + +"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." + +"About what?" + +"About the vote, of course. And so your conduct is all the more shocking." + +"Why!" he exclaimed, laughing. "If it comes to that, your own sex is +against you." + +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. + +"The vast majority of women are with us," said she. + +"My wife isn't." + +"But your wife isn't the vast majority of women," Audrey protested. + +"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." + +("His wife is stout," Audrey decided within herself, on no grounds +whatever. "If she wasn't, she couldn't be a vast majority.") + +Aloud she said: + +"Well, then, why can't you leave them alone in their sphere, instead of +worrying them and spying on them down areas?" + +"D'ye mean at Paget Gardens?" + +"Of course." + +"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." + +"What young woman are you talking about?" + +"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." + +"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. + +The detective pulled a silky moustache. + +"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." + +Audrey said: + +"And now Miss Foley's gone north, you've decided to come and admire _me_ in +_my_ home!" + +"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." + +"Recover?" + +"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." + +"It's what comes of behaving as no married man ought to behave." + +"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." + +Upon this remark he raised his hat and departed along the grassy summit of +the sea-wall. + +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." + +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. + +"Aguilar," she demanded excitedly, having gone back through the plantation. +"Did Miss Ingate happen to say where I was staying last night?" + +"No, madam." + +"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. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +FLIGHT + + +"Fast, madam, did you say?" asked the chauffeur, bending his head back from +the wheel as the car left the gates of Flank Hall. + +"Fast." + +"The Colchester road?" + +"Yes." + +"It's really just as quick to take the Frinton road for Colchester--it's so +much straighter." + +"No, no, no! On no account. Don't go near Frinton." + +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. + +And yet Musa, whom Audrey considered that she understood as profoundly as +any mother had ever understood any child--even Musa could surprise. + +He said, without any preparation: + +"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." + +"But do you know how much it costs you to live?" Audrey demanded, with +careless superiority. + +"Assuredly. I write all my payments down in a little book. I have done so +since some years." + +"Every sou?" + +"Yes. Every sou." + +"But do you save, Musa?" + +"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!" + +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? + +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. + +"Can't you shake off that motor-bicycle thing?" Audrey rather +superciliously asked the chauffeur. + +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. + +"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." + +"I should have thought you could beat a little thing like that," said +Audrey. + +"Them things can do sixty when they've a mind to," said the chauffeur, with +finality, and gave all his attention to the road. + +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. + +"Where to, madam?" inquired the chauffeur. + +"This is Colchester, isn't it?" she demanded nervously, though she knew +perfectly well that it was Colchester. + +"Yes, madam." + +"Straight through! Straight through!" + +"The London road?" + +"Yes. The London road," she agreed. London was, of course, the only +possible destination. + +"But breakfast, madam?" + +"Oh! The usual thing," said Audrey. "You'll have yours when I have mine." + +"But we shall run out of petrol, madam." + +"Never mind," said Audrey sublimely. + +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? + +"When shall we be arriving in Frinton?" Musa inquired, beatific. + +"We shan't be arriving in Frinton any more," said Audrey. "We must go +straight to London." + +"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." + +"Violin!" said Audrey. "That's nothing! I've even come without gloves." And +she had. + +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. + +"We shall take the eleven o'clock boat train for Paris," she said to Musa. + +"You also?" + +She nodded. He was in heaven. He could even do without his violin. + +"How nice it is not to be bothered with luggage," she said. + +The chauffeur was pacified with money, of which Audrey had a sufficiency. + +And all the time Audrey kept saying to herself: + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +ARIADNE + + +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. + +"Here we are," said Mr. Gilman, reaching to open the door. "You can see her +masthead light." + +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. + +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. + +"Do not trouble about the luggage, I beg you," said Mr. Gilman, breathing, +as usual, rather noticeably. "_Bon soir_, Leroux. Don't forget to meet the +nine-thirty-five." This last to the white-clad chauffeur, who saluted +sharply. + +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: "_Ariadne, R.T.Y.C._" + +"Look lively, lads, with the luggage," said Mr. Gilman. + +"Yes, sir." + +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. + +"Well, skipper!" greeted Mr. Gilman, jauntily and spryly. In one moment, in +one second, Mr. Gilman had grown at least twenty years younger. + +"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. + +And now Audrey could see the _Ariadne_ 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. + +Audrey thought: + +"Is this what we're going on? I thought it was a big yacht." And she had a +qualm. + +And then a bell rang twice, extremely sweet and mellow, somewhere on the +yacht. And Audrey was touched by the beauty of its tone. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +On boarding the _Ariadne_ 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. + +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. + +"Choose any cabins you like," said he, as Madame Piriac and Audrey rustled +off. + +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. + +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. + +"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...." + +"Oh! Let's!" Audrey exclaimed impulsively in English. "Do let's!" + +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. + +"I am so content that you came, my little one!" murmured Madame Piriac. + +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! + +As the two women approached the _portière_ which screened the forward +entrance to the saloon, they heard Mr. Gilman say, in a weary and resigned +voice: + +"Well, I suppose there's nothing better than a whisky and soda." + +And the vivacious reply of a steward: + +"Very good, sir." + +The owner was lounging in a corner, with a gloomy, bored look on his face. +But as soon as the _portière_ 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. + +"I am sure the piano is as wonderful as all else on board," said Madame +Piriac. + +"Do play!" he entreated. "I love to hear music here. My secretary plays +for me when I am alone." + +"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. + +"Ah!" said Mr. Gilman, dropping into a seat by Audrey. "I wish I danced!" + +"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. + +Mr. Gilman responded to the challenge. + +"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." + +"How lovely!" Audrey agreed. "I do think the _Ariadne's_ 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?" + +His smile was entranced. + +"You and I will go round by ourselves to-morrow morning, Mrs. Moncreiff," +he said. + +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. + +An automobile hooted on the quay, and at the disturbing sound Madame Piriac +ceased to play and swung round on the stool. + +"That--that must be our other lady guest," said Mr. Gilman, who had +developed nervousness; his cheeks flushed darkly. + +"Ah?" cautiously smiled Madame Piriac, who was plainly taken aback. + +"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. + +Audrey replied gaily that she knew Tommy very well. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"But how did he come to know Miss Thompkins?" Audrey demanded. + +"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?" + +"Oh, yes! And do you mean to say that on the strength of that he asked her +to go yachting?" + +"Well, he had called several times." + +"Aren't you surprised she accepted?" asked Audrey. + +"No," said Madame Piriac. "It is another code, that is all. It is a +surprise, but she will be amusing." + +"I'm sure she will," Audrey concurred. "I'm frightfully fond of her +myself." + +They glanced at each other very intimately, like long-established allies +who fear an aggression--and are ready for it. + +Then steps were heard. Miss Thompkins entered. + +"Well," drawled Miss Thompkins, gazing first at Audrey and then at Madame +Piriac. "Of all the loveliest shocks----Say, Musa----" + +Behind her stood Musa. It appeared that he had been able to get away by the +same train as Tommy. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE NOSTRUM + + +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 _Ariadne_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ariadne_, under orders, had +turned her nose boldly northward for the estuary of the Thames. The +_Ariadne_ 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. + +"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. + +"Shall we? What makes you think so, dear?" absently asked Audrey, in whom +the scene had induced profound reflections upon life and the universe. + +"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 +_him_. 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." + +"But you don't mean he's been----" + +"Audrey, you're making a noise like a goose. 'Course I do." + +"But how did you manage to----" + +"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." + +"But I assure you, Tommy, Mr. Gilman refused the stuff from me. He did." + +"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." + +"Tommy, I don't believe you." + +"And he's a lovely man, all the same." + +"Tommy, I don't believe you." + +"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?" + +"What?" + +"Getting down to the facts." + +Accompanied by the tattoo of her necklace, Miss Thompkins moved away in the +direction of Madame Piriac, who was engaged with Musa. + +"Admit I'm rather brilliant to-night," she threw over her shoulder. + +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: + +"Price, ye can wind up that box o' yours. Mr. Gilman is coming on deck. +He's wonderful better." + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +BY THE BINNACLE + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"No, I don't," said Audrey gently. + +"Hasn't Doc told you?" + +"Doctor Cromarty? No, he doesn't tell much." + +"Well," said Mr. Gilman, looking round quickly and shyly, rather in the +manner of a boy, "it's liver." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I quite see that," Audrey agreed, thinking mildly: "You only have a doctor +on board because you're always worrying about your own health." + +"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. +_Then_ exercise, if you like; but not before. Of course, _you_ 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, Mr. Gilman! How can you say such a thing?" + +"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?" + +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. + +In an interval of the music the sea washed with a long sound against the +bow of the yacht; then silence. + +"I do love that sudden wash against the yacht," said Audrey. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Do what?" Audrey asked weakly, intimidated. + +"Keep a secret. I shouldn't dream of telling it to Madame Piriac. Will you? +May I tell you?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"No," said Audrey, hoping, nevertheless, that he would not say "anything, +anything," but somehow simultaneously hoping that he would. It was a +disconcerting sensation. + +"I want you always to remember that I'm unhappy and never to tell anybody," +Mr. Gilman resumed. + +"But why?" + +"It will be a kindness to me." + +"I mean, why are you unhappy?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, I remember," said Audrey. "But can _you_ remember it? Fancy you +remembering a thing like that!" + +"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 +_want_ women to have the vote. And you're the first person I've ever said +that to. I want _you_ to have the vote." + +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. + +She said: + +"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." + +"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." + +"Mr. Gilman!" she checked him. "How can you say such a thing?" + +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. + +"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----" + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"Ay, ay, skipper!" came a muffled voice from the engine-room. + +"And not too soon either!" snapped the captain. + +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. + +"Shut off!" he yelled. "It's no good." + +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. + +"You've run her on to the sand, sir," said he to Mr. Gilman, respectfully +but still accusingly. + +"Oh, no! Impossible!" Mr. Gilman defended himself, pained by the charge. + +"She's hard on, anyhow, sir. And many a good yacht's left her bones on this +Buxey." + +"But you gave me the course," protested Mr. Gilman, with haughtiness. + +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. + +"What course did I give you, sir?" asked Captain Wyatt. + +And as Mr. Gilman hesitated in his reply, the skipper pointed silently to +the compass. + +"Where's the chart? Let me see the chart," said Mr. Gilman with sudden +majesty. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Me flirting!" Audrey exclaimed, passionately resentful. + +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. + +"Lower the dinghy there and look lively now!" cried the captain. + +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. + +And why the dinghy, though it was a dinghy of large size? Why not the +launch? + +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. + +"She's off!" breathed the captain. "We've saved a good half-hour." + +"She'd have floated off by herself," said Mr. Gilman grandly. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +The _Ariadne_, 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. + +"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. + +He hesitated, leaning against the rail and nervously fingering it. + +"I know it is a great deal to ask. But you would give us so much pleasure," +said Madame Piriac. + +Musa replied in a dry, curt voice: + +"I should prefer not to play." + +"Oh! But Musa--" There was a general protest. + +"I cannot play," Musa exclaimed with impatience, and moved almost savagely +away. + +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. + +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. + +"I must speak to you," he said with emotion. + +"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--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Audrey jumped up from the chair. + +"Musa! I shall never speak to you again.... Me ... flirt.... And you call +Mr. Gilman an old idiot!" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +AGUILAR'S DOUBLE LIFE + +Madame Piriac came down into the saloon the next afternoon. + +"Oh! You are still hiding yourself here!" she murmured gaily to Audrey, who +was alone among the cushions. + +"I was just resting," said Audrey. "Remember what a night we had!" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"But, darling, hadn't you better go alone?" + +"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." + +"She may be out. She may be away altogether." + +"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. + +The next instant Mr. Gilman himself entered the saloon. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"I thought, I was afraid--" Mr. Gilman hesitated. