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The Practical Friend +Chapter VII. Marian's Home + +Part Two +Chapter VIII. To the Winning Side +Chapter IX. Invita Minerva +Chapter X. The Friends of the Family +Chapter XI. Respite +Chapter XII. Work Without Hope +Chapter XIII. A Warning +Chapter XIV. Recruits +Chapter XV. The Last Resource + +Part Three +Chapter XVI. Rejection +Chapter XVII. The Parting +Chapter XVIII. The Old Home +Chapter XIX. The Past Revived +Chapter XX. The End of Waiting +Chapter XXI. Mr Yule leaves Town +Chapter XXII. The Legatees + +Part Four +Chapter XXIII. A Proposed Investment +Chapter XXIV. Jasper's Magnanimity +Chapter XXV . A Fruitless Meeting +Chapter XXVI. Married Woman's Property +Chapter XXVII. The Lonely Man +Chapter XXVIII. Interim +Chapter XXIX. Catastrophe + +Part Five +Chapter XXX. Waiting on Destiny +Chapter XXXI. A Rescue and a Summons +Chapter XXXII. Reardon becomes Practical +Chapter XXXIII. The Sunny Way +Chapter XXXIV. A Check +Chapter XXXV. Fever and Rest +Chapter XXXVI. Jasper's Delicate Case +Chapter XXXVII. Rewards + + + + +NEW GRUB STREET + + + +Part I. + + +CHAPTER I. A MAN OF HIS DAY + +As the Milvains sat down to breakfast the clock of Wattleborough +parish church struck eight; it was two miles away, but the +strokes were borne very distinctly on the west wind this autumn +morning. Jasper, listening before he cracked an egg, remarked +with cheerfulness: + +'There's a man being hanged in London at this moment.' + +'Surely it isn't necessary to let us know that,' said his sister +Maud, coldly. + +'And in such a tone, too!' protested his sister Dora. + +'Who is it?' inquired Mrs Milvain, looking at her son with pained +forehead. + +'I don't know. It happened to catch my eye in the paper yesterday +that someone was to be hanged at Newgate this morning. There's a +certain satisfaction in reflecting that it is not oneself.' + +'That's your selfish way of looking at things,' said Maud. + +'Well,' returned Jasper, 'seeing that the fact came into my head, +what better use could I make of it? I could curse the brutality +of an age that sanctioned such things; or I could grow doleful +over the misery of the poor--fellow. But those emotions would be +as little profitable to others as to myself. It just happened +that I saw the thing in a light of consolation. Things are bad +with me, but not so bad as THAT. I might be going out between +Jack Ketch and the Chaplain to be hanged; instead of that, I am +eating a really fresh egg, and very excellent buttered toast, +with coffee as good as can be reasonably expected in this part of +the world.--(Do try boiling the milk, mother.)--The tone in which +I spoke was spontaneous; being so, it needs no justification.' + +He was a young man of five-and-twenty, well built, though a +trifle meagre, and of pale complexion. He had hair that was very +nearly black, and a clean-shaven face, best described, perhaps, +as of bureaucratic type. The clothes he wore were of expensive +material, but had seen a good deal of service. His stand-up +collar curled over at the corners, and his necktie was lilac- +sprigged. + +Of the two sisters, Dora, aged twenty, was the more like him in +visage, but she spoke with a gentleness which seemed to indicate +a different character. Maud, who was twenty-two, had bold, +handsome features, and very beautiful hair of russet tinge; hers +was not a face that readily smiled. Their mother had the look and +manners of an invalid, though she sat at table in the ordinary +way. All were dressed as ladies, though very simply. The room, +which looked upon a small patch of garden, was furnished with +old-fashioned comfort, only one or two objects suggesting the +decorative spirit of 1882. + +'A man who comes to be hanged,' pursued Jasper, impartially, 'has +the satisfaction of knowing that he has brought society to its +last resource. He is a man of such fatal importance that nothing +will serve against him but the supreme effort of law. In a way, +you know, that is success.' + +'In a way,' repeated Maud, scornfully. + +'Suppose we talk of something else,' suggested Dora, who seemed +to fear a conflict between her sister and Jasper. + +Almost at the same moment a diversion was afforded by the arrival +of the post. There was a letter for Mrs Milvain, a letter and +newspaper for her son. Whilst the girls and their mother talked +of unimportant news communicated by the one correspondent, Jasper +read the missive addressed to himself. + +'This is from Reardon,' he remarked to the younger girl. 'Things +are going badly with him. He is just the kind of fellow to end by +poisoning or shooting himself.' + +'But why?' + +'Can't get anything done; and begins to be sore troubled on his +wife's account.' + +'Is he ill?' + +'Overworked, I suppose. But it's just what I foresaw. He isn't +the kind of man to keep up literary production as a paying +business. In favourable circumstances he might write a fairly +good book once every two or three years. The failure of his last +depressed him, and now he is struggling hopelessly to get another +done before the winter season. Those people will come to grief.' + +'The enjoyment with which he anticipates it!' murmured Maud, +looking at her mother. + +'Not at all,' said Jasper. 'It's true I envied the fellow, +because he persuaded a handsome girl to believe in him and share +his risks, but I shall be very sorry if he goes to the--to the +dogs. He's my one serious friend. But it irritates me to see a +man making such large demands upon fortune. One must be more +modest--as I am. Because one book had a sort of success he +imagined his struggles were over. He got a hundred pounds for "On +Neutral Ground," and at once counted on a continuance of payments +in geometrical proportion. I hinted to him that he couldn't keep +it up, and he smiled with tolerance, no doubt thinking "He judges +me by himself." But I didn't do anything of the kind.--(Toast, +please, Dora.)--I'm a stronger man than Reardon; I can keep my +eyes open, and wait.' + +'Is his wife the kind of person to grumble?' asked Mrs Milvain. + +'Well, yes, I suspect that she is. The girl wasn't content to go +into modest rooms--they must furnish a flat. I rather wonder he +didn't start a carriage for her. Well, his next book brought only +another hundred, and now, even if he finishes this one, it's very +doubtful if he'll get as much. "The Optimist" was practically a +failure.' + +'Mr Yule may leave them some money,' said Dora. + +'Yes. But he may live another ten years, and he would see them +both in Marylebone Workhouse before he advanced sixpence, or I'm +much mistaken in him. Her mother has only just enough to live +upon; can't possibly help them. Her brother wouldn't give or lend +twopence halfpenny.' + +'Has Mr Reardon no relatives!' + +'I never heard him make mention of a single one. No, he has done +the fatal thing. A man in his position, if he marry at all, must +take either a work-girl or an heiress, and in many ways the work- +girl is preferable.' + +'How can you say that?' asked Dora. 'You never cease talking +about the advantages of money.' + +'Oh, I don't mean that for ME the work-girl would be preferable; +by no means; but for a man like Reardon. He is absurd enough to +be conscientious, likes to be called an "artist," and so on. He +might possibly earn a hundred and fifty a year if his mind were +at rest, and that would be enough if he had married a decent +little dressmaker. He wouldn't desire superfluities, and the +quality of his work would be its own reward. As it is, he's +ruined.' + +'And I repeat,' said Maud, 'that you enjoy the prospect.' + +'Nothing of the kind. If I seem to speak exultantly it's only +because my intellect enjoys the clear perception of a fact.--A +little marmalade, Dora; the home-made, please.' + +'But this is very sad, Jasper,' said Mrs Milvain, in her half- +absent way. 'I suppose they can't even go for a holiday?' + +'Quite out of the question.' + +'Not even if you invited them to come here for a week?' + +'Now, mother,' urged Maud, 'THAT'S impossible, you know very +well.' + +'I thought we might make an effort, dear. A holiday might mean +everything to him.' + +'No, no,' fell from Jasper, thoughtfully. 'I don't think you'd +get along very well with Mrs Reardon; and then, if her uncle is +coming to Mr Yule's, you know, that would be awkward.' + +'I suppose it would; though those people would only stay a day or +two, Miss Harrow said.' + +'Why can't Mr Yule make them friends, those two lots of people?' +asked Dora. 'You say he's on good terms with both.' + +'I suppose he thinks it's no business of his.' + +Jasper mused over the letter from his friend. + +'Ten years hence,' he said, 'if Reardon is still alive, I shall +be lending him five-pound notes.' + +A smile of irony rose to Maud's lips. Dora laughed. + +'To be sure! To be sure!' exclaimed their brother. 'You have no +faith. But just understand the difference between a man like +Reardon and a man like me. He is the old type of unpractical +artist; I am the literary man of 1882. He won't make concessions, +or rather, he can't make them; he can't supply the market. I-- +well, you may say that at present I do nothing; but that's a +great mistake, I am learning my business. Literature nowadays is +a trade. Putting aside men of genius, who may succeed by mere +cosmic force, your successful man of letters is your skilful +tradesman. He thinks first and foremost of the markets; when one +kind of goods begins to go off slackly, he is ready with +something new and appetising. He knows perfectly all the possible +sources of income. Whatever he has to sell he'll get payment for +it from all sorts of various quarters; none of your unpractical +selling for a lump sum to a middleman who will make six distinct +profits. Now, look you: if I had been in Reardon's place, I'd +have made four hundred at least out of "The Optimist"; I should +have gone shrewdly to work with magazines and newspapers and +foreign publishers, and--all sorts of people. Reardon can't do +that kind of thing, he's behind his age; he sells a manuscript as +if he lived in Sam Johnson's Grub Street. But our Grub Street of +to-day is quite a different place: it is supplied with +telegraphic communication, it knows what literary fare is in +demand in every part of the world, its inhabitants are men of +business, however seedy.' + +'It sounds ignoble,' said Maud. + +'I have nothing to do with that, my dear girl. Now, as I tell +you, I am slowly, but surely, learning the business. My line +won't be novels; I have failed in that direction, I'm not cut out +for the work. It's a pity, of course; there's a great deal of +money in it. But I have plenty of scope. In ten years, I repeat, +I shall be making my thousand a year.' + +'I don't remember that you stated the exact sum before,' Maud +observed. + +'Let it pass. And to those who have shall be given. When I have a +decent income of my own, I shall marry a woman with an income +somewhat larger, so that casualties may be provided for.' + +Dora exclaimed, laughing: + +'It would amuse me very much if the Reardons got a lot of money +at Mr Yule's death--and that can't be ten years off, I'm sure.' + +'I don't see that there's any chance of their getting much,' +replied Jasper, meditatively. 'Mrs Reardon is only his niece. The +man's brother and sister will have the first helping, I suppose. +And then, if it comes to the second generation, the literary Yule +has a daughter, and by her being invited here I should think +she's the favourite niece. No, no; depend upon it they won't get +anything at all.' + +Having finished his breakfast, he leaned back and began to unfold +the London paper that had come by post. + +'Had Mr Reardon any hopes of that kind at the time of his +marriage, do you think?' inquired Mrs Milvain. + +'Reardon? Good heavens, no! Would he were capable of such +forethought!' + +In a few minutes Jasper was left alone in the room. When the +servant came to clear the table he strolled slowly away, humming +a tune. + +The house was pleasantly situated by the roadside in a little +village named Finden. Opposite stood the church, a plain, low, +square-towered building. As it was cattle-market to-day in the +town of Wattleborough, droves of beasts and sheep occasionally +went by, or the rattle of a grazier's cart sounded for a moment. +On ordinary days the road saw few vehicles, and pedestrians were +rare. + +Mrs Milvain and her daughters had lived here for the last seven +years, since the death of the father, who was a veterinary +surgeon. The widow enjoyed an annuity of two hundred and forty +pounds, terminable with her life; the children had nothing of +their own. Maud acted irregularly as a teacher of music; Dora had +an engagement as visiting governess in a Wattleborough family. +Twice a year, as a rule, Jasper came down from London to spend a +fortnight with them; to-day marked the middle of his autumn +visit, and the strained relations between him and his sisters +which invariably made the second week rather trying for all in +the house had already become noticeable. + +In the course of the morning Jasper had half an hour's private +talk with his mother, after which he set off to roam in the +sunshine. Shortly after he had left the house, Maud, her domestic +duties dismissed for the time, came into the parlour where Mrs +Milvain was reclining on the sofa. + +'Jasper wants more money,' said the mother, when Maud had sat in +meditation for a few minutes. + +'Of course. I knew that. I hope you told him he couldn't have +it.' + +'I really didn't know what to say,' returned Mrs Milvain, in a +feeble tone of worry. + +'Then you must leave the matter to me, that's all. There's no +money for him, and there's an end of it.' + +Maud set her features in sullen determination. There was a brief +silence. + +'What's he to do, Maud?' + +'To do? How do other people do? What do Dora and I do?' + +'You don't earn enough for your support, my dear.' + +'Oh, well!' broke from the girl. 'Of course, if you grudge us our +food and lodging --' + +'Don't be so quick-tempered. You know very well I am far from +grudging you anything, dear. But I only meant to say that Jasper +does earn something, you know.' + +'It's a disgraceful thing that he doesn't earn as much as he +needs. We are sacrificed to him, as we always have been. Why +should we be pinching and stinting to keep him in idleness?' + +'But you really can't call it idleness, Maud. He is studying his +profession.' + +'Pray call it trade; he prefers it. How do I know that he's +studying anything? What does he mean by "studying"? And to hear +him speak scornfully of his friend Mr Reardon, who seems to work +hard all through the year! It's disgusting, mother. At this rate +he will never earn his own living. Who hasn't seen or heard of +such men? If we had another hundred a year, I would say nothing. +But we can't live on what he leaves us, and I'm not going to let +you try. I shall tell Jasper plainly that he's got to work for +his own support.' + +Another silence, and a longer one. Mrs Milvain furtively wiped a +tear from her cheek. + +'It seems very cruel to refuse,' she said at length, 'when +another year may give him the opportunity he's waiting for.' + +'Opportunity? What does he mean by his opportunity?' + +'He says that it always comes, if a man knows how to wait.' + +'And the people who support him may starve meanwhile! Now just +think a bit, mother. Suppose anything were to happen to you, what +becomes of Dora and me? And what becomes of Jasper, too? It's the +truest kindness to him to compel him to earn a living. He gets +more and more incapable of it.' + +'You can't say that, Maud. He earns a little more each year. But +for that, I should have my doubts. He has made thirty pounds +already this year, and he only made about twenty-five the whole +of last. We must be fair to him, you know. I can't help feeling +that he knows what he's about. And if he does succeed, he'll pay +us all back.' + +Maud began to gnaw her fingers, a disagreeable habit she had in +privacy. + +'Then why doesn't he live more economically?' + +'I really don't see how he can live on less than a hundred and +fifty a year. London, you know --' + +'The cheapest place in the world.' + +'Nonsense, Maud!' + +'But I know what I'm saying. I've read quite enough about such +things. He might live very well indeed on thirty shillings a +week, even buying his clothes out of it.' + +'But he has told us so often that it's no use to him to live like +that. He is obliged to go to places where he must spend a little, +or he makes no progress.' + +'Well, all I can say is,' exclaimed the girl impatiently, 'it's +very lucky for him that he's got a mother who willingly +sacrifices her daughters to him.' + +'That's how you always break out. You don't care what unkindness +you say!' + +'It's a simple truth.' + +'Dora never speaks like that.' + +'Because she's afraid to be honest.' + +'No, because she has too much love for her mother. I can't bear +to talk to you, Maud. The older I get, and the weaker I get, the +more unfeeling you are to me.' + +Scenes of this kind were no uncommon thing. The clash of tempers +lasted for several minutes, then Maud flung out of the room. An +hour later, at dinner-time, she was rather more caustic in her +remarks than usual, but this was the only sign that remained of +the stormy mood. + +Jasper renewed the breakfast-table conversation. + +'Look here,' he began, 'why don't you girls write something? I'm +convinced you could make money if you tried. There's a tremendous +sale for religious stories; why not patch one together? I am +quite serious.' + +'Why don't you do it yourself,' retorted Maud. + +'I can't manage stories, as I have told you; but I think you +could. In your place, I'd make a speciality of Sunday-school +prize-books; you know the kind of thing I mean. They sell like +hot cakes. And there's so deuced little enterprise in the +business. If you'd give your mind to it, you might make hundreds +a year.' + +'Better say "abandon your mind to it."' + +'Why, there you are! You're a sharp enough girl. You can quote as +well as anyone I know.' + +'And please, why am I to take up an inferior kind of work?' + +'Inferior? Oh, if you can be a George Eliot, begin at the +earliest opportunity. I merely suggested what seemed practicable. + +But I don't think you have genius, Maud. People have got that +ancient prejudice so firmly rooted in their heads--that one +mustn't write save at the dictation of the Holy Spirit. I tell +you, writing is a business. Get together half-a-dozen fair +specimens of the Sunday-school prize; study them; discover the +essential points of such composition; hit upon new attractions; +then go to work methodically, so many pages a day. There's no +question of the divine afflatus; that belongs to another sphere +of life. We talk of literature as a trade, not of Homer, Dante, +and Shakespeare. If I could only get that into poor Reardon's +head. He thinks me a gross beast, often enough. What the devil--I +mean what on earth is there in typography to make everything it +deals with sacred? I don't advocate the propagation of vicious +literature; I speak only of good, coarse, marketable stuff for +the world's vulgar. You just give it a thought, Maud; talk it +over with Dora.' + +He resumed presently: + +'I maintain that we people of brains are justified in supplying +the mob with the food it likes. We are not geniuses, and if we +sit down in a spirit of long-eared gravity we shall produce only +commonplace stuff. Let us use our wits to earn money, and make +the best we can of our lives. If only I had the skill, I would +produce novels out-trashing the trashiest that ever sold fifty +thousand copies. But it needs skill, mind you: and to deny it is +a gross error of the literary pedants. To please the vulgar you +must, one way or another, incarnate the genius of vulgarity. For +my own part, I shan't be able to address the bulkiest multitude; +my talent doesn't lend itself to that form. I shall write for the +upper middle-class of intellect, the people who like to feel that +what they are reading has some special cleverness, but who can't +distinguish between stones and paste. That's why I'm so slow in +warming to the work. Every month I feel surer of myself, however. + +That last thing of mine in The West End distinctly hit the mark; +it wasn't too flashy, it wasn't too solid. I heard fellows speak +of it in the train.' + +Mrs Milvain kept glancing at Maud, with eyes which desired her +attention to these utterances. None the less, half an hour after +dinner, Jasper found himself encountered by his sister in the +garden, on her face a look which warned him of what was coming. + +'I want you to tell me something, Jasper. How much longer shall +you look to mother for support? I mean it literally; let me have +an idea of how much longer it will be.' + +He looked away and reflected. + +'To leave a margin,' was his reply, 'let us say twelve months.' + +'Better say your favourite "ten years" at once.' + +'No. I speak by the card. In twelve months' time, if not before, +I shall begin to pay my debts. My dear girl, I have the honour to +be a tolerably long-headed individual. I know what I'm about.' + +'And let us suppose mother were to die within half a year?' + +'I should make shift to do very well.' + +'You? And please--what of Dora and me?' + +'You would write Sunday-school prizes.' + +Maud turned away and left him. + +He knocked the dust out of the pipe he had been smoking, and +again set off for a stroll along the lanes. On his countenance +was just a trace of solicitude, but for the most part he wore a +thoughtful smile. Now and then he stroked his smoothly-shaven +jaws with thumb and fingers. Occasionally he became observant of +wayside details--of the colour of a maple leaf, the shape of a +tall thistle, the consistency of a fungus. At the few people who +passed he looked keenly, surveying them from head to foot. + +On turning, at the limit of his walk, he found himself almost +face to face with two persons, who were coming along in silent +companionship; their appearance interested him. The one was a man +of fifty, grizzled, hard featured, slightly bowed in the +shoulders; he wore a grey felt hat with a broad brim and a decent +suit of broadcloth. With him was a girl of perhaps two-and- +twenty, in a slate-coloured dress with very little ornament, and +a yellow straw hat of the shape originally appropriated to males; +her dark hair was cut short, and lay in innumerable crisp curls. +Father and daughter, obviously. The girl, to a casual eye, was +neither pretty nor beautiful, but she had a grave and impressive +face, with a complexion of ivory tone; her walk was gracefully +modest, and she seemed to be enjoying the country air. + +Jasper mused concerning them. When he had walked a few yards, he +looked back; at the same moment the unknown man also turned his +head. + +'Where the deuce have I seen them--him and the girl too?' Milvain +asked himself. + +And before he reached home the recollection he sought flashed +upon his mind. + +'The Museum Reading-room, of course!' + + + +CHAPTER II. THE HOUSE OF YULE + +'I think' said Jasper, as he entered the room where his mother +and Maud were busy with plain needlework, 'I must have met Alfred +Yule and his daughter.' + +'How did you recognise them?' Mrs Milvain inquired. + +'I passed an old buffer and a pale-faced girl whom I know by +sight at the British Museum. It wasn't near Yule's house, but +they were taking a walk.' + +'They may have come already. When Miss Harrow was here last, she +said "in about a fortnight."' + +'No mistaking them for people of these parts, even if I hadn't +remembered their faces. Both of them are obvious dwellers in the +valley of the shadow of books.' + +'Is Miss Yule such a fright then?' asked Maud. + +'A fright! Not at all. A good example of the modern literary +girl. I suppose you have the oddest old-fashioned ideas of such +people. No, I rather like the look of her. Simpatica, I should +think, as that ass Whelpdale would say. A very delicate, pure +complexion, though morbid; nice eyes; figure not spoilt yet. But +of course I may be wrong about their identity.' + +Later in the afternoon Jasper's conjecture was rendered a +certainty. Maud had walked to Wattleborough, where she would meet +Dora on the latter's return from her teaching, and Mrs Milvain +sat alone, in a mood of depression; there was a ring at the +door-bell, and the servant admitted Miss Harrow. + +This lady acted as housekeeper to Mr John Yule, a wealthy +resident in this neighbourhood; she was the sister of his +deceased wife--a thin, soft-speaking, kindly woman of forty-five. +The greater part of her life she had spent as a governess; her +position now was more agreeable, and the removal of her anxiety +about the future had developed qualities of cheerfulness which +formerly no one would have suspected her to possess. The +acquaintance between Mrs Milvain and her was only of twelve +months' standing; prior to that, Mr Yule had inhabited a house at +the end of Wattleborough remote from Finden. + +'Our London visitors came yesterday,' she began by saying. + +Mrs Milvain mentioned her son's encounter an hour or two ago. + +'No doubt it was they,' said the visitor. 'Mrs Yule hasn't come; +I hardly expected she would, you know. So very unfortunate when +there are difficulties of that kind, isn't it?' + +She smiled confidentially. + +'The poor girl must feel it,' said Mrs Milvain. + +'I'm afraid she does. Of course it narrows the circle of her +friends at home. She's a sweet girl, and I should so like you to +meet her. Do come and have tea with us to-morrow afternoon, will +you? Or would it be too much for you just now?' + +'Will you let the girls call? And then perhaps Miss Yule will be +so good as to come and see me?' + +'I wonder whether Mr Milvain would like to meet her father? I +have thought that perhaps it might be some advantage to him. +Alfred is so closely connected with literary people, you know.' + +'I feel sure he would be glad,' replied Mrs Milvain. 'But--what +of Jasper's friendship with Mrs Edmund Yule and the Reardons? +Mightn't it be a little awkward?' + +'Oh, I don't think so, unless he himself felt it so. There would +be no need to mention that, I should say. And, really, it would +be so much better if those estrangements came to an end. John +makes no scruple of speaking freely about everyone, and I don't +think Alfred regards Mrs Edmund with any serious unkindness. If +Mr Milvain would walk over with the young ladies to-morrow, it +would be very pleasant.' + +'Then I think I may promise that he will. I'm sure I don't know +where he is at this moment. We don't see very much of him, except +at meals.' + +'He won't be with you much longer, I suppose?' + +'Perhaps a week.' + +Before Miss Harrow's departure Maud and Dora reached home. They +were curious to see the young lady from the valley of the shadow +of books, and gladly accepted the invitation offered them. + +They set out on the following afternoon in their brother's +company. It was only a quarter of an hour's walk to Mr Yule's +habitation, a small house in a large garden. Jasper was coming +hither for the first time; his sisters now and then visited Miss +Harrow, but very rarely saw Mr Yule himself who made no secret of +the fact that he cared little for female society. In +Wattleborough and the neighbourhood opinions varied greatly as to +this gentleman's character, but women seldom spoke very +favourably of him. Miss Harrow was reticent concerning her +brother-in-law; no one, however, had any reason to believe that +she found life under his roof disagreeable. That she lived with +him at all was of course occasionally matter for comment, certain +Wattleborough ladies having their doubts regarding the position +of a deceased wife's sister under such circumstances; but no one +was seriously exercised about the relations between this sober +lady of forty-five and a man of sixty-three in broken health. + +A word of the family history. + +John, Alfred, and Edmund Yule were the sons of a Wattleborough +stationer. Each was well educated, up to the age of seventeen, at +the town's grammar school. The eldest, who was a hot-headed lad, +but showed capacities for business, worked at first with his +father, endeavouring to add a bookselling department to the trade +in stationery; but the life of home was not much to his taste, +and at one-and-twenty he obtained a clerk's place in the office +of a London newspaper. Three years after, his father died, and +the small patrimony which fell to him he used in making himself +practically acquainted with the details of paper manufacture, his +aim being to establish himself in partnership with an +acquaintance who had started a small paper-mill in Hertfordshire. + +His speculation succeeded, and as years went on he became a +thriving manufacturer. His brother Alfred, in the meantime, had +drifted from work at a London bookseller's into the modern Grub +Street, his adventures in which region will concern us hereafter. + +Edmund carried on the Wattleborough business, but with small +success. Between him and his eldest brother existed a good deal +of affection, and in the end John offered him a share in his +flourishing paper works; whereupon Edmund married, deeming +himself well established for life. But John's temper was a +difficult one; Edmund and he quarrelled, parted; and when the +younger died, aged about forty, he left but moderate provision +for his widow and two children. + +Only when he had reached middle age did John marry; the +experiment could not be called successful, and Mrs Yule died +three years later, childless. + +At fifty-four John Yule retired from active business; he came +back to the scenes of his early life, and began to take an +important part in the municipal affairs of Wattleborough. He was +then a remarkably robust man, fond of out-of-door exercise; he +made it one of his chief efforts to encourage the local Volunteer +movement, the cricket and football clubs, public sports of every +kind, showing no sympathy whatever with those persons who wished +to establish free libraries, lectures, and the like. At his own +expense he built for the Volunteers a handsome drill-shed; he +founded a public gymnasium; and finally he allowed it to be +rumoured that he was going to present the town with a park. But +by presuming too far upon the bodily vigour which prompted these +activities, he passed of a sudden into the state of a confirmed +invalid. On an autumn expedition in the Hebrides he slept one +night under the open sky, with the result that he had an all but +fatal attack of rheumatic fever. After that, though the direction +of his interests was unchanged, he could no longer set the +example to Wattleborough youth of muscular manliness. The +infliction did not improve his temper; for the next year or two +he was constantly at warfare with one or other of his colleagues +and friends, ill brooking that the familiar control of various +local interests should fall out of his hands. But before long he +appeared to resign himself to his fate, and at present +Wattleborough saw little of him. It seemed likely that he might +still found the park which was to bear his name; but perhaps it +would only be done in consequence of directions in his will. It +was believed that he could not live much longer. + +With his kinsfolk he held very little communication. Alfred Yule, +a battered man of letters, had visited Wattleborough only +twice(including the present occasion) since John's return hither. +Mrs Edmund Yule, with her daughter--now Mrs Reardon--had been +only once, three years ago. These two families, as you have +heard, were not on terms of amity with each other, owing to +difficulties between Mrs Alfred and Mrs Edmund; but John seemed +to regard both impartially. Perhaps the only real warmth of +feeling he had ever known was bestowed upon Edmund, and Miss +Harrow had remarked that he spoke with somewhat more interest of +Edmund's daughter, Amy, than of Alfred's daughter, Marian. But it +was doubtful whether the sudden disappearance from the earth of +all his relatives would greatly have troubled him. He lived a +life of curious self-absorption, reading newspapers (little +else), and talking with old friends who had stuck to him in spite +of his irascibility. + +Miss Harrow received her visitors in a small and soberly +furnished drawing-room. She was nervous, probably because of +Jasper Milvain, whom she had met but once--last spring--and who +on that occasion had struck her as an alarmingly modern young +man. In the shadow of a window-curtain sat a slight, simply- +dressed girl, whose short curly hair and thoughtful countenance +Jasper again recognised. When it was his turn to be presented to +Miss Yule, he saw that she doubted for an instant whether or not +to give her hand; yet she decided to do so, and there was +something very pleasant to him in its warm softness. She smiled +with a slight embarrassment, meeting his look only for a second. + +'I have seen you several times, Miss Yule,' he said in a friendly +way, 'though without knowing your name. It was under the great +dome.' + +She laughed, readily understanding his phrase. + +'I am there very often,' was her reply. + +'What great dome?' asked Miss Harrow, with surprise. + +'That of the British Museum Reading-room,' explained Jasper; +'known to some of us as the valley of the shadow of books. People +who often work there necessarily get to know each other by sight. + +In the same way I knew Miss Yule's father when I happened to pass +him in the road yesterday.' + +The three girls began to converse together, perforce of +trivialities. Marian Yule spoke in rather slow tones, +thoughtfully, gently; she had linked her fingers, and laid her +hands, palms downwards, upon her lap--a nervous action. Her +accent was pure, unpretentious; and she used none of the +fashionable turns of speech which would have suggested the habit +of intercourse with distinctly metropolitan society. + +'You must wonder how we exist in this out-of-the-way place,' +remarked Maud. + +'Rather, I envy you,' Marian answered, with a slight emphasis. + +The door opened, and Alfred Yule presented himself. He was tall, +and his head seemed a disproportionate culmination to his meagre +body, it was so large and massively featured. Intellect and +uncertainty of temper were equally marked upon his visage; his +brows were knitted in a permanent expression of severity. He had +thin, smooth hair, grizzled whiskers, a shaven chin. In the +multitudinous wrinkles of his face lay a history of laborious and +stormy life; one readily divined in him a struggling and +embittered man. Though he looked older than his years, he had by +no means the appearance of being beyond the ripeness of his +mental vigour. + +'It pleases me to meet you, Mr Milvain,' he said, as he stretched +out his bony hand. 'Your name reminds me of a paper in The +Wayside a month or two ago, which you will perhaps allow a +veteran to say was not ill done.' + +'I am grateful to you for noticing it,' replied Jasper. + +There was positively a touch of visible warmth upon his cheek. +The allusion had come so unexpectedly that it caused him keen +pleasure. + +Mr Yule seated himself awkwardly, crossed his legs, and began to +stroke the back of his left hand, which lay on his knee. He +seemed to have nothing more to say at present, and allowed Miss +Harrow and the girls to support conversation. Jasper listened +with a smile for a minute or two, then he addressed the +veteran.'Have you seen The Study this week, Mr Yule?' + +'Yes.' + +'Did you notice that it contains a very favourable review of a +novel which was tremendously abused in the same columns three +weeks ago?' + +Mr Yule started, but Jasper could perceive at once that his +emotion was not disagreeable. + +'You don't say so.' + +'Yes. The novel is Miss Hawk's "On the Boards." How will the +editor get out of this?' + +'H'm! Of course Mr Fadge is not immediately responsible; but +it'll be unpleasant for him, decidedly unpleasant.' He smiled +grimly. 'You hear this, Marian?' + +'How is it explained, father?' + +'May be accident, of course; but--well, there's no knowing. I +think it very likely this will be the end of Mr Fadge's tenure of +office. Rackett, the proprietor, only wants a plausible excuse +for making a change. The paper has been going downhill for the +last year; I know of two publishing houses who have withdrawn +their advertising from it, and who never send their books for +review. Everyone foresaw that kind of thing from the day Mr Fadge +became editor. The tone of his paragraphs has been detestable. +Two reviews of the same novel, eh? And diametrically opposed? Ha! + +ha!' + +Gradually he had passed from quiet appreciation of the joke to +undisguised mirth and pleasure. His utterance of the name 'Mr +Fadge' sufficiently intimated that he had some cause of personal +discontent with the editor of The Study. + +'The author,' remarked Milvain, 'ought to make a good thing out +of this.' + +'Will, no doubt. Ought to write at once to the papers, calling +attention to this sample of critical impartiality. Ha! ha!' + +He rose and went to the window, where for several minutes he +stood gazing at vacancy, the same grim smile still on his face. +Jasper in the meantime amused the ladies (his sisters had heard +him on the subject already) with a description of the two +antagonistic notices. But he did not trust himself to express so +freely as he had done at home his opinion of reviewing in +general; it was more than probable that both Yule and his +daughter did a good deal of such work. + +'Suppose we go into the garden,' suggested Miss Harrow, +presently. 'It seems a shame to sit indoors on such a lovely +afternoon.' + +Hitherto there had been no mention of the master of the house. +But Mr Yule now remarked to Jasper: + +'My brother would be glad if you would come and have a word with +him. He isn't quite well enough to leave his room to-day.' + +So, as the ladies went gardenwards, Jasper followed the man of +letters upstairs to a room on the first floor. Here, in a deep +cane chair, which was placed by the open window, sat John Yule. +He was completely dressed, save that instead of coat he wore a +dressing-gown. The facial likeness between him and his brother +was very strong, but John's would universally have been judged +the finer countenance; illness notwithstanding, he had a +complexion which contrasted in its pure colour with Alfred's +parchmenty skin, and there was more finish about his features. +His abundant hair was reddish, his long moustache and trimmed +beard a lighter shade of the same hue. + +'So you too are in league with the doctors,' was his bluff +greeting, as he held a hand to the young man and inspected him +with a look of slighting good-nature. + +'Well, that certainly is one way of regarding the literary +profession,' admitted Jasper, who had heard enough of John's way +of thinking to understand the remark. + +'A young fellow with all the world before him, too. Hang it, Mr +Milvain, is there no less pernicious work you can turn your hand +to?' + +'I'm afraid not, Mr Yule. After all, you know, you must be held +in a measure responsible for my depravity.' + +'How's that?' + +'I understand that you have devoted most of your life to the +making of paper. If that article were not so cheap and so +abundant, people wouldn't have so much temptation to scribble.' + +Alfred Yule uttered a short laugh. + +'I think you are cornered, John.' + +'I wish,' answered John, 'that you were both condemned to write +on such paper as I chiefly made; it was a special kind of whitey- +brown, used by shopkeepers.' + +He chuckled inwardly, and at the same time reached out for a box +of cigarettes on a table near him. His brother and Jasper each +took one as he offered them, and began to smoke. + +'You would like to see literary production come entirely to an +end?' said Milvain. + +'I should like to see the business of literature abolished.' + +'There's a distinction, of course. But, on the whole, I should +say that even the business serves a good purpose.' + +'What purpose?' + +'It helps to spread civilisation.' + +'Civilisation!' exclaimed John, scornfully. 'What do you mean by +civilisation? Do you call it civilising men to make them weak, +flabby creatures, with ruined eyes and dyspeptic stomachs? Who is +it that reads most of the stuff that's poured out daily by the +ton from the printing-press? Just the men and women who ought to +spend their leisure hours in open-air exercise; the people who +earn their bread by sedentary pursuits, and who need to live as +soon as they are free from the desk or the counter, not to moon +over small print. Your Board schools, your popular press, your +spread of education! Machinery for ruining the country, that's +what I call it.' + +'You have done a good deal, I think, to counteract those +influences in Wattleborough.' + +'I hope so; and if only I had kept the use of my limbs I'd have +done a good deal more. I have an idea of offering substantial +prizes to men and women engaged in sedentary work who take an +oath to abstain from all reading, and keep it for a certain +number of years. There's a good deal more need for that than for +abstinence from strong liquor. If I could have had my way I would +have revived prize-fighting.' + +His brother laughed with contemptuous impatience. + +'You would doubtless like to see military conscription introduced +into England?' said Jasper. + +'Of course I should! You talk of civilising; there's no such way +of civilising the masses of the people as by fixed military +service. Before mental training must come training of the body. +Go about the Continent, and see the effect of military service on +loutish peasants and the lowest classes of town population. Do +you know why it isn't even more successful? Because the damnable +education movement interferes. If Germany would shut up her +schools and universities for the next quarter of a century and go +ahead like blazes with military training there'd be a nation such +as the world has never seen. After that, they might begin a +little book-teaching again--say an hour and a half a day for +everyone above nine years old. Do you suppose, Mr Milvain, that +society is going to be reformed by you people who write for +money? Why, you are the very first class that will be swept from +the face of the earth as soon as the reformation really begins!' + +Alfred puffed at his cigarette. His thoughts were occupied with +Mr Fadge and The Study. He was considering whether he could aid +in bringing public contempt upon that literary organ and its +editor. Milvain listened to the elder man's diatribe with much +amusement. + +'You, now,' pursued John, 'what do you write about?' + +'Nothing in particular. I make a salable page or two out of +whatever strikes my fancy.' + +'Exactly! You don't even pretend that you've got anything to say. +You live by inducing people to give themselves mental +indigestion--and bodily, too, for that matter.' + +'Do you know, Mr Yule, that you have suggested a capital idea to +me? If I were to take up your views, I think it isn't at all +unlikely that I might make a good thing of writing against +writing. It should be my literary specialty to rail against +literature. The reading public should pay me for telling them +that they oughtn't to read. I must think it over.' + +'Carlyle has anticipated you,' threw in Alfred. + +'Yes, but in an antiquated way. I would base my polemic on the +newest philosophy.' + +He developed the idea facetiously, whilst John regarded him as he +might have watched a performing monkey. + +'There again! your new philosophy!' exclaimed the invalid. 'Why, +it isn't even wholesome stuff, the kind of reading that most of +you force on the public. Now there's the man who has married one +of my nieces--poor lass! Reardon, his name is. You know him, I +dare say. Just for curiosity I had a look at one of his books; it +was called "The Optimist." Of all the morbid trash I ever saw, +that beat everything. I thought of writing him a letter, advising +a couple of anti-bilious pills before bedtime for a few weeks.' + +Jasper glanced at Alfred Yule, who wore a look of indifference. + +'That man deserves penal servitude in my opinion,' pursued John. +'I'm not sure that it isn't my duty to offer him a couple of +hundred a year on condition that he writes no more.' + +Milvain, with a clear vision of his friend in London, burst into +laughter. But at that point Alfred rose from his chair. + +'Shall we rejoin the ladies?' he said, with a certain pedantry + +of phrase and manner which often characterised him. + +'Think over your ways whilst you're still young,' said John as he +shook hands with his visitor. + +'Your brother speaks quite seriously, I suppose?' Jasper remarked +when he was in the garden with Alfred. + +'I think so. It's amusing now and then, but gets rather tiresome +when you hear it often. By-the-bye, you are not personally +acquainted with Mr Fadge?' + +'I didn't even know his name until you mentioned it.' + +'The most malicious man in the literary world. There's no +uncharitableness in feeling a certain pleasure when he gets into +a scrape. I could tell you incredible stories about him; but that +kind of thing is probably as little to your taste as it is to +mine.' + +Miss Harrow and her companions, having caught sight of the pair, +came towards them. Tea was to be brought out into the garden. + +'So you can sit with us and smoke, if you like,' said Miss Harrow +to Alfred. 'You are never quite at your ease, I think, without a +pipe.' + +But the man of letters was too preoccupied for society. In a few +minutes he begged that the ladies would excuse his withdrawing; +he had two or three letters to write before post-time, which was +early at Finden. + +Jasper, relieved by the veteran's departure, began at once to +make himself very agreeable company. When he chose to lay aside +the topic of his own difficulties and ambitions, he could +converse with a spontaneous gaiety which readily won the +good-will of listeners. Naturally he addressed himself very often +to Marian Yule, whose attention complimented him. She said +little, and evidently was at no time a free talker, but the smile +on her face indicated a mood of quiet enjoyment. When her eyes +wandered, it was to rest on the beauties of the garden, the +moving patches of golden sunshine, the forms of gleaming cloud. +Jasper liked to observe her as she turned her head: there seemed +to him a particular grace in the movement; her head and neck were +admirably formed, and the short hair drew attention to this. + +It was agreed that Miss Harrow and Marian should come on the +second day after to have tea with the Milvains. And when Jasper +took leave of Alfred Yule, the latter expressed a wish that they +might have a walk together one of these mornings. + + + +CHAPTER III. HOLIDAY + +Jasper's favourite walk led him to a spot distant perhaps a mile +and a half from home. From a tract of common he turned into a +short lane which crossed the Great Western railway, and thence by +a stile into certain meadows forming a compact little valley. One +recommendation of this retreat was that it lay sheltered from all +winds; to Jasper a wind was objectionable. Along the bottom ran +a clear, shallow stream, overhung with elder and hawthorn bushes; +and close by the wooden bridge which spanned it was a great ash +tree, making shadow for cows and sheep when the sun lay hot upon +the open field. It was rare for anyone to come along this path, +save farm labourers morning and evening. + +But to-day--the afternoon that followed his visit to John Yule's +house--he saw from a distance that his lounging-place on the +wooden bridge was occupied. Someone else had discovered the +pleasure there was in watching the sun-flecked sparkle of the +water as it flowed over the clean sand and stones. A girl in a +yellow-straw hat; yes, and precisely the person he had hoped, at +the first glance, that it might be. He made no haste as he drew +nearer on the descending path. At length his footstep was heard; +Marian Yule turned her head and clearly recognised him. + +She assumed an upright position, letting one of her hands rest +upon the rail. After the exchange of ordinary greetings, Jasper +leaned back against the same support and showed himself disposed +for talk. + +'When I was here late in the spring,' he said, 'this ash was only +just budding, though everything else seemed in full leaf.' + +'An ash, is it?' murmured Marian. 'I didn't know. I think an oak +is the only tree I can distinguish. Yet,' she added quickly, 'I +knew that the ash was late; some lines of Tennyson come to my +memory.' + +'Which are those?' + +'Delaying, as the tender ash delays + +To clothe herself when all the woods are green, + +somewhere in the "Idylls."' + +'I don't remember; so I won't pretend to--though I should do so +as a rule.' + +She looked at him oddly, and seemed about to laugh, yet did not. + +'You have had little experience of the country?' Jasper +continued. + +'Very little. You, I think, have known it from childhood?' + +'In a sort of way. I was born in Wattleborough, and my people +have always lived here. But I am not very rural in temperament. I +have really no friends here; either they have lost interest in +me, or I in them. What do you think of the girls, my sisters?' + +The question, though put with perfect simplicity, was +embarrassing. + +'They are tolerably intellectual,' Jasper went on, when he saw +that it would be difficult for her to answer. 'I want to persuade +them to try their hands at literary work of some kind or other. +They give lessons, and both hate it.' + +'Would literary work be less--burdensome?' said Marian, without +looking at him. + +'Rather more so, you think?' + +She hesitated. + +'It depends, of course, on--on several things.' + +'To be sure,' Jasper agreed. 'I don't think they have any marked +faculty for such work; but as they certainly haven't for +teaching, that doesn't matter. It's a question of learning a +business. I am going through my apprenticeship, and find it a +long affair. Money would shorten it, and, unfortunately, I have +none.' + +'Yes,' said Marian, turning her eyes upon the stream, 'money is a +help in everything.' + +'Without it, one spends the best part of one's life in toiling +for that first foothold which money could at once purchase. To +have money is becoming of more and more importance in a literary +career; principally because to have money is to have friends. +Year by year, such influence grows of more account. A lucky man +will still occasionally succeed by dint of his own honest +perseverance, but the chances are dead against anyone who can't +make private interest with influential people; his work is simply +overwhelmed by that of the men who have better opportunities.' + +'Don't you think that, even to-day, really good work will sooner +or later be recognised?' + +'Later, rather than sooner; and very likely the man can't wait; +he starves in the meantime. You understand that I am not speaking +of genius; I mean marketable literary work. The quantity turned +out is so great that there's no hope for the special attention of +the public unless one can afford to advertise hugely. Take the +instance of a successful all-round man of letters; take Ralph +Warbury, whose name you'll see in the first magazine you happen +to open. But perhaps he is a friend of yours?' + +'Oh no!' + +'Well, I wasn't going to abuse him. I was only going to ask:Is +there any quality which distinguishes his work from that of +twenty struggling writers one could name? Of course not. He's a +clever, prolific man; so are they. But he began with money and +friends; he came from Oxford into the thick of advertised people; +his name was mentioned in print six times a week before he had +written a dozen articles. This kind of thing will become the +rule. Men won't succeed in literature that they may get into +society, but will get into society that they may succeed in +literature.' + +'Yes, I know it is true,' said Marian, in a low voice. + +'There's a friend of mine who writes novels,' Jasper pursued. +'His books are not works of genius, but they are glaringly +distinct from the ordinary circulating novel. Well, after one or +two attempts, he made half a success; that is to say, the +publishers brought out a second edition of the book in a few +months. There was his opportunity. But he couldn't use it; he had +no friends, because he had no money. A book of half that merit, +if written by a man in the position of Warbury when he started, +would have established the reputation of a lifetime. His +influential friends would have referred to it in leaders, in +magazine articles, in speeches, in sermons. It would have run +through numerous editions, and the author would have had nothing +to do but to write another book and demand his price. But the +novel I'm speaking of was practically forgotten a year after its +appearance; it was whelmed beneath the flood of next season's +literature.' + +Marian urged a hesitating objection. + +'But, under the circumstances, wasn't it in the author's power to +make friends? Was money really indispensable?' + +'Why, yes--because he chose to marry. As a bachelor he might +possibly have got into the right circles, though his character +would in any case have made it difficult for him to curry favour. + +But as a married man, without means, the situation was hopeless. +Once married you must live up to the standard of the society you +frequent; you can't be entertained without entertaining in +return. Now if his wife had brought him only a couple of thousand +pounds all might have been well. I should have advised him, in +sober seriousness, to live for two years at the rate of a +thousand a year. At the end of that time he would have been +earning enough to continue at pretty much the same rate of +expenditure.' + +'Perhaps.' + +'Well, I ought rather to say that the average man of letters +would be able to do that. As for Reardon--' + +He stopped. The name had escaped him unawares. + +'Reardon?' said Marian, looking up. 'You are speaking of him?' + +'I have betrayed myself Miss Yule.' + +'But what does it matter? You have only spoken in his favour.' + +'I feared the name might affect you disagreeably.' + +Marian delayed her reply. + +'It is true,' she said, 'we are not on friendly terms with my +cousin's family. I have never met Mr Reardon. But I shouldn't +like you to think that the mention of his name is disagreeable to +me.' + +'It made me slightly uncomfortable yesterday--the fact that I am +well acquainted with Mrs Edmund Yule, and that Reardon is my +friend. Yet I didn't see why that should prevent my making your +father's acquaintance.' + +'Surely not. I shall say nothing about it; I mean, as you uttered +the name unintentionally.' + +There was a pause in the dialogue. They had been speaking almost +confidentially, and Marian seemed to become suddenly aware of an +oddness in the situation. She turned towards the uphill path, as +if thinking of resuming her walk. + +'You are tired of standing still,' said Jasper. 'May I walk back +a part of the way with you?' + +'Thank you; I shall be glad.' + +They went on for a few minutes in silence. + +'Have you published anything with your signature, Miss Yule?' +Jasper at length inquired. + +'Nothing. I only help father a little.' + +The silence that again followed was broken this time by Marian. + +'When you chanced to mention Mr Reardon's name,' she said, with a +diffident smile in which lay that suggestion of humour so +delightful upon a woman's face, 'you were going to say something +more about him?' + +'Only that--' he broke off and laughed. 'Now, how boyish it was, +wasn't it? I remember doing just the same thing once when I came +home from school and had an exciting story to tell, with +preservation of anonymities. Of course I blurted out a name in +the first minute or two, to my father's great amusement. He told +me that I hadn't the diplomatic character. I have been trying to +acquire it ever since. + +'But why?' + +'It's one of the essentials of success in any kind of public +life. And I mean to succeed, you know. I feel that I am one of +the men who do succeed. But I beg your pardon; you asked me a +question. Really, I was only going to say of Reardon what I had +said before: that he hasn't the tact requisite for acquiring +popularity.' + +'Then I may hope that it isn't his marriage with my cousin which +has proved a fatal misfortune?' + +'In no case,' replied Milvain, averting his look, 'would he have +used his advantages.' + +'And now? Do you think he has but poor prospects?' + +'I wish I could see any chance of his being estimated at his +right value. It's very hard to say what is before him.' + +'I knew my cousin Amy when we were children,' said Marian, +presently. 'She gave promise of beauty.' + +'Yes, she is beautiful.' + +'And--the kind of woman to be of help to such a husband?' + +'I hardly know how to answer, Miss Yule,' said Jasper, looking +frankly at her. 'Perhaps I had better say that it's unfortunate +they are poor.' + +Marian cast down her eyes. + +'To whom isn't it a misfortune?' pursued her companion. 'Poverty +is the root of all social ills; its existence accounts even for +the ills that arise from wealth. The poor man is a man labouring +in fetters. I declare there is no word in our language which +sounds so hideous to me as "Poverty."' + +Shortly after this they came to the bridge over the railway line. +Jasper looked at his watch. + +'Will you indulge me in a piece of childishness?' he said. 'In +less than five minutes a London express goes by; I have often +watched it here, and it amuses me. Would it weary you to wait?' + +'I should like to,' she replied with a laugh. + +The line ran along a deep cutting, from either side of which grew +hazel bushes and a few larger trees. Leaning upon the parapet of +the bridge, Jasper kept his eye in the westward direction, where +the gleaming rails were visible for more than a mile. Suddenly he +raised his finger. + +'You hear?' + +Marian had just caught the far-off sound of the train. She looked +eagerly, and in a few moments saw it approaching. The front of +the engine blackened nearer and nearer, coming on with dread +force and speed. A blinding rush, and there burst against the +bridge a great volley of sunlit steam. Milvain and his companion +ran to the opposite parapet, but already the whole train had +emerged, and in a few seconds it had disappeared round a sharp +curve. The leafy branches that grew out over the line swayed +violently backwards and forwards in the perturbed air. + +'If I were ten years younger,' said Jasper, laughing, 'I should +say that was jolly! It enspirits me. It makes me feel eager to go +back and plunge into the fight again.' + +'Upon me it has just the opposite effect,' fell from Marian, in +very low tones. + +'Oh, don't say that! Well, it only means that you haven't had +enough holiday yet. I have been in the country more than a week; +a few days more and I must be off. How long do you think of +staying?' + +'Not much more than a week, I think.' + +'By-the-bye, you are coming to have tea with us to-morrow,' +Jasper remarked a propos of nothing. Then he returned to another +subject that was in his thoughts. + +'It was by a train like that that I first went up to London. Not +really the first time; I mean when I went to live there, seven +years ago. What spirits I was in! A boy of eighteen going to live +independently in London; think of it!' + +'You went straight from school?' + +'I was for two years at Redmayne College after leaving +Wattleborough Grammar School. Then my father died, and I spent +nearly half a year at home. I was meant to be a teacher, but the +prospect of entering a school by no means appealed to me. A +friend of mine was studying in London for some Civil Service +exam., so I declared that I would go and do the same thing.' + +'Did you succeed?' + +'Not I! I never worked properly for that kind of thing. I read +voraciously, and got to know London. I might have gone to the +dogs, you know; but by when I had been in London a year a pretty +clear purpose began to form in me. Strange to think that you were +growing up there all the time. I may have passed you in the +street now and then.' + +Marian laughed. + +'And I did at length see you at the British Museum, you know.' + +They turned a corner of the road, and came full upon Marian's +father, who was walking in this direction with eyes fixed upon +the ground. + +'So here you are!' he exclaimed, looking at the girl, and for the +moment paying no attention to Jasper. 'I wondered whether I +should meet you.' Then, more dryly, 'How do you do, Mr Milvain?' + +In a tone of easy indifference Jasper explained how he came to be +accompanying Miss Yule. + +'Shall I walk on with you, father?' Marian asked, scrutinising +his rugged features. + +'Just as you please; I don't know that I should have gone much +further. But we might take another way back.' + +Jasper readily adapted himself to the wish he discerned in Mr +Yule; at once he offered leave-taking in the most natural way. +Nothing was said on either side about another meeting. + +The young man proceeded homewards, but, on arriving, did not at +once enter the house. Behind the garden was a field used for the +grazing of horses; he entered it by the unfastened gate, and +strolled idly hither and thither, now and then standing to +observe a poor worn-out beast, all skin and bone, which had +presumably been sent here in the hope that a little more labour +might still be exacted from it if it were suffered to repose for +a few weeks. There were sores upon its back and legs; it stood in +a fixed attitude of despondency, just flicking away troublesome +flies with its grizzled tail. + +It was tea-time when he went in. Maud was not at home, and Mrs +Milvain, tormented by a familiar headache, kept her room; so +Jasper and Dora sat down together. Each had an open book on the +table; throughout the meal they exchanged only a few words. + +'Going to play a little?' Jasper suggested when they had gone +into the sitting-room. + +'If you like.' + +She sat down at the piano, whilst her brother lay on the sofa, +his hands clasped beneath his head. Dora did not play badly, but +an absentmindedness which was commonly observable in her had its +effect upon the music. She at length broke off idly in the middle +of a passage, and began to linger on careless chords. Then, +without turning her head, she asked: + +'Were you serious in what you said about writing storybooks?' + +'Quite. I see no reason why you shouldn't do something in that +way. But I tell you what; when I get back, I'll inquire into the +state of the market. I know a man who was once engaged at Jolly & +Monk's--the chief publishers of that kind of thing, you know; I +must look him up--what a mistake it is to neglect any +acquaintance!--and get some information out of him. But it's +obvious what an immense field there is for anyone who can just +hit the taste of the' new generation of Board school children. +Mustn't be too goody-goody; that kind of thing is falling out of +date. But you'd have to cultivate a particular kind of vulgarity. + +There's an idea, by-the-bye. I'll write a paper on the +characteristics of that new generation; it may bring me a few +guineas, and it would be a help to you.' + +'But what do you know about the subject?' asked Dora doubtfully. + +'What a comical question! It is my business to know something +about every subject--or to know where to get the knowledge.' + +'Well,' said Dora, after a pause, 'there's no doubt Maud and I +ought to think very seriously about the future. You are aware, +Jasper, that mother has not been able to save a penny of her +income.' + +'I don't see how she could have done. Of course I know what +you're thinking; but for me, it would have been possible. I don't +mind confessing to you that the thought troubles me a little now +and then; I shouldn't like to see you two going off governessing +in strangers' houses. All I can say is, that I am very honestly +working for the end which I am convinced will be most profitable. + +I shall not desert you; you needn't fear that. But just put your +heads together, and cultivate your writing faculty. Suppose you +could both together earn about a hundred a year in Grub Street, +it would be better than governessing; wouldn't it?' + +'You say you don't know what Miss Yule writes?' + +'Well, I know a little more about her than I did yesterday. I've +had an hour's talk with her this afternoon.' + +'Indeed?' + +'Met her down in the Leggatt fields. I find she doesn't write +independently; just helps her father. What the help amounts to I +can't say. There's something very attractive about her. She +quoted a line or two of Tennyson; the first time I ever heard a +woman speak blank verse with any kind of decency.' + +'She was walking alone?' + +'Yes. On the way back we met old Yule; he seemed rather grumpy, I +thought. I don't think she's the kind of girl to make a paying +business of literature. Her qualities are personal. And it's +pretty clear to me that the valley of the shadow of books by no +means agrees with her disposition. Possibly old Yule is something +of a tyrant.' + +'He doesn't impress me very favourably. Do you think you will +keep up their acquaintance in London?' + +'Can't say. I wonder what sort of a woman that mother really is? +Can't be so very gross, I should think.' + +'Miss Harrow knows nothing about her, except that she was a quite +uneducated girl.' + +'But, dash it! by this time she must have got decent manners. Of +course there may be other objections. Mrs Reardon knows nothing +against her.' + +Midway in the following morning, as Jasper sat with a book in the +garden, he was surprised to see Alfred Yule enter by the gate. + +'I thought,' began the visitor, who seemed in high spirits, 'that +you might like to see something I received this morning.' + +He unfolded a London evening paper, and indicated a long letter +from a casual correspondent. It was written by the authoress of +'On the Boards,' and drew attention, with much expenditure of +witticism, to the conflicting notices of that book which had +appeared in The Study. Jasper read the thing with laughing +appreciation. + +'Just what one expected!' + +'And I have private letters on the subject,' added Mr Yule. + +'There has been something like a personal conflict between Fadge +and the man who looks after the minor notices. Fadge,more suo, +charged the other man with a design to damage him and the paper. +There's talk of legal proceedings. An immense joke!' + +He laughed in his peculiar croaking way. + +'Do you feel disposed for a turn along the lanes, Mr Milvain?' + +'By all means.--There's my mother at the window; will you come in +for a moment?' + +With a step of quite unusual sprightliness Mr Yule entered the +house. He could talk of but one subject, and Mrs Milvain had to +listen to a laboured account of the blunder just committed by The +Study. It was Alfred's Yule's characteristic that he could do +nothing lighthandedly. He seemed always to converse with effort; +he took a seat with stiff ungainliness; he walked with a +stumbling or sprawling gait. + +When he and Jasper set out for their ramble, his loquacity was in +strong contrast with the taciturn mood he had exhibited yesterday +and the day before. He fell upon the general aspects of +contemporary literature. + +'. . . The evil of the time is the multiplication of ephemerides. +Hence a demand for essays, descriptive articles, fragments of +criticism, out of all proportion to the supply of even tolerable +work. The men who have an aptitude for turning out this kind of +thing in vast quantities are enlisted by every new periodical, +with the result that their productions are ultimately watered +down into worthlessness. . . . Well now, there's Fadge. Years ago +some of Fadge's work was not without a certain--a certain +conditional promise of--of comparative merit; but now his +writing, in my opinion, is altogether beneath consideration; how +Rackett could be so benighted as to give him The Study-- +especially after a man like Henry Hawkridge--passes my +comprehension. Did you read a paper of his, a few months back, in +The Wayside, a preposterous rehabilitation of Elkanah Settle? Ha! + +ha! That's what such men are driven to. Elkanah Settle! And he +hadn't even a competent acquaintance with his paltry subject. +Will you credit that he twice or thrice referred to Settle's +reply to "Absalom and Achitophel" by the title of "Absalom +Transposed," when every schoolgirl knows that the thing was +called "Achitophel Transposed"! This was monstrous enough, but +there was something still more contemptible. He positively, I +assure you, attributed the play of "Epsom Wells" to Crowne! I +should have presumed that every student of even the most trivial +primer of literature was aware that "Epsom Wells" was written by +Shadwell. . . . Now, if one were to take Shadwell for the subject +of a paper, one might very well show how unjustly his name has +fallen into contempt. It has often occurred to me to do this. +"But Shadwell never deviates into sense." The sneer, in my +opinion, is entirely unmerited. For my own part, I put Shadwell +very high among the dramatists of his time, and I think I could +show that his absolute worth is by no means inconsiderable. +Shadwell has distinct vigour of dramatic conception; his +dialogue. . . .' + +And as he talked the man kept describing imaginary geometrical +figures with the end of his walking-stick; he very seldom raised +his eyes from the ground, and the stoop in his shoulders grew +more and more pronounced, until at a little distance one might +have taken him for a hunchback. At one point Jasper made a pause +to speak of the pleasant wooded prospect that lay before them; +his companion regarded it absently, and in a moment or two asked: + +'Did you ever come across Cottle's poem on the Malvern Hills? No? + +It contains a couple of the richest lines ever put into print: + + It needs the evidence of close deduction + To know that I shall ever reach the top. + +Perfectly serious poetry, mind you!' + +He barked in laughter. Impossible to interest him in anything +apart from literature; yet one saw him to be a man of solid +understanding, and not without perception of humour. He had read +vastly; his memory was a literary cyclopaedia. His failings, +obvious enough, were the results of a strong and somewhat +pedantic individuality ceaselessly at conflict with unpropitious +circumstances. + +Towards the young man his demeanour varied between a shy +cordiality and a dignified reserve which was in danger of seeming +pretentious. On the homeward part of the walk he made a few +discreet inquiries regarding Milvain's literary achievements and +prospects, and the frank self-confidence of the replies appeared +to interest him. But he expressed no desire to number Jasper +among his acquaintances in town, and of his own professional or +private concerns he said not a word. + +'Whether he could be any use to me or not, I don't exactly know,' +Jasper remarked to his mother and sisters at dinner. 'I suspect +it's as much as he can do to keep a footing among the younger +tradesmen. But I think he might have said he was willing to help +me if he could.' + +'Perhaps,' replied Maud, 'your large way of talking made him +think any such offer superfluous.' + +'You have still to learn,' said Jasper, 'that modesty helps a man +in no department of modern life. People take you at your own +valuation. It's the men who declare boldly that they need no help +to whom practical help comes from all sides. As likely as not +Yule will mention my name to someone. "A young fellow who seems +to see his way pretty clear before him." The other man will +repeat it to somebody else, "A young fellow whose way is clear +before him," and so I come to the ears of a man who thinks "Just +the fellow I want; I must look him up and ask him if he'll do +such-and-such a thing." But I should like to see these Yules at +home; I must fish for an invitation.' + +In the afternoon, Miss Harrow and Marian came at the expected +hour. Jasper purposely kept out of the way until he was summoned +to the tea-table. + +The Milvain girls were so far from effusive, even towards old +acquaintances, that even the people who knew them best spoke of +them as rather cold and perhaps a trifle condescending; there +were people in Wattleborough who declared their airs of +superiority ridiculous and insufferable. The truth was that +nature had endowed them with a larger share of brains than was +common in their circle, and had added that touch of pride which +harmonised so ill with the restrictions of poverty. Their life +had a tone of melancholy, the painful reserve which characterises +a certain clearly defined class in the present day. Had they been +born twenty years earlier, the children of that veterinary +surgeon would have grown up to a very different, and in all +probability a much happier, existence, for their education would +have been limited to the strictly needful, and--certainly in the +case of the girls--nothing would have encouraged them to look +beyond the simple life possible to a poor man's offspring. But +whilst Maud and Dora were still with their homely schoolmistress, +Wattleborough saw fit to establish a Girls' High School, and the +moderateness of the fees enabled these sisters to receive an +intellectual training wholly incompatible with the material +conditions of their life. To the relatively poor (who are so much +worse off than the poor absolutely) education is in most cases a +mocking cruelty. The burden of their brother's support made it +very difficult for Maud and Dora even to dress as became their +intellectual station; amusements, holidays, the purchase of such +simple luxuries as were all but indispensable to them, could not +be thought of. It resulted that they held apart from the society +which would have welcomed them, for they could not bear to +receive without offering in turn. The necessity of giving lessons +galled them; they felt--and with every reason--that it made their +position ambiguous. So that, though they could not help knowing +many people, they had no intimates; they encouraged no one to +visit them, and visited other houses as little as might be. + +In Marian Yule they divined a sympathetic nature. She was unlike +any girl with whom they had hitherto associated, and it was the +impulse of both to receive her with unusual friendliness. The +habit of reticence could not be at once overcome, and Marian's +own timidity was an obstacle in the way of free intercourse, but +Jasper's conversation at tea helped to smooth the course of +things. + +'I wish you lived anywhere near us,' Dora said to their visitor, +as the three girls walked in the garden afterwards, and Maud +echoed the wish. + +'It would be very nice,' was Marian's reply. 'I have no friends +of my own age in London.' + +'None?' + +'Not one!' + +She was about to add something, but in the end kept silence. + +'You seem to get along with Miss Yule pretty well, after all,' +said Jasper, when the family were alone again. + +'Did you anticipate anything else?' Maud asked. + +'It seemed doubtful, up at Yule's house. Well, get her to come +here again before I go. But it's a pity she doesn't play the +piano,' he added, musingly. + +For two days nothing was seen of the Yules. Jasper went each +afternoon to the stream in the valley, but did not again meet +Marian. In the meanwhile he was growing restless. A fortnight +always exhausted his capacity for enjoying the companionship of +his mother and sisters, and this time he seemed anxious to get to +the end of his holiday. For all that, there was no continuance of +the domestic bickering which had begun. Whatever the reason, Maud +behaved with unusual mildness to her brother, and Jasper in turn +was gently disposed to both the girls. + +On the morning of the third day--it was Saturday--he kept silence +through breakfast, and just as all were about to rise from the +table, he made a sudden announcement: + +'I shall go to London this afternoon.' + +'This afternoon?' all exclaimed. 'But Monday is your day.' + +'No, I shall go this afternoon, by the 2.45.' + +And he left the room. Mrs Milvain and the girls exchanged looks. + +'I suppose he thinks the Sunday will be too wearisome,' said the +mother. + +'Perhaps so,' Maud agreed, carelessly. + +Half an hour later, just as Dora was ready to leave the house for +her engagements in Wattleborough, her brother came into the hall +and took his hat, saying: + +'I'll walk a little way with you, if you don't mind.' + +When they were in the road, he asked her in an offhand manner: + +'Do you think I ought to say good-bye to the Yules? Or won't it +signify?' + +'I should have thought you would wish to.' + +'I don't care about it. And, you see, there's been no hint of a +wish on their part that I should see them in London. No, I'll +just leave you to say good-bye for me.' + +'But they expect to see us to-day or to-morrow. You told them you +were not going till Monday, and you don't know but Mr Yule might +mean to say something yet.' + +'Well, I had rather he didn't,' replied Jasper, with a laugh. + +'Oh, indeed?' + +'I don't mind telling you,' he laughed again. 'I'm afraid of that +girl. No, it won't do! You understand that I'm a practical man, +and I shall keep clear of dangers. These days of holiday idleness +put all sorts of nonsense into one's head.' + +Dora kept her eyes down, and smiled ambiguously. + +'You must act as you think fit,' she remarked at length. + +'Exactly. Now I'll turn back. You'll be with us at dinner?' + +They parted. But Jasper did not keep to the straight way home. +First of all, he loitered to watch a reaping-machine at work; +then he turned into a lane which led up the hill on which was +John Yule's house. Even if he had purposed making a farewell +call, it was still far too early; all he wanted to do was to pass +an hour of the morning, which threatened to lie heavy on his +hands. So he rambled on, and went past the house, and took the +field-path which would lead him circuitously home again. + +His mother desired to speak to him. She was in the dining-room; +in the parlour Maud was practising music. + +'I think I ought to tell you of something I did yesterday, +Jasper,' Mrs Milvain began. 'You see, my dear, we have been +rather straitened lately, and my health, you know, grows so +uncertain, and, all things considered, I have been feeling very +anxious about the girls. So I wrote to your uncle William, and +told him that I must positively have that money. I must think of +my own children before his.' + +The matter referred to was this. The deceased Mr Milvain had a +brother who was a struggling shopkeeper in a Midland town. Some +ten years ago, William Milvain, on the point of bankruptcy, had +borrowed a hundred and seventy pounds from his brother in +Wattleborough, and this debt was still unpaid; for on the death +of Jasper's father repayment of the loan was impossible for +William, and since then it had seemed hopeless that the sum would +ever be recovered. The poor shopkeeper had a large family, and +Mrs Milvain, notwithstanding her own position, had never felt +able to press him; her relative, however, often spoke of the +business, and declared his intention of paying whenever he could. + +'You can't recover by law now, you know,' said Jasper. + +'But we have a right to the money, law or no law. He must pay +it.' + +'He will simply refuse--and be justified. Poverty doesn't allow +of honourable feeling, any more than of compassion. I'm sorry you +wrote like that. You won't get anything, and you might as well +have enjoyed the reputation of forbearance.' + +Mrs Milvain was not able to appreciate this characteristic +remark. Anxiety weighed upon her, and she became irritable. + +'I am obliged to say, Jasper, that you seem rather thoughtless. +If it were only myself I would make any sacrifice for you; but +you must remember--' + +'Now listen, mother,' he interrupted, laying a hand on her +shoulder; 'I have been thinking about all this, and the fact of +the matter is, I shall do my best to ask you for no more money. +It may or may not be practicable, but I'll have a try. So don't +worry. If uncle writes that he can't pay, just explain why you +wrote, and keep him gently in mind of the thing, that's all. One +doesn't like to do brutal things if one can avoid them, you +know.' + +The young man went to the parlour and listened to Maud's music +for awhile. But restlessness again drove him forth. Towards +eleven o'clock he was again ascending in the direction of John +Yule's house. Again he had no intention of calling, but when he +reached the iron gates he lingered. + +'I will, by Jove!' he said within himself at last. 'Just to prove +I have complete command of myself. It's to be a display of +strength, not weakness.' + +At the house door he inquired for Mr Alfred Yule. That gentleman +had gone in the carriage to Wattleborough, half an hour ago, with +his brother. + +'Miss Yule?' + +Yes, she was within. Jasper entered the sitting-room, waited a +few moments, and Marian appeared. She wore a dress in which +Milvain had not yet seen her, and it had the effect of making him +regard her attentively. The smile with which she had come towards +him passed from her face, which was perchance a little warmer of +hue than commonly. + +'I'm sorry your father is away, Miss Yule,' Jasper began, in an +animated voice. 'I wanted to say good-bye to him. I return to +London in a few hours.' + +'You are going sooner than you intended?' + +'Yes, I feel I mustn't waste any more time. I think the country +air is doing you good; you certainly look better than when I +passed you that first day.' + +'I feel better, much.' + +'My sisters are anxious to see you again. I shouldn't wonder if +they come up this afternoon.' + +Marian had seated herself on the sofa, and her hands were linked +upon her lap in the same way as when Jasper spoke with her here +before, the palms downward. The beautiful outline of her bent +head was relieved against a broad strip of sunlight on the wall +behind her. + +'They deplore,' he continued in a moment, 'that they should come +to know you only to lose you again so soon. + +'I have quite as much reason to be sorry,' she answered, looking +at him with the slightest possible smile. 'But perhaps they will +let me write to them, and hear from them now and then.' + +'They would think it an honour. Country girls are not often +invited to correspond with literary ladies in London.' + +He said it with as much jocoseness as civility allowed, then at +once rose. + +'Father will be very sorry,' Marian began, with one quick glance +towards the window and then another towards the door. 'Perhaps he +might possibly be able to see you before you go?' + +Jasper stood in hesitation. There was a look on the girl's face +which, under other circumstances, would have suggested a ready +answer. + +'I mean,' she added, hastily, 'he might just call, or even see +you at the station?' + +'Oh, I shouldn't like to give Mr Yule any trouble. It's my own +fault, for deciding to go to-day. I shall leave by the 2.45.' + +He offered his hand. + +'I shall look for your name in the magazines, Miss Yule.' + +'Oh, I don't think you will ever find it there.' + +He laughed incredulously, shook hands with her a second time, and +strode out of the room, head erect--feeling proud of himself. + +When Dora came home at dinner-time, he informed her of what he +had done. + +'A very interesting girl,' he added impartially. 'I advise you to +make a friend of her. Who knows but you may live in London some +day, and then she might be valuable--morally, I mean. For myself, +I shall do my best not to see her again for a long time; she's +dangerous.' + +Jasper was unaccompanied when he went to the station. Whilst +waiting on the platform, he suffered from apprehension lest +Alfred Yule's seamed visage should present itself; but no +acquaintance approached him. Safe in the corner of his third- +class carriage, he smiled at the last glimpse of the familiar +fields, and began to think of something he had decided to write +for The West End. + + +CHAPTER IV. AN AUTHOR AND HIS WIFE + +Eight flights of stairs, consisting alternately of eight and nine +steps. Amy had made the calculation, and wondered what was the +cause of this arrangement. The ascent was trying, but then no one +could contest the respectability of the abode. In the flat +immediately beneath resided a successful musician, whose carriage +and pair came at a regular hour each afternoon to take him and +his wife for a most respectable drive. In this special building +no one else seemed at present to keep a carriage, but all the +tenants were gentlefolk. + +And as to living up at the very top, why, there were distinct +advantages--as so many people of moderate income are nowadays +hastening to discover. The noise from the street was diminished +at this height; no possible tramplers could establish themselves +above your head; the air was bound to be purer than that of +inferior strata; finally, one had the flat roof whereon to sit or +expatiate in sunny weather. True that a gentle rain of soot was +wont to interfere with one's comfort out there in the open, but +such minutiae are easily forgotten in the fervour of domestic +description. It was undeniable that on a fine day one enjoyed +extensive views. The green ridge from Hampstead to Highgate, with +Primrose Hill and the foliage of Regent's Park in the foreground; +the suburban spaces of St John's Wood, Maida Vale, Kilburn; +Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, lying low by the +side of the hidden river, and a glassy gleam on far-off hills +which meant the Crystal Palace; then the clouded majesty of +eastern London, crowned by St Paul's dome. These things one's +friends were expected to admire. Sunset often afforded rich +effects, but they were for solitary musing. + +A sitting-room, a bedroom, a kitchen. But the kitchen was called +dining-room, or even parlour at need; for the cooking-range lent +itself to concealment behind an ornamental screen, the walls +displayed pictures and bookcases, and a tiny scullery which lay +apart sufficed for the coarser domestic operations. This was +Amy's territory during the hours when her husband was working, or +endeavouring to work. Of necessity, Edwin Reardon used the front +room as his study. His writing-table stood against the window; +each wall had its shelves of serried literature; vases, busts, +engravings (all of the inexpensive kind) served for ornaments. + +A maid-servant, recently emancipated from the Board school, came +at half-past seven each morning, and remained until two o'clock, +by which time the Reardons had dined; on special occasions, her +services were enlisted for later hours. But it was Reardon's +habit to begin the serious work of the day at about three +o'clock, and to continue with brief interruptions until ten or +eleven; in many respects an awkward arrangement, but enforced by +the man's temperament and his poverty. + +One evening he sat at his desk with a slip of manuscript paper +before him. It was the hour of sunset. His outlook was upon the +backs of certain large houses skirting Regent's Park, and lights +had begun to show here and there in the windows:in one room a man +was discoverable dressing for dinner, he had not thought it +worth while to lower the blind; in another, some people were +playing billiards. The higher windows reflected a rich glow from +the western sky. + +For two or three hours Reardon had been seated in much the same +attitude. Occasionally he dipped his pen into the ink and seemed +about to write: but each time the effort was abortive. At the +head of the paper was inscribed 'Chapter III.,' but that was all. + +And now the sky was dusking over; darkness would soon fall. + +He looked something older than his years, which were two-and- +thirty; on his face was the pallor of mental suffering. Often he +fell into a fit of absence, and gazed at vacancy with wide, +miserable eyes. Returning to consciousness, he fidgeted nervously +on his chair, dipped his pen for the hundredth time, bent forward +in feverish determination to work. Useless; he scarcely knew what +he wished to put into words, and his brain refused to construct +the simplest sentence. + +The colours faded from the sky, and night came quickly. Reardon +threw his arms upon the desk, let his head fall forward, and +remained so, as if asleep. + +Presently the door opened, and a young, clear voice made inquiry: + +'Don't you want the lamp, Edwin?' + +The man roused himself, turned his chair a little, and looked +towards the open door. + +'Come here, Amy.' + +His wife approached. It was not quite dark in the room, for a +glimmer came from the opposite houses. + +'What's the matter? Can't you do anything?' + +'I haven't written a word to-day. At this rate, one goes crazy. +Come and sit by me a minute, dearest.' + +'I'll get the lamp.' + +'No; come and talk to me; we can understand each other better.' + +'Nonsense; you have such morbid ideas. I can't bear to sit in the +gloom.' + +At once she went away, and quickly reappeared with a +reading-lamp, which she placed on the square table in the middle +of the room. + +'Draw down the blind, Edwin.' + +She was a slender girl, but not very tall; her shoulders seemed +rather broad in proportion to her waist and the part of her +figure below it. The hue of her hair was ruddy gold; loosely +arranged tresses made a superb crown to the beauty of her small, +refined head. Yet the face was not of distinctly feminine type; +with short hair and appropriate clothing, she would have passed +unquestioned as a handsome boy of seventeen, a spirited boy too, +and one much in the habit of giving orders to inferiors. Her nose +would have been perfect but for ever so slight a crook which made +it preferable to view her in full face than in profile; her lips +curved sharply out, and when she straightened them of a sudden, +the effect was not reassuring to anyone who had counted upon her +for facile humour. In harmony with the broad shoulders, she had a +strong neck; as she bore the lamp into the room a slight turn of +her head showed splendid muscles from the ear downward. It was a +magnificently clear-cut bust; one thought, in looking at her, of +the newly-finished head which some honest sculptor has wrought +with his own hand from the marble block; there was a suggestion +of 'planes' and of the chisel. The atmosphere was cold; ruddiness +would have been quite out of place on her cheeks, and a flush +must have been the rarest thing there. + +Her age was not quite two-and-twenty; she had been wedded nearly +two years, and had a child ten months old. + +As for her dress, it was unpretending in fashion and colour, but +of admirable fit. Every detail of her appearance denoted +scrupulous personal refinement. She walked well; you saw that the +foot, however gently, was firmly planted. When she seated herself +her posture was instantly graceful, and that of one who is +indifferent about support for the back. + +'What is the matter?' she began. 'Why can't you get on with the +story?' + +It was the tone of friendly remonstrance, not exactly of +affection, not at all of tender solicitude. + +Reardon had risen and wished to approach her, but could not do so +directly. He moved to another part of the room, then came round +to the back of her chair, and bent his face upon her shoulder. + +'Amy--' + +'Well.' + +'I think it's all over with me. I don't think I shall write any +more.' + +'Don't be so foolish, dear. What is to prevent your writing?' + +'Perhaps I am only out of sorts. But I begin to be horribly +afraid. My will seems to be fatally weakened. I can't see my way +to the end of anything; if I get hold of an idea which seems +good, all the sap has gone out of it before I have got it into +working shape. In these last few months, I must have begun a +dozen different books; I have been ashamed to tell you of each +new beginning. I write twenty pages, perhaps, and then my courage +fails. I am disgusted with the thing, and can't go on with it-- +can't! My fingers refuse to hold the pen. In mere writing, I have +done enough to make much more than three volumes; but it's all +destroyed.' + +'Because of your morbid conscientiousness. There was no need to +destroy what you had written. It was all good enough for the +market.' + +'Don't use that word, Amy. I hate it!' + +'You can't afford to hate it,' was her rejoinder, in very +practical tones. 'However it was before, you must write for the +market now. You have admitted that yourself.' + +He kept silence. + +'Where are you?' she went on to ask. 'What have you actually +done?' + +'Two short chapters of a story I can't go on with. The three +volumes lie before me like an interminable desert. Impossible to +get through them. The idea is stupidly artificial, and I haven't +a living character in it.' + +'The public don't care whether the characters are living or not.- +-Don't stand behind me, like that; it's such an awkward way of +talking. Come and sit down.' + +He drew away, and came to a position whence he could see her +face, but kept at a distance. + +'Yes,' he said, in a different way, 'that's the worst of it.' + +'What is?' + +'That you--well, it's no use.' + +'That I--what?' + +She did not look at him; her lips, after she had spoken, drew in +a little. + +'That your disposition towards me is being affected by this +miserable failure. You keep saying to yourself that I am not what +you thought me. Perhaps you even feel that I have been guilty of +a sort of deception. I don't blame you; it's natural enough.' + +'I'll tell you quite honestly what I do think,' she replied, +after a short silence. 'You are much weaker than I imagined. +Difficulties crush you, instead of rousing you to struggle.' + +'True. It has always been my fault.' + +'But don't you feel it's rather unmanly, this state of things? +You say you love me, and I try to believe it. But whilst you are +saying so, you let me get nearer and nearer to miserable, hateful +poverty. What is to become of me--of us? Shall you sit here day +after day until our last shilling is spent?' + +'No; of course I must do something.' + +'When shall you begin in earnest? In a day or two you must pay +this quarter's rent, and that will leave us just about fifteen +pounds in the world. Where is the rent at Christmas to come from? + +What are we to live upon? There's all sorts of clothing to be +bought; there'll be all the extra expenses of winter. Surely it's +bad enough that we have had to stay here all the summer; no +holiday of any kind. I have done my best not to grumble about it, +but I begin to think that it would be very much wiser if I did +grumble.' + +She squared her shoulders, and gave her head just a little shake, +as if a fly had troubled her. + +'You bear everything very well and kindly,' said Reardon. 'My +behaviour is contemptible; I know that. Good heavens! if I only +had some business to go to, something I could work at in any +state of mind, and make money out of! Given this chance, I would +work myself to death rather than you should lack anything you +desire. But I am at the mercy of my brain; it is dry and +powerless. How I envy those clerks who go by to their offices in +the morning! There's the day's work cut out for them; no question +of mood and feeling; they have just to work at something, and +when the evening comes, they have earned their wages, they are +free to rest and enjoy themselves. What an insane thing it is to +make literature one's only means of support! When the most +trivial accident may at any time prove fatal to one's power of +work for weeks or months. No, that is the unpardonable sin! To +make a trade of an art! I am rightly served for attempting such a +brutal folly.' + +He turned away in a passion of misery. + +'How very silly it is to talk like this!' came in Amy's voice, +clearly critical. 'Art must be practised as a trade, at all +events in our time. This is the age of trade. Of course if one +refuses to be of one's time, and yet hasn't the means to live +independently, what can result but breakdown and wretchedness? +The fact of the matter is, you could do fairly good work, and +work which would sell, if only you would bring yourself to look +at things in a more practical way. It's what Mr Milvain is always +saying, you know.' + +'Milvain's temperament is very different from mine. He is +naturally light-hearted and hopeful; I am naturally the opposite. + +What you and he say is true enough; the misfortune is that I +can't act upon it. I am no uncompromising artistic pedant; I am +quite willing to try and do the kind of work that will sell; +under the circumstances it would be a kind of insanity if I +refused. But power doesn't answer to the will. My efforts are +utterly vain; I suppose the prospect of pennilessness is itself a +hindrance; the fear haunts me. With such terrible real things +pressing upon me, my imagination can shape nothing substantial. +When I have laboured out a story, I suddenly see it in a light of +such contemptible triviality that to work at it is an impossible +thing.' + +'You are ill, that's the fact of the matter. You ought to have +had a holiday. I think even now you had better go away for a week +or two. Do, Edwin!' + +'Impossible! It would be the merest pretence of holiday. To go +away and leave you here--no!' + +'Shall I ask mother or Jack to lend us some money?' + +'That would be intolerable.' + +'But this state of things is intolerable!' + +Reardon walked the length of the room and back again. + +'Your mother has no money to lend, dear, and your brother would +do it so unwillingly that we can't lay ourselves under such an +obligation.' + +'Yet it will come to that, you know,' remarked Amy, calmly. + +'No, it shall not come to that. I must and will get something +done long before Christmas. If only you--' + +He came and took one of her hands. + +'If only you will give me more sympathy, dearest. You see, that's +one side of my weakness. I am utterly dependent upon you. Your +kindness is the breath of life to me. Don't refuse it!' + +'But I have done nothing of the kind.' + +'You begin to speak very coldly. And I understand your feeling of +disappointment. The mere fact of your urging me to do anything +that will sell is a proof of bitter disappointment. You would +have looked with scorn at anyone who talked to me like that two +years ago. You were proud of me because my work wasn't altogether +common, and because I had never written a line that was meant to +attract the vulgar. All that's over now. If you knew how dreadful +it is to see that you have lost your hopes of me!' + +'Well, but I haven't--altogether,' Amy replied, meditatively. 'I +know very well that, if you had a lot of money, you would do +better things than ever.' + +'Thank you a thousand times for saying that, my dearest.' + +'But, you see, we haven't money, and there's little chance of our +getting any. That scrubby old uncle won't leave anything to us; I +feel too sure of it. I often feel disposed to go and beg him on +my knees to think of us in his will.' She laughed. 'I suppose +it's impossible, and would be useless; but I should be capable of +it if I knew it would bring money.' + +Reardon said nothing. + +'I didn't think so much of money when we were married,' Amy +continued. 'I had never seriously felt the want of it, you know. +I did think--there's no harm in confessing it--that you were sure +to be rich some day; but I should have married you all the same +if I had known that you would win only reputation.' + +'You are sure of that?' + +'Well, I think so. But I know the value of money better now. I +know it is the most powerful thing in the world. If I had to +choose between a glorious reputation with poverty and a +contemptible popularity with wealth, I should choose the latter.' + +'No!' + +'I should.' + +'Perhaps you are right.' + +He turned away with a sigh. + +'Yes, you are right. What is reputation? If it is deserved, it +originates with a few score of people among the many millions who +would never have recognised the merit they at last applaud. +That's the lot of a great genius. As for a mediocrity like me-- +what ludicrous absurdity to fret myself in the hope that +half-a-dozen folks will say I am "above the average!" After all, +is there sillier vanity than this? A year after I have published +my last book, I shall be practically forgotten; ten years later, +I shall be as absolutely forgotten as one of those novelists of +the early part of this century, whose names one doesn't even +recognise. What fatuous posing!' + +Amy looked askance at him, but replied nothing. + +'And yet,' he continued, 'of course it isn't only for the sake of +reputation that one tries to do uncommon work. There's the +shrinking from conscious insincerity of workmanship--which most +of the writers nowadays seem never to feel. "It's good enough for +the market"; that satisfies them. And perhaps they are justified. + +I can't pretend that I rule my life by absolute ideals; I admit +that everything is relative. There is no such thing as goodness +or badness, in the absolute sense, of course. Perhaps I am +absurdly inconsistent when--though knowing my work can't be first +rate--I strive to make it as good as possible. I don't say this +in irony, Amy; I really mean it. It may very well be that I am +just as foolish as the people I ridicule for moral and religious +superstition. This habit of mine is superstitious. How well I can +imagine the answer of some popular novelist if he heard me speak +scornfully of his books. "My dear fellow," he might say, "do you +suppose I am not aware that my books are rubbish? I know it just +as well as you do. But my vocation is to live comfortably. I have +a luxurious house, a wife and children who are happy and grateful +to me for their happiness. If you choose to live in a garret, +and, what's worse, make your wife and children share it with you, +that's your concern." The man would be abundantly right.' + +'But,' said Amy, 'why should you assume that his books are +rubbish? Good work succeeds--now and then.' + +'I speak of the common kind of success, which is never due to +literary merit. And if I speak bitterly, well, I am suffering +from my powerlessness. I am a failure, my poor girl, and it isn't +easy for me to look with charity on the success of men who +deserved it far less than I did, when I was still able to work.' + +'Of course, Edwin, if you make up your mind that you are a +failure, you will end by being so. But I'm convinced there's no +reason that you should fail to make a living with your pen. Now +let me advise you; put aside all your strict ideas about what is +worthy and what is unworthy, and just act upon my advice. It's +impossible for you to write a three-volume novel; very well, then +do a short story of a kind that's likely to be popular. You know +Mr Milvain is always saying that the long novel has had its day, +and that in future people will write shilling books. Why not try? + +Give yourself a week to invent a sensational plot, and then a +fortnight for the writing. Have it ready for the new season at +the end of October. If you like, don't put your name to it; your +name certainly would have no weight with this sort of public. +Just make it a matter of business, as Mr Milvain says, and see if +you can't earn some money.' + +He stood and regarded her. His expression was one of pained +perplexity. + +'You mustn't forget, Amy, that it needs a particular kind of +faculty to write stories of this sort. The invention of a plot is +just the thing I find most difficult.' + +'But the plot may be as silly as you like, providing it holds the +attention of vulgar readers. Think of "The Hollow Statue", what +could be more idiotic? Yet it sells by thousands.' + +'I don't think I can bring myself to that,' Reardon said, in a +low voice. + +'Very well, then will you tell me what you propose to do?' + +'I might perhaps manage a novel in two volumes, instead of +three.' + +He seated himself at the writing-table, and stared at the blank +sheets of paper in an anguish of hopelessness. + +'It will take you till Christmas,' said Amy, 'and then you will +get perhaps fifty pounds for it.' + +'I must do my best. I'll go out and try to get some ideas. I--' + +He broke off and looked steadily at his wife. + +'What is it?' she asked. + +'Suppose I were to propose to you to leave this flat and take +cheaper rooms?' + +He uttered it in a shamefaced way, his eyes falling. Amy kept +silence. + +'We might sublet it,' he continued, in the same tone, 'for the +last year of the lease.' + +'And where do you propose to live?' Amy inquired, coldly. + +'There's no need to be in such a dear neighbourhood. We could go +to one of the outer districts. One might find three unfurnished +rooms for about eight-and-sixpence a week--less than half our +rent here.' + +'You must do as seems good to you.' + +'For Heaven's sake, Amy, don't speak to me in that way! I can't +stand that! Surely you can see that I am driven to think of every +possible resource. To speak like that is to abandon me. Say you +can't or won't do it, but don't treat me as if you had no share +in my miseries!' + +She was touched for the moment. + +'I didn't mean to speak unkindly, dear. But think what it means, +to give up our home and position. That is open confession of +failure. It would be horrible.' + +'I won't think of it. I have three months before Christmas, and I +will finish a book!' + +'I really can't see why you shouldn't. Just do a certain number +of pages every day. Good or bad, never mind; let the pages be +finished. Now you have got two chapters--' + +'No; that won't do. I must think of a better subject.' + +Amy made a gesture of impatience. + +'There you are! What does the subject matter? Get this book +finished and sold, and then do something better next time.' + +'Give me to-night, just to think. Perhaps one of the old stories +I have thrown aside will come back in a clearer light. I'll go +out for an hour; you don't mind being left alone?' + +'You mustn't think of such trifles as that.' + +'But nothing that concerns you in the slightest way is a trifle +to me--nothing! I can't bear that you should forget that. Have +patience with me, darling, a little longer.' + +He knelt by her, and looked up into her face. + +'Say only one or two kind words--like you used to!' + +She passed her hand lightly over his hair, and murmured something +with a faint smile. + +Then Reardon took his hat and stick and descended the eight +flights of stone steps, and walked in the darkness round the +outer circle of Regent's Park, racking his fagged brain in a +hopeless search for characters, situations, motives. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE WAY HITHER + +Even in mid-rapture of his marriage month he had foreseen this +possibility; but fate had hitherto rescued him in sudden ways +when he was on the brink of self-abandonment, and it was hard to +imagine that this culmination of triumphant joy could be a +preface to base miseries. + +He was the son of a man who had followed many different pursuits, +and in none had done much more than earn a livelihood. At the age +of forty--when Edwin, his only child, was ten years old--Mr +Reardon established himself in the town of Hereford as a +photographer, and there he abode until his death, nine years +after, occasionally risking some speculation not inconsistent +with the photographic business, but always with the result of +losing the little capital he ventured. Mrs Reardon died when +Edwin had reached his fifteenth year. In breeding and education +she was superior to her husband, to whom, moreover, she had +brought something between four and five hundred pounds; her +temper was passionate in both senses of the word, and the +marriage could hardly be called a happy one, though it was never +disturbed by serious discord. The photographer was a man of whims +and idealisms; his wife had a strong vein of worldly ambition. +They made few friends, and it was Mrs Reardon's frequently +expressed desire to go and live in London, where fortune, she +thought, might be kinder to them. Reardon had all but made up his +mind to try this venture when he suddenly became a widower; after +that he never summoned energy to embark on new enterprises. + +The boy was educated at an excellent local school; at eighteen he +had a far better acquaintance with the ancient classics than most +lads who have been expressly prepared for a university, and, +thanks to an anglicised Swiss who acted as an assistant in Mr +Reardon's business, he not only read French, but could talk it +with a certain haphazard fluency. These attainments, however, +were not of much practical use; the best that could be done for +Edwin was to place him in the office of an estate agent. His +health was indifferent, and it seemed likely that open-air +exercise, of which he would have a good deal under the particular +circumstances of the case, might counteract the effects of study +too closely pursued. + +At his father's death he came into possession (practically it was +put at his disposal at once, though he was little more than +nineteen) of about two hundred pounds--a life-insurance for five +hundred had been sacrificed to exigencies not very long before. +He had no difficulty in deciding how to use this money. His +mother's desire to live in London had in him the force of an +inherited motive; as soon as possible he released himself from +his uncongenial occupations, converted into money all the +possessions of which he had not immediate need, and betook +himself to the metropolis. + +To become a literary man, of course. + +His capital lasted him nearly four years, for, notwithstanding +his age, he lived with painful economy. The strangest life, of +almost absolute loneliness. From a certain point of Tottenham +Court Road there is visible a certain garret window in a certain +street which runs parallel with that thoroughfare; for the +greater part of these four years the garret in question was +Reardon's home. He paid only three-and-sixpence a week for the +privilege of living there; his food cost him about a shilling a +day; on clothing and other unavoidable expenses he laid out some +five pounds yearly. Then he bought books--volumes which cost +anything between twopence and two shillings; further than that he +durst not go. A strange time, I assure you. + +When he had completed his twenty-first year, he desired to +procure a reader's ticket for the British Museum. Now this was +not such a simple matter as you may suppose; it was necessary to +obtain the signature of some respectable householder, and Reardon +was acquainted with no such person. His landlady was a decent +woman enough, and a payer of rates and taxes, but it would look +odd, to say the least of it, to present oneself in Great Russell +Street armed with this person's recommendation. There was nothing +for it but to take a bold step, to force himself upon the +attention of a stranger--the thing from which his pride had +always shrunk. He wrote to a well-known novelist--a man with +whose works he had some sympathy. 'I am trying to prepare myself +for a literary career. I wish to study in the Reading-room of the +British Museum, but have no acquaintance to whom I can refer in +the ordinary way. Will you help me--I mean, in this particular +only?' That was the substance of his letter. For reply came an +invitation to a house in the West-end. With fear and trembling +Reardon answered the summons. He was so shabbily attired; he was +so diffident from the habit of living quite alone; he was +horribly afraid lest it should be supposed that he looked for +other assistance than he had requested. Well, the novelist was a +rotund and jovial man; his dwelling and his person smelt of +money; he was so happy himself that he could afford to be kind to +others. + +'Have you published anything?' he inquired, for the young man's +letter had left this uncertain. + +'Nothing. I have tried the magazines, but as yet without +success.' + +'But what do you write?' + +'Chiefly essays on literary subjects.' + +'I can understand that you would find a difficulty in disposing +of them. That kind of thing is supplied either by men of +established reputation, or by anonymous writers who have a +regular engagement on papers and magazines. Give me an example of +your topics.' + +'I have written something lately about Tibullus.' + +'Oh, dear! Oh, dear!--Forgive me, Mr Reardon; my feelings were +too much for me; those names have been my horror ever since I was +a schoolboy. Far be it from me to discourage you, if your line is +to be solid literary criticism; I will only mention, as a matter +of fact, that such work is indifferently paid and in very small +demand. It hasn't occurred to you to try your hand at fiction?' + +In uttering the word he beamed; to him it meant a thousand or so +a year. + +'I am afraid I have no talent for that.' + +The novelist could do no more than grant his genial signature for +the specified purpose, and add good wishes in abundance. Reardon +went home with his brain in a whirl. He had had his first glimpse +of what was meant by literary success. That luxurious study, with +its shelves of handsomely-bound books, its beautiful pictures, +its warm, fragrant air--great heavens! what might not a man do +who sat at his ease amid such surroundings! + +He began to work at the Reading-room, but at the same time he +thought often of the novelist's suggestion, and before long had +written two or three short stories. No editor would accept them; +but he continued to practise himself in that art, and by degrees +came to fancy that, after all, perhaps he had some talent for +fiction. It was significant, however, that no native impulse had +directed him to novel-writing. His intellectual temper was that +of the student, the scholar, but strongly blended with a love of +independence which had always made him think with distaste of a +teacher's life. The stories he wrote were scraps of immature +psychology--the last thing a magazine would accept from an +unknown man. + +His money dwindled, and there came a winter during which he +suffered much from cold and hunger. What a blessed refuge it was, +there under the great dome, when he must else have sat in his +windy garret with the mere pretence of a fire! The Reading-room +was his true home; its warmth enwrapped him kindly; the peculiar +odour of its atmosphere--at first a cause of headache--grew dear +and delightful to him. But he could not sit here until his last +penny should be spent. Something practical must be done, and +practicality was not his strong point. + +Friends in London he had none; but for an occasional conversation +with his landlady he would scarcely have spoken a dozen words in +a week. His disposition was the reverse of democratic, and he +could not make acquaintances below his own intellectual level. +Solitude fostered a sensitiveness which to begin with was +extreme; the lack of stated occupation encouraged his natural +tendency to dream and procrastinate and hope for the improbable. +He was a recluse in the midst of millions, and viewed with dread +the necessity of going forth to fight for daily food. + +Little by little he had ceased to hold any correspondence with +his former friends at Hereford. The only person to whom he still +wrote and from whom he still heard was his mother's father--an +old man who lived at Derby, retired from the business of a +draper, and spending his last years pleasantly enough with a +daughter who had remained single. Edwin had always been a +favourite with his grandfather, though they had met only once or +twice during the past eight years. But in writing he did not +allow it to be understood that he was in actual want, and he felt +that he must come to dire extremities before he could bring +himself to beg assistance. + +He had begun to answer advertisements, but the state of his +wardrobe forbade his applying for any but humble positions. Once +or twice he presented himself personally at offices, but his +reception was so mortifying that death by hunger seemed +preferable to a continuance of such experiences. The injury to +his pride made him savagely arrogant; for days after the last +rejection he hid himself in his garret, hating the world. + +He sold his little collection of books, and of course they +brought only a trifling sum. That exhausted, he must begin to +sell his clothes. And then--? + +But help was at hand. One day he saw it advertised in a newspaper +that the secretary of a hospital in the north of London was in +need of a clerk; application was to be made by letter. He wrote, +and two days later, to his astonishment, received a reply asking +him to wait upon the secretary at a certain hour. In a fever of +agitation he kept the appointment, and found that his business +was with a young man in the very highest spirits, who walked up +and down a little office (the hospital was of the 'special' +order, a house of no great size), and treated the matter in hand +as an excellent joke. + +'I thought, you know, of engaging someone much younger--quite a +lad, in fact. But look there! Those are the replies to my +advertisement.' + +He pointed to a heap of five or six hundred letters, and laughed +consumedly. + +'Impossible to read them all, you know. It seemed to me that the +fairest thing would be to shake them together, stick my hand in, +and take out one by chance. If it didn't seem very promising, I +would try a second time. But the first letter was yours, and I +thought the fair thing to do was at all events to see you, you +know. The fact is, I am only able to offer a pound a week.' + +'I shall be very glad indeed to take that,' said Reardon, who was +bathed in perspiration. + +'Then what about references, and so on?' proceeded the young man, +chuckling and rubbing his hands together. + +The applicant was engaged. He had barely strength to walk home; +the sudden relief from his miseries made him, for the first time, +sensible of the extreme physical weakness into which he had sunk. +For the next week he was very ill, but he did not allow this to +interfere with his new work, which was easily learnt and not +burdensome. + +He held this position for three years, and during that time +important things happened. When he had recovered from his state +of semi-starvation, and was living in comfort (a pound a week is +a very large sum if you have previously had to live on ten +shillings), Reardon found that the impulse to literary production +awoke in him more strongly than ever. He generally got home from +the hospital about six o'clock, and the evening was his own. In +this leisure time he wrote a novel in two volumes; one publisher +refused it, but a second offered to bring it out on the terms of +half profits to the author. The book appeared, and was well +spoken of in one or two papers; but profits there were none to +divide. In the third year of his clerkship he wrote a novel in +three volumes; for this his publishers gave him twenty-five +pounds, with again a promise of half the profits after deduction +of the sum advanced. Again there was no pecuniary success. He had +just got to work upon a third book, when his grandfather at Derby +died and left him four hundred pounds. + +He could not resist the temptation to recover his freedom. Four +hundred pounds, at the rate of eighty pounds a year, meant five +years of literary endeavour. In that period he could certainly +determine whether or not it was his destiny to live by the pen. + +In the meantime his relations with the secretary of the hospital, +Carter by name, had grown very friendly. When Reardon began to +publish books, the high-spirited Mr Carter looked upon him with +something of awe; and when the literary man ceased to be a clerk, +there was nothing to prevent association on equal terms between +him and his former employer. They continued to see a good deal of +each other, and Carter made Reardon acquainted with certain of +his friends, among whom was one John Yule, an easy-going, +selfish, semi-intellectual young man who had a place in a +Government office. The time of solitude had gone by for Reardon. +He began to develop the power that was in him. + +Those two books of his were not of a kind to win popularity. They +dealt with no particular class of society (unless one makes a +distinct class of people who have brains), and they lacked local +colour. Their interest was almost purely psychological. It was +clear that the author had no faculty for constructing a story, +and that pictures of active life were not to be expected of him; +he could never appeal to the multitude. But strong +characterisation was within his scope, and an intellectual +fervour, appetising to a small section of refined readers, marked +all his best pages. + +He was the kind of man who cannot struggle against adverse +conditions, but whom prosperity warms to the exercise of his +powers. Anything like the cares of responsibility would sooner or +later harass him into unproductiveness. That he should produce +much was in any case out of the question; possibly a book every +two or three years might not prove too great a strain upon his +delicate mental organism, but for him to attempt more than that +would certainly be fatal to the peculiar merit of his work. Of +this he was dimly conscious, and, on receiving his legacy, he put +aside for nearly twelve months the new novel he had begun. To +give his mind a rest he wrote several essays, much maturer than +those which had formerly failed to find acceptance, and two of +these appeared in magazines. + +The money thus earned he spent--at a tailor's. His friend Carter +ventured to suggest this mode of outlay. + +His third book sold for fifty pounds. It was a great improvement +on its predecessors, and the reviews were generally favourable. +For the story which followed, 'On Neutral Ground,' he received a +hundred pounds. On the strength of that he spent six months +travelling in the South of Europe. + +He returned to London at mid-June, and on the second day after +his arrival befell an incident which was to control the rest of +his life. Busy with the pictures in the Grosvenor Gallery, he +heard himself addressed in a familiar voice, and on turning he +was aware of Mr Carter, resplendent in fashionable summer attire, +and accompanied by a young lady of some charms. Reardon had +formerly feared encounters of this kind, too conscious of the +defects of his attire; but at present there was no reason why he +should shirk social intercourse. He was passably dressed, and the +half-year of travel had benefited his appearance in no slight +degree. Carter presented him to the young lady, of whom the +novelist had already heard as affianced to his friend. + +Whilst they stood conversing, there approached two ladies, +evidently mother and daughter, whose attendant was another of +Reardon's acquaintances, Mr John Yule. This gentleman stepped +briskly forward and welcomed the returned wanderer. + +'Let me introduce you,' he said, 'to my mother and sister. Your +fame has made them anxious to know you.' + +Reardon found himself in a position of which the novelty was +embarrassing, but scarcely disagreeable. Here were five people +grouped around him, all of whom regarded him unaffectedly as a +man of importance; for though, strictly speaking, he had no +'fame' at all, these persons had kept up with the progress of his +small repute, and were all distinctly glad to number among their +acquaintances an unmistakable author, one, too, who was fresh +from Italy and Greece. Mrs Yule, a lady rather too pretentious in +her tone to be attractive to a man of Reardon's refinement, +hastened to assure him how well his books were known in her +house, 'though for the run of ordinary novels we don't care +much.' Miss Yule, not at all pretentious in speech, and seemingly +reserved of disposition, was good enough to show frank interest +in the author. As for the poor author himself, well, he merely +fell in love with Miss Yule at first sight, and there was an end +of the matter. + +A day or two later he made a call at their house, in the region +of Westbourne Park. It was a small house, and rather showily than +handsomely furnished; no one after visiting it would be +astonished to hear that Mrs Edmund Yule had but a small income, +and that she was often put to desperate expedients to keep up the +gloss of easy circumstances. In the gauzy and fluffy and varnishy +little drawing-room Reardon found a youngish gentleman already in +conversation with the widow and her daughter. This proved to be +one Mr Jasper Milvain, also a man of letters. Mr Milvain was glad +to meet Reardon, whose books he had read with decided interest. + +'Really,' exclaimed Mrs Yule, 'I don't know how it is that we +have had to wait so long for the pleasure of knowing you, Mr +Reardon. If John were not so selfish he would have allowed us a +share in your acquaintance long ago.' + +Ten weeks thereafter, Miss Yule became Mrs Reardon. + +It was a time of frantic exultation with the poor fellow. He had +always regarded the winning of a beautiful and intellectual wife +as the crown of a successful literary career, but he had not +dared to hope that such a triumph would be his. Life had been too +hard with him on the whole. He, who hungered for sympathy, who +thought of a woman's love as the prize of mortals supremely +blessed, had spent the fresh years of his youth in monkish +solitude. Now of a sudden came friends and flattery, ay, and love +itself. He was rapt to the seventh heaven. + +Indeed, it seemed that the girl loved him. She knew that he had +but a hundred pounds or so left over from that little +inheritance, that his books sold for a trifle, that he had no +wealthy relatives from whom he could expect anything; yet she +hesitated not a moment when he asked her to marry him. + +'I have loved you from the first.' + +'How is that possible?' he urged. 'What is there lovable in me? I +am afraid of waking up and finding myself in my old garret, cold +and hungry.' + +'You will be a great man.' + +'I implore you not to count on that! In many ways I am wretchedly +weak. I have no such confidence in myself.' + +'Then I will have confidence for both.' + +'But can you love me for my own sake--love me as a man?' + +'I love you!' + +And the words sang about him, filled the air with a mad pulsing +of intolerable joy, made him desire to fling himself in +passionate humility at her feet, to weep hot tears, to cry to her +in insane worship. He thought her beautiful beyond anything his +heart had imagined; her warm gold hair was the rapture of his +eyes and of his reverent hand. Though slenderly fashioned, she +was so gloriously strong. 'Not a day of illness in her life,' +said Mrs Yule, and one could readily believe it. + +She spoke with such a sweet decision. Her 'I love you!' was a +bond with eternity. In the simplest as in the greatest things she +saw his wish and acted frankly upon it. No pretty petulance, no +affectation of silly-sweet languishing, none of the weaknesses of +woman. And so exquisitely fresh in her twenty years of +maidenhood, with bright young eyes that seemed to bid defiance to +all the years to come. + +He went about like one dazzled with excessive light. He talked as +he had never talked before, recklessly, exultantly, insolently-- +in the nobler sense. He made friends on every hand; he welcomed +all the world to his bosom; he felt the benevolence of a god. + +'I love you!' It breathed like music at his ears when he fell +asleep in weariness of joy; it awakened him on the morrow as with +a glorious ringing summons to renewed life. + +Delay? Why should there be delay? Amy wished nothing but to +become his wife. Idle to think of his doing any more work until +he sat down in the home of which she was mistress. His brain +burned with visions of the books he would henceforth write, but +his hand was incapable of anything but a love-letter. And what +letters! Reardon never published anything equal to those. 'I have +received your poem,' Amy replied to one of them. And she was +right; not a letter, but a poem he had sent her, with every word +on fire. + +The hours of talk! It enraptured him to find how much she had +read, and with what clearness of understanding. Latin and Greek, +no. Ah! but she should learn them both, that there might be +nothing wanting in the communion between his thought and hers. +For he loved the old writers with all his heart; they had been +such strength to him in his days of misery. + +They would go together to the charmed lands of the South. No, not +now for their marriage holiday--Amy said that would be an +imprudent expense; but as soon as he had got a good price for a +book. Will not the publishers be kind? If they knew what +happiness lurked in embryo within their foolish cheque-books! + +He woke of a sudden in the early hours of one morning, a week +before the wedding-day. You know that kind of awaking, so +complete in an instant, caused by the pressure of some +troublesome thought upon the dreaming brain. 'Suppose I should +not succeed henceforth? Suppose I could never get more than this +poor hundred pounds for one of the long books which cost me so +much labour? I shall perhaps have children to support; and Amy-- +how would Amy bear poverty?' + +He knew what poverty means. The chilling of brain and heart, the +unnerving of the hands, the slow gathering about one of fear and +shame and impotent wrath, the dread feeling of helplessness, of +the world's base indifference. Poverty! Poverty! + +And for hours he could not sleep. His eyes kept filling with +tears, the beating of his heart was low; and in his solitude he +called upon Amy with pitiful entreaty: 'Do not forsake me! I love +you! I love you!' + +But that went by. Six days, five days, four days--will one's +heart burst with happiness? The flat is taken, is furnished, up +there towards the sky, eight flights of stone steps. + +'You're a confoundedly lucky fellow, Reardon,' remarked Milvain, +who had already become very intimate with his new friend. 'A good +fellow, too, and you deserve it.' + +'But at first I had a horrible suspicion.' + +'I guess what you mean. No; I wasn't even in love with her, +though I admired her. She would never have cared for me in any +case; I am not sentimental enough.' + +'The deuce!' + +'I mean it in an inoffensive sense. She and I are rather too much +alike, I fancy.' + +'How do you mean?' asked Reardon, puzzled, and not very well +pleased. + +'There's a great deal of pure intellect about Miss Yule, you +know. She was sure to choose a man of the passionate kind.' + +'I think you are talking nonsense, my dear fellow.' + +'Well, perhaps I am. To tell you the truth, I have by no means +completed my study of women yet. It is one of the things in which +I hope to be a specialist some day, though I don't think I shall +ever make use of it in novels--rather, perhaps, in life.' + +Three days--two days--one day. + +Now let every joyous sound which the great globe can utter ring +forth in one burst of harmony! Is it not well done to make the +village-bells chant merrily when a marriage is over? Here in +London we can have no such music; but for us, my dear one, all +the roaring life of the great city is wedding-hymn. Sweet, pure +face under its bridal-veil! The face which shall, if fate spare +it, be as dear to me many a long year hence as now at the +culminating moment of my life! + +As he trudged on in the dark, his tortured memory was living +through that time again. The images forced themselves upon him, +however much he tried to think of quite other things--of some +fictitious story on which he might set to work. In the case of +his earlier books he had waited quietly until some suggestive +'situation,' some group of congenial characters, came with sudden +delightfulness before his mind and urged him to write; but +nothing so spontaneous could now be hoped for. His brain was too +weary with months of fruitless, harassing endeavour; moreover, he +was trying to devise a 'plot,' the kind of literary +Jack-in-the-box which might excite interest in the mass of +readers, and this was alien to the natural working of his +imagination. He suffered the torments of nightmare--an oppression +of the brain and heart which must soon be intolerable. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE PRACTICAL FRIEND + +When her husband had set forth, Amy seated herself in the study +and took up a new library volume as if to read. But she had no +real intention of doing so; it was always disagreeable to her to +sit in the manner of one totally unoccupied, with hands on lap, +and even when she consciously gave herself up to musing an open +book was generally before her. She did not, in truth, read much +nowadays; since the birth of her child she had seemed to care +less than before for disinterested study. If a new novel that had +succeeded came into her hands she perused it in a very practical +spirit, commenting to Reardon on the features of the work which +had made it popular; formerly, she would have thought much more +of its purely literary merits, for which her eye was very keen. +How often she had given her husband a thrill of exquisite +pleasure by pointing to some merit or defect of which the common +reader would be totally insensible! Now she spoke less frequently +on such subjects. Her interests were becoming more personal; she +liked to hear details of the success of popular authors--about +their wives or husbands, as the case might be, their arrangements +with publishers, their methods of work. The gossip columns of +literary papers--and of some that were not literary--had an +attraction for her. She talked of questions such as international +copyright, was anxious to get an insight into the practical +conduct of journals and magazines, liked to know who 'read' for +the publishing-houses. To an impartial observer it might have +appeared that her intellect was growing more active and mature. + +More than half an hour passed. It was not a pleasant train of +thought that now occupied her. Her lips were drawn together, her +brows were slightly wrinkled; the self-control which at other +times was agreeably expressed upon her features had become rather +too cold and decided. At one moment it seemed to her that she +heard a sound in the bedroom--the doors were purposely left ajar- +-and her head turned quickly to listen, the look in her eyes +instantaneously softening; but all remained quiet. The street +would have been silent but for a cab that now and then passed-- +the swing of a hansom or the roll of a four-wheeler--and within +the buildings nothing whatever was audible. + +Yes, a footstep, briskly mounting the stone stairs. Not like that +of the postman. A visitor, perhaps, to the other flat on the +topmost landing. But the final pause was in this direction, and +then came a sharp rat-tat at the door. Amy rose immediately and +went to open. + +Jasper Milvain raised his urban silk hat, then held out his hand +with the greeting of frank friendship. His inquiries were in so +loud a voice that Amy checked him with a forbidding gesture. + +'You'll wake Willie!' + +'By Jove! I always forget,' he exclaimed in subdued tones. 'Does +the infant flourish?' + +'Oh, yes!' + +'Reardon out? I got back on Saturday evening, but couldn't come +round before this.' It was Monday. 'How close it is in here! I +suppose the roof gets so heated during the day. Glorious weather +in the country! And I've no end of things to tell you. He won't +be long, I suppose?' + +'I think not.' + +He left his hat and stick in the passage, came into the study, +and glanced about as if he expected to see some change since he +was last here, three weeks ago. + +'So you have been enjoying yourself?' said Amy as, after +listening for a moment at the door, she took a seat. + +'Oh, a little freshening of the faculties. But whose acquaintance +do you think I have made?' + +'Down there?' + +'Yes. Your uncle Alfred and his daughter were staying at John +Yule's, and I saw something of them. I was invited to the house.' + +'Did you speak of us?' + +'To Miss Yule only. I happened to meet her on a walk, and in a +blundering way I mentioned Reardon's name. But of course it +didn't matter in the least. She inquired about you with a good +deal of interest--asked if you were as beautiful as you promised +to be years ago.' + +Amy laughed. + +'Doesn't that proceed from your fertile invention, Mr Milvain?' + +'Not a bit of it! By-the-bye, what would be your natural question +concerning her? Do you think she gave promise of good looks?' + +'I'm afraid I can't say that she did. She had a good face, but-- +rather plain.' + +'I see.' Jasper threw back his head and seemed to contemplate an +object in memory. 'Well, I shouldn't wonder if most people called +her a trifle plain even now; and yet--no, that's hardly possible, +after all. She has no colour. Wears her hair short.' + +'Short?' + +'Oh, I don't mean the smooth, boyish hair with a parting--not the +kind of hair that would be lank if it grew long. Curly all over. +Looks uncommonly well, I assure you. She has a capital head. Odd +girl; very odd girl! Quiet, thoughtful--not very happy, I'm +afraid. Seems to think with dread of a return to books.' + +'Indeed! But I had understood that she was a reader.' + +'Reading enough for six people, probably. Perhaps her health is +not very robust. Oh, I knew her by sight quite well--had seen her +at the Reading-room. She's the kind of girl that gets into one's +head, you know--suggestive; much more in her than comes out until +one knows her very well.' + +'Well, I should hope so,' remarked Amy, with a peculiar smile. + +'But that's by no means a matter of course. They didn't invite me +to come and see them in London.' + +'I suppose Marian mentioned your acquaintance with this branch of +the family?' + +'I think not. At all events, she promised me she wouldn't.' + +Amy looked at him inquiringly, in a puzzled way. + +'She promised you?' + +'Voluntarily. We got rather sympathetic. Your uncle--Alfred, I +mean--is a remarkable man; but I think he regarded me as a youth +of no particular importance. Well, how do things go?' + +Amy shook her head. + +'No progress?' + +'None whatever. He can't work; I begin to be afraid that he is +really ill. He must go away before the fine weather is over. Do +persuade him to-night! I wish you could have had a holiday with +him.' + +'Out of the question now, I'm sorry to say. I must work savagely. +But can't you all manage a fortnight somewhere--Hastings, +Eastbourne?' + +'It would be simply rash. One goes on saying, "What does a pound +or two matter?"--but it begins at length to matter a great deal.' + +'I know, confound it all! Think how it would amuse some rich +grocer's son who pitches his half-sovereign to the waiter when he +has dined himself into good humour! But I tell you what it is: +you must really try to influence him towards practicality. Don't +you think--?' + +He paused, and Amy sat looking at her hands. + +'I have made an attempt,' she said at length, in a distant +undertone. + +'You really have?' + +Jasper leaned forward, his clasped hands hanging between his +knees. He was scrutinising her face, and Amy, conscious of the +too fixed regard, at length moved her head uneasily. + +'It seems very clear to me,' she said, 'that a long book is out +of the question for him at present. He writes so slowly, and is +so fastidious. It would be a fatal thing to hurry through +something weaker even than the last.' + +'You think "The Optimist" weak?' Jasper asked, half absently. + +'I don't think it worthy of Edwin; I don't see how anyone can. + +'I have wondered what your opinion was. Yes, he ought to try a +new tack, I think.' + +Just then there came the sound of a latch-key opening the outer +door. Jasper lay back in his chair and waited with a smile for +his expected friend's appearance; Amy made no movement. + +'Oh, there you are!' said Reardon, presenting himself with the +dazzled eyes of one who has been in darkness; he spoke in a voice +of genial welcome, though it still had the note of depression. +'When did you get back?' + +Milvain began to recount what he had told in the first part of +his conversation with Amy. As he did so, the latter withdrew, and +was absent for five minutes; on reappearing she said: + +'You'll have some supper with us, Mr Milvain?' + +'I think I will, please.' + +Shortly after, all repaired to the eating-room, where +conversation had to be carried on in a low tone because of the +proximity of the bedchamber in which lay the sleeping child. +Jasper began to tell of certain things that had happened to him +since his arrival in town. + +'It was a curious coincidence--but, by-the-bye, have you heard of +what The Study has been doing?' + +'I should rather think so,' replied Reardon, his face lighting +up. 'With no small satisfaction.' + +'Delicious, isn't it?' exclaimed his wife. 'I thought it too good +to be true when Edwin heard of it from Mr Biffen.' + +All three laughed in subdued chorus. For the moment, Reardon +became a new man in his exultation over the contradictory +reviewers. + +'Oh, Biffen told you, did he? Well,' continued Jasper, 'it was an +odd thing, but when I reached my lodgings on Saturday evening +there lay a note from Horace Barlow, inviting me to go and see +him on Sunday afternoon out at Wimbledon, the special reason +being that the editor of The Study would be there, and Barlow +thought I might like to meet him. Now this letter gave me a fit +of laughter; not only because of those precious reviews, but +because Alfred Yule had been telling me all about this same +editor, who rejoices in the name of Fadge. Your uncle, Mrs +Reardon, declares that Fadge is the most malicious man in the +literary profession; though that's saying such a very great deal +--well, never mind! Of course I was delighted to go and meet +Fadge. At Barlow's I found the queerest collection of people, +most of them women of the inkiest description. The great Fadge +himself surprised me; I expected to see a gaunt, bilious man, and +he was the rosiest and dumpiest little dandy you can imagine; a +fellow of forty-five, I dare say, with thin yellow hair and blue +eyes and a manner of extreme innocence. Fadge flattered me with +confidential chat, and I discovered at length why Barlow had +asked me to meet him; it's Fadge that is going to edit +Culpepper's new monthly--you've heard about it?--and he had +actually thought it worth while to enlist me among contributors! +Now, how's that for a piece of news?' + +The speaker looked from Reardon to Amy with a smile of vast +significance. + +'I rejoice to hear it!' said Reardon, fervently. + +'You see! you see!' cried Jasper, forgetting all about the infant +in the next room, 'all things come to the man who knows how to +wait. But I'm hanged if I expected a thing of this kind to come +so soon! Why, I'm a man of distinction! My doings have been +noted; the admirable qualities of my style have drawn attention; +I'm looked upon as one of the coming men! Thanks, I confess, in +some measure, to old Barlow; he seems to have amused himself with +cracking me up to all and sundry. That last thing of mine in The +West End has done me a vast amount of good, it seems. And Alfred +Yule himself had noticed that paper in The Wayside. That's how +things work, you know; reputation comes with a burst, just when +you're not looking for anything of the kind.' + +'What's the new magazine to be called?' asked Amy. + +'Why, they propose The Current. Not bad, in a way; though you +imagine a fellow saying "Have you seen the current Current?" At +all events, the tone is to be up to date, and the articles are to +be short; no padding, merum sal from cover to cover. What do you +think I have undertaken to do, for a start? A paper consisting of +sketches of typical readers of each of the principal daily and +weekly papers. A deuced good idea, you know--my own, of course -- +but deucedly hard to carry out. I shall rise to the occasion, see +if I don't. I'll rival Fadge himself in maliciousness--though I +must confess I discovered no particular malice in the fellow's +way of talking. The article shall make a sensation. I'll spend a +whole month on it, and make it a perfect piece of satire.' + +'Now that's the kind of thing that inspires me with awe and +envy,' said Reardon. 'I could no more write such a paper than an +article on Fluxions.' + +''Tis my vocation, Hal! You might think I hadn't experience +enough, to begin with. But my intuition is so strong that I can +make a little experience go an immense way. Most people would +imagine I had been wasting my time these last few years, just +sauntering about, reading nothing but periodicals, making +acquaintance with loafers of every description. The truth is, I +have been collecting ideas, and ideas that are convertible into +coin of the realm, my boy; I have the special faculty of an +extempore writer. Never in my life shall I do anything of solid +literary value; I shall always despise the people I write for. +But my path will be that of success. I have always said it, and +now I'm sure of it.' + +'Does Fadge retire from The Study, then?' inquired Reardon, when +he had received this tirade with a friendly laugh. + +'Yes, he does. Was going to, it seems, in any case. Of course I +heard nothing about the two reviews, and I was almost afraid to +smile whilst Fadge was talking with me, lest I should betray my +thought. Did you know anything about the fellow before?' + +'Not I. Didn't know who edited The Study.' + +'Nor I either. Remarkable what a number of illustrious obscure +are going about. But I have still something else to tell you. I'm +going to set my sisters afloat in literature.' + +'How!' + +'Well, I don't see why they shouldn't try their hands at a little +writing, instead of giving lessons, which doesn't suit them a +bit. Last night, when I got back from Wimbledon, I went to look +up Davies. Perhaps you don't remember my mentioning him; a fellow +who was at Jolly and Monk's, the publishers, up to a year ago. He +edits a trade journal now, and I see very little of him. However, +I found him at home, and had a long practical talk with him. I +wanted to find out the state of the market as to such wares as +Jolly and Monk dispose of. He gave me some very useful hints, and +the result was that I went off this morning and saw Monk himself +--no Jolly exists at present. "Mr Monk," I began, in my blandest +tone--you know it--"I am requested to call upon you by a lady who +thinks of preparing a little volume to be called 'A Child's +History of the English Parliament.' Her idea is, that"--and so +on. Well, I got on admirably with Monk, especially when he learnt +that I was to be connected with Culpepper's new venture; he +smiled upon the project, and said he should be very glad to see a +specimen chapter; if that pleased him, we could then discuss +terms.' + +'But has one of your sisters really begun such a book?' inquired +Amy. + +'Neither of them knows anything of the matter, but they are +certainly capable of doing the kind of thing I have in mind, +which will consist largely of anecdotes of prominent statesmen. I +myself shall write the specimen chapter, and send it to the girls +to show them what I propose. I shouldn't wonder if they make some +fifty pounds out of it. The few books that will be necessary they +can either get at a Wattleborough library, or I can send them.' + +'Your energy is remarkable, all of a sudden,' said Reardon. + +'Yes. The hour has come, I find. "There is a tide"--to quote +something that has the charm of freshness.' + +The supper--which consisted of bread and butter, cheese, +sardines, cocoa--was now over, and Jasper, still enlarging on his +recent experiences and future prospects, led the way back to the +sitting-room. Not very long after this, Amy left the two friends +to their pipes; she was anxious that her husband should discuss +his affairs privately with Milvain, and give ear to the practical +advice which she knew would be tendered him. + +'I hear that you are still stuck fast,' began Jasper, when they +had smoked awhile in silence. + +'Yes.' + +'Getting rather serious, I should fear, isn't it?' + +'Yes,' repeated Reardon, in a low voice. + +'Come, come, old man, you can't go on in this way. Would it, or +wouldn't it, be any use if you took a seaside holiday?' + +'Not the least. I am incapable of holiday, if the opportunity +were offered. Do something I must, or I shall fret myself into +imbecility.' + +'Very well. What is it to be?' + +'I shall try to manufacture two volumes. They needn't run to more +than about two hundred and seventy pages, and those well spaced +out.' + +'This is refreshing. This is practical. But look now: let it be +something rather sensational. Couldn't we invent a good title-- +something to catch eye and ear? The title would suggest the +story, you know.' + +Reardon laughed contemptuously, but the scorn was directed rather +against himself than Milvain. + +'Let's try,' he muttered. + +Both appeared to exercise their minds on the problem for a few +minutes. Then Jasper slapped his knee. + +'How would this do: "The Weird Sisters"? Devilish good, eh? +Suggests all sorts of things, both to the vulgar and the +educated. Nothing brutally clap-trap about it, you know.' + +'But--what does it suggest to you?' + +'Oh, witch-like, mysterious girls or women. Think it over.' + +There was another long silence. Reardon's face was that of a man +in blank misery. + +'I have been trying,' he said at length, after an attempt to +speak which was checked by a huskiness in his throat, 'to explain +to myself how this state of things has come about. I almost think +I can do so.' + +'How?' + +'That half-year abroad, and the extraordinary shock of happiness +which followed at once upon it, have disturbed the balance of my +nature. It was adjusted to circumstances of hardship, privation, +struggle. A temperament like mine can't pass through such a +violent change of conditions without being greatly affected; I +have never since been the man I was before I left England. The +stage I had then reached was the result of a slow and elaborate +building up; I could look back and see the processes by which I +had grown from the boy who was a mere bookworm to the man who had +all but succeeded as a novelist. It was a perfectly natural, +sober development. But in the last two years and a half I can +distinguish no order. In living through it, I have imagined from +time to time that my powers were coming to their ripest; but that +was mere delusion. Intellectually, I have fallen back. The +probability is that this wouldn't matter, if only I could live on +in peace of mind; I should recover my equilibrium, and perhaps +once more understand myself. But the due course of things is +troubled by my poverty.' + +He spoke in a slow, meditative way, in a monotonous voice, and +without raising his eyes from the ground. + +'I can understand,' put in Jasper, 'that there may be +philosophical truth in all this. All the same, it's a great pity +that you should occupy your mind with such thoughts.' + +'A pity--no! I must remain a reasoning creature. Disaster may end +by driving me out of my wits, but till then I won't abandon my +heritage of thought.' + +'Let us have it out, then. You think it was a mistake to spend +those months abroad?' + +'A mistake from the practical point of view. That vast broadening +of my horizon lost me the command of my literary resources. I +lived in Italy and Greece as a student, concerned especially with +the old civilisations; I read little but Greek and Latin. That +brought me out of the track I had laboriously made for myself I +often thought with disgust of the kind of work I had been doing; +my novels seemed vapid stuff so wretchedly and shallowly modern. +If I had had the means, I should have devoted myself to the life +of a scholar. That, I quite believe, is my natural life; it's +only the influence of recent circumstances that has made me a +writer of novels. A man who can't journalise, yet must earn his +bread by literature, nowadays inevitably turns to fiction, as the +Elizabethan men turned to the drama. Well, but I should have got +back, I think, into the old line of work. It was my marriage that +completed what the time abroad had begun.' + +He looked up suddenly, and added: + +'I am speaking as if to myself. You, of course, don't +misunderstand me, and think I am accusing my wife.' + +'No, I don't take you to mean that, by any means.' + +'No, no; of course not. All that's wrong is my accursed want of +money. But that threatens to be such a fearful wrong, that I +begin to wish I had died before my marriage-day. Then Amy would +have been saved. The Philistines are right: a man has no business +to marry unless he has a secured income equal to all natural +demands. I behaved with the grossest selfishness. I might have +known that such happiness was never meant for me.' + +'Do you mean by all this that you seriously doubt whether you +will ever be able to write again?' + +'In awful seriousness, I doubt it,' replied Reardon, with haggard +face. + +'It strikes me as extraordinary. In your position I should work +as I never had done before.' + +'Because you are the kind of man who is roused by necessity. I am +overcome by it. My nature is feeble and luxurious. I never in my +life encountered and overcame a practical difficulty.' + +'Yes; when you got the work at the hospital.' + +'All I did was to write a letter, and chance made it effective.' + +'My view of the case, Reardon, is that you are simply ill.' + +'Certainly I am; but the ailment is desperately complicated. Tell +me: do you think I might possibly get any kind of stated work to +do? Should I be fit for any place in a newspaper office, for +instance?' + +'I fear not. You are the last man to have anything to do with +journalism.' + +'If I appealed to my publishers, could they help me?' + +'I don't see how. They would simply say: Write a book and we'll +buy it.' + +'Yes, there's no help but that.' + +'If only you were able to write short stories, Fadge might be +useful.' + +'But what's the use? I suppose I might get ten guineas, at most, +for such a story. I need a couple of hundred pounds at least. +Even if I could finish a three-volume book, I doubt if they would +give me a hundred again, after the failure of "The Optimist"; no, +they wouldn't.' + +'But to sit and look forward in this way is absolutely fatal, my +dear fellow. Get to work at your two-volume story. Call it "The +Weird Sisters," or anything better that you can devise; but get +it done, so many pages a day. If I go ahead as I begin to think I +shall, I shall soon be able to assure you good notices in a lot +of papers. Your misfortune has been that you had no influential +friends. By-the-bye, how has The Study been in the habit of +treating you?' + +'Scrubbily.' + +'I'll make an opportunity of talking about your books to Fadge. I +think Fadge and I shall get on pretty well together. Alfred Yule +hates the man fiercely, for some reason or other. By the way, I +may as well tell you that I broke short off with the Yules on +purpose.' + +'Oh?' + +'I had begun to think far too much about the girl. Wouldn't do, +you know. I must marry someone with money, and a good deal of it. + +That's a settled point with me.' + +'Then you are not at all likely to meet them in London?' + +'Not at all. And if I get allied with Fadge, no doubt Yule will +involve me in his savage feeling. You see how wisely I acted. I +have a scent for the prudent course.' + +They talked for a long time, but again chiefly of Milvain's +affairs. Reardon, indeed, cared little to say anything more about +his own. Talk was mere vanity and vexation of spirit, for the +spring of his volition seemed to be broken, and, whatever resolve +he might utter, he knew that everything depended on influences he +could not even foresee. + + +CHAPTER VII. MARIAN'S HOME + +Three weeks after her return from the country--which took place a +week later than that of Jasper Milvain--Marian Yule was working +one afternoon at her usual place in the Museum Reading-room. It +was three o'clock, and with the interval of half an hour at +midday, when she went away for a cup of tea and a sandwich, she +had been closely occupied since half-past nine. Her task at +present was to collect materials for a paper on 'French +Authoresses of the Seventeenth Century,' the kind of thing which +her father supplied on stipulated terms for anonymous +publication. Marian was by this time almost able to complete such +a piece of manufacture herself and her father's share in it was +limited to a few hints and corrections. The greater part of the +work by which Yule earned his moderate income was anonymous: +volumes and articles which bore his signature dealt with much the +same subjects as his unsigned matter, but the writing was +laboured with a conscientiousness unusual in men of his position. +The result, unhappily, was not correspondent with the efforts. +Alfred Yule had made a recognisable name among the critical +writers of the day; seeing him in the title-lists of a +periodical, most people knew what to expect, but not a few +forbore the cutting open of the pages he occupied. He was +learned, copious, occasionally mordant in style; but grace had +been denied to him. He had of late begun to perceive the fact +that those passages of Marian's writing which were printed just +as they came from her pen had merit of a kind quite distinct from +anything of which he himself was capable, and it began to be a +question with him whether it would not be advantageous to let the +girl sign these compositions. A matter of business, to be sure-- +at all events in the first instance. + +For a long time Marian had scarcely looked up from the desk, but +at this moment she found it necessary to refer to the invaluable +Larousse. As so often happened, the particular volume of which +she had need was not upon the shelf she turned away, and looked +about her with a gaze of weary disappointment. At a little +distance were standing two young men, engaged, as their faces +showed, in facetious colloquy; as soon as she observed them, +Marian's eyes fell, but the next moment she looked again in that +direction. Her face had wholly changed; she wore a look of timid +expectancy. + +The men were moving towards her, still talking and laughing. She +turned to the shelves, and affected to search for a book. The +voices drew near, and one of them was well known to her; now she +could hear every word; now the speakers were gone by. Was it +possible that Mr Milvain had not recognised her? She followed him +with her eyes, and saw him take a seat not far off he must have +passed without even being aware of her. + +She went back to her place and for some minutes sat trifling with +a pen. When she made a show of resuming work, it was evident that +she could no longer apply herself as before. Every now and then +she glanced at people who were passing; there were intervals when +she wholly lost herself in reverie. She was tired, and had even a +slight headache. When the hand of the clock pointed to half-past +three, she closed the volume from which she had been copying +extracts, and began to collect her papers. + +A voice spoke close behind her. + +'Where's your father, Miss Yule?' + +The speaker was a man of sixty, short, stout, tonsured by the +hand of time. He had a broad, flabby face, the colour of an +ancient turnip, save where one of the cheeks was marked with a +mulberry stain; his eyes, grey-orbed in a yellow setting, glared +with good-humoured inquisitiveness, and his mouth was that of the +confirmed gossip. For eyebrows he had two little patches of +reddish stubble; for moustache, what looked like a bit of +discoloured tow, and scraps of similar material hanging beneath +his creasy chin represented a beard. His garb must have seen a +great deal of Museum service; it consisted of a jacket, something +between brown and blue, hanging in capacious shapelessness, a +waistcoat half open for lack of buttons and with one of the +pockets coming unsewn, a pair of bronze-hued trousers which had +all run to knee. Necktie he had none, and his linen made distinct +appeal to the laundress. + +Marian shook hands with him. + +'He went away at half-past two,' was her reply to his question. + +'How annoying! I wanted particularly to see him. I have been +running about all day, and couldn't get here before. Something +important--most important. At all events, I can tell you. But I +entreat that you won't breathe a word save to your father.' + +Mr Quarmby--that was his name--had taken a vacant chair and drawn +it close to Marian's. He was in a state of joyous excitement, and +talked in thick, rather pompous tones, with a pant at the end of +a sentence. To emphasise the extremely confidential nature of his +remarks, he brought his head almost in contact with the girl's, +and one of her thin, delicate hands was covered with his red, +podgy fingers. + +'I've had a talk with Nathaniel Walker,' he continued; 'a long +talk--a talk of vast importance. You know Walker? No, no; how +should you? He's a man of business; close friend of Rackett's-- +Rackett, you know, the owner of The Study.' + +Upon this he made a grave pause, and glared more excitedly than +ever. + +'I have heard of Mr Rackett,' said Marian. + +'Of course, of course. And you must also have heard that Fadge +leaves The Study at the end of this year, eh?' + +'Father told me it was probable.' + +'Rackett and he have done nothing but quarrel for months; the +paper is falling off seriously. Well, now, when I came across Nat +Walker this afternoon, the first thing he said to me was, "You +know Alfred Yule pretty well, I think?" "Pretty well," I +answered; "why?" "I'll tell you," he said, "but it's between you +and me, you understand. Rackett is thinking about him in +connection with The Study." "I'm delighted to hear it." "To tell +you the truth," went on Nat, "I shouldn't wonder if Yule gets the +editorship; but you understand that it would be altogether +premature to talk about it." Now what do you think of this, eh?' + +'It's very good news,' answered Marian. + +'I should think so! Ho, ho!' + +Mr Quarmby laughed in a peculiar way, which was the result of +long years of mirth-subdual in the Reading-room. + +'But not a breath to anyone but your father. He'll be here to- +morrow? Break it gently to him, you know; he's an excitable man; +can't take things quietly, like I do. Ho, ho!' + +His suppressed laugh ended in a fit of coughing--the Reading-room +cough. When he had recovered from it, he pressed Marian's hand +with paternal fervour, and waddled off to chatter with someone +else. + +Marian replaced several books on the reference-shelves, returned +others to the central desk, and was just leaving the room, when +again a voice made demand upon her attention. + +'Miss Yule! One moment, if you please!' + +It was a tall, meagre, dry-featured man, dressed with the painful +neatness of self-respecting poverty: the edges of his coat- +sleeves were carefully darned; his black necktie and a skull-cap +which covered his baldness were evidently of home manufacture. He +smiled softly and timidly with blue, rheumy eyes. Two or three +recent cuts on his chin and neck were the result of conscientious +shaving with an unsteady hand. + +'I have been looking for your father,' he said, as Marian turned. +'Isn't he here?' + +'He has gone, Mr Hinks.' + +'Ah, then would you do me the kindness to take a book for him? In +fact, it's my little "Essay on the Historical Drama," just out.' + +He spoke with nervous hesitation, and in a tone which seemed to +make apology for his existence. + +'Oh, father will be very glad to have it.' + +'If you will kindly wait one minute, Miss Yule. It's at my place +over there.' + +He went off with long strides, and speedily came back panting, in +his hand a thin new volume. + +'My kind regards to him, Miss Yule. You are quite well, I hope? I +won't detain you.' + +And he backed into a man who was coming inobservantly this way. + +Marian went to the ladies' cloak-room, put on her hat and jacket, +and left the Museum. Some one passed out through the swing-door a +moment before her, and as soon as she had issued beneath the +portico, she saw that it was Jasper Milvain; she must have +followed him through the hall, but her eyes had been cast down. +The young man was now alone; as he descended the steps he looked +to left and right, but not behind him. Marian followed at a +distance of two or three yards. Nearing the gateway, she +quickened her pace a little, so as to pass out into the street +almost at the same moment as Milvain. But he did not turn his +head. + +He took to the right. Marian had fallen back again, but she still +followed at a very little distance. His walk was slow, and she +might easily have passed him in quite a natural way; in that case +he could not help seeing her. But there was an uneasy suspicion +in her mind that he really must have noticed her in the +Reading-room. This was the first time she had seen him since +their parting at Finden. Had he any reason for avoiding her? Did +he take it ill that her father had shown no desire to keep up his +acquaintance? + +She allowed the interval between them to become greater. In a +minute or two Milvain turned up Charlotte Street, and so she lost +sight of him. + +In Tottenham Court Road she waited for an omnibus that would take +her to the remoter part of Camden Town; obtaining a corner seat, +she drew as far back as possible, and paid no attention to her +fellow-passengers. At a point in Camden Road she at length +alighted, and after ten minutes' walk reached her destination in +a quiet by-way called St Paul's Crescent, consisting of small, +decent houses. That at which she paused had an exterior promising +comfort within; the windows were clean and neatly curtained, and +the polishable appurtenances of the door gleamed to perfection. +She admitted herself with a latch-key, and went straight upstairs +without encountering anyone. + +Descending again in a few moments, she entered the front room on +the ground-floor. This served both as parlour and dining-room; it +was comfortably furnished, without much attempt at adornment. On +the walls were a few autotypes and old engravings. A recess +between fireplace and window was fitted with shelves, which +supported hundreds of volumes, the overflow of Yule's library. +The table was laid for a meal. It best suited the convenience of +the family to dine at five o'clock; a long evening, so necessary +to most literary people, was thus assured. Marian, as always when +she had spent a day at the Museum, was faint with weariness and +hunger; she cut a small piece of bread from a loaf on the table, +and sat down in an easy chair. + +Presently appeared a short, slight woman of middle age, plainly +dressed in serviceable grey. Her face could never have been very +comely, and it expressed but moderate intelligence; its lines, +however, were those of gentleness and good feeling. She had the +look of one who is making a painful effort to understand +something; this was fixed upon her features, and probably +resulted from the peculiar conditions of her life. + +'Rather early, aren't you, Marian?' she said, as she closed the +door and came forward to take a seat. + +'Yes; I have a little headache.' + +'Oh, dear! Is that beginning again?' + +Mrs Yule's speech was seldom ungrammatical, and her intonation +was not flagrantly vulgar, but the accent of the London poor, +which brands as with hereditary baseness, still clung to her +words, rendering futile such propriety of phrase as she owed to +years of association with educated people. In the same degree did +her bearing fall short of that which distinguishes a lady. The +London work-girl is rarely capable of raising herself or being +raised, to a place in life above that to which she was born; she +cannot learn how to stand and sit and move like a woman bred to +refinement, any more than she can fashion her tongue to graceful +speech. Mrs Yule's behaviour to Marian was marked with a singular +diffidence; she looked and spoke affectionately, but not with a +mother's freedom; one might have taken her for a trusted servant +waiting upon her mistress. Whenever opportunity offered, she +watched the girl in a curiously furtive way, that puzzled look on +her face becoming very noticeable. Her consciousness was never +able to accept as a familiar and unimportant fact the vast +difference between herself and her daughter. Marian's superiority +in native powers, in delicacy of feeling, in the results of +education, could never be lost sight of. Under ordinary +circumstances she addressed the girl as if tentatively; however +sure of anything from her own point of view, she knew that +Marian, as often as not, had quite a different criterion. She +understood that the girl frequently expressed an opinion by mere +reticence, and hence the carefulness with which, when conversing, +she tried to discover the real effect of her words in Marian's +features. + +'Hungry, too,' she said, seeing the crust Marian was nibbling. +'You really must have more lunch, dear. It isn't right to go so +long; you'll make yourself ill.' + +'Have you been out?' Marian asked. + +'Yes; I went to Holloway.' + +Mrs Yule sighed and looked very unhappy. By 'going to Holloway' +was always meant a visit to her own relatives--a married sister +with three children, and a brother who inhabited the same house. +To her husband she scarcely ever ventured to speak of these +persons; Yule had no intercourse with them. But Marian was always +willing to listen sympathetically, and her mother often exhibited +a touching gratitude for this condescension--as she deemed it. + +'Are things no better?' the girl inquired. + +'Worse, as far as I can see. John has begun his drinking again, +and him and Tom quarrel every night; there's no peace in the +'ouse.' + +If ever Mrs Yule lapsed into gross errors of pronunciation or +phrase, it was when she spoke of her kinsfolk. The subject seemed +to throw her back into a former condition. + +'He ought to go and live by himself' said Marian, referring to +her mother's brother, the thirsty John. + +'So he ought, to be sure. I'm always telling them so. But there! +you don't seem to be able to persuade them, they're that silly +and obstinate. And Susan, she only gets angry with me, and tells +me not to talk in a stuck-up way. I'm sure I never say a word +that could offend her; I'm too careful for that. And there's +Annie; no doing anything with her! She's about the streets at all +hours, and what'll be the end of it no one can say. They're +getting that ragged, all of them. It isn't Susan's fault; indeed +it isn't. She does all that woman can. But Tom hasn't brought +home ten shillings the last month, and it seems to me as if he +was getting careless. I gave her half-a-crown; it was all I could +do. And the worst of it is, they think I could do so much more if +I liked. They're always hinting that we are rich people, and it's +no good my trying to persuade them. They think I'm telling +falsehoods, and it's very hard to be looked at in that way; it +is, indeed, Marian.' + +'You can't help it, mother. I suppose their suffering makes them +unkind and unjust.' + +'That's just what it does, my dear; you never said anything +truer. Poverty will make the best people bad, if it gets hard +enough. Why there's so much of it in the world, I'm sure I can't +see.' + +'I suppose father will be back soon?' + +'He said dinner-time.' + +'Mr Quarmby has been telling me something which is wonderfully +good news if it's really true; but I can't help feeling doubtful. + +He says that father may perhaps be made editor of The Study at +the end of this year.' + +Mrs Yule, of course, understood, in outline, these affairs of the +literary world; she thought of them only from the pecuniary point +of view, but that made no essential distinction between her and +the mass of literary people. + +'My word!' she exclaimed. 'What a thing that would be for us!' + +Marian had begun to explain her reluctance to base any hopes on +Mr Quarmby's prediction, when the sound of a postman's knock at +the house-door caused her mother to disappear for a moment. + +'It's for you,' said Mrs Yule, returning. 'From the country.' + +Marian took the letter and examined its address with interest. + +'It must be one of the Miss Milvains. Yes; Dora Milvain.' + +After Jasper's departure from Finden his sisters had seen Marian +several times, and the mutual liking between her and them had +been confirmed by opportunity of conversation. The promise of +correspondence had hitherto waited for fulfilment. It seemed +natural to Marian that the younger of the two girls should write; +Maud was attractive and agreeable, and probably clever, but Dora +had more spontaneity in friendship. + +'It will amuse you to hear,' wrote Dora, 'that the literary +project our brother mentioned in a letter whilst you were still +here is really to come to something. He has sent us a specimen +chapter, written by himself of the "Child's History of +Parliament," and Maud thinks she could carry it on in that style, +if there's no hurry. She and I have both set to work on English +histories, and we shall be authorities before long. Jolly and +Monk offer thirty pounds for the little book, if it suits them +when finished, with certain possible profits in the future. Trust +Jasper for making a bargain! So perhaps our literary career will +be something more than a joke, after all. I hope it may; anything +rather than a life of teaching. We shall be so glad to hear from +you, if you still care to trouble about country girls.' + +And so on. Marian read with a pleased smile, then acquainted her +mother with the contents. + +'I am very glad,' said Mrs Yule; 'it's so seldom you get a +letter.' + +'Yes.' + +Marian seemed desirous of saying something more, and her mother +had a thoughtful look, suggestive of sympathetic curiosity. + +'Is their brother likely to call here?' Mrs Yule asked, with +misgiving. + +'No one has invited him to,' was the girl's quiet reply. + +'He wouldn't come without that?' + +'It's not likely that he even knows the address.' + +'Your father won't be seeing him, I suppose?' + +'By chance, perhaps. I don't know.' + +It was very rare indeed for these two to touch upon any subject +save those of everyday interest. In spite of the affection +between them, their exchange of confidence did not go very far; +Mrs Yule, who had never exercised maternal authority since +Marian's earliest childhood, claimed no maternal privileges, and +Marian's natural reserve had been strengthened by her mother's +respectful aloofness. The English fault of domestic reticence +could scarcely go further than it did in their case; its +exaggeration is, of course, one of the characteristics of those +unhappy families severed by differences of education between the +old and young. + +'I think,' said Marian, in a forced tone, 'that father hasn't +much liking for Mr Milvain.' + +She wished to know if her mother had heard any private remarks on +this subject, but she could not bring herself to ask directly. + +'I'm sure I don't know,' replied Mrs Yule, smoothing her dress. +'He hasn't said anything to me, Marian.' + +An awkward silence. The mother had fixed her eyes on the +mantelpiece, and was thinking hard. + +'Otherwise,' said Marian, 'he would have said something, I should +think, about meeting in London.' + +'But is there anything in--this gentleman that he wouldn't like?' + +'I don't know of anything.' + +Impossible to pursue the dialogue; Marian moved uneasily, then +rose, said something about putting the letter away, and left the +room. + +Shortly after, Alfred Yule entered the house. It was no uncommon +thing for him to come home in a mood of silent moroseness, and +this evening the first glimpse of his face was sufficient +warning. He entered the dining-room and stood on the hearthrug +reading an evening paper. His wife made a pretence of +straightening things upon the table. + +'Well?' he exclaimed irritably. 