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He thanked her without words. + +She was saying to herself, rather desperately: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Price went into the deck-house and began to count money. + +"Mr. Price," demanded Mr. Gilman urgently, "did you look up the facts about +this village?" + +"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.'" + +"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?" + +Dr. Cromarty obeyed, and Mr. Gilman examined the typewritten, calf-bound +volume. + +"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." + +A few moments later Mr. Gilman, with three volumes of Green on his knees +and one in his hand, said reproachfully to Mr. Price: + +"Mr. Price, I requested you to see that the leaves of all our books were +cut. These volumes are absolutely uncut." + +"Well, sir, I'm working through them as fast as I can. But I haven't got +to shelf Z8 yet." + +"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. + +It thus occurred that what John Richard Green said about Moze was never +known on board the yacht _Ariadne_. + +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?) + +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. + +"But we cannot climb over that dyke," Madame Piriac protested. + +"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." + +"What a vision you have, darling!" murmured Madame Piriac. "As you wish, +provided we get there." + +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! + +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. + +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 _flair_ 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. + +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." + +"Aguilar is bound to come now!" thought Audrey. "And I am lost!" Then she +added to herself: "And I don't care if I _am_ lost. What an unheard-of +lark!" And to Madame Piriac she said lightly: "Well, we must explore." + +The blinds were nearly all up on the garden front. And one window--the +French window of the drawing-room--was wide open. + +"The crisis will be here in one minute at the latest," thought Audrey. + +"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?" + +"I think we ought," Audrey agreed. + +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?" + +There was no answer to the bell. Madame Piriac rang again, and there was +still no answer. And the dog had ceased to bark. + +"_Mon Dieu!_" she muttered. "Have you observed, darling, that all the +blinds are down on this façade?" + +She rang a third time. Then, without a word, they returned slowly to the +garden front. + +"How mysterious! _Mon Dieu!_ How English it all is!" muttered Madame +Piriac. "It gives me fear." + +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. + +Audrey exclaimed, within herself: + +"Aguilar!" + +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. + +"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." + +Madame Piriac looked at her. + +"_Eh bien!_ 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!" + +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?" + +The kettle continued to puff vigorously. + +"If they don't come soon," said Audrey, "the water will be all boiled away +and the kettle burnt. Suppose we make the tea?" + +Madame Piriac raised her eyebrows. + +"It is your country," she repeated. "That appears to be singular, but I +have not the English habits." + +And she sat down, smiling. + +Audrey opened the tea caddy, put three spoonfuls of tea into the pot, and +made the tea. + +The clock struck on the mantelpiece. The clock was actually going. Aguilar +was ever thorough in his actions. + +"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. + +"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." + +Madame Piriac nodded. + +"A little bread-and-butter? I'm sorry there's no cake or jam." + +It was while Madame Piriac was stirring her first cup that the drawing-room +door opened, and at once there was a terrific shriek. + +"Audrey!" + +The invader was Miss Ingate. Close behind Miss Ingate came Jane Foley. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +THE TANK-ROOM + + +"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. + +"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. + +"Yachting!" + +"Yes. Haven't you seen the yacht at the Hard?" + +"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!" + +"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. + +"_I'll_ 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?" + +"Yes, you can, and yet you can't!" exclaimed Miss Ingate. "You can, and yet +you can't!" + +"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.'" + +"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----" + +Jane Foley went on: + +"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." + +"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." + +"Did he tell you I'd come here to see him not long since?" Audrey demanded. + +"And why didn't you pop in to see _me?_ I was hurt when I got your note." + +"Did he tell you?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"And it was he who cut the bread-and-butter," added Jane Foley. + +"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." + +"I've been a little deaf since I was in prison," said Jane Foley. + +"And now we come down and find you here! I--I hope I've done right." This, +falteringly, from Miss Ingate. + +"Of course you have, you silly old thing," Audrey reassured her. "It's +splendid!" + +"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. + +"Oh! Now! Winnie, dear. Don't spoil it all!" Audrey protested, jumping up. + +Madame Piriac, who had hitherto maintained the most complete passivity, +restrained her. + +"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!" + +And then Miss Ingate laughed, and blushed, and called herself names. + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh! It's Mr. Aguilar--returned!" she said, quietly. "Is anything the +matter, Mr. Aguilar?" + +Aguilar, hat in hand, entered the room. + +"Good afternoon, Aguilar," Audrey greeted him. + +"'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--_you_ 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." + +Miss Ingate had risen. + +"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." + +Jane Foley snatched at one of the four cups and saucers on the table, and +put it back, all unwashed, into the china cupboard. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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----" + +"Nor I," said Audrey. "There is no danger except to Jane Foley." + +"Ah! You cannot abandon her. That is true. Nevertheless I regret ..." + +"Well, darling," Audrey exclaimed. "You would insist on my coming!" + +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. + +"Inspector Keeble and a gentleman to see you, madam." + +"Bring them in," said Audrey. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Aguilar replied coldly, not to Audrey, but to the police: + +"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." + +Inspector Keeble looked away, and then looked at the detective--as if for +support in peril. + +"Do you mean to say, Aguilar, that you haven't got a woman hidden in the +house at this very moment?" the detective demanded. + +"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 +_Gardeners' Chronicle_, too." + +"Well, ye can go," the detective responded. + +"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." + +And with a look at Audrey like the look of a knight at his lady after a +joust, Aguilar turned to leave the room. + +"Aguilar," Audrey rewarded him. "You needn't be afraid about your place." + +"Thank ye, m'm." + +"May I ask what your name is?" Audrey inquired of the detective as soon as +Aguilar had shut the door. + +"Hurley," replied the detective. + +"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." + +"I really don't know what you're driving at, miss," said Mr. Hurley simply. + +"Well, what were you driving at when you followed me all the way to London +the other day?" + +"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." + +"Well, I hope you were satisfied." + +"I only want to know one thing," the detective retorted. "Am I speaking to +Mrs. Olivia Moncreiff?" + +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. + +"Not that I know of," she answered. + +"Then, if you please, who are you?" + +"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." + +Madame Piriac proceeded steadily with the inquiry into the carpet. Audrey +felt her heart beating. + +"Unmarried?" pursued the detective. + +"Most decidedly," said Audrey with conviction. + +"Then what's the meaning of that ring on your finger, if you don't mind my +asking?" the detective continued. + +Certainly Audrey was flustered, but only for a moment. + +"Mr. Hurley," said she; "I wear it as a protection from men of all ages who +are too enterprising." + +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. + +"I must search the house," said the detective. + +"What