'It's after five; why isn't +dinner served?' + +'It's just coming, Alfred.' + +Even the average man of a certain age is an alarming creature +when dinner delays itself; the literary man in such a moment goes +beyond all parallel. If there be added the fact that he has just +returned from a very unsatisfactory interview with a publisher, +wife and daughter may indeed regard the situation as appalling. +Marian came in, and at once observed her mother's frightened +face. + +'Father,' she said, hoping to make a diversion, 'Mr Hinks has +sent you his new book, and wishes--' + +'Then take Mr Hinks's new book back to him, and tell him that I +have quite enough to do without reading tedious trash. He needn't +expect that I'm going to write a notice of it. The simpleton +pesters me beyond endurance. I wish to know, if you please,' he +added with savage calm, 'when dinner will be ready. If there's +time to write a few letters, just tell me at once, that I mayn't +waste half an hour.' + +Marian resented this unreasonable anger, but she durst not reply. + +At that moment the servant appeared with a smoking joint, and Mrs +Yule followed carrying dishes of vegetables. The man of letters +seated himself and carved angrily. He began his meal by drinking +half a glass of ale; then he ate a few mouthfuls in a quick, +hungry way, his head bent closely over the plate. It happened +commonly enough that dinner passed without a word of +conversation, and that seemed likely to be the case this evening. + +To his wife Yule seldom addressed anything but a curt inquiry or +caustic comment; if he spoke humanly at table it was to Marian. + +Ten minutes passed; then Marian resolved to try any means of +clearing the atmosphere. + +'Mr Quarmby gave me a message for you,' she said. 'A friend of +his, Nathaniel Walker, has told him that Mr Rackett will very +likely offer you the editorship of The Study.' + +Yule stopped in the act of mastication. He fixed his eyes +intently on the sirloin for half a minute; then, by way of the +beer-jug and the salt-cellar, turned them upon Marian's face. + +'Walker told him that? Pooh!' + +'It was a great secret. I wasn't to breathe a word to any one but +you.' + +'Walker's a fool and Quarmby's an ass,' remarked her father. + +But there was a tremulousness in his bushy eyebrows; his forehead +half unwreathed itself; he continued to eat more slowly, and as +if with appreciation of the viands. + +'What did he say? Repeat it to me in his words.' + +Marian did so, as nearly as possible. He listened with a scoffing +expression, but still his features relaxed. + +'I don't credit Rackett with enough good sense for such a +proposal,' he said deliberately. 'And I'm not very sure that I +should accept it if it were made. That fellow Fadge has all but +ruined the paper. It will amuse me to see how long it takes him +to make Culpepper's new magazine a distinct failure.' + +A silence of five minutes ensued; then Yule said of a sudden. + +'Where is Hinks's book?' + +Marian reached it from a side table; under this roof, literature +was regarded almost as a necessary part of table garnishing. + +'I thought it would be bigger than this,' Yule muttered, as he +opened the volume in a way peculiar to bookish men. + +A page was turned down, as if to draw attention to some passage. +Yule put on his eyeglasses, and soon made a discovery which had +the effect of completing the transformation of his visage. His +eyes glinted, his chin worked in pleasurable emotion. In a moment +he handed the book to Marian, indicating the small type of a +foot-note; it embodied an effusive eulogy--introduced a propos of +some literary discussion--of 'Mr Alfred Yule's critical acumen, +scholarly research, lucid style,' and sundry other distinguished +merits. + +'That is kind of him,' said Marian. + +'Good old Hinks! I suppose I must try to get him half-a-dozen +readers.' + +'May I see?' asked Mrs Yule, under her breath, bending to Marian. + +Her daughter passed on the volume, and Mrs Yule read the footnote +with that look of slow apprehension which is so pathetic when it +signifies the heart's good-will thwarted by the mind's defect. + +'That'll be good for you, Alfred, won't it?' she said, glancing +at her husband. + +'Certainly,' he replied, with a smile of contemptuous irony. 'If +Hinks goes on, he'll establish my reputation.' + +And he took a draught of ale, like one who is reinvigorated for +the battle of life. Marian, regarding him askance, mused on what +seemed to her a strange anomaly in his character; it had often +surprised her that a man of his temperament and powers should be +so dependent upon the praise and blame of people whom he justly +deemed his inferiors. + +Yule was glancing over the pages of the work. + +'A pity the man can't write English.' What a vocabulary! +Obstruent--reliable--particularization--fabulosity--different +to--averse to--did one ever come across such a mixture of antique +pedantry and modern vulgarism! Surely he has his name from the +German hinken--eh, Marian?' + +With a laugh he tossed the book away again. His mood was wholly +changed. He gave various evidences of enjoying the meal, and +began to talk freely with his daughter. + +'Finished the authoresses?' + +'Not quite.' + +'No hurry. When you have time I want you to read Ditchley's new +book, and jot down a selection of his worst sentences. I'll use +them for an article on contemporary style; it occurred to me this +afternoon.' + +He smiled grimly. Mrs Yule's face exhibited much contentment, +which became radiant joy when her husband remarked casually that +the custard was very well made to-day. Dinner over, he rose +without ceremony and went off to his study. + +The man had suffered much and toiled stupendously. It was not +inexplicable that dyspepsia, and many another ill that literary +flesh is heir to, racked him sore. + +Go back to the days when he was an assistant at a bookseller's in +Holborn. Already ambition devoured him, and the genuine love of +knowledge goaded his brain. He allowed himself but three or four +hours of sleep; he wrought doggedly at languages, ancient and +modern; he tried his hand at metrical translations; he planned +tragedies. Practically he was living in a past age; his literary +ideals were formed on the study of Boswell. + +The head assistant in the shop went away to pursue a business +which had come into his hands on the death of a relative; it was +a small publishing concern, housed in an alley off the Strand, +and Mr Polo (a singular name, to become well known in the course +of time) had his ideas about its possible extension. Among other +instances of activity he started a penny weekly paper, called All +Sorts, and in the pages of this periodical Alfred Yule first +appeared as an author. Before long he became sub-editor of All +Sorts, then actual director of the paper. He said good-bye to the +bookseller, and his literary career fairly began. + +Mr Polo used to say that he never knew a man who could work so +many consecutive hours as Alfred Yule. A faithful account of all +that the young man learnt and wrote from 1855 to 1860--that is, +from his twenty-fifth to his thirtieth year--would have the look +of burlesque exaggeration. He had set it before him to become a +celebrated man, and he was not unaware that the attainment of +that end would cost him quite exceptional labour, seeing that +nature had not favoured him with brilliant parts. No matter; his +name should be spoken among men unless he killed himself in the +struggle for success. + +In the meantime he married. Living in a garret, and supplying +himself with the materials of his scanty meals, he was in the +habit of making purchases at a little chandler's shop, where he +was waited upon by a young girl of no beauty, but, as it seemed +to him, of amiable disposition. One holiday he met this girl as +she was walking with a younger sister in the streets; he made her +nearer acquaintance, and before long she consented to be his wife +and share his garret. His brothers, John and Edmund, cried out +that he had made an unpardonable fool of himself in marrying so +much beneath him; that he might well have waited until his income +improved. This was all very well, but they might just as +reasonably have bidden him reject plain food because a few years +hence he would be able to purchase luxuries; he could not do +without nourishment of some sort, and the time had come when he +could not do without a wife. Many a man with brains but no money +has been compelled to the same step. Educated girls have a +pronounced distaste for London garrets; not one in fifty thousand +would share poverty with the brightest genius ever born. Seeing +that marriage is so often indispensable to that very success +which would enable a man of parts to mate equally, there is +nothing for it but to look below one's own level, and be grateful +to the untaught woman who has pity on one's loneliness. + +Unfortunately, Alfred Yule was not so grateful as he might have +been. His marriage proved far from unsuccessful; he might have +found himself united to a vulgar shrew, whereas the girl had the +great virtues of humility and kindliness. She endeavoured to +learn of him, but her dulness and his impatience made this +attempt a failure; her human qualities had to suffice. And they +did, until Yule began to lift his head above the literary mob. +Previously, he often lost his temper with her, but never +expressed or felt repentance of his marriage; now he began to see +only the disadvantages of his position, and, forgetting the facts +of the case, to imagine that he might well have waited for a wife +who could share his intellectual existence. Mrs Yule had to pass +through a few years of much bitterness. Already a martyr to +dyspepsia, and often suffering from bilious headaches of extreme +violence, her husband now and then lost all control of his +temper, all sense of kind feeling, even of decency, and +reproached the poor woman with her ignorance, her stupidity, her +low origin. Naturally enough she defended herself with such +weapons as a sense of cruel injustice supplied. More than once +the two all but parted. It did not come to an actual rupture, +chiefly because Yule could not do without his wife; her tendance +had become indispensable. And then there was the child to +consider. + +From the first it was Yule's dread lest Marian should be infected +with her mother's faults of speech and behaviour. He would +scarcely permit his wife to talk to the child. At the earliest +possible moment Marian was sent to a day-school, and in her tenth +year she went as weekly boarder to an establishment at Fulham; +any sacrifice of money to insure her growing up with the tongue +and manners of a lady. It can scarcely have been a light trial to +the mother to know that contact with her was regarded as her +child's greatest danger; but in her humility and her love for +Marian she offered no resistance. And so it came to pass that one +day the little girl, hearing her mother make some flagrant +grammatical error, turned to the other parent and asked gravely: +'Why doesn't mother speak as properly as we do?' Well, that is +one of the results of such marriages, one of the myriad miseries +that result from poverty. + +The end was gained at all hazards. Marian grew up everything that +her father desired. Not only had she the bearing of refinement, +but it early became obvious that nature had well endowed her +with brains. From the nursery her talk was of books, and at the +age of twelve she was already able to give her father some +assistance as an amanuensis. + +At that time Edmund Yule was still living; he had overcome his +prejudices, and there was intercourse between his household and +that of the literary man. Intimacy it could not be called, for +Mrs Edmund (who was the daughter of a law-stationer) had much +difficulty in behaving to Mrs Alfred with show of suavity. Still, +the cousins Amy and Marian from time to time saw each other, and +were not unsuitable companions. It was the death of Amy's father +that brought these relations to an end; left to the control of +her own affairs Mrs Edmund was not long in giving offence to Mrs +Alfred, and so to Alfred himself. The man of letters might be +inconsiderate enough in his behaviour to his wife, but as soon as +anyone else treated her with disrespect that was quite another +matter. Purely on this account he quarrelled violently with his +brother's widow, and from that day the two families kept apart. + +The chapter of quarrels was one of no small importance in +Alfred's life; his difficult temper, and an ever-increasing sense +of neglected merit, frequently put him at war with publishers, +editors, fellow-authors, and he had an unhappy trick of exciting +the hostility of men who were most likely to be useful to him. +With Mr Polo, for instance, who held him in esteem, and whose +commercial success made him a valuable connection, Alfred +ultimately broke on a trifling matter of personal dignity. Later +came the great quarrel with Clement Fadge, an affair of +considerable advantage in the way of advertisement to both the +men concerned. It happened in the year 1873. At that time Yule +was editor of a weekly paper called The Balance, a literary organ +which aimed high, and failed to hit the circulation essential to +its existence. Fadge, a younger man, did reviewing for The +Balance; he was in needy circumstances, and had wrought himself +into Yule's good opinion by judicious flattery. But with a clear +eye for the main chance Mr Fadge soon perceived that Yule could +only be of temporary use to him, and that the editor of a well- +established weekly which lost no opportunity of throwing scorn +upon Yule and all his works would be a much more profitable +conquest. He succeeded in transferring his services to the more +flourishing paper, and struck out a special line of work by the +free exercise of a malicious flippancy which was then without +rival in the periodical press. When he had thoroughly got his +hand in, it fell to Mr Fadge, in the mere way of business, to +review a volume of his old editor's, a rather pretentious and +longwinded but far from worthless essay 'On Imagination as a +National Characteristic.' The notice was a masterpiece; its +exquisite virulence set the literary circles chuckling. +Concerning the authorship there was no mystery, and Alfred Yule +had the indiscretion to make a violent reply, a savage assault +upon Fadge, in the columns of The Balance. Fadge desired nothing +better; the uproar which arose--chaff, fury, grave comments, +sneering spite--could only result in drawing universal attention +to his anonymous cleverness, and throwing ridicule upon the +heavy, conscientious man. Well, you probably remember all about +it. It ended in the disappearance of Yule's struggling paper, and +the establishment on a firm basis of Fadge's reputation. + +It would be difficult to mention any department of literary +endeavour in which Yule did not, at one time or another, try his +fortune. Turn to his name in the Museum Catalogue; the list of +works appended to it will amuse you. In his thirtieth year he +published a novel; it failed completely, and the same result +awaited a similar experiment five years later. He wrote a drama +of modern life, and for some years strove to get it acted, but in +vain; finally it appeared 'for the closet'--giving Clement Fadge +such an opportunity as he seldom enjoyed. The one noteworthy +thing about these productions, and about others of equally +mistaken direction, was the sincerity of their workmanship. Had +Yule been content to manufacture a novel or a play with due +disregard for literary honour, he might perchance have made a +mercantile success; but the poor fellow had not pliancy enough +for this. He took his efforts au grand serieux; thought he was +producing works of art; pursued his ambition in a spirit of +fierce conscientiousness. In spite of all, he remained only a +journeyman. The kind of work he did best was poorly paid, and +could bring no fame. At the age of fifty he was still living in a +poor house in an obscure quarter. He earned enough for his actual +needs, and was under no pressing fear for the morrow, so long as +his faculties remained unimpaired; but there was no disguising +from himself that his life had been a failure. And the thought +tormented him. + +Now there had come unexpectedly a gleam of hope. If indeed, the +man Rackett thought of offering him the editorship of The Study +he might even yet taste the triumphs for which he had so +vehemently longed. The Study was a weekly paper of fair repute. +Fadge had harmed it, no doubt of that, by giving it a tone which +did not suit the majority of its readers--serious people, who +thought that the criticism of contemporary writing offered an +opportunity for something better than a display of malevolent +wit. But a return to the old earnestness would doubtless set all +right again. And the joy of sitting in that dictatorial chair! +The delight of having his own organ once more, of making himself +a power in the world of letters, of emphasising to a large +audience his developed methods of criticism! + +An embittered man is a man beset by evil temptations. The Study +contained each week certain columns of flying gossip, and when he +thought of this, Yule also thought of Clement Fadge, and sundry +other of his worst enemies. How the gossip column can be used for +hostile purposes, yet without the least overt offence, he had +learnt only too well. Sometimes the mere omission of a man's name +from a list of authors can mortify and injure. In our day the +manipulation of such paragraphs has become a fine art; but you +recall numerous illustrations. Alfred knew well enough how +incessantly the tempter would be at his ear; he said to himself +that in certain instances yielding would be no dishonour. He +himself had many a time been mercilessly treated; in the very +interest of the public it was good that certain men should suffer +a snubbing, and his fingers itched to have hold of the editorial +pen. Ha, ha! Like the war-horse he snuffed the battle afar off. + +No work this evening, though there were tasks which pressed for +completion. His study--the only room on the ground level except +the dining-room--was small, and even a good deal of the floor was +encumbered with books, but he found space for walking nervously +hither and thither. He was doing this when, about half-past nine, +his wife appeared at the door, bringing him a cup of coffee and +some biscuits, his wonted supper. Marian generally waited upon +him at this time, and he asked why she had not come. + +'She has one of her headaches again, I'm sorry to say,' Mrs Yule +replied. 'I persuaded her to go to bed early.' + +Having placed the tray upon the table--books had to be pushed +aside--she did not seem disposed to withdraw. + +'Are you busy, Alfred?' + +'Why?' + +'I thought I should like just to speak of something.' + +She was using the opportunity of his good humour. Yule spoke to +her with the usual carelessness, but not forbiddingly. + +'What is it? Those Holloway people, I'll warrant.' + +'No, no! It's about Marian. She had a letter from one of those +young ladies this afternoon.' + +'What young ladies?' asked Yule, with impatience of this +circuitous approach. + +'The Miss Milvains.' + +'Well, there's no harm that I know of. They're decent people.' + +'Yes; so you told me. But she began to speak about their brother, +and--' + +'What about him? Do say what you want to say, and have done with +it!' + +'I can't help thinking, Alfred, that she's disappointed you +didn't ask him to come here.' + +Yule stared at her in slight surprise. He was still not angry, +and seemed quite willing to consider this matter suggested to him +so timorously. + +'Oh, you think so? Well, I don't know. Why should I have asked +him? It was only because Miss Harrow seemed to wish it that I saw +him down there. I have no particular interest in him. And as for- +-' + +He broke off and seated himself. Mrs Yule stood at a distance. + +'We must remember her age,' she said. + +'Why yes, of course.' + +He mused, and began to nibble a biscuit. + +'And you know, Alfred, she never does meet any young men. I've +often thought it wasn't right to her.' + +'H'm! But this lad Milvain is a very doubtful sort of customer. +To begin with, he has nothing, and they tell me his mother for +the most part supports him. I don't quite approve of that. She +isn't well off, and he ought to have been making a living by now. + +He has a kind of cleverness, may do something; but there's no +being sure of that.' + +These thoughts were not coming into his mind for the first time. +On the occasion when he met Milvain and Marian together in the +country road he had necessarily reflected upon the possibilities +of such intercourse, and with the issue that he did not care to +give any particular encouragement to its continuance. He of +course heard of Milvain's leave-taking call, and he purposely +refrained from seeing the young man after that. The matter took +no very clear shape in his meditations; he saw no likelihood that +either of the young people would think much of the other after +their parting, and time enough to trouble one's head with such +subjects when they could no longer be postponed. It would not +have been pleasant to him to foresee a life of spinsterhood for +his daughter; but she was young, and--she was a valuable +assistant. + +How far did that latter consideration weigh with him? He put the +question pretty distinctly to himself now that his wife had +broached the matter thus unexpectedly. Was he prepared to behave +with deliberate selfishness? Never yet had any conflict been +manifested between his interests and Marian's; practically he was +in the habit of counting upon her aid for an indefinite period. + +If indeed he became editor of The Study, why, in that case her +assistance would be less needful. And indeed it seemed probable +that young Milvain had a future before him. + +'But, in any case,' he said aloud, partly continuing his +thoughts, partly replying to a look of disappointment on his +wife's face, 'how do you know that he has any wish to come and +see Marian?' + +'I don't know anything about it, of course.' + +'And you may have made a mistake about her. What made you think +she--had him in mind?' + +'Well, it was her way of speaking, you know. And then, she asked +if you had got a dislike to him.' + +'She did? H'm! Well, I don't think Milvain is any good to Marian. +He's just the kind of man to make himself agreeable to a girl for +the fun of the thing.' + +Mrs Yule looked alarmed. + +'Oh, if you really think that, don't let him come. I wouldn't for +anything.' + +'I don't say it for certain.' He took a sip of his coffee. 'I +have had no opportunity of observing him with much attention. But +he's not the kind of man I care for.' + +'Then no doubt it's better as it is.' + +'Yes. I don't see that anything could be done now. We shall see +whether he gets on. I advise you not to mention him to her.' + +'Oh no, I won't.' + +She moved as if to go away, but her heart had been made uneasy by +that short conversation which followed on Marian's reading the +letter, and there were still things she wished to put into words. + +'If those young ladies go on writing to her, I dare say they'll +often speak about their brother.' + +'Yes, it's rather unfortunate.' + +'And you know, Alfred, he may have asked them to do it.' + +'I suppose there's one subject on which all women can be subtle,' +muttered Yule, smiling. The remark was not a kind one, but he did +not make it worse by his tone. + +The listener failed to understand him, and looked with her +familiar expression of mental effort. + +'We can't help that,' he added, with reference to her suggestion. +'If he has any serious thoughts, well, let him go on and wait for +opportunities.' + +'It's a great pity, isn't it, that she can't see more people--of +the right kind?' + +'No use talking about it. Things are as they are. I can't see +that her life is unhappy.' + +'It isn't very happy.' + +'You think not?' + +'I'm sure it isn't.' + +'If I get The Study things may be different. Though-- But it's no +use talking about what can't be helped. Now don't you go +encouraging her to think herself lonely, and so on. It's best for +her to keep close to work, I'm sure of that.' + +'Perhaps it is.' + +'I'll think it over.' + +Mrs Yule silently left the room, and went back to her sewing. + +She had understood that 'Though--' and the 'what can't be +helped.' Such allusions reminded her of a time unhappier than the +present, when she had been wont to hear plainer language. She +knew too well that, had she been a woman of education, her +daughter would not now be suffering from loneliness. + +It was her own choice that she did not go with her husband and +Marian to John Yule's. She made an excuse that the house could +not be left to one servant; but in any case she would have +remained at home, for her presence must needs be an embarrassment +both to father and daughter. Alfred was always ashamed of her +before strangers; he could not conceal his feeling, either from +her or from other people who had reason for observing him. Marian +was not perhaps ashamed, but such companionship put restraint +upon her freedom. And would it not always be the same? Supposing +Mr Milvain were to come to this house, would it not repel him +when he found what sort of person Marian's mother was? + +She shed a few tears over her needlework. + +At midnight the study door opened. Yule came to the dining-room +to see that all was right, and it surprised him to find his wife +still sitting there. + +'Why are you so late?' + +'I've forgot the time.' + +'Forgotten, forgotten. Don't go back to that kind of language +again. Come, put the light out.' + + + +PART TWO + +CHAPTER VIII. TO THE WINNING SIDE + +Of the acquaintances Yule had retained from his earlier years +several were in the well-defined category of men with +unpresentable wives. There was Hinks, for instance, whom, though +in anger he spoke of him as a bore, Alfred held in some genuine +regard. Hinks made perhaps a hundred a year out of a kind of +writing which only certain publishers can get rid of and of this +income he spent about a third on books. His wife was the daughter +of a laundress, in whose house he had lodged thirty years ago, +when new to London but already long-acquainted with hunger; they +lived in complete harmony, but Mrs Hinks, who was four years the +elder, still spoke the laundress tongue, unmitigated and +immitigable. Another pair were Mr and Mrs Gorbutt. In this case +there were no narrow circumstances to contend with, for the wife, +originally a nursemaid, not long after her marriage inherited +house property from a relative. Mr Gorbutt deemed himself a poet; +since his accession to an income he had published, at his own +expense, a yearly volume of verses; the only result being to keep +alive rancour in his wife, who was both parsimonious and vain. +Making no secret of it, Mrs Gorbutt rued the day on which she had +wedded a man of letters, when by waiting so short a time she +would have been enabled to aim at a prosperous tradesman, who +kept his gig and had everything handsome about him. Mrs Yule +suspected, not without reason, that this lady had an inclination +to strong liquors. Thirdly came Mr and Mrs Christopherson, who +were poor as church mice. Even in a friend's house they wrangled +incessantly, and made tragi-comical revelations of their home +life. The husband worked casually at irresponsible journalism, +but his chosen study was metaphysics; for many years he had had a +huge and profound book on hand, which he believed would bring him +fame, though he was not so unsettled in mind as to hope for +anything else. When an article or two had earned enough money for +immediate necessities he went off to the British Museum, and then +the difficulty was to recall him to profitable exertions. Yet +husband and wife had an affection for each other. Mrs +Christopherson came from Camberwell, where her father, once upon +a time, was the smallest of small butchers. Disagreeable stories +were whispered concerning her earlier life, and probably the +metaphysician did not care to look back in that direction. They +had had three children; all were happily buried. + +These men were capable of better things than they had done or +would ever do; in each case their failure to fulfil youthful +promise was largely explained by the unpresentable wife. They +should have waited; they might have married a social equal at +something between fifty and sixty. + +Another old friend was Mr Quarmby. Unwedded he, and perpetually +exultant over men who, as he phrased it, had noosed themselves. +He made a fair living, but, like Dr Johnson, had no passion for +clean linen. + +Yule was not disdainful of these old companions, and the fact +that all had a habit of looking up to him increased his pleasure +in their occasional society. If, as happened once or twice in +half a year, several of them were gathered together at his house, +he tasted a sham kind of social and intellectual authority which +he could not help relishing. On such occasions he threw off his +habitual gloom and talked vigorously, making natural display of +his learning and critical ability. The topic, sooner or later, +was that which is inevitable in such a circle--the demerits, the +pretentiousness, the personal weaknesses of prominent +contemporaries in the world of letters. Then did the room ring +with scornful laughter, with boisterous satire, with shouted +irony, with fierce invective. After an evening of that kind Yule +was unwell and miserable for several days. + +It was not to be expected that Mr Quarmby, inveterate chatterbox +of the Reading-room and other resorts, should keep silence +concerning what he had heard of Mr Rackett's intentions. The +rumour soon spread that Alfred Yule was to succeed Fadge in the +direction of The Study, with the necessary consequence that Yule +found himself an object of affectionate interest to a great many +people of whom he knew little or nothing. At the same time the +genuine old friends pressed warmly about him, with +congratulations, with hints of their sincere readiness to assist +in filling the columns of the paper. All this was not +disagreeable, but in the meantime Yule had heard nothing whatever +from Mr Rackett himself and his doubts did not diminish as week +after week went by. + +The event justified him. At the end of October appeared an +authoritative announcement that Fadge's successor would be--not +Alfred Yule, but a gentleman who till of late had been quietly +working as a sub-editor in the provinces, and who had neither +friendships nor enmities among the people of the London literary +press. A young man, comparatively fresh from the university, and +said to be strong in pure scholarship. The choice, as you are +aware, proved a good one, and The Study became an organ of more +repute than ever. + +Yule had been secretly conscious that it was not to men such as +he that positions of this kind are nowadays entrusted. He tried +to persuade himself that he was not disappointed. But when Mr +Quarmby approached him with blank face, he spoke certain wrathful +words which long rankled in that worthy's mind. At home he kept +sullen silence. + +No, not to such men as he--poor, and without social +recommendations. Besides, he was growing too old. In literature, +as in most other pursuits, the press of energetic young men was +making it very hard for a veteran even to hold the little +grazing-plot he had won by hard fighting. Still, Quarmby's story +had not been without foundation; it was true that the proprietor +of The Study had for a moment thought of Alfred Yule, doubtless +as the natural contrast to Clement Fadge, whom he would have +liked to mortify if the thing were possible. But counsellors had +proved to Mr Rackett the disadvantages of such a choice. + +Mrs Yule and her daughter foresaw but too well the results of +this disappointment, notwithstanding that Alfred announced it to +them with dry indifference. The month that followed was a time of +misery for all in the house. Day after day Yule sat at his meals +in sullen muteness; to his wife he scarcely spoke at all, and his +conversation with Marian did not go beyond necessary questions +and remarks on topics of business. His face became so strange a +colour that one would have thought him suffering from an attack +of jaundice; bilious headaches exasperated his savage mood. Mrs +Yule knew from long experience how worse than useless it was for +her to attempt consolation; in silence was her only safety. Nor +did Marian venture to speak directly of what had happened. But +one evening, when she had been engaged in the study and was now +saying 'Good-night,' she laid her cheek against her father's, an +unwonted caress which had a strange effect upon him. The +expression of sympathy caused his thoughts to reveal themselves +as they never yet had done before his daughter. + +'It might have been very different with me,' he exclaimed +abruptly, as if they had already been conversing on the subject. +'When you think of my failures--and you must often do so now you +are grown up and understand things--don't forget the obstacles +that have been in my way. I don't like you to look upon your +father as a thickhead who couldn't be expected to succeed. Look +at Fadge. He married a woman of good social position; she brought +him friends and influence. But for that he would never have been +editor of The Study, a place for which he wasn't in the least +fit. But he was able to give dinners; he and his wife went into +society; everybody knew him and talked of him. How has it been +with me? I live here like an animal in its hole, and go blinking +about if by chance I find myself among the people with whom I +ought naturally to associate. If I had been able to come in +direct contact with Rackett and other men of that kind, to dine +with them, and have them to dine with me, to belong to a club, +and so on, I shouldn't be what I am at my age. My one +opportunity--when I edited The Balance--wasn't worth much; there +was no money behind the paper; we couldn't hold out long enough. +But even then, if I could have assumed my proper social standing, +if I could have opened my house freely to the right kind of +people-- How was it possible?' + +Marian could not raise her head. She recognised the portion of +truth in what he said, but it shocked her that he should allow +himself to speak thus. Her silence seemed to remind him how +painful it must be to her to hear these accusations of her +mother, and with a sudden 'Good-night' he dismissed her. + +She went up to her room, and wept over the wretchedness of all +their lives. Her loneliness had seemed harder to bear than ever +since that last holiday. For a moment, in the lanes about Finden, +there had come to her a vision of joy such as fate owed her +youth; but it had faded, and she could no longer hope for its +return. She was not a woman, but a mere machine for reading and +writing. Did her father never think of this? He was not the only +one to suffer from the circumstances in which poverty had +involved him. + +She had no friends to whom she could utter her thoughts. Dora +Milvain had written a second time, and more recently had come a +letter from Maud; but in replying to them she could not give a +true account of herself. Impossible, to them. From what she wrote +they would imagine her contentedly busy, absorbed in the affairs +of literature. To no one could she make known the aching sadness +of her heart, the dreariness of life as it lay before her. + +That beginning of half-confidence between her and her mother had +led to nothing. Mrs Yule found no second opportunity of speaking +to her husband about Jasper Milvain, and purposely she refrained +from any further hint or question to Marian. Everything must go +on as hitherto. + +The days darkened. Through November rains and fogs Marian went +her usual way to the Museum, and toiled there among the other +toilers. Perhaps once a week she allowed herself to stray about +the alleys of the Reading-room, scanning furtively those who sat +at the desks, but the face she might perchance have discovered +was not there. + +One day at the end of the month she sat with books open before +her, but by no effort could fix her attention upon them. It was +gloomy, and one could scarcely see to read; a taste of fog grew +perceptible in the warm, headachy air. Such profound +discouragement possessed her that she could not even maintain the +pretence of study; heedless whether anyone observed her, she let +her hands fall and her head droop. She kept asking herself what +was the use and purpose of such a life as she was condemned to +lead. When already there was more good literature in the world +than any mortal could cope with in his lifetime, here was she +exhausting herself in the manufacture of printed stuff which no +one even pretended to be more than a commodity for the day's +market. What unspeakable folly! To write--was not that the joy +and the privilege of one who had an urgent message for the world? + +Her father, she knew well, had no such message; he had abandoned +all thought of original production, and only wrote about writing. + +She herself would throw away her pen with joy but for the need of +earning money. And all these people about her, what aim had they +save to make new books out of those already existing, that yet +newer books might in turn be made out of theirs? This huge +library, growing into unwieldiness, threatening to become a +trackless desert of print--how intolerably it weighed upon the +spirit! + +Oh, to go forth and labour with one's hands, to do any poorest, +commonest work of which the world had truly need! It was ignoble +to sit here and support the paltry pretence of intellectual +dignity. A few days ago her startled eye had caught an +advertisement in the newspaper, headed 'Literary Machine'; had it +then been invented at last, some automaton to supply the place of +such poor creatures as herself to turn out books and articles? +Alas! the machine was only one for holding volumes conveniently, +that the work of literary manufacture might be physically +lightened. But surely before long some Edison would make the true +automaton; the problem must be comparatively such a simple one. +Only to throw in a given number of old books, and have them +reduced, blended, modernised into a single one for to-day's +consumption. + +The fog grew thicker; she looked up at the windows beneath the +dome and saw that they were a dusky yellow. Then her eye +discerned an official walking along the upper gallery, and in +pursuance of her grotesque humour, her mocking misery, she +likened him to a black, lost soul, doomed to wander in an +eternity of vain research along endless shelves. Or again, the +readers who sat here at these radiating lines of desks, what were +they but hapless flies caught in a huge web, its nucleus the +great circle of the Catalogue? Darker, darker. From the towering +wall of volumes seemed to emanate visible motes, intensifying the +obscurity; in a moment the book-lined circumference of the room +would be but a featureless prison-limit. + +But then flashed forth the sputtering whiteness of the electric +light, and its ceaseless hum was henceforth a new source of +headache. It reminded her how little work she had done to-day; +she must, she must force herself to think of the task in hand. A +machine has no business to refuse its duty. But the pages were +blue and green and yellow before her eyes; the uncertainty of the +light was intolerable. Right or wrong she would go home, and hide +herself, and let her heart unburden itself of tears. + +On her way to return books she encountered Jasper Milvain. Face +to face; no possibility of his avoiding her. + +And indeed he seemed to have no such wish. His countenance +lighted up with unmistakable pleasure. + +'At last we meet, as they say in the melodramas. Oh, do let me +help you with those volumes, which won't even let you shake +hands. How do you do? How do you like this weather? And how do +you like this light?' + +'It's very bad.' + +'That'll do both for weather and light, but not for yourself. How +glad I am to see you! Are you just going?' + +'Yes.' + +'I have scarcely been here half-a-dozen times since I came back +to London.' + +'But you are writing still?' + +'Oh yes! But I draw upon my genius, and my stores of observation, +and the living world.' + +Marian received her vouchers for the volumes, and turned to face +Jasper again. There was a smile on her lips. + +'The fog is terrible,' Milvain went on. 'How do you get home?' + +'By omnibus from Tottenham Court Road.' + +'Then do let me go a part of the way with you. I live in +Mornington Road--up yonder, you know. I have only just come in to +waste half an hour, and after all I think I should be better at +home. Your father is all right, I hope?' + +'He is not quite well.' + +'I'm sorry to hear that. You are not exactly up to the mark, +either. What weather! What a place to live in, this London, in +winter! It would be a little better down at Finden.' + +'A good deal better, I should think. If the weather were bad, it +would be bad in a natural way; but this is artificial misery.' + +'I don't let it affect me much,' said Milvain. 'Just of late I +have been in remarkably good spirits. I'm doing a lot of work. No +end of work--more than I've ever done.' + +'I am very glad.' + +'Where are your out-of-door things? I think there's a ladies' +vestry somewhere, isn't there?' + +'Oh yes.' + +'Then will you go and get ready? I'll wait for you in the hall. +But, by-the-bye, I am taking it for granted that you were going +alone.' + +'I was, quite alone.' + +The 'quite' seemed excessive; it made Jasper smile. + +'And also,' he added, 'that I shall not annoy you by offering my +company?' + +'Why should it annoy me?' + +'Good!' + +Milvain had only to wait a minute or two. He surveyed Marian from +head to foot when she appeared--an impertinence as unintentional +as that occasionally noticeable in his speech--and smiled +approval. They went out into the fog, which was not one of +London's densest, but made walking disagreeable enough. + +'You have heard from the girls, I think?' Jasper resumed. + +'Your sisters? Yes; they have been so kind as to write to me.' + +'Told you all about their great work? I hope it'll be finished by +the end of the year. The bits they have sent me will do very well +indeed. I knew they had it in them to put sentences together. Now +I want them to think of patching up something or other for The +English Girl; you know the paper?' + +'I have heard of it.' + +'I happen to know Mrs Boston Wright, who edits it. Met her at a +house the other day, and told her frankly that she would have to +give my sisters something to do. It's the only way to get on; one +has to take it for granted that people are willing to help you. I +have made a host of new acquaintances just lately.' + +'I'm glad to hear it,' said Marian. + +'Do you know--but how should you? I am going to write for the new +magazine, The Current.' + +'Indeed!' + +'Edited by that man Fadge.' + +'Yes.' + +'Your father has no affection for him, I know.' + +'He has no reason to have, Mr Milvain.' + +'No, no. Fadge is an offensive fellow, when he likes; and I fancy +he very often does like. Well, I must make what use of him I can. + +You won't think worse of me because I write for him?' + +'I know that one can't exercise choice in such things.' + +'True. I shouldn't like to think that you regard me as a Fadge- +like individual, a natural Fadgeite.' + +Marian laughed. + +'There's no danger of my thinking that.' + +But the fog was making their eyes water and getting into their +throats. By when they reached Tottenham Court Road they were both +thoroughly uncomfortable. The 'bus had to be waited for, and in +the meantime they talked scrappily, coughily. In the vehicle +things were a little better, but here one could not converse with +freedom. + +'What pestilent conditions of life!' exclaimed Jasper, putting +his face rather near to Marian's. 'I wish to goodness we were +back in those quiet fields--you remember?--with the September sun +warm about us. Shall you go to Finden again before long?' + +'I really don't know.' + +'I'm sorry to say my mother is far from well. In any case I must +go at Christmas, but I'm afraid it won't be a cheerful visit.' + +Arrived in Hampstead Road he offered his hand for good-bye. + +'I wanted to talk about all sorts of things. But perhaps I shall +find you again some day.' + +He jumped out, and waved his hat in the lurid fog. + +Shortly before the end of December appeared the first number of +The Current. Yule had once or twice referred to the forthcoming +magazine with acrid contempt, and of course he did not purchase a +copy. + +'So young Milvain has joined Fadge's hopeful standard,' he +remarked, a day or two later, at breakfast. 'They say his paper +is remarkably clever; I could wish it had appeared anywhere else. + +Evil communications, &c.' + +'But I shouldn't think there's any personal connection,' said +Marian. + +'Very likely not. But Milvain has been invited to contribute, you +see. + +'Do you think he ought to have refused?' + +'Oh no. It's nothing to me; nothing whatever.' + +Mrs Yule glanced at her daughter, but Marian seemed unconcerned. +The subject was dismissed. In introducing it Yule had had his +purpose; there had always been an unnatural avoidance of +Milvain's name in conversation, and he wished to have an end of +this. Hitherto he had felt a troublesome uncertainty regarding +his position in the matter. From what his wife had told him it +seemed pretty certain that Marian was disappointed by the abrupt +closing of her brief acquaintance with the young man, and Yule's +affection for his daughter caused him to feel uneasy in the +thought that perhaps he had deprived her of a chance of +happiness. His conscience readily took hold of an excuse for +justifying the course he had followed. Milvain had gone over to +the enemy. Whether or not the young man understood how relentless +the hostility was between Yule and Fadge mattered little; the +probability was that he knew all about it. In any case intimate +relations with him could not have survived this alliance with +Fadge, so that, after all, there had been wisdom in letting the +acquaintance lapse. To be sure, nothing could have come of it. +Milvain was the kind of man who weighed opportunities; every step +he took would be regulated by considerations of advantage; at all +events that was the impression his character had made upon Yule. +Any hopes that Marian might have been induced to form would +assuredly have ended in disappointment. It was kindness to +interpose before things had gone so far. + +Henceforth, if Milvain's name was unavoidable, it should be +mentioned just like that of any other literary man. It seemed +very unlikely indeed that Marian would continue to think of him +with any special and personal interest. The fact of her having +got into correspondence with his sisters was unfortunate, but +this kind of thing rarely went on for very long. + +Yule spoke of the matter with his wife that evening. + +'By-the-bye, has Marian heard from those girls at Finden lately?' + +'She had a letter one afternoon last week.' + +'Do you see these letters?' + +'No; she told me what was in them at first, but now she doesn't.' + +'She hasn't spoken to you again of Milvain?' + +'Not a word.' + +'Well, I understood what I was about,' Yule remarked, with the +confident air of one who doesn't wish to remember that he had +ever felt doubtful. 'There was no good in having the fellow here. + +He has got in with a set that I don't at all care for. If she +ever says anything--you understand--you can just let me know.' + +Marian had already procured a copy of The Current, and read it +privately. Of the cleverness of Milvain's contribution there +could be no two opinions; it drew the attention of the public, +and all notices of the new magazine made special reference to +this article. With keen interest Marian sought after comments of +the press; when it was possible she cut them out and put them +carefully away. + +January passed, and February. She saw nothing of Jasper. A letter +from Dora in the first week of March made announcement that the +'Child's History of the English Parliament' would be published +very shortly; it told her, too, that Mrs Milvain had been very +ill indeed, but that she seemed to recover a little strength as +the weather improved. Of Jasper there was no mention. + +A week later came the news that Mrs Milvain had suddenly died. + +This letter was received at breakfast-time. The envelope was an +ordinary one, and so little did Marian anticipate the nature of +its contents that at the first sight of the words she uttered an +exclamation of pain. Her father, who had turned from the table to +the fireside with his newspaper, looked round and asked what was +the matter. + +'Mrs Milvain died the day before yesterday.' + +'Indeed!' + +He averted his face again and seemed disposed to say no more. But +in a few moments he inquired: + +'What are her daughters likely to do?' + +'I have no idea.' + +'Do you know anything of their circumstances?' + +'I believe they will have to depend upon themselves.' + +Nothing more was said. Afterwards Mrs Yule made a few sympathetic +inquiries, but Marian was very brief in her replies. + +Ten days after that, on a Sunday afternoon when Marian and her +mother were alone in the sitting-room, they heard the knock of a +visitor at the front door. Yule was out, and there was no +likelihood of the visitor's wishing to see anyone but him. They +listened; the servant went to the door, and, after a murmur of +voices, came to speak to her mistress. + +'It's a gentleman called Mr Milvain,' the girl reported, in a way +that proved how seldom callers presented themselves. 'He asked +for Mr Yule, and when I said he was out, then he asked for Miss +Yule.' Mother and daughter looked anxiously at each other. Mrs +Yule was nervous and helpless. + +'Show Mr Milvain into the study,' said Marian, with sudden +decision. + +'Are you going to see him there?' asked her mother in a hurried +whisper. + +'I thought you would prefer that to his coming in here.' + +'Yes--yes. But suppose father comes back before he's gone?' + +'What will it matter? You forget that he asked for father first.' + +'Oh yes! Then don't wait.' + +Marian, scarcely less agitated than her mother, was just leaving +the room, when she turned back again. + +'If father comes in, you will tell him before he goes into the +study?' + +'Yes, I will.' + +The fire in the study was on the point of extinction; this was +the first thing Marian's eye perceived on entering, and it gave +her assurance that her father would not be back for some hours. +Evidently he had intended it to go out; small economies of this +kind, unintelligible to people who have always lived at ease, had +been the life-long rule with him. With a sensation of gladness at +having free time before her, Marian turned to where Milvain was +standing, in front of one of the bookcases. He wore no symbol of +mourning, but his countenance was far graver than usual, and +rather paler. They shook hands in silence. + +'I am so grieved--' Marian began with broken voice. + +'Thank you. I know the girls have told you all about it. We knew +for the last month that it must come before long, though there +was a deceptive improvement just before the end.' + +'Please to sit down, Mr Milvain. Father went out not long ago, +and I don't think he will be back very soon.' + +'It was not really Mr Yule I wished to see,' said Jasper, +frankly. 'If he had been at home I should have spoken with him +about what I have in mind, but if you will kindly give me a few +minutes it will be much better.' + +Marian glanced at the expiring fire. Her curiosity as to what +Milvain had to say was mingled with an anxious doubt whether it +was not too late to put on fresh coals; already the room was +growing very chill, and this appearance of inhospitality troubled +her. + +'Do you wish to save it?' Jasper asked, understanding her look +and movement. + +'I'm afraid it has got too low.' + +'I think not. Life in lodgings has made me skilful at this kind +of thing; let me try my hand.' + +He took the tongs and carefully disposed small pieces of coal +upon the glow that remained. Marian stood apart with a feeling of +shame and annoyance. But it is so seldom that situations in life +arrange themselves with dramatic propriety; and, after all, this +vulgar necessity made the beginning of the conversation easier. + +'That will be all right now,' said Jasper at length, as little +tongues of flame began to shoot here and there. + +Marian said nothing, but seated herself and waited. + +'I came up to town yesterday,' Jasper began. 'Of course we have +had a great deal to do and think about. Miss Harrow has been very +kind indeed to the girls; so have several of our old friends in +Wattleborough. It was necessary to decide at once what Maud and +Dora are going to do, and it is on their account that I have come +to see you. + +The listener kept silence, with a face of sympathetic attention. + +'We have made up our minds that they may as well come to London. +It's a bold step; I'm by no means sure that the result will +justify it. But I think they are perhaps right in wishing to try +it.' + +'They will go on with literary work?' + +'Well, it's our hope that they may be able to. Of course there's +no chance of their earning enough to live upon for some time. But +the matter stands like this. They have a trifling sum of money, +on which, at a pinch, they could live in London for perhaps a +year and a half. In that time they may find their way to a sort +of income; at all events, the chances are that a year and a half +hence I shall be able to help them to keep body and soul +together.' + +The money of which he spoke was the debt owed to their father by +William Milvain. In consequence of Mrs Milvain's pressing +application, half of this sum had at length been paid and the +remainder was promised in a year's time, greatly to Jasper's +astonishment. In addition, there would be the trifle realised by +the sale of furniture, though most of this might have to go in +payment of rent unless the house could be relet immediately. + +'They have made a good beginning,' said Marian. + +She spoke mechanically, for it was impossible to keep her +thoughts under control. If Maud and Dora came to live in London +it might bring about a most important change in her life; she +could scarcely imagine the happiness of having two such friends +always near. On the other hand, how would it be regarded by her +father? She was at a loss amid conflicting emotions. + +'It's better than if they had done nothing at all,' Jasper +replied to her remark. 'And the way they knocked that trifle +together promises well. They did it very quickly, and in a far +more workmanlike way than I should have thought possible.' + +'No doubt they share your own talent.' + +'Perhaps so. Of course I know that I have talent of a kind, +though I don't rate it very high. We shall have to see whether +they can do anything more than mere booksellers' work; they are +both very young, you know. I think they may be able to write +something that'll do for The English Girl, and no doubt I can hit +upon a second idea that will appeal to Jolly and Monk. At all +events, they'll have books within reach, and better opportunities +every way than at Finden.' + +'How do their friends in the country think of it?' + +'Very dubiously; but then what else was to be expected? Of +course, the respectable and intelligible path marked out for both +of them points to a lifetime of governessing. But the girls have +no relish for that; they'd rather do almost anything. We talked +over all the aspects of the situation seriously enough--it is +desperately serious, no doubt of that. I told them fairly all the +hardships they would have to face--described the typical London +lodgings, and so on. Still, there's an adventurous vein in them, +and they decided for the risk. If it came to the worst I suppose +they could still find governess work.' + +'Let us hope better things.' + +'Yes. But now, I should have felt far more reluctant to let them +come here in this way hadn't it been that they regard you as a +friend. To-morrow morning you will probably hear from one or both +of them. Perhaps it would have been better if I had left them to +tell you all this, but I felt I should like to see you and--put +it in my own way. I think you'll understand this feeling, Miss +Yule. I wanted, in fact, to hear from yourself that you would be +a friend to the poor girls.' + +'Oh, you already know that! I shall be so very glad to see them +often.' + +Marian's voice lent itself very naturally and sweetly to the +expression of warm feeling. Emphasis was not her habit; it only +needed that she should put off her ordinary reserve, utter +quietly the emotional thought which so seldom might declare +itself, and her tones had an exquisite womanliness. + +Jasper looked full into her face. + +'In that case they won't miss the comfort of home so much. Of +course they will have to go into very modest lodgings indeed. I +have already been looking about. I should like to find rooms for +them somewhere near my own place; it's a decent neighbourhood, +and the park is at hand, and then they wouldn't be very far from +you. They thought it might be possible to make a joint +establishment with me, but I'm afraid that's out of the question. + +The lodgings we should want in that case, everything considered, +would cost more than the sum of our expenses if we live apart. +Besides, there's no harm in saying that I don't think we should +get along very well together. We're all of us rather quarrelsome, +to tell the truth, and we try each other's tempers.' + +Marian smiled and looked puzzled. + +'Shouldn't you have thought that?' + +'I have seen no signs of quarrelsomeness.' + +'I'm not sure that the worst fault is on my side. Why should one +condemn oneself against conscience? Maud is perhaps the hardest +to get along with. She has a sort of arrogance, an exaggeration +of something I am quite aware of in myself. You have noticed that +trait in me?' + +'Arrogance--I think not. You have self-confidence.' + +'Which goes into extremes now and then. But, putting myself +aside, I feel pretty sure that the girls won't seem quarrelsome +to you; they would have to be very fractious indeed before that +were possible.' + +'We shall continue to be friends, I am sure.' + +Jasper let his eyes wander about the room. + +'This is your father's study?' + +'Yes.' + +'Perhaps it would have seemed odd to Mr Yule if I had come in and +begun to talk to him about these purely private affairs. He knows +me so very slightly. But, in calling here for the first time-- ' + +An unusual embarrassment checked him. + +'I will explain to father your very natural wish to speak of +these things,' said Marian, with tact. + +She thought uneasily of her mother in the next room. To her there +appeared no reason whatever why Jasper should not be introduced +to Mrs Yule, yet she could not venture to propose it. Remembering +her father's last remarks about Milvain in connection with +Fadge's magazine, she must wait for distinct permission before +offering the young man encouragement to repeat his visit. Perhaps +there was complicated trouble in store for her; impossible to say +how her father's deep-rooted and rankling antipathies might +affect her intercourse even with the two girls. But she was of +independent years; she must be allowed the choice of her own +friends. The pleasure she had in seeing Jasper under this roof, +in hearing him talk with such intimate friendliness, strengthened +her to resist timid thoughts. + +'When will your sisters arrive?' she asked. + +'I think in a very few days. When I have fixed upon lodgings for +them I must go back to Finden; then they will return with me as +soon as we can get the house emptied. It's rather miserable +selling things one has lived among from childhood. A friend in +Wattleborough will house for us what we really can't bear to part +with.' + +'It must be very sad,' Marian murmured. + +'You know,' said the other suddenly, 'that it's my fault the +girls are left in such a hard position?' + +Marian looked at him with startled eyes. His tone was quite +unfamiliar to her. + +'Mother had an annuity,' he continued. 'It ended with her life, +but if it hadn't been for me she could have saved a good deal out +of it. Until the last year or two I have earned nothing, and I +have spent more than was strictly necessary. Well, I didn't live +like that in mere recklessness; I knew I was preparing myself for +remunerative work. But it seems too bad now. I'm sorry for it. I +wish I had found some way of supporting myself. The end of +mother's life was made far more unhappy than it need have been. I +should like you to understand all this.' + +The listener kept her eyes on the ground. + +'Perhaps the girls have hinted it to you?' Jasper added. + +'No.' + +'Selfishness--that's one of my faults. It isn't a brutal kind of +selfishness; the thought of it often enough troubles me. If I +were rich, I should be a generous and good man; I know I should. +So would many another poor fellow whose worst features come out +under hardship. This isn't a heroic type; of course not. I am a +civilised man, that's all.' + +Marian could say nothing. + +'You wonder why I am so impertinent as to talk about myself like +this. I have gone through a good deal of mental pain these last +few weeks, and somehow I can't help showing you something of my +real thoughts. Just because you are one of the few people I +regard with sincere respect. I don't know you very well, but +quite well enough to respect you. My sisters think of you in the +same way. I shall do many a base thing in life, just to get money +and reputation; I tell you this that you mayn't be surprised if +anything of that kind comes to your ears. I can't afford to live +as I should like to.' + +She looked up at him with a smile. + +'People who are going to live unworthily don't declare it in this +way.' + +'I oughtn't to; a few minutes ago I had no intention of saying +such things. It means I am rather overstrung, I suppose; but it's +all true, unfortunately.' + +He rose, and began to run his eye along the shelves nearest to +him. + +'Well, now I will go, Miss Yule.' + +Marian stood up as he approached. + +'It's all very well,' he said, smiling, 'for me to encourage my +sisters in the hope that they may earn a living; but suppose I +can't even do it myself? It's by no means certain that I shall +make ends meet this year.' + +'You have every reason to hope, I think.' + +'I like to hear people say that, but it'll mean savage work. When +we were all at Finden last year, I told the girls that it would +be another twelve months before I could support myself. Now I am +forced to do it. And I don't like work; my nature is lazy. I +shall never write for writing's sake, only to make money. All my +plans and efforts will have money in view--all. I shan't allow +anything to come in the way of my material advancement.' + +'I wish you every success,' said Marian, without looking at him, +and without a smile. + +'Thank you. But that sounds too much like good-bye. I trust we +are to be friends, for all that?' + +'Indeed, I hope we may be.' + +They shook hands, and he went towards the door. But before +opening it, he asked: + +'Did you read that thing of mine in The Current?' + +'Yes, I did.' + +'It wasn't bad, I think?' + +'It seemed to me very clever.' + +'Clever--yes, that's the word. It had a success, too. I have as +good a thing half done for the April number, but I've felt too +heavy-hearted to go on with it. The girls shall let you know when +they are in town.' + +Marian followed him into the passage, and watched him as he +opened the front door. When it had closed, she went back into the +study for a few minutes before rejoining her mother. + + + +CHAPTER IX. INVITA MINERVA + +After all, there came a day when Edwin Reardon found himself +regularly at work once more, ticking off his stipulated quantum +of manuscript each four-and-twenty hours. He wrote a very small +hand; sixty written slips of the kind of paper he habitually used +would represent--thanks to the astonishing system which prevails +in such matters: large type, wide spacing, frequency of blank +pages--a passable three-hundred-page volume. On an average he +could write four such slips a day; so here we have fifteen days +for the volume, and forty-five for the completed book. + +Forty-five days; an eternity in the looking forward. Yet the +calculation gave him a faint-hearted encouragement. At that rate +he might have his book sold by Christmas. It would certainly not +bring him a hundred pounds; seventy-five perhaps. But even that +small sum would enable him to pay the quarter's rent, and then +give him a short time, if only two or three weeks, of mental +rest. If such rest could not be obtained all was at an end with +him. He must either find some new means of supporting himself and +his family, or--have done with life and its responsibilities +altogether. + +The latter alternative was often enough before him. He seldom +slept for more than two or three consecutive hours in the night, +and the time of wakefulness was often terrible. The various +sounds which marked the stages from midnight to dawn had grown +miserably familiar to him; worst torture to his mind was the +chiming and striking of clocks. Two of these were in general +audible, that of Marylebone parish church, and that of the +adjoining workhouse; the latter always sounded several minutes +after its ecclesiastical neighbour, and with a difference of note +which seemed to Reardon very appropriate--a thin, querulous +voice, reminding one of the community it represented. After lying +awake for awhile he would hear quarters sounding; if they ceased +before the fourth he was glad, for he feared to know what time it +was. If the hour was complete, he waited anxiously for its +number. Two, three, even four, were grateful; there was still a +long time before he need rise and face the dreaded task, the +horrible four blank slips of paper that had to be filled ere he +might sleep again. But such restfulness was only for a moment; no +sooner had the workhouse bell become silent than he began to toil +in his weary imagination, or else, incapable of that, to vision +fearful hazards of the future. The soft breathing of Amy at his +side, the contact of her warm limbs, often filled him with +intolerable dread. Even now he did not believe that Amy loved him +with the old love, and the suspicion was like a cold weight at +his heart that to retain even her wifely sympathy, her wedded +tenderness, he must achieve the impossible. + +The impossible; for he could no longer deceive himself with a +hope of genuine success. If he earned a bare living, that would +be the utmost. And with bare livelihood Amy would not, could not, +be content. + +If he were to die a natural death it would be well for all. His +wife and the child would be looked after; they could live with +Mrs Edmund Yule, and certainly it would not be long before Amy +married again, this time a man of whose competency to maintain +her there would be no doubt. His own behaviour had been cowardly +selfishness. Oh yes, she had loved him, had been eager to believe +in him. But there was always that voice of warning in his mind; +he foresaw--he knew-- + +And if he killed himself? Not here; no lurid horrors for that +poor girl and her relatives; but somewhere at a distance, under +circumstances which would render the recovery of his body +difficult, yet would leave no doubt of his death. Would that, +again, be cowardly? The opposite, when once it was certain that +to live meant poverty and wretchedness. Amy's grief, however +sincere, would be but a short trial compared with what else might +lie before her. The burden of supporting her and Willie would be +a very slight one if she went to live in her mother's house. He +considered the whole matter night after night, until perchance it +happened that sleep had pity upon him for an hour before the time +of rising. + +Autumn was passing into winter. Dark days, which were always an +oppression to his mind, began to be frequent, and would soon +succeed each other remorselessly. Well, if only each of them +represented four written slips. + +Milvain's advice to him had of course proved useless. The +sensational title suggested nothing, or only ragged shapes of +incomplete humanity that fluttered mockingly when he strove to +fix them. But he had decided upon a story of the kind natural to +him; a 'thin' story, and one which it would be difficult to spin +into three volumes. His own, at all events. The title was always +a matter for head-racking when the book was finished; he had +never yet chosen it before beginning. + +For a week he got on at the desired rate; then came once more the +crisis he had anticipated. + +A familiar symptom of the malady which falls upon outwearied +imagination. There were floating in his mind five or six possible +subjects for a book, all dating back to the time when he first +began novel-writing, when ideas came freshly to him. If he +grasped desperately at one of these, and did his best to develop +it, for a day or two he could almost content himself; characters, +situations, lines of motive, were laboriously schemed, and he +felt ready to begin writing. But scarcely had he done a chapter +or two when all the structure fell into flatness. He had made a +mistake. Not this story, but that other one, was what he should +have taken. The other one in question, left out of mind for a +time, had come back with a face of new possibility; it invited +him, tempted him to throw aside what he had already written. +Good; now he was in more hopeful train. But a few days, and the +experience repeated itself. No, not this story, but that third +one, of which he had not thought for a long time. How could he +have rejected so hopeful a subject? + +For months he had been living in this way; endless circling, +perpetual beginning, followed by frustration. A sign of +exhaustion, it of course made exhaustion more complete. At times +he was on the border-land of imbecility; his mind looked into a +cloudy chaos, a shapeless whirl of nothings. He talked aloud to +himself, not knowing that he did so. Little phrases which +indicated dolorously the subject of his preoccupation often +escaped him in the street: 'What could I make of that, now?' +'Well, suppose I made him--?' 'But no, that wouldn't do,' and so +on. It had happened that he caught the eye of some one passing +fixed in surprise upon him; so young a man to be talking to +himself in evident distress! + +The expected crisis came, even now that he was savagely +determined to go on at any cost, to write, let the result be what +it would. His will prevailed. A day or two of anguish such as +there is no describing to the inexperienced, and again he was +dismissing slip after slip, a sigh of thankfulness at the +completion of each one. It was a fraction of the whole, a +fraction, a fraction. + +The ordering of his day was thus. At nine, after breakfast, he +sat down to his desk, and worked till one. Then came dinner, +followed by a walk. As a rule he could not allow Amy to walk with +him, for he had to think over the remainder of the day's toil, +and companionship would have been fatal. At about half-past three +he again seated himself; and wrote until half-past six, when he +had a meal. Then once more to work from half-past seven to ten. +Numberless were the experiments he had tried for the day's +division. The slightest interruption of the order for the time +being put him out of gear; Amy durst not open his door to ask +however necessary a question. + +Sometimes the three hours' labour of a morning resulted in +half-a-dozen lines, corrected into illegibility. His brain would +not work; he could not recall the simplest synonyms; intolerable +faults of composition drove him mad. He would write a sentence +beginning thus: 'She took a book with a look of--;' or thus: 'A +revision of this decision would have made him an object of +derision.' Or, if the period were otherwise inoffensive, it ran +in a rhythmic gallop which was torment to the ear. All this, in +spite of the fact that his former books had been noticeably good +in style. He had an appreciation of shapely prose which made him +scorn himself for the kind of stuff he was now turning out. 'I +can't help it; it must go; the time is passing.' + +Things were better, as a rule, in the evening. Occasionally he +wrote a page with fluency which recalled his fortunate years; and +then his heart gladdened, his hand trembled with joy. + +Description of locality, deliberate analysis of character or +motive, demanded far too great an effort for his present +condition. He kept as much as possible to dialogue; the space is +filled so much more quickly, and at a pinch one can make people +talk about the paltriest incidents of life. + +There came an evening when he opened the door and called to Amy. + +'What is it?' she answered from the bedroom. 'I'm busy with +Willie.' + +'Come as soon as you are free.' + +In ten minutes she appeared. There was apprehension on her face; +she feared he was going to lament his inability to work. Instead +of that, he told her joyfully that the first volume was finished. + +'Thank goodness!' she exclaimed. 'Are you going to do any more +to-night?' + +'I think not--if you will come and sit with me.' + +'Willie doesn't seem very well. He can't get to sleep.' + +'You would like to stay with him?' + +'A little while. I'll come presently.' + +She closed the door. Reardon brought a high-backed chair to the +fireside, and allowed himself to forget the two volumes that had +still to be struggled through, in a grateful sense of the portion +that was achieved. In a few minutes it occurred to him that it +would be delightful to read a scrap of the 'Odyssey'; he went to +the shelves on which were his classical books, took the desired +volume, and opened it where Odysseus speaks to Nausicaa: + +'For never yet did I behold one of mortals like to thee, neither +man nor woman; I am awed as I look upon thee. In Delos once, hard +by the altar of Apollo, I saw a young palm-tree shooting up with +even such a grace.' + +Yes, yes; THAT was not written at so many pages a day, with a +workhouse clock clanging its admonition at the poet's ear. How it +freshened the soul! How the eyes grew dim with a rare joy in the +sounding of those nobly sweet hexameters! + +Amy came into the room again. + +'Listen,' said Reardon, looking up at her with a bright smile. +'Do you remember the first time that I read you this?' + +And he turned the speech into free prose. Amy laughed. + +'I remember it well enough. We were alone in the drawing-room; I +had told the others that they must make shift with the dining- +room for that evening. And you pulled the book out of your pocket +unexpectedly. I laughed at your habit of always carrying little +books about.' + +The cheerful news had brightened her. If she had been summoned to +hear lamentations her voice would not have rippled thus +soothingly. Reardon thought of this, and it made him silent for a +minute. + +'The habit was ominous,' he said, looking at her with an +uncertain smile. 'A practical literary man doesn't do such +things.' + +'Milvain, for instance. No.' + +With curious frequency she mentioned the name of Milvain. Her +unconsciousness in doing so prevented Reardon from thinking about +the fact; still, he had noted it. + +'Did you understand the phrase slightingly?' he asked. + +'Slightingly? Yes, a little, of course. It always has that sense +on your lips, I think.' + +In the light of this answer he mused upon her readily-offered +instance. True, he had occasionally spoken of Jasper with +something less than respect, but Amy was not in the habit of +doing so. + +'I hadn't any such meaning just then,' he said. 'I meant quite +simply that my bookish habits didn't promise much for my success +as a novelist.' + +'I see. But you didn't think of it in that way at the time.' + +He sighed. + +'No. At least--no.' + +'At least what?' + +'Well, no; on the whole I had good hope.' + +Amy twisted her fingers together impatiently. + +'Edwin, let me tell you something. You are getting too fond of +speaking in a discouraging way. Now, why should you do so? I +don't like it. It has one disagreeable effect on me, and that is, +when people ask me about you, how you are getting on, I don't +quite know how to answer. They can't help seeing that I am +uneasy. I speak so differently from what I used to.' + +'Do you, really?' + +'Indeed I can't help it. As I say, it's very much your own +fault.' + +'Well, but granted that I am not of a very sanguine nature, and +that I easily fall into gloomy ways of talk, what is Amy here +for?' + +'Yes, yes. But--' + +'But?' + +'I am not here only to try and keep you in good spirits, am I?' + +She asked it prettily, with a smile like that of maidenhood. + +'Heaven forbid! I oughtn't to have put it in that absolute way. I +was half joking, you know. But unfortunately it's true that I +can't be as light-spirited as I could wish. Does that make you +impatient with me?' + +'A little. I can't help the feeling, and I ought to try to +overcome it. But you must try on your side as well. Why should +you have said that thing just now?' + +'You're quite right. It was needless.' + +'A few weeks ago I didn't expect you to be cheerful. Things began +to look about as bad as they could. But now that you've got a +volume finished, there's hope once more.' + +Hope? Of what quality? Reardon durst not say what rose in his +thoughts. 'A very small, poor hope. Hope of money enough to +struggle through another half year, if indeed enough for that.' +He had learnt that Amy was not to be told the whole truth about +anything as he himself saw it. It was a pity. To the ideal wife a +man speaks out all that is in him; she had infinitely rather +share his full conviction than be treated as one from whom facts +must be disguised. She says: 'Let us face the worst and talk of +it together, you and I.' No, Amy was not the ideal wife from that +point of view. But the moment after this half-reproach had +traversed his consciousness he condemned himself; and looked with +the joy of love into her clear eyes. + +'Yes, there's hope once more, my dearest. No more gloomy talk to- +night! I have read you something, now you shall read something to +me; it is a long time since I delighted myself with listening to +you. What shall it be?' + +'I feel rather too tired to-night.' + +'Do you?' + +'I have had to look after Willie so much. But read me some more +Homer; I shall be very glad to listen.' + +Reardon reached for the book again, but not readily. His face +showed disappointment. Their evenings together had never been the +same since the birth of the child; Willie was always an excuse-- +valid enough --for Amy's feeling tired. The little boy had come +between him and the mother, as must always be the case in poor +homes, most of all where the poverty is relative. Reardon could +not pass the subject without a remark, but he tried to speak +humorously. + +'There ought to be a huge public creche in London. It's monstrous +that an educated mother should have to be nursemaid.' + +'But you know very well I think nothing of that. A creche, +indeed! No child of mine should go to any such place.' + +There it was. She grudged no trouble on behalf of the child. That +was love; whereas-- But then maternal love was a mere matter of +course. + +'As soon as you get two or three hundred pounds for a book,' she +added, laughing, 'there'll be no need for me to give so much +time.' + +'Two or three hundred pounds!' He repeated it with a shake of the +head. 'Ah, if that were possible!' + +'But that's really a paltry sum. What would fifty novelists you +could name say if they were offered three hundred pounds for a +book? How much do you suppose even Markland got for his last?' + +'Didn't sell it at all, ten to one. Gets a royalty.' + +'Which will bring him five or six hundred pounds before the book +ceases to be talked of.' + +'Never mind. I'm sick of the word "pounds."' + +'So am I.' + +She sighed, commenting thus on her acquiescence. + +'But look, Amy. If I try to be cheerful in spite of natural +dumps, wouldn't it be fair for you to put aside thoughts of +money?' + +'Yes. Read some Homer, dear. Let us have Odysseus down in Hades, +and Ajax stalking past him. Oh, I like that!' + +So he read, rather coldly at first, but soon warming. Amy sat +with folded arms, a smile on her lips, her brows knitted to the +epic humour. In a few minutes it was as if no difficulties +threatened their life. Every now and then Reardon looked up from +his translating with a delighted laugh, in which Amy joined. + +When he had returned the book to the shelf he stepped behind his +wife's chair, leaned upon it, and put his cheek against hers. + +'Amy!' + +'Yes, dear?' + +'Do you still love me a little?' + +'Much more than a little.' + +'Though I am sunk to writing a wretched pot-boiler?' + +'Is it so bad as all that?' + +'Confoundedly bad. I shall be ashamed to see it in print; the +proofs will be a martyrdom.' + +'Oh, but why? why?' + +'It's the best I can do, dearest. So you don't love me enough to +hear that calmly.' + +'If I didn't love you, I might be calmer about it, Edwin. It's +dreadful to me to think of what they will say in the reviews.' + +'Curse the reviews!' + +His mood had changed on the instant. He stood up with darkened +face, trembling angrily. + +'I want you to promise me something, Amy. You won't read a single +one of the notices unless it is forced upon your attention. Now, +promise me that. Neglect them absolutely, as I do. They're not +worth a glance of your eyes. And I shan't be able to bear it if I +know you read all the contempt that will be poured on me.' + +'I'm sure I shall be glad enough to avoid it; but other people, +our friends, read it. That's the worst.' + +'You know that their praise would be valueless, so have strength +to disregard the blame. Let our friends read and talk as much as +they like. Can't you console yourself with the thought that I am +not contemptible, though I may have been forced to do poor work?' + +'People don't look at it in that way.' + +'But, darling,' he took her hands strongly in his own, 'I want +you to disregard other people. You and I are surely everything to +each other? Are you ashamed of me, of me myself?' + +'No, not ashamed of you. But I am sensitive to people's talk and +opinions.' + +'But that means they make you feel ashamed of me. What else?' + +There was silence. + +'Edwin, if you find you are unable to do good work, you mustn't +do bad. We must think of some other way of making a living.' + +'Have you forgotten that you urged me to write a trashy +sensational story?' + +She coloured and looked annoyed. + +'You misunderstood me. A sensational story needn't be trash. And +then, you know, if you had tried something entirely unlike your +usual work, that would have been excuse enough if people had +called it a failure.' + +'People! People!' + +'We can't live in solitude, Edwin, though really we are not far +from it.' He did not dare to make any reply to this. Amy was so +exasperatingly womanlike in avoiding the important issue to which +he tried to confine her; another moment, and his tone would be +that of irritation. So he turned away and sat down to his desk, +as if he had some thought of resuming work. + +'Will you come and have some supper?' Amy asked, rising. + +'I have been forgetting that to-morrow morning's chapter has +still to be thought out.' + +'Edwin, I can't think this book will really be so poor. You +couldn't possibly give all this toil for no result.' + +'No; not if I were in sound health. But I am far from it.' + +'Come and have supper with me, dear, and think afterwards.' + +He turned and smiled at her. + +'I hope I shall never be able to resist an invitation from you, +sweet.' + +The result of all this was, of course, that he sat down in +anything but the right mood to his work next morning. Amy's +anticipation of criticism had made it harder than ever for him to +labour at what he knew to be bad. And, as ill-luck would have it, +in a day or two he caught his first winter's cold. For several +years a succession of influenzas, sore-throats, lumbagoes, had +tormented him from October to May; in planning his present work, +and telling himself that it must be finished before Christmas, he +had not lost sight of these possible interruptions. But he said +to himself: 'Other men have worked hard in seasons of illness; I +must do the same.' All very well, but Reardon did not belong to +the heroic class. A feverish cold now put his powers and +resolution to the test. Through one hideous day he nailed himself +to the desk--and wrote a quarter of a page. The next day Amy +would not let him rise from bed; he was wretchedly ill. In the +night he had talked about his work deliriously, causing her no +slight alarm. + +'If this goes on,' she said to him in the morning, 'you'll have +brain fever. You must rest for two or three days.' + +'Teach me how to. I wish I could.' + +Rest had indeed become out of the question. For two days he could +not write, but the result upon his mind was far worse than if he +had been at the desk. He looked a haggard creature when he again +sat down with the accustomed blank slip before him. + +The second volume ought to have been much easier work than the +first; it proved far harder. Messieurs and mesdames the critics +are wont to point out the weakness of second volumes; they are +generally right, simply because a story which would have made a +tolerable book (the common run of stories) refuses to fill three +books. Reardon's story was in itself weak, and this second volume +had to consist almost entirely of laborious padding. If he wrote +three slips a day he did well. + +And the money was melting, melting, despite Amy's efforts at +economy. She spent as little as she could; not a luxury came into +their home; articles of clothing all but indispensable were left +unpurchased. But to what purpose was all this? Impossible, now, +that the book should be finished and sold before the money had +all run out. + +At the end of November, Reardon said to his wife one morning: + +'To-morrow I finish the second volume.' + +'And in a week,' she replied, 'we shan't have a shilling left.' + +He had refrained from making inquiries, and Amy had forborne to +tell him the state of things, lest it should bring him to a dead +stop in his writing. But now they must needs discuss their +position. + +'In three weeks I can get to the end,' said Reardon, with +unnatural calmness. 'Then I will go personally to the publishers, +and beg them to advance me something on the manuscript before +they have read it.' + +'Couldn't you do that with the first two volumes?' + +'No, I can't; indeed I can't. The other thing will be bad enough; +but to beg on an incomplete book, and such a book--I can't!' + +There were drops on his forehead. + +'They would help you if they knew,' said Amy in a low voice. + +'Perhaps; I can't say. They can't help every poor devil. No; I +will sell some books. I can pick out fifty or sixty that I shan't +much miss.' + +Amy knew what a wrench this would be. The imminence of distress +seemed to have softened her. + +'Edwin, let me take those two volumes to the publishers, and ask +--' + +'Heavens! no. That's impossible. Ten to one you will be told that +my work is of such doubtful value that they can't offer even a +guinea till the whole book has been considered. I can't allow you +to go, dearest. This morning I'll choose some books that I can +spare, and after dinner I'll ask a man to come and look at them. +Don't worry yourself; I can finish in three weeks, I'm sure I +can. If I can get you three or four pounds you could make it do, +couldn't you?' + +'Yes.' + +She averted her face as she spoke. + +'You shall have that.' He still spoke very quietly. 'If the books +won't bring enough, there's my watch--oh, lots of things.' + +He turned abruptly away, and Amy went on with her household work. + + + +CHAPTER X. THE FRIENDS OF THE FAMILY + +It was natural that Amy should hint dissatisfaction with the +loneliness in which her days were mostly spent. She had never +lived in a large circle of acquaintances; the narrowness of her +mother's means restricted the family to intercourse with a few +old friends and such new ones as were content with teacup +entertainment; but her tastes were social, and the maturing +process which followed upon her marriage made her more conscious +of this than she had been before. Already she had allowed her +husband to understand that one of her strongest motives in +marrying him was the belief that he would achieve distinction. At +the time she doubtless thought of his coming fame only--or +principally--as it concerned their relations to each other; her +pride in him was to be one phase of her love. Now she was well +aware that no degree of distinction in her husband would be of +much value to her unless she had the pleasure of witnessing its +effect upon others; she must shine with reflected light before an +admiring assembly. + +The more conscious she became of this requirement of her nature, +the more clearly did she perceive that her hopes had been founded +on an error. Reardon would never be a great man; he would never +even occupy a prominent place in the estimation of the public. +The two things, Amy knew, might be as different as light and +darkness; but in the grief of her disappointment she would rather +have had him flare into a worthless popularity than flicker down +into total extinction, which it almost seemed was to be his fate. + +She knew so well how 'people' were talking of him and her. Even +her unliterary acquaintances understood that Reardon's last novel +had been anything but successful, and they must of course ask +each other how the Reardons were going to live if the business of +novel-writing proved unremunerative. Her pride took offence at +the mere thought of such conversations. Presently she would +become an object of pity; there would be talk of 'poor Mrs +Reardon.' It was intolerable. + +So during the last half year she had withheld as much as possible +from the intercourse which might have been one of her chief +pleasures. And to disguise the true cause she made pretences +which were a satire upon her state of mind--alleging that she had +devoted herself to a serious course of studies, that the care of +house and child occupied all the time she could spare from her +intellectual pursuits. The worst of it was, she had little faith +in the efficacy of these fictions; in uttering them she felt an +unpleasant warmth upon her cheeks, and it was not difficult to +detect a look of doubt in the eyes of the listener. She grew +angry with herself for being dishonest, and with her husband for +making such dishonesty needful. + +The female friend with whom she had most trouble was Mrs Carter. +You remember that on the occasion of Reardon's first meeting with +his future wife, at the Grosvenor Gallery, there were present his +friend Carter and a young lady who was shortly to bear the name +of that spirited young man. The Carters had now been married +about a year; they lived in Bayswater, and saw much of a certain +world which imitates on a lower plane the amusements and +affectations of society proper. Mr Carter was still secretary to +the hospital where Reardon had once earned his twenty shillings a +week, but by voyaging in the seas of charitable enterprise he had +come upon supplementary sources of income; for instance, he held +the post of secretary to the Barclay Trust, a charity whose +moderate funds were largely devoted to the support of gentlemen +engaged in administering it. This young man, with his air of +pleasing vivacity, had early ingratiated himself with the kind of +people who were likely to be of use to him; he had his reward in +the shape of offices which are only procured through private +influence. His wife was a good-natured, lively, and rather clever +girl; she had a genuine regard for Amy, and much respect for +Reardon. Her ambition was to form a circle of distinctly +intellectual acquaintances, and she was constantly inviting the +Reardons to her house; a real live novelist is not easily drawn +into the world where Mrs Carter had her being, and it annoyed her +that all attempts to secure Amy and her husband for five-o'clock +teas and small parties had of late failed. + +On the afternoon when Reardon had visited a second-hand +bookseller with a view of raising money--he was again shut up in +his study, dolorously at work--Amy was disturbed by the sound of +a visitor's rat-tat; the little servant went to the door, and +returned followed by Mrs Carter. + +Under the best of circumstances it was awkward to receive any but +intimate friends during the hours when Reardon sat at his desk. +The little dining-room (with its screen to conceal the kitchen +range) offered nothing more than homely comfort; and then the +servant had to be disposed of by sending her into the bedroom to +take care of Willie. Privacy, in the strict sense, was +impossible, for the servant might listen at the door (one room +led out of the other) to all the conversation that went on; yet +Amy could not request her visitors to speak in a low tone. For +the first year these difficulties had not been felt; Reardon made +a point of leaving the front room at his wife's disposal from +three to six; it was only when dread of the future began to press +upon him that he sat in the study all day long. You see how +complicated were the miseries of the situation; one torment +involved another, and in every quarter subjects of discontent +were multiplied. + +Mrs Carter would have taken it ill had she known that Amy did not +regard her as strictly an intimate. They addressed each other by +their Christian names, and conversed without ceremony; but Amy +was always dissatisfied when the well-dressed young woman burst +with laughter and animated talk into this abode of concealed +poverty. Edith was not the kind of person with whom one can +quarrel; she had a kind heart, and was never disagreeably +pretentious. Had circumstances allowed it, Amy would have given +frank welcome to such friendship; she would have been glad to +accept as many invitations as Edith chose to offer. But at +present it did her harm to come in contact with Mrs Carter; it +made her envious, cold to her husband, resentful against fate. + +'Why can't she leave me alone?' was the thought that rose in her +mind as Edith entered. 'I shall let her see that I don't want her +here.' + +'Your husband at work?' Edith asked, with a glance in the +direction of the study, as soon as they had exchanged kisses and +greetings. + +'Yes, he is busy.' + +'And you are sitting alone, as usual. I feared you might be out; +an afternoon of sunshine isn't to be neglected at this time of +year.' + +'Is there sunshine?' Amy inquired coldly. + +'Why, look! Do you mean to say you haven't noticed it? What a +comical person you are sometimes! I suppose you have been over +head and ears in books all day. How is Willie?' + +'Very well, thank you.' + +'Mayn't I see him?' + +'If you like.' + +Amy stepped to the bedroom door and bade the servant bring Willie +for exhibition. Edith, who as yet had no child of her own, always +showed the most flattering admiration of this infant; it was so +manifestly sincere that the mother could not but be moved to a +grateful friendliness whenever she listened to its expression. +Even this afternoon the usual effect followed when Edith had made +a pretty and tender fool of herself for several minutes. Amy bade +the servant make tea. + +At this moment the door from the passage opened, and Reardon +looked in. + +'Well, if this isn't marvellous!' cried Edith. 'I should as soon +have expected the heavens to fall!' + +'As what?' asked Reardon, with a pale smile. + +'As you to show yourself when I am here.' + +'I should like to say that I came on purpose to see you, Mrs +Carter, but it wouldn't be true. I'm going out for an hour, so +that you can take possession of the other room if you like, Amy.' + +'Going out?' said Amy, with a look of surprise. + +'Nothing--nothing. I mustn't stay.' + +He just inquired of Mrs Carter how her husband was, and withdrew. +The door of the flat was heard to close after him. + +'Let us go into the study, then,' said Amy, again in rather a +cold voice. + +On Reardon's desk were lying slips of blank paper. Edith, +approaching on tiptoe with what was partly make believe, partly +genuine, awe, looked at the literary apparatus, then turned with +a laugh to her friend. + +'How delightful it must be to sit down and write about people one +has invented! Ever since I have known you and Mr Reardon I have +been tempted to try if I couldn't write a story.' + +'Have you?' + +'And I'm sure I don't know how you can resist the temptation. I +feel sure you could write books almost as clever as your +husband's.' + +'I have no intention of trying.' + +'You don't seem very well to-day, Amy.' + +'Oh, I think I am as well as usual.' + +She guessed that her husband was once more brought to a +standstill, and this darkened her humour again. + +'One of my reasons for corning,' said Edith, 'was to beg and +entreat and implore you and Mr Reardon to dine with us next +Wednesday. Now, don't put on such a severe face! Are you engaged +that evening?' + +'Yes; in the ordinary way. Edwin can't possibly leave his work.' + +'But for one poor evening! It's such ages since we saw you.' + +'I'm very sorry. I don't think we shall ever be able to accept +invitations in future.' + +Amy spoke thus at the prompting of a sudden impulse. A minute +ago, no such definite declaration was in her mind. + +'Never?' exclaimed Edith. 'But why? Whatever do you mean?' + +'We find that social engagements consume too much time,' Amy +replied, her explanation just as much of an impromptu as the +announcement had been. 'You see, one must either belong to +society or not. Married people can't accept an occasional +invitation from friends and never do their social duty in return. + +We have decided to withdraw altogether--at all events for the +present. I shall see no one except my relatives.' + +Edith listened with a face of astonishment. + +'You won't even see ME?' she exclaimed. + +'Indeed, I have no wish to lose your friendship. Yet I am ashamed +to ask you to come here when I can never return your visits.' + +'Oh, please don't put it in that way! But it seems so very +strange.' + +Edith could not help conjecturing the true significance of this +resolve. But, as is commonly the case with people in easy +circumstances, she found it hard to believe that her friends were +so straitened as to have a difficulty in supporting the ordinary +obligations of a civilised state. + +'I know how precious your husband's time is,' she added, as if to +remove the effect of her last remark. 'Surely, there's no harm in +my saying --we know each other well enough--you wouldn't think it +necessary to devote an evening to entertaining us just because +you had given us the pleasure of your company. I put it very +stupidly, but I'm sure you understand me, Amy. Don't refuse just +to come to our house now and then.' + +'I'm afraid we shall have to be consistent, Edith.' + +'But do you think this is a WISE thing to do?' + +'Wise?' + +'You know what you once told me, about how necessary it was for a +novelist to study all sorts of people. How can Mr Reardon do this +if he shuts himself up in the house? I should have thought he +would find it necessary to make new acquaintances.' + +'As I said,' returned Amy, 'it won't be always like this. For the +present, Edwin has quite enough "material."' + +She spoke distantly; it irritated her to have to invent excuses +for the sacrifice she had just imposed on herself. Edith sipped +the tea which had been offered her, and for a minute kept +silence. + +'When will Mr Reardon's next book be published?' she asked at +length. + +'I'm sure I don't know. Not before the spring.' + +'I shall look so anxiously for it. Whenever I meet new people I +always turn the conversation to novels, just for the sake of +asking them if they know your husband's books.' + +She laughed merrily. + +'Which is seldom the case, I should think,' said Amy, with a +smile of indifference. + +'Well, my dear, you don't expect ordinary novel-readers to know +about Mr Reardon. I wish my acquaintances were a better kind of +people; then, of course, I should hear of his books more often. +But one has to make the best of such society as offers. If you +and your husband forsake me, I shall feel it a sad loss; I shall +indeed.' + +Amy gave a quick glance at the speaker's face. + +'Oh, we must be friends just the same,' she said, more naturally +than she had spoken hitherto. 'But don't ask us to come and dine +just now. All through this winter we shall be very busy, both of +us. Indeed, we have decided not to accept any invitations at +all.' + +'Then, so long as you let me come here now and then, I must give +in. I promise not to trouble you with any more complaining. But +how you can live such a life I don't know. I consider myself more +of a reader than women generally are, and I should be mortally +offended if anyone called me frivolous; but I must have a good +deal of society. Really and truly, I can't live without it.' + +'No?' said Amy, with a smile which meant more than Edith could +interpret. It seemed slightly condescending. + +'There's no knowing; perhaps if I had married a literary man---' +She paused, smiling and musing. 'But then I haven't, you see.' +She laughed. 'Albert is anything but a bookworm, as you know.' + +'You wouldn't wish him to be.' + +'Oh no! Not a bookworm. To be sure, we suit each other very well +indeed. He likes society just as much as I do. It would be the +death of him if he didn't spend three-quarters of every day with +lively people.' + +'That's rather a large portion. But then you count yourself among +the lively ones.' + +They exchanged looks, and laughed together. + +'Of course you think me rather silly to want to talk so much with +silly people,' Edith went on. 'But then there's generally some +amusement to be got, you know. I don't take life quite so +seriously as you do. People are people, after all; it's good fun +to see how they live and hear how they talk.' + +Amy felt that she was playing a sorry part. She thought of sour +grapes, and of the fox who had lost his tail. Worst of all, +perhaps Edith suspected the truth. She began to make inquiries +about common acquaintances, and fell into an easier current of +gossip. + +A quarter of an hour after the visitor's departure Reardon came +back. Amy had guessed aright; the necessity of selling his books +weighed upon him so that for the present he could do nothing. The +evening was spent gloomily, with very little conversation. + +Next day came the bookseller to make his inspection. Reardon had +chosen out and ranged upon a table nearly a hundred volumes. With +a few exceptions, they had been purchased second-hand. The +tradesman examined them rapidly. + +'What do you ask?' he inquired, putting his head aside. + +'I prefer that you should make an offer,' Reardon replied, with +the helplessness of one who lives remote from traffic. + +'I can't say more than two pounds ten.' + +'That is at the rate of sixpence a volume---?' + +'To me that's about the average value of books like these.' + +Perhaps the offer was a fair one; perhaps it was not. Reardon had +neither time nor spirit to test the possibilities of the market; +he was ashamed to betray his need by higgling. + +'I'll take it,' he said, in a matter-of-fact voice. + +A messenger was sent for the books that afternoon. He stowed them +skilfully in two bags, and carried them downstairs to a cart that +was waiting. + +Reardon looked at the gaps left on his shelves. Many of those +vanished volumes were dear old friends to him; he could have told +you where he had picked them up and when; to open them recalled a +past moment of intellectual growth, a mood of hope or +despondency, a stage of struggle. In most of them his name was +written, and there were often pencilled notes in the margin. Of +course he had chosen from among the most valuable he possessed; +such a multitude must else have been sold to make this sum of two +pounds ten. Books are cheap, you know. At need, one can buy a +Homer for fourpence, a Sophocles for sixpence. It was not rubbish +that he had accumulated at so small expenditure, but the library +of a poor student--battered bindings, stained pages, supplanted +editions. He loved his books, but there was something he loved +more, and when Amy glanced at him with eyes of sympathy he broke +into a cheerful laugh. + +'I'm only sorry they have gone for so little. Tell me when the +money is nearly at an end again, and you shall have more. It's +all right; the novel will be done soon.' + +And that night he worked until twelve o'clock, doggedly, +fiercely. + +The next day was Sunday. As a rule he made it a day of rest, and +almost perforce, for the depressing influence of Sunday in London +made work too difficult. Then, it was the day on which he either +went to see his own particular friends or was visited by them. + +'Do you expect anyone this evening?' Amy inquired. + +'Biffen will look in, I dare say. Perhaps Milvain.' + +'I think I shall take Willie to mother's. I shall be back before +eight.' + +'Amy, don't say anything about the books.' + +'No, no.' + +'I suppose they always ask you when we think of removing over the +way?' + +He pointed in a direction that suggested Marylebone Workhouse. +Amy tried to laugh, but a woman with a child in her arms has no +keen relish for such jokes. + +'I don't talk to them about our affairs,' she said. + +'That's best.' + +She left home about three o'clock, the servant going with her to +carry the child. + +At five a familiar knock sounded through the flat; it was a heavy +rap followed by half-a-dozen light ones, like a reverberating +echo, the last stroke scarcely audible. Reardon laid down his +book, but kept his pipe in his mouth, and went to the door. A +tall, thin man stood there, with a slouch hat and long grey +overcoat. He shook hands silently, hung his hat in the passage, +and came forward into the study. + +His name was Harold Biffen, and, to judge from his appearance, he +did not belong to the race of common mortals. His excessive +meagreness would all but have qualified him to enter an +exhibition in the capacity of living skeleton, and the garments +which hung upon this framework would perhaps have sold for +three-and-sixpence at an old-clothes dealer's. But the man was +superior to these accidents of flesh and raiment. He had a fine +face: large, gentle eyes, nose slightly aquiline, small and +delicate mouth. Thick black hair fell to his coat-collar; he wore +a heavy moustache and a full beard. In his gait there was a +singular dignity; only a man of cultivated mind and graceful +character could move and stand as he did. + +His first act on entering the room was to take from his pocket a +pipe, a pouch, a little tobacco-stopper, and a box of matches, +all of which he arranged carefully on a corner of the central +table. Then he drew forward a chair and seated himself. + +'Take your top-coat off;' said Reardon. + +'Thanks, not this evening.' + +'Why the deuce not?' + +'Not this evening, thanks.' + +The reason, as soon as Reardon sought for it, was obvious. Biffen +had no ordinary coat beneath the other. To have referred to this +fact would have been indelicate; the novelist of course +understood it, and smiled, but with no mirth. + +'Let me have your Sophocles,' were the visitor's next words. + +Reardon offered him a volume of the Oxford Pocket Classics. + +'I prefer the Wunder, please.' + +'It's gone, my boy.' + +'Gone?' + +'Wanted a little cash.' + +Biffen uttered a sound in which remonstrance and sympathy were +blended. + +'I'm sorry to hear that; very sorry. Well, this must do. Now, I +want to know how you scan this chorus in the "Oedipus Rex."' + +Reardon took the volume, considered, and began to read aloud with +metric emphasis. + +'Choriambics, eh?' cried the other. 'Possible, of course; but +treat them as Ionics a minore with an anacrusis, and see if they +don't go better.' + +He involved himself in terms of pedantry, and with such delight +that his eyes gleamed. Having delivered a technical lecture, he +began to read in illustration, producing quite a different effect +from that of the rhythm as given by his friend. And the reading +was by no means that of a pedant, rather of a poet. + +For half an hour the two men talked Greek metres as if they lived +in a world where the only hunger known could be satisfied by +grand or sweet cadences. + +They had first met in an amusing way. Not long after the +publication of his book 'On Neutral Ground' Reardon was spending +a week at Hastings. A rainy day drove him to the circulating +library, and as he was looking along the shelves for something +readable a voice near at hand asked the attendant if he had +anything 'by Edwin Reardon.' The novelist turned in astonishment; +that any casual mortal should inquire for his books seemed +incredible. Of course there was nothing by that author in the +library, and he who had asked the question walked out again. On +the morrow Reardon encountered this same man at a lonely part of +the shore; he looked at him, and spoke a word or two of common +civility; they got into conversation, with the result that Edwin +told the story of yesterday. The stranger introduced himself as +Harold Biffen, an author in a small way, and a teacher whenever +he could get pupils; an abusive review had interested him in +Reardon's novels, but as yet he knew nothing of them but the +names. + +Their tastes were found to be in many respects sympathetic, and +after returning to London they saw each other frequently. Biffen +was always in dire poverty, and lived in the oddest places; he +had seen harder trials than even Reardon himself. The teaching by +which he partly lived was of a kind quite unknown to the +respectable tutorial world. In these days of examinations, +numbers of men in a poor position--clerks chiefly--conceive a +hope that by 'passing' this, that, or the other formal test they +may open for themselves a new career. Not a few such persons +nourish preposterous ambitions; there are warehouse clerks +privately preparing (without any means or prospect of them) for a +call to the Bar, drapers' assistants who 'go in' for the +preliminary examination of the College of Surgeons, and untaught +men innumerable who desire to procure enough show of education to +be eligible for a curacy. Candidates of this stamp frequently +advertise in the newspapers for cheap tuition, or answer +advertisements which are intended to appeal to them; they pay +from sixpence to half-a-crown an hour--rarely as much as the +latter sum. Occasionally it happened that Harold Biffen had three +or four such pupils in hand, and extraordinary stories he could +draw from his large experience in this sphere. + +Then as to his authorship.--But shortly after the discussion of +Greek metres he fell upon the subject of his literary projects, +and, by no means for the first time, developed the theory on +which he worked. + +'I have thought of a new way of putting it. What I really aim at +is an absolute realism in the sphere of the ignobly decent. The +field, as I understand it, is a new one; I don't know any writer +who has treated ordinary vulgar life with fidelity and +seriousness. Zola writes deliberate tragedies; his vilest figures +become heroic from the place they fill in a strongly imagined +drama. I want to deal with the essentially unheroic, with the +day-to-day life of that vast majority of people who are at the +mercy of paltry circumstance. Dickens understood the possibility +of such work, but his tendency to melodrama on the one hand, and +his humour on the other, prevented him from thinking of it. An +instance, now. As I came along by Regent's Park half an hour ago +a man and a girl were walking close in front of me, love-making; +I passed them slowly and heard a good deal of their talk--it was +part of the situation that they should pay no heed to a +stranger's proximity. Now, such a love-scene as that has +absolutely never been written down; it was entirely decent, yet +vulgar to the nth power. Dickens would have made it ludicrous--a +gross injustice. Other men who deal with low-class life would +perhaps have preferred idealising it--an absurdity. For my own +part, I am going to reproduce it verbatim, without one single +impertinent suggestion of any point of view save that of honest +reporting. The result will be something unutterably tedious. +Precisely. That is the stamp of the ignobly decent life. If it +were anything but tedious it would be untrue. I speak, of course, +of its effect upon the ordinary reader.' + +'I couldn't do it,' said Reardon. + +'Certainly you couldn't. You--well, you are a psychological +realist in the sphere of culture. You are impatient of vulgar +circumstances.' + +'In a great measure because my life has been martyred by them.' + +'And for that very same reason I delight in them,' cried Biffen. +'You are repelled by what has injured you; I am attracted by it. +This divergence is very interesting; but for that, we should have +resembled each other so closely. You know that by temper we are +rabid idealists, both of us.' + +'I suppose so.' + +'But let me go on. I want, among other things, to insist upon the +fateful power of trivial incidents. No one has yet dared to do +this seriously. It has often been done in farce, and that's why +farcical writing so often makes one melancholy. You know my stock +instances of the kind of thing I mean. There was poor Allen, who +lost the most valuable opportunity of his life because he hadn't +a clean shirt to put on; and Williamson, who would probably have +married that rich girl but for the grain of dust that got into +his eye, and made him unable to say or do anything at the +critical moment.' + +Reardon burst into a roar of laughter. + +'There you are!' cried Biffen, with friendly annoyance. 'You take +the conventional view. If you wrote of these things you would +represent them as laughable.' + +'They are laughable,' asserted the other, 'however serious to the +persons concerned. The mere fact of grave issues in life +depending on such paltry things is monstrously ludicrous. Life is +a huge farce, and the advantage of possessing a sense of humour +is that it enables one to defy fate with mocking laughter.' + +'That's all very well, but it isn't an original view. I am not +lacking in sense of humour, but I prefer to treat these aspects +of life from an impartial standpoint. The man who laughs takes +the side of a cruel omnipotence, if one can imagine such a thing. + +I want to take no side at all; simply to say, Look, this is the +kind of thing that happens.' + +'I admire your honesty, Biffen,' said Reardon, sighing. 'You will +never sell work of this kind, yet you have the courage to go on +with it because you believe in it.' + +'I don't know; I may perhaps sell it some day.' + +'In the meantime,' said Reardon, laying down his pipe, 'suppose +we eat a morsel of something. I'm rather hungry.' + +In the early days of his marriage Reardon was wont to offer the +friends who looked in on Sunday evening a substantial supper; by +degrees the meal had grown simpler, until now, in the depth of +his poverty, he made no pretence of hospitable entertainment. It +was only because he knew that Biffen as often as not had nothing +whatever to eat that he did not hesitate to offer him a slice of +bread and butter and a cup of tea. They went into the back room, +and over the Spartan fare continued to discuss aspects of +fiction. + +'I shall never,' said Biffen, 'write anything like a dramatic +scene. Such things do happen in life, but so very rarely that +they are nothing to my purpose. Even when they happen, +by-the-bye, it is in a shape that would be useless to the +ordinary novelist; he would have to cut away this circumstance, +and add that. Why? I should like to know. Such conventionalism +results from stage necessities. Fiction hasn't yet outgrown the +influence of the stage on which it originated. Whatever a man +writes FOR EFFECT is wrong and bad.' + +'Only in your view. There may surely exist such a thing as the +ART of fiction.' + +'It is worked out. We must have a rest from it. You, now--the +best things you have done are altogether in conflict with +novelistic conventionalities. It was because that blackguard +review of "On Neutral Ground" clumsily hinted this that I first +thought of you with interest. No, no; let us copy life. When the +man and woman are to meet for a great scene of passion, let it +all be frustrated by one or other of them having a bad cold in +the head, and so on. Let the pretty girl get a disfiguring pimple +on her nose just before the ball at which she is going to shine. +Show the numberless repulsive features of common decent life. +Seriously, coldly; not a hint of facetiousness, or the thing +becomes different.' + +About eight o'clock Reardon heard his wife's knock at the door. +On opening he saw not only Amy and the servant, the latter +holding Willie in her arms, but with them Jasper Milvain. + +'I have been at Mrs Yule's,' Jasper explained as he came in. +'Have you anyone here?' + +'Biffen.' + +'Ah, then we'll discuss realism.' + +'That's over for the evening. Greek metres also.' + +'Thank Heaven!' + +The three men seated themselves with joking and laughter, and the +smoke of their pipes gathered thickly in the little room. It was +half an hour before Amy joined them. Tobacco was no disturbance +to her, and she enjoyed the kind of talk that was held on these +occasions; but it annoyed her that she could no longer play the +hostess at a merry supper-table. + +'Why ever are you sitting in your overcoat, Mr Biffen?' were her +first words when she entered. + +'Please excuse me, Mrs Reardon. It happens to be more convenient +this evening.' + +She was puzzled, but a glance from her husband warned her not to +pursue the subject. + +Biffen always behaved to Amy with a sincerity of respect which +had made him a favourite with her. To him, poor fellow, Reardon +seemed supremely blessed. That a struggling man of letters should +have been able to marry, and such a wife, was miraculous in +Biffen's eyes. A woman's love was to him the unattainable ideal; +already thirty-five years old, he had no prospect of ever being +rich enough to assure himself a daily dinner; marriage was wildly +out of the question. Sitting here, he found it very difficult not +to gaze at Amy with uncivil persistency. Seldom in his life had +he conversed with educated women, and the sound of this clear +voice was always more delightful to him than any music. + +Amy took a place near to him, and talked in her most charming way +of such things as she knew interested him. Biffen's deferential +attitude as he listened and replied was in strong contrast with +the careless ease which marked Jasper Milvain. The realist would +never smoke in Amy's presence, but Jasper puffed jovial clouds +even whilst she was conversing with him. + +'Whelpdale came to see me last night,' remarked Milvain, +presently. 'His novel is refused on all hands. He talks of +earning a living as a commission agent for some sewing-machine +people.' + +'I can't understand how his book should be positively refused,' +said Reardon. 'The last wasn't altogether a failure.' + +'Very nearly. And this one consists of nothing but a series of +conversations between two people. It is really a dialogue, not a +novel at all. He read me some twenty pages, and I no longer +wondered that he couldn't sell it.' + +'Oh, but it has considerable merit,' put in Biffen. 'The talk is +remarkably true.' + +'But what's the good of talk that leads to nothing?' protested +Jasper. + +'It's a bit of real life.' + +'Yes, but it has no market value. You may write what you like, so +long as people are willing to read you. Whelpdale's a clever +fellow, but he can't hit a practical line.' + +'Like some other people I have heard of;' said Reardon, laughing. + +'But the odd thing is, that he always strikes one as practical- +minded. Don't you feel that, Mrs Reardon?' + +He and Amy talked for a few minutes, and Reardon, seemingly lost +in meditation, now and then observed them from the corner of his +eye. + +At eleven o'clock husband and wife were alone again. + +'You don't mean to say,' exclaimed Amy, 'that Biffen has sold his +coat?' + +'Or pawned it.' + +'But why not the overcoat?' + +'Partly, I should think, because it's the warmer of the two; +partly, perhaps, because the other would fetch more.' + +'That poor man will die of starvation, some day, Edwin.' + +'I think it not impossible.' + +'I hope you gave him something to eat?' + +'Oh yes. But I could see he didn't like to take as much as he +wanted. I don't think of him with so much pity as I used that's a +result of suffering oneself.' + +Amy set her lips and sighed. + + + +CHAPTER XI. RESPITE + +The last volume was written in fourteen days. In this achievement +Reardon rose almost to heroic pitch, for he had much to contend +with beyond the mere labour of composition. Scarcely had he begun +when a sharp attack of lumbago fell upon him; for two or three +days it was torture to support himself at the desk, and he moved +about like a cripple. Upon this ensued headaches, sore-throat, +general enfeeblement. And before the end of the fortnight it was +necessary to think of raising another small sum of money; he took +his watch to the pawnbroker's (you can imagine that it would not +stand as security for much), and sold a few more books. All this +notwithstanding, here was the novel at length finished. When he +had written 'The End' he lay back, closed his eyes, and let time +pass in blankness for a quarter of an hour. + +It remained to determine the title. But his brain refused another +effort; after a few minutes' feeble search he simply took the +name of the chief female character, Margaret Home. That must do +for the book. Already, with the penning of the last word, all its +scenes, personages, dialogues had slipped away into oblivion; he +knew and cared nothing more about them. + +'Amy, you will have to correct the proofs for me. Never as long +as I live will I look upon a page of this accursed novel. It has +all but killed me.' + +'The point is,' replied Amy, 'that here we have it complete. Pack +it up and take it to the publishers' to-morrow morning.' + +'I will.' + +'And--you will ask them to advance you a few pounds?' + +'I must.' + +But that undertaking was almost as hard to face as a rewriting of +the last volume would have been. Reardon had such superfluity of +sensitiveness that, for his own part, he would far rather have +gone hungry than ask for money not legally his due. To-day there +was no choice. In the ordinary course of business it would be +certainly a month before he heard the publishers' terms, and +perhaps the Christmas season might cause yet more delay. Without +borrowing, he could not provide for the expenses of more than +another week or two. + +His parcel under his arm, he entered the ground-floor office, and +desired to see that member of the firm with whom he had +previously had personal relations. This gentleman was not in +town; he would be away for a few days. Reardon left the +manuscript, and came out into the street again. + +He crossed, and looked up at the publishers' windows from the +opposite pavement. 'Do they suspect in what wretched +circumstances I am? Would it surprise them to know all that +depends upon that budget of paltry scribbling? I suppose not; it +must be a daily experience with them. Well, I must write a +begging letter.' + +It was raining and windy. He went slowly homewards, and was on +the point of entering the public door of the flats when his +uneasiness became so great that he turned and walked past. If he +went in, he must at once write his appeal for money, and he felt +that he could not. The degradation seemed too great. + +Was there no way of getting over the next few weeks? Rent, of +course, would be due at Christmas, but that payment might be +postponed; it was only a question of buying food and fuel. Amy +had offered to ask her mother for a few pounds; it would be +cowardly to put this task upon her now that he had promised to +meet the difficulty himself. What man in all London could and +would lend him money? He reviewed the list of his acquaintances, +but there was only one to whom he could appeal with the slightest +hope--that was Carter. + +Half an hour later he entered that same hospital door through +which, some years ago, he had passed as a half-starved applicant +for work. The matron met him. + +'Is Mr Carter here?' + +'No, sir. But we expect him any minute. Will you wait?' + +He entered the familiar office, and sat down. At the table where +he had been wont to work, a young clerk was writing. If only all +the events of the last few years could be undone, and he, with no +soul dependent upon him, be once more earning his pound a week in +this room! What a happy man he was in those days! + +Nearly half an hour passed. It is the common experience of +beggars to have to wait. Then Carter came in with quick step; he +wore a heavy ulster of the latest fashion, new gloves, a +resplendent silk hat; his cheeks were rosy from the east wind. + +'Ha, Reardon! How do? how do? Delighted to see you!' + +'Are you very busy?' + +'Well, no, not particularly. A few cheques to sign, and we're +just getting out our Christmas appeals. You remember?' + +He laughed gaily. There was a remarkable freedom from +snobbishness in this young man; the fact of Reardon's +intellectual superiority had long ago counteracted Carter's +social prejudices. + +'I should like to have a word with you.' + +'Right you are!' + +They went into a small inner room. Reardon's pulse beat at fever- +rate; his tongue was cleaving to his palate. + +'What is it, old man?' asked the secretary, seating himself and +flinging one of his legs over the other. 'You look rather seedy, +do you know. Why the deuce don't you and your wife look us up now +and then?' + +'I've had a hard pull to finish my novel.' + +'Finished, is it? I'm glad to hear that. When'll it be out? I'll +send scores of people to Mudie's after it. + +'Thanks; but I don't think much of it, to tell you the truth.' + +'Oh, we know what that means.' + +Reardon was talking like an automaton. It seemed to him that he +turned screws and pressed levers for the utterance of his next +words. + +'I may as well say at once what I have come for. Could you lend +me ten pounds for a month--in fact, until I get the money for my +book?' + +The secretary's countenance fell, though not to that expression +of utter coldness which would have come naturally under the +circumstances to a great many vivacious men. He seemed genuinely +embarrassed. + +'By Jove! I--confound it! To tell you the truth, I haven't ten +pounds to lend. Upon my word, I haven't, Reardon! These infernal +housekeeping expenses! I don't mind telling you, old man, that +Edith and I have been pushing the pace rather.' He laughed, and +thrust his hands down into his trousers-pockets. 'We pay such a +darned rent, you know--hundred and twenty-five. We've only just +been saying we should have to draw it mild for the rest of the +winter. But I'm infernally sorry; upon my word I am.' + +'And I am sorry to have annoyed you by the unseasonable request.' + +'Devilish seasonable, Reardon, I assure you!' cried the +secretary, and roared at his joke. It put him into a better +temper than ever, and he said at length: 'I suppose a fiver +wouldn't be much use?--For a month, you say?--1 might manage a +fiver, I think.' + +'It would be very useful. But on no account if ---' + +'No, no; I could manage a fiver, for a month. Shall I give you a +cheque?' + +'I'm ashamed ---' + +'Not a bit of it! I'll go and write the cheque.' + +Reardon's face was burning. Of the conversation that followed +when Carter again presented himself he never recalled a word. The +bit of paper was crushed together in his hand. Out in the street +again, he all but threw it away, dreaming for the moment that it +was a 'bus ticket or a patent medicine bill. + +He reached home much after the dinner-hour. Amy was surprised at +his long absence. + +'Got anything?' she asked. + +'Yes.' + +It was half his intention to deceive her, to say that the +publishers had advanced him five pounds. But that would be his +first word of untruth to Amy, and why should he be guilty of it? +He told her all that had happened. The result of this frankness +was something that he had not anticipated; Amy exhibited profound +vexation. + +'Oh, you SHOULDN'T have done that!' she exclaimed. 'Why didn't +you come home and tell me? I would have gone to mother at once.' + +'But does it matter?' + +'Of course it does,' she replied sharply. 'Mr Carter will tell +his wife, and how pleasant that is?' + +'I never thought of that. And perhaps it wouldn't have seemed to +me so annoying as it does to you.' + +'Very likely not.' + +She turned abruptly away, and stood at a distance in gloomy +muteness. + +'Well,' she said at length, 'there's no helping it now. Come and +have your dinner.' + +'You have taken away my appetite.' + +'Nonsense! I suppose you're dying of hunger.' + +They had a very uncomfortable meal, exchanging few words. On +Amy's face was a look more resembling bad temper than anything +Reardon had ever seen there. After dinner he went and sat alone +in the study. Amy did not come near him. He grew stubbornly +angry; remembering the pain he had gone through, he felt that +Amy's behaviour to him was cruel. She must come and speak when +she would. + +At six o'clock she showed her face in the doorway and asked if he +would come to tea. + +'Thank you,' he replied, 'I had rather stay here.' + +'As you please.' + +And he sat alone until about nine. It was only then he +recollected that he must send a note to the publishers, calling +their attention to the parcel he had left. He wrote it, and +closed with a request that they would let him hear as soon as +they conveniently could. As he was putting on his hat and coat to +go out and post the letter Amy opened the dining-room door. + +'You're going out?' + +'Yes.' + +'Shall you be long?' + +'I think not.' + +He was away only a few minutes. On returning he went first of all +into the study, but the thought of Amy alone in the other room +would not let him rest. He looked in and saw that she was sitting +without a fire. + +'You can't stay here in the cold, Amy.' + +'I'm afraid I must get used to it,' she replied, affecting to be +closely engaged upon some sewing. + +That strength of character which it had always delighted him to +read in her features was become an ominous hardness. He felt his +heart sink as he looked at her. + +'Is poverty going to have the usual result in our case?' he +asked, drawing nearer. + +'I never pretended that I could be indifferent to it.' + +'Still, don't you care to try and resist it?' + +She gave no answer. As usual in conversation with an aggrieved +woman it was necessary to go back from the general to the +particular. + +'I'm afraid,' he said, 'that the Carters already knew pretty well +how things were going with us.' + +'That's a very different thing. But when it comes to asking them +for money--' + +'I'm very sorry. I would rather have done anything if I had known +how it would annoy you.' + +'If we have to wait a month, five pounds will be very little use +to us.' + +She detailed all manner of expenses that had to be met--outlay +there was no possibility of avoiding so long as their life was +maintained on its present basis. + +'However, you needn't trouble any more about it. I'll see to it. +Now you are free from your book try to rest.' + +'Come and sit by the fire. There's small chance of rest for me if +we are thinking unkindly of each other.' + +A doleful Christmas. Week after week went by and Reardon knew +that Amy must have exhausted the money he had given her. But she +made no more demands upon him, and necessaries were paid for in +the usual way. He suffered from a sense of humiliation; sometimes +he found it difficult to look in his wife's face. + +When the publishers' letter came it contained an offer of +seventy-five pounds for the copyright of 'Margaret Home,' +twenty-five more to be paid if the sale in three-volume form +should reach a certain number of copies. + +Here was failure put into unmistakable figures. Reardon said to +himself that it was all over with his profession of authorship. +The book could not possibly succeed even to the point of +completing his hundred pounds; it would meet with universal +contempt, and indeed deserved nothing better. + +'Shall you accept this?' asked Amy, after dreary silence. + +'No one else would offer terms as good.' + +'Will they pay you at once?' + +'I must ask them to.' + +Well, it was seventy-five pounds in hand. The cheque came as soon +as it was requested, and Reardon's face brightened for the +moment. Blessed money! root of all good, until the world invent +some saner economy. + +'How much do you owe your mother?' he inquired, without looking +at Amy. + +'Six pounds,' she answered coldly. + +'And five to Carter; and rent, twelve pounds ten. We shall have a +matter of fifty pounds to go on with.' + + + +CHAPTER XII. WORK WITHOUT HOPE + +The prudent course was so obvious that he marvelled at Amy's +failing to suggest it. For people in their circumstances to be +paying a rent of fifty pounds when a home could be found for half +the money was recklessness; there would be no difficulty in +letting the flat for this last year of their lease, and the cost +of removal would be trifling. The mental relief of such a change +might enable him to front with courage a problem in any case very +difficult, and, as things were, desperate. Three months ago, in a +moment of profoundest misery, he had proposed this step; courage +failed him to speak of it again, Amy's look and voice were too +vivid in his memory. Was she not capable of such a sacrifice for +his sake? Did she prefer to let him bear all the responsibility +of whatever might result from a futile struggle to keep up +appearances? + +Between him and her there was no longer perfect confidence. Her +silence meant reproach, and--whatever might have been the case +before--there was no doubt that she now discussed him with her +mother, possibly with other people. It was not likely that she +concealed his own opinion of the book he had just finished; all +their acquaintances would be prepared to greet its publication +with private scoffing or with mournful shaking of the head. His +feeling towards Amy entered upon a new phase. The stability of +his love was a source of pain; condemning himself, he felt at the +same time that he was wronged. A coldness which was far from +representing the truth began to affect his manner and speech, and +Amy did not seem to notice it, at all events she made no kind of +protest. They no longer talked of the old subjects, but of those +mean concerns of material life which formerly they had agreed to +dismiss as quickly as possible. Their relations to each other-- +not long ago an inexhaustible topic--would not bear spoken +comment; both were too conscious of the danger-signal when they +looked that way. + +In the time of waiting for the publishers' offer, and now again +when he was asking himself how he should use the respite granted +him, Reardon spent his days at the British Museum. He could not +read to much purpose, but it was better to sit here among +strangers than seem to be idling under Amy's glance. Sick of +imaginative writing, he turned to the studies which had always +been most congenial, and tried to shape out a paper or two like +those he had formerly disposed of to editors. Among his unused +material lay a mass of notes he had made in a reading of Diogenes +Laertius, and it seemed to him now that he might make something +salable out of these anecdotes of the philosophers. In a happier +mood he could have written delightfully on such a subject--not +learnedly, but in the strain of a modern man whose humour and +sensibility find free play among the classic ghosts; even now he +was able to recover something of the light touch which had given +value to his published essays. + +Meanwhile the first number of The Current had appeared, and +Jasper Milvain had made a palpable hit. Amy spoke very often of +the article called 'Typical Readers,' and her interest in its +author was freely manifested. Whenever a mention of Jasper came +under her notice she read it Out to her husband. Reardon smiled +and appeared glad, but he did not care to discuss Milvain with +the same frankness as formerly. + +One evening at the end of January he told Amy what he had been +writing at the Museum, and asked her if she would care to hear it +read. + +'I began to wonder what you were doing,' she replied. + +'Then why didn't you ask me?' + +'I was rather afraid to.' + +'Why afraid?' + +'It would have seemed like reminding you that--you know what I +mean.' + +'That a month or two more will see us at the same crisis again. +Still, I had rather you had shown an interest in my doings.' + +After a pause Amy asked: + +'Do you think you can get a paper of this kind accepted?' + +'It isn't impossible. I think it's rather well done. Let me read +you a page--' + +'Where will you send it?' she interrupted. + +'To The Wayside.' + +'Why not try The Current? Ask Milvain to introduce you to Mr +Fadge. They pay much better, you know.' + +'But this isn't so well suited for Fadge. And I much prefer to be +independent, as long as it's possible.' + +'That's one of your faults, Edwin,' remarked his wife, mildly. +'It's only the strongest men that can make their way +independently. You ought to use every means that offers.' + +'Seeing that I am so weak?' + +'I didn't think it would offend you. I only meant---' + +'No, no; you are quite right. Certainly, I am one of the men who +need all the help they can get. But I assure you, this thing +won't do for The Current.' + +'What a pity you will go hack to those musty old times! Now think +of that article of Milvain's. If only you could do something of +that kind! What do people care about Diogenes and his tub and his +lantern?' + +'My dear girl, Diogenes Laertius had neither tub nor lantern, +that I know of. You are making a mistake; but it doesn't matter.' + +'No, I don't think it does.' The caustic note was not very +pleasant on Amy's lips. 'Whoever he was, the mass of readers will +be frightened by his name.' + +'Well, we have to recognise that the mass of readers will never +care for anything I do.' + +'You will never convince me that you couldn't write in a popular +way if you tried. I'm sure you are quite as clever as Milvain-- ' + +Reardon made an impatient gesture. + +'Do leave Milvain aside for a little! He and I are as unlike as +two + +men could be. What's the use of constantly comparing us?' + +Amy looked at him. He had never spoken to her so brusquely. + +'How can you say that I am constantly comparing you?' + +'If not in spoken words, then in your thoughts.' + +'That's not a very nice thing to say, Edwin.' + +'You make it so unmistakable, Amy. What I mean is, that you are +always regretting the difference between him and me. You lament +that I can't write in that attractive way. Well, I lament it +myself--for your sake. I wish I had Milvain's peculiar talent, so +that I could get reputation and money. But I haven't, and there's +an end of it. It irritates a man to be perpetually told of his +disadvantages.' + +'I will never mention Milvain's name again,' said Amy coldly. + +'Now that's ridiculous, and you know it.' + +'I feel the same about your irritation. I can't see that I have +given any cause for it.' + +'Then we'll talk no more of the matter.' + +Reardon threw his manuscript aside and opened a book. Amy never +asked him to resume his intention of reading what he had written. + +However, the paper was accepted. It came out in The Wayside for +March, and Reardon received seven pounds ten for it. By that time +he had written another thing of the same gossipy kind, suggested +by Pliny's Letters. The pleasant occupation did him good, but +there was no possibility of pursuing this course. 'Margaret Home' +would be published in April; he might get the five-and-twenty +pounds contingent upon a certain sale, yet that could in no case +be paid until the middle of the year, and long before then he +would be penniless. His respite drew to an end. + +But now he took counsel of no one; as far as it was possible he +lived in solitude, never seeing those of his acquaintances who +were outside the literary world, and seldom even his colleagues. +Milvain was so busy that he had only been able to look in twice +or thrice since Christmas, and Reardon nowadays never went to +Jasper's lodgings. + +He had the conviction that all was over with the happiness of his +married life, though how the events which were to express this +ruin would shape themselves he could not foresee. Amy was +revealing that aspect of her character to which he had been +blind, though a practical man would have perceived it from the +first; so far from helping him to support poverty, she perhaps +would even refuse to share it with him. He knew that she was +slowly drawing apart; already there was a divorce between their +minds, and he tortured himself in uncertainty as to how far he +retained her affections. A word of tenderness, a caress, no +longer met with response from her; her softest mood was that of +mere comradeship. All the warmth of her nature was expended upon +the child; Reardon learnt how easy it is for a mother to forget +that both parents have a share in her offspring. + +He was beginning to dislike the child. But for Willie's existence +Amy would still love him with undivided heart; not, perhaps, so +passionately as once, but still with lover's love. And Amy +understoed --or, at all events, remarked--this change in him. +She was aware that he seldom asked a question about Willie, and +that he listened with indifference when she spoke of the little +fellow's progress. In part offended, she was also in part +pleased. + +But for the child, mere poverty, he said to himself, should never +have sundered them. In the strength of his passion he could have +overcome all her disappointments; and, indeed, but for that new +care, he would most likely never have fallen to this extremity of +helplessness. It is natural in a weak and sensitive man to dream +of possibilities disturbed by the force of circumstance. For one +hour which he gave to conflict with his present difficulties, +Reardon spent many in contemplation of the happiness that might +have been. + +Even yet, it needed but a little money to redeem all. Amy had no +extravagant aspirations; a home of simple refinement and freedom +from anxiety would restore her to her nobler self. How could he +find fault with her? She knew nothing of such sordid life as he +had gone through, and to lack money for necessities seemed to her +degrading beyond endurance. Why, even the ordinary artisan's wife +does not suffer such privations as hers at the end of the past +year. For lack of that little money his life must be ruined. Of +late he had often thought about the rich uncle, John Yule, who +might perhaps leave something to Amy; but the hope was so +uncertain. And supposing such a thing were to happen; would it be +perfectly easy to live upon his wife's bounty--perhaps exhausting +a small capital, so that, some years hence, their position would +be no better than before? Not long ago, he could have taken +anything from Amy's hand; would it be so simple since the change +that had come between them? + +Having written his second magazine-article (it was rejected by +two editors, and he had no choice but to hold it over until +sufficient time had elapsed to allow of his again trying The +Wayside), he saw that he must perforce plan another novel. But +this time he was resolute not to undertake three volumes. The +advertisements informed him that numbers of authors were +abandoning that procrustean system; hopeless as he was, he might +as well try his chance with a book which could be written in a +few weeks. And why not a glaringly artificial story with a +sensational title? It could not be worse than what he had last +written. + +So, without a word to Amy, he put aside his purely intellectual +work and began once more the search for a 'plot.' This was +towards the end of February. The proofs of 'Margaret Home' were +coming in day by day; Amy had offered to correct them, but after +all he preferred to keep his shame to himself as long as +possible, and with a hurried reading he dismissed sheet after +sheet. His imagination did not work the more happily for this +repugnant task; still, he hit at length upon a conception which +seemed absurd enough for the purpose before him. Whether he could +persevere with it even to the extent of one volume was very +doubtful. But it should not be said of him that he abandoned his +wife and child to penury without one effort of the kind that +Milvain and Amy herself had recommended. + +Writing a page or two of manuscript daily, and with several +holocausts to retard him, he had done nearly a quarter of the +story when there came a note from Jasper telling of Mrs Milvain's +death. He handed it across the breakfast-table to Amy, and +watched her as she read it. + +'I suppose it doesn't alter his position,' Amy remarked, without +much interest. + +'I suppose not appreciably. He told me once his mother had a +sufficient income; but whatever she leaves will go to his +sisters, I should think. He has never said much to me.' + +Nearly three weeks passed before they heard anything more from +Jasper himself; then he wrote, again from the country, saying +that he purposed bringing his sisters to live in London. Another +week, and one evening he appeared at the door. + +A want of heartiness in Reardon's reception of him might have +been explained as gravity natural under the circumstances. But +Jasper had before this become conscious that he was not welcomed +here quite so cheerily as in the old days. He remarked it +distinctly on that evening when he accompanied Amy home from Mrs +Yule's; since then he had allowed his pressing occupations to be +an excuse for the paucity of his visits. It seemed to him +perfectly intelligible that Reardon, sinking into literary +insignificance, should grow cool to a man entering upon a +successful career; the vein of cynicism in Jasper enabled him to +pardon a weakness of this kind, which in some measure flattered +him. But he both liked and respected Reardon, and at present he +was in the mood to give expression to his warmer feelings. + +'Your book is announced, I see,' he said with an accent of +pleasure, as soon as he had seated himself. + +'I didn't know it.' + +'Yes. "New novel by the author of 'On Neutral Ground.'" Down for +the sixteenth of April. And I have a proposal to make about it. +Will you let me ask Fadge to have it noticed in "Books of the +Month," in the May Current?' + +'I strongly advise you to let it take its chance. The book isn't +worth special notice, and whoever undertook to review it for +Fadge would either have to lie, or stultify the magazine.' + +Jasper turned to Amy. + +'Now what is to be done with a man like this? What is one to say +to him, Mrs Reardon?' + +'Edwin dislikes the book,' Amy replied, carelessly. + +'That has nothing to do with the matter. We know quite well that +in anything he writes there'll be something for a well-disposed +reviewer to make a good deal of. If Fadge will let me, I should +do the thing myself.' + +Neither Reardon nor his wife spoke. + +'Of course,' went on Milvain, looking at the former, 'if you had +rather I left it alone--' + +'I had much rather. Please don't say anything about it.' + +There was an awkward silence. Amy broke it by saying: + +'Are your sisters in town, Mr Milvain?' + +'Yes. We came up two days ago. I found lodgings for them not far +from Mornington Road. Poor girls! they don't quite know where +they are, yet. Of course they will keep very quiet for a time, +then I must try to get friends for them. Well, they have one +already--your cousin, Miss Yule. She has already been to see +them.' + +'I'm very glad of that.' + +Amy took an opportunity of studying his face. There was again a +silence as if of constraint. Reardon, glancing at his wife, said +with hesitation: + +'When they care to see other visitors, I'm sure Amy would be very +glad--' + +'Certainly!' his wife added. + +'Thank you very much. Of course I knew I could depend on Mrs +Reardon to show them kindness in that way. But let me speak +frankly of something. My sisters have made quite a friend of Miss +Yule, since she was down there last year. Wouldn't that'--he +turned to Amy--'cause you a little awkwardness?' + +Amy had a difficulty in replying. She kept her eyes on the +ground. + +'You have had no quarrel with your cousin,' remarked Reardon. + +'None whatever. It's only my mother and my uncle.' + +'I can't imagine Miss Yule having a quarrel with anyone,' said +Jasper. Then he added quickly: 'Well, things must shape +themselves naturally. We shall see. For the present they will be +fully occupied. Of course it's best that they should be. I shall +see them every day, and Miss Yule will come pretty often, I dare +say.' + +Reardon caught Amy's eye, but at once looked away again. + +'My word!' exclaimed Milvain, after a moment's meditation. 'It's +well this didn't happen a year ago. The girls have no income; +only a little cash to go on with. We shall have our work set. +It's a precious lucky thing that I have just got a sort of +footing.' + +Reardon muttered an assent. + +'And what are you doing now?' Jasper inquired suddenly. + +'Writing a one-volume story.' + +'I'm glad to hear that. Any special plan for its publication?' + +'No.' + +'Then why not offer it to Jedwood? He's publishing a series of +one-volume novels. You know of Jedwood, don't you? He was +Culpepper's manager; started business about half a year ago, and +it looks as if he would do well. He married that woman--what's +her name?--Who wrote "Mr Henderson's Wives"?' + +'Never heard of it.' + +'Nonsense!--Miss Wilkes, of course. Well, she married this fellow +Jedwood, and there was a great row about something or other +between him and her publishers. Mrs Boston Wright told me all +about it. An astonishing woman that; a cyclopaedia of the day's +small talk. I'm quite a favourite with her; she's promised to +help the girls all she can. Well, but I was talking about +Jedwood. Why not offer him this book of yours? He's eager to get +hold of the new writers. Advertises hugely; he has the whole back +page of The Study about every other week. I suppose Miss Wilkes's +profits are paying for it. He has just given Markland two hundred +pounds for a paltry little tale that would scarcely swell out to +a volume. Markland told me himself. You know that I've scraped an +acquaintance with him? Oh! I suppose I haven't seen you since +then. He's a dwarfish fellow with only one eye. Mrs Boston Wright +cries him up at every opportunity.' + +'Who IS Mrs Boston Wright?' asked Reardon, laughing impatiently. + +'Edits The English Girl, you know. She's had an extraordinary +life. Was born in Mauritius--no, Ceylon--I forget; some such +place. Married a sailor at fifteen. Was shipwrecked somewhere, +and only restored to life after terrific efforts;--her story +leaves it all rather vague. Then she turns up as a newspaper +correspondent at the Cape. Gave up that, and took to some kind of +farming, I forget where. Married again (first husband lost in +aforementioned shipwreck), this time a Baptist minister, and +began to devote herself to soup-kitchens in Liverpool. Husband +burned to death, somewhere. She's next discovered in the thick of +literary society in London. A wonderful woman, I assure you. Must +be nearly fifty, but she looks twenty-five.' + +He paused, then added impulsively: + +'Let me take you to one of her evenings--nine on Thursday. Do +persuade him, Mrs Reardon?' + +Reardon shook his head. + +'No, no. I should be horribly out of my element.' + +'I can't see why. You would meet all sorts of well-known people; +those you ought to have met long ago. Better still, let me ask +her to send an invitation for both of you. I'm sure you'd like +her, Mrs Reardon. There's a good deal of humbug about her, it's +true, but some solid qualities as well. No one has a word to say +against her. And it's a splendid advertisement to have her for a +friend. She'll talk about your books and articles till all is +blue.' + +Amy gave a questioning look at her husband. But Reardon moved in +an uncomfortable way. + +'We'll see about it,' he said. 'Some day, perhaps.' + +'Let me know whenever you feel disposed. But about Jedwood: I +happen to know a man who reads for him.' + +'Heavens!' cried Reardon. 'Who don't you know?' + +'The simplest thing in the world. At present it's a large part of +my business to make acquaintances. Why, look you; a man who has +to live by miscellaneous writing couldn't get on without a vast +variety of acquaintances. One's own brain would soon run dry; a +clever fellow knows how to use the brains of other people.' + +Amy listened with an unconscious smile which expressed keen +interest. + +'Oh,' pursued Jasper, 'when did you see Whelpdale last?' + +'Haven't seen him for a long time.' + +'You don't know what he's doing? The fellow has set up as a +"literary adviser." He has an advertisement in The Study every +week. "To Young Authors and Literary Aspirants"--something of the +kind. "Advice given on choice of subjects, MSS. read, corrected, +and recommended to publishers. Moderate terms." A fact! And +what's more, he made six guineas in the first fortnight; so he +says, at all events. Now that's one of the finest jokes I ever +heard. A man who can't get anyone to publish his own books makes +a living by telling other people how to write!' + +'But it's a confounded swindle!' + +'Oh, I don't know. He's capable of correcting the grammar of +"literary aspirants," and as for recommending to publishers-- +well, anyone can recommend, I suppose.' + +Reardon's indignation yielded to laughter. + +'It's not impossible that he may thrive by this kind of thing.' + +'Not at all,' assented Jasper. + +Shortly after this he looked at his watch. + +'I must be off, my friends. I have something to write before I +can go to my truckle-bed, and it'll take me three hours at least. + +Good-bye, old man. Let me know when your story's finished, and +we'll talk about it. And think about Mrs Boston Wright; oh, and +about that review in The Current. I wish you'd let me do it. Talk +it over with your guide, philosopher, and friend.' + +He indicated Amy, who laughed in a forced way. + +When he was gone, the two sat without speaking for several +minutes. + +'Do you care to make friends with those girls?' asked Reardon at +length. + +'I suppose in decency I must call upon them?' + +'I suppose so.' + +'You may find them very agreeable.' + +'Oh yes.' + +They conversed with their own thoughts for a while. Then Reardon +burst out laughing. + +'Well, there's the successful man, you see. Some day he'll live +in a mansion, and dictate literary opinions to the universe.' + +'How has he offended you?' + +'Offended me? Not at all. I am glad of his cheerful prospects.' + +'Why should you refuse to go among those people? It might be good +for you in several ways.' + +'If the chance had come when I was publishing my best work, I +dare say I shouldn't have refused. But I certainly shall not +present myself as the author of "Margaret Home," and the rubbish +I'm now writing.' + +'Then you must cease to write rubbish.' + +'Yes. I must cease to write altogether.' + +'And do what?' + +'I wish to Heaven I knew!' + + + +CHAPTER XIII. A WARNING + +In the spring list of Mr Jedwood's publications, announcement was +made of a new work by Alfred Yule. It was called 'English Prose +in the Nineteenth Century,' and consisted of a number of essays +(several of which had already seen the light in periodicals) +strung into continuity. The final chapter dealt with contemporary +writers, more especially those who served to illustrate the +author's theme--that journalism is the destruction of prose +style: on certain popular writers of the day there was an +outpouring of gall which was not likely to be received as though +it were sweet ointment. The book met with rather severe treatment +in critical columns; it could scarcely be ignored (the safest +mode of attack when one's author has no expectant public), and +only the most skilful could write of it in a hostile spirit +without betraying that some of its strokes had told. An evening +newspaper which piqued itself on independence indulged in +laughing appreciation of the polemical chapter, and the next day +printed a scornful letter from a thinly-disguised correspondent +who assailed both book and reviewer. For the moment people talked +more of Alfred Yule than they had done since his memorable +conflict with Clement Fadge. + +The publisher had hoped for this. Mr Jedwood was an energetic and +sanguine man, who had entered upon his business with a +determination to rival in a year or so the houses which had +slowly risen into commanding stability. He had no great capital, +but the stroke of fortune which had wedded him to a popular +novelist enabled him to count on steady profit from one source, +and boundless faith in his own judgment urged him to an initial +outlay which made the prudent shake their heads. He talked much +of 'the new era,' foresaw revolutions in publishing and +book-selling, planned every week a score of untried ventures +which should appeal to the democratic generation just maturing; +in the meantime, was ready to publish anything which seemed +likely to get talked about. + +The May number of The Current, in its article headed 'Books of +the Month,' devoted about half a page to 'English Prose in the +Nineteenth Century.' This notice was a consummate example of the +flippant style of attack. Flippancy, the most hopeless form of +intellectual vice, was a characterising note of Mr Fadge's +periodical; his monthly comments on publications were already +looked for with eagerness by that growing class of readers who +care for nothing but what can be made matter of ridicule. The +hostility of other reviewers was awkward and ineffectual compared +with this venomous banter, which entertained by showing that in +the book under notice there was neither entertainment nor any +other kind of interest. To assail an author without increasing +the number of his readers is the perfection of journalistic +skill, and The Current, had it stood alone, would fully have +achieved this end. As it was, silence might have been better +tactics. But Mr Fadge knew that his enemy would smart under the +poisoned pin-points, and that was something gained. + +On the day that The Current appeared, its treatment of Alfred +Yule was discussed in Mr Jedwood's private office. Mr Quarmby, +who had intimate relations with the publisher, happened to look +in just as a young man (one of Mr Jedwood's 'readers') was +expressing a doubt whether Fadge himself was the author of the +review. + +'But there's Fadge's thumb-mark all down the page,' cried Mr +Quarmby. + +'He inspired the thing, of course; but I rather think it was +written by that fellow Milvain.' + +'Think so?' asked the publisher. + +'Well, I know with certainty that the notice of Markland's novel +is his writing, and I have reasons for suspecting that he did +Yule's book as well.' + +'Smart youngster, that,' remarked Mr Jedwood. 'Who is he, by-the- +bye?' + +'Somebody's illegitimate son, I believe,' replied the source of +trustworthy information, with a laugh. 'Denham says he met him in +New York a year or two ago, under another name. + +'Excuse me,' interposed Mr Quarmby, 'there's some mistake in all +that.' + +He went on to state what he knew, from Yule himself, concerning +Milvain's history. Though in this instance a corrector, Mr +Quarmby took an opportunity, a few hours later, of informing Mr +Hinks that the attack on Yule in The Current was almost certainly +written by young Milvain, with the result that when the rumour +reached Yule's ears it was delivered as an undoubted and +well-known fact. + +It was a month prior to this that Milvain made his call upon +Marian Yule, on the Sunday when her father was absent. When told +of the visit, Yule assumed a manner of indifference, but his +daughter understood that he was annoyed. With regard to the +sisters who would shortly be living in London, he merely said +that Marian must behave as discretion directed her. If she wished +to invite the Miss Milvains to St Paul's Crescent, he only begged +that the times and seasons of the household might not be +disturbed. + +As her habit was, Marian took refuge in silence. Nothing could +have been more welcome to her than the proximity of Maud and +Dora, but she foresaw that her own home would not be freely open +to them; perhaps it might be necessary to behave with simple +frankness, and let her friends know the embarrassments of the +situation. But that could not be done in the first instance; the +unkindness would seem too great. A day after the arrival of the +girls, she received a note from Dora, and almost at once replied +to it by calling at her friends' lodgings. A week after that, +Maud and Dora came to St Paul's Crescent; it was Sunday, and Mr +Yule purposely kept away from home. They had only been once to +the house since then, again without meeting Mr Yule. Marian, +however, visited them at their lodgings frequently; now and then +she met Jasper there. The latter never spoke of her father, and +there was no question of inviting him to repeat his call. + +In the end, Marian was obliged to speak on the subject with her +mother. Mrs Yule offered an occasion by asking when the Miss +Milvains were coming again. + +'I don't think I shall ever ask them again,' Marian replied. + +Her mother understood, and looked troubled. + +'I must tell them how it is, that's all,' the girl went on. 'They +are sensible; they won't be offended with me.' + +'But your father has never had anything to say against them,' +urged Mrs Yule. 'Not a word to me, Marian. I'd tell you the truth +if he had.' + +'It's too disagreeable, all the same. I can't invite them here +with pleasure. Father has grown prejudiced against them all, and +he won't change. No, I shall just tell them.' + +'It's very hard for you,' sighed her mother. 'If I thought I +could do any good by speaking--but I can't, my dear.' + +'I know it, mother. Let us go on as we did before.' + +The day after this, when Yule came home about the hour of dinner, +he called Marian's name from within the study. Marian had not +left the house to-day; her work had been set, in the shape of a +long task of copying from disorderly manuscript. She left the +sitting-room in obedience to her father's summons. + +'Here's something that will afford you amusement,' he said, +holding to her the new number of The Current, and indicating the +notice of his book. + +She read a few lines, then threw the thing on to the table. + +'That kind of writing sickens me,' she exclaimed, with anger in +her eyes. 'Only base and heartless people can write in that way. +You surely won't let it trouble you?' + +'Oh, not for a moment,' her father answered, with exaggerated +show of calm. 'But I am surprised that you don't see the literary +merit of the work. I thought it would distinctly appeal to you.' + +There was a strangeness in his voice, as well as in the words, +which caused her to look at him inquiringly. She knew him well +enough to understand that such a notice would irritate him +profoundly; but why should he go out of his way to show it her, +and with this peculiar acerbity of manner? + +'Why do you say that, father?' + +'It doesn't occur to you who may probably have written it?' + +She could not miss his meaning; astonishment held her mute for a +moment, then she said: + +'Surely Mr Fadge wrote it himself?' + +'I am told not. I am informed on very good authority that one of +his young gentlemen has the credit of it.' + +'You refer, of course, to Mr Milvain,' she replied quietly. 'But +I think that can't be true.' + +He looked keenly at her. He had expected a more decided protest. + +'I see no reason for disbelieving it.' + +'I see every reason, until I have your evidence.' + +This was not at all Marian's natural tone in argument with him. +She was wont to be submissive. + +'I was told,' he continued, hardening face and voice, 'by someone +who had it from Jedwood.' + +Yule was conscious of untruth in this statement, but his mood +would not allow him to speak ingenuously, and he wished to note +the effect upon Marian of what he said. There were two beliefs in +him: on the one hand, he recognised Fadge in every line of the +writing; on the other, he had a perverse satisfaction in +convincing himself that it was Milvain who had caught so +successfully the master's manner. He was not the kind of man who +can resist an opportunity of justifying, to himself and others, a +course into which he has been led by mingled feelings, all more +or less unjustifiable. + +'How should Jedwood know?' asked Marian. + +Yule shrugged his shoulders. + +'As if these things didn't get about among editors and +publishers!' + +'In this case, there's a mistake.' + +'And why, pray?' His voice trembled with choler. 'Why need there +be a mistake?' + +'Because Mr Milvain is quite incapable of reviewing your book in +such a spirit.' + +'There is your mistake, my girl. Milvain will do anything that's +asked of him, provided he's well enough paid.' + +Marian reflected. When she raised her eyes again they were +perfectly calm. + +'What has led you to think that?' + +'Don't I know the type of man? Noscitur ex sociis--have you Latin +enough for that?' + +'You'll find that you are misinformed,' Marian replied, and +therewith went from the room. + +She could not trust herself to converse longer. A resentment such +as her father had never yet excited in her--such, indeed, as she +had seldom, if ever, conceived--threatened to force utterance for +itself in words which would change the current of her whole life. +She saw her father in his worst aspect, and her heart was shaken +by an unnatural revolt from him. Let his assurance of what he +reported be ever so firm, what right had he to make this use of +it? His behaviour was spiteful. Suppose he entertained suspicions +which seemed to make it his duty to warn her against Milvain, +this was not the way to go about it. A father actuated by simple +motives of affection would never speak and look thus. + +It was the hateful spirit of literary rancour that ruled him; the +spirit that made people eager to believe all evil, that blinded +and maddened. Never had she felt so strongly the unworthiness of +the existence to which she was condemned. That contemptible +review, and now her father's ignoble passion--such things were +enough to make all literature appear a morbid excrescence upon +human life. + +Forgetful of the time, she sat in her bedroom until a knock at +the door, and her mother's voice, admonished her that dinner was +waiting. An impulse all but caused her to say that she would +rather not go down for the meal, that she wished to be left +alone. But this would be weak peevishness. She just looked at the +glass to see that her face bore no unwonted signs, and descended +to take her place as usual. + +Throughout the dinner there passed no word of conversation. Yule +was at his blackest; he gobbled a few mouthfuls, then occupied +himself with the evening paper. On rising, he said to Marian: + +'Have you copied the whole of that?' + +The tone would have been uncivil if addressed to an impertinent +servant. + +'Not much more than half,' was the cold reply. + +'Can you finish it to-night?' + +'I'm afraid not. I am going out.' + +'Then I must do it myself' + +And he went to the study. + +Mrs Yule was in an anguish of nervousness. + +'What is it, dear?' she asked of Marian, in a pleading whisper. +'Oh, don't quarrel with your father! Don't!' + +'I can't be a slave, mother, and I can't be treated unjustly.' + +'What is it? Let me go and speak to him.' + +'It's no use. We CAN'T live in terror.' + +For Mrs Yule this was unimaginable disaster. She had never dreamt +that Marian, the still, gentle Marian, could be driven to revolt. +And it had come with the suddenness of a thunderclap. She wished +to ask what had taken place between father and daughter in the +brief interview before dinner; but Marian gave her no chance, +quitting the room upon those last trembling words. + +The girl had resolved to visit her friends, the sisters, and tell +them that in future they must never come to see her at home. But +it was no easy thing for her to stifle her conscience, and leave +her father to toil over that copying which had need of being +finished. Not her will, but her exasperated feeling, had replied +to him that she would not do the work; already it astonished her +that she had really spoken such words. And as the throbbing of +her pulses subsided, she saw more clearly into the motives of +this wretched tumult which possessed her. Her mind was harassed +with a fear lest in defending Milvain she had spoken foolishly. +Had he not himself said to her that he might be guilty of base +things, just to make his way? Perhaps it was the intolerable pain +of imagining that he had already made good his words, which +robbed her of self-control and made her meet her father's +rudeness with defiance. + +Impossible to carry out her purpose; she could not deliberately +leave the house and spend some hours away with the thought of +such wrath and misery left behind her. Gradually she was +returning to her natural self; fear and penitence were chill at +her heart. + +She went down to the study, tapped, and entered. + +'Father, I said something that I did not really mean. Of course I +shall go on with the copying and finish it as soon as possible.' + +'You will do nothing of the kind, my girl.' He was in his usual +place, already working at Marian's task; he spoke in a low, thick +voice. 'Spend your evening as you choose, I have no need of you.' + +'I behaved very ill-temperedly. Forgive me, father.' + +'Have the goodness to go away. You hear me?' + +His eyes were inflamed, and his discoloured teeth showed +themselves savagely. Marian durst not, really durst not approach +him. She hesitated, but once more a sense of hateful injustice +moved within her, and she went away as quietly as she had +entered. + +She said to herself that now it was her perfect right to go +whither she would. But the freedom was only in theory; her +submissive and timid nature kept her at home--and upstairs in her +own room; for, if she went to sit with her mother, of necessity +she must talk about what had happened, and that she felt unable +to do. Some friend to whom she could unbosom all her sufferings +would now have been very precious to her, but Maud and Dora were +her only intimates, and to them she might not make the full +confession which gives solace. + +Mrs Yule did not venture to intrude upon her daughter's privacy. +That Marian neither went out nor showed herself in the house +proved her troubled state, but the mother had no confidence in +her power to comfort. At the usual time she presented herself in +the study with her husband's coffee; the face which was for an +instant turned to her did not invite conversation, but distress +obliged her to speak. + +'Why are you cross with Marian, Alfred?' + +'You had better ask what she means by her extraordinary +behaviour.' + +A word of harsh rebuff was the most she had expected. Thus +encouraged, she timidly put another question. + +'How has she behaved?' + +'I suppose you have ears?' + +'But wasn't there something before that? You spoke so angry to +her.' + +'Spoke so angry, did I? She is out, I suppose?' + +'No, she hasn't gone out.' + +'That'll do. Don't disturb me any longer.' + +She did not venture to linger. + +The breakfast next morning seemed likely to pass without any +interchange of words. But when Yule was pushing back his chair, +Marian--who looked pale and ill--addressed a question to him +about the work she would ordinarily have pursued to-day at the +Reading-room. He answered in a matter-of-fact tone, and for a few +minutes they talked on the subject much as at any other time. +Half an hour after, Marian set forth for the Museum in the usual +way. Her father stayed at home. + +It was the end of the episode for the present. Marian felt that +the best thing would be to ignore what had happened, as her +father evidently purposed doing. She had asked his forgiveness, +and it was harsh in him to have repelled her; but by now she was +able once more to take into consideration all his trials and +toils, his embittered temper and the new wound he had received. +That he should resume his wonted manner was sufficient evidence +of regret on his part. Gladly she would have unsaid her resentful +words; she had been guilty of a childish outburst of temper, and +perhaps had prepared worse sufferings for the future. + +And yet, perhaps it was as well that her father should be warned. +She was not all submission, he might try her beyond endurance; +there might come a day when perforce she must stand face to face +with him, and make it known she had her own claims upon life. It +was as well he should hold that possibility in view. + +This evening no work was expected of her. Not long after dinner +she prepared for going out; to her mother she mentioned she +should be back about ten o'clock. + +'Give my kind regards to them, dear--if you like to,' said Mrs +Yule just above her breath. + +'Certainly I will.' + + + +CHAPTER XIV. ECRUITS + +Marian walked to the nearest point of Camden Road, and there +waited for an omnibus, which conveyed her to within easy reach of +the street where Maud and Dora Milvain had their lodgings. This +was at the north-east of Regent's Park, and no great distance +from Mornington Road, where Jasper still dwelt. + +On learning that the young ladies were at home and alone, she +ascended to the second floor and knocked. + +'That's right!' exclaimed Dora's pleasant voice, as the door +opened and the visitor showed herself And then came the friendly +greeting which warmed Marian's heart, the greeting which until +lately no house in London could afford her. + +The girls looked oddly out of place in this second-floor sitting- +room, with its vulgar furniture and paltry ornaments. Maud +especially so, for her fine figure was well displayed by the +dress of mourning, and her pale, handsome face had as little +congruence as possible with a background of humble circumstances. + +Dora impressed one as a simpler nature, but she too had +distinctly the note of refinement which was out of harmony with +these surroundings. They occupied only two rooms, the +sleeping-chamber being double-bedded; they purchased food for +themselves and prepared their own meals, excepting dinner. During +the first week a good many tears were shed by both of them; it +was not easy to transfer themselves from the comfortable country +home to this bare corner of lodgers' London. Maud, as appeared at +the first glance, was less disposed than her sister to make the +best of things; her countenance wore an expression rather of +discontent than of sorrow, and she did not talk with the same +readiness as Dora. + +On the round table lay a number of books; when disturbed, the +sisters had been engaged in studious reading. + +'I'm not sure that I do right in coming again so soon,' said +Marian as she took off her things. 'Your time is precious.' + +'So are you,' replied Dora, laughing. 'It's only under protest +that we work in the evening when we have been hard at it all +day.' + +'We have news for you, too,' said Maud, who sat languidly on an +uneasy chair. + +'Good, I hope?' + +'Someone called to see us yesterday. I dare say you can guess who +it was.' + +'Amy, perhaps?' + +'Yes.' + +'And how did you like her?' + +The sisters seemed to have a difficulty in answering. Dora was +the first to speak. + +'We thought she was sadly out of spirits. Indeed she told us that +she hasn't been very well lately. But I think we shall like her +if we come to know her better.' + +'It was rather awkward, Marian,' the elder sister explained. 'We +felt obliged to say something about Mr Reardon's books, but we +haven't read any of them yet, you know, so I just said that I +hoped soon to read his new novel. "I suppose you have seen +reviews of it?" she asked at once. Of course I ought to have had +the courage to say no, but I admitted that I had seen one or two +-- Jasper showed us them. She looked very much annoyed, and after +that we didn't find much to talk about.' + +'The reviews are very disagreeable,' said Marian with a troubled +face. 