for?" + +"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." + +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!... + +"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." + +"Oh yes, I have!" Mr. Hurley insisted. + +"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 _you_." + +Inspector Keeble blushed. + +"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. + +Mr. Hurley coughed. "I haven't got a search-warrant yet," he remarked. "I +didn't expect----" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"You'd better stay here or hereabouts," repeated Mr. Hurley, and he moved +towards the door. Inspector Keeble, too, moved towards the door. + +Audrey let them get into the passage, and then she was vouchsafed a new +access of inspiration. + +"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. + +"That's better," he said calmly. "And I'm much obliged." + +"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. + +"Oh! I beg you, darling! "Madame Piriac granted the permission with +overpowering sweetness. + +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. + +"What's this?" he asked abruptly. And he knocked nonchalantly on the door +of the tank-room. + +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. + +"That's the tank-room," she said loudly. "I'm afraid it's locked." + +"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. + +"Now about the tank-room, Miss Moze," he began quietly. "You say it's +locked?" + +"Yes," said the quaking Audrey. + +"As a matter of form I'd better just look in. Will you kindly let me have +the key?" + +"I can't," said Audrey. + +"Why not?" + +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." + +"Who are these friends?" + +"Mr. and Mrs. Spatt," said Audrey at a venture. + +"I see," said the detective. + +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: + +"And now I hope you're satisfied." + +Mr. Hurley merely said: + +"Will you please ring for Aguilar?" + +Audrey complied. But she had to ring three times before the gardener's +footsteps were heard on the uncarpeted stone floor of the hall. + +"Aguilar," Mr. Hurley demanded. "Where is the key of the tank-room?" + +Audrey sank into a chair, knowing profoundly that all was lost. + +"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." + +Audrey gazed at the man as at a miracle-worker. + +"Well, I think that's all," said Mr. Hurley. + +"No, it isn't," Audrey corrected him. "You've got all my keys in your +pocket--except one." + +When the police had gone Audrey said to Aguilar in the hall: + +"Aguilar, how on earth did you----" + +But she was in such a state of emotion at the realisation of dangers +affronted and past that she could not finish. + +"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?" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE THIRD SORT OF WOMAN + + +"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." + +After a short pause Madame Piriac replied, in a grave but kind tone: + +"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." + +"Oh! I'm so glad you take it like that," said Audrey with eager relief. +"That's just what _I_ thought all along!" + +"But it _is_ your affair!" Madame Piriac finished, with a peculiar +inflection of her well-controlled voice. "I mean," she added, "you cannot +afford to neglect it." + +"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----" + +"The principal question is, darling," Madame Piriac stopped her. "What are +you going to do now? Ought we not to return to the yacht?" + +"But I must look after Jane Foley!" cried Audrey. "I can't leave her here." + +"And why not? She has Miss Ingate." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"It's no good wasting time about that, darling, because I _am_ here, don't +you see?" Audrey straightened her shoulders and put her hands behind her +back. + +"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." + +"But look at Jane Foley," said Audrey eagerly. "Is she not happy? Did you +ever see anybody as happy as Jane? I never did." + +"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, +_chez nous_. 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." + +"No man that I could possibly care for," Audrey retorted, "would ever +object to me having an active interest in--er--politics." + +"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." + +"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. + +"But you will not have the courage to tell me that you are a fanatic?" + +"No." + +"Then what?" + +"There is a third sort of woman." + +"Darling, believe me, there is not." + +"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." + +"But what are you going to do?" Madame Piriac demanded. + +"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." + +"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----" + +"Darling," said Audrey quietly and confidently. "If he does not agree, I +undertake to go into a convent for the rest of my days." + +Madame Piriac was silent. + +Just as she was opening the door to go upstairs, Audrey suddenly turned +back into the room. + +"Darling," she said, kissing Madame Piriac. "How calmly you've taken it!" + +"Taken what?" + +"About me not being Mrs. Moncreiff nor a widow nor anything of that kind." + +"But, darling," answered Madame Piriac with exquisite tranquillity. "Of +course I knew it before." + +"You knew it before!" + +"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." + +"For instance?" + +"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." + +"You knew who I was, and you never told me!" Audrey pouted. + +"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." + +Madame Piriac gently returned Audrey's kiss. + +"So that was why you insisted on me coming with you to-day!" murmured +Audrey, crestfallen. "You are a marvellous actress, darling." + +"I have several times been told so," Madame Piriac admitted simply. + +"What on earth did you expect would happen?" + +"Not that which has happened," said Madame Piriac. + +"Well, if you ask me," said Audrey with gaiety and a renewal of +self-confidence. "I think it's all happened splendidly." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +IN THE DINGHY + + +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. + +"But what must we do?" demanded Madame Piriac. + +"Oh! We can walk round on the dyke," said Audrey superiorly. "Unless the +stiles frighten you." + +"It is about to rain," said Madame Piriac, glancing at the high curved +heels of her shoes. + +The sky, which was very wide and variegated over Mozewater, did indeed seem +to threaten. + +At that moment the dinghy appeared round the forefoot of the _Ariadne_. 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. + +"My poor little one!" exclaimed Madame Piriac, shocked in spite of her +broadmindedness by both the sound and the manner of its production. + +"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." + +The occupants of the dinghy were signalling their intention to rescue, and +Mr. Gilman used his back nobly. + +"But we cannot embark here!" Madame Piriac complained. + +"Oh, yes!" said Audrey. "You see those white stones? ... It's quite easy." + +When the dinghy had done about half the journey Madame Piriac murmured: + +"By the way, who are you, precisely, for the present? It would be prudent +to decide, darling." + +Audrey hesitated an instant. + +"Who am I? ... Oh! I see. Well, I'd better keep on being Mrs. Moncreiff for +a bit, hadn't I?" + +"It is as you please, darling." + +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." + +The dinghy was close in. + +"My!" cried Tommy. "Who did that whistle? It was enough to beat the cars." + +"Wouldn't you like to know!" Audrey retorted. + +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 _Ariadne_, 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. + +"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?" + +"I do," Audrey answered. "Would you like me to show it you." + +"I should be more than delighted," said Mr. Gilman. + +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. + +"I'll pull," said Audrey, in the boat. + +The man sprang out of the dinghy. + +"One instant!" Mr. Gilman begged her, standing up in the sternsheets, and +popping his head through a porthole of the saloon. "Mr. Price!" + +"Sir?" From the interior. + +"Will you be good enough to play that air with thirty-six variations, of +Beethoven's? We shall hear splendidly from the dinghy." + +"Certainly, sir." + +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." + +Mr. Gilman remarked under his breath to Audrey: "I think there is nothing +finer than to hear Beethoven on the water." + +"Oh! There isn't!" she eagerly concurred. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Yes," she said. "Of course you know who I really am, don't you, Mr. +Gilman?" + +"I only know you're Mrs. Moncreiff," he answered. + +"But I'm not! Surely you've heard something? Surely it's been hinted in +front of you?" + +"Never!" said he. + +"But haven't you asked--about my marriage, for instance?" + +"To ask might have been to endanger your secret," he said. + +"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. + +"I admit that I had thought so," said Mr. Gilman. + +"But naturally that was your home as a girl, before your marriage." + +"I've never been married, Mr. Gilman," she said. "I'm only what the French +call a _jeune fille_." + +His face changed; he seemed to be withdrawing alarmed into himself. + +"Never--been married?" + +"Oh! You _must_ 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." + +"You always seemed so wise," Mr. Gilman faltered. + +"Ah! That's only the effect of my forehead!" + +"And yet, you know, I always thought there was something very innocent +about you, too." + +"I don't know what _that_ 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!" + +"I think you've been splendid," he said, with enthusiasm. "I think the +girls of to-day _are_ splendid! I've been a regular old fogey, that's what +it is." + +"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." + +"I won't! I won't! But of course----" + +"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." + +"You can't ask me a favour," he replied, "because it wouldn't be a favour. +It would be my privilege." + +"But if you put it like that I can't ask you." + +"You must!" he said firmly. + +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!" + +"Jane Foley!" he murmured. + +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. + +"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!" + +"But what are we to do with her afterwards?" asked Mr. Gilman. There was +perspiration on his brow. + +"Sail straight to France, of course. They couldn't touch her there, you +see, because it's political. It _is_ political, you know," Audrey insisted +proudly. + +"And give up all our cruise?" + +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." + +"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." + +Audrey replied softly: + +"You deserve the Victoria Cross." + +"Whatever do you mean?" he demanded nervously. + +"I don't know exactly what I mean," she said. "But you're the nicest man I +ever knew." + +He blushed. + +"You mustn't say that to me," he deprecated. + +"I shall, and I shall." + +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. + +"I shall have to back water," she said, low. "There's no room to turn round +here." + +"I suppose we'd better say as little about it as possible," he ventured. + +"Oh! Not a word! Not a word till it's done." + +"Yes, of course." He was drenched in an agitating satisfaction. + +Five bells rang clear from the yacht, overmastering the thirty-six +variations. + +Audrey thought: + +"So he'd never agree, wouldn't he, Madame Piriac!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +AFLOAT + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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.... + +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. + +"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. + +"Jane, Jane!" + +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. + +"Is that you, madam?" + +It was the cold, imperturbable voice of Aguilar. At once she felt +reassured. + +"Where is Miss Foley?" she demanded in a whisper. + +"I've got her down here, ma'am," said Aguilar. "I presume as you've been to +the house. We had to leave it." + +"But the door of the tank-room was locked!" + +"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 _that_. 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." + +"But there's not water enough, Aguilar." + +"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----" + +In one minute Audrey had splashed into the punt. Jane Foley took her hand +in silence, and she heard Jane's low, happy laugh. + +"Isn't it funny?" Jane whispered. + +Audrey squeezed her hand. + +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. + +"He's there afore us!" he murmured, pointing. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +IN THE UNIVERSE + +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. + +"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." + +"Are you sailing to-night?" asked Mr. Hurley placidly. + +"What the devil has that got to do with you, sir?" replied Mr. Gilman +gloriously. + +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. + +"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. + +"Where for?" Mr. Hurley demanded. + +"Where I please, sir," Mr. Gilman snorted. By this time he evidently +imagined that he was furious, and was taking pleasure in his fury. + +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. + +"Well, he brought that on himself!" said Audrey, smiling. + +"He did," Mr. Gilman concurred, gazing at the Hard with inimical scorn. + +"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." + +Mr. Hurley was indeed lingering just beyond the immediate range of the +_Ariadne's_ lamps. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Mr. Wyatt," the owner sternly accosted the captain. "When can we get +off?" + +"Oh! About midnight," Audrey answered quickly, before Mr. Wyatt could +compose his lips. + +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 _Ariadne's_ +draught, had made the calculation as to the earliest possible hour of +departure. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"I say I shall never return to the yacht," he repeated. + +She thought compassionately: + +"Poor foolish thing!" + +She was incalculably older and wiser than this irrational boy. She was the +essence of wisdom. + +She said, with acid detachment: + +"But your luggage, your belongings? What an idea to leave in this manner! +It is so polite, so sensible!" + +"I shall not return." + +"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. + +"Yes, you understand! I told you last night," said Musa, overflowing with +emotion. + +"Oh! You told me? I forget." + +"Naturally Monsieur Gilman is rich. I am not rich, though I shall be. But +you can't wait," Musa sneered. + +"I do not know what you mean," said Audrey. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +The indecorous creature was breathing as loudly as Mr. Gilman himself. + +"I admit it," said Musa yielding. + +"Ah!" + +"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." + +"It is!" said Audrey, using French again, more calmly, having returned to +the twentieth century. + +"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." + +"And what about my career?" Audrey questioned inimically. + +"Your career?" He seemed at a loss. + +"Yes. My career. It has possibly not occurred to you that I also may have a +career." + +Musa became appealing. + +"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----" + +"Musa," she interrupted him, with a sinister quietude, "I want to tell you +something. But you must promise to keep it secret. Will you?" + +He assented, impatient. + +"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. + +"Isn't it?" said she. "Now I hope you see how little you know, really, +about women." She laughed. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"It is folly," said he, with sudden disgust. "And it would kill me." + +"Well, then," she replied, receding. "You're entitled to die." + +He advanced towards her. She kept him away with a gesture. + +"You want me to marry you?" she questioned. + +"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!" + +"And suppose you are nothing to me?" + +"But it is necessary that you should love me!" + +"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." + +"The fact is," Musa broke in, "you are in love with the old Gilman." + +"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----!" + +"Then," said Musa, "you have no feeling for me." + +"Love?" she laughed exasperatingly. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Not that much!" She snapped her fingers. "But"--in a changed tone--"I +_should_ 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." + +"Then, good-bye!" he said, coldly ignoring all her maternal suggestions. +And turned away. + +"Where are you going to?" + +He stopped. + +"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." + +"You are worse than a schoolboy." + +"It is possible." + +"Anyway, _I_ shan't explain on the yacht. I shall tell them that I know +nothing about it." + +"But no one will believe you," he retorted maliciously over his shoulder. +And then he was gone. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I might have known!" she said disdainfully. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"There's the light!" said Audrey excitedly. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"I shall go back on the tide, Miss Foley," answered Aguilar. + +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. + +Mr. Gilman and the two girls made a group. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Oh, do! Oh, do, please! But don't forget that we are to have supper +together. I insist on supper." + +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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +THE IMMINENT DRIVE + + +"Oh!" cried Miss Thompkins. "You can see it from here. It's funny how +unreal it seems, isn't it?" + +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. + +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. + +Tommy was right: there did seem to be a certain unreality about the thing, +yet it was utterly real. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"I ordered the car for three o'clock," answered Mr. Gilman. "It is not yet +quite three." + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Gilman had not been seen by any of his guests during the summer. He had +landed them at Boulogne from the _Ariadne_--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. + +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 _he would do it during the drive_. + +Hence the nice constraint at the table when the drive grew publicly and +avowedly imminent. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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 +_would_ he propose to her? Not improbably the whole conception of the +situation was false and she was being ridiculous! + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +It included the reduced score of the Beethoven violin concerto, and other +items to be performed that night at the Salle Xavier. + +"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. + +"That'll do, then, Price," said Mr. Gilman. "Don't forget about those +things for to-night, will you?" + +"No, sir. I have a note of all of them." + +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?" + +"And what am _I_ 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. + +"You have to try that new dress on, Winnie," said Audrey rather +reprovingly. + +"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 _got_ you." + +"Well, take Elise with you." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Sleep what off?" asked Tommy, with necklace rattling and orchidaceous eyes +glittering. + +"Oh! Everything! Everything!" shrieked Miss Ingate. + +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. + +"And is your Society still alive?" she asked with casual polite disdain. + +"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. + +"Well, I'm glad to have seen you again," said Audrey, holding out her hand. + +"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----" + +"Thank you, Mr. Cowl, but I'm not a stranger in Paris. I live here." + +"Oh! I beg your pardon," said Mr. Cowl. "Excuse me. Then you won't take +them? Pity! I hate to see anything wasted." + +Audrey was both desolated and infuriated. + +"Remember me respectfully to Miss Ingate, please," finished Mr. Cowl. "She +didn't see me as she passed." + +He returned the tickets to his pocket. + +Outside, Madame Piriac, standing by her automobile, which had rolled up +with the silence of an hallucination, took leave of Audrey. + +"_Eh bien! Au revoir!_" 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." + +And Miss Nickall, with her grey hair growing fluffier under a somewhat +rakish hat, said with a smile of sheer intense watchful benevolence: + +"Well, good-bye!" + +While Nick was ecstatically thanking Mr. Gilman for his hospitality, Tommy +called Audrey aside. Madame Piriac's car had vanished. + +"Have you heard about the rehearsal this morning?" she asked, in a +confidential tone, anxious and yet quizzical. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Nonsense!" + +"Yes, he did." + +"Who told you?" + +Already the two women were addressing each other as foes. + +"A man I know in the orchestra." + +"Why didn't you tell us at once--when you came?" + +"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." + +"My interest in the concert?" Audrey objected. + +"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?" + +"Put up the concert! Put up the----" Audrey knew she was blushing. + +"Paid for it! Paid for it!" said Tommy, with impatience. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +GENIUS AT BAY + +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?" + +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. + +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! + +So with clear conscience she pulled the bell cord. + +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. + +"_Bon jour_," she said. + +He repeated the phrase stiffly. + +"Can I come in?" she asked. + +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. + +"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! + +"Then you aren't ill?" she began. + +"Ill!" he exclaimed. "Why do you wish that I should be ill?" + +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. + +"I heard that--this morning--at the rehearsal----" + +"Ah! You have heard that?" + +"And I thought perhaps you were ill. So I came to see." + +"What have you heard?" + +"Frankly, Musa, it is said that you said you would not play to-night." + +"Does it concern you?" + +"It concerns everyone.... And you have been so good lately." + +"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." + +She controlled herself. And the fact that she was intensely flattered +helped her to do so. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Oh, I'm so glad!" Audrey murmured. + +"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 _chez moi_--" + +Without a word Audrey rose and departed. He followed her to the door and +held it open. + +"_Bon jour_, Madame." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +FINANCIAL NEWS + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _must_ 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. + +"It's vehy wonderful, _vehy_ wonderful!" said she. + +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," "_tout Paris_," "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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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---- + +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 _Die +Meistersinger_. 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. + +The overture was applauded, but Madame Foa, instead of applauding, leaned +gracefully back, smiling, and waved somebody to the seat beside her. + +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. + +"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 _New York Herald_ this +morning." + +"No," answered Audrey impatiently. + +The orchestra started the Beethoven violin Concerto. But Mr. Cowl kept his +course. + +"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." + +Musa's bow hung firmly over the strings. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +INTERVAL + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I wanted to see you," said Rosamund, after the formal greetings. "Very +much." Her voice was as kind and as unrelenting as the grave. + +At this point Miss Ingate ought to have yielded her seat to the terrific +Rosamund, but she failed to do so, doubtless by inadvertence. + +"Will you come into the foyer for a moment?" Rosamund inflexibly suggested. + +"Isn't the interval nearly over?" said Audrey. + +"Oh, no!" + +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. + +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. + +"I wanted to tell you about Jane Foley," began Rosamund quietly. "Have you +heard?" + +"No! What?" + +"Of course you haven't. I alone knew. She has run away to England." + +"Run away! But she'll be caught!