'I have read the book since I saw you the other day, and I +am afraid it isn't good, but I have seen many worse novels more +kindly reviewed.' + +'Jasper says it's because Mr Reardon has no friends among the +journalists.' + +'Still,' replied Marian, 'I'm afraid they couldn't have given the +book much praise, if they wrote honestly. Did Amy ask you to go +and see her?' + +'Yes, but she said it was uncertain how long they would be living +at their present address. And really. we can't feel sure whether +we should be welcome or not just now.' + +Marian listened with bent head. She too had to make known to her +friends that they were not welcome in her own home; but she knew +not how to utter words which would sound so unkind. + +'Your brother,' she said after a pause, 'will soon find suitable +friends for you.' + +'Before long,' replied Dora, with a look of amusement, 'he's +going to take us to call on Mrs Boston Wright. I hardly thought +he was serious at first, but he says he really means it.' + +Marian grew more and more silent. At home she had felt that it +would not be difficult to explain her troubles to these +sympathetic girls, but now the time had come for speaking, she +was oppressed by shame and anxiety. True, there was no absolute +necessity for making the confession this evening, and if she +chose to resist her father's prejudice, things might even go on +in a seemingly natural way. But the loneliness of her life had +developed in her a sensitiveness which could not endure +situations such as the present; difficulties which are of small +account to people who take their part in active social life, +harassed her to the destruction of all peace. Dora was not long +in noticing the dejected mood which had come upon her friend. + +'What's troubling you, Marian?' + +'Something I can hardly bear to speak of. Perhaps it will be the +end of your friendship for me, and I should find it very hard to +go back to my old solitude.' + +The girls gazed at her, in doubt at first whether she spoke +seriously. + +'What can you mean?' Dora exclaimed. 'What crime have you been +committing?' + +Maud, who leaned with her elbows on the table, searched Marian's +face curiously, but said nothing. + +'Has Mr Milvain shown you the new number of The Current?' Marian +went on to ask. + +They replied with a negative, and Maud added: + +'He has nothing in it this month, except a review.' + +'A review?' repeated Marian in a low voice. + +'Yes; of somebody's novel.' + +'Markland's,' supplied Dora. + +Marian drew a breath, but remained for a moment with her eyes +cast down. + +'Do go on, dear,' urged Dora. 'Whatever are you going to tell +us?' + +'There's a notice of father's book,' continued the other, 'a very +ill-natured one; it's written by the editor, Mr Fadge. Father and +he have been very unfriendly for a long time. Perhaps Mr Milvain +has told you something about it?' + +Dora replied that he had. + +'I don't know how it is in other professions,' Marian resumed, +'but I hope there is less envy, hatred and malice than in this of +ours. The name of literature is often made hateful to me by the +things I hear and read. My father has never been very fortunate, +and many things have happened to make him bitter against the men +who succeed; he has often quarrelled with people who were at +first his friends, but never so seriously with anyone as with Mr +Fadge. His feeling of enmity goes so far that it includes even +those who are in any way associated with Mr Fadge. I am sorry to +say'--she looked with painful anxiety from one to the other of +her hearers--'this has turned him against your brother, and-- ' + +Her voice was checked by agitation. + +'We were afraid of this,' said Dora, in a tone of sympathy. + +'Jasper feared it might be the case,' added Maud, more coldly, +though with friendliness. + +'Why I speak of it at all,' Marian hastened to say, 'is because I +am so afraid it should make a difference between yourselves and +me.' + +'Oh! don't think that!' Dora exclaimed. + +'I am so ashamed,' Marian went on in an uncertain tone, 'but I +think it will be better if I don't ask you to come and see me. It +sounds ridiculous; it is ridiculous and shameful. I couldn't +complain if you refused to have anything more to do with me.' + +'Don't let it trouble you,' urged Maud, with perhaps a trifle +more of magnanimity in her voice than was needful. We quite +understand. Indeed, it shan't make any difference to us.' + +But Marian had averted her face, and could not meet these +assurances with any show of pleasure. Now that the step was taken +she felt that her behaviour had been very weak. Unreasonable +harshness such as her father's ought to have been met more +steadily; she had no right to make it an excuse for such +incivility to her friends. Yet only in some such way as this +could she make known to Jasper Milvain how her father regarded +him, which she felt it necessary to do. Now his sisters would +tell him, and henceforth there would be a clear understanding on +both sides. That state of things was painful to her, but it was +better than ambiguous relations. + +'Jasper is very sorry about it,' said Dora, glancing rapidly at +Marian. + +'But his connection with Mr Fadge came about in such a natural +way,' added the eldest sister. 'And it was impossible for him to +refuse opportunities.' + +'Impossible; I know,' Marian replied earnestly. 'Don't think that +I wish to justify my father. But I can understand him, and it +must be very difficult for you to do so. You can't know, as I do, +how intensely he has suffered in these wretched, ignoble +quarrels. If only you will let me come here still, in the same +way, and still be as friendly to me. My home has never been a +place to which I could have invited friends with any comfort, +even if I had had any to invite. There were always reasons--but I +can't speak of them.' + +'My dear Marian,' appealed Dora, 'don't distress yourself so! Do +believe that nothing whatever has happened to change our feeling +to you. Has there, Maud?' + +'Nothing whatever. We are not unreasonable girls, Marian.' + +'I am more grateful to you than I can say.' + +It had seemed as if Marian must give way to the emotions which +all but choked her voice; she overcame them, however, and +presently was able to talk in pretty much her usual way, though +when she smiled it was but faintly. Maud tried to lead her +thoughts in another direction by speaking of work in which she +and Dora were engaged. Already the sisters were doing a new piece +of compilation for Messrs Jolly and Monk; it was more exacting +than their initial task for the book market, and would take a +much longer time. + +A couple of hours went by, and Marian had just spoken of taking +her leave, when a man's step was heard rapidly ascending the +nearest flight of stairs. + +'Here's Jasper,' remarked Dora, and in a moment there sounded a +short, sharp summons at the door. + +Jasper it was; he came in with radiant face, his eyes blinking +before the lamplight. + +'Well, girls! Ha! how do you do, Miss Yule? I had just the +vaguest sort of expectation that you might be here. It seemed a +likely night; I don't know why. I say, Dora, we really must get +two or three decent easy-chairs for your room. I've seen some +outside a second-hand furniture shop in Hampstead Road, about six +shillings apiece. There's no sitting on chairs such as these.' + +That on which he tried to dispose himself, when he had flung +aside his trappings, creaked and shivered ominously. + +'You hear? I shall come plump on to the floor, if I don't mind. +My word, what a day I have had! I've just been trying what I +really could do in one day if I worked my hardest. Now just +listen; it deserves to be chronicled for the encouragement of +aspiring youth. I got up at 7.30, and whilst I breakfasted I read +through a volume I had to review. By 10.30 the review was +written--three-quarters of a column of the Evening Budget.' + +'Who is the unfortunate author?' interrupted Maud, caustically. + +'Not unfortunate at all. I had to crack him up; otherwise I +couldn't have done the job so quickly. It's the easiest thing in +the world to write laudation; only an inexperienced grumbler +would declare it was easier to find fault. The book was +Billington's "Vagaries"; pompous idiocy, of course, but he lives +in a big house and gives dinners. Well, from 10.30 to 11, I +smoked a cigar and reflected, feeling that the day wasn't badly +begun. At eleven I was ready to write my Saturday causerie for +the Will o' the Wisp; it took me till close upon one o'clock, +which was rather too long. I can't afford more than an hour and a +half for that job. At one, I rushed out to a dirty little +eating-house in Hampstead Road. Was back again by a quarter to +two, having in the meantime sketched a paper for The West End. +Pipe in mouth, I sat down to leisurely artistic work; by five, +half the paper was done; the other half remains for to-morrow. +From five to half-past I read four newspapers and two magazines, +and from half-past to a quarter to six I jotted down several +ideas that had come to me whilst reading. At six I was again in +the dirty eating-house, satisfying a ferocious hunger. Home once +more at 6.45, and for two hours wrote steadily at a long affair I +have in hand for The Current. Then I came here, thinking hard all +the way. What say you to this? Have I earned a night's repose?' + +'And what's the value of it all?' asked Maud. + +'Probably from ten to twelve guineas, if I calculated.' + +'I meant, what was the literary value of it?' said his sister, +with a smile. + +'Equal to that of the contents of a mouldy nut.' + +'Pretty much what I thought.' + +'Oh, but it answers the purpose,' urged Dora, 'and it does no one +any harm.' + +'Honest journey-work!' cried Jasper. 'There are few men in London +capable of such a feat. Many a fellow could write more in +quantity, but they couldn't command my market. It's rubbish, but +rubbish of a very special kind, of fine quality.' + +Marian had not yet spoken, save a word or two in reply to +Jasper's greeting; now and then she just glanced at him, but for +the most part her eyes were cast down. Now Jasper addressed her. + +'A year ago, Miss Yule, I shouldn't have believed myself capable +of such activity. In fact I wasn't capable of it then.' + +'You think such work won't be too great a strain upon you?' she +asked. + +'Oh, this isn't a specimen day, you know. To-morrow I shall very +likely do nothing but finish my West End article, in an easy two +or three hours. There's no knowing; I might perhaps keep up the +high pressure if I tried. But then I couldn't dispose of all the +work. Little by little--or perhaps rather quicker than that--I +shall extend my scope. For instance, I should like to do two or +three leaders a week for one of the big dailies. I can't attain +unto that just yet.' + +'Not political leaders?' + +'By no means. That's not my line. The kind of thing in which one +makes a column out of what would fill six lines of respectable +prose. You call a cigar a "convoluted weed," and so on, you know; +that passes for facetiousness. I've never really tried my hand at +that style yet; I shouldn't wonder if I managed it brilliantly. +Some day I'll write a few exercises; just take two lines of some +good prose writer, and expand them into twenty, in half-a-dozen +different ways. Excellent mental gymnastics!' + +Marian listened to his flow of talk for a few minutes longer, +then took the opportunity of a brief silence to rise and put on +her hat. Jasper observed her, but without rising; he looked at +his sisters in a hesitating way. At length he stood up, and +declared that he too must be off. This coincidence had happened +once before when he met Marian here in the evening. + +'At all events, you won't do any more work to-night,' said Dora. + +'No; I shall read a page of something or other over a glass of +whisky, and seek the sleep of a man who has done his duty.' + +'Why the whisky?' asked Maud. + +'Do you grudge me such poor solace?' + +'I don't see the need of it.' + +'Nonsense, Maud!' exclaimed her sister. 'He needs a little +stimulant when he works so hard.' + +Each of the girls gave Marian's hand a significant pressure as +she took leave of them, and begged her to come again as soon as +she had a free evening. There was gratitude in her eyes. + +The evening was clear, and not very cold. + +'It's rather late for you to go home,' said Jasper, as they left +the house. 'May I walk part of the way with you?' + +Marian replied with a low 'Thank you.' + +'I think you get on pretty well with the girls, don't you?' + +'I hope they are as glad of my friendship as I am of theirs.' + +'Pity to see them in a place like that, isn't it? They ought to +have a good house, with plenty of servants. It's bad enough for a +civilised man to have to rough it, but I hate to see women living +in a sordid way. Don't you think they could both play their part +in a drawing-room, with a little experience?' + +'Surely there's no doubt of it.' + +'Maud would look really superb if she were handsomely dressed. +She hasn't a common face, by any means. And Dora is pretty, I +think. Well, they shall go and see some people before long. The +difficulty is, one doesn't like it to be known that they live in +such a crib; but I daren't advise them to go in for expense. One +can't be sure that it would repay them, though-- Now, in my own +case, if I could get hold of a few thousand pounds I should know +how to use it with the certainty of return; it would save me, +probably, a clear ten years of life; I mean, I should go at a +jump to what I shall be ten years hence without the help of +money. But they have such a miserable little bit of capital, and +everything is still so uncertain. One daren't speculate under the +circumstances.' + +Marian made no reply. + +'You think I talk of nothing but money?' Jasper said suddenly, +looking down into her face. + +'I know too well what it means to be without money.' + +'Yes, but--you do just a little despise me?' + +'Indeed, I don't, Mr Milvain.' + +'If that is sincere, I'm very glad. I take it in a friendly +sense. I am rather despicable, you know; it's part of my business +to be so. But a friend needn't regard that. There is the man +apart from his necessities.' + +The silence was then unbroken till they came to the lower end of +Park Street, the junction of roads which lead to Hampstead, to +Highgate, and to Holloway. + +'Shall you take an omnibus?' Jasper asked. + +She hesitated. + +'Or will you give me the pleasure of walking on with you? You are +tired, perhaps?' + +'Not the least.' + +For the rest of her answer she moved forward, and they crossed +into the obscurity of Camden Road. + +'Shall I be doing wrong, Mr Milvain,' Marian began in a very low +voice, 'if I ask you about the authorship of something in this +month's Current?' + +'I'm afraid I know what you refer to. There's no reason why I +shouldn't answer a question of the kind.' + +'It was Mr Fadge himself who reviewed my father's book?' + +'It was--confound him! I don't know another man who could have +done the thing so vilely well.' + +'I suppose he was only replying to my father's attack upon him +and his friends.' + +'Your father's attack is honest and straightforward and +justifiable and well put. I read that chapter of his book with +huge satisfaction. But has anyone suggested that another than +Fadge was capable of that masterpiece?' + +'Yes. I am told that Mr Jedwood, the publisher, has somehow made +a mistake.' + +'Jedwood? And what mistake?' + +'Father heard that you were the writer.' + +'I?' Jasper stopped short. They were in the rays of a street- +lamp, and could see each other's faces. 'And he believes that?' + +'I'm afraid so.' + +'And you believe--believed it?' + +'Not for a moment.' + +'I shall write a note to Mr Yule.' + +Marian was silent a while, then said: + +'Wouldn't it be better if you found a way of letting Mr Jedwood +know the truth?' + +'Perhaps you are right.' + +Jasper was very grateful for the suggestion. In that moment he +had reflected how rash it would be to write to Alfred Yule on +such a subject, with whatever prudence in expressing himself. +Such a letter, coming under the notice of the great Fadge, might +do its writer serious harm. + +'Yes, you are right,' he repeated. 'I'll stop that rumour at its +source. I can't guess how it started; for aught I know, some +enemy hath done this, though I don't quite discern the motive. +Thank you very much for telling me, and still more for refusing +to believe that I could treat Mr Yule in that way, even as a +matter of business. When I said that I was despicable, I didn't +mean that I could sink quite to such a point as that. If only +because it was your father--' + +He checked himself and they walked on for several yards without +speaking. + +'In that case,' Jasper resumed at length, 'your father doesn't +think of me in a very friendly way?' + +'He scarcely could--' + +'No, no. And I quite understand that the mere fact of my working +for Fadge would prejudice him against me. But that's no reason, I +hope, why you and I shouldn't be friends?' + +'I hope not.' + +'I don't know that my friendship is worth much,' Jasper +continued, talking into the upper air, a habit of his when he +discussed his own character. 'I shall go on as I have begun, and +fight for some of the good things of life. But your friendship is +valuable. If I am sure of it, I shall be at all events within +sight of the better ideals.' + +Marian walked on with her eyes upon the ground. To her surprise +she discovered presently that they had all but reached St Paul's +Crescent. + +'Thank you for having come so far,' she said, pausing. + +'Ah, you are nearly home. Why, it seems only a few minutes since +we left the girls. Now I'll run back to the whisky of which Maud +disapproves.' + +'May it do you good!' said Marian with a laugh. + +A speech of this kind seemed unusual upon her lips. Jasper smiled +as he held her hand and regarded her. + +'Then you can speak in a joking way?' + +'Do I seem so very dull?' + +'Dull, by no means. But sage and sober and reticent--and exactly +what I like in my friend, because it contrasts with my own +habits. All the better that merriment lies below it. Goodnight, +Miss Yule.' + +He strode off and in a minute or two turned his head to look at +the slight figure passing into darkness. + +Marian's hand trembled as she tried to insert her latch-key. When +she had closed the door very quietly behind her she went to the +sitting-room; Mrs Yule was just laying aside the sewing on which +she had occupied herself throughout the lonely evening. + +'I'm rather late,' said the girl, in a voice of subdued +joyousness. + +'Yes; I was getting a little uneasy, dear.' + +'Oh, there's no danger.' + +'You have been enjoying yourself, I can see.' + +'I have had a pleasant evening.' + +In the retrospect it seemed the pleasantest she had yet spent +with her friends, though she had set out in such a different +mood. Her mind was relieved of two anxieties; she felt sure that +the girls had not taken ill what she told them, and there was no +longer the least doubt concerning the authorship of that review +in The Current. + +She could confess to herself now that the assurance from Jasper's +lips was not superfluous. He might have weighed profit against +other considerations, and have written in that way of her father; +she had not felt that absolute confidence which defies every +argument from human frailty. And now she asked herself if faith +of that unassailable kind is ever possible; is it not only the +poet's dream, the far ideal? + +Marian often went thus far in her speculation. Her candour was +allied with clear insight into the possibilities of falsehood; +she was not readily the victim of illusion; thinking much, and +speaking little, she had not come to her twenty-third year +without perceiving what a distance lay between a girl's dream of +life as it might be and life as it is. Had she invariably +disclosed her thoughts, she would have earned the repute of a +very sceptical and slightly cynical person. + +But with what rapturous tumult of the heart she could abandon +herself to a belief in human virtues when their suggestion seemed +to promise her a future of happiness! + +Alone in her room she sat down only to think of Jasper Milvain, +and extract from the memory of his words, his looks, new +sustenance for her hungry heart. Jasper was the first man who had +ever evinced a man's interest in her. Until she met him she had +not known a look of compliment or a word addressed to her +emotions. He was as far as possible from representing the lover +of her imagination, but from the day of that long talk in the +fields near Wattleborough the thought of him had supplanted +dreams. On that day she said to herself: I could love him if he +cared to seek my love. Premature, perhaps; why, yes, but one who +is starving is not wont to feel reluctance at the suggestion of +food. The first man who had approached her with display of +feeling and energy and youthful self-confidence; handsome too, it +seemed to her. Her womanhood went eagerly to meet him. + +Since then she had made careful study of his faults. Each +conversation had revealed to her new weakness and follies. With +the result that her love had grown to a reality. + +He was so human, and a youth of all but monastic seclusion had +prepared her to love the man who aimed with frank energy at the +joys of life. A taint of pedantry would have repelled her. She +did not ask for high intellect or great attainments; but +vivacity, courage, determination to succeed, were delightful to +her senses. Her ideal would not have been a literary man at all; +certainly not a man likely to be prominent in journalism; rather +a man of action, one who had no restraints of commerce or +official routine. But in Jasper she saw the qualities that +attracted her apart from the accidents of his position. Ideal +personages do not descend to girls who have to labour at the +British Museum; it seemed a marvel to her, and of good augury, +that even such a man as Jasper should have crossed her path. + +It was as though years had passed since their first meeting. Upon +her return to London had followed such long periods of +hopelessness. Yet whenever they encountered each other he had +look and speech for her with which surely he did not greet every +woman. From the first his way of regarding her had shown frank +interest. And at length had come the confession of his 'respect,' +his desire to be something more to her than a mere acquaintance. +It was scarcely possible that he should speak as he several times +had of late if he did not wish to draw her towards him. + +That was the hopeful side of her thoughts. It was easy to forget +for a time those words of his which one might think were spoken +as distinct warning; but they crept into the memory, unwelcome, +importunate, as soon as imagination had built its palace of joy. +Why did he always recur to the subject of money? 'I shall allow +nothing to come in my way;' he once said that as if meaning, +'certainly not a love affair with a girl who is penniless.' He +emphasised the word 'friend,' as if to explain that he offered +and asked nothing more than friendship. + +But it only meant that he would not be in haste to. declare +himself. Of a certainty there was conflict between his ambition +and his love, but she recognised her power over him and exulted +in it. She had observed his hesitancy this evening, before he +rose to accompany her from the house; her heart laughed within +her as the desire drew him. And henceforth such meetings would be +frequent, with each one her influence would increase. How kindly +fate had dealt with her in bringing Maud and Dora to London! + +It was within his reach to marry a woman who would bring him +wealth. He had that in mind; she understood it too well. But not +one moment's advantage would she relinquish. He must choose her +in her poverty, and be content with what his talents could earn +for him. Her love gave her the right to demand this sacrifice; +let him ask for her love, and the sacrifice would no longer seem +one, so passionately would she reward him. + +He would ask it. To-night she was full of a rich confidence, +partly, no doubt, the result of reaction from her miseries. He +had said at parting that her character was so well suited to his; +that he liked her. And then he had pressed her hand so warmly. +Before long he would ask her love. + +The unhoped was all but granted her. She could labour on in the +valley of the shadow of books, for a ray of dazzling sunshine +might at any moment strike into its musty gloom. + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE LAST RESOURCE + +The past twelve months had added several years to Edwin Reardon's +seeming age; at thirty-three he would generally have been taken +for forty. His bearing, his personal habits, were no longer those +of a young man; he walked with a stoop and pressed noticeably on +the stick he carried; it was rare for him to show the countenance +which tells of present cheerfulness or glad onward-looking; there +was no spring in his step; his voice had fallen to a lower key, +and often he spoke with that hesitation in choice of words which +may be noticed in persons whom defeat has made self-distrustful. +Ceaseless perplexity and dread gave a wandering, sometimes a +wild, expression to his eyes. + +He seldom slept, in the proper sense of the word; as a rule he +was conscious all through the night of 'a kind of fighting' +between physical weariness and wakeful toil of the mind. It often +happened that some wholly imaginary obstacle in the story he was +writing kept him under a sense of effort throughout the dark +hours; now and again he woke, reasoned with himself, and +remembered clearly that the torment was without cause, but the +short relief thus afforded soon passed in the recollection of +real distress. In his unsoothing slumber he talked aloud, +frequently wakening Amy; generally he seemed to be holding a +dialogue with someone who had imposed an intolerable task upon +him; he protested passionately, appealed, argued in the strangest +way about the injustice of what was demanded. Once Amy heard him +begging for money--positively begging, like some poor wretch in +the street; it was horrible, and made her shed tears; when he +asked what he had been saying, she could not bring herself to +tell him. + +When the striking clocks summoned him remorselessly to rise and +work he often reeled with dizziness. It seemed to him that the +greatest happiness attainable would be to creep into some dark, +warm corner, out of the sight and memory of men, and lie there +torpid, with a blessed half-consciousness that death was slowly +overcoming him. Of all the sufferings collected into each +four-and-twenty hours this of rising to a new day was the worst. + +The one-volume story which he had calculated would take him four +or five weeks was with difficulty finished in two months. March +winds made an invalid of him; at one time he was threatened with +bronchitis, and for several days had to abandon even the effort +to work. In previous winters he had been wont to undergo a good +deal of martyrdom from the London climate, but never in such a +degree as now; mental illness seemed to have enfeebled his body. + +It was strange that he succeeded in doing work of any kind, for +he had no hope from the result. This one last effort he would +make, just to complete the undeniableness of his failure, and +then literature should be thrown behind him; what other pursuit +was possible to him he knew not, but perhaps he might discover +some mode of earning a livelihood. Had it been a question of +gaining a pound a week, as in the old days, he might have hoped +to obtain some clerkship like that at the hospital, where no +commercial experience or aptitude was demanded; but in his +present position such an income would be useless. Could he take +Amy and the child to live in a garret? On less than a hundred a +year it was scarcely possible to maintain outward decency. +Already his own clothing began to declare him poverty-stricken, +and but for gifts from her mother Amy would have reached the like +pass. They lived in dread of the pettiest casual expense, for the +day of pennilessness was again approaching. + +Amy was oftener from home than had been her custom. + +Occasionally she went away soon after breakfast, and spent the +whole day at her mother's house. 'It saves food,' she said with a +bitter laugh, when Reardon once expressed surprise that she +should be going again so soon. + +'And gives you an opportunity of bewailing your hard fate,' he +returned coldly. + +The reproach was ignoble, and he could not be surprised that Amy +left the house without another word to him. Yet he resented that, +as he had resented her sorrowful jest. The feeling of unmanliness +in his own position tortured him into a mood of perversity. +Through the day he wrote only a few lines, and on Amy's return he +resolved not to speak to her. There was a sense of repose in this +change of attitude; he encouraged himself in the view that Amy +was treating him with cruel neglect. She, surprised that her +friendly questions elicited no answer, looked into his face and +saw a sullen anger of which hitherto Reardon had never seemed +capable. Her indignation took fire, and she left him to himself. + +For a day or two he persevered in his muteness, uttering a word +only when it could not be avoided. Amy was at first so resentful +that she contemplated leaving him to his ill-temper and dwelling +at her mother's house until he chose to recall her. But his face +grew so haggard in fixed misery that compassion at length +prevailed over her injured pride. Late in the evening she went to +the study, and found him sitting unoccupied. + +'Edwin--' + +'What do you want?' he asked indifferently. + +'Why are you behaving to me like this?' + +'Surely it makes no difference to you how I behave? You can +easily forget that I exist, and live your own life.' + +'What have I done to make this change in you?' + +'Is it a change?' + +'You know it is.' + +'How did I behave before?' he asked, glancing at her. + +'Like yourself--kindly and gently.' + +'If I always did so, in spite of things that might have +embittered another man's temper, I think it deserved some return +of kindness from you.' + +'What "things" do you mean?' + +'Circumstances for which neither of us is to blame.' + +'I am not conscious of having failed in kindness,' said Amy, +distantly. + +'Then that only shows that you have forgotten your old self, and +utterly changed in your feeling to me. When we first came to live +here could you have imagined yourself leaving me alone for long, +miserable days, just because I was suffering under misfortunes? +You have shown too plainly that you don't care to give me the +help even of a kind word. You get away from me as often as you +can, as if to remind me that we have no longer any interests in +common. Other people are your confidants; you speak of me to them +as if I were purposely dragging you down into a mean condition.' + +'How can you know what I say about you?' + +'Isn't it true?' he asked, flashing an angry glance at her. + +'It is not true. Of course I have talked to mother about our +difficulties; how could I help it?' + +'And to other people.' + +'Not in a way that you could find fault with.' + +'In a way that makes me seem contemptible to them. You show them +that I have made you poor and unhappy, and you are glad to have +their sympathy.' + +'What you mean is, that I oughtn't to see anyone. There's no +other way of avoiding such a reproach as this. So long as I don't +laugh and sing before people, and assure them that things +couldn't be more hopeful, I shall be asking for their sympathy, +and against you. I can't understand your unreasonableness.' + +'I'm afraid there is very little in me that you can understand. +So long as my prospects seemed bright, you could sympathise +readily enough; as soon as ever they darkened, something came +between us. Amy, you haven't done your duty. Your love hasn't +stood the test as it should have done. You have given me no help; +besides the burden of cheerless work I have had to bear that of +your growing coldness. I can't remember one instance when you +have spoken to me as a wife might--a wife who was something more +than a man's housekeeper.' + +The passion in his voice and the harshness of the accusation made +her unable to reply. + +'You said rightly,' he went on, 'that I have always been kind and +gentle. I never thought I could speak to you or feel to you in +any other way. But I have undergone too much, and you have +deserted me. Surely it was too soon to do that. So long as I +endeavoured my utmost, and loved you the same as ever, you might +have remembered all you once said to me. You might have given me +help, but you haven't cared to.' + +The impulses which had part in this outbreak were numerous and +complex. He felt all that he expressed, but at the same time it +seemed to him that he had the choice between two ways of uttering +his emotion--the tenderly appealing and the sternly reproachful: +he took the latter course because it was less natural to him than +the former. His desire was to impress Amy with the bitter +intensity of his sufferings; pathos and loving words seemed to +have lost their power upon her, but perhaps if he yielded to that +other form of passion she would be shaken out of her coldness. +The stress of injured love is always tempted to speech which +seems its contradiction. Reardon had the strangest mixture of +pain and pleasure in flinging out these first words of wrath that +he had ever addressed to Amy; they consoled him under the +humiliating sense of his weakness, and yet he watched with dread +his wife's countenance as she listened to him. He hoped to cause +her pain equal to his own, for then it would be in his power at +once to throw off this disguise and soothe her with every softest +word his heart could suggest. That she had really ceased to love +him he could not, durst not, believe; but his nature demanded +frequent assurance of affection. Amy had abandoned too soon the +caresses of their ardent time; she was absorbed in her maternity, +and thought it enough to be her husband's friend. Ashamed to make +appeal directly for the tenderness she no longer offered, he +accused her of utter indifference, of abandoning him and all but +betraying him, that in self-defence she might show what really +was in her heart. + +But Amy made no movement towards him. + +'How can you say that I have deserted you?' she returned, with +cold indignation. 'When did I refuse to share your poverty? When +did I grumble at what we have had to go through?' + +'Ever since the troubles really began you have let me know what +your thoughts were, even if you didn't speak them. You have never +shared my lot willingly. I can't recall one word of encouragement +from you, but many, many which made the struggle harder for me.' + +'Then it would be better for you if I went away altogether, and +left you free to do the best for yourself. If that is what you +mean by all this, why not say it plainly? I won't be a burden to +you. Someone will give me a home.' + +'And you would leave me without regret? Your only care would be +that you were still bound to me?' + +'You must think of me what you like. I don't care to defend +myself.' + +'You won't admit, then, that I have anything to complain of? I +seem to you simply in a bad temper without a cause?' + +'To tell you the truth, that's just what I do think. I came here +to ask what I had done that you were angry with me, and you break +out furiously with all sorts of vague reproaches. You have much +to endure, I know that, but it's no reason why you should turn +against me. I have never neglected my duty. Is the duty all on my +side? I believe there are very few wives who would be as patient +as I have been.' + +Reardon gazed at her for a moment, then turned away. The distance +between them was greater than he had thought, and now he repented +of having given way to an impulse so alien to his true feelings; +anger only estranged her, whereas by speech of a different kind +he might have won the caress for which he hungered. + +Amy, seeing that he would say nothing more, left him to himself. + +It grew late in the night. The fire had gone out, but Reardon +still sat in the cold room. Thoughts of self-destruction were +again haunting him, as they had done during the black months of +last year. If he had lost Amy's love, and all through the mental +impotence which would make it hard for him even to earn bread, +why should he still live? Affection for his child had no weight +with him; it was Amy's child rather than his, and he had more +fear than pleasure in the prospect of Willie's growing to +manhood. + +He had just heard the workhouse clock strike two, when, without +the warning of a footstep, the door opened. Amy came in; she wore +her dressing-gown, and her hair was arranged for the night. + +'Why do you stay here?' she asked. + +It was not the same voice as before. He saw that her eyes were +red and swollen. + +'Have you been crying, Amy?' + +'Never mind. Do you know what time it is?' + +He went towards her. + +'Why have you been crying?' + +'There are many things to cry for.' + +'Amy, have you any love for me still, or has poverty robbed me of +it all?' + +'I have never said that I didn't love you. Why do you accuse me +of such things?' + +He took her in his arms and held her passionately and kissed her +face again and again. Amy's tears broke forth anew. + +'Why should we come to such utter ruin?' she sobbed. 'Oh, try, +try if you can't save us even yet! You know without my saying it +that I do love you; it's dreadful to me to think all our happy +life should be at an end, when we thought of such a future +together. Is it impossible? Can't you work as you used to and +succeed as we felt confident you would? Don't despair yet, Edwin; +do, do try, whilst there is still time!' + +'Darling, darling--if only I COULD!' + +'I have thought of something, dearest. Do as you proposed last +year; find a tenant for the flat whilst we still have a little +money, and then go away into some quiet country place, where you +can get back your health and live for very little, and write +another book--a good book, that'll bring you reputation again. I +and Willie can go and live at mother's for the summer months. Do +this! It would cost you so little, living alone, wouldn't it? +You would know that I was well cared for; mother would be willing +to have me for a few months, and it's easy to explain that your +health has failed, that you're obliged to go away for a time.' + +'But why shouldn't you go with me, if we are to let this place?' + +'We shouldn't have enough money. I want to free your mind from +the burden whilst you are writing. And what is before us if we go +on in this way? You don't think you will get much for what you're +writing now, do you?' + +Reardon shook his head. + +'Then how can we live even till the end of the year? Something +must be done, you know. If we get into poor lodgings, what hope +is there that you'll be able to write anything good?' + +'But, Amy, I have no faith in my power of--' + +'Oh, it would be different! A few days--a week or a fortnight of +real holiday in this spring weather. Go to some seaside place. +How is it possible that all your talent should have left you? +It's only that you have been so anxious and in such poor health. +You say I don't love you, but I have thought and thought what +would be best for you to do, how you could save yourself. How can +you sink down to the position of a poor clerk in some office? +That CAN'T be your fate, Edwin; it's incredible. Oh, after such +bright hopes, make one more effort! Have you forgotten that we +were to go to the South together--you were to take me to Italy +and Greece? How can that ever be if you fail utterly in +literature? How can you ever hope to earn more than bare +sustenance at any other kind of work?' + +He all but lost consciousness of her words in gazing at the face +she held up to his. + +'You love me? Say again that you love me!' + +'Dear, I love you with all my heart. But I am so afraid of the +future. I can't bear poverty; I have found that I can't bear it. +And I dread to think of your becoming only an ordinary man--' + +Reardon laughed. + +'But I am NOT "only an ordinary man," Amy! If I never write +another line, that won't undo what I have done. It's little +enough, to be sure; but you know what I am. Do you only love the +author in me? Don't you think of me apart from all that I may do +or not do? If I had to earn my living as a clerk, would that make +me a clerk in soul?' + +'You shall not fall to that! It would be too bitter a shame to +lose all you have gained in these long years of work. Let me plan +for you; do as I wish. You are to be what we hoped from the +first. Take all the summer months. How long will it be before you +can finish this short book?' + +'A week or two.' + +'Then finish it, and see what you can get for it. And try at once +to find a tenant to take this place off our hands; that would be +twenty-five pounds saved for the rest of the year. You could live +on so little by yourself, couldn't you?' + +'Oh, on ten shillings a week, if need be.' + +'But not to starve yourself, you know. Don't you feel that my +plan is a good one? When I came to you to-night I meant to speak +of this, but you were so cruel--' + +'Forgive me, dearest love! I was half a madman. You have been so +cold to me for a long time.' + +'I have been distracted. It was as if we were drawing nearer and +nearer to the edge of a cataract.' + +'Have you spoken to your mother about this?' he asked uneasily. + +'No--not exactly this. But I know she will help us in this way.' + +He had seated himself and was holding her in his arms, his face +laid against hers. + +'I shall dread to part from you, Amy. That's such a dangerous +thing to do. It may mean that we are never to live as husband and +wife again.' + +'But how could it? It's just to prevent that danger. If we go on +here till we have no money--what's before us then? Wretched +lodgings at the best. And I am afraid to think of that. I can't +trust myself if that should come to pass.' + +'What do you mean?' he asked anxiously. + +'I hate poverty so. It brings out all the worst things in me; you +know I have told you that before, Edwin?' + +'But you would never forget that you are my wife?' + +'I hope not. But--I can't think of it; I can't face it! That +would be the very worst that can befall us, and we are going to +try our utmost to escape from it. Was there ever a man who did as +much as you have done in literature and then sank into hopeless +poverty?' + +'Oh, many!' + +'But at your age, I mean. Surely not at your age?' + +'I'm afraid there have been such poor fellows. Think how often +one hears of hopeful beginnings, new reputations, and then--you +hear no more. Of course it generally means that the man has gone +into a different career; but sometimes, sometimes--' + +'What?' + +'The abyss.' He pointed downward. 'Penury and despair and a +miserable death.' + +'Oh, but those men haven't a wife and child! They would struggle +--' + +'Darling, they do struggle. But it's as if an ever-increasing +weight were round their necks; it drags them lower and lower. The +world has no pity on a man who can't do or produce something it +thinks worth money. You may be a divine poet, and if some good +fellow doesn't take pity on you you will starve by the roadside. +Society is as blind and brutal as fate. I have no right to +complain of my own ill-fortune; it's my own fault (in a sense) +that I can't continue as well as I began; if I could write books +as good as the early ones I should earn money. For all that, it's +hard that I must be kicked aside as worthless just because I +don't know a trade.' + +'It shan't be! I have only to look into your face to know that +you will succeed after all. Yours is the kind of face that people +come to know in portraits.' + +He kissed her hair, and her eyes, and her mouth. + +'How well I remember your saying that before! Why have you grown +so good to me all at once, my Amy? Hearing you speak like that I +feel there's nothing beyond my reach. But I dread to go away from +you. If I find that it is hopeless; if I am alone somewhere, and +know that the effort is all in vain--' + +'Then?' + +'Well, I can leave you free. If I can't support you, it will be +only just that I should give you back your freedom.' + +'I don't understand--' + +She raised herself and looked into his eyes. + +'We won't talk of that. If you bid me go on with the struggle, I +shall do so.' + +Amy had hidden her face, and lay silently in his arms for a +minute or two. Then she murmured: + +'It is so cold here, and so late. Come!' + +'So early. There goes three o'clock.' + +The next day they talked much of this new project. As there was +sunshine Amy accompanied her husband for his walk in the +afternoon; it was long since they had been out together. An open +carriage that passed, followed by two young girls on horseback, +gave a familiar direction to Reardon's thoughts. + +'If one were as rich as those people! They pass so close to us; +they see us, and we see them; but the distance between is +infinity. They don't belong to the same world as we poor +wretches. They see everything in a different light; they have +powers which would seem supernatural if we were suddenly endowed +with them.' + +'Of course,' assented his companion with a sigh. + +'Just fancy, if one got up in the morning with the thought that +no reasonable desire that occurred to one throughout the day need +remain ungratified! And that it would be the same, any day and +every day, to the end of one's life! Look at those houses; every +detail, within and without, luxurious. To have such a home as +that!' + +'And they are empty creatures who live there.' + +'They do live, Amy, at all events. Whatever may be their +faculties, they all have free scope. I have often stood staring +at houses like these until I couldn't believe that the people +owning them were mere human beings like myself. The power of +money is so hard to realise; one who has never had it marvels at +the completeness with which it transforms every detail of life. +Compare what we call our home with that of rich people; it moves +one to scornful laughter. I have no sympathy with the stoical +point of view; between wealth and poverty is just the difference +between the whole man and the maimed. If my lower limbs are +paralysed I may still be able to think, but then there is such a +thing in life as walking. As a poor devil I may live nobly; but +one happens to be made with faculties of enjoyment, and those +have to fall into atrophy. To be sure, most rich people don't +understand their happiness; if they did, they would move and talk +like gods--which indeed they are.' + +Amy's brow was shadowed. A wise man, in Reardon's position, would +not have chosen this subject to dilate upon. + +'The difference,' he went on, 'between the man with money and the +man without is simply this: the one thinks, "How shall I use my +life?" and the other, "How shall I keep myself alive?" A +physiologist ought to be able to discover some curious +distinction between the brain of a person who has never given a +thought to the means of subsistence, and that of one who has +never known a day free from such cares. There must be some +special cerebral development representing the mental anguish kept +up by poverty.' + +'I should say,' put in Amy, 'that it affects every function of +the brain. It isn't a special point of suffering, but a misery +that colours every thought.' + +'True. Can I think of a single subject in all the sphere of my +experience without the consciousness that I see it through the +medium of poverty? I have no enjoyment which isn't tainted by +that thought,. and I can suffer no pain which it doesn't +increase. The curse of poverty is to the modern world just what +that of slavery was to the ancient. Rich and destitute stand to +each other as free man and bond. You remember the line of Homer I +have often quoted about the demoralising effect of enslavement; +poverty degrades in the same way.' + +'It has had its effect upon me--I know that too well,' said Amy, +with bitter frankness. + +Reardon glanced at her, and wished to make some reply, but he +could not say what was in his thoughts. + +He worked on at his story. Before he had reached the end of it, +'Margaret Home' was published, and one day arrived a parcel +containing the six copies to which an author is traditionally +entitled. Reardon was not so old in authorship that he could open +the packet without a slight flutter of his pulse. The book was +tastefully got up; Amy exclaimed with pleasure as she caught +sight of the cover and lettering: + +'It may succeed, Edwin. It doesn't look like a book that fails, +does it?' + +She laughed at her own childishness. But Reardon had opened one +of the volumes, and was glancing over the beginning of a chapter. + +'Good God!' he cried. 'What hellish torment it was to write that +page! I did it one morning when the fog was so thick that I had +to light the lamp. It brings cold sweat to my forehead to read +the words. And to think that people will skim over it without a +suspicion of what it cost the writer!--What execrable style! A +potboy could write better narrative.' + +'Who are to have copies?' + +'No one, if I could help it. But I suppose your mother will +expect one?' + +'And--Milvain?' + +'I suppose so,' he replied indifferently. 'But not unless he asks +for it. Poor old Biffen, of course; though it'll make him despise +me. Then one for ourselves. That leaves two--to light the fire +with. We have been rather short of fire-paper since we couldn't +afford our daily newspaper.' + +'Will you let me give one to Mrs Carter?' + +'As you please.' + +He took one set and added it to the row of his productions which +stood on a topmost shelf Amy laid her hand upon his shoulder and +contemplated the effect of this addition. + +'The works of Edwin Reardon,' she said, with a smile. + +'The work, at all events--rather a different thing, +unfortunately. Amy, if only I were back at the time when I wrote +"On Neutral Ground," and yet had you with me! How full my mind +was in those days! Then I had only to look, and I saw something; +now I strain my eyes, but can make out nothing more than nebulous +grotesques. I used to sit down knowing so well what I had to say; +now I strive to invent, and never come at anything. Suppose you +pick up a needle with warm, supple fingers; try to do it when +your hand is stiff and numb with cold; there's the difference +between my manner of work in those days and what it is now.' + +'But you are going to get back your health. You will write better +than ever.' + +'We shall see. Of course there was a great deal of miserable +struggle even then, but I remember it as insignificant compared +with the hours of contented work. I seldom did anything in the +mornings except think and prepare; towards evening I felt myself +getting ready, and at last I sat down with the first lines +buzzing in my head. And I used to read a great deal at the same +time. Whilst I was writing "On Neutral Ground" I went solidly +through the "Divina Commedia," a canto each day. Very often I +wrote till after midnight, but occasionally I got my quantum +finished much earlier, and then I used to treat myself to a +ramble about the streets. I can recall exactly the places where +some of my best ideas came to me. You remember the scene in +Prendergast's lodgings? That flashed on me late one night as I +was turning out of Leicester Square into the slum that leads to +Clare Market; ah, how well I remember! And I went home to my +garret in a state of delightful fever, and scribbled notes +furiously before going to bed.' + +'Don't trouble; it'll all come back to you.' + +'But in those days I hadn't to think of money. I could look +forward and see provision for my needs. I never asked myself what +I should get for the book; I assure you, that never came into my +head--never. The work was done for its own sake. No hurry to +finish it; if I felt that I wasn't up to the mark, I just waited +till the better mood returned. "On Neutral Ground" took me seven +months; now I have to write three volumes in nine weeks, with the +lash stinging on my back if I miss a day.' + +He brooded for a little. + +'I suppose there must be some rich man somewhere who has read one +or two of my books with a certain interest. If only I could +encounter him and tell him plainly what a cursed state I am in, +perhaps he would help me to some means of earning a couple of +pounds a week. One has heard of such things.' + +'In the old days.' + +'Yes. I doubt if it ever happens now. Coleridge wouldn't so +easily meet with his Gillman nowadays. Well, I am not a +Coleridge, and I don't ask to be lodged under any man's roof; but +if I could earn money enough to leave me good long evenings +unspoilt by fear of the workhouse--' + +Amy turned away, and presently went to look after her little boy. + +A few days after this they had a visit from Milvain. He came +about ten o'clock in the evening. + +'I'm not going to stay,' he announced. 'But where's my copy of +"Margaret Home"? I am to have one, I suppose?' + +'I have no particular desire that you should read it,' returned +Reardon. + +'But I HAVE read it, my dear fellow. Got it from the library on +the day of publication; I had a suspicion that you wouldn't send +me a copy. But I must possess your opera omnia.' + +'Here it is. Hide it away somewhere.--You may as well sit down +for a few minutes.' + +'I confess I should like to talk about the book, if you don't +mind. It isn't so utterly and damnably bad as you make out, you +know. The misfortune was that you had to make three volumes of +it. If I had leave to cut it down to one, it would do you credit. + +The motive is good enough.' + +'Yes. Just good enough to show how badly it's managed.' + +Milvain began to expatiate on that well-worn topic, the evils of +the three-volume system. + +'A triple-headed monster, sucking the blood of English novelists. +One might design an allegorical cartoon for a comic literary +paper. By-the-bye, why doesn't such a thing exist?--a weekly +paper treating of things and people literary in a facetious +spirit. It would be caviare to the general, but might be +supported, I should think. The editor would probably be +assassinated, though.' + +'For anyone in my position,' said Reardon, 'how is it possible to +abandon the three volumes? It is a question of payment. An author +of moderate repute may live on a yearly three-volume novel--I +mean the man who is obliged to sell his book out and out, and who +gets from one to two hundred pounds for it. But he would have to +produce four one-volume novels to obtain the same income; and I +doubt whether he could get so many published within the twelve +months. And here comes in the benefit of the libraries; from the +commercial point of view the libraries are indispensable. Do you +suppose the public would support the present number of novelists +if each book had to be purchased? A sudden change to that system +would throw three-fourths of the novelists out of work.' + +'But there's no reason why the libraries shouldn't circulate +novels in one volume.' + +'Profits would be less, I suppose. People would take the minimum +subscription.' + +'Well, to go to the concrete, what about your own one-volume?' + +'All but done.' + +'And you'll offer it to Jedwood? Go and see him personally. He's +a very decent fellow, I believe.' + +Milvain stayed only half an hour. The days when he was wont to +sit and talk at large through a whole evening were no more; +partly because of his diminished leisure, but also for a less +simple reason--the growth of something like estrangement between +him and Reardon. + +'You didn't mention your plans,' said Amy, when the visitor had +been gone some time. + +'No.' + +Reardon was content with the negative, and his wife made no +further remark. + +The result of advertising the flat was that two or three persons +called to make inspection. One of them, a man of military +appearance, showed himself anxious to come to terms; he was +willing to take the tenement from next quarter-day (June), but +wished, if possible, to enter upon possession sooner than that. + +'Nothing could be better,' said Amy in colloquy with her husband. +'If he will pay for the extra time, we shall be only too glad.' + +Reardon mused and looked gloomy. He could not bring himself to +regard the experiment before him with hopefulness, and his heart +sank at the thought of parting from Amy. + +'You are very anxious to get rid of me,' he answered, trying to +smile. + +'Yes, I am,' she exclaimed; 'but simply for your own good, as you +know very well.' + +'Suppose I can't sell this book?' + +'You will have a few pounds. Send your "Pliny" article to The +Wayside. If you come to an end of all your money, mother shall +lend you some.' + +'I am not very likely to do much work in that case.' + +'Oh, but you will sell the book. You'll get twenty pounds for it, +and that alone would keep you for three months. Think--three +months of the best part of the year at the seaside! Oh, you will +do wonders!' + +The furniture was to be housed at Mrs Yule's. Neither of them +durst speak of selling it; that would have sounded too ominous. +As for the locality of Reardon's retreat, Amy herself had +suggested Worthing, which she knew from a visit a few years ago; +the advantages were its proximity to London, and the likelihood +that very cheap lodgings could be found either in the town or +near it. One room would suffice for the hapless author, and his +expenses, beyond a trifling rent, would be confined to mere food. + +Oh yes, he might manage on considerably less than a pound a week. + +Amy was in much better spirits than for a long time; she appeared +to have convinced herself that there was no doubt of the issue of +this perilous scheme; that her husband would write a notable +book, receive a satisfactory price for it, and so re-establish +their home. Yet her moods varied greatly. After all, there was +delay in the letting of the flat, and this caused her annoyance. +It was whilst the negotiations were still pending that she made +her call upon Maud and Dora Milvain; Reardon did not know of her +intention to visit them until it had been carried out. She +mentioned what she had done in almost a casual manner. + +'I had to get it over,' she said, when Reardon exhibited +surprise, 'and I don't think I made a very favourable +impression.' + +'You told them, I suppose, what we are going to do?' + +'No; I didn't say a word of it.' + +'But why not? It can't be kept a secret. Milvain will have heard +of it already, I should think, from your mother.' + +'From mother? But it's the rarest thing for him to go there. Do +you imagine he is a constant visitor? I thought it better to say +nothing until the thing is actually done. Who knows what may +happen?' + +She was in a strange, nervous state, and Reardon regarded her +uneasily. He talked very little in these days, and passed hours +in dark reverie. His book was finished, and he awaited the +publisher's decision. + + + +PART THREE + +CHAPTER XVI. REJECTION + +One of Reardon's minor worries at this time was the fear that by +chance he might come upon a review of 'Margaret Home.' Since the +publication of his first book he had avoided as far as possible +all knowledge of what the critics had to say about him; his +nervous temperament could not bear the agitation of reading these +remarks, which, however inept, define an author and his work to +so many people incapable of judging for themselves. No man or +woman could tell him anything in the way of praise or blame which +he did not already know quite well; commendation was pleasant, +but it so often aimed amiss, and censure was for the most part so +unintelligent. In the case of this latest novel he dreaded the +sight of a review as he would have done a gash from a rusty +knife. The judgments could not but be damnatory, and their +expression in journalistic phrase would disturb his mind with +evil rancour. No one would have insight enough to appreciate the +nature and cause of his book's demerits; every comment would be +wide of the mark; sneer, ridicule, trite objection, would but +madden him with a sense of injustice. + +His position was illogical--one result of the moral weakness +which was allied with his aesthetic sensibility. Putting aside +the worthlessness of current reviewing, the critic of an isolated +book has of course nothing to do with its author's state of mind +and body any more than with the condition of his purse. Reardon +would have granted this, but he could not command his emotions. +He was in passionate revolt against the base necessities which +compelled him to put forth work in no way representing his +healthy powers, his artistic criterion. Not he had written this +book, but his accursed poverty. To assail him as the author was, +in his feeling, to be guilty of brutal insult. When by ill-hap a +notice in one of the daily papers came under his eyes, it made +his blood boil with a fierceness of hatred only possible to him +in a profoundly morbid condition; he could not steady his hand +for half an hour after. Yet this particular critic only said what +was quite true--that the novel contained not a single striking +scene and not one living character; Reardon had expressed himself +about it in almost identical terms. But he saw himself in the +position of one sickly and all but destitute man against a +relentless world, and every blow directed against him appeared +dastardly. He could have cried 'Coward!' to the writer who +wounded him. + +The would-be sensational story which was now in Mr Jedwood's +hands had perhaps more merit than 'Margaret Home'; its brevity, +and the fact that nothing more was aimed at than a concatenation +of brisk events, made it not unreadable. But Reardon thought of +it with humiliation. If it were published as his next work it +would afford final proof to such sympathetic readers as he might +still retain that he had hopelessly written himself out, and was +now endeavouring to adapt himself to an inferior public. In spite +of his dire necessities he now and then hoped that Jedwood might +refuse the thing. + +At moments he looked with sanguine eagerness to the three or four +months he was about to spend in retirement, but such impulses +were the mere outcome of his nervous disease. He had no faith in +himself under present conditions; the permanence of his +sufferings would mean the sure destruction of powers he still +possessed, though they were not at his command. Yet he believed +that his mind was made up as to the advisability of trying this +last resource; he was impatient for the day of departure, and in +the interval merely killed time as best he might. He could not +read, and did not attempt to gather ideas for his next book; the +delusion that his mind was resting made an excuse to him for the +barrenness of day after day. His 'Pliny' article had been +despatched to The Wayside, and would possibly be accepted. But he +did not trouble himself about this or other details; it was as +though his mind could do nothing more than grasp the bald fact of +impending destitution; with the steps towards that final stage he +seemed to have little concern. + +One evening he set forth to make a call upon Harold Biffen, whom +he had not seen since the realist called to acknowledge the +receipt of a copy of 'Margaret Home' left at his lodgings when he +was out. Biffen resided in Clipstone Street, a thoroughfare +discoverable in the dim district which lies between Portland +Place and Tottenham Court Road. On knocking at the door of the +lodging-house, Reardon learnt that his friend was at home. He +ascended to the third storey and tapped at a door which allowed +rays of lamplight to issue from great gaps above and below. A +sound of voices came from within, and on entering he perceived +that Biffen was engaged with a pupil. + +'They didn't tell me you had a visitor,' he said. 'I'll call +again later.' + +'No need to go away,' replied Biffen, coming forward to shake +hands. 'Take a book for a few minutes. Mr Baker won't mind.' + +It was a very small room, with a ceiling so low that the tall +lodger could only just stand upright with safety; perhaps three +inches intervened between his head and the plaster, which was +cracked, grimy, cobwebby. A small scrap of weedy carpet lay in +front of the fireplace; elsewhere the chinky boards were +unconcealed. The furniture consisted of a round table, which kept +such imperfect balance on its central support that the lamp +entrusted to it looked in a dangerous position, of three small +cane-bottomed chairs, a small wash-hand-stand with sundry rude +appurtenances, and a chair-bedstead which the tenant opened at +the hour of repose and spread with certain primitive trappings at +present kept in a cupboard. There was no bookcase, but a few +hundred battered volumes were arranged some on the floor and some +on a rough chest. The weather was too characteristic of an +English spring to make an empty grate agreeable to the eye, but +Biffen held it an axiom that fires were unseasonable after the +first of May. + +The individual referred to as Mr Baker, who sat at the table in +the attitude of a student, was a robust, hard-featured, +black-haired young man of two-or three-and-twenty; judging from +his weather-beaten cheeks and huge hands, as well as from the +garb he wore, one would have presumed that study was not his +normal occupation. There was something of the riverside about +him; he might be a dockman, or even a bargeman. He looked +intelligent, however, and bore himself with much modesty. + +'Now do endeavour to write in shorter sentences,' said Biffen, +who sat down by him and resumed the lesson, Reardon having taken +up a volume. 'This isn't bad--it isn't bad at all, I assure you; +but you have put all you had to say into three appalling periods, +whereas you ought to have made about a dozen.' + +'There it is, sir; there it is!' exclaimed the man, smoothing his +wiry hair. 'I can't break it up. The thoughts come in a lump, if +I may say so. To break it up--there's the art of compersition.' + +Reardon could not refrain from a glance at the speaker, and +Biffen, whose manner was very grave and kindly, turned to his +friend with an explanation of the difficulties with which the +student was struggling. + +'Mr Baker is preparing for the examination of the outdoor Customs +Department. One of the subjects is English composition, and +really, you know, that isn't quite such a simple matter as some +people think.' + +Baker beamed upon the visitor with a homely, good-natured smile. + +'I can make headway with the other things, sir,' he said, +striking the table lightly with his clenched fist. 'There's +handwriting, there's orthography, there's arithmetic; I'm not +afraid of one of 'em, as Mr Biffen 'll tell you, sir. But when it +comes to compersition, that brings out the sweat on my forehead, +I do assure you. + +'You're not the only man in that case, Mr Baker,' replied +Reardon. + +'It's thought a tough job in general, is it, sir?' + +'It is indeed.' + +'Two hundred marks for compersition,' continued the man. 'Now how +many would they have given me for this bit of a try, Mr Biffen?' + +'Well, well; I can't exactly say. But you improve; you improve, +decidedly. Peg away for another week or two.' + +'Oh, don't fear me, sir! I'm not easily beaten when I've set my +mind on a thing, and I'll break up the compersition yet, see if I +don't!' + +Again his fist descended upon the table in a way that reminded +one of the steam-hammer cracking a nut. + +The lesson proceeded for about ten minutes, Reardon, under +pretence of reading, following it with as much amusement as +anything could excite in him nowadays. At length Mr Baker stood +up, collected his papers and books, and seemed about to depart; +but, after certain uneasy movements and glances, he said to +Biffen in a subdued voice: + +'Perhaps I might speak to you outside the door a minute, sir?' + +He and the teacher went out, the door closed, and Reardon heard +sounds of muffled conversation. In a minute or two a heavy +footstep descended the stairs, and Biffen re-entered the room. + +'Now that's a good, honest fellow,' he said, in an amused tone. +'It's my pay-night, but he didn't like to fork out money before +you. A very unusual delicacy in a man of that standing. He pays +me sixpence for an hour's lesson; that brings me two shillings a +week. I sometimes feel a little ashamed to take his money, but +then the fact is he's a good deal better off than I am.' + +'Will he get a place in the Customs, do you think?' + +'Oh, I've no doubt of it. If it seemed unlikely, I should have +told him so before this. To be sure, that's a point I have often +to consider, and once or twice my delicacy has asserted itself at +the expense of my pocket. There was a poor consumptive lad came +to me not long ago and wanted Latin lessons; talked about going +in for the London Matric., on his way to the pulpit. I couldn't +stand it. After a lesson or two I told him his cough was too bad, +and he had no right to study until he got into better health; +that was better, I think, than saying plainly he had no chance on +earth. But the food I bought with his money was choking me. Oh +yes, Baker will make his way right enough. A good, modest fellow. + +You noticed how respectfully he spoke to me? It doesn't make any +difference to him that I live in a garret like this; I'm a man of +education, and he can separate this fact from my surroundings.' + +'Biffen, why don't you get some decent position? Surely you +might.' + +'What position? No school would take me; I have neither +credentials nor conventional clothing. For the same reason I +couldn't get a private tutorship in a rich family. No, no; it's +all right. I keep myself alive, and I get on with my work.-- +By-the-bye, I've decided to write a book called "Mr Bailey, +Grocer."' + +'What's the idea?' + +'An objectionable word, that. Better say: "What's the reality?" +Well, Mr Bailey is a grocer in a little street by here. I have +dealt with him for a long time, and as he's a talkative fellow +I've come to know a good deal about him and his history. He's +fond of talking about the struggle he had in his first year of +business. He had no money of his own, but he married a woman who +had saved forty-five pounds out of a cat's-meat business. You +should see that woman! A big, coarse, squinting creature; at the +time of the marriage she was a widow and forty-two years old. Now +I'm going to tell the true story of Mr Bailey's marriage and of +his progress as a grocer. It'll be a great book--a great book!' + +He walked up and down the room, fervid with his conception. + +'There'll be nothing bestial in it, you know. The decently +ignoble--as I've so often said. The thing'll take me a year at +least. I shall do it slowly, lovingly. One volume, of course; the +length of the ordinary French novel. There's something fine in +the title, don't you think? "Mr Bailey, Grocer"!' + +'I envy you, old fellow,' said Reardon, sighing. 'You have the +right fire in you; you have zeal and energy. Well, what do you +think I have decided to do?' + +'I should like to hear.' + +Reardon gave an account of his project. The other listened +gravely, seated across a chair with his arms on the back. + +'Your wife is in agreement with this?' + +'Oh yes.' He could not bring himself to say that Amy had +suggested it. 'She has great hopes that the change will be just +what I need.' + +'I should say so too--if you were going to rest. But if you have +to set to work at once it seems to me very doubtful.' + +'Never mind. For Heaven's sake don't discourage me! If this fails +I think--upon my soul, I think I shall kill myself.' + +'Pooh!' exclaimed Biffen, gently. 'With a wife like yours?' + +'Just because of that.' + +'No, no; there'll be some way out of it. By-the-bye, I passed Mrs +Reardon this morning, but she didn't see me. It was in Tottenham +Court Road, and Milvain was with her. I felt myself too seedy in +appearance to stop and speak.' + +'In Tottenham Court Road?' + +That was not the detail of the story which chiefly held Reardon's +attention, yet he did not purposely make a misleading remark. His +mind involuntarily played this trick. + +'I only saw them just as they were passing,' pursued Biffen. 'Oh, +I knew I had something to tell you! Have you heard that Whelpdale +is going to be married?' + +Reardon shook his head in a preoccupied way. + +'I had a note from him this morning, telling me. He asked me to +look him up to-night, and he'd let me know all about it. Let's go +together, shall we?' + +'I don't feel much in the humour for Whelpdale. I'll walk with +you, and go on home.' + +'No, no; come and see him. It'll do you good to talk a little.-- +But I must positively eat a mouthful before we go. I'm afraid you +won't care to join?' + +He opened his cupboard, and brought out a loaf of bread and a +saucer of dripping, with salt and pepper. + +'Better dripping this than I've had for a long time. I get it at +Mr Bailey's--that isn't his real name, of course. He assures me +it comes from a large hotel where his wife's sister is a +kitchen-maid, and that it's perfectly pure; they very often mix +flour with it, you know, and perhaps more obnoxious things that +an economical man doesn't care to reflect upon. Now, with a +little pepper and salt, this bread and dripping is as appetising +food as I know. I often make a dinner of it.' + +'I have done the same myself before now. Do you ever buy pease- +pudding?' + +'I should think so! I get magnificent pennyworths at a shop in +Cleveland Street, of a very rich quality indeed. Excellent +faggots they have there, too. I'll give you a supper of them some +night before you go.' + +Biffen rose to enthusiasm in the contemplation of these dainties. + +He ate his bread and dripping with knife and fork; this always +made the fare seem more substantial. + +'Is it very cold out?' he asked, rising from the table. 'Need I +put my overcoat on?' + +This overcoat, purchased second-hand three years ago, hung on a +door-nail. Comparative ease of circumstances had restored to the +realist his ordinary indoor garment--a morning coat of the cloth +called diagonal, rather large for him, but in better preservation +than the other articles of his attire. + +Reardon judging the overcoat necessary, his friend carefully +brushed it and drew it on with a caution which probably had +reference to starting seams. Then he put into the pocket his +pipe, his pouch, his tobacco-stopper, and his matches, murmuring +to himself a Greek iambic line which had come into his head a +propos of nothing obvious. + +'Go out,' he said, 'and then I'll extinguish the lamp. Mind the +second step down, as usual.' + +They issued into Clipstone Street, turned northward, crossed +Euston Road, and came into Albany Street, where, in a house of +decent exterior, Mr Whelpdale had his present abode. A girl who +opened the door requested them to walk up to the topmost storey. + +A cheery voice called to them from within the room at which they +knocked. This lodging spoke more distinctly of civilisation than +that inhabited by Biffen; it contained the minimum supply of +furniture needed to give it somewhat the appearance of a study, +but the articles were in good condition. One end of the room was +concealed by a chintz curtain; scrutiny would have discovered +behind the draping the essential equipments of a bedchamber. + +Mr Whelpdale sat by the fire, smoking a cigar. He was a plain- +featured but graceful and refined-looking man of thirty, with +wavy chestnut hair and a trimmed beard which became him well. At +present he wore a dressing-gown and was without collar. + +'Welcome, gents both!' he cried facetiously. 'Ages since I saw +you, Reardon. I've been reading your new book. Uncommonly good +things in it here and there--uncommonly good.' + +Whelpdale had the weakness of being unable to tell a disagreeable +truth, and a tendency to flattery which had always made Reardon +rather uncomfortable in his society. Though there was no need +whatever of his mentioning 'Margaret Home,' he preferred to frame +smooth fictions rather than keep a silence which might be +construed as unfavourable criticism. + +'In the last volume,' he went on, 'I think there are one or two +things as good as you ever did; I do indeed.' + +Reardon made no acknowledgment of these remarks. They irritated +him, for he knew their insincerity. Biffen, understanding his +friend's silence, struck in on another subject. + +'Who is this lady of whom you write to me?' + +'Ah, quite a story! I'm going to be married, Reardon. A serious +marriage. Light your pipes, and I'll tell you all about it. +Startled you, I suppose, Biffen? Unlikely news, eh? Some people +would call it a rash step, I dare say. We shall just take another +room in this house, that's all. I think I can count upon an +income of a couple of guineas a week, and I have plans without +end that are pretty sure to bring in coin.' + +Reardon did not care to smoke, but Biffen lit his pipe and waited +with grave interest for the romantic narrative. Whenever he heard +of a poor man's persuading a woman to share his poverty he was +eager of details; perchance he himself might yet have that +heavenly good fortune. + +'Well,' began Whelpdale, crossing his legs and watching a wreath +he had just puffed from the cigar, 'you know all about my +literary advisership. The business goes on reasonably well. I'm +going to extend it in ways I'll explain to you presently. About +six weeks ago I received a letter from a lady who referred to my +advertisements, and said she had the manuscript of a novel which +she would like to offer for my opinion. Two publishers had +refused it, but one with complimentary phrases, and she hoped it +mightn't be impossible to put the thing into acceptable shape. Of +course I wrote optimistically, and the manuscript was sent to me. + +Well, it wasn't actually bad--by Jove! you should have seen some +of the things I have been asked to recommend to publishers! It +wasn't hopelessly bad by any means, and I gave serious thought to +it. After exchange of several letters I asked the authoress to +come and see me, that we might save postage stamps and talk +things over. She hadn't given me her address: I had to direct to +a stationer's in Bayswater. She agreed to come, and did come. I +had formed a sort of idea, but of course I was quite wrong. +Imagine my excitement when there came in a very beautiful girl, a +tremendously interesting girl, about one-and-twenty--just the +kind of girl that most strongly appeals to me; dark, pale, rather +consumptive-looking, slender--no, there's no describing her; +there really isn't! You must wait till you see her.' + +'I hope the consumption was only a figure of speech,' remarked +Biffen in his grave way. + +'Oh, there's nothing serious the matter, I think. A slight cough, +poor girl.' + +'The deuce!' interjected Reardon. + +'Oh, nothing, nothing! It'll be all right. Well, now, of course +we talked over the story--in good earnest, you know. Little by +little I induced her to speak of herself--this, after she'd come +two or three times--and she told me lamentable things. She was +absolutely alone in London, and hadn't had sufficient food for +weeks; had sold all she could of her clothing; and so on. Her +home was in Birmingham; she had been driven away by the brutality +of a stepmother; a friend lent her a few pounds, and she came to +London with an unfinished novel. Well, you know, this kind of +thing would be enough to make me soft-hearted to any girl, let +alone one who, to begin with, was absolutely my ideal. When she +began to express a fear that I was giving too much time to her, +that she wouldn't be able to pay my fees, and so on, I could +restrain myself no longer. On the spot I asked her to marry me. I +didn't practise any deception, mind. I told her I was a poor +devil who had failed as a realistic novelist and was earning +bread in haphazard ways; and I explained frankly that I thought +we might carry on various kinds of business together: she might +go on with her novel-writing, and--so on. But she was frightened; +I had been too abrupt. That's a fault of mine, you know; but I +was so confoundedly afraid of losing her. And I told her as much, +plainly.' + +Biffen smiled. + +'This would be exciting,' he said, 'if we didn't know the end of +the story.' + +'Yes. Pity I didn't keep it a secret. Well, she wouldn't say yes, +but I could see that she didn't absolutely say no. "In any case," +I said, "you'll let me see you often? Fees be hanged! I'll work +day and night for you. I'll do my utmost to get your novel +accepted." And I implored her to let me lend her a little money. +It was very difficult to persuade her, but at last she accepted a +few shillings. I could see in her face that she was hungry. Just +imagine! A beautiful girl absolutely hungry; it drove me frantic! + +But that was a great point gained. After that we saw each other +almost every day, and at last--she consented! Did indeed! I can +hardly believe it yet. We shall be married in a fortnight's +time.' + +'I congratulate you,' said Reardon. + +'So do I,' sighed Biffen. + +'The day before yesterday she went to Birmingham to see her +father and tell him all about the affair. I agreed with her it +was as well; the old fellow isn't badly off; and he may forgive +her for running away, though he's under his wife's thumb, it +appears. I had a note yesterday. She had gone to a friend's house +for the first day. I hoped to have heard again this morning--must +to-morrow, in any case. I live, as you may imagine, in wild +excitement. Of course, if the old man stumps up a wedding +present, all the better. But I don't care; we'll make a living +somehow. What do you think I'm writing just now? An author's +Guide. You know the kind of thing; they sell splendidly. Of +course I shall make it a good advertisement of my business. Then +I have a splendid idea. I'm going to advertise: "Novel-writing +taught in ten lessons!" What do you think of that? No swindle; +not a bit of it. I am quite capable of giving the ordinary man or +woman ten very useful lessons. I've been working out the scheme; +it would amuse you vastly, Reardon. The first lesson deals with +the question of subjects, local colour--that kind of thing. I +gravely advise people, if they possibly can, to write of the +wealthy middle class; that's the popular subject, you know. Lords +and ladies are all very well, but the real thing to take is a +story about people who have no titles, but live in good +Philistine style. I urge study of horsey matters especially; +that's very important. You must be well up, too, in military +grades, know about Sandhurst, and so on. Boating is an important +topic. You see? Oh, I shall make a great thing of this. I shall +teach my wife carefully, and then let her advertise lessons to +girls; they'll prefer coming to a woman, you know.' + +Biffen leant back and laughed noisily. + +'How much shall you charge for the course?' asked Reardon. + +'That'll depend. I shan't refuse a guinea or two; but some people +may be made to pay five, perhaps.' + +Someone knocked at the door, and a voice said: + +'A letter for you, Mr Whelpdale.' + +He started up, and came back into the room with face illuminated. + +'Yes, it's from Birmingham; posted this morning. Look what an +exquisite hand she writes!' + +He tore open the envelope. In delicacy Reardon and Biffen averted +their eyes. There was silence for a minute, then a strange +ejaculation from Whelpdale caused his friends to look up at him. +He had gone pale, and was frowning at the sheet of paper which +trembled in his hand. + +'No bad news, I hope?' Biffen ventured to say. + +Whelpdale let himself sink into a chair. + +'Now if this isn't too bad!' he exclaimed in a thick voice. 'If +this isn't monstrously unkind! I never heard anything so gross as +this--never!' + +The two waited, trying not to smile. + +'She writes--that she has met an old lover--in Birmingham--that +it was with him she had quarrelled-not with her father at all-- +that she ran away to annoy him and frighten him--that she has +made it up again, and they're going to be married!' + +He let the sheet fall, and looked so utterly woebegone that his +friends at once exerted themselves to offer such consolation as +the case admitted of. Reardon thought better of Whelpdale for +this emotion; he had not believed him capable of it. + +'It isn't a case of vulgar cheating!' cried the forsaken one +presently. 'Don't go away thinking that. She writes in real +distress and penitence--she does indeed. Oh, the devil! Why did I +let her go to Birmingham? A fortnight more, and I should have had +her safe. But it's just like my luck. Do you know that this is +the third time I've been engaged to be married?--no, by Jove, the +fourth! And every time the girl has got out of it at the last +moment. What an unlucky beast I am! A girl who was positively my +ideal! I haven't even a photograph of her to show you; but you'd +be astonished at her face. Why, in the devil's name, did I let +her go to Birmingham?' + +The visitors had risen. They felt uncomfortable, for it seemed as +if Whelpdale might find vent for his distress in tears. + +'We had better leave you,' suggested Biffen. 'It's very hard--it +is indeed.' + +'Look here! Read the letter for yourselves! Do!' + +They declined, and begged him not to insist. + +'But I want you to see what kind of girl she is. It isn't a case +of farcical deceiving--not a bit of it! She implores me to +forgive her, and blames herself no end. Just my luck! The third-- +no, the fourth time, by Jove! Never was such an unlucky fellow +with women. It's because I'm so damnably poor; that's it, of +course!' + +Reardon and his companion succeeded at length in getting away, +though not till they had heard the virtues and beauty of the +vanished girl described again and again in much detail. Both were +in a state of depression as they left the house. + +'What think you of this story?' asked Biffen. 'Is this possible +in a woman of any merit?' + +'Anything is possible in a woman,' Reardon replied, harshly. + +They walked in silence as far as Portland Road Station. There, +with an assurance that he would come to a garret-supper before +leaving London, Reardon parted from his friend and turned +westward. + +As soon as he had entered, Amy's voice called to him: + +'Here's a letter from Jedwood, Edwin!' + +He stepped into the study. + +'It came just after you went out, and it has been all I could do +to resist the temptation to open it.' + +'Why shouldn't you have opened it?' said her husband, carelessly. + +He tried to do so himself, but his shaking hand thwarted him at +first. Succeeding at length, he found a letter in the publisher's +own writing, and the first word that caught his attention was +'regret.' With an angry effort to command himself he ran through +the communication, then held it out to Amy. + +She read, and her countenance fell. Mr Jedwood regretted that the +story offered to him did not seem likely to please that +particular public to whom his series of one-volume novels made +appeal. He hoped it would be understood that, in declining, he by +no means expressed an adverse judgment on the story itself &c. + +'It doesn't surprise me,' said Reardon. 'I believe he is quite +right. The thing is too empty to please the better kind of +readers, yet not vulgar enough to please the worse.' + +'But you'll try someone else?' + +'I don't think it's much use.' + +They sat opposite each other, and kept silence. Jedwood's letter +slipped from Amy's lap to the ground. + +'So,' said Reardon, presently, 'I don't see how our plan is to be +carried out.' + +'Oh, it must be!' + +'But how?' + +'You'll get seven or eight pounds from The Wayside. And--hadn't +we better sell the furniture, instead of--' + +His look checked her. + +'It seems to me, Amy, that your one desire is to get away from +me, on whatever terms.' + +'Don't begin that over again!' she exclaimed, fretfully. 'If you +don't believe what I say--' + +They were both in a state of intolerable nervous tension. Their +voices quivered, and their eyes had an unnatural brightness. + +'If we sell the furniture,' pursued Reardon, 'that means you'll +never come back to me. You wish to save yourself and the child +from the hard life that seems to be before us.' + +'Yes, I do; but not by deserting you. I want you to go and work +for us all, so that we may live more happily before long. Oh, how +wretched this is!' + +She burst into hysterical weeping. But Reardon, instead of +attempting to soothe her, went into the next room, where he sat +for a long time in the dark. When he returned Amy was calm again; +her face expressed a cold misery. + +'Where did you go this morning?' he asked, as if wishing to talk +of common things. + +'I told you. I went to buy those things for Willie.' + +'Oh yes.' + +There was a silence. + +'Biffen passed you in Tottenham Court Road,' he added. + +'I didn't see him.' + +'No; he said you didn't.' + +'Perhaps,' said Amy, 'it was just when I was speaking to Mr +Milvain.' + +'You met Milvain?' + +'Yes.' + +'Why didn't you tell me?' + +'I'm sure I don't know. I can't mention every trifle that +happens.' + +'No, of course not.' + +Amy closed her eyes, as if in weariness, and for a minute or two +Reardon observed her countenance. + +'So you think we had better sell the furniture.' + +'I shall say nothing more about it. You must do as seems best to +you, Edwin.' + +'Are you going to see your mother to-morrow?' + +'Yes. I thought you would like to come too.' + +'No; there's no good in my going.' + +He again rose, and that night they talked no more of their +difficulties, though on the morrow (Sunday) it would be necessary +to decide their course in every detail. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE PARTING + +Amy did not go to church. Before her marriage she had done so as +a mere matter of course, accompanying her mother, but Reardon's +attitude with regard to the popular religion speedily became her +own; she let the subject lapse from her mind, and cared neither +to defend nor to attack where dogma was concerned. She had no +sympathies with mysticism; her nature was strongly practical, +with something of zeal for intellectual attainment superadded. + +This Sunday morning she was very busy with domestic minutiae. +Reardon noticed what looked like preparations for packing, and +being as little disposed for conversation as his wife, he went +out and walked for a couple of hours in the Hampstead region. +Dinner over, Amy at once made ready for her journey to Westbourne +Park. + +'Then you won't come?' she said to her husband. + +'No. I shall see your mother before I go away, but I don't care +to till you have settled everything.' + +It was half a year since he had met Mrs Yule. She never came to +their dwelling, and Reardon could not bring himself to visit her. + +'You had very much rather we didn't sell the furniture?' Amy +asked. + +'Ask your mother's opinion. That shall decide.' + +'There'll be the expense of moving it, you know. Unless money +comes from The Wayside, you'll only have two or three pounds +left.' + +Reardon made no reply. He was overcome by the bitterness of +shame. + +'I shall say, then,' pursued Amy, who spoke with averted face, +'that I am to go there for good on Tuesday? I mean, of course, +for the summer months.' + +'I suppose so.' + +Then he turned suddenly upon her. + +'Do you really imagine that at the end of the summer I shall be a +rich man? What do you mean by talking in this way? If the +furniture is sold to supply me with a few pounds for the present, +what prospect is there that I shall be able to buy new?' + +'How can we look forward at all?' replied Amy. 'It has come to +the question of how we are to subsist. I thought you would rather +get money in this way than borrow of mother--when she has the +expense of keeping me and Willie.' + +'You are right,' muttered Reardon. 'Do as you think best.' Amy +was in her most practical mood, and would not linger for +purposeless talk. A few minutes, and Reardon was left alone. + +He stood before his bookshelves and began to pick out the volumes +which he would take away with him. Just a few, the indispensable +companions of a bookish man who still clings to life--his Homer, +his Shakespeare-- + +The rest must be sold. He would get rid of them to-morrow +morning. All together they might bring him a couple of +sovereigns. + +Then his clothing. Amy had fulfilled all the domestic duties of a +wife; his wardrobe was in as good a state as circumstances +allowed. But there was no object in burdening himself with winter +garments, for, if he lived through the summer at all, he would be +able to repurchase such few poor things as were needful; at +present he could only think of how to get together a few coins. +So he made a heap of such things as might be sold. + +The furniture? If it must go, the price could scarcely be more +than ten or twelve pounds; well, perhaps fifteen. To be sure, in +this way his summer's living would be abundantly provided for. + +He thought of Biffen enviously. Biffen, if need be, could support +life on three or four shillings a week, happy in the thought that +no mortal had a claim upon him. If he starved to death--well, +many another lonely man has come to that end. If he preferred to +kill himself, who would be distressed? Spoilt child of fortune! + +The bells of St Marylebone began to clang for afternoon service. +In the idleness of dull pain his thoughts followed their summons, +and he marvelled that there were people who could imagine it a +duty or find it a solace to go and sit in that twilight church +and listen to the droning of prayers. He thought of the wretched +millions of mankind to whom life is so barren that they must +needs believe in a recompense beyond the grave. For that he +neither looked nor longed. The bitterness of his lot was that +this world might be a sufficing paradise to him if only he could +clutch a poor little share of current coin. He had won the +world's greatest prize--a woman's love --but could not retain it +because his pockets were empty. + +That he should fail to make a great name, this was grievous +disappointment to Amy, but this alone would not have estranged +her. It was the dread and shame of penury that made her heart +cold to him. And he could not in his conscience scorn her for +being thus affected by the vulgar circumstances of life; only a +few supreme natures stand unshaken under such a trial, and though +his love of Amy was still passionate, he knew that her place was +among a certain class of women, and not on the isolated pinnacle +where he had at first visioned her. It was entirely natural that +she shrank at the test of squalid suffering. A little money, and +he could have rested secure in her love, for then he would have +been able to keep ever before her the best qualities of his heart +and brain. Upon him, too, penury had its debasing effect; as he +now presented himself he was not a man to be admired or loved. It +was all simple and intelligible enough--a situation that would be +misread only by shallow idealism. + +Worst of all, she was attracted by Jasper Milvain's energy and +promise of success. He had no ignoble suspicions of Amy, but it +was impossible for him not to see that she habitually contrasted +the young journalist, who laughingly made his way among men, with +her grave, dispirited husband, who was not even capable of +holding such position as he had gained. She enjoyed Milvain's +conversation, it put her into a good humour; she liked him +personally, and there could be no doubt that she had observed a +jealous tendency in Reardon's attitude to his former friend-- +always a harmful suggestion to a woman. Formerly she had +appreciated her husband's superiority; she had smiled at +Milvain's commoner stamp of mind and character. But tedious +repetition of failure had outwearied her, and now she saw Milvain +in the sunshine of progress, dwelt upon the worldly advantages of +gifts and a temperament such as his. Again, simple and +intelligible enough. + +Living apart from her husband, she could not be expected to +forswear society, and doubtless she would see Milvain pretty +often. He called occasionally at Mrs Yule's, and would not do so +less often when he knew that Amy was to be met there. There would +be chance encounters like that of yesterday, of which she had +chosen to keep silence. + +A dark fear began to shadow him. In yielding thus passively to +stress of circumstances, was he not exposing his wife to a danger +which outweighed all the ills of poverty? As one to whom she was +inestimably dear, was he right in allowing her to leave him, if +only for a few months? He knew very well that a man of strong +character would never have entertained this project. He had got +into the way of thinking of himself as too weak to struggle +against the obstacles on which Amy insisted, and of looking for +safety in retreat; but what was to be the end of this weakness if +the summer did not at all advance him? He knew better than Amy +could how unlikely it was that he should recover the energies of +his mind in so short a time and under such circumstances; only +the feeble man's temptation to postpone effort had made him +consent to this step, and now that he was all but beyond turning +back, the perils of which he had thought too little forced +themselves upon his mind. + +He rose in anguish, and stood looking about him as if aid might +somewhere be visible. + +Presently there was a knock at the front door, and on opening he +beheld the vivacious Mr Carter. This gentleman had only made two +or three calls here since Reardon's marriage; his appearance was +a surprise. + +'I hear you are leaving town for a time,' he exclaimed. 'Edith +told me yesterday, so I thought I'd look you up.' + +He was in spring costume, and exhaled fresh odours. The contrast +between his prosperous animation and Reardon's broken-spirited +quietness could not have been more striking. + +'Going away for your health, they tell me. You've been working +too hard, you know. You mustn't overdo it. And where do you think +of going to?' + +'It isn't at all certain that I shall go,' Reardon replied. 'I +thought of a few weeks--somewhere at the seaside.' + +'I advise you to go north,' went on Carter cheerily. 'You want a +tonic, you know. Get up into Scotland and do some boating and +fishing--that kind of thing. You'd come back a new man. Edith and +I had a turn up there last year, you know; it did me heaps of +good.' + +'Oh, I don't think I should go so far as that.' + +'But that's just what you want--a regular change, something +bracing. You don't look at all well, that's the fact. A winter in +London tries any man--it does me, I know. I've been seedy myself +these last few weeks. Edith wants me to take her over to Paris at +the end of this month, and I think it isn't a bad idea; but I'm +so confoundedly busy. In the autumn we shall go to Norway, I +think; it seems to be the right thing to do nowadays. Why +shouldn't you have a run over to Norway? They say it can be done +very cheaply; the steamers take you for next to nothing.' + +He talked on with the joyous satisfaction of a man whose income +is assured, and whose future teems with a succession of lively +holidays. Reardon could make no answer to such suggestions; he +sat with a fixed smile on his face. + +'Have you heard,' said Carter, presently, 'that we're opening a +branch of the hospital in the City Road?' + +'No; I hadn't heard of it.' + +'It'll only be for out-patients. Open three mornings and three +evenings alternately.' + +'Who'll represent you there?''I shall look in now and then, of +course; there'll be a clerk, like at the old place.' + +He talked of the matter in detail--of the doctors who would +attend, and of certain new arrangements to be tried. + +'Have you engaged the clerk?' Reardon asked. + +'Not yet. I think I know a man who'll suit me, though.' + +'You wouldn't be disposed to give me the chance?' + +Reardon spoke huskily, and ended with a broken laugh. + +'You're rather above my figure nowadays, old man!' exclaimed +Carter, joining in what he considered the jest. + +'Shall you pay a pound a week?' + +'Twenty-five shillings. It'll have to be a man who can be trusted +to take money from the paying patients.' + +'Well, I am serious. Will you give me the place?' + +Carter gazed at him, and checked another laugh. + +'What the deuce do you mean?' + +'The fact is,' Reardon replied, 'I want variety of occupation. I +can't stick at writing for more than a month or two at a time. +It's because I have tried to do so that--well, practically, I +have broken down. If you will give me this clerkship, it will +relieve me from the necessity of perpetually writing novels; I +shall be better for it in every way. You know that I'm equal to +the job; you can trust me; and I dare say I shall be more useful +than most clerks you could get.' + +It was done, most happily done, on the first impulse. A minute +more of pause, and he could not have faced the humiliation. His +face burned, his tongue was parched. + +'I'm floored!' cried Carter. 'I shouldn't have thought--but of +course, if you really want it. I can hardly believe yet that +you're serious, Reardon.' + +'Why not? Will you promise me the work?' + +'Well, yes.' + +'When shall I have to begin?' + +'The place'll be opened to-morrow week. But how about your +holiday?' + +'Oh, let that stand over. It'll be holiday enough to occupy +myself in a new way. An old way, too; I shall enjoy it.' + +He laughed merrily, relieved beyond measure at having come to +what seemed an end of his difficulties. For half an hour they +continued to talk over the affair. + +'Well, it's a comical idea,' said Carter, as he took his leave, +'but you know your own business best.' + +When Amy returned, Reardon allowed her to put the child to bed +before he sought any conversation. She came at length and sat +down in the study. + +'Mother advises us not to sell the furniture,' were her first +words. + +'I'm glad of that, as I had quite made up my mind not to.' There +was a change in his way of speaking which she at once noticed. + +'Have you thought of something?' + +'Yes. Carter has been here, and he happened to mention that +they're opening an out-patient department of the hospital, in the +City Road. He'll want someone to help him there. I asked for the +post, and he promised it me.' + +The last words were hurried, though he had resolved to speak with +deliberation. No more feebleness; he had taken a decision, and +would act upon it as became a responsible man. + +'The post?' said Amy. 'What post?' + +'In plain English, the clerkship. It'll be the same work as I +used to have--registering patients, receiving their "letters," +and so on. The pay is to be five-and-twenty shillings a week.' + +Amy sat upright and looked steadily at him. + +'Is this a joke?' + +'Far from it, dear. It's a blessed deliverance.' + +'You have asked Mr Carter to take you back as a clerk?' + +'I have.' + +'And you propose that we shall live on twenty-five shillings a +week?' + +'Oh no! I shall be engaged only three mornings in the week and +three evenings. In my free time I shall do literary work, and no +doubt I can earn fifty pounds a year by it--if I have your +sympathy to help me. To-morrow I shall go and look for rooms some +distance from here; in Islington, I think. We have been living +far beyond our means; that must come to an end. We'll have no +more keeping up of sham appearances. If I can make my way in +literature, well and good; in that case our position and +prospects will of course change. But for the present we are poor +people, and must live in a poor way. If our friends like to come +and see us, they must put aside all snobbishness, and take us as +we are. If they prefer not to come, there'll be an excuse in our +remoteness.' + +Amy was stroking the back of her hand. After a long silence, she +said in a very quiet, but very resolute tone: + +'I shall not consent to this.' + +'In that case, Amy, I must do without your consent. The rooms +will be taken, and our furniture transferred to them.' + +'To me that will make no difference,' returned his wife, in the +same voice as before. 'I have decided--as you told me to--to go +with Willie to mother's next Tuesday. You, of course, must do as +you please. I should have thought a summer at the seaside would +have been more helpful to you; but if you prefer to live in +Islington--' + +Reardon approached her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. + +'Amy, are you my wife, or not?' + +'I am certainly not the wife of a clerk who is paid so much a +week.' + +He had foreseen a struggle, but without certainty of the form +Amy's opposition would take. For himself he meant to be gently +resolute, calmly regardless of protest. But in a man to whom such +self-assertion is a matter of conscious effort, tremor of the +nerves will always interfere with the line of conduct he has +conceived in advance. Already Reardon had spoken with far more +bluntness than he proposed; involuntarily, his voice slipped from +earnest determination to the note of absolutism, and, as is wont +to be the case, the sound of these strange tones instigated him +to further utterances of the same kind. He lost control of +himself. Amy's last reply went through him like an electric +shock, and for the moment he was a mere husband defied by his +wife, the male stung to exertion of his brute force against the +physically weaker sex. + +'However you regard me, you will do what I think fit. I shall not +argue with you. If I choose to take lodgings in Whitechapel, +there you will come and live.' + +He met Amy's full look, and was conscious of that in it which +corresponded to his own brutality. She had become suddenly a much +older woman; her cheeks were tight drawn into thinness, her lips +were bloodlessly hard, there was an unknown furrow along her +forehead, and she glared like the animal that defends itself with +tooth and claw. + +'Do as YOU think fit? Indeed!' + +Could Amy's voice sound like that? Great Heaven! With just such +accent he had heard a wrangling woman retort upon her husband at +the street corner. Is there then no essential difference between +a woman of this world and one of that? Does the same nature lie +beneath such unlike surfaces? + +He had but to do one thing: to seize her by the arm, drag her up +from the chair, dash her back again with all his force--there, +the transformation would be complete, they would stand towards +each other on the natural footing. With an added curse perhaps-- +Instead of that, he choked, struggled for breath, and shed tears. + +Amy turned scornfully away from him. Blows and a curse would have +overawed her, at all events for the moment; she would have felt: +'Yes, he is a man, and I have put my destiny into his hands.' His +tears moved her to a feeling cruelly exultant; they were the sign +of her superiority. It was she who should have wept, and never in +her life had she been further from such display of weakness. + +This could not be the end, however, and she had no wish to +terminate the scene. They stood for a minute without regarding +each other, then Reardon faced to her. + +'You refuse to live with me, then?' + +'Yes, if this is the kind of life you offer me.' + +'You would be more ashamed to share your husband's misfortunes +than to declare to everyone that you had deserted him?' + +'I shall "declare to everyone" the simple truth. You have the +opportunity of making one more effort to save us from +degradation. You refuse to take the trouble; you prefer to drag +me down into a lower rank of life. I can't and won't consent to +that. The disgrace is yours; it's fortunate for me that I have a +decent home to go to.' + +'Fortunate for you!--you make yourself unutterably contemptible. +I have done nothing that justifies you in leaving me. It is for +me to judge what I can do and what I can't. A good woman would +see no degradation in what I ask of you. But to run away from me +just because I am poorer than you ever thought I should be--' + +He was incoherent. A thousand passionate things that he wished to +say clashed together in his mind and confused his speech. +Defeated in the attempt to act like a strong man, he could not +yet recover standing-ground, knew not how to tone his utterances. + +'Yes, of course, that's how you will put it,' said Amy. 'That's +how you will represent me to your friends. My friends will see it +in a different light.' + +'They will regard you as a martyr?' + +'No one shall make a martyr of me, you may be sure. I was +unfortunate enough to marry a man who had no delicacy, no regard +for my feelings.--I am not the first woman who has made a mistake +of this kind.' + +'No delicacy? No regard for your feelings?--Have I always utterly +misunderstood you? Or has poverty changed you to a woman I can't +recognise?' + +He came nearer, and gazed desperately into her face. Not a muscle +of it showed susceptibility to the old influences. + +'Do you know, Amy,' he added in a lower voice, 'that if we part +now, we part for ever?' + +'I'm afraid that is only too likely.' + +She moved aside. + +'You mean that you wish it. You are weary of me, and care for +nothing but how to make yourself free.' + +'I shall argue no more. I am tired to death of it.' + +'Then say nothing, but listen for the last time to my view of the +position we have come to. When I consented to leave you for a +time, to go away and try to work in solitude, I was foolish and +even insincere, both to you and to myself. I knew that I was +undertaking the impossible. It was just putting off the evil day, +that was all--putting off the time when I should have to say +plainly: "I can't live by literature, so I must look out for some +other employment." I shouldn't have been so weak but that I knew +how you would regard such a decision as that. I was afraid to +tell the truth--afraid. Now, when Carter of a sudden put this +opportunity before me, I saw all the absurdity of the +arrangements we had made. It didn't take me a moment to make up +my mind. Anything was to be chosen rather than a parting from you +on false pretences, a ridiculous affectation of hope where there +was no hope.' + +He paused, and saw that his words had no effect upon her. + +'And a grievous share of the fault lies with you, Amy. You +remember very well when I first saw how dark the future was. I +was driven even to say that we ought to change our mode of +living; I asked you if you would be willing to leave this place +and go into cheaper rooms. And you know what your answer was. Not +a sign in you that you would stand by me if the worst came. I +knew then what I had to look forward to, but I durst not believe +it. I kept saying to myself: "She loves me, and as soon as she +really understands--" That was all self-deception. If I had been +a wise man, I should have spoken to you in a way you couldn't +mistake. I should have told you that we were living recklessly, +and that I had determined to alter it. I have no delicacy? No +regard for your feelings? Oh, if I had had less! I doubt whether +you can even understand some of the considerations that weighed +with me, and made me cowardly--though I once thought there was no +refinement of sensibility that you couldn't enter into. Yes, I +was absurd enough to say to myself: "It will look as if I had +consciously deceived her; she may suffer from the thought that I +won her at all hazards, knowing that I should soon expose her to +poverty and all sorts of humiliation." Impossible to speak of +that again; I had to struggle desperately on, trying to hope. Oh! +if you knew--' + +His voice gave way for an instant. + +'I don't understand how you could be so thoughtless and +heartless. You knew that I was almost mad with anxiety at times. +Surely, any woman must have had the impulse to give what help was +in her power. How could you hesitate? Had you no suspicion of +what a relief and encouragement it would be to me, if you said: +"Yes, we must go and live in a simpler way?" If only as a proof +that you loved me, how I should have welcomed that! You helped me +in nothing. You threw all the responsibility upon me--always +bearing in mind, I suppose, that there was a refuge for you. Even +now, I despise myself for saying such things of you, though I +know so bitterly that they are true. It takes a long time to see +you as such a different woman from the one I worshipped. In +passion, I can fling out violent words, but they don't yet answer +to my actual feeling. It will be long enough yet before I think +contemptuously of you. You know that when a light is suddenly +extinguished, the image of it still shows before your eyes. But +at last comes the darkness.' + +Amy turned towards him once more. + +'Instead of saying all this, you might be proving that I am +wrong. Do so, and I will gladly confess it.' + +'That you are wrong? I don't see your meaning.' + +'You might prove that you are willing to do your utmost to save +me from humiliation.' + +'Amy, I have done my utmost. I have done more than you can +imagine.' + +'No. You have toiled on in illness and anxiety--I know that. But +a chance is offered you now of working in a better way. Till that +is tried, you have no right to give all up and try to drag me +down with you.' + +'I don't know how to answer. I have told you so often-- You can't +understand me!' + +'I can! I can!' Her voice trembled for the first time. 'I know +that you are so ready to give in to difficulties. Listen to me, +and do as I bid you.' She spoke in the strangest tone of command. + +It was command, not exhortation, but there was no harshness in +her voice. 'Go at once to Mr Carter. Tell him you have made a +ludicrous mistake--in a fit of low spirits; anything you like to +say. Tell him you of course couldn't dream of becoming his clerk. +To-night; at once! You understand me, Edwin? Go now, this +moment.' + +'Have you determined to see how weak I am? Do you wish to be able +to despise me more completely still?' + +'I am determined to be your friend, and to save you from +yourself. Go at once! Leave all the rest to me. If I have let +things take their course till now, it shan't be so in future. The +responsibility shall be with me. Only do as I tell you' + +'You know it's impossible--' + +'It is not! I will find money. No one shall be allowed to say +that we are parting; no one has any such idea yet. You are going +away for your health, just three summer months. I have been far +more careful of appearances than you imagine, but you give me +credit for so little. I will find the money you need, until you +have written another book. I promise; I undertake it. Then I will +find another home for us, of the proper kind. You shall have no +trouble. You shall give yourself entirely to intellectual things. + +But Mr Carter must be told at once, before he can spread a +report. If he has spoken, he must contradict what he has said.' + +'But you amaze me, Amy. Do you mean to say that you look upon it +as a veritable disgrace, my taking this clerkship?' + +'I do. I can't help my nature. I am ashamed through and through +that you should sink to this.' + +'But everyone knows that I was a clerk once!' + +'Very few people know it. And then that isn't the same thing. It +doesn't matter what one has been in the past. Especially a +literary man; everyone expects to hear that he was once poor. But +to fall from the position you now have, and to take weekly wages +--you surely can't know how people of my world regard that.' + +'Of your world? I had thought your world was the same as mine, +and knew nothing whatever of these imbecilities.' + +'It is getting late. Go and see Mr Carter, and afterwards I will +talk as much as you like.' + +He might perhaps have yielded, but the unemphasised contempt in +that last sentence was more than he could bear. It demonstrated +to him more completely than set terms could have done what a +paltry weakling he would appear in Amy's eyes if he took his hat +down from the peg and set out to obey her orders. + +'You are asking too much,' he said, with unexpected coldness. 'If +my opinions are so valueless to you that you dismiss them like +those of a troublesome child, I wonder you think it worth while +to try and keep up appearances about me. It is very simple: make +known to everyone that you are in no way connected with the +disgrace I have brought upon myself. Put an advertisement in the +newspapers to that effect, if you like--as men do about their +wives' debts. I have chosen my part. I can't stultify myself to +please you.' + +She knew that this was final. His voice had the true ring of +shame in revolt. + +'Then go your way, and I will go mine!' + +Amy left the room. + +When Reardon went into the bedchamber an hour later, he unfolded +a chair-bedstead that stood there, threw some rugs upon it, and +so lay down to pass the night. He did not close his eyes. Amy +slept for an hour or two before dawn, and on waking she started +up and looked anxiously about the room. But neither spoke. + +There was a pretence of ordinary breakfast; the little servant +necessitated that. When she saw her husband preparing to go out, +Amy asked him to come into the study. + +'How long shall you be away?' she asked, curtly. + +'It is doubtful. I am going to look for rooms.' + +'Then no doubt I shall be gone when you come back. There's no +object, now, in my staying here till to-morrow.' + +'As you please.' + +'Do you wish Lizzie still to come?' + +'No. Please to pay her wages and dismiss her. Here is some +money.' + +'I think you had better let me see to that.' + +He flung the coin on to the table and opened the door. Amy +stepped quickly forward and closed it again. + +'This is our good-bye, is it?' she asked, her eyes on the ground. + +'As you wish it--yes.' + +'You will remember that I have not wished it.' + +'In that case, you have only to go with me to the new home.' + +'I can't.' + +'Then you have made your choice.' + +She did not prevent his opening the door this time, and he passed +out without looking at her. + +His return was at three in the afternoon. Amy and the child were +gone; the servant was gone. The table in the dining-room was +spread as if for one person's meal. + +He went into the bedroom. Amy's trunks had disappeared. The +child's cot was covered over. In the study, he saw that the +sovereign he had thrown on to the table still lay in the same +place. + +As it was a very cold day he lit a fire. Whilst it burnt up he +sat reading a torn portion of a newspaper, and became quite +interested in the report of a commercial meeting in the City, a +thing he would never have glanced at under ordinary +circumstances. The fragment fell at length from his hands; his +head drooped; he sank into a troubled sleep. + +About six he had tea, then began the packing of the few books +that were to go with him, and of such other things as could be +enclosed in box or portmanteau. After a couple of hours of this +occupation he could no longer resist his weariness, so he went to +bed. Before falling asleep he heard the two familiar clocks +strike eight; this evening they were in unusual accord, and the +querulous notes from the workhouse sounded between the deeper +ones from St Marylebone. Reardon tried to remember when he had +last observed this; the matter seemed to have a peculiar interest +for him, and in dreams he worried himself with a grotesque +speculation thence derived. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. THE OLD HOME + +Before her marriage Mrs Edmund Yule was one of seven motherless +sisters who constituted the family of a dentist slenderly +provided in the matter of income. The pinching and paring which +was a chief employment of her energies in those early days had +disagreeable effects upon a character disposed rather to +generosity than the reverse; during her husband's lifetime she +had enjoyed rather too eagerly all the good things which he put +at her command, sometimes forgetting that a wife has duties as +well as claims, and in her widowhood she indulged a +pretentiousness and querulousness which were the natural, but not +amiable, results of suddenly restricted circumstances. + +Like the majority of London people, she occupied a house of which +the rent absurdly exceeded the due proportion of her income, a +pleasant foible turned to such good account by London landlords. +Whereas she might have lived with a good deal of modest comfort, +her existence was a perpetual effort to conceal the squalid +background of what was meant for the eyes of her friends and +neighbours. She kept only two servants, who were so ill paid and +so relentlessly overworked that it was seldom they remained with +her for more than three months. In dealings with other people +whom she perforce employed, she was often guilty of incredible +meanness; as, for instance, when she obliged her half-starved +dressmaker to purchase material for her, and then postponed +payment alike for that and for the work itself to the last +possible moment. This was not heartlessness in the strict sense +of the word; the woman not only knew that her behaviour was +shameful, she was in truth ashamed of it and sorry for her +victims. But life was a battle. She must either crush or be +crushed. With sufficient means, she would have defrauded no one, +and would have behaved generously to many; with barely enough for +her needs, she set her face and defied her feelings, inasmuch as +she believed there was no choice. + +She would shed tears over a pitiful story of want, and without +shadow of hypocrisy. It was hard, it was cruel; such things +oughtn't to be allowed in a world where there were so many rich +people. The next day she would argue with her charwoman about +halfpence, and end by paying the poor creature what she knew was +inadequate and unjust. For the simplest reason: she hadn't more +to give, without submitting to privations which she considered +intolerable. + +But whilst she could be a positive hyena to strangers, to those +who were akin to her, and those of whom she was fond, her +affectionate kindness was remarkable. One observes this +peculiarity often enough; it reminds one how savage the social +conflict is, in which those little groups of people stand serried +against their common enemies; relentless to all others, among +themselves only the more tender and zealous because of the +ever-impending danger. No mother was ever more devoted. Her son, +a gentleman of quite noteworthy selfishness, had board and +lodging beneath her roof on nominal terms, and under no stress of +pecuniary trouble had Mrs Yule called upon him to make the +slightest sacrifice on her behalf. Her daughter she loved with +profound tenderness, and had no will that was opposed to Amy's. +And it was characteristic of her that her children were never +allowed to understand of what baseness she often became guilty in +the determination to support appearances. John Yule naturally +suspected what went on behind the scenes; on one occasion--since +Amy's marriage--he had involuntarily overheard a dialogue between +his mother and a servant on the point of departing which made +even him feel ashamed. But from Amy every paltriness and meanness +had always been concealed with the utmost care; Mrs Yule did not +scruple to lie heroically when in danger of being detected by her +daughter. + +Yet this energetic lady had no social ambitions that pointed +above her own stratum. She did not aim at intimacy with her +superiors; merely at superiority among her intimates. Her circle +was not large, but in that circle she must be regarded with the +respect due to a woman of refined tastes and personal +distinction. Her little dinners might be of rare occurrence, but +to be invited must be felt a privilege. 'Mrs Edmund Yule' must +sound well on people's lips; never be the occasion of those +peculiar smiles which she herself was rather fond of indulging at +the mention of other people's names. + +The question of Amy's marriage had been her constant thought from +the time when the little girl shot into a woman grown. For Amy no +common match, no acceptance of a husband merely for money or +position. Few men who walked the earth were mates for Amy. But +years went on, and the man of undeniable distinction did not yet +present himself. Suitors offered, but Amy smiled coldly at their +addresses, in private not seldom scornfully, and her mother, +though growing anxious, approved. Then of a sudden appeared Edwin +Reardon. + +A literary man? Well, it was one mode of distinction. Happily, a +novelist; novelists now and then had considerable social success. + +Mr Reardon, it was true, did not impress one as a man likely to +push forward where the battle called for rude vigour, but Amy +soon assured herself that he would have a reputation far other +than that of the average successful storyteller. The best people +would regard him; he would be welcomed in the penetralia of +culture; superior persons would say: 'Oh, I don't read novels as +a rule, but of course Mr Reardon's--' If that really were to be +the case, all was well; for Mrs Yule could appreciate social and +intellectual differences. + +Alas! alas! What was the end of those shining anticipations? + +First of all, Mrs Yule began to make less frequent mention of 'my +son-in-law, Mr Edwin Reardon.' Next, she never uttered his name +save when inquiries necessitated it. Then, the most intimate of +her intimates received little hints which were not quite easy to +interpret. 'Mr Reardon is growing so very eccentric--has an odd +distaste for society--occupies himself with all sorts of out-of- +the-way interests. No, I'm afraid we shan't have another of his +novels for some time. I think he writes anonymously a good deal. +And really, such curious eccentricities!' Many were the tears she +wept after her depressing colloquies with Amy; and, as was to be +expected, she thought severely of the cause of these sorrows. On +the last occasion when he came to her house she received him with +such extreme civility that Reardon thenceforth disliked her, +whereas before he had only thought her a good-natured and silly +woman. + +Alas for Amy's marriage with a man of distinction! From step to +step of descent, till here was downright catastrophe. Bitter +enough in itself, but most lamentable with reference to the +friends of the family. How was it to be explained, this return of +Amy to her home for several months, whilst her husband was no +further away than Worthing? The bald, horrible truth--impossible! +Yet Mr Milvain knew it, and the Carters must guess it. What +colour could be thrown upon such vulgar distress? + +The worst was not yet. It declared itself this May morning, when, +quite unexpectedly, a cab drove up to the house, bringing Amy and +her child, and her trunks, and her band-boxes, and her what-nots. + +From the dining-room window Mrs Yule was aware of this arrival, +and in a few moments she learnt the unspeakable cause. + +She burst into tears, genuine as ever woman shed. + +'There's no use in that, mother,' said Amy, whose temper was in a +dangerous state. 'Nothing worse can happen, that's one +consolation.' + +'Oh, it's disgraceful! disgraceful!' sobbed Mrs Yule. 'What we +are to say I can NOT think.' + +'I shall say nothing whatever. People can scarcely have the +impertinence to ask us questions when we have shown that they are +unwelcome.' + +'But there are some people I can't help giving some explanation +to. My dear child, he is not in his right mind. I'm convinced of +it, there! He is not in his right mind.' + +'That's nonsense, mother. He is as sane as I am.' + +'But you have often said what strange things he says and does; +you know you have, Amy. That talking in his sleep; I've thought a +great deal of it since you told me about that. And--and so many +other things. My love, I shall give it to be understood that he +has become so very odd in his ways that--' + +'I can't have that,' replied Amy with decision. 'Don't you see +that in that case I should be behaving very badly?' + +'I can't see that at all. There are many reasons, as you know +very well, why one shouldn't live with a husband who is at all +suspected of mental derangement. You have done your utmost for +him. And this would be some sort of explanation, you know. I am +so convinced that there is truth in it, too.' + +'Of course I can't prevent you from saying what you like, but I +think it would be very wrong to start a rumour of this kind.' + +There was less resolve in this utterance. Amy mused, and looked +wretched. + +'Come up to the drawing-room, dear,' said her mother, for they +had held their conversation in the room nearest to the +house-door. 'What a state your mind must be in! Oh dear! Oh +dear!' + +She was a slender, well-proportioned woman, still pretty in face, +and dressed in a way that emphasised her abiding charms. Her +voice had something of plaintiveness, and altogether she was of +frailer type than her daughter. + +'Is my room ready?' Amy inquired on the stairs. + +'I'm sorry to say it isn't, dear, as I didn't expect you till +tomorrow. But it shall be seen to immediately.' + +This addition to the household was destined to cause grave +difficulties with the domestic slaves. But Mrs Yule would prove +equal to the occasion. On Amy's behalf she would have worked her +servants till they perished of exhaustion before her eyes. + +'Use my room for the present,' she added. 'I think the girl has +finished up there. But wait here; I'll just go and see to +things.' + +'Things' were not quite satisfactory, as it proved. You should +have heard the change that came in that sweetly plaintive voice +when it addressed the luckless housemaid. It was not brutal; not +at all. But so sharp, hard, unrelenting--the voice of the goddess +Poverty herself perhaps sounds like that. + +Mad? Was he to be spoken of in a low voice, and with finger +pointing to the forehead? There was something ridiculous, as well +as repugnant, in such a thought; but it kept possession of Amy's +mind. She was brooding upon it when her mother came into the +drawing-room. + +'And he positively refused to carry out the former plan?' + +'Refused. Said it was useless.' + +'How could it be useless? There's something so unaccountable in +his behaviour.' + +'I don't think it unaccountable,' replied Amy. 'It's weak and +selfish, that's all. He takes the first miserable employment that +offers rather than face the hard work of writing another book.' + +She was quite aware that this did not truly represent her +husband's position. But an uneasiness of conscience impelled her +to harsh speech. + +'But just fancy!' exclaimed her mother. 'What can he mean by +asking you to go and live with him on twenty-five shillings a +week? Upon my word. if his mind isn't disordered he must have +made a deliberate plan to get rid of you.' + +Amy shook her head. + +'You mean,' asked Mrs Yule, 'that he really thinks it possible +for all of you to be supported on those wages?' + +The last word was chosen to express the utmost scorn. + +'He talked of earning fifty pounds a year by writing.' + +'Even then it could only make about a hundred a year. My dear +child, it's one of two things: either he is out of his mind, or +he has purposely cast you off.' + +Amy laughed, thinking of her husband in the light of the latter +alternative. + +'There's no need to seek so far for explanations,' she said. 'He +has failed, that's all; just like a man might fail in any other +business. He can't write like he used to. It may be all the +result of ill-health; I don't know. His last book, you see, is +positively refused. He has made up his mind that there's nothing +but poverty before him, and he can't understand why I should +object to live like the wife of a working-man.' + +'Well, I only know that he has placed you in an exceedingly +difficult position. If he had gone away to Worthing for the +summer we might have made it seem natural; people are always +ready to allow literary men to do rather odd things--up to a +certain point. We should have behaved as if there were nothing +that called for explanation. But what are we to do now?' + +Like her multitudinous kind, Mrs Yule lived only in the opinions +of other people. What others would say was her ceaseless +preoccupation. She had never conceived of life as something +proper to the individual; independence in the directing of one's +course seemed to her only possible in the case of very eccentric +persons, or of such as were altogether out of society. Amy had +advanced, intellectually, far beyond this standpoint, but lack of +courage disabled her from acting upon her convictions. + +'People must know the truth, I suppose,' she answered +dispiritedly. + +Now, confession of the truth was the last thing that would occur +to Mrs Yule when social relations were concerned. Her whole +existence was based on bold denial of actualities. And, as is +natural in such persons, she had the ostrich instinct strongly +developed; though very acute in the discovery of her friends' +shams and lies, she deceived herself ludicrously in the matter of +concealing her own embarrassments. + +'But the fact is, my dear,' she answered, 'we don't know the +truth ourselves. You had better let yourself be directed by me. +It will be better, at first, if you see as few people as +possible. I suppose you must say something or other to two or +three of your own friends; if you take my advice you'll be rather +mysterious. Let them think what they like; anything is better +than to say plainly. "My husband can't support me, and he has +gone to work as a clerk for weekly wages." Be mysterious, +darling; depend upon it, that's the safest.' + +The conversation was pursued, with brief intervals, all through +the day. In the afternoon two ladies paid a call, but Amy kept +out of sight. Between six and seven John Yule returned from his +gentlemanly occupations. As he was generally in a touchy temper +before dinner had soothed him, nothing was said to him of the +latest development of his sister's affairs until late in the +evening; he was allowed to suppose that Reardon's departure for +the seaside had taken place a day sooner than had been arranged. + +Behind the dining-room was a comfortable little chamber set apart +as John's sanctum; here he smoked and entertained his male +friends, and contemplated the portraits of those female ones who +would not have been altogether at their ease in Mrs Yule's +drawing-room. Not long after dinner his mother and sister came to +talk with him in this retreat. + +With some nervousness Mrs Yule made known to him what had taken +place. Amy, the while, stood by the table, and glanced over a +magazine that she had picked up. + +'Well, I see nothing to be surprised at,' was John's first +remark. 'It was pretty certain he'd come to this. But what I want +to know is, how long are we to be at the expense of supporting +Amy and her youngster?' + +This was practical, and just what Mrs Yule had expected from her +son. + +'We can't consider such things as that,' she replied. 'You don't +wish, I suppose, that Amy should go and live in a back street at +Islington, and be hungry every other day, and soon have no decent +clothes?' + +'I don't think Jack would be greatly distressed,' Amy put in +quietly. + +'This is a woman's way of talking,' replied John. 'I want to know +what is to be the end of it all? I've no doubt it's uncommonly +pleasant for Reardon to shift his responsibilities on to our +shoulders. At this rate I think I shall get married, and live +beyond my means until I can hold out no longer, and then hand my +wife over to her relatives, with my compliments. It's about the +coolest business that ever came under my notice.' + +'But what is to be done?' asked Mrs Yule. 'It's no use talking +sarcastically, John, or making yourself disagreeable.' + +'We are not called upon to find a way out of the difficulty. The +fact of the matter is, Reardon must get a decent berth. Somebody +or other must pitch him into the kind of place that suits men who +can do nothing in particular. Carter ought to be able to help, I +should think.' + +'You know very well,' said Amy, 'that places of that kind are not +to be had for the asking. It may be years before any such +opportunity offers.' + +'Confound the fellow! Why the deuce doesn't he go on with his +novel-writing? There's plenty of money to be made out of novels.' + +'But he can't write, Jack. He has lost his talent.' + +'That's all bosh, Amy. If a fellow has once got into the swing of +it he can keep it up if he likes. He might write his two novels a +year easily enough, just like twenty other men and women. Look +here, I could do it myself if I weren't too lazy. And that's +what's the matter with Reardon. He doesn't care to work.' + +'I have thought that myself;' observed Mrs Yule. 'It really is +too ridiculous to say that he couldn't write some kind of novels +if he chose. Look at Miss Blunt's last book; why, anybody could +have written that. I'm sure there isn't a thing in it I couldn't +have imagined myself.' + +'Well, all I want to know is, what's Amy going to do if things +don't alter?' + +'She shall never want a home as long as I have one to share with +her.' + +John's natural procedure, when beset by difficulties, was to find +fault with everyone all round, himself maintaining a position of +irresponsibility. + +'It's all very well, mother, but when a girl gets married she +takes her husband, I have always understood, for better or worse, +just as a man takes his wife. To tell the truth, it seems to me +Amy has put herself in the wrong. It's deuced unpleasant to go +and live in back streets, and to go without dinner now and then, +but girls mustn't marry if they're afraid to face these things.' + +'Don't talk so monstrously, John!' exclaimed his mother. 'How +could Amy possibly foresee such things? The case is quite an +extraordinary one.' + +'Not so uncommon, I assure you. Some one was telling me the other +day of a married lady--well educated and blameless--who goes to +work at a shop somewhere or other because her husband can't +support her.' + +'And you wish to see Amy working in a shop?' + +'No, I can't say I do. I'm only telling you that her bad luck +isn't unexampled. It's very fortunate for her that she has +good-natured relatives.' + +Amy had taken a seat apart. She sat with her head leaning on her +hand. + +'Why don't you go and see Reardon?' John asked of his mother. + +'What would be the use? Perhaps he would tell me to mind my own +business.' + +'By jingo! precisely what you would be doing. I think you ought +to see him and give him to understand that he's behaving in a +confoundedly ungentlemanly way. Evidently he's the kind of fellow +that wants stirring up. I've half a mind to go and see him +myself. Where is this slum that he's gone to live in?' + +'We don't know his address yet.' + +'So long as it's not the kind of place where one would be afraid +of catching a fever, I think it wouldn't be amiss for me to look +him up.' + +'You'll do no good by that,' said Amy, indifferently. + +'Confound it! It's just because nobody does anything that things +have come to this pass!' + +The conversation was, of course, profitless. John could only +return again and again to his assertion that Reardon must get 'a +decent berth.' At length Amy left the room in weariness and +disgust. + +'I suppose they have quarrelled terrifically,' said her brother, +as soon as she was gone. + +'I am afraid so.' + +'Well, you must do as you please. But it's confounded hard lines +that you should have to keep her and the kid. You know I can't +afford to contribute.' + +'My dear, I haven't asked you to.' + +'No, but you'll have the devil's own job to make ends meet; I +know that well enough.' + +'I shall manage somehow.' + +'All right; you're a plucky woman, but it's too bad. Reardon's a +humbug, that's my opinion. I shall have a talk with Carter about +him. I suppose he has transferred all their furniture to the +slum?' + +'He can't have removed yet. It was only this morning that he went +to search for lodgings.' + +'Oh, then I tell you what it is: I shall look in there the first +thing to-morrow morning, and just talk to him in a fatherly way. +You needn't say anything to Amy. But I see he's just the kind of +fellow that, if everyone leaves him alone, he'll be content with +Carter's five-and-twenty shillings for the rest of his life, and +never trouble his head about how Amy is living.' + +To this proposal Mrs Yule readily assented. On going upstairs she +found that Amy had all but fallen asleep upon a settee in the +drawing-room. + +'You are quite worn out with your troubles,' she said. 'Go to +bed, and have a good long sleep.' + +'Yes, I will.' + +The neat, fresh bedchamber seemed to Amy a delightful haven of +rest. She turned the key in the door with an enjoyment of the +privacy thus secured such as she had never known in her life; for +in maidenhood safe solitude was a matter of course to her, and +since marriage she had not passed a night alone. Willie was fast +asleep in a little bed shadowed by her own. In an impulse of +maternal love and gladness she bent over the child and covered +his face with kisses too gentle to awaken him. + +How clean and sweet everything was! It is often said, by people +who are exquisitely ignorant of the matter, that cleanliness is a +luxury within reach even of the poorest. Very far from that; only +with the utmost difficulty, with wearisome exertion, with +harassing sacrifice, can people who are pinched for money +preserve a moderate purity in their persons and their +surroundings. By painful degrees Amy had accustomed herself to +compromises in this particular which in the early days of her +married life would have seemed intensely disagreeable, if not +revolting. A housewife who lives in the country, and has but a +patch of back garden, or even a good-sized kitchen, can, if she +thinks fit, take her place at the wash-tub and relieve her mind +on laundry matters; but to the inhabitant of a miniature flat in +the heart of London anything of that kind is out of the question. + +When Amy began to cut down her laundress's bill, she did it with +a sense of degradation. One grows accustomed, however, to such +unpleasant necessities, and already she had learnt what was the +minimum of expenditure for one who is troubled with a lady's +instincts. + +No, no; cleanliness is a costly thing, and a troublesome thing +when appliances and means have to be improvised. It was, in part, +the understanding she had gained of this side of the life of +poverty that made Amy shrink in dread from the still narrower +lodgings to which Reardon invited her. She knew how subtly one's +self-respect can be undermined by sordid conditions. The +difference between the life of well-to-do educated people and +that of the uneducated poor is not greater in visible details +than in the minutiae of privacy, and Amy must have submitted to +an extraordinary change before it would have been possible for +her to live at ease in the circumstances which satisfy a decent +working-class woman. She was prepared for final parting from her +husband rather than try to effect that change in herself. + +She undressed at leisure, and stretched her limbs in the cold, +soft, fragrant bed. A sigh of profound relief escaped her. How +good it was to be alone! + +And in a quarter of an hour she was sleeping as peacefully as the +child who shared her room. + +At breakfast in the morning she showed a bright, almost a happy +face. It was long, long since she had enjoyed such a night's +rest, so undisturbed with unwelcome thoughts on the threshold of +sleep and on awaking. Her life was perhaps wrecked, but the +thought of that did not press upon her; for the present she must +enjoy her freedom. It was like a recovery of girlhood. There are +few married women who would not, sooner or later, accept with joy +the offer of some months of a maidenly liberty. Amy would not +allow herself to think that her wedded life was at an end. With a +woman's strange faculty of closing her eyes against facts that do +not immediately concern her, she tasted the relief of the present +and let the future lie unregarded. Reardon would get out of his +difficulties sooner or later; somebody or other would help him; +that was the dim background of her agreeable sensations. + +He suffered, no doubt. But then it was just as well that he +should. Suffering would perhaps impel him to effort. When he +communicated to her his new address--he could scarcely neglect to +do that--she would send a not unfriendly letter, and hint to him +that now was his opportunity for writing a book, as good a book +as those which formerly issued from his garret-solitude. If he +found that literature was in truth a thing of the past with him, +then he must exert himself to obtain a position worthy of an +educated man. Yes, in this way she would write to him, without a +word that could hurt or offend. + +She ate an excellent breakfast, and made known her enjoyment of +it. + +'I am so glad!' replied her mother. 'You have been getting quite +thin and pale.' + +'Quite consumptive,' remarked John, looking up from his +newspaper. 'Shall I make arrangements for a daily landau at the +livery stables round here?' + +'You can if you like,' replied his sister; 'it would do both +mother and me good, and I have no doubt you could afford it quite +well.' + +'Oh, indeed! You're a remarkable young woman, let me tell you. +By-the-bye, I suppose your husband is breakfasting on bread and +water?' + +'I hope not, and I don't think it very likely.' + +'Jack, Jack!' interposed Mrs Yule, softly. + +Her son resumed his paper, and at the end of the meal rose with +an unwonted briskness to make his preparations for departure. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE PAST REVIVED + +Nor would it be true to represent Edwin Reardon as rising to the +new day wholly disconsolate. He too had slept unusually well, and +with returning consciousness the sense of a burden removed was +more instant than that of his loss and all the dreary +circumstances attaching to it. He had no longer to fear the +effects upon Amy of such a grievous change as from their homelike +flat to the couple of rooms he had taken in Islington; for the +moment, this relief helped him to bear the pain of all that had +happened and the uneasiness which troubled him when he reflected +that his wife was henceforth a charge to her mother. + +Of course for the moment only. He had no sooner begun to move +about, to prepare his breakfast (amid the relics of last +evening's meal), to think of all the detestable work he had to do +before to-morrow night, than his heart sank again. His position +was well-nigh as dolorous as that of any man who awoke that +morning to the brutal realities of life. If only for the shame of +it! How must they be speaking of him, Amy's relatives, and her +friends? A novelist who couldn't write novels; a husband who +couldn't support his wife and child; a literate who made eager +application for illiterate work at paltry wages--how interesting +it would all sound in humorous gossip! And what hope had he that +things would ever be better with him? + +Had he done well? Had he done wisely? Would it not have been +better to have made that one last effort? There came before him a +vision of quiet nooks beneath the Sussex cliffs, of the long +lines of green breakers bursting into foam; he heard the +wave-music, and tasted the briny freshness of the sea-breeze. +Inspiration, after all, would perchance have come to him. + +If Amy's love had but been of more enduring quality; if she had +strengthened him for this last endeavour with the brave +tenderness of an ideal wife! But he had seen such hateful things +in her eyes. Her love was dead, and she regarded him as the man +who had spoilt her hopes of happiness. It was only for her own +sake that she urged him to strive on; let his be the toil, that +hers might be the advantage if he succeeded. + +'She would be glad if I were dead. She would be glad.' + +He had the conviction of it. Oh yes, she would shed tears; they +come so easily to women. But to have him dead and out of her way; +to be saved from her anomalous position; to see once more a +chance in life; she would welcome it. + +But there was no time for brooding. To-day he had to sell all the +things that were superfluous, and to make arrangements for the +removal of his effects to-morrow. By Wednesday night, in +accordance with his agreement, the flat must be free for the new +occupier. + +He had taken only two rooms, and fortunately as things were. +Three would have cost more than he was likely to be able to +afford for a long time. The rent of the two was to be six-and- +sixpence; and how, if Amy had consented to come, could he have +met the expenses of their living out of his weekly twenty-five +shillings? How could he have pretended to do literary work in +such cramped quarters, he who had never been able to write a line +save in strict seclusion? In his despair he had faced the +impossible. Amy had shown more wisdom, though in a spirit of +unkindness. + +Towards ten o'clock he was leaving the flat to go and find people +who would purchase his books and old clothing and other +superfluities; but before he could close the door behind him, an +approaching step on the stairs caught his attention. He saw the +shining silk hat of a well-equipped gentleman. It was John Yule. + +'Ha! Good-morning!' John exclaimed, looking up. 'A minute or two +and I should have been too late, I see.' + +He spoke in quite a friendly way, and, on reaching the landing, +shook hands. + +'Are you obliged to go at once? Or could I have a word with you?' + +'Come in.' + +They entered the study, which was in some disorder; Reardon made +no reference to circumstances, but offered a chair, and seated +himself. + +'Have a cigarette?' said Yule, holding out a box of them. + +'No, thank you; I don't smoke so early.' + +'Then I'll light one myself; it always makes talk easier to me. +You're on the point of moving, I suppose?' + +'Yes, I am.' + +Reardon tried to speak in quite a simple way, with no admission +of embarrassment. He was not successful, and to his visitor the +tone seemed rather offensive. + +'I suppose you'll let Amy know your new address?' + +'Certainly. Why should I conceal it?' + +'No, no; I didn't mean to suggest that. But you might be taking +it for granted that--that the rupture was final, I thought.' + +There had never been any intimacy between these two men. Reardon +regarded his wife's brother as rather snobbish and disagreeably +selfish; John Yule looked upon the novelist as a prig, and now of +late as a shuffling, untrustworthy fellow. It appeared to John +that his brother-in-law was assuming a manner wholly +unjustifiable, and he had a difficulty in behaving to him with +courtesy. Reardon, on the other hand, felt injured by the turn +his visitor's remarks were taking, and began to resent the visit +altogether. + +'I take nothing for granted,' he said coldly. 'But I'm afraid +nothing is to be gained by a discussion of our difficulties. The +time for that is over. + +'I can't quite see that. It seems to me that the time has just +come.' + +'Please tell me, to begin with, do you come on Amy's behalf?' + +'In a way, yes. She hasn't sent me, but my mother and I are so +astonished at what is happening that it was necessary for one or +other of us to see you.' + +'I think it is all between Amy and myself.' + +'Difficulties between husband and wife are generally best left to +the people themselves, I know. But the fact is, there are +peculiar circumstances in the present case. It can't be necessary +for me to explain further.' + +Reardon could find no suitable words of reply. He understood what +Yule referred to, and began to feel the full extent of his +humiliation. + +'You mean, of course--' he began; but his tongue failed him. + +'Well, we should really like to know how long it is proposed that +Amy shall remain with her mother.' + +John was perfectly self-possessed; it took much to disturb his +equanimity. He smoked his cigarette, which was in an amber +mouthpiece, and seemed to enjoy its flavour. Reardon found +himself observing the perfection of the young man's boots and +trousers. + +'That depends entirely on my wife herself;' he replied +mechanically. + +'How so?' + +'I offer her the best home I can.' + +Reardon felt himself a poor, pitiful creature, and hated the +well-dressed man who made him feel so. + +'But really, Reardon,' began the other, uncrossing and recrossing +his legs, 'do you tell me in seriousness that you expect Amy to +live in such lodgings as you can afford on a pound a week?' + +'I don't. I said that I had offered her the best home I could. I +know it's impossible, of course.' + +Either he must speak thus, or break into senseless wrath. It was +hard to hold back the angry words that were on his lips, but he +succeeded, and he was glad he had done so. + +'Then it doesn't depend on Amy,' said John. + +'I suppose not.' + +'You see no reason, then, why she shouldn't live as at present +for an indefinite time?' + +To John, whose perspicacity was not remarkable, Reardon's changed +tone conveyed simply an impression of bland impudence. He eyed +his brother-in-law rather haughtily. + +'I can only say,' returned the other, who was become wearily +indifferent, 'that as soon as I can afford a decent home I shall +give my wife the opportunity of returning to me.' + +'But, pray, when is that likely to be?' + +John had passed the bounds; his manner was too frankly +contemptuous. + +'I see no right you have to examine me in this fashion,' Reardon +exclaimed. 'With Mrs Yule I should have done my best to be +patient if she had asked these questions; but you are not +justified in putting them, at all events not in this way.' + +'I'm very sorry you speak like this, Reardon,' said the other, +with calm insolence. 'It confirms unpleasant ideas, you know.' + +'What do you mean?' + +'Why, one can't help thinking that you are rather too much at +your ease under the circumstances. It isn't exactly an everyday +thing, you know, for a man's wife to be sent back to her own +people--' + +Reardon could not endure the sound of these words. He interrupted +hotly. + +'I can't discuss it with you. You are utterly unable to +comprehend me and my position, utterly! It would be useless to +defend myself. You must take whatever view seems to you the +natural one.' + +John, having finished his cigarette, rose. + +'The natural view is an uncommonly disagreeable one,' he said. +'However, I have no intention of quarrelling with you. I'll only +just say that, as I take a share in the expenses of my mother's +house, this question decidedly concerns me; and I'll add that I +think it ought to concern you a good deal more than it seems to.' + +Reardon, ashamed already of his violence, paused upon these +remarks. + +'It shall,' he uttered at length, coldly. 'You have put it +clearly enough to me, and you shan't have spoken in vain. Is +there anything else you wish to say?' + +'Thank you; I think not.' + +They parted with distant civility, and Reardon closed the door +behind his visitor. + +He knew that his character was seen through a distorting medium +by Amy's relatives, to some extent by Amy herself; but hitherto +the reflection that this must always be the case when a man of +his kind is judged by people of the world had strengthened him in +defiance. An endeavour to explain himself would be maddeningly +hopeless; even Amy did not understand aright the troubles through +which his intellectual and moral nature was passing, and to speak +of such experiences to Mrs Yule or to John would be equivalent to +addressing them in alien tongues; he and they had no common +criterion by reference to which he could make himself +intelligible. The practical tone in which John had explained the +opposing view of the situation made it impossible for him to +proceed as he had purposed. Amy would never come to him in his +poor lodgings; her mother, her brother, all her advisers would +regard such a thing as out of the question. Very well; +recognising this, he must also recognise his wife's claim upon +him for material support. It was not in his power to supply her +with means sufficient to live upon, but what he could afford she +should have. + +When he went out, it was with a different purpose from that of +half an hour ago. After a short search in the direction of +Edgware Road, he found a dealer in second-hand furniture, whom he +requested to come as soon as possible to the flat on a matter of +business. An hour later the man kept his appointment. Having +brought him into the study, Reardon said: + +'I wish to sell everything in this flat, with a few exceptions +that I'll point out to you'. + +'Very good, sir,' was the reply. 'Let's have a look through the +rooms.' + +That the price offered would be strictly a minimum Reardon knew +well enough. The dealer was a rough and rather dirty fellow, with +the distrustful glance which distinguishes his class. Men of +Reardon's type, when hapless enough to be forced into vulgar +commerce, are doubly at a disadvantage; not only their ignorance, +but their sensitiveness, makes them ready victims of even the +least subtle man of business. To deal on equal terms with a +person you must be able to assert with calm confidence that you +are not to be cheated; Reardon was too well aware that he would +certainly be cheated, and shrank scornfully from the higgling of +the market. Moreover, he was in a half-frenzied state of mind, +and cared for little but to be done with the hateful details of +this process of ruin. + +He pencilled a list of the articles he must retain for his own +use; it would of course be cheaper to take a bare room than +furnished lodgings, and every penny he could save was of +importance to him. The chair-bedstead, with necessary linen and +blankets, a table, two chairs, a looking-glass--strictly the +indispensable things; no need to complete the list. Then there +were a few valuable wedding-presents, which belonged rather to +Amy than to him; these he would get packed and send to Westbourne +Park. + +The dealer made his calculation, with many side-glances at the +vendor. + +'And what may you ask for the lot?' + +'Please to make an offer.' + +'Most of the things has had a good deal of wear--' + +'I know, I know. Just let me hear what you will give.' + +'Well, if you want a valuation, I say eighteen pound ten.' + +It was more than Reardon had expected, though much less than a +man who understood such affairs would have obtained. + +'That's the most you can give?' + +'Wouldn't pay me to give a sixpence more. You see--' + +He began to point out defects, but Reardon cut him short. + +'Can you take them away at once?' + +'At wunst? Would two o'clock do?' + +'Yes, it would.' + +'And might you want these other things takin' anywheres?' + +'Yes, but not till to-morrow. They have to go to Islington. What +would you do it for?' + +This bargain also was completed, and the dealer went his way. +Thereupon Reardon set to work to dispose of his books; by +half-past one he had sold them for a couple of guineas. At two +came the cart that was to take away the furniture, and at four +o'clock nothing remained in the flat save what had to be removed +on the morrow. + +The next thing to be done was to go to Islington, forfeit a +week's rent for the two rooms he had taken, and find a single +room at the lowest possible cost. On the way, he entered an +eating-house and satisfied his hunger, for he had had nothing +since breakfast. It took him a couple of hours to discover the +ideal garret; it was found at length in a narrow little by-way +running out of Upper Street. The rent was half-a-crown a week. + +At seven o'clock he sat down in what once was called his study, +and wrote the following letter: + +'Enclosed in this envelope you will find twenty pounds. I have +been reminded that your relatives will be at the expense of your +support; it seemed best to me to sell the furniture, and now I +send you all the money I can spare at present. You will receive +to-morrow a box containing several things I did not feel +justified in selling. As soon as I begin to have my payment from +Carter, half of it shall be sent to you every week. My address +is: 5 Manville Street, Upper Street, Islington.--EDWIN REARDON.' + +He enclosed the money, in notes and gold, and addressed the +envelope to his wife. She must receive it this very night, and he +knew not how to ensure that save by delivering it himself. So he +went to Westbourne Park by train, and walked to Mrs Yule's house. + +At this hour the family were probably at dinner; yes, the window +of the dining-room showed lights within, whilst those of the +drawing-room were in shadow. After a little hesitation he rang +the servants' bell. When the door opened, he handed his letter to +the girl, and requested that it might be given to Mrs Reardon as +soon as possible. With one more hasty glance at the window--Amy +was perhaps enjoying her unwonted comfort--he walked quickly +away. + +As he re-entered what had been his home, its bareness made his +heart sink. An hour or two had sufficed for this devastation; +nothing remained upon the uncarpeted floors but the needments he +would carry with him into the wilderness, such few evidences of +civilisation as the poorest cannot well dispense with. Anger, +revolt, a sense of outraged love--all manner of confused passions +had sustained him throughout this day of toil; now he had leisure +to know how faint he was. He threw himself upon his +chair-bedstead, and lay for more than an hour in torpor of body +and mind. + +But before he could sleep he must eat. Though it was cold, he +could not exert himself to light a fire; there was some food +still in the cupboard, and he consumed it in the fashion of a +tired labourer, with the plate on his lap, using his fingers and +a knife. What had he to do with delicacies? + +He felt utterly alone in the world. Unless it were Biffen, what +mortal would give him kindly welcome under any roof? These +stripped rooms were symbolical of his life; losing money, he had +lost everything. 'Be thankful that you exist, that these morsels +of food are still granted you. Man has a right to nothing in this +world that he cannot pay for. Did you imagine that love was an +exception? Foolish idealist! Love is one of the first things to +be frightened away by poverty. Go and live upon your +twelve-and-sixpence a week, and on your memories of the past.' + +In this room he had sat with Amy on their return from the wedding +holiday. 'Shall you always love me as you do now?'--'For ever! +for ever!'--'Even if I disappointed you? If I failed?'--'How +could that affect my love?' The voices seemed to be lingering +still, in a sad, faint echo, so short a time it was since those +words were uttered. + +His own fault. A man has no business to fail; least of all can he +expect others to have time to look back upon him or pity him if +he sink under the stress of conflict. Those behind will trample +over his body; they can't help it; they themselves are borne +onwards by resistless pressure. + +He slept for a few hours, then lay watching the light of dawn as +it revealed his desolation. + +The morning's post brought him a large heavy envelope, the aspect +of which for a moment puzzled him. But he recognised the +handwriting, and understood. The editor of The Wayside, in a +pleasantly-written note, begged to return the paper on Pliny's +Letters which had recently been submitted to him; he was sorry it +did not strike him as quite so interesting as the other +contributions from Reardon's pen. + +This was a trifle. For the first time he received a rejected +piece of writing without distress; he even laughed at the +artistic completeness of the situation. The money would have been +welcome, but on that very account he might have known it would +not come. + +The cart that was to transfer his property to the room in +Islington arrived about mid-day. By that time he had dismissed +the last details of business in relation to the flat, and was +free to go back to the obscure world whence he had risen. He felt +that for two years and a half he had been a pretender. It was not +natural to him to live in the manner of people who enjoy an +assured income; he belonged to the class of casual wage-earners. +Back to obscurity! + +Carrying a bag which contained a few things best kept in his own +care, he went by train to King's Cross, and thence walked up +Pentonville Hill to Upper Street and his own little by-way. +Manville Street was not unreasonably squalid; the house in which +he had found a home was not alarming in its appearance, and the +woman who kept it had an honest face. Amy would have shrunk in +apprehension, but to one who had experience of London garrets +this was a rather favourable specimen of its kind. The door +closed more satisfactorily than poor Biffen's, for instance, and +there were not many of those knot-holes in the floor which gave +admission to piercing little draughts; not a pane of the window +was cracked, not one. A man might live here comfortably--could +memory be destroyed. + +'There's a letter come for you,' said the landlady as she +admitted him. 'You'll find it on your mantel.' + +He ascended hastily. The letter must be from Amy, as no one else +knew his address. Yes, and its contents were these: + +'As you have really sold the furniture, I shall accept half this +money that you send. I must buy clothing for myself and Willie. +But the other ten pounds I shall return to you as soon as +possible. As for your offer of half what you are to receive from +Mr Carter, that seems to me ridiculous; in any case, I cannot +take it. If you seriously abandon all further hope from +literature, I think it is your duty to make every effort to +obtain a position suitable to a man of your education.--AMY +REARDON.' + +Doubtless Amy thought it was her duty to write in this way. Not a +word of sympathy; he must understand that no one was to blame but +himself; and that her hardships were equal to his own. + +In the bag he had brought with him there were writing materials. +Standing at the mantelpiece, he forthwith penned a reply to this +letter: + +'The money is for your support, as far as it will go. If it comes +back to me I shall send it again. If you refuse to make use of +it, you will have the kindness to put it aside and consider it as +belonging to Willie. The other money of which I spoke will be +sent to you once a month. As our concerns are no longer between +us alone, I must protect myself against anyone who would be +likely to accuse me of not giving you what I could afford. For +your advice I thank you, but remember that in withdrawing from me +your affection you have lost all right to offer me counsel.' + +He went out and posted this at once. + +By three o'clock the furniture of his room was arranged. He had +not kept a carpet; that was luxury, and beyond his due. His score +of volumes must rank upon the mantelpiece; his clothing must be +kept in the trunk. Cups, plates, knives, forks, and spoons would +lie in the little open cupboard, the lowest section of which was +for his supply of coals. When everything was in order he drew +water from a tap on the landing and washed himself; then, with +his bag, went out to make purchases. A loaf of bread, butter, +sugar, condensed milk; a remnant of tea he had brought with him. +On returning, he lit as small a fire as possible, put on his +kettle, and sat down to meditate. + +How familiar it all was to him! And not unpleasant, for it +brought back the days when he had worked to such good purpose. It +was like a restoration of youth. + +Of Amy he would not think. Knowing his bitter misery, she could +write to him in cold, hard words, without a touch even of womanly +feeling. If ever they were to meet again, the advance must be +from her side. He had no more tenderness for her until she strove +to revive it. + +Next morning he called at the hospital to see Carter. The +secretary's peculiar look and smile seemed to betray a knowledge +of what had been going on since Sunday, and his first words +confirmed this impression of Reardon's. + +'You have removed, I hear?' + +'Yes; I had better give you my new address.' + +Reardon's tone was meant to signify that further remark on the +subject would be unwelcome. Musingly, Carter made a note of the +address. + +'You still wish to go on with this affair?' + +'Certainly.' + +'Come and have some lunch with me, then, and afterwards we'll go +to the City Road and talk things over on the spot.' + +The vivacious young man was not quite so genial as of wont, but +he evidently strove to show that the renewal of their relations +as employer and clerk would make no difference in the friendly +intercourse which had since been established; the invitation to +lunch evidently had this purpose. + +'I suppose,' said Carter, when they were seated in a restaurant, +'you wouldn't object to anything better, if a chance turned up?' + +'I should take it, to be sure.' + +'But you don't want a job that would occupy all your time? You're +going on with writing, of course?' + +'Not for the present, I think.' + +'Then you would like me to keep a look-out? I haven't anything in +view--nothing whatever. But one hears of things sometimes.' + +'I should be obliged to you if you could help me to anything +satisfactory.' + +Having brought himself to this admission, Reardon felt more at +ease. To what purpose should he keep up transparent pretences? It +was manifestly his duty to earn as much money as he could, in +whatever way. Let the man of letters be forgotten; he was seeking +for remunerative employment, just as if he had never written a +line. + +Amy did not return the ten pounds, and did not write again. So, +presumably, she would accept the moiety of his earnings; he was +glad of it. After paying half-a-crown for rent, there would be +left ten shillings. Something like three pounds that still +remained to him he would not reckon; this must be for casualties. + +Half-a-sovereign was enough for his needs; in the old times he +had counted it a competency which put his mind quite at rest. + +The day came, and he entered upon his duties in City Road. It +needed but an hour or two, and all the intervening time was +cancelled; he was back once more in the days of no reputation, a +harmless clerk, a decent wage-earner. + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE END OF WAITING + +It was more than a fortnight after Reardon's removal to Islington +when Jasper Milvain heard for the first time of what had +happened. He was coming down from the office of the +Will-o'-the-Wisp one afternoon, after a talk with the editor +concerning a paragraph in his last week's causerie which had been +complained of as libellous, and which would probably lead to the +'case' so much desired by everyone connected with the paper, when +someone descending from a higher storey of the building overtook +him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Whelpdale. + +'What brings you on these premises?' he asked, as they shook +hands. + +'A man I know has just been made sub-editor of Chat, upstairs. He +has half promised to let me do a column of answers to +correspondents.' + +'Cosmetics? Fashions? Cookery?' + +'I'm not so versatile as all that, unfortunately. No, the general +information column. "Will you be so good as to inform me, through +the medium of your invaluable paper, what was the exact area +devastated by the Great Fire of London?"--that kind of thing, you +know. Hopburn--that's the fellow's name--tells me that his +predecessor always called the paper Chat-moss, because of the +frightful difficulty he had in filling it up each week. +By-the-bye, what a capital column that is of yours in +Will-o'-the-Wisp. I know nothing like it in English journalism; +upon my word I don't!' + +'Glad you like it. Some people are less fervent in their +admiration.' + +Jasper recounted the affair which had just been under discussion +in the office. + +'It may cost a couple of thousands, but the advertisement is +worth that, Patwin thinks. Barlow is delighted; he wouldn't mind +paying double the money to make those people a laughing-stock for +a week or two.' + +They issued into the street, and walked on together; Milvain, +with his keen eye and critical smile, unmistakably the modern +young man who cultivates the art of success; his companion of a +less pronounced type, but distinguished by a certain subtlety of +countenance, a blending of the sentimental and the shrewd. + +'Of course you know all about the Reardons?' said Whelpdale. + +'Haven't seen or heard of them lately. What is it?' + +'Then you don't know that they have parted?' + +'Parted?' + +'I only heard about it last night; Biffen told me. Reardon is +doing clerk's work at a hospital somewhere in the East-end, and +his wife has gone to live at her mother's house.' + +'Ho, ho!' exclaimed Jasper, thoughtfully. 'Then the crash has +come. Of course I knew it must be impending. I'm sorry for +Reardon.' + +'I'm sorry for his wife.' + +'Trust you for thinking of women first, Whelpdale.' + +'It's in an honourable way, my dear fellow. I'm a slave to women, +true, but all in an honourable way. After that last adventure of +mine most men would be savage and cynical, wouldn't they, now? +I'm nothing of the kind. I think no worse of women--not a bit. I +reverence them as much as ever. There must be a good deal of +magnanimity in me, don't you think?' + +Jasper laughed unrestrainedly. + +'But it's the simple truth,' pursued the other. 'You should have +seen the letter I wrote to that girl at Birmingham--all charity +and forgiveness. I meant it, every word of it. I shouldn't talk +to everyone like this, you know; but it's as well to show a +friend one's best qualities now and then.' + +'Is Reardon still living at the old place?' + +'No, no. They sold up everything and let the flat. He's in +lodgings somewhere or other. I'm not quite intimate enough with +him to go and see him under the circumstances. But I'm surprised +you know nothing about it.' + +'I haven't seen much of them this year. Reardon--well, I'm afraid +he hasn't very much of the virtue you claim for yourself. It +rather annoys him to see me going ahead.' + +'Really? His character never struck me in that way.' + +'You haven't come enough in contact with him. At all events, I +can't explain his change of manner in any other way. But I'm +sorry for him; I am, indeed. At a hospital? I suppose Carter has +given him the old job again?' + +'Don't know. Biffen doesn't talk very freely about it; there's a +good deal of delicacy in Biffen, you know. A thoroughly +good-hearted fellow. And so is Reardon, I believe, though no +doubt he has his weaknesses.' + +'Oh, an excellent fellow! But weakness isn't the word. Why, I +foresaw all this from the very beginning. The first hour's talk I +ever had with him was enough to convince me that he'd never hold +his own. But he really believed that the future was clear before +him; he imagined he'd go on getting more and more for his books. +An extraordinary thing that that girl had such faith in him!' + +They parted soon after this, and Milvain went homeward, musing +upon what he had heard. It was his purpose to spend the whole +evening on some work which pressed for completion, but he found +an unusual difficulty in settling to it. About eight o'clock he +gave up the effort, arrayed himself in the costume of black and +white, and journeyed to Westbourne Park, where his destination +was the house of Mrs Edmund Yule. Of the servant who opened to +him he inquired if Mrs Yule was at home, and received an answer +in the affirmative. + +'Any company with her?' + +'A lady--Mrs Carter.' + +'Then please to give my name, and ask if Mrs Yule can see me.' + +He was speedily conducted to the drawing-room, where he found the +lady of the house, her son, and Mrs Carter. For Mrs Reardon his +eye sought in vain. + +'I'm so glad you have come,' said Mrs Yule, in a confidential +tone. 'I have been wishing to see you. Of course, you know of our +sad trouble?' + +'I have heard of it only to-day.' + +'From Mr Reardon himself?' + +'No; I haven't seen him.' + +'I do wish you had! We should have been so anxious to know how he +impressed you.' + +'How he impressed me?' + +'My mother has got hold of the notion,' put in John Yule, 'that +he's not exactly compos mentis. I'll admit that he went on in a +queer sort of way the last time I saw him.' + +'And my husband thinks he is rather strange,' remarked Mrs +Carter. + +'He has gone back to the hospital, I understand--' + +'To a new branch that has just been opened in the City Road,' +replied Mrs Yule. 