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"And who's he?" Audrey demanded. + +"His name is Aguilar," said Rosamund. "So she says." + +"Aguilar?" + +"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. + +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. + +"And now," said Rosamund at length, "I have a question to put to you." + +"Well?" + +"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." + +"Did you?" Audrey murmured. "Well!" + +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. + +"I want to suggest to you," Rosamund proceeded, "that you begin to work for +me." + +"For the suffrage--or for you?" + +"It is the same thing," said Rosamund coldly. "I am the suffrage. Without +me the cause would not have existed to-day." + +"Well," said Audrey, "of course I will. I have done a bit already, you +know." + +"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." + +"Chosen me for what?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"That need not trouble you," replied Rosamund imperturbable. "I have +always been able to get all the money that was needed." + +"Well, I'll help all I can." + +"That's not what I ask," said Rosamund inflexibly. "Will you take Jane +Foley's place? Will you give yourself utterly?" + +Audrey answered with sudden vehemence: + +"No, I won't. You didn't want a definite answer, but there it is." + +"But surely you believe in the cause?" + +"Yes." + +"It's the greatest of all causes." + +"I'm rather inclined to think it is." + +"Why not give yourself, then? You are free. I have given myself, my child." + +"Yes," said Audrey, who resented the appellation of "child." "But, you see, +it's your hobby." + +"My hobby, Mrs. Moncreiff!" exclaimed Rosamund. + +"Certainly, your hobby," Audrey persisted. + +"I have sacrificed everything to it," said Rosamund. + +"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 +_I_ don't want to be a monomaniac, and I won't be." Her convictions seemed +to have become suddenly clear and absolutely decided. + +"Do you mean to infer that I am a monomaniac?" asked Rosamund, raising her +eyebrows--but only a little. + +"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?" + +"It is the greatest thing." + +"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." + +"You are in love," asserted Rosamund. + +"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 _only_ +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." + +"You're a rather surprising young creature," observed Rosamund with a +casual air, unmoved. "You're quite excited." + +"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." + +"Let me tell you this," said Rosamund. "A cause must have martyrs." + +"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." + +"You're very young." + +"Is that meant for an insult, or is it just a statement?" Audrey laughed +pleasantly. + +And Rosamund laughed too. + +"It's just a statement," said she. + +"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." + +"I think the interval is over," said Rosamund with finality. "Perhaps we'd +better adjourn." + +The foyer had nearly emptied. The distant sound of music could be heard. + +As she was re-entering the hall, Audrey met Mr. Cowl, who was coming out. + +"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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +ENTR'ACTE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Pooh! He has suffered. Well, he must suffer." + +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. + +"Isn't it going splendidly--splendidly, Mr. Gilman?" exclaimed Miss Ingate +in her enthusiasm. + +"Apparently," said Mr. Gilman, with comfort in his voice. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Please, please!" he eagerly entreated, with a faint blush. "Of course, I +quite understand. There's nothing whatever to forgive." + +"Oh! but there is," she insisted. "Only you're so good-natured." + +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. + +"I rather wanted to ask your advice," she said. + +"I wish you would," he replied. + +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: + +"It is not a concert talent that he has." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +Dauphin was magnificent, playing the part of the opulent painter _à la +mode_ 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. + +"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?" + +"Callot," answered Audrey submissively. + +"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." + +"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." + +"To-morrow?" Dauphin suggested. + +"Ah! To-morrow, my little Dauphin, I cannot," said Madame Foa. + +"Nor I," said Audrey. + +"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!" + +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. + +"About that advice--may I call to-morrow?" It was Mr. Gilman's voice at her +elbow. + +"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. + +She thought: + +"I am a rotten little snob." + +Mr. Gilman gave thanksgivings and departed, explaining that he must return +to Madame Piriac. + +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." + +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. + +"Well, Monsieur Xavier?" + +Xavier shrugged his round shoulders. + +"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. + +"Winnie," said she, "I think we ought to be getting back to our seats." + +"But," cried Madame Foa, "we are going round with Dauphin to the artists' +room. You do not come with us, Madame Moncreiff?" + +"In your place ..." muttered Xavier discouragingly, with a look at Dauphin, +and another shrug of the shoulders. "I have been ..." + +"Ah!" said Dauphin, in a strange new tone. And then very brightly to +Audrey: "Now, as to Saturday, dear lady----" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +END OF THE CONCERT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"But whatever do you mean?" cried Miss Ingate, aghast. + +"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. + +"Oh, my chocolates!" exclaimed Miss Thompkins. "I've left them in the +hall!" + +"No, here they are," said Nick, handing the box. + +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. + +Carefully ignoring Mr. Ziegler, Audrey remarked to Tommy with a +light-heartedness which she did not feel: + +"Well, what did you think of Jane this afternoon?" + +"Jane?" + +"Jane Foley. Nick was taking you to see her, wasn't she?" + +"Oh, yes!" said Tommy with a bright smile. "But I didn't go. I went for a +motor drive with Mr. Gilman." + +There was a short pause. At length Tommy said: + +"So he's got the goods on you at last!" + +"Who?" Audrey sharply questioned. + +"Dauphin. I knew he would. Remember my words. That portrait will cost you +forty thousand francs, not counting the frame." + +This was the end of the concert. + + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +STRANGE RESULT OF A QUARREL + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Only it was not Mr. Gilman the attendant announced. The man said: + +"Mademoiselle Nickall." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"Good-bye?" Audrey questioned. "Do I?" + +"I have to cross for England to-night. I've had my orders. Rosamund came +this morning. What about yours?" + +"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." + +Nick smiled gravely and uncertainly. + +"It's very serious this time," said she. "Hasn't Rosamund spoken to you +yet?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Both of you!" + +"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----" + +She stopped. There was another ring at the bell. The attendant came in with +great rapidity. + +"I'm lost!" thought Audrey, disgusted and perturbed. "Her being here will +spoil everything." + +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. + +"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. + +"But I don't want to see him, either!" Audrey protested. + +"Oh! You must! He'll listen to sense from you, perhaps. Can I go this way?" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"I saw my agent this morning," said he, in a grating voice, in French. He +was pale. + +"Yes?" said Audrey. She suddenly guessed what was coming, and she felt a +certain alarm, which nevertheless was not entirely disagreeable. + +"Why did you pay for that concert, and the future concerts, without telling +me, Madame?" + +"Paid for the concerts?" she repeated, rather weakly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"That's something," Audrey put in, her body trembling. "I am much obliged +to him." + +"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." + +"And how did you guess that?" She laughed carelessly, though she could not +keep her foot from shaking on the carpet. + +"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!" + +"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?" + +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. + +"You are a woman," said Musa curtly and obstinately. + +"That, at any rate, is true." + +"Therefore I cannot treat you as a man." + +"Please do," she said, rising. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +She said to herself, watching Musa intently: + +"Yes, he shall apologise. It is shameful, what he says. It's worse than +horrid. I am as strong as he is." + +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. + +She thought, very puzzled: + +"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." + +But she had no volition to stop it. + +She thought: + +"Am I fainting?" + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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." + +Mr. Gilman hesitated and then replied: + +"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. + +She let him go. His demeanour to Musa, like Musa's to him, was a marvel of +high courtesy. + +"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." + +Simultaneously there was another ring. It was a cable. She read: + +"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. + +"FOULGER." + +"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. + +"I wish----" he began. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Not in Germany," she pleaded, thinking of Ziegler. + +"Yes, in Germany," said Musa masterfully. "I have a reputation to make. It +is the agent who has suggested it." + +"But the concerts in London?" + +"You are English. I wish not to wound you." + +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. + +"Stop! I entreat thee!" said Musa suddenly, just as, all arrayed in her +finery, she was opening the door for the walk. + +"What is it?" + +He kissed her, and with his lips almost on hers he murmured: + +"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?" + +"You see," she replied like a shot, "you weren't sure, although you +pretended you were." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + +AN EPILOGUE + + +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. + +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. + +"You said eleven, Audrey. It isn't eleven yet." + +"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." + +"And where's your husband?" + +"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." + +Miss Ingate's lower lip dropped at the corners. + +"You've had a tiff." + +"Winnie, we haven't." + +"Did you go to all his concerts?" + +"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 _wanted_ to do it. So naturally I did it. We've never been +apart--until now." + +"And it's not exaggerated, what you've written me about his success?" + +"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. + +"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 _quite_ 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?" + +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. + +"Well, what about her?" said Audrey, staring. + +"Isn't it Lady Southminster?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. _He'll_ 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 _he'd_ 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 +_he_ 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." + +"So that's love!" said Audrey when the transaction was over and they were +in the entrance-hall again. + +"No," said Miss Ingate. "That's marriage. And don't you forget it.... +Hallo, Tommy!" + +"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. + +"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 _you_ doing here? I thought +you hated London." + +"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?" + +"Well," said Audrey, "not what you'd call 'heard.' But I'd a sort of a kind +of a--" + +"You come right over here, young woman." + +"But I want to get my number." + +"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." + +The incident might not have ended there had not Madame Piriac appeared in +the entrance-hall out of the interior of the hotel. + +"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. _Voilà_! Listen. She has great skill +with him, _cette Tommy_. Nevertheless, I have the intention to counsel her +about her complexion. Impossible to keep any man with a complexion like +hers!" + +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: + +"Tell my chauffeur to wait." + +He was punctiliously attentive to Miss Thompkins, and held her hand for two +seconds after he had practically finished with it. + +"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." + +These words were distinctly heard by Audrey herself. + +"I think I'll slip upstairs now," she murmured to Madame Piriac. And +vanished, before Mr. Gilman had observed her presence. + +She thought: + +"How he has aged!" + +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. + +"Mr. Shinner to see you." + +"Mr. Shinner? Oh! Mr. Shinner. Send him up, please." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"But who told you we had telegraphed for rooms?" + +"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?" + +"Yes," said Audrey. "After Dusseldorf. My husband did not make much +money----" + +"That will not trouble you," Mr. Shinner smiled easily. + +"But somebody did--the agents did." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes, you said he wasn't a concert-player and never would be----" + +"Don't rub it in, madam," said Mr. Shinner merrily. "_Peccavi_." + +"What's that?" + +"Nothing, nothing, madam," he disclaimed. + +"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." + +"But I didn't know then that your husband would have such a success in +Germany." + +"What difference does that make?" + +"Madam," said Mr. Shinner, "it makes every difference." + +"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." + +"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 _understand_. You see, my +mother was harpist to the late Queen." + +"But----" + +"Your husband is assuredly a genius, madam!" Mr. Shinner stood up in his +enthusiasm, and banged his left fist with his right palm. + +"Yes, I know that," said Audrey. "But you are such an expensive luxury." + +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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"This is Mr. Shinner, the agent, my love," said Audrey. "I'll leave you to +talk to him. He sees money in you." + +In the passage the authentic Aguilar stood with Miss Ingate. + +"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?" + +"Good morning, Aguilar. You in town on business?" + +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. + +"'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." + +"And how is your wife, Aguilar?" + +"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." + +"She's not caught yet?" + +"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." + +"Certainly, Aguilar. I was quite expecting it. Where are you going to +live?" + +"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." + +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. + +"I shall come at once," said she. + +Getting rid of Aguilar, she knocked at the door of No. 37. + +"Read that," she ordered Miss Ingate and Madame Piriac, giving them the +note jointly. + +"And are you going?" said Miss Ingate, nervous and impressed. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I imagined to myself that you two were happy in an ideal fashion," +murmured Madame Piriac. + +"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." + +"If he does," said Miss Ingate, "he'll be the first husband that ever did." +Her lips were sardonic. + +"Well, of course," said Audrey nonchalantly, "he _is_. Didn't you know +that?... And didn't you tell me not to forget Lady Southminster?" + +"Did I?" said Miss Ingate. + +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. + +"What's that you're whispering?" Miss Ingate archly demanded. + +"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." + +"What do you think of it all, Madame Piriac?" Miss Ingate inquired when the +pair were alone. + +"'All the sensations there are!' 'Everything!'" Madame Piriac repeated +Audrey's phrases. "One is forced to conclude that she has an appetite for +life." + +"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." + +"I was never young like that." + +"Neither was I! Neither was I!" Miss Ingate asseverated. "But something +vehy, vehy strange has come over the world, if you ask me." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lion's Share, by E. Arnold Bennett + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14487 *** |