'And he's living in a dreadful place--one of +the most shocking alleys in the worst part of Islington. I should +have gone to see him, but I really feel afraid; they give me such +an account of the place. And everyone agrees that he has such a +very wild look, and speaks so strangely.' + +'Between ourselves,' said John, 'there's no use in exaggerating. +He's living in a vile hole, that's true, and Carter says he looks +miserably ill, but of course he may be as sane as we are. + +Jasper listened to all this with no small astonishment. + +'And Mrs Reardon?' he asked. + +'I'm sorry to say she is far from well,' replied Mrs Yule. +'To-day she has been obliged to keep her room. You can imagine +what a shock it has been to her. It came with such extraordinary +suddenness. Without a word of warning, her husband announced that +he had taken a clerkship and was going to remove immediately to +the East-end. Fancy! And this when he had already arranged, as +you know, to go to the South Coast and write his next book under +the influences of the sea air. He was anything but well; we all +knew that, and we had all joined in advising him to spend the +summer at the seaside. It seemed better that he should go alone; +Mrs Reardon would, of course, have gone down for a few days now +and then. And at a moment's notice everything is changed, and in +such a dreadful way! I cannot believe that this is the behaviour +of a sane man!' + +Jasper understood that an explanation of the matter might have +been given in much more homely terms; it was natural that Mrs +Yule should leave out of sight the sufficient, but ignoble, cause +of her son-in-law's behaviour. + +'You see in what a painful position we are placed,' continued the +euphemistic lady. 'It is so terrible even to hint that Mr Reardon +is not responsible for his actions, yet how are we to explain to +our friends this extraordinary state of things?' + +'My husband is afraid Mr Reardon may fall seriously ill,' said +Mrs Carter. 'And how dreadful! In such a place as that!' + +'It would be so kind of you to go and see him, Mr Milvain,' urged +Mrs Yule. 'We should be so glad to hear what you think.' + +'Certainly, I will go,' replied Jasper. 'Will you give me his +address?' + +He remained for an hour, and before his departure the subject was +discussed with rather more frankness than at first; even the word +'money' was once or twice heard. + +'Mr Carter has very kindly promised,' said Mrs Yule, 'to do his +best to hear of some position that would be suitable. It seems a +most shocking thing that a successful author should abandon his +career in this deliberate way; who could have imagined anything +of the kind two years ago? But it is clearly quite impossible for +him to go on as at present--if there is really no reason for +believing his mind disordered.' + +A cab was summoned for Mrs Carter, and she took her leave, +suppressing her native cheerfulness to the tone of the occasion. +A minute or two after, Milvain left the house. + +He had walked perhaps twenty yards, almost to the end of the +silent street in which his friends' house was situated, when a +man came round the corner and approached him. At once he +recognised the figure, and in a moment he was face to face with +Reardon. Both stopped. Jasper held out his hand, but the other +did not seem to notice it. + +'You are coming from Mrs Yule's?' said Reardon, with a strange +smile. + +By the gaslight his face showed pale and sunken, and he met +Jasper's look with fixedness. + +'Yes, I am. The fact is, I went there to hear of your address. +Why haven't you let me know about all this?' + +'You went to the flat?' + +'No, I was told about you by Whelpdale.' + +Reardon turned in the direction whence he had come, and began to +walk slowly; Jasper kept beside him. + +'I'm afraid there's something amiss between us, Reardon,' said +the latter, just glancing at his companion. + +'There's something amiss between me and everyone,' was the reply, +in an unnatural voice. + +'You look at things too gloomily. Am I detaining you, by-the-bye? +You were going--' + +'Nowhere.' + +'Then come to my rooms, and let us see if we can't talk more in +the old way.' + +'Your old way of talk isn't much to my taste, Milvain. It has +cost me too much.'Jasper gazed at him. Was there some foundation +for Mrs Yule's seeming extravagance? This reply sounded so +meaningless, and so unlike Reardon's manner of speech, that the +younger man experienced a sudden alarm. + +'Cost you too much? I don't understand you.' + +They had turned into a broader thoroughfare, which, however, was +little frequented at this hour. Reardon, his hands thrust into +the pockets of a shabby overcoat and his head bent forward, went +on at a slow pace, observant of nothing. For a moment or two he +delayed reply, then said in an unsteady voice: + +'Your way of talking has always been to glorify success, to +insist upon it as the one end a man ought to keep in view. If you +had talked so to me alone, it wouldn't have mattered. But there +was generally someone else present. Your words had their effect; +I can see that now. It's very much owing to you that I am +deserted, now that there's no hope of my ever succeeding.' + +Jasper's first impulse was to meet this accusation with indignant +denial, but a sense of compassion prevailed. It was so painful to +see the defeated man wandering at night near the house where his +wife and child were comfortably sheltered; and the tone in which +he spoke revealed such profound misery. + +'That's a most astonishing thing to say,' Jasper replied. 'Of +course I know nothing of what has passed between you and your +wife, but I feel certain that I have no more to do with what has +happened than any other of your acquaintances.' + +'You may feel as certain as you will, but your words and your +example have influenced my wife against me. You didn't intend +that; I don't suppose it for a moment. It's my misfortune, that's +all.' + +'That I intended nothing of the kind, you need hardly say, I +should think. But you are deceiving yourself in the strangest +way. I'm afraid to speak plainly; I'm afraid of offending you. +But can you recall something that I said about the time of your +marriage? You didn't like it then, and certainly it won't be +pleasant to you to remember it now. If you mean that your wife +has grown unkind to you because you are unfortunate, there's no +need to examine into other people's influence for an explanation +of that.' + +Reardon turned his face towards the speaker. + +'Then you have always regarded my wife as a woman likely to fail +me in time of need?' + +'I don't care to answer a question put in that way. If we are no +longer to talk with the old friendliness, it's far better we +shouldn't discuss things such as this.' + +'Well, practically you have answered. Of course I remember those +words of yours that you refer to. Whether you were right or wrong +doesn't affect what I say.' + +He spoke with a dull doggedness, as though mental fatigue did not +allow him to say more. + +'It's impossible to argue against such a charge,' said Milvain. +'I am convinced it isn't true, and that's all I can answer. But +perhaps you think this extraordinary influence of mine is still +being used against you?' + +'I know nothing about it,' Reardon replied, in the same +unmodulated voice. + +'Well, as I have told you, this was my first visit to Mrs Yule's +since your wife has been there, and I didn't see her; she isn't +very well, and keeps her room. I'm glad it happened so--that I +didn't meet her. Henceforth I shall keep away from the family +altogether, so long, at all events, as your wife remains with +them. Of course I shan't tell anyone why; that would be +impossible. But you shan't have to fear that I am decrying you. +By Jove! an amiable figure you make of me!' + +'I have said what I didn't wish to say, and what I oughtn't to +have said. You must misunderstand me; I can't help it.' + +Reardon had been walking for hours, and was, in truth, exhausted. + +He became mute. Jasper, whose misrepresentation was wilful, +though not maliciously so, also fell into silence; he did not +believe that his conversations with Amy had seriously affected +the course of events, but he knew that he had often said things +to her in private which would scarcely have fallen from his lips +if her husband had been present--little depreciatory phrases, +wrong rather in tone than in terms, which came of his +irresistible desire to assume superiority whenever it was +possible. He, too, was weak, but with quite another kind of +weakness than Reardon's. His was the weakness of vanity, which +sometimes leads a man to commit treacheries of which he would +believe himself incapable. Self-accused, he took refuge in the +pretence of misconception, which again was a betrayal of +littleness. + +They drew near to Westbourne Park station. + +'You are living a long way from here,' Jasper said, coldly. 'Are +you going by train?' + +'No. You said my wife was ill?' + +'Oh, not ill. At least, I didn't understand that it was anything +serious. Why don't you walk back to the house?' + +'I must judge of my own affairs.' + +'True; I beg your pardon. I take the train here, so I'll say +good-night.' + +They nodded to each other, but did not shake hands. + +A day or two later, Milvain wrote to Mrs Yule, and told her that +he had seen Reardon; he did not describe the circumstances under +which the interview had taken place, but gave it as his opinion +that Reardon was in a state of nervous illness, and made by +suffering quite unlike himself. That he might be on the way to +positive mental disease seemed likely enough. 'Unhappily, I +myself can be of no use to him; he has not the same friendly +feeling for me as he used to have. But it is very certain that +those of his friends who have the power should exert themselves +to raise him out of this fearful slough of despond. If he isn't +effectually helped, there's no saying what may happen. One thing +is certain, I think: he is past helping himself. Sane literary +work cannot be expected from him. It seems a monstrous thing that +so good a fellow, and one with such excellent brains too, should +perish by the way when influential people would have no +difficulty in restoring him to health and usefulness.' + +All the months of summer went by. Jasper kept his word, and never +visited Mrs Yule's house; but once in July he met that lady at +the Carters', and heard then, what he knew from other sources, +that the position of things was unchanged. In August, Mrs Yule +spent a fortnight at the seaside, and Amy accompanied her. +Milvain and his sisters accepted an invitation to visit friends +at Wattleborough, and were out of town about three weeks, the +last ten days being passed in the Isle of Wight; it was an +extravagant holiday, but Dora had been ailing, and her brother +declared that they would all work better for the change. Alfred +Yule, with his wife and daughter, rusticated somewhere in Kent. +Dora and Marian exchanged letters, and here is a passage from one +written by the former: + +'Jasper has shown himself in an unusually amiable light since we +left town. I looked forward to this holiday with some misgivings, +as I know by experience that it doesn't do for him and us to be +too much together; he gets tired of our company, and then his +selfishness--believe me, he has a good deal of it--comes out in a +way we don't appreciate. But I have never known him so +forbearing. To me he is particularly kind, on account of my +headaches and general shakiness. It isn't impossible that this +young man, if all goes well with him, may turn out far better +than Maud and I ever expected. But things will have to go very +well, if the improvement is to be permanent. I only hope he may +make a lot of money before long. If this sounds rather gross to +you, I can only say that Jasper's moral nature will never be safe +as long as he is exposed to the risks of poverty. There are such +people, you know. As a poor man, I wouldn't trust him out of my +sight; with money, he will be a tolerable creature--as men go.' + +Dora, no doubt, had her reasons for writing in this strain. She +would not have made such remarks in conversation with her friend, +but took the opportunity of being at a distance to communicate +them in writing. + +On their return, the two girls made good progress with the book +they were manufacturing for Messrs Jolly and Monk, and early in +October it was finished. Dora was now writing little things for +The English Girl, and Maud had begun to review an occasional +novel for an illustrated paper. In spite of their poor lodgings, +they had been brought into social relations with Mrs Boston +Wright and a few of her friends; their position was understood, +and in accepting invitations they had no fear lest unwelcome +people should pounce down upon them in their shabby little +sitting-room. The younger sister cared little for society such as +Jasper procured them; with Marian Yule for a companion she would +have been quite content to spend her evenings at home. But Maud +relished the introduction to strangers. She was admired, and knew +it. Prudence could not restrain her from buying a handsomer dress +than those she had brought from her country home, and it irked +her sorely that she might not reconstruct all her equipment to +rival the appearance of well-to-do girls whom she studied and +envied. Her disadvantages, for the present, were insuperable. She +had no one to chaperon her; she could not form intimacies because +of her poverty. A rare invitation to luncheon, a permission to +call at the sacred hour of small-talk--this was all she could +hope for. + +'I advise you to possess your soul in patience,' Jasper said to +her, as they talked one day on the sea-shore. 'You are not to +blame that you live without conventional protection, but it +necessitates your being very careful. These people you are +getting to know are not rigid about social observances, and they +won't exactly despise you for poverty; all the same, their +charity mustn't be tested too severely. Be very quiet for the +present; let it be seen that you understand that your position +isn't quite regular--I mean, of course, do so in a modest and +nice way. As soon as ever it's possible, we'll arrange for you to +live with someone who will preserve appearances. All this is +contemptible, of course; but we belong to a contemptible society, +and can't help ourselves. For Heaven's sake, don't spoil your +chances by rashness; be content to wait a little, till some more +money comes in.' + +Midway in October, about half-past eight one evening, Jasper +received an unexpected visit from Dora. He was in his +sitting-room, smoking and reading a novel. + +'Anything wrong?' he asked, as his sister entered. + +'No; but I'm alone this evening, and I thought I would see if you +were in. + +'Where's Maud, then?' + +'She went to see the Lanes this afternoon, and Mrs Lane invited +her to go to the Gaiety to-night; she said a friend whom she had +invited couldn't come, and the ticket would be wasted. Maud went +back to dine with them. She'll come home in a cab.' + +'Why is Mrs Lane so affectionate all at once? Take your things +off; I have nothing to do.' + +'Miss Radway was going as well.' + +'Who's Miss Radway?' + +'Don't you know her? She's staying with the Lanes. Maud says she +writes for The West End.' + +'And will that fellow Lane be with them?' + +'I think not.' + +Jasper mused, contemplating the bowl of his pipe. + +'I suppose she was in rare excitement?' + +'Pretty well. She has wanted to go to the Gaiety for a long time. +There's no harm, is there?' + +Dora asked the question with that absent air which girls are wont +to assume when they touch on doubtful subjects. + +'Harm, no. Idiocy and lively music, that's all. It's too late, or +I'd have taken you, for the joke of the thing. Confound it! she +ought to have better dresses.' + +'Oh, she looked very nice, in that best.' + +'Pooh! But I don't care for her to be running about with the +Lanes. Lane is too big a blackguard; it reflects upon his wife to +a certain extent.' + +They gossiped for half an hour, then a tap at the door +interrupted them; it was the landlady. + +'Mr Whelpdale has called to see you, sir. I mentioned as Miss +Milvain was here, so he said he wouldn't come up unless you sent +to ask him.' + +Jasper smiled at Dora, and said in a low voice. + +'What do you say? Shall he come up? He can behave himself.' + +'Just as you please, Jasper.' + +'Ask him to come up, Mrs Thompson, please.' + +Mr Whelpdale presented himself. He entered with much more +ceremony than when Milvain was alone; on his visage was a grave +respectfulness, his step was light, his whole bearing expressed +diffidence and pleasurable anticipation. + +'My younger sister, Whelpdale,' said Jasper, with subdued +amusement. + +The dealer in literary advice made a bow which did him no +discredit, and began to speak in a low, reverential tone not at +all disagreeable to the ear. His breeding, in truth, had been +that of a gentleman, and it was only of late years that he had +fallen into the hungry region of New Grub Street. + +'How's the "Manual" going off?' Milvain inquired. + +'Excellently! We have sold nearly six hundred.' + +'My sister is one of your readers. I believe she has studied the +book with much conscientiousness.' + +'Really? You have really read it, Miss Milvain?' + +Dora assured him that she had, and his delight knew no bounds. + +'It isn't all rubbish, by any means,' said Jasper, graciously. +'In the chapter on writing for magazines, there are one or two +very good hints. What a pity you can't apply your own advice, +Whelpdale!' + +'Now that's horribly unkind of you!' protested the other. 'You +might have spared me this evening. But unfortunately it's quite +true, Miss Milvain. I point the way, but I haven't been able to +travel it myself. You mustn't think I have never succeeded in +getting things published; but I can't keep it up as a profession. + +Your brother is the successful man. A marvellous facility! I envy +him. Few men at present writing have such talent.' + +'Please don't make him more conceited than he naturally is,' +interposed Dora. + +'What news of Biffen?' asked Jasper, presently. + +'He says he shall finish "Mr Bailey, Grocer," in about a month. +He read me one of the later chapters the other night. It's really +very fine; most remarkable writing, it seems to me. It will be +scandalous if he can't get it published; it will, indeed.' + +'I do hope he may!' said Dora, laughing. 'I have heard so much of +"Mr Bailey," that it will be a great disappointment if I am never +to read it.' + +'I'm afraid it would give you very little pleasure,' Whelpdale +replied, hesitatingly. 'The matter is so very gross.' + +'And the hero grocer!' shouted Jasper, mirthfully. 'Oh, but it's +quite decent; only rather depressing. The decently ignoble--or, +the ignobly decent? Which is Biffen's formula? I saw him a week +ago, and he looked hungrier than ever.' + +'Ah, but poor Reardon! I passed him at King's Cross not long ago. + +He didn't see me--walks with his eyes on the ground always--and I +hadn't the courage to stop him. He's the ghost of his old self He +can't live long.' + +Dora and her brother exchanged a glance. It was a long time since +Jasper had spoken to his sisters about the Reardons; nowadays he +seldom heard either of husband or wife. + +The conversation that went on was so agreeable to Whelpdale, that +he lost consciousness of time. It was past eleven o'clock when +Jasper felt obliged to remind him. + +'Dora, I think I must be taking you home.' + +The visitor at once made ready for departure, and his +leave-taking was as respectful as his entrance had been. Though +he might not say what he thought, there was very legible upon his +countenance a hope that he would again be privileged to meet Miss +Dora Milvain. + +'Not a bad fellow, in his way,' said Jasper, when Dora and he +were alone again. + +'Not at all.' + +She had heard the story of Whelpdale's hapless wooing half a year +ago, and her recollection of it explained the smile with which +she spoke. + +'Never get on, I'm afraid,' Jasper pursued. 'He has his allowance +of twenty pounds a year, and makes perhaps fifty or sixty more. +If I were in his position, I should go in for some kind of +regular business; he has people who could help him. Good-natured +fellow; but what's the use of that if you've no money?' + +They set out together, and walked to the girls' lodgings. Dora +was about to use her latch-key, but Jasper checked her. 'No. +There's a light in the kitchen still; better knock, as we're so +late.' + +'But why?' + +'Never mind; do as I tell you.' + +The landlady admitted them, and Jasper spoke a word or two with +her, explaining that he would wait until his elder sister's +return; the darkness of the second-floor windows had shown that +Maud was not yet back. + +'What strange fancies you have!' remarked Dora, when they were +upstairs. + +'So have people in general, unfortunately.' + +A letter lay on the table. It was addressed to Maud, and Dora +recognised the handwriting as that of a Wattleborough friend. + +'There must be some news here,' she said. 'Mrs Haynes wouldn't +write unless she had something special to say. + +Just upon midnight, a cab drew up before the house. Dora ran down +to open the door to her sister, who came in with very bright eyes +and more colour than usual on her cheeks. + +'How late for you to be here!' she exclaimed, on entering the +sitting-room and seeing Jasper. + +'I shouldn't have felt comfortable till I knew that you were back +all right.' + +'What fear was there?' + +She threw off her wraps, laughing. + +'Well, have you enjoyed yourself?' + +'Oh yes!' she replied, carelessly. 'This letter for me? What has +Mrs Haynes got to say, I wonder?' + +She opened the envelope, and began to glance hurriedly over the +sheet of paper. Then her face changed. + +'What do you think? Mr Yule is dead!' + +Dora uttered an exclamation; Jasper displayed the keenest +interest. + +'He died yesterday--no, it would be the day before yesterday. He +had a fit of some kind at a public meeting, was taken to the +hospital because it was nearest, and died in a few hours. So that +has come, at last! Now what'll be the result of it, I wonder?' + +'When shall you be seeing Marian?' asked her brother. + +'She might come to-morrow evening.' + +'But won't she go to the funeral?' suggested Dora. + +'Perhaps; there's no saying. I suppose her father will, at all +events. The day before yesterday? Then the funeral will be on +Saturday, I should think.' + +'Ought I to write to Marian?' asked Dora. + +'No; I wouldn't,' was Jasper's reply. 'Better wait till she lets +you hear. That's sure to be soon. She may have gone to +Wattleborough this afternoon, or be going to-morrow morning.' + +The letter from Mrs Haynes was passed from hand to hand. +'Everybody feels sure,' it said, 'that a great deal of his money +will be left for public purposes. The ground for the park being +already purchased, he is sure to have made provision for carrying +out his plans connected with it. But I hope your friends in +London may benefit.' + +It was some time before Jasper could put an end to the +speculative conversation and betake himself homewards. And even +on getting back to his lodgings he was little disposed to go to +bed. This event of John Yule's death had been constantly in his +mind, but there was always a fear that it might not happen for +long enough; the sudden announcement excited him almost as much +as if he were a relative of the deceased. + +'Confound his public purposes!' was the thought upon which he at +length slept. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. MR YULE LEAVES TOWN + +Since the domestic incidents connected with that unpleasant +review in The Current, the relations between Alfred Yule and his +daughter had suffered a permanent change, though not in a degree +noticeable by any one but the two concerned. To all appearances, +they worked together and conversed very much as they had been +wont to do; but Marian was made to feel in many subtle ways that +her father no longer had complete confidence in her, no longer +took the same pleasure as formerly in the skill and +conscientiousness of her work, and Yule on his side perceived too +clearly that the girl was preoccupied with something other than +her old wish to aid and satisfy him, that she had a new life of +her own alien to, and in some respects irreconcilable with, the +existence in which he desired to confirm her. There was no +renewal of open disagreement, but their conversations frequently +ended by tacit mutual consent, at a point which threatened +divergence; and in Yule's case every such warning was a cause of +intense irritation. He feared to provoke Marian, and this fear +was again a torture to his pride. + +Beyond the fact that his daughter was in constant communication +with the Miss Milvains, he knew, and could discover, nothing of +the terms on which she stood with the girls' brother, and this +ignorance was harder to bear than full assurance of a +disagreeable fact would have been. That a man like Jasper +Milvain, whose name was every now and then forced upon his notice +as a rising periodicalist and a faithful henchman of the +unspeakable Fadge--that a young fellow of such excellent +prospects should seriously attach himself to a girl like Marian +seemed to him highly improbable, save, indeed, for the one +consideration, that Milvain, who assuredly had a very keen eye to +chances, might regard the girl as a niece of old John Yule, and +therefore worth holding in view until it was decided whether or +not she would benefit by her uncle's decease. Fixed in his +antipathy to the young man, he would not allow himself to admit +any but a base motive on Milvain's side, if, indeed, Marian and +Jasper were more to each other than slight acquaintances; and he +persuaded himself that anxiety for the girl's welfare was at +least as strong a motive with him as mere prejudice against the +ally of Fadge, and, it might be, the reviewer of 'English Prose.' +Milvain was quite capable of playing fast and loose with a girl, +and Marian, owing to the peculiar circumstances of her position, +would easily be misled by the pretence of a clever speculator. + +That she had never spoken again about the review in The Current +might receive several explanations. Perhaps she had not been able +to convince herself either for or against Milvain's authorship; +perhaps she had reason to suspect that the young man was the +author; perhaps she merely shrank from reviving a discussion in +which she might betray what she desired to keep secret. This last +was the truth. Finding that her father did not recur to the +subject, Marian concluded that he had found himself to be +misinformed. But Yule, though he heard the original rumour denied +by people whom in other matters he would have trusted, would not +lay aside the doubt that flattered his prejudices. If Milvain +were not the writer of the review, he very well might have been; +and what certainty could be arrived at in matters of literary +gossip? + +There was an element of jealousy in the father's feeling. If he +did not love Marian with all the warmth of which a parent is +capable, at least he had more affection for her than for any +other person, and of this he became strongly aware now that the +girl seemed to be turning from him. If he lost Marian, he would +indeed be a lonely man, for he considered his wife of no account. + +Intellectually again, he demanded an entire allegiance from his +daughter; he could not bear to think that her zeal on his behalf +was diminishing, that perhaps she was beginning to regard his +work as futile and antiquated in comparison with that of the new +generation. Yet this must needs be the result of frequent +intercourse with such a man as Milvain. It seemed to him that he +remarked it in her speech and manner, and at times he with +difficulty restrained himself from a reproach or a sarcasm which +would have led to trouble. + +Had he been in the habit of dealing harshly with Marian, as with +her mother, of course his position would have been simpler. But +he had always respected her, and he feared to lose that measure +of respect with which she repaid him. Already he had suffered in +her esteem, perhaps more than he liked to think, and the +increasing embitterment of his temper kept him always in danger +of the conflict he dreaded. Marian was not like her mother; she +could not submit to tyrannous usage. Warned of that, he did his +utmost to avoid an outbreak of discord, constantly hoping that he +might come to understand his daughter's position, and perhaps +discover that his greatest fear was unfounded. + +Twice in the course of the summer he inquired of his wife whether +she knew anything about the Milvains. But Mrs Yule was not in +Marian's confidence. + +'I only know that she goes to see the young ladies, and that they +do writing of some kind.' + +'She never even mentions their brother to you?' + +'Never. I haven't heard his name from her since she told me the +Miss Milvains weren't coming here again.' + +He was not sorry that Marian had taken the decision to keep her +friends away from St Paul's Crescent, for it saved him a +recurring annoyance; but, on the other hand, if they had +continued to come, he would not have been thus completely in the +dark as to her intercourse with Jasper; scraps of information +must now and then have been gathered by his wife from the girls' +talk. + +Throughout the month of July he suffered much from his wonted +bilious attacks, and Mrs Yule had to endure a double share of his +ill-temper, that which was naturally directed against her, and +that of which Marian was the cause. In August things were +slightly better; but with the return to labour came a renewal of +Yule's sullenness and savageness. Sundry pieces of ill-luck of a +professional kind--warnings, as he too well understood, that it +was growing more and more difficult for him to hold his own +against the new writers--exasperated his quarrel with destiny. +The gloom of a cold and stormy September was doubly wretched in +that house on the far borders of Camden Town, but in October the +sun reappeared and it seemed to mollify the literary man's mood. +Just when Mrs Yule and Marian began to hope that this long +distemper must surely come to an end, there befell an incident +which, at the best of times, would have occasioned misery, and +which in the present juncture proved disastrous. + +It was one morning about eleven. Yule was in his study; Marian +was at the Museum; Mrs Yule had gone shopping. There came a sharp +knock at the front door, and the servant, on opening, was +confronted with a decently-dressed woman, who asked in a +peremptory voice if Mrs Yule was at home. + +'No? Then is Mr Yule?' + +'Yes, mum, but I'm afraid he's busy.' + +'I don't care, I must see him. Say that Mrs Goby wants to see him +at once.' + +The servant, not without apprehensions, delivered this message at +the door of the study. + +'Mrs Goby? Who is Mrs Goby?' exclaimed the man of letters, irate +at the disturbance. + +There sounded an answer out of the passage, for the visitor had +followed close. + +'I am Mrs Goby, of the 'Olloway Road, wife of Mr C. 0. Goby, +'aberdasher. I just want to speak to you, Mr Yule, if you please, +seeing that Mrs Yule isn't in.' + +Yule started up in fury, and stared at the woman, to whom the +servant had reluctantly given place. + +'What business can you have with me? If you wish to see Mrs Yule, +come again when she is at home.' + +'No, Mr Yule, I will not come again!' cried the woman, red in the +face. 'I thought I might have had respectable treatment here, at +all events; but I see you're pretty much like your relations in +the way of behaving to people, though you do wear better clothes, +and--I s'pose--call yourself a gentleman. I won't come again, and +you shall just hear what I've got to say. + +She closed the door violently, and stood in an attitude of robust +defiance. + +'What's all this about?' asked the enraged author, overcoming an +impulse to take Mrs Goby by the shoulders and throw her out-- +though he might have found some difficulty in achieving this +feat. 'Who are you? And why do you come here with your brawling?' + +'I'm the respectable wife of a respectable man--that's who I am, +Mr Yule, if you want to know. And I always thought Mrs Yule was +the same, from the dealings we've had with her at the shop, +though not knowing any more of her, it's true, except that she +lived in St Paul's Crezzent. And so she may be respectable, +though I can't say as her husband behaves himself very much like +what he pretends to be. But I can't say as much for her relations +in Perker Street, 'Olloway, which I s'pose they're your relations +as well, at least by marriage. And if they think they're going to +insult me, and use their blackguard tongues--' + +'What are you talking about?' shouted Yule, who was driven to +frenzy by the mention of his wife's humble family. 'What have I +to do with these people?' + +'What have you to do with them? I s'pose they're your relations, +ain't they? And I s'pose the girl Annie Rudd is your niece, ain't +she? At least, she's your wife's niece, and that comes to the +same thing, I've always understood, though I dare say a gentleman +as has so many books about him can correct me if I've made a +mistake.' + +She looked scornfully, though also with some surprise, round the +volumed walls. + +'And what of this girl? Will you have the goodness to say what +your business is?' + +'Yes, I will have the goodness! I s'pose you know very well that +I took your niece Annie Rudd as a domestic servant'--she repeated +this precise definition--'as a domestic servant, because Mrs Yule +'appened to 'arst me if I knew of a place for a girl of that +kind, as hadn't been out before, but could be trusted to do her +best to give satisfaction to a good mistress? I s'pose you know +that?' + +'I know nothing of the kind. What have I to do with servants?' + +'Well, whether you've much to do with them or little, that's how +it was. And nicely she's paid me out, has your niece, Miss Rudd. +Of all the trouble I ever had with a girl! And now when she's run +away back 'ome, and when I take the trouble to go arfter her, I'm +to be insulted and abused as never was! Oh, they're a nice +respectable family, those Rudds! Mrs Rudd--that's Mrs Yule's +sister--what a nice, polite-spoken lady she is, to be sure? If I +was to repeat the language--but there, I wouldn't lower myself. +And I've been a brute of a mistress; I ill-use my servants, and I +don't give 'em enough to eat, and I pay 'em worse than any woman +in London! That's what I've learnt about myself by going to +Perker Street, 'Olloway. And when I come here to ask Mrs Yule +what she means by recommending such a creature, from such a 'ome, +I get insulted by her gentleman husband.' + +Yule was livid with rage, but the extremity of his scorn withheld +him from utterance of what he felt. + +'As I said, all this has nothing to do with me. I will let Mrs +Yule know that you have called. I have no more time to spare.' + +Mrs Goby repeated at still greater length the details of her +grievance, but long before she had finished Yule was sitting +again at his desk in ostentatious disregard o{her. Finally, the +exasperated woman flung open the door, railed in a loud voice +along the passage, and left the house with an alarming crash. + +It was not long before Mrs Yule returned. Before taking off her +things, she went down into the kitchen with certain purchases, +and there she learnt from the servant what had happened during +her absence. Fear and trembling possessed her--the sick, faint +dread always excited by her husband's wrath--but she felt obliged +to go at once to the study. The scene that took place there was +one of ignoble violence on Yule's part, and, on that of his wife, +of terrified self-accusation, changing at length to dolorous +resentment of the harshness with which she was treated. When it +was over, Yule took his hat and went out. + +He did not return for the mid-day meal, and when Marian, late in +the afternoon, came back from the Museum, he was still absent. + +Not finding her mother in the parlour, Marian called at the head +of the kitchen stairs. The servant answered, saying that Mrs Yule +was up in her bedroom, and that she didn't seem well. Marian at +once went up and knocked at the bedroom door. In a moment or two +her mother came out, showing a face of tearful misery. + +'What is it, mother? What's the matter?' + +They went into Marian's room, where Mrs Yule gave free utterance +to her lamentations. + +'I can't put up with it, Marian! Your father is too hard with me. + +I was wrong, I dare say, and I might have known what would have +come of it, but he couldn't speak to me worse if I did him all +the harm I could on purpose. It's all about Annie, because I +found a place for her at Mrs Goby's in the 'Olloway Road; and now +Mrs Goby's been here and seen your father, and told him she's +been insulted by the Rudds, because Annie went off home, and she +went after her to make inquiries. And your father's in such a +passion about it as never was. That woman Mrs Goby rushed into +the study when he was working; it was this morning, when I +happened to be out. And she throws all the blame on me for +recommending her such a girl. And I did it for the best, that I +did! Annie promised me faithfully she'd behave well, and never +give me trouble, and she seemed thankful to me, because she +wasn't happy at home. And now to think of her causing all this +disturbance! I oughtn't to have done such a thing without +speaking about it to your father; but you know how afraid I am to +say a word to him about those people. And my sister's told me so +often I ought to be ashamed of myself never helping her and her +children; she thinks I could do such a lot if I only liked. And +now that I did try to do something, see what comes of it!' + +Marian listened with a confusion of wretched feelings. But her +sympathies were strongly with her mother; as well as she could +understand the broken story, her father seemed to have no just +cause for his pitiless rage, though such an occasion would be +likely enough to bring out his worst faults. + +'Is he in the study?' she asked. + +'No, he went out at twelve o'clock, and he's never been back +since. I feel as if I must do something; I can't bear with it, +Marian. He tells me I'm the curse of his life--yes, he said that. +I oughtn't to tell you, I know I oughtn't; but it's more than I +can bear. I've always tried to do my best, but it gets harder and +harder for me. But for me he'd never be in these bad tempers; +it's because he can't look at me without getting angry. He says +I've kept him back all through his life; but for me he might have +been far better off than he is. It may be true; I've often enough +thought it. But I can't bear to have it told me like that, and to +see it in his face every time he looks at me. I shall have to do +something. He'd be glad if only I was out of his way.' + +'Father has no right to make you so unhappy,' said Marian. 'I +can't see that you did anything blameworthy; it seems to me that +it was your duty to try and help Annie, and if it turned out +unfortunately, that can't be helped. You oughtn't to think so +much of what father says in his anger; I believe he hardly knows +what he does say. Don't take it so much to heart, mother.' + +'I've tried my best, Marian,' sobbed the poor woman, who felt +that even her child's sympathy could not be perfect, owing to the +distance put between them by Marian's education and refined +sensibilities. 'I've always thought it wasn't right to talk to +you about such things, but he's been too hard with me to-day.' + +'I think it was better you should tell me. It can't go on like +this; I feel that just as you do. I must tell father that he is +making our lives a burden to us.' + +'Oh, you mustn't speak to him like that, Marian! I wouldn't for +anything make unkindness between you and your father; that would +be the worst thing I'd done yet. I'd rather go away and work for +my own living than make trouble between you and him.' + +'It isn't you who make trouble; it's father. I ought to have +spoken to him before this; I had no right to stand by and see how +much you suffered from his ill-temper.' + +The longer they talked, the firmer grew Marian's resolve to front +her father's tyrannous ill-humour, and in one way or another to +change the intolerable state of things. She had been weak to hold +her peace so long; at her age it was a simple duty to interfere +when her mother was treated with such flagrant injustice. Her +father's behaviour was unworthy of a thinking man, and he must be +made to feel that. + +Yule did not return. Dinner was delayed for half an hour, then +Marian declared that they would wait no longer. They two made a +sorry meal, and afterwards went together into the sitting-room. +At eight o'clock they heard the front door open, and Yule's +footstep in the passage. Marian rose. + +'Don't speak till to-morrow!' whispered her mother, catching at +the girl's arm. 'Let it be till to-morrow, Marian!' + +'I must speak! We can't live in this terror.' + +She reached the study just as her father was closing the door +behind him. Yule, seeing her enter, glared with bloodshot eyes; +shame and sullen anger were blended on his countenance. + +'Will you tell me what is wrong, father?' Marian asked, in a +voice which betrayed her nervous suffering, yet indicated the +resolve with which she had come. + +'I am not at all disposed to talk of the matter,' he replied, +with the awkward rotundity of phrase which distinguished him in +his worst humour. 'For information you had better go to Mrs Goby- +-or a person of some such name--in Holloway Road. I have nothing +more to do with it.' + +'It was very unfortunate that the woman came and troubled you +about such things. But I can't see that mother was to blame; I +don't think you ought to be so angry with her.' + +It cost Marian a terrible effort to address her father in these +terms. When he turned fiercely upon her, she shrank back and felt +as if strength must fail her even to stand. + +'You can't see that she was to blame? Isn't it entirely against +my wish that she keeps up any intercourse with those low people? +Am I to be exposed to insulting disturbance in my very study, +because she chooses to introduce girls of bad character as +servants to vulgar women?' + +'I don't think Annie Rudd can be called a girl of bad character, +and it was very natural that mother should try to do something +for her. You have never actually forbidden her to see her +relatives.' + +'A thousand times I have given her to understand that I utterly +disapproved of such association. She knew perfectly well that +this girl was as likely as not to discredit her. If she had +consulted me, I should at once have forbidden anything of the +kind; she was aware of that. She kept it secret from me, knowing +that it would excite my displeasure. I will not be drawn into +such squalid affairs; I won't have my name spoken in such +connection. Your mother has only herself to blame if I am angry +with her.' + +'Your anger goes beyond all bounds. At the very worst, mother +behaved imprudently, and with a very good motive. It is cruel +that you should make her suffer as she is doing.' + +Marian was being strengthened to resist. Her blood grew hot; the +sensation which once before had brought her to the verge of +conflict with her father possessed her heart and brain. + +'You are not a suitable judge of my behaviour,' replied Yule, +severely. + +'I am driven to speak. We can't go on living in this way, father. +For months our home has been almost ceaselessly wretched, because +of the ill-temper you are always in. Mother and I must defend +ourselves; we can't bear it any longer. You must surely feel how +ridiculous it is to make such a thing as happened this morning +the excuse for violent anger. How can I help judging your +behaviour? When mother is brought to the point of saying that she +would rather leave home and everything than endure her misery any +longer, I should be wrong if I didn't speak to you. Why are you +so unkind? What serious cause has mother ever given you?' + +'I refuse to argue such questions with you.' + +'Then you are very unjust. I am not a child, and there's nothing +wrong in my asking you why home is made a place of misery, +instead of being what home ought to be.' + +'You prove that you are a child, in asking for explanations which +ought to be clear enough to you.' + +'You mean that mother is to blame for everything?' + +'The subject is no fit one to be discussed between a father and +his daughter. If you cannot see the impropriety of it, be so good +as to go away and reflect, and leave me to my occupations.' + +Marian came to a pause. But she knew that his rebuke was mere +unworthy evasion; she saw that her father could not meet her +look, and this perception of shame in him impelled her to finish +what she had begun. + +'I will say nothing of mother, then, but speak only for myself. I +suffer too much from your unkindness; you ask too much +endurance.' + +'You mean that I exact too much work from you?' asked her father, +with a look which might have been directed to a recalcitrant +clerk. + +'No. But that you make the conditions of my work too hard. I live +in constant fear of your anger.' + +'Indeed? When did I last ill-use you, or threaten you?' + +'I often think that threats, or even ill-usage, would be easier +to bear than an unchanging gloom which always seems on the point +of breaking into violence.' + +'I am obliged to you for your criticism of my disposition and +manner, but unhappily I am too old to reform. Life has made me +what I am, and I should have thought that your knowledge of what +my life has been would have gone far to excuse a lack of +cheerfulness in me.' + +The irony of this laborious period was full of self-pity. His +voice quavered at the close, and a tremor was noticeable in his +stiff frame. + +'It isn't lack of cheerfulness that I mean, father. That could +never have brought me to speak like this.' + +'If you wish me to admit that I am bad-tempered, surly, +irritable--I make no difficulty about that. The charge is true +enough. I can only ask you again: What are the circumstances that +have ruined my temper? When you present yourself here with a +general accusation of my behaviour, I am at a loss to understand +what you ask of me, what you wish me to say or do. I must beg you +to speak plainly. Are you suggesting that I should make provision +for the support of you and your mother away from my intolerable +proximity? My income is not large, as I think you are aware, but +of course, if a demand of this kind is seriously made, I must do +my best to comply with it.' + +'It hurts me very much that you can understand me no better than +this.' + +'I am sorry. I think we used to understand each other, but that +was before you were subjected to the influence of strangers.' + +In his perverse frame of mind he was ready to give utterance to +any thought which confused the point at issue. This last allusion +was suggested to him by a sudden pang of regret for the pain he +was causing Marian; he defended himself against self-reproach by +hinting at the true reason of much of his harshness. + +'I am subjected to no influence that is hostile to you,' Marian +replied. + +'You may think that. But in such a matter it is very easy for you +to deceive yourself.' + +'Of course I know what you refer to, and I can assure you that I +don't deceive myself.' + +Yule flashed a searching glance at her. + +'Can you deny that you are on terms of friendship with a--a +person who would at any moment rejoice to injure me?' + +'I am friendly with no such person. Will you say whom you are +thinking of?' + +'It would be useless. I have no wish to discuss a subject on +which we should only disagree unprofitably.' + +Marian kept silence for a moment, then said in a low, unsteady +voice: + +'It is perhaps because we never speak of that subject that we are +so far from understanding each other. If you think that Mr +Milvain is your enemy, that he would rejoice to injure you, you +are grievously mistaken.' + +'When I see a man in close alliance with my worst enemy, and +looking to that enemy for favour, I am justified in thinking that +he would injure me if the right kind of opportunity offered. One +need not be very deeply read in human nature to have assurance of +that.' + +'But I know Mr Milvain!' + +'You know him?' + +'Far better than you can, I am sure. You draw conclusions from +general principles; but I know that they don't apply in this +case.' + +'I have no doubt you sincerely think so. I repeat that nothing +can be gained by such a discussion as this.' + +'One thing I must tell you. There was no truth in your suspicion +that Mr Milvain wrote that review in The Current. He assured me +himself that he was not the writer, that he had nothing to do +with it.' + +Yule looked askance at her, and his face displayed solicitude, +which soon passed, however, into a smile of sarcasm. + +'The gentleman's word no doubt has weight with you.' + +'Father, what do you mean?' broke from Marian, whose eyes of a +sudden flashed stormily. 'Would Mr Milvain tell me a lie?' + +'I shouldn't like to say that it is impossible,' replied her +father in the same tone as before. + +'But--what right have you to insult him so grossly?' + +'I have every right, my dear child, to express an opinion about +him or any other man, provided I do it honestly. I beg you not to +strike attitudes and address me in the language of the stage. You +insist on my speaking plainly, and I have spoken plainly. I +warned you that we were not likely to agree on this topic.' + +'Literary quarrels have made you incapable of judging honestly in +things such as this. I wish I could have done for ever with the +hateful profession that so poisons men's minds.' + +'Believe me, my girl,' said her father, incisively, 'the simpler +thing would be to hold aloof from such people as use the +profession in a spirit of unalloyed selfishness, who seek only +material advancement, and who, whatever connection they form, +have nothing but self-interest in view.' + +And he glared at her with much meaning. Marian--both had remained +standing all through the dialogue--cast down her eyes and became +lost in brooding. + +'I speak with profound conviction,' pursued her father, 'and, +however little you credit me with such a motive, out of desire to +guard you against the dangers to which your inexperience is +exposed. It is perhaps as well that you have afforded me this-- ' + +There sounded at the house-door that duplicated double-knock +which generally announces the bearer of a telegram. Yule +interrupted himself, and stood in an attitude of waiting. The +servant was heard to go along the passage, to open the door, and +then return towards the study. Yes, it was a telegram. Such +despatches rarely came to this house; Yule tore the envelope, +read its contents, and stood with gaze fixed upon the slip of +paper until the servant inquired if there was any reply for the +boy to take with him. + +'No reply.' + +He slowly crumpled the envelope, and stepped aside to throw it +into the paper-basket. The telegram he laid on his desk. Marian +stood all the time with bent head; he now looked at her with an +expression of meditative displeasure. + +'I don't know that there's much good in resuming our +conversation,' he said, in quite a changed tone, as if something +of more importance had taken possession of his thoughts and had +made him almost indifferent to the past dispute. 'But of course I +am quite willing to hear anything you would still like to say. + +Marian had lost her vehemence. She was absent and melancholy. + +'I can only ask you,' she replied, 'to try and make life less of +a burden to us.' + +'I shall have to leave town to-morrow for a few days; no doubt it +will be some satisfaction to you to hear that.' + +Marian's eyes turned involuntarily towards the telegram. + +'As for your occupation in my absence,' he went on, in a hard +tone which yet had something tremulous, emotional, making it +quite different from the voice he had hitherto used, 'that will +be entirely a matter for your own judgment. I have felt for some +time that you assisted me with less good-will than formerly, and +now that you have frankly admitted it, I shall of course have +very little satisfaction in requesting your aid. I must leave it +to you; consult your own inclination.' + +It was resentful, but not savage; between the beginning and the +end of his speech he softened to a sort of self-satisfied pathos. + +'I can't pretend,' replied Marian, 'that I have as much pleasure +in the work as I should have if your mood were gentler.' + +'I am sorry. I might perhaps have made greater efforts to appear +at ease when I was suffering.' + +'Do you mean physical suffering?' + +'Physical and mental. But that can't concern you. During my +absence I will think of your reproof. I know that it is deserved, +in some degree. If it is possible, you shall have less to +complain of in future.' + +He looked about the room, and at length seated himself; his eyes +were fixed in a direction away from Marian. + +'I suppose you had dinner somewhere?' Marian asked, after +catching a glimpse of his worn, colourless face. + +'Oh, I had a mouthful of something. It doesn't matter.' + +It seemed as if he found some special pleasure in assuming this +tone of martyrdom just now. At the same time he was becoming more +absorbed in thought. + +'Shall I have something brought up for you, father?' + +'Something--? Oh no, no; on no account.' + +He rose again impatiently, then approached his desk, and laid a +hand on the telegram. Marian observed this movement, and examined +his face; it was set in an expression of eagerness. + +'You have nothing more to say, then?' He turned sharply upon her. + +'I feel that I haven't made you understand me, but I can say +nothing more.' + +'I understand you very well--too well. That you should +misunderstand and mistrust me, I suppose, is natural. You are +young, and I am old. You are still full of hope, and I have been +so often deceived and defeated that I dare not let a ray of hope +enter my mind. Judge me; judge me as hardly as you like. My life +has been one long, bitter struggle, and if now--. I say,' he +began a new sentence, 'that only the hard side of life has been +shown to me; small wonder if I have become hard myself. Desert +me; go your own Way, as the young always do. But bear in mind my +warning. Remember the caution I have given you.' + +He spoke in a strangely sudden agitation. The arm with which he +leaned upon the table trembled violently. After a moment's pause +he added, in a thick voice: + +'Leave me. I will speak to you again in the morning.' + +Impressed in a way she did not understand, Marian at once obeyed, +and rejoined her mother in the parlour. Mrs Yule gazed anxiously +at her as she entered. + +'Don't be afraid,' said Marian, with difficulty bringing herself +to speak. 'I think it will be better.' + +'Was that a telegram that came?' her mother inquired after a +silence. + +'Yes. I don't know where it was from. But father said he would +have to leave town for a few days.' + +They exchanged looks. + +'Perhaps your uncle is very ill,' said the mother in a low voice. + +'Perhaps so.' + +The evening passed drearily. Fatigued with her emotions, Marian +went early to bed; she even slept later than usual in the +morning, and on descending she found her father already at the +breakfast-table. No greeting passed, and there was no +conversation during the meal. Marian noticed that her mother kept +glancing at her in a peculiarly grave way; but she felt ill and +dejected, and could fix her thoughts on no subject. As he left +the table Yule said to her: + +'I want to speak to you for a moment. I shall be in the study.' + +She joined him there very soon. He looked coldly at her, and said +in a distant tone: + +'The telegram last night was to tell me that your uncle is dead.' + +'Dead!' + +'He died of apoplexy, at a meeting in Wattleborough. I shall go +down this morning, and of course remain till after the funeral. I +see no necessity for your going, unless, of course, it is your +desire to do so.' + +'No; I should do as you wish.' + +'I think you had better not go to the Museum whilst I am away. +You will occupy yourself as you think fit.' + +'I shall go on with the Harrington notes.' + +'As you please. I don't know what mourning it would be decent for +you to wear; you must consult with your mother about that. That +is all I wished to say.' + +His tone was dismissal. Marian had a struggle with herself but +she could find nothing to reply to his cold phrases. And an hour +or two afterwards Yule left the house without leave-taking. + +Soon after his departure there was a visitor's rat-tat at the +door; it heralded Mrs Goby. In the interview which then took +place Marian assisted her mother to bear the vigorous onslaughts +of the haberdasher's wife. For more than two hours Mrs Goby +related her grievances, against the fugitive servant, against Mrs +Yule, against Mr Yule; meeting with no irritating opposition, she +was able in this space of time to cool down to the temperature of +normal intercourse, and when she went forth from the house again +it was in a mood of dignified displeasure which she felt to be +some recompense for the injuries of yesterday. + +A result of this annoyance was to postpone conversation between +mother and daughter on the subject of John Yule's death until a +late hour of the afternoon. Marian was at work in the study, or +endeavouring to work, for her thoughts would not fix themselves +on the matter in hand for many minutes together, and Mrs Yule +came in with more than her customary diffidence. + +'Have you nearly done for to-day, dear?' + +'Enough for the present, I think.' + +She laid down her pen, and leant back in the chair. + +'Marian, do you think your father will be rich?' + +'I have no idea, mother. I suppose we shall know very soon.' + +Her tone was dreamy. She seemed to herself to be speaking of +something which scarcely at all concerned her, of vague +possibilities which did not affect her habits of thought. + +'If that happens,' continued Mrs Yule, in a low tone of distress, +'I don't know what I shall do.' + +Marian looked at her questioningly. + +'I can't wish that it mayn't happen,' her mother went on; 'I +can't, for his sake and for yours; but I don't know what I shall +do. He'd think me more in his way than ever. He'd wish to have a +large house, and live in quite a different way; and how could I +manage then? I couldn't show myself; he'd be too much ashamed of +me. I shouldn't be in my place; even you'd feel ashamed of me.' + +'You mustn't say that, mother. I have never given you cause to +think that.' + +'No, my dear, you haven't; but it would be only natural. I +couldn't live the kind of life that you're fit for. I shall be +nothing but a hindrance and a shame to both of you.' + +'To me you would never be either hindrance or shame; be quite +sure of that. And as for father, I am all but certain that, if he +became rich, he would be a very much kinder man, a better man in +every way. It is poverty that has made him worse than he +naturally is; it has that effect on almost everybody. Money does +harm, too, sometimes; but never, I think, to people who have a +good heart and a strong mind. Father is naturally a warm-hearted +man; riches would bring out all the best in him. He would be +generous again, which he has almost forgotten how to be among all +his disappointments and battlings. Don't be afraid of that +change, but hope for it.' + +Mrs Yule gave a troublous sigh, and for a few minutes pondered +anxiously. + +'I wasn't thinking so much about myself' she said at length. +'It's the hindrance I should be to father. Just because of me, he +mightn't be able to use his money as he'd wish. He'd always be +feeling that if it wasn't for me things would be so much better +for him and for you as well.' + +'You must remember,' Marian replied, 'that at father's age people +don't care to make such great changes. His home life, I feel +sure, wouldn't be so very different from what it is now; he would +prefer to use his money in starting a paper or magazine. I know +that would be his first thought. If more acquaintances came to +his house, what would that matter? It isn't as if he wished for +fashionable society. They would be literary people, and why ever +shouldn't you meet with them?' + +'I've always been the reason why he couldn't have many friends.' + +'That's a great mistake. If father ever said that, in his bad +temper, he knew it wasn't the truth. The chief reason has always +been his poverty. It costs money to entertain friends; time as +well. Don't think in this anxious way, mother. If we are to be +rich, it will be better for all of us.' + +Marian had every reason for seeking to persuade herself that this +was true. In her own heart there was a fear of how wealth might +affect her father, but she could not bring herself to face the +darker prospect. For her so much depended on that hope of a +revival of generous feeling under sunny influences. + +It was only after this conversation that she began to reflect on +all the possible consequences of her uncle's death. As yet she +had been too much disturbed to grasp as a reality the event to +which she had often looked forward, though as to something still +remote, and of quite uncertain results. Perhaps at this moment, +though she could not know it, the course of her life had +undergone the most important change. Perhaps there was no more +need for her to labour upon this 'article' she was manufacturing. + +She did not think it probable that she herself would benefit +directly by John Yule's will. There was no certainty that even +her father would, for he and his brother had never been on +cordial terms. But on the whole it seemed likely that he would +inherit money enough to free him from the toil of writing for +periodicals. He himself anticipated that. What else could be the +meaning of those words in which (and it was before the arrival of +the news) he had warned her against 'people who made connections +only with self-interest in view?' This threw a sudden light upon +her father's attitude towards Jasper Milvain. Evidently he +thought that Jasper regarded her as a possible heiress, sooner or +later. That suspicion was rankling in his mind; doubtless it +intensified the prejudice which originated in literary animosity. + +Was there any truth in his suspicion? She did not shrink from +admitting that there might be. Jasper had from the first been so +frank with her, had so often repeated that money was at present +his chief need. If her father inherited substantial property, +would it induce Jasper to declare himself more than her friend? +She could view the possibility of that, and yet not for a moment +be shaken in her love. It was plain that Jasper could not think +of marrying until his position and prospects were greatly +improved; practically, his sisters depended upon him. What folly +it would be to draw back if circumstances led him to avow what +hitherto he had so slightly disguised! She had the conviction +that he valued her for her own sake; if the obstacle between them +could only be removed, what matter how? + +Would he be willing to abandon Clement Fadge, and come over to +her father's side? If Yule were able to found a magazine? + +Had she read or heard of a girl who went so far in concessions, +Marian would have turned away, her delicacy offended. In her own +case she could indulge to the utmost that practicality which +colours a woman's thought even in mid passion. The cold +exhibition of ignoble scheming will repel many a woman who, for +her own heart's desire, is capable of that same compromise with +her strict sense of honour. + +Marian wrote to Dora Milvain, telling her what had happened. But +she refrained from visiting her friends. + +Each night found her more restless, each morning less able to +employ herself. She shut herself in the study merely to be alone +with her thoughts, to be able to walk backwards and forwards, or +sit for hours in feverish reverie. From her father came no news. +Her mother was suffering dreadfully from suspense, and often had +eyes red with weeping. Absorbed in her own hopes and fears, +whilst every hour harassed her more intolerably, Marian was +unable to play the part of an encourager; she had never known +such exclusiveness of self-occupation. + +Yule's return was unannounced. Early in the afternoon, when he +had been absent five days, he entered the house, deposited his +travelling-bag in the passage, and went upstairs. Marian had come +out of the study just in time to see him up on the first landing; +at the same moment Mrs Yule ascended from the kitchen. + +'Wasn't that father?' + +'Yes, he has gone up.' + +'Did he say anything?' + +Marian shook her head. They looked at the travelling-bag, then +went into the parlour and waited in silence for more than a +quarter of an hour. Yule's foot was heard on the stairs; he came +down slowly, paused in the passage, entered the parlour with his +usual grave, cold countenance. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE LEGATEES + +Each day Jasper came to inquire of his sisters if they had news +from Wattleborough or from Marian Yule. He exhibited no +impatience, spoke of the matter in a disinterested tone; still, +he came daily. + +One afternoon he found Dora working alone. Maud, he was told, had +gone to lunch at Mrs Lane's. + +'So soon again? She's getting very thick with those people. And +why don't they ask you?' + +'Maud has told them that I don't care to go out.' + +'It's all very well, but she mustn't neglect her work. Did she +write anything last night or this morning?' + +Dora bit the end of her pen and shook her head. + +'Why not?' + +'The invitation came about five o'clock, and it seemed to +unsettle her.' + +'Precisely. That's what I'm afraid of. She isn't the kind of girl +to stick at work if people begin to send her invitations. But I +tell you what it is, you must talk seriously to her; she has to +get her living, you know. Mrs Lane and her set are not likely to +be much use, that's the worst of it; they'll merely waste her +time, and make her discontented.' + +His sister executed an elaborate bit of cross-hatching on some +waste paper. Her lips were drawn together, and her brows +wrinkled. At length she broke the silence by saying: + +'Marian hasn't been yet.' + +Jasper seemed to pay no attention; she looked up at him, and saw +that he was in thought. + +'Did you go to those people last night?' she inquired. + +'Yes. By-the-bye, Miss Rupert was there.' + +He spoke as if the name would be familiar to his hearer, but Dora +seemed at a loss. + +'Who is Miss Rupert?' + +'Didn't I tell you about her? I thought I did. Oh, I met her +first of all at Barlow's, just after we got back from the +seaside. Rather an interesting girl. She's a daughter of Manton +Rupert, the advertising agent. I want to get invited to their +house; useful people, you know.' + +'But is an advertising agent a gentleman?' + +Jasper laughed. + +'Do you think of him as a bill-poster? At all events he is +enormously wealthy, and has a magnificent house at Chislehurst. +The girl goes about with her stepmother. I call her a girl, but +she must be nearly thirty, and Mrs Rupert looks only two or three +years older. I had quite a long talk with her--Miss Rupert, I +mean--last night. She told me she was going to stay next week +with the Barlows, so I shall have a run out to Wimbledon one +afternoon.' + +Dora looked at him inquiringly. + +'Just to see Miss Rupert?' she asked, meeting his eyes. + +'To be sure. Why not?' + +'Oh!' ejaculated his sister, as if the question did not concern +her. + +'She isn't exactly good-looking,' pursued Jasper, meditatively, +with a quick glance at the listener, 'but fairly intellectual. +Plays very well, and has a nice contralto voice; she sang that +new thing of Tosti's--what do you call it? I thought her rather +masculine when I first saw her, but the impression wears off when +one knows her better. She rather takes to me, I fancy.' + +'But--' began Dora, after a minute's silence. + +'But what?' inquired her brother with an air of interest. + +'I don't quite understand you.' + +'In general, or with reference to some particular?' + +'What right have you to go to places just to see this Miss +Rupert?' + +'What right?' He laughed. 'I am a young man with my way to make. +I can't afford to lose any opportunity. If Miss Rupert is so good +as to take an interest in me, I have no objection. She's old +enough to make friends for herself.' + +'Oh, then you consider her simply a friend?' + +'I shall see how things go on.' + +'But, pray, do you consider yourself perfectly free?' asked Dora, +with some indignation. + +'Why shouldn't I?' + +'Then I think you have been behaving very strangely.' + +Jasper saw that she was in earnest. He stroked the back of his +head and smiled at the wall. + +'With regard to Marian, you mean?' + +'Of course I do.' + +'But Marian understands me perfectly. I have never for a moment +tried to make her think that--well, to put it plainly, that I was +in love with her. In all our conversations it has been my one +object to afford her insight into my character, and to explain my +position. She has no excuse whatever for misinterpreting me. And +I feel assured that she has done nothing of the kind.' + +'Very well, if you feel satisfied with yourself--' + +'But come now, Dora; what's all this about? You are Marian's +friend, and, of course, I don't wish you to say a word about her. + +But let me explain myself. I have occasionally walked part of the +way home with Marian, when she and I have happened to go from +here at the same time; now there was nothing whatever in our talk +at such times that anyone mightn't have listened to. We are both +intellectual people, and we talk in an intellectual way. You seem +to have rather old-fashioned ideas--provincial ideas. A girl like +Marian Yule claims the new privileges of woman; she would resent +it if you supposed that she couldn't be friendly with a man +without attributing "intentions" to him--to use the old word. We +don't live in Wattleborough, where liberty is rendered impossible +by the cackling of gossips.' + +'No, but--' + +'Well?' + +'It seems to me rather strange, that's all. We had better not +talk about it any more.' + +'But I have only just begun to talk about it; I must try to make +my position intelligible to you. Now, suppose--a quite impossible +thing--that Marian inherited some twenty or thirty thousand +pounds; I should forthwith ask her to be my wife.' + +'Oh indeed!' + +'I see no reason for sarcasm. It would be a most rational +proceeding. I like her very much; but to marry her (supposing she +would have me) without money would he a gross absurdity, simply +spoiling my career, and leading to all sorts of discontents.' + +'No one would suggest that you should marry as things are.' + +'No; but please to bear in mind that to obtain money somehow or +other--and I see no other way than by marriage--is necessary to +me, and that with as little delay as possible. I am not at all +likely to get a big editorship for some years to come, and I +don't feel disposed to make myself prematurely old by toiling for +a few hundreds per annum in the meantime. Now all this I have +frankly and fully explained to Marian. I dare say she suspects +what I should do if she came into possession of money; there's no +harm in that. But she knows perfectly well that, as things are, +we remain intellectual friends.' + +'Then listen to me, Jasper. If we hear that Marian gets nothing +from her uncle, you had better behave honestly, and let her see +that you haven't as much interest in her as before.' + +'That would be brutality.' + +'It would be honest.' + +'Well, no, it wouldn't. Strictly speaking, my interest in Marian +wouldn't suffer at all. I should know that we could be nothing +but friends, that's all. Hitherto I haven't known what might come +to pass; I don't know yet. So far from following your advice, I +shall let Marian understand that, if anything, I am more her +friend than ever, seeing that henceforth there can be no +ambiguities.' + +'I can only tell you that Maud would agree with me in what I have +been saying.' + +'Then both of you have distorted views.' + +'I think not. It's you who are unprincipled.' + +'My dear girl, haven't I been showing you that no man could be +more above-board, more straightforward?' + +'You have been talking nonsense, Jasper.' + +'Nonsense? Oh, this female lack of logic! Then my argument has +been utterly thrown away. Now that's one of the things I like in +Miss Rupert; she can follow an argument and see consequences. And +for that matter so can Marian. I only wish it were possible to +refer this question to her.' + +There was a tap at the door. Dora called 'Come in!' and Marian +herself appeared. + +'What an odd thing!' exclaimed Jasper, lowering his voice. 'I was +that moment saying I wished it were possible to refer a question +to you.' + +Dora reddened, and stood in an embarrassed attitude. + +'It was the old dispute whether women in general are capable of +logic. But pardon me, Miss Yule; I forget that you have been +occupied with sad things since I last saw you.' + +Dora led her to a chair, asking if her father had returned. + +'Yes, he came back yesterday.' + +Jasper and his sister could not think it likely that Marian had +suffered much from grief at her uncle's death; practically John +Yule was a stranger to her. Yet her face bore the signs of acute +mental trouble, and it seemed as if some agitation made it +difficult for her to speak. The awkward silence that fell upon +the three was broken by Jasper, who expressed a regret that he +was obliged to take his leave. + +'Maud is becoming a young lady of society,' he said--just for the +sake of saying something--as he moved towards the door. 'If she +comes back whilst you are here, Miss Yule, warn her that that is +the path of destruction for literary people.' + +'You should bear that in mind yourself' remarked Dora, with a +significant look. + +'Oh, I am cool-headed enough to make society serve my own ends.' + +Marian turned her head with a sudden movement which was checked +before she had quite looked round to him. The phrase he uttered +last appeared to have affected her in some way; her eyes fell, +and an expression of pain was on her brows for a moment. + +'I can only stay a few minutes,' she said, bending with a faint +smile towards Dora, as soon as they were alone. 'I have come on +my way from the Museum.' + +'Where you have tired yourself to death as usual, I can see.' + +'No; I have done scarcely anything. I only pretended to read; my +mind is too much troubled. Have you heard anything about my +uncle's will?' + +'Nothing whatever.' + +'I thought it might have been spoken of in Wattleborough, and +some friend might have written to you. But I suppose there has +hardly been time for that. I shall surprise you very much. Father +receives nothing, but I have a legacy of five thousand pounds.' + +Dora kept her eyes down. + +'Then--what do you think?' continued Marian. 'My cousin Amy has +ten thousand pounds.' + +'Good gracious! What a difference that will make!' + +'Yes, indeed. And her brother John has six thousand. But nothing +to their mother. There are a good many other legacies, but most +of the property goes to the Wattleborough park--"Yule Park" it +will be called--and to the volunteers, and things of that kind. +They say he wasn't as rich as people thought.' + +'Do you know what Miss Harrow gets?' + +'She has the house for her life, and fifteen hundred pounds.' + +'And your father nothing whatever?' + +'Nothing. Not a penny. Oh I am so grieved! I think it so unkind, +so wrong. Amy and her brother to have sixteen thousand pounds and +father nothing! I can't understand it. There was no unkind +feeling between him and father. He knew what a hard life father +has had. Doesn't it seem heartless?' + +'What does your father say?' + +'I think he feels the unkindness more than he does the +disappointment; of course he must have expected something. He +came into the room where mother and I were, and sat down, and +began to tell us about the will just as if he were speaking to +strangers about something he had read in the newspaper--that's +the only way I can describe it. Then he got up and went away into +the study. I waited a little, and then went to him there; he was +sitting at work, as if he hadn't been away from home at all. I +tried to tell him how sorry I was, but I couldn't say anything. I +began to cry foolishly. He spoke kindly to me, far more kindly +than he has done for a long time; but he wouldn't talk about the +will, and I had to go away and leave him. Poor mother! for all +she was afraid that we were going to be rich, is broken-hearted +at his disappointment.' + +'Your mother was afraid?' said Dora. + +'Because she thought herself unfitted for life in a large house, +and feared we should think her in our way.' She smiled sadly. +'Poor mother! she is so humble and so good. I do hope that father +will be kinder to her. But there's no telling yet what the result +of this may be. I feel guilty when I stand before him.' + +'But he must feel glad that you have five thousand pounds.' + +Marian delayed her reply for a moment, her eyes down. + +'Yes, perhaps he is glad of that.' + +'Perhaps!' + +'He can't help thinking, Dora, what use he could have made of it. + +It has always been his greatest wish to have a literary paper of +his own--like The Study, you know. He would have used the money +in that way, I am sure.' + +'But, all the same, he ought to feel pleasure in your good +fortune.' + +Marian turned to another subject. + +'Think of the Reardons; what a change all at once! What will they +do, I wonder? Surely they won't continue to live apart?' + +'We shall hear from Jasper.' + +Whilst they were discussing the affairs of that branch of the +family, Maud returned. There was ill-humour on her handsome face, +and she greeted Marian but coldly. Throwing off her hat and +gloves and mantle she listened to the repeated story of John +Yule's bequests. + +'But why ever has Mrs Reardon so much more than anyone else?' she +asked. + +'We can only suppose it is because she was the favourite child of +the brother he liked best. Yet at her wedding he gave her +nothing, and spoke contemptuously of her for marrying a literary +man.' + +'Fortunate for her poor husband that her uncle was able to +forgive her. I wonder what's the date of the will? Who knows but +he may have rewarded her for quarrelling with Mr Reardon.' + +This excited a laugh. + +'I don't know when the will was made,' said Marian. 'And I don't +know whether uncle had even heard of the Reardons' misfortunes. I +suppose he must have done. My cousin John was at the funeral, but +not my aunt. I think it most likely father and John didn't speak +a word to each other. Fortunately the relatives were lost sight +of in the great crowd of Wattleborough people; there was an +enormous procession, of course.' + +Maud kept glancing at her sister. The ill-humour had not +altogether passed from her face, but it was now blended with +reflectiveness. + +A few moments more, and Marian had to hasten home. When she was +gone the sisters looked at each other. + +'Five thousand pounds,' murmured the elder. 'I suppose that is +considered nothing.' + +'I suppose so.--He was here when Marian came, but didn't stay.' + +'Then you'll take him the news this evening?' + +'Yes,' replied Dora. Then, after musing, 'He seemed annoyed that +you were at the Lanes' again.' + +Maud made a movement of indifference. + +'What has been putting you out?' + +'Things were rather stupid. Some people who were to have come +didn't turn up. And--well, it doesn't matter.' + +She rose and glanced at herself in the little oblong mirror over +the mantelpiece. + +'Did Jasper ever speak to you of a Miss Rupert?' asked Dora. + +'Not that I remember.' + +'What do you think? He told me in the calmest way that he didn't +see why Marian should think of him as anything but the most +ordinary friend--said he had never given her reason to think +anything else.' + +'Indeed! And Miss Rupert is someone who has the honour of his +preference?' + +'He says she is about thirty, and rather masculine, but a great +heiress. Jasper is shameful!' + +'What do you expect? I consider it is your duty to let Marian +know everything he says. Otherwise you help to deceive her. He +has no sense of honour in such things.' + +Dora was so impatient to let her brother have the news that she +left the house as soon as she had had tea on the chance of +finding Jasper at home. She had not gone a dozen yards before she +encountered him in person. + +'I was afraid Marian might still be with you,' he said, laughing. + +'I should have asked the landlady. Well?' + +'We can't stand talking here. You had better come in.' + +He was in too much excitement to wait. + +'Just tell me. What has she?' + +Dora walked quickly towards the house, looking annoyed. + +'Nothing at all? Then what has her father?' + +'He has nothing,' replied his sister, 'and she has five thousand +pounds.' + +Jasper walked on with bent head. He said nothing more until he +was upstairs in the sitting-room, where Maud greeted him +carelessly. + +'Mrs Reardon anything?' + +Dora informed him. + +'What?' he cried incredulously. 'Ten thousand? You don't say so!' + +He burst into uproarious laughter. + +'So Reardon is rescued from the slum and the clerk's desk! Well, +I'm glad; by Jove, I am. I should have liked it better if Marian +had had the ten thousand and he the five, but it's an excellent +joke. Perhaps the next thing will be that he'll refuse to have +anything to do with his wife's money; that would be just like +him.' After amusing himself with this subject for a few minutes +more, he turned to the window and stood there in silence. + +'Are you going to have tea with us?' Dora inquired. + +He did not seem to hear her. On a repetition of the inquiry, he +answered absently: + +'Yes, I may as well. Then I can go home and get to work.' + +During the remainder of his stay he talked very little, and as +Maud also was in an abstracted mood, tea passed almost in +silence. On the point of departing he asked: + +'When is Marian likely to come here again?' + +'I haven't the least idea,' answered Dora. + +He nodded, and went his way. + +It was necessary for him to work at a magazine article which he +had begun this morning, and on reaching home he spread out his +papers in the usual businesslike fashion. The subject out of +which he was manufacturing 'copy' had its difficulties, and was +not altogether congenial to him; this morning he had laboured +with unwonted effort to produce about a page of manuscript, and +now that he tried to resume the task his thoughts would not +centre upon it. Jasper was too young to have thoroughly mastered +the art of somnambulistic composition; to write, he was still +obliged to give exclusive attention to the matter under +treatment. Dr Johnson's saying, that a man may write at any time +if he will set himself doggedly to it, was often upon his lips, +and had even been of help to him, as no doubt it has to many +another man obliged to compose amid distracting circumstances; +but the formula had no efficacy this evening. Twice or thrice he +rose from his chair, paced the room with a determined brow, and +sat down again with vigorous clutch of the pen; still he failed +to excogitate a single sentence that would serve his purpose. + +'I must have it out with myself before I can do anything,' was +his thought as he finally abandoned the endeavour. 'I must make +up my mind.' + +To this end he settled himself in an easy-chair and began to +smoke cigarettes. Some dozen of these aids to reflection only +made him so nervous that he could no longer remain alone. He put +on his hat and overcoat and went out--to find that it was raining +heavily. He returned for an umbrella, and before long was walking +aimlessly about the Strand, unable to make up his mind whether to +turn into a theatre or not. Instead of doing so, he sought a +certain upper room of a familiar restaurant, where the day's +papers were to be seen, and perchance an acquaintance might be +met. Only half-a-dozen men were there, reading and smoking, and +all were unknown to him. He drank a glass of lager beer, skimmed +the news of the evening, and again went out into the bad weather. + +After all it was better to go home. Everything he encountered had +an unsettling effect upon him, so that he was further than ever +from the decision at which he wished to arrive. In Mornington +Road he came upon Whelpdale, who was walking slowly under an +umbrella. + +'I've just called at your place.' + +'All right; come back if you like.' + +'But perhaps I shall waste your time?' said Whelpdale, with +unusual diffidence. + +Reassured, he gladly returned to the house. Milvain acquainted +him with the fact of John Yule's death, and with its result so +far as it concerned the Reardons. They talked of how the couple +would probably behave under this decisive change of +circumstances. + +'Biffen professes to know nothing about Mrs Reardon,' said +Whelpdale. 'I suspect he keeps his knowledge to himself, out of +regard for Reardon. It wouldn't surprise me if they live apart +for a long time yet.' + +'Not very likely. It was only want of money.' + +'They're not at all suited to each other. Mrs Reardon, no doubt, +repents her marriage bitterly, and I doubt whether Reardon cares +much for his wife.' + +'As there's no way of getting divorced they'll make the best of +it. Ten thousand pounds produce about four hundred a year; it's +enough to live on.' + +'And be miserable on--if they no longer love each other.' + +'You're such a sentimental fellow!' cried Jasper. 'I believe you +seriously think that love--the sort of frenzy you understand by +it--ought to endure throughout married life. How has a man come +to your age with such primitive ideas?' + +'Well, I don't know. Perhaps you err a little in the opposite +direction.' + +'I haven't much faith in marrying for love, as you know. What's +more, I believe it's the very rarest thing for people to be in +love with each other. Reardon and his wife perhaps were an +instance; perhaps--I'm not quite sure about her. As a rule, +marriage is the result of a mild preference, encouraged by +circumstances, and deliberately heightened into strong sexual +feeling. You, of all men, know well enough that the same kind of +feeling could be produced for almost any woman who wasn't +repulsive.' + +'The same kind of feeling; but there's vast difference of +degree.' + +'To be sure. I think it's only a matter of degree. When it rises +to the point of frenzy people may strictly be said to be in love; +and, as I tell you, I think that comes to pass very rarely +indeed. For my own part, I have no experience of it, and think I +never shall have.' + +'I can't say the same.' + +They laughed. + +'I dare say you have imagined yourself in love--or really been so +for aught I know--a dozen times. How the deuce you can attach any +importance to such feeling where marriage is concerned I don't +understand.' + +'Well, now,' said Whelpdale, 'I have never upheld the theory--at +least not since I was sixteen--that a man can be in love only +once, or that there is one particular woman if he misses whom he +can never be happy. There may be thousands of women whom I could +love with equal sincerity.' + +'I object to the word "love" altogether. It has been vulgarised. +Let us talk about compatibility. Now, I should say that, no +doubt, and speaking scientifically, there is one particular woman +supremely fitted to each man. I put aside consideration of +circumstances; we know that circumstances will disturb any degree +of abstract fitness. But in the nature of things there must be +one woman whose nature is specially well adapted to harmonise +with mine, or with yours. If there were any means of discovering +this woman in each case, then I have no doubt it would be worth a +man's utmost effort to do so, and any amount of erotic jubilation +would be reasonable when the discovery was made. But the thing is +impossible, and, what's more, we know what ridiculous fallibility +people display when they imagine they have found the best +substitute for that indiscoverable. This is what makes me +impatient with sentimental talk about marriage. An educated man +mustn't play so into the hands of ironic destiny. Let him think +he wants to marry a woman; but don't let him exaggerate his +feelings or idealise their nature.' + +'There's a good deal in all that,' admitted Whelpdale, though +discontentedly. + +'There's more than a good deal; there's the last word on the +subject. The days of romantic love are gone by. The scientific +spirit has put an end to that kind of self-deception. Romantic +love was inextricably blended with all sorts of superstitions-- +belief in personal immortality, in superior beings, in--all the +rest of it. What we think of now is moral and intellectual and +physical compatibility; I mean, if we are reasonable people.' + +'And if we are not so unfortunate as to fall in love with an +incompatible,' added Whelpdale, laughing. + +'Well, that is a form of unreason--a blind desire which science +could explain in each case. I rejoice that I am not subject to +that form of epilepsy.' + +'You positively never were in love!' + +'As you understand it, never. But I have felt a very distinct +preference.' + +'Based on what you think compatibility?' + +'Yes. Not strong enough to make me lose sight of prudence and +advantage. No, not strong enough for that.' + +He seemed to be reassuring himself. + +'Then of course that can't be called love,' said Whelpdale. + +'Perhaps not. But, as I told you, a preference of this kind can +be heightened into emotion, if one chooses. In the case of which +I am thinking it easily might be. And I think it very improbable +indeed that I should repent it if anything led me to indulge such +an impulse.' + +Whelpdale smiled. + +'This is very interesting. I hope it may lead to something.' + +'I don't think it will. I am far more likely to marry some woman +for whom I have no preference, but who can serve me materially.' + +'I confess that amazes me. I know the value of money as well as +you do, but I wouldn't marry a rich woman for whom I had no +preference. By Jove, no!' + +'Yes, yes. You are a consistent sentimentalist.' + +'Doomed to perpetual disappointment,' said the other, looking +disconsolately about the room. + +'Courage, my boy! I have every hope that I shall see you marry +and repent.' + +'I admit the danger of that. But shall I tell you something I +have observed? Each woman I fall in love with is of a higher type +than the one before.' + +Jasper roared irreverently, and his companion looked hurt. + +'But I am perfectly serious, I assure you. To go back only three +or four years. There was the daughter of my landlady in Barham +Street; well, a nice girl enough, but limited, decidedly limited. + +Next came that girl at the stationer's--you remember? She was +distinctly an advance, both in mind and person. Then there was +Miss Embleton; yes, I think she made again an advance. She had +been at Bedford College, you know, and was really a girl of +considerable attainments; morally, admirable. Afterwards--' + +He paused. + +'The maiden from Birmingham, wasn't it?' said Jasper, again +exploding. + +'Yes, it was. Well, I can't be quite sure. But in many respects +that girl was my ideal; she really was.' + +'As you once or twice told me at the time.' + +'I really believe she would rank above Miss Embleton--at all +events from my point of view. And that's everything, you know. +It's the effect a woman produces on one that has to be +considered.' + +'The next should be a paragon,' said Jasper. + +'The next?' + +Whelpdale again looked about the room, but added nothing, and +fell into a long silence. + +When left to himself Jasper walked about a little, then sat down +at his writing-table, for he felt easier in mind, and fancied +that he might still do a couple of hours' work before going to +bed. He did in fact write half-a-dozen lines, but with the effort +came back his former mood. Very soon the pen dropped, and he was +once more in the throes of anxious mental debate. + +He sat till after midnight, and when he went to his bedroom it +was with a lingering step, which proved him still a prey to +indecision. + + + +PART FOUR + +CHAPTER XXIII. A PROPOSED INVESTMENT + +Alfred Yule's behaviour under his disappointment seemed to prove +that even for him the uses of adversity could be sweet. On the +day after his return home he displayed a most unwonted mildness +in such remarks as he addressed to his wife, and his bearing +towards Marian was gravely gentle. At meals he conversed, or +rather monologised, on literary topics, with occasionally one of +his grim jokes, pointed for Marian's appreciation. He became +aware that the girl had been overtaxing her strength of late, and +suggested a few weeks of recreation among new novels. The +coldness and gloom which had possessed him when he made a formal +announcement of the news appeared to have given way before the +sympathy manifested by his wife and daughter; he was now +sorrowful, but resigned. + +He explained to Marian the exact nature of her legacy. It was to +be paid out of her uncle's share in a wholesale stationery +business, with which John Yule had been connected for the last +twenty years, but from which he had not long ago withdrawn a +large portion of his invested capital. This house was known as +'Turberville & Co.,' a name which Marian now heard for the first +time. + +'I knew nothing of his association with them,' said her father. +'They tell me that seven or eight thousand pounds will be +realised from that source; it seems a pity that the investment +was not left to you intact. Whether there will be any delay in +withdrawing the money I can't say.' + +The executors were two old friends of the deceased, one of them a +former partner in his paper-making concern. + +On the evening of the second day, about an hour after dinner was +over, Mr Hinks called at the house; as usual, he went into the +study. Before long came a second visitor, Mr Quarmby, who joined +Yule and Hinks. The three had all sat together for some time, +when Marian, who happened to be coming down stairs, saw her +father at the study door. + +'Ask your mother to let us have some supper at a quarter to ten,' +he said urbanely. 'And come in, won't you? We are only +gossiping.' + +It had not often happened that Marian was invited to join parties +of this kind. + +'Do you wish me to come?' she asked. + +'Yes, I should like you to, if you have nothing particular to +do.' + +Marian informed Mrs Yule that the visitors would have supper, and +then went to the study. Mr Quarmby was smoking a pipe; Mr Hinks, +who on grounds of economy had long since given up tobacco, sat +with his hands in his trouser pockets, and his long, thin legs +tucked beneath the chair; both rose and greeted Marian with more +than ordinary warmth. + +'Will you allow me five or six more puffs?' asked Mr Quarmby, +laying one hand on his ample stomach and elevating his pipe as if +it were a glass of beaded liquor. 'I shall then have done.' + +'As many more as you like,' Marian replied. + +The easiest chair was placed for her, Mr Hinks hastening to +perform this courtesy, and her father apprised her of the topic +they were discussing. + +'What's your view, Marian? Is there anything to be said for the +establishment of a literary academy in England?' + +Mr Quarmby beamed benevolently upon her, and Mr Hinks, his +scraggy neck at full length, awaited her reply with a look of the +most respectful attention. + +'I really think we have quite enough literary quarrelling as it +is,' the girl replied, casting down her eyes and smiling. + +Mr Quarmby uttered a hollow chuckle, Mr Hinks laughed thinly and +exclaimed, 'Very good indeed! Very good!' Yule affected to +applaud with impartial smile. + +'It wouldn't harmonise with the Anglo-Saxon spirit,' remarked Mr +Hinks, with an air of diffident profundity. + +Yule held forth on the subject for a few minutes in laboured +phrases. Presently the conversation turned to periodicals, and +the three men were unanimous in an opinion that no existing +monthly or quarterly could be considered as representing the best +literary opinion. + +'We want,' remarked Mr Quarmby, 'we want a monthly review which +shall deal exclusively with literature. The Fortnightly, the +Contemporary--they are very well in their way, but then they are +mere miscellanies. You will find one solid literary article amid +a confused mass of politics and economics and general clap-trap.' + +'Articles on the currency and railway statistics and views of +evolution,' said Mr Hinks, with a look as if something were +grating between his teeth. + +'The quarterlies?' put in Yule. 'Well, the original idea of the +quarterlies was that there are not enough important books +published to occupy solid reviewers more than four times a year. +That may be true, but then a literary monthly would include much +more than professed reviews. Hinks's essays on the historical +drama would have come out in it very well; or your "Spanish +Poets," Quarmby.' + +'I threw out the idea to Jedwood the other day,' said Mr Quarmby, +'and he seemed to nibble at it.' + +'Yes, yes,' came from Yule; 'but Jedwood has so many irons in the +fire. I doubt if he has the necessary capital at command just +now. No doubt he's the man, if some capitalist would join him.' + +'No enormous capital needed,' opined Mr Quarmby. 'The thing would +pay its way almost from the first. It would take a place between +the literary weeklies and the quarterlies. The former are too +academic, the latter too massive, for multitudes of people who +yet have strong literary tastes. Foreign publications should be +liberally dealt with. But, as Hinks says, no meddling with the +books that are no books--biblia abiblia; nothing about essays on +bimetallism and treatises for or against vaccination.' + +Even here, in the freedom of a friend's study, he laughed his +Reading-room laugh, folding both hands upon his expansive +waistcoat. + +'Fiction? I presume a serial of the better kind might be +admitted?' said Yule. + +'That would be advisable, no doubt. But strictly of the better +kind.' + +'Oh, strictly of the better kind,' chimed in Mr Hinks. + +They pursued the discussion as if they were an editorial +committee planning a review of which the first number was shortly +to appear. It occupied them until Mrs Yule announced at the door +that supper was ready. + +During the meal Marian found herself the object of unusual +attention; her father troubled to inquire if the cut of cold beef +he sent her was to her taste, and kept an eye on her progress. Mr +Hinks talked to her in a tone of respectful sympathy, and Mr +Quarmby was paternally jovial when he addressed her. Mrs Yule +would have kept silence, in her ordinary way, but this evening +her husband made several remarks which he had adapted to her +intellect, and even showed that a reply would be graciously +received. + +Mother and daughter remained together when the men withdrew to +their tobacco and toddy. Neither made allusion to the wonderful +change, but they talked more light-heartedly than for a long +time. + +On the morrow Yule began by consulting Marian with regard to the +disposition of matter in an essay he was writing. What she said +he weighed carefully, and seemed to think that she had set his +doubts at rest. + +'Poor old Hinks!' he said presently, with a sigh. 'Breaking up, +isn't he? He positively totters in his walk. I'm afraid he's the +kind of man to have a paralytic stroke; it wouldn't astonish me +to hear at any moment that he was lying helpless.' + +'What ever would become of him in that case?' + +'Goodness knows! One might ask the same of so many of us. What +would become of me, for instance, if I were incapable of work?' + +Marian could make no reply. + +'There's something I'll just mention to you,' he went on in a +lowered tone, 'though I don't wish you to take it too seriously. +I'm beginning to have a little trouble with my eyes.' + +She looked at him, startled. + +'With your eyes?' + +'Nothing, I hope; but--well, I think I shall see an oculist. One +doesn't care to face a prospect of failing sight, perhaps of +cataract, or something of that kind; still, it's better to know +the facts, I should say.' + +'By all means go to an oculist,' said Marian, earnestly. + +'Don't disturb yourself about it. It may be nothing at all. But +in any case I must change my glasses.' + +He rustled over some slips of manuscript, whilst Marian regarded +him anxiously. + +'Now, I appeal to you, Marian,' he continued: 'could I possibly +save money out of an income that has never exceeded two hundred +and fifty pounds, and often--I mean even in latter years--has +been much less?' + +'I don't see how you could.' + +'In one way, of course, I have managed it. My life is insured for +five hundred pounds. But that is no provision for possible +disablement. If I could no longer earn money with my pen, what +would become of me?' + +Marian could have made an encouraging reply, but did not venture +to utter her thoughts. + +'Sit down,' said her father. 'You are not to work for a few days, +and I myself shall be none the worse for a morning's rest. Poor +old Hinks! I suppose we shall help him among us, somehow. +Quarmby, of course, is comparatively flourishing. Well, we have +been companions for a quarter of a century, we three. When I +first met Quarmby I was a Grub Street gazetteer, and I think he +was even poorer than I. A life of toil! A life of toil!' + +'That it has been, indeed.' + +'By-the-bye'--he threw an arm over the back of his chair--'what +did you think of our imaginary review, the thing we were talking +about last night?' + +'There are so many periodicals,' replied Marian, doubtfully. + + 'So many? My dear child, if we live another ten years we shall +see the number trebled.' + +'Is it desirable?' + +'That there should be such growth of periodicals? Well, from one +point of view, no. No doubt they take up the time which some +people would give to solid literature. But, on the other hand, +there's a far greater number of people who would probably not +read at all, but for the temptations of these short and new +articles; and they may be induced to pass on to substantial +works. Of course it all depends on the quality of the periodical +matter you offer. Now, magazines like'--he named two or three of +popular stamp--'might very well be dispensed with, unless one +regards them as an alternative to the talking of scandal or any +other vicious result of total idleness. But such a monthly as we +projected would be of distinct literary value. There can be no +doubt that someone or other will shortly establish it.' + +'I am afraid,' said Marian, 'I haven't so much sympathy with +literary undertakings as you would like me to have.' + +Money is a great fortifier of self-respect. Since she had become +really conscious of her position as the owner of five thousand +pounds, Marian spoke with a steadier voice, walked with firmer +step; mentally she felt herself altogether a less dependent +being. She might have confessed this lukewarmness towards +literary enterprise in the anger which her father excited eight +or nine days ago, but at that time she could not have uttered her +opinion calmly, deliberately, as now. The smile which accompanied +the words was also new; it signified deliverance from pupilage. + +'I have felt that,' returned her father, after a slight pause to +command his voice, that it might be suave instead of scornful. 'I +greatly fear that I have made your life something of a martyrdom +----' + +'Don't think I meant that, father. I am speaking only of the +general question. I can't be quite so zealous as you are, that's +all. I love books, but I could wish people were content for a +while with those we already have.' + +'My dear Marian, don't suppose that I am out of sympathy with you +here. Alas! how much of my work has been mere drudgery, mere +labouring for a livelihood! How gladly I would have spent much +more of my time among the great authors, with no thought of +making money of them! If I speak approvingly of a scheme for a +new periodical, it is greatly because of my necessities.' + +He paused and looked at her. Marian returned the look. + +'You would of course write for it,' she said. + +'Marian, why shouldn't I edit it? Why shouldn't it be your +property?', + +'My property--?' + +She checked a laugh. There came into her mind a more disagreeable +suspicion than she had ever entertained of her father. Was this +the meaning of his softened behaviour? Was he capable of +calculated hypocrisy? That did not seem consistent with his +character, as she knew it. + +'Let us talk it over,' said Yule. He was in visible agitation and +his voice shook. 'The idea may well startle you at first. It will +seem to you that I propose to make away with your property before +you have even come into possession of it.' He laughed. 'But, in +fact, what I have in mind is merely an investment for your +capital, and that an admirable one. Five thousand pounds at three +per cent.--one doesn't care to reckon on more--represents a +hundred and fifty a year. Now, there can be very little doubt +that, if it were invested in literary property such as I have in +mind, it would bring you five times that interest, and before +long perhaps much more. Of course I am now speaking in the +roughest outline. I should have to get trustworthy advice; +complete and detailed estimates would be submitted to you. At +present I merely suggest to you this form of investment.' + +He watched her face eagerly, greedily. When Marian's eyes rose to +his he looked away. + +'Then, of course,' she said, 'you don't expect me to give any +decided answer.' + +'Of course not--of course not. I merely put before you the chief +advantages of such an investment. As I am a selfish old fellow, +I'll talk about the benefit to myself first of all. I should be +editor of the new review; I should draw a stipend sufficient to +all my needs--quite content, at first, to take far less than +another man would ask, and to progress with the advance of the +periodical. This position would enable me to have done with mere +drudgery; I should only write when I felt called to do so--when +the spirit moved me.' Again he laughed, as though desirous of +keeping his listener in good humour. 'My eyes would be greatly +spared henceforth.' + +He dwelt on that point, waiting its effect on Marian. As she said +nothing he proceeded: + +'And suppose I really were doomed to lose my sight in the course +of a few years, am I wrong in thinking that the proprietor of +this periodical would willingly grant a small annuity to the man +who had firmly established it?' + +'I see the force of all that,' said Marian; 'but it takes for +granted that the periodical will be successful.' + +'It does. In the hands of a publisher like Jedwood--a vigorous +man of the new school--its success could scarcely be doubtful.' + +'Do you think five thousand pounds would be enough to start such +a review?' + +'Well, I can say nothing definite on that point. For one thing, +the coat must be made according to the cloth; expenditure can be +largely controlled without endangering success. Then again, I +think Jedwood would take a share in the venture. These are +details. At present I only want to familiarise you with the +thought that an investment of this sort will very probably offer +itself to you.' + +'It would be better if we called it a speculation,' said Marian, +smiling uneasily. + +Her one object at present was to oblige her father to understand +that the suggestion by no means lured her. She could not tell him +that what he proposed was out of the question, though as yet that +was the light in which she saw it. His subtlety of approach had +made her feel justified in dealing with him in a matter-of-fact +way. He must see that she was not to be cajoled. Obviously, and +in the nature of the case, he was urging a proposal in which he +himself had all faith; but Marian knew his judgment was far from +infallible. It mitigated her sense of behaving unkindly to +reflect that in all likelihood this disposal of her money would +be the worst possible for her own interests, and therefore for +his. If, indeed, his dark forebodings were warranted, then upon +her would fall the care of him, and the steadiness with which she +faced that responsibility came from a hope of which she could not +speak. + +'Name it as you will,' returned her father, hardly suppressing a +note of irritation. 'True, every commercial enterprise is a +speculation. But let me ask you one question, and beg you to +reply frankly. Do you distrust my ability to conduct this +periodical?' + +She did. She knew that he was not in touch with the interests of +the day, and that all manner of considerations akin to the prime +end of selling his review would make him an untrustworthy editor. + +But how could she tell him this? + +'My opinion would be worthless,' she replied. + +'If Jedwood were disposed to put confidence in me, you also +would?' + +'There's no need to talk of that now, father. Indeed, I can't say +anything that would sound like a promise.' + +He flashed a glance at her. Then she was more than doubtful? + +'But you have no objection, Marian, to talk in a friendly way of +a project that would mean so much to me?' + +'But I am afraid to encourage you,' she replied, frankly. 'It is +impossible for me to say whether I can do as you wish, or not.' + +'Yes, yes; I perfectly understand that. Heaven forbid that I +should regard you as a child to be led independently of your own +views and wishes! With so large a sum of money at stake, it would +be monstrous if I acted rashly, and tried to persuade you to do +the same. The matter will have to be most gravely considered.' + +'Yes.' She spoke mechanically. + +'But if only it should come to something! You don't know what it +would mean to me, Marian.' + +'Yes, father; I know very well how you think and feel about it.' + +'Do you?' He leaned forward, his features working under stress of +emotion. 'If I could see myself the editor of an influential +review, all my bygone toils and sufferings would be as nothing; I +should rejoice in them as the steps to this triumph. Meminisse +juvabit! My dear, I am not a man fitted for subordinate places. +My nature is framed for authority. The failure of all my +undertakings rankles so in my heart that sometimes I feel capable +of every brutality, every meanness, every hateful cruelty. To you +I have behaved shamefully. Don't interrupt me, Marian. I have +treated you abominably, my child, my dear daughter--and all the +time with a full sense of what I was doing. That's the punishment +of faults such as mine. I hate myself for every harsh word and +angry look I have given you; at the time, I hated myself!' + +'Father--' + +'No, no; let me speak, Marian. You have forgiven me; I know it. +You were always ready to forgive, dear. Can I ever forget that +evening when I spoke like a brute, and you came afterwards and +addressed me as if the wrong had been on your side? It burns in +my memory. It wasn't I who spoke; it was the demon of failure, of +humiliation. My enemies sit in triumph, and scorn at me; the +thought of it is infuriating. Have I deserved this? Am I the +inferior of--of those men who have succeeded and now try to +trample on me? No! I am not! I have a better brain and a better +heart!' + +Listening to this strange outpouring, Marian more than forgave +the hypocrisy of the last day or two. Nay, could it be called +hypocrisy? It was only his better self declared at the impulse of +a passionate hope. + +'Why should you think so much of these troubles, father? Is it +such a great matter that narrow-minded people triumph over you?' + +'Narrow-minded?' He clutched at the word. 'You admit they are +that?' + +'I feel very sure that Mr Fadge is.' + +'Then you are not on his side against me?' + +'How could you suppose such a thing?' + +'Well, well; we won't talk of that. Perhaps it isn't a great +matter. No--from a philosophical point of view, such things are +unspeakably petty. But I am not much of a philosopher.' He +laughed, with a break in his voice. 'Defeat in life is defeat, +after all; and unmerited failure is a bitter curse. You see, I am +not too old to do something yet. My sight is failing, but I can +take care of it. If I had my own review, I would write every now +and then a critical paper in my very best style. You remember +poor old Hinks's note about me in his book? We laughed at it, but +he wasn't so far wrong. I have many of those qualities. A man is +conscious of his own merits as well as of his defects. I have +done a few admirable things. You remember my paper on Lord +Herbert of Cherbury? No one ever wrote a more subtle piece of +criticism; but it was swept aside among the rubbish of the +magazines. And it's just because of my pungent phrases that I +have excited so much enmity. Wait! Wait! Let me have my own +review, and leisure, and satisfaction of mind--heavens! what I +will write! How I will scarify!' + +'That is unworthy of you. How much better to ignore your enemies! + +In such a position, I should carefully avoid every word that +betrayed personal feeling.' + +'Well, well; you are of course right, my good girl. And I believe +I should do injustice to myself if I made you think that those +ignoble motives are the strongest in me. No; it isn't so. From my +boyhood I have had a passionate desire of literary fame, deep +down below all the surface faults of my character. The best of my +life has gone by, and it drives me to despair when I feel that I +have not gained the position due to me. There is only one way of +doing this now, and that is by becoming the editor of an +important periodical. Only in that way shall I succeed in forcing +people to pay attention to my claims. Many a man goes to his +grave unrecognised, just because he has never had a fair +judgment. Nowadays it is the unscrupulous men of business who +hold the attention of the public; they blow their trumpets so +loudly that the voices of honest men have no chance of being +heard.' + +Marian was pained by the humility of his pleading with her--for +what was all this but an endeavour to move her sympathies?--and +by the necessity she was under of seeming to turn a deaf ear. She +believed that there was some truth in his estimate of his own +powers; though as an editor he would almost certainly fail, as a +man of letters he had probably done far better work than some who +had passed him by on their way to popularity. Circumstances might +enable her to assist him, though not in the way he proposed. The +worst of it was that she could not let him see what was in her +mind. He must think that she was simply balancing her own +satisfaction against his, when in truth she suffered from the +conviction that to yield would be as unwise in regard to her +father's future as it would be perilous to her own prospect of +happiness. + +'Shall we leave this to be talked of when the money has been paid +over to me?' she said, after a silence. + +'Yes. Don't suppose I wish to influence you by dwelling on my own +hardships. That would be contemptible. I have only taken this +opportunity of making myself better known to you. I don't readily +talk of myself and in general my real feelings are hidden by the +faults of my temper. In suggesting how you could do me a great +service, and at the same time reap advantage for yourself I +couldn't but remember how little reason you have to think kindly +of me. But we will postpone further talk. You will think over +what I have said?' + +Marian promised that she would, and was glad to bring the +conversation to an end. + +When Sunday came, Yule inquired of his daughter if she had any +engagement for the afternoon. + +'Yes, I have,' she replied, with an effort to disguise her +embarrassment. + +'I'm sorry. I thought of asking you to come with me to Quarmby's. +Shall you be away through the evening?' + +'Till about nine o'clock, I think.' + +'Ah! Never mind, never mind.' + +He tried to dismiss the matter as if it were of no moment, but +Marian saw the shadow that passed over his countenance. This was +just after breakfast. For the remainder of the morning she did +not meet him, and at the mid-day dinner he was silent, though he +brought no book to the table with him, as he was wont to do when +in his dark moods. Marian talked with her mother, doing her best +to preserve the appearance of cheerfulness which was natural +since the change in Yule's demeanour. + +She chanced to meet her father in the passage just as she was +going out. He smiled (it was more like a grin of pain) and +nodded, but said nothing. + +When the front door closed, he went into the parlour. Mrs Yule +was reading, or, at all events, turning over a volume of an +illustrated magazine. + +'Where do you suppose she has gone?' he asked, in a voice which +was only distant, not offensive. + +'To the Miss Milvains, I believe,' Mrs Yule answered, looking +aside. + +'Did she tell you so?' + +'No. We don't talk about it.' + +He seated himself on the corner of a chair and bent forward, his +chin in his hand. + +'Has she said anything to you about the review?' + +'Not a word.' + +She glanced at him timidly, and turned a few pages of her book. + +'I wanted her to come to Quarmby's, because there'll be a man +there who is anxious that Jedwood should start a magazine, and it +would be useful for her to hear practical opinions. There'd be no +harm if you just spoke to her about it now and then. Of course if +she has made up her mind to refuse me it's no use troubling +myself any more. I should think you might find out what's really +going on.' + +Only dire stress of circumstances could have brought Alfred Yule +to make distinct appeal for his wife's help. There was no +underhand plotting between them to influence their daughter; Mrs +Yule had as much desire for the happiness of her husband as for +that of Marian, but she felt powerless to effect anything on +either side. + +'If ever she says anything, I'll let you know.' + +'But it seems to me that you have a right to question her.' + +'I can't do that, Alfred.' + +'Unfortunately, there are a good many things you can't do.' With +that remark, familiar to his wife in substance, though the tone +of it was less caustic than usual, he rose and sauntered from the +room. He spent a gloomy hour in the study, then went off to join +the literary circle at Mr Quarmby's. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. JASPER'S MAGNANIMITY + +Occasionally Milvain met his sisters as they came out of church +on Sunday morning, and walked home to have dinner with them. He +did so to-day, though the sky was cheerless and a strong +north-west wind made it anything but agreeable to wait about in +open spaces. + +'Are you going to Mrs Wright's this afternoon?' he asked, as they +went on together. + +'I thought of going,' replied Maud. 'Marian will be with Dora.' + +'You ought both to go. You mustn't neglect that woman.' + +He said nothing more just then, but when presently he was alone +with Dora in the sitting-room for a few minutes, he turned with a +peculiar smile and remarked quietly: + +'I think you had better go with Maud this afternoon.' + +'But I can't. I expect Marian at three.' + +'That's just why I want you to go.' + +She looked her surprise. + +'I want to have a talk with Marian. We'll manage it in this way. +At a quarter to three you two shall start, and as you go out you +can tell the landlady that if Miss Yule comes she is to wait for +you, as you won't be long. She'll come upstairs, and I shall be +there. You see?' + +Dora turned half away, disturbed a little, but not displeased. + +'And what about Miss Rupert?' she asked. + +'Oh, Miss Rupert may go to Jericho for all I care. I'm in a +magnanimous mood.' + +'Very, I've no doubt.' + +'Well, you'll do this? One of the results of poverty, you see; +one can't even have a private conversation with a friend without +plotting to get the use of a room. But there shall be an end of +this state of things.' + +He nodded significantly. Thereupon Dora left the room to speak +with her sister. + +The device was put into execution, and Jasper saw his sisters +depart knowing that they were not likely to return for some three +hours. He seated himself comfortably by the fire and mused. Five +minutes had hardly gone by when he looked at his watch, thinking +Marian must be unpunctual. He was nervous, though he had believed +himself secure against such weakness. His presence here with the +purpose he had in his mind seemed to him distinctly a concession +to impulses he ought to have controlled; but to this resolve he +had come, and it was now too late to recommence the arguments +with himself. Too late? Well, not strictly so; he had committed +himself to nothing; up to the last moment of freedom he could +always-- + +That was doubtless Marian's knock at the front door. He jumped +up, walked the length of the room, sat down on another chair, +returned to his former seat. Then the door opened and Marian came +in. + +She was not surprised; the landlady had mentioned to her that Mr +Milvain was upstairs, waiting the return of his sisters. + +'I am to make 'Dora's excuses,' Jasper said. 'She begged you +would forgive her--that you would wait.' + +'Oh yes.' + +'And you were to be sure to take off your hat,' he added in a +laughing tone; 'and to let me put your umbrella in the corner-- +like that.' + +He had always admired the shape of Marian's head, and the beauty +of her short, soft, curly hair. As he watched her uncovering it, +he was pleased with the grace of her arms and the pliancy of her +slight figure. + +'Which is usually your chair?' + +'I'm sure I don't know.' + +'When one goes to see a friend frequently, one gets into regular +habits in these matters. In Biffen's garret I used to have the +most uncomfortable chair it was ever my lot to sit upon; still, I +came to feel an affection for it. At Reardon's I always had what +was supposed to be the most luxurious seat, but it was too small +for me, and I eyed it resentfully on sitting down and rising.' + +'Have you any news about the Reardons?' + +'Yes. I am told that Reardon has had the offer of a secretaryship +to a boys' home, or something of the kind, at Croydon. But I +suppose there'll be no need for him to think of that now.' + +'Surely not!' + +'Oh there's no saying.' + +'Why should he do work of that kind now?' + +'Perhaps his wife will tell him that she wants her money all for +herself.' + +Marian laughed. It was very rarely that Jasper had heard her +laugh at all, and never so spontaneously as this. He liked the +music. + +'You haven't a very good opinion of Mrs Reardon,' she said. + +'She is a difficult person to judge. I never disliked her, by any +means; but she was decidedly out of place as the wife of a +struggling author. Perhaps I have been a little prejudiced +against her since Reardon quarrelled with me on her account.' + +Marian was astonished at this unlooked-for explanation of the +rupture between Milvain and his friend. That they had not seen +each other for some months she knew from Jasper himself but no +definite cause had been assigned. + +'I may as well let you know all about it,' Milvain continued, +seeing that he had disconcerted the girl, as he meant to. 'I met +Reardon not long after they had parted, and he charged me with +being in great part the cause of his troubles.' + +The listener did not raise her eyes. + +'You would never imagine what my fault was. Reardon declared that +the tone of my conversation had been morally injurious to his +wife. He said I was always glorifying worldly success, and that +this had made her discontented with her lot. Sounds rather +ludicrous, don't you think?' + +'It was very strange.' + +'Reardon was in desperate earnest, poor fellow. And, to tell you +the truth, I fear there may have been something in his complaint. + +I told him at once that I should henceforth keep away from Mrs +Edmund Yule's; and so I have done, with the result, of course, +that they suppose I condemn Mrs Reardon's behaviour. The affair +was a nuisance, but I had no choice, I think.' + +'You say that perhaps your talk really was harmful to her.' + +'It may have been, though such a danger never occurred to me.' + +'Then Amy must be very weak-minded.' + +'To be influenced by such a paltry fellow?' + +'To be influenced by anyone in such a way.' + +'You think the worse of me for this story?' Jasper asked. + +'I don't quite understand it. How did you talk to her?' + +'As I talk to everyone. You have heard me say the same things +many a time. I simply declare my opinion that the end of literary +work-- unless one is a man of genius--is to secure comfort and +repute. This doesn't seem to me very scandalous. But Mrs Reardon +was perhaps too urgent in repeating such views to her husband. +She saw that in my case they were likely to have solid results, +and it was a misery to her that Reardon couldn't or wouldn't work +in the same practical way. + +'It was very unfortunate.' + +'And you are inclined to blame me?' + +'No; because I am so sure that you only spoke in the way natural +to you, without a thought of such consequences.' + +Jasper smiled. + +'That's precisely the truth. Nearly all men who have their way to +make think as I do, but most feel obliged to adopt a false tone, +to talk about literary conscientiousness, and so on. I simply say +what I think, with no pretences. I should like to be +conscientious, but it's a luxury I can't afford. I've told you +all this often enough, you know.' + +'Yes.' + +'But it hasn't been morally injurious to you,' he said with a +laugh. + +'Not at all. Still I don't like it.' + +Jasper was startled. He gazed at her. Ought he, then, to have +dealt with her less frankly? Had he been mistaken in thinking +that the unusual openness of his talk was attractive to her? She +spoke with quite unaccustomed decision; indeed, he had noticed +from her entrance that there was something unfamiliar in her way +of conversing. She was so much more self-possessed than of wont, +and did not seem to treat him with the same deference, the same +subdual of her own personality. + +'You don't like it?' he repeated calmly. 'It has become rather +tiresome to you?' + +'I feel sorry that you should always represent yourself in an +unfavourable light.' + +He was an acute man, but the self-confidence with which he had +entered upon this dialogue, his conviction that he had but to +speak when he wished to receive assurance of Marian's devotion, +prevented him from understanding the tone of independence she had +suddenly adopted. With more modesty he would have felt more +subtly at this juncture, would have divined that the girl had an +exquisite pleasure in drawing back now that she saw him +approaching her with unmistakable purpose, that she wished to be +wooed in less off-hand fashion before confessing what was in her +heart. For the moment he was disconcerted. Those last words of +hers had a slight tone of superiority, the last thing he would +have expected upon her lips. + +'Yet I surely haven't always appeared so--to you?' he said. + +'No, not always.' + +'But you are in doubt concerning the real man?' + +'I'm not sure that I understand you. You say that you do really +think as you speak.' + +'So I do. I think that there is no choice for a man who can't +bear poverty. I have never said, though, that I had pleasure in +mean necessities; I accept them because I can't help it.' + +It was a delight to Marian to observe the anxiety with which he +turned to self-defence. Never in her life had she felt this joy +of holding a position of command. It was nothing to her that +Jasper valued her more because of her money; impossible for it to +be otherwise. Satisfied that he did value her, to begin with, for +her own sake, she was very willing to accept money as her ally in +the winning of his love. He scarcely loved her yet, as she +understood the feeling, but she perceived her power over him, and +passion taught her how to exert it. + +'But you resign yourself very cheerfully to the necessity,' she +said, looking at him with merely intellectual eyes. + +'You had rather I lamented my fate in not being able to devote +myself to nobly unremunerative work?' + +There was a note of irony here. It caused her a tremor, but she +held her position. + +'That you never do so would make one think--but I won't speak +unkindly.' + +'That I neither care for good work nor am capable of it,' Jasper +finished her sentence. 'I shouldn't have thought it would make +you think so.' + +Instead of replying she turned her look towards the door. There +was a footstep on the stairs, but it passed. + +'I thought it might be Dora,' she said. + +'She won't be here for another couple of hours at least,' replied +Jasper with a slight smile. + +'But you said--?' + +'I sent her to Mrs Boston Wright's that I might have an +opportunity of talking to you. Will you forgive the stratagem?' + +Marian resumed her former attitude, the faintest smile hovering +about her lips. + +'I'm glad there's plenty of time,' he continued. 'I begin to +suspect that you have been misunderstanding me of late. I must +set that right.' + +'I don't think I have misunderstood you.' + +'That may mean something very disagreeable. I know that some +people whom I esteem have a very poor opinion of me, but I can't +allow you to be one of them. What do I seem to you? What is the +result on your mind of all our conversations?' + +'I have already told you.' + +'Not seriously. Do you believe I am capable of generous feeling?' + +'To say no, would be to put you in the lowest class of men, and +that a very small one.''Good! Then I am not among the basest. But +that doesn't give me very distinguished claims upon your +consideration. Whatever I am, I am high in some of my ambitions.' + +'Which of them?' + +'For instance, I have been daring enough to hope that you might +love me.' + +Marian delayed for a moment, then said quietly: + +'Why do you call that daring?' + +'Because I have enough of old-fashioned thought to believe that a +woman who is worthy of a man's love is higher than he, and +condescends in giving herself to him.' + +His voice was not convincing; the phrase did not sound natural on +his lips. It was not thus that she had hoped to hear him speak. +Whilst he expressed himself thus conventionally he did not love +her as she desired to be loved. + +'I don't hold that view,' she said. + +'It doesn't surprise me. You are very reserved on all subjects, +and we have never spoken of this, but of course I know that your +thought is never commonplace. Hold what view you like of woman's +position, that doesn't affect mine.' + +'Is yours commonplace, then?' + +'Desperately. Love is a very old and common thing, and I believe +I love you in the old and common way. I think you beautiful, you +seem to me womanly in the best sense, full of charm and +sweetness. I know myself a coarse being in comparison. All this +has been felt and said in the same way by men infinite in +variety. Must I find some new expression before you can believe +me?' + +Marian kept silence. + +'I know what you are thinking,' he said. 'The thought is as +inevitable as my consciousness of it.' + +For an instant she looked at him. + +'Yes, you look the thought. Why have I not spoken to you in this +way before? Why have I waited until you are obliged to suspect my +sincerity?' + +'My thought is not so easily read, then,' said Marian. + +'To be sure it hasn't a gross form, but I know you wish--whatever +your real feeling towards me--that I had spoken a fortnight ago. +You would wish that of any man in my position, merely because it +is painful to you to see a possible insincerity. Well, I am not +insincere. I have thought of you as of no other woman for some +time. But--yes, you shall have the plain, coarse truth, which is +good in its way, no doubt. I was afraid to say that I loved you. +You don't flinch; so far, so good. Now what harm is there in this +confession? In the common course of things I shouldn't be in a +position to marry for perhaps three or four years, and even then +marriage would mean difficulties, restraints, obstacles. I have +always dreaded the thought of marriage with a poor income. You +remember? + +Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is--Love forgive us!-- +cinders, ashes, dust. + +You know that is true.' + +'Not always, I dare say.' + +'But for the vast majority of mortals. There's the instance of +the Reardons. They were in love with each other, if ever two +people were; but poverty ruined everything. I am not in the +confidence of either of them, but I feel sure each has wished the +other dead. What else was to be expected? Should I have dared to +take a wife in my present circumstances--a wife as poor as +myself?' + +'You will be in a much better position before long,' said Marian. +'If you loved me, why should you have been afraid to ask me to +have confidence in your future?' + +'It's all so uncertain. It may be another ten years before I can +count on an income of five or six hundred pounds--if I have to +struggle on in the common way.' + +'But tell me, what is your aim in life? What do you understand by +success?' + +'Yes, I will tell you. My aim is to have easy command of all the +pleasures desired by a cultivated man. I want to live among +beautiful things, and never to be troubled by a thought of vulgar +difficulties. I want to travel and enrich my mind in foreign +countries. I want to associate on equal terms with refined and +interesting people. I want to be known, to be familiarly referred +to, to feel when I enter a room that people regard me with some +curiosity.' + +He looked steadily at her with bright eyes. + +'And that's all?' asked Marian. + +'That is very much. Perhaps you don't know how I suffer in +feeling myself at a disadvantage. My instincts are strongly +social, yet I can't be at my ease in society, simply because I +can't do justice to myself. Want of money makes me the inferior +of the people I talk with, though I might be superior to them in +most things. I am ignorant in many ways, and merely because I am +poor. Imagine my never having been out of England! It shames me +when people talk familiarly of the Continent. So with regard to +all manner of amusements and pursuits at home. Impossible for me +to appear among my acquaintances at the theatre, at concerts. I +am perpetually at a disadvantage; I haven't fair play. Suppose me +possessed of money enough to live a full and active life for the +next five years; why, at the end of that time my position would +be secure. To him that hath shall be given--you know how +universally true that is.' + +'And yet,' came in a low voice from Marian, 'you say that you +love me.' + +'You mean that I speak as if no such thing as love existed. But +you asked me what I understood by success. I am speaking of +worldly things. Now suppose I had said to you: + +My one aim and desire in life is to win your love. Could you have +believed me? Such phrases are always untrue; I don't know how it +can give anyone pleasure to hear them. But if I say to you: All +the satisfactions I have described would be immensely heightened +if they were shared with a woman who loved me--there is the +simple truth.' + +Marian's heart sank. She did not want truth such as this; she +would have preferred that he should utter the poor, common +falsehoods. Hungry for passionate love, she heard with a sense of +desolation all this calm reasoning. That Jasper was of cold +temperament she had often feared; yet there was always the +consoling thought that she did not see with perfect clearness +into his nature. Now and then had come a flash, a hint of +possibilities. She had looked forward with trembling eagerness to +some sudden revelation; but it seemed as if he knew no word of +the language which would have called such joyous response from +her expectant soul. + +'We have talked for a long time,' she said, turning her head as +if his last words were of no significance. 'As Dora is not +coming, I think I will go now.' + +She rose, and went towards the chair on which lay her out-of-door +things. At once Jasper stepped to her side. + +'You will go without giving me any answer?' + +'Answer? To what?' + +'Will you be my wife?' + +'It is too soon to ask me that.' + +'Too soon? Haven't you known for months that I thought of you +with far more than friendliness?' + +'How was it possible I should know that? You have explained to me +why you would not let your real feelings be understood.' + +The reproach was merited, and not easy to be outfaced. He turned +away for an instant, then with a sudden movement caught both her +hands. + +'Whatever I have done or said or thought in the past, that is of +no account now. I love you, Marian. I want you to be my wife. I +have never seen any other girl who impressed me as you did from +the first. If I had been weak enough to try to win anyone but +you, I should have known that I had turned aside from the path of +my true happiness. Let us forget for a moment all our +circumstances. I hold your hands, and look into your face, and +say that I love you. Whatever answer you give, I love you!' + +Till now her heart had only fluttered a little; it was a great +part of her distress that the love she had so long nurtured +seemed shrinking together into some far corner of her being +whilst she listened to the discourses which prefaced Jasper's +declaration. She was nervous, painfully self-conscious, touched +with maidenly shame, but could not abandon herself to that +delicious emotion which ought to have been the fulfilment of all +her secret imaginings. Now at length there began a throbbing in +her bosom. Keeping her face averted, her eyes cast down, she +waited for a repetition of the note that was in that last 'I love +you.' She felt a change in the hands that held hers--a warmth, a +moist softness; it caused a shock through her veins. + +He was trying to draw her nearer, but she kept at full arm's +length and looked irresponsive. + +'Marian?' + +She wished to answer, but a spirit of perversity held her tongue. + +'Marian, don't you love me? Or have I offended you by my way of +speaking?' + +Persisting, she at length withdrew her hands. Jasper's face +expressed something like dismay. + +'You have not offended me,' she said. 'But I am not sure that you +don't deceive yourself in thinking, for the moment, that I am +necessary to your happiness.' + +The emotional current which had passed from her flesh to his +whilst their hands were linked, made him incapable of standing +aloof from her. He saw that her face and neck were warmer hued, +and her beauty became more desirable to him than ever yet. + +'You are more to me than anything else in the compass of life!' +he exclaimed, again pressing forward. 'I think of nothing but +you--you yourself--my beautiful, gentle, thoughtful Marian!' + +His arm captured her, and she did not resist. A sob, then a +strange little laugh, betrayed the passion that was at length +unfolded in her. + +'You do love me, Marian?' + +'I love you.' + +And there followed the antiphony of ardour that finds its first +utterance--a subdued music, often interrupted, ever returning +upon the same rich note. + +Marian closed her eyes and abandoned herself to the luxury of the +dream. It was her first complete escape from the world of +intellectual routine, her first taste of life. All the pedantry +of her daily toil slipped away like a cumbrous garment; she was +clad only in her womanhood. Once or twice a shudder of strange +self-consciousness went through her, and she felt guilty, +immodest; but upon that sensation followed a surge of passionate +joy, obliterating memory and forethought. + +'How shall I see you?' Jasper asked at length. 'Where can we +meet?' + +It was a difficulty. The season no longer allowed lingerings +under the open sky, but Marian could not go to his lodgings, and +it seemed impossible for him to visit her at her home. + +'Will your father persist in unfriendliness to me?' + +She was only just beginning to reflect on all that was involved +in this new relation. + +'I have no hope that he will change,' she said sadly. + +'He will refuse to countenance your marriage?' + +'I shall disappoint him and grieve him bitterly. He has asked me +to use my money in starting a new review.' + +'Which he is to edit?' + +'Yes. Do you think there would be any hope of its success?' + +Jasper shook his head. + +'Your father is not the man for that, Marian. I don't say it +disrespectfully; I mean that he doesn't seem to me to have that +kind of aptitude. It would be a disastrous speculation.' + +'I felt that. Of course I can't think of it now.' + +She smiled, raising her face to his. + +'Don't trouble,' said Jasper. 'Wait a little, till I have made +myself independent of Fadge and a few other men, and your father +shall see how heartily I wish to be of use to him. He will miss +your help, I'm afraid?' + +'Yes. I shall feel it a cruelty when I have to leave him. He has +only just told me that his sight is beginning to fail. Oh, why +didn't his brother leave him a little money? It was such +unkindness! Surely he had a much better right than Amy, or than +myself either. But literature has been a curse to father all his +life. My uncle hated it, and I suppose that was why he left +father nothing.' + +'But how am I to see you often? That's the first question. I know +what I shall do. I must take new lodgings, for the girls and +myself, all in the same house. We must have two sitting-rooms; +then you will come to my room without any difficulty. These +astonishing proprieties are so easily satisfied after all.' + +'You will really do that?' + +'Yes. I shall go and look for rooms to-morrow. Then when you come +you can always ask for Maud or Dora, you know. They will be very +glad of a change to more respectable quarters.' + +'I won't stay to see them now, Jasper,' said Marian, her thoughts +turning to the girls. + +'Very well. You are safe for another hour, but to make certain +you shall go at a quarter to five. Your mother won't be against +us?' + +'Poor mother--no. But she won't dare to justify me before +father.' + +'I feel as if I should play a mean part in leaving it to you to +tell your father. Marian, I will brave it out and go and see +him.' + +'Oh, it would be better not to.' + +'Then I will write to him--such a letter as he can't possibly +take in ill part.' + +Marian pondered this proposal. + +'You shall do that, Jasper, if you are willing. But not yet; +presently.' + +'You don't wish him to know at once?' + +'We had better wait a little. You know,' she added laughing, +'that my legacy is only in name mine as yet. The will hasn't been +proved. And then the money will have to be realised.' + +She informed him of the details; Jasper listened with his eyes on +the ground. + +They were now sitting on chairs drawn close to each other. It was +with a sense of relief that Jasper had passed from dithyrambs to +conversation on practical points; Marian's excited sensitiveness +could not but observe this, and she kept watching the motions of +his countenance. At length he even let go her hand. + +'You would prefer,' he said reflectively, 'that nothing should be +said to your father until that business is finished?' + +'If you consent to it.' + +'Oh, I have no doubt it's as well.' + +Her little phrase of self-subjection, and its tremulous tone, +called for another answer than this. Jasper fell again into +thought, and clearly it was thought of practical things. + +'I think I must go now, Jasper,' she said. + +'Must you? Well, if you had rather.' + +He rose, though she was still seated. Marian moved a few steps +away, but turned and approached him again. + +'Do you really love me?' she asked, taking one of his hands and +folding it between her own. + +'I do indeed love you, Marian. Are you still doubtful?' + +'You're not sorry that I must go?' + +'But I am, dearest. I wish we could sit here undisturbed all +through the evening.' + +Her touch had the same effect as before. His blood warmed again, +and he pressed her to his side, stroking her hair and kissing her +forehead. + +'Are you sorry I wear my hair short?' she asked, longing for more +praise than he had bestowed on her. + +'Sorry? It is perfect. Everything else seems vulgar compared with +this way of yours. How strange you would look with plaits and +that kind of thing!' + +'I am so glad it pleases you.' + +'There is nothing in you that doesn't please me, my thoughtful +girl.' + +'You called me that before. Do I seem so very thoughtful?' + +'So grave, and sweetly reserved, and with eyes so full of +meaning.' + +She quivered with delight, her face hidden against his breast. + +'I seem to be new-born, Jasper. Everything in the world is new to +me, and I am strange to myself. I have never known an hour of +happiness till now, and I can't believe yet that it has come to +me.' + +She at length attired herself, and they left the house together, +of course not unobserved by the landlady. Jasper walked about +half the way to St Paul's Crescent. It was arranged that he +should address a letter for her to the care of his sisters; but +in a day or two the change of lodgings would be effected. + +When they had parted, Marian looked back. But Jasper was walking +quickly away, his head bent, in profound meditation. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. A FRUITLESS MEETING + +Refuge from despair is often found in the passion of self-pity +and that spirit of obstinate resistance which it engenders. In +certain natures the extreme of self-pity is intolerable, and +leads to self-destruction; but there are less fortunate beings +whom the vehemence of their revolt against fate strengthens to +endure in suffering. These latter are rather imaginative than +passionate; the stages of their woe impress them as the acts of a +drama, which they cannot bring themselves to cut short, so +various are the possibilities of its dark motive. The +intellectual man who kills himself is most often brought to that +decision by conviction of his insignificance; self-pity merges in +self-scorn, and the humiliated soul is intolerant of existence. +He who survives under like conditions does so because misery +magnifies him in his own estimate. + +It was by force of commiserating his own lot that Edwin Reardon +continued to live through the first month after his parting from +Amy. Once or twice a week, sometimes early in the evening, +sometimes at midnight or later, he haunted the street at +Westbourne Park where his wife was dwelling, and on each occasion +he returned to his garret with a fortified sense of the injustice +to which he was submitted, of revolt against the circumstances +which had driven him into outer darkness, of bitterness against +his wife for saving her own comfort rather than share his +downfall. At times he was not far from that state of sheer +distraction which Mrs Edmund Yule preferred to suppose that he +had reached. An extraordinary arrogance now and then possessed +him; he stood amid his poor surroundings with the sensations of +an outraged exile, and laughed aloud in furious contempt of all +who censured or pitied him. + +On hearing from Jasper Milvain that Amy had fallen ill, or at all +events was suffering in health from what she had gone through, he +felt a momentary pang which all but determined him to hasten to +her side. The reaction was a feeling of distinct pleasure that +she had her share of pain, and even a hope that her illness might +become grave; he pictured himself summoned to her sick chamber, +imagined her begging his forgiveness. But it was not merely, nor +in great part, a malicious satisfaction; he succeeded in +believing that Amy suffered because she still had a remnant of +love for him. As the days went by and he heard nothing, +disappointment and resentment occupied him. At length he ceased +to haunt the neighbourhood. His desires grew sullen; he became +fixed in the resolve to hold entirely apart and doggedly await +the issue. + +At the end of each month he sent half the money he had received +from Carter, simply enclosing postal orders in an envelope +addressed to his wife. The first two remittances were in no way +acknowledged; the third brought a short note from Amy: + +'As you continue to send these sums of money, I had perhaps +better let you know that I cannot use them for any purposes of my +own. Perhaps a sense of duty leads you to make this sacrifice, +but I am afraid it is more likely that you wish to remind me +every month that you are undergoing privations, and to pain me in +this way. What you have sent I have deposited in the Post Office +Savings' Bank in Willie's name, and I shall continue to do so.-- +A.R.' + +For a day or two Reardon persevered in an intention of not +replying, but the desire to utter his turbid feelings became in +the end too strong. He wrote: + +'I regard it as quite natural that you should put the worst +interpretation on whatever I do. As for my privations, I think +very little of them; they are a trifle in comparison with the +thought that I am forsaken just because my pocket is empty. And I +am far indeed from thinking that you can be pained by whatever I +may undergo; that would suppose some generosity in your nature.' + +This was no sooner posted than he would gladly have recalled it. +He knew that it was undignified, that it contained as many +falsehoods as lines, and he was ashamed of himself for having +written so. But he could not pen a letter of retractation, and +there remained with him a new cause of exasperated wretchedness. + +Excepting the people with whom he came in contact at the +hospital, he had no society but that of Biffen. The realist +visited him once a week, and this friendship grew closer than it +had been in the time of Reardon's prosperity. Biffen was a man of +so much natural delicacy, that there was a pleasure in imparting +to him the details of private sorrow; though profoundly +sympathetic, he did his best to oppose Reardon's harsher +judgments of Amy, and herein he gave his friend a satisfaction +which might not be avowed. + +'I really do not see,' he exclaimed, as they sat in the garret +one night of midsummer, 'how your wife could have acted +otherwise. Of course I am quite unable to judge the attitude of +her mind, but I think, I can't help thinking, from what I knew of +her, that there has been strictly a misunderstanding between you. + +It was a hard and miserable thing that she should have to leave +you for a time, and you couldn't face the necessity in a just +spirit. Don't you think there's some truth in this way of looking +at it?' + +'As a woman, it was her part to soften the hateful necessity; she +made it worse.' + +'I'm not sure that you don't demand too much of her. Unhappily, I +know little or nothing of delicately-bred women, but I have a +suspicion that one oughtn't to expect heroism in them, any more +than in the women of the lower classes. I think of women as +creatures to be protected. Is a man justified in asking them to +be stronger than himself?' + +'Of course,' replied Reardon, 'there's no use in demanding more +than a character is capable of. But I believed her of finer +stuff. My bitterness comes of the disappointment.' + +'I suppose there were faults of temper on both sides, and you saw +at last only each other's weaknesses.' + +'I saw the truth, which had always been disguised from me.' +Biffen persisted in looking doubtful, and in secret Reardon +thanked him for it. + +As the realist progressed with his novel, 'Mr Bailey, Grocer,' he +read the chapters to Reardon, not only for his own satisfaction, +but in great part because he hoped that this example of +productivity might in the end encourage the listener to resume +his own literary tasks. Reardon found much to criticise in his +friend's work; it was noteworthy that he objected and condemned +with much less hesitation than in his better days, for sensitive +reticence is one of the virtues wont to be assailed by suffering, +at all events in the weaker natures. Biffen purposely urged these +discussions as far as possible, and doubtless they benefited +Reardon for the time; but the defeated novelist could not be +induced to undertake another practical illustration of his own +views. Occasionally he had an impulse to plan a story, but an +hour's turning it over in his mind sufficed to disgust him. His +ideas seemed barren, vapid; it would have been impossible for him +to write half a dozen pages, and the mere thought of a whole book +overcame him with the dread of insurmountable difficulties, +immeasurable toil. + +In time, however, he was able to read. He had a pleasure in +contemplating the little collection of sterling books that alone +remained to him from his library; the sight of many volumes would +have been a weariness, but these few--when he was again able to +think of books at all--were as friendly countenances. He could +not read continuously, but sometimes he opened his Shakespeare, +for instance, and dreamed over a page or two. From such glimpses +there remained in his head a line or a short passage, which he +kept repeating to himself wherever he went; generally some +example of sweet or sonorous metre which had a soothing effect +upon him. + +With odd result on one occasion. He was walking in one of the +back streets of Islington, and stopped idly to gaze into the +window of some small shop. Standing thus, he forgot himself and +presently recited aloud: + +'Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: An argument that he is pluck'd, +when hither He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, Which had +superfluous kings for messengers Not many moons gone by.' + +The last two lines he uttered a second time, enjoying their +magnificent sound, and then was brought back to consciousness by +the loud mocking laugh of two men standing close by, who +evidently looked upon him as a strayed lunatic. + +He kept one suit of clothes for his hours of attendance at the +hospital; it was still decent, and with much care would remain so +for a long time. That which he wore at home and in his street +wanderings declared poverty at every point; it had been discarded +before he left the old abode. In his present state of mind he +cared nothing how disreputable he looked to passers-by. These +seedy habiliments were the token of his degradation, and at times +he regarded them (happening to see himself in a shop mirror) with +pleasurable contempt. The same spirit often led him for a meal to +the poorest of eating-houses, places where he rubbed elbows with +ragged creatures who had somehow obtained the price of a cup of +coffee and a slice of bread and butter. He liked to contrast +himself with these comrades in misfortune. 'This is the rate at +which the world esteems me; I am worth no better provision than +this.' Or else, instead of emphasising the contrast, he defiantly +took a place among the miserables of the nether world, and nursed +hatred of all who were well-to-do. + +One of these he desired to regard with gratitude, but found it +difficult to support that feeling. Carter, the vivacious, though +at first perfectly unembarrassed in his relations with the City +Road clerk, gradually exhibited a change of demeanour. Reardon +occasionally found the young man's eye fixed upon him with a +singular expression, and the secretary's talk, though still as a +rule genial, was wont to suffer curious interruptions, during +which he seemed to be musing on something Reardon had said, or on +some point of his behaviour. The explanation of this was that +Carter had begun to think there might be a foundation for Mrs +Yule's hypothesis--that the novelist was not altogether in his +sound senses. At first he scouted the idea, but as time went on +it seemed to him that Reardon's countenance certainly had a gaunt +wildness which suggested disagreeable things. Especially did he +remark this after his return from an August holiday in Norway. On +coming for the first time to the City Road branch he sat down and +began to favour Reardon with a lively description of how he had +enjoyed himself abroad; it never occurred to him that such talk +was not likely to inspirit the man who had passed his August +between the garret and the hospital, but he observed before long +that his listener was glancing hither and thither in rather a +strange way. + +'You haven't been ill since I saw you?' he inquired. + +'Oh no!' + +'But you look as if you might have been. I say, we must manage +for you to have a fortnight off, you know, this month.' + +'I have no wish for it,' said Reardon. 'I'll imagine I have been +to Norway. It has done me good to hear of your holiday.' + +'I'm glad of that; but it isn't quite the same thing, you know, +as having a run somewhere yourself.' + +'Oh, much better! To enjoy myself may be mere selfishness, but to +enjoy another's enjoyment is the purest satisfaction, good for +body and soul. I am cultivating altruism.' + +'What's that?' + +'A highly rarefied form of happiness. The curious thing about it +is that it won't grow unless you have just twice as much faith in +it as is required for assent to the Athanasian Creed.' + +'Oh!' + +Carter went away more than puzzled. He told his wife that evening +that Reardon had been talking to him in the most extraordinary +fashion--no understanding a word he said. + +All this time he was on the look-out for employment that would be +more suitable to his unfortunate clerk. Whether slightly demented +or not, Reardon gave no sign of inability to discharge his +duties; he was conscientious as ever, and might, unless he +changed greatly, be relied upon in positions of more +responsibility than his present one. And at length, early in +October, there came to the secretary's knowledge an opportunity +with which he lost no time in acquainting Reardon. The latter +repaired that evening to Clipstone Street, and climbed to +Biffen's chamber. He entered with a cheerful look, and exclaimed: + +'I have just invented a riddle; see if you can guess it. Why is a +London lodging-house like the human body?' + +Biffen looked with some concern at his friend, so unwonted was a +sally of this kind. + +'Why is a London lodging-house--? Haven't the least idea.' + +'Because the brains are always at the top. Not bad, I think, eh?' + +'Well, no; it'll pass. Distinctly professional though. The +general public would fail to see the point, I'm afraid. But what +has come to you?' + +'Good tidings. Carter has offered me a place which will be a +decided improvement. A house found--or rooms, at all events--and +salary a hundred and fifty a year. + +'By Plutus! That's good hearing. Some duties attached, I +suppose?' + +'I'm afraid that was inevitable, as things go. It's the +secretaryship of a home for destitute boys at Croydon. The post +is far from a sinecure, Carter assures me. There's a great deal +of purely secretarial work, and there's a great deal of practical +work, some of it rather rough, I fancy. It seems doubtful whether +I am exactly the man. The present holder is a burly fellow over +six feet high, delighting in gymnastics, and rather fond of a +fight now and then when opportunity offers. But he is departing +at Christmas--going somewhere as a missionary; and I can have the +place if I choose.' + +'As I suppose you do?' + +'Yes. I shall try it, decidedly.' + +Biffen waited a little, then asked: + +'I suppose your wife will go with you?' + +'There's no saying.' + +Reardon tried to answer indifferently, but it could be seen that +he was agitated between hopes and fears. + +'You'll ask her, at all events?' + +'Oh yes,' was the half-absent reply. + +'But surely there can be no doubt that she'll come. A hundred and +fifty a year, without rent to pay. Why, that's affluence!' + +'The rooms I might occupy are in the home itself. Amy won't take +very readily to a dwelling of that kind. And Croydon isn't the +most inviting locality.' + +'Close to delightful country.' + +'Yes, yes; but Amy doesn't care about that.' + +'You misjudge her, Reardon. You are too harsh. I implore you not +to lose the chance of setting all right again! If only you could +be put into my position for a moment, and then be offered the +companionship of such a wife as yours!' + +Reardon listened with a face of lowering excitement. + +'I should be perfectly within my rights,' he said sternly, 'if I +merely told her when I have taken the position, and let her ask +me to take her back--if she wishes.' + +'You have changed a great deal this last year,' replied Biffen, +shaking his head, 'a great deal. I hope to see you your old self +again before long. I should have declared it impossible for you +to become so rugged. Go and see your wife, there's a good +fellow.' + +'No; I shall write to her.' + +'Go and see her, I beg you! No good ever came of letter-writing +between two people who have misunderstood each other. Go to +Westbourne Park to-morrow. And be reasonable; be more than +reasonable. The happiness of your life depends on what you do +now. Be content to forget whatever wrong has been done you. To +think that a man should need persuading to win back such a wife!' + +In truth, there needed little persuasion. Perverseness, one of +the forms or issues of self-pity, made him strive against his +desire, and caused him to adopt a tone of acerbity in excess of +what he felt; but already he had made up his mind to see Amy. +Even if this excuse had not presented itself he must very soon +have yielded to the longing for a sight of his wife's face which +day by day increased among all the conflicting passions of which +he was the victim. A month or two ago, when the summer sunshine +made his confinement to the streets a daily torture, he convinced +himself that there remained in him no trace of his love for Amy; +there were moments when he thought of her with repugnance, as a +cold, selfish woman, who had feigned affection when it seemed her +interest to do so, but brutally declared her true self when there +was no longer anything to be hoped from him. That was the self- +deception of misery. Love, even passion, was still alive in the +depths of his being; the animation with which he sped to his +friend as soon as a new hope had risen was the best proof of his +feeling. + +He went home and wrote to Amy. + +'I have a reason for wishing to see you. Will you have the +kindness to appoint an hour on Sunday morning when I can speak +with you in private? It must be understood that I shall see no +one else.' + +She would receive this by the first post to-morrow, Saturday, and +doubtless would let him hear in reply some time in the afternoon. +Impatience allowed him little sleep, and the next day was a long +weariness of waiting. The evening he would have to spend at the +hospital; if there came no reply before the time of his leaving +home, he knew not how he should compel himself to the ordinary +routine of work. Yet the hour came, and he had heard nothing. He +was tempted to go at once to Westbourne Park, but reason +prevailed with him. When he again entered the house, having +walked at his utmost speed from the City Road, the letter lay +waiting for him; it had been pushed beneath his door, and when he +struck a match he found that one of his feet was upon the white +envelope. + +Amy wrote that she would be at home at eleven to-morrow morning. +Not another word. + +In all probability she knew of the offer that had been made to +him; Mrs Carter would have told her. Was it of good or of ill +omen that she wrote only these half-dozen words? Half through the +night he plagued himself with suppositions, now thinking that her +brevity promised a welcome, now that she wished to warn him +against expecting anything but a cold, offended demeanour. At +seven he was dressed; two hours and a half had to be killed +before he could start on his walk westward. He would have +wandered about the streets, but it rained. + +He had made himself as decent as possible in appearance, but he +must necessarily seem an odd Sunday visitor at a house such as +Mrs Yule's. His soft felt hat, never brushed for months, was a +greyish green, and stained round the band with perspiration. His +necktie was discoloured and worn. Coat and waistcoat might pass +muster, but of the trousers the less said the better. One of his +boots was patched, and both were all but heelless. + +Very well; let her see him thus. Let her understand what it meant +to live on twelve and sixpence a week. + +Though it was cold and wet he could not put on his overcoat. +Three years ago it had been a fairly good ulster; at present, the +edges of the sleeves were frayed, two buttons were missing, and +the original hue of the cloth was indeterminable. + +At half-past nine he set out and struggled with his shabby +umbrella against wind and rain. Down Pentonville Hill, up Euston +Road, all along Marylebone Road, then north-westwards towards the +point of his destination. It was a good six miles from the one +house to the other, but he arrived before the appointed time, and +had to stray about until the cessation of bell-clanging and the +striking of clocks told him it was eleven. Then he presented +himself at the familiar door. + +On his asking for Mrs Reardon, he was at once admitted and led up +to the drawing-room; the servant did not ask his name. + +Then he waited for a minute or two, feeling himself a squalid +wretch amid the dainty furniture. The door opened. Amy, in a +simple but very becoming dress, approached to within a yard of +him; after the first glance she had averted her eyes, and she did +not offer to shake hands. He saw that his muddy and shapeless +boots drew her attention. + +'Do you know why I have come?' he asked. + +He meant the tone to be conciliatory, but he could not command +his voice, and it sounded rough, hostile. + +'I think so,' Amy answered, seating herself gracefully. She would +have spoken with less dignity but for that accent of his. + +'The Carters have told you?' + +'Yes; I have heard about it.' + +There was no promise in her manner. She kept her face turned +away, and Reardon saw its beautiful profile, hard and cold as +though in marble. + +'It doesn't interest you at all?' + +'I am glad to hear that a better prospect offers for you.' + +He did not sit down, and was holding his rusty hat behind his +back. + +'You speak as if it in no way concerned yourself. Is that what +you wish me to understand?' + +'Won't it be better if you tell me why you have come here? As you +are resolved to find offence in whatever I say, I prefer to keep +silence. Please to let me know why you have asked to see me.' + +Reardon turned abruptly as if to leave her, but checked himself +at a little distance. + +Both had come to this meeting prepared for a renewal of amity, +but in these first few moments each was so disagreeably impressed +by the look and language of the other that a revulsion of feeling +undid all the more hopeful effects of their long severance. On +entering, Amy had meant to offer her hand, but the unexpected +meanness of Reardon's aspect shocked and restrained her. All but +every woman would have experienced that shrinking from the livery +of poverty. Amy had but to reflect, and she understood that her +husband could in no wise help this shabbiness; when he parted +from her his wardrobe was already in a long-suffering condition, +and how was he to have purchased new garments since then? None +the less such attire degraded him in her eyes; it symbolised the +melancholy decline which he had suffered intellectually. On +Reardon his wife's elegance had the same repellent effect, though +this would not have been the case but for the expression of her +countenance. Had it been possible for them to remain together +during the first five minutes without exchange of words, +sympathies might have prevailed on both sides; the first speech +uttered would most likely have harmonised with their gentler +thoughts. But the mischief was done so speedily. + +A man must indeed be graciously endowed if his personal +appearance can defy the disadvantage of cheap modern clothing +worn into shapelessness. Reardon had no such remarkable physique, +and it was not wonderful that his wife felt ashamed of him. +Strictly ashamed; he seemed to her a social inferior; the +impression was so strong that it resisted all memory of his +spiritual qualities. She might have anticipated this state of +things, and have armed herself to encounter it, but somehow she +had not done so. For more than five months she had been living +among people who dressed well; the contrast was too suddenly +forced upon her. She was especially susceptible in such matters, +and had become none the less so under the demoralising influence +of her misfortunes. True, she soon began to feel ashamed of her +shame, but that could not annihilate the natural feeling and its +results. + +'I don't love him. I can't love him.' Thus she spoke to herself, +with immutable decision. She had been doubtful till now, but all +doubt was at an end. Had Reardon been practical man enough to +procure by hook or by crook a decent suit of clothes for this +interview, that ridiculous trifle might have made all the +difference in what was to result. + +He turned again, and spoke with the harshness of a man who feels +that he is despised, and is determined to show an equal contempt. + +'I came to ask you what you propose to do in case I go to +Croydon.' + +'I have no proposal to make whatever.' + +'That means, then, that you are content to go on living here?' + +'If I have no choice, I must make myself content.' + +'But you have a choice.' + +'None has yet been offered me.' + +'Then I offer it now,' said Reardon, speaking less aggressively. +'I shall have a dwelling rent free, and a hundred and fifty +pounds a year--perhaps it would be more in keeping with my +station if I say that I shall have something less than three +pounds a week. You can either accept from me half this money, as +up to now, or come and take your place again as my wife. Please +to decide what you will do.' + +'I will let you know by letter in a few days.' + +It seemed impossible to her to say she would return, yet a +refusal to do so involved nothing less than separation for the +rest of their lives. Postponement of decision was her only +resource. + +'I must know at once,' said Reardon. + +'I can't answer at once.' + +'If you don't, I shall understand you to mean that you refuse to +come to me. You know the circumstances; there is no reason why +you should consult with anyone else. You can answer me +immediately if you will.' + +'I don't wish to answer you immediately,' Amy replied, paling +slightly. + +'Then that decides it. When I leave you we are strangers to each +other.' + +Amy made a rapid study of his countenance. She had never +entertained for a moment the supposition that his wits were +unsettled, but none the less the constant recurrence of that idea +in her mother's talk had subtly influenced her against her +husband. It had confirmed her in thinking that his behaviour was +inexcusable. And now it seemed to her that anyone might be +justified in holding him demented, so reckless was his utterance. + +It was difficult to know him as the man who had loved her so +devotedly, who was incapable of an unkind word or look. + +'If that is what you prefer,' she said, 'there must be a formal +separation. I can't trust my future to your caprice.' + +'You mean it must be put into the hands of a lawyer?' + +'Yes, I do.' + +'That will be the best, no doubt.' + +'Very well; I will speak with my friends about it.' + +'Your friends!' he exclaimed bitterly. 'But for those friends of +yours, this would never have happened. I wish you had been alone +in the world and penniless.' + +'A kind wish, all things considered.' + +'Yes, it is a kind wish. Then your marriage with me would have +been binding; you would have known that my lot was yours, and the +knowledge would have helped your weakness. I begin to see how +much right there is on the side of those people who would keep +women in subjection. You have been allowed to act with +independence, and the result is that you have ruined my life and +debased your own. If I had been strong enough to treat you as a +child, and bid you follow me wherever my own fortunes led, it +would have been as much better for you as for me. I was weak, and +I suffer as all weak people do.' + +'You think it was my duty to share such a home as you have at +present?' + +'You know it was. And if the choice had lain between that and +earning your own livelihood you would have thought that even such +a poor home might be made tolerable. There were possibilities in +you of better things than will ever come out now.' + +There followed a silence. Amy sat with her eyes gloomily fixed on +the carpet; Reardon looked about the room, but saw nothing. He +had thrown his hat into a chair, and his fingers worked nervously +together behind his back. + +'Will you tell me,' he said at length, 'how your position is +regarded by these friends of yours? I don't mean your mother and +brother, but the people who come to this house.' + +'I have not asked such people for their opinion.' + +'Still, I suppose some sort of explanation has been necessary in +your intercourse with them. How have you represented your +relations with me?' + +'I can't see that that concerns you.' + +'In a manner it does. Certainly it matters very little to me how +I am thought of by people of this kind, but one doesn't like to +be reviled without cause. Have you allowed it to be supposed that +I have made life with me intolerable for you?' + +'No, I have not. You insult me by asking the question, but as you +don't seem to understand feelings of that kind I may as well +answer you simply.' + +'Then have you told them the truth? That I became so poor you +couldn't live with me?' + +'I have never said that in so many words, but no doubt it is +understood. It must be known also that you refused to take the +step which might have helped you out of your difficulties.' + +'What step?' + +She reminded him of his intention to spend half a year in working +at the seaside. + +'I had utterly forgotten it,' he returned with a mocking laugh. +'That shows how ridiculous such a thing would have been.' + +'You are doing no literary work at all?' Amy asked. + +'Do you imagine that I have the peace of mind necessary for +anything of that sort?' + +This was in a changed voice. It reminded her so strongly of her +husband before his disasters that she could not frame a reply. + +'Do you think I am able to occupy myself with the affairs of +imaginary people?' + +'I didn't necessarily mean fiction.' + +'That I can forget myself, then, in the study of literature?--I +wonder whether you really think of me like that. How, in Heaven's +name, do you suppose I spend my leisure time?' + +She made no answer. + +'Do you think I take this calamity as light-heartedly as you do, +Amy?' + +'I am far from taking it light-heartedly.' + +'Yet you are in good health. I see no sign that you have +suffered.' + +She kept silence. Her suffering had been slight enough, and +chiefly due to considerations of social propriety; but she would +not avow this, and did not like to make admission of it to +herself. Before her friends she frequently affected to conceal a +profound sorrow; but so long as her child was left to her she was +in no danger of falling a victim to sentimental troubles. + +'And certainly I can't believe it,' he continued, 'now you +declare your wish to be formally separated from me.' + +'I have declared no such wish.' + +'Indeed you have. If you can hesitate a moment about returning to +me when difficulties are at an end, that tells me you would +prefer final separation.' + +'I hesitate for this reason,' Amy said after reflecting. 'You are +so very greatly changed from what you used to be, that I think it +doubtful if I could live with you.' + +'Changed?--Yes, that is true, I am afraid. But how do you think +this change will affect my behaviour to you?' + +'Remember how you have been speaking to me.' + +'And you think I should treat you brutally if you came into my +power?' + +'Not brutally, in the ordinary sense of the word. But with faults +of temper which I couldn't bear. I have my own faults. I can't +behave as meekly as some women can.' + +It was a small concession, but Reardon made much of it. + +'Did my faults of temper give you any trouble during the first +year of our married life?' he asked gently. + +'No,' she admitted. + +'They began to afflict you when I was so hard driven by +difficulties that I needed all your sympathy, all your +forbearance. Did I receive much of either from you, Amy?' + +'I think you did--until you demanded impossible things of me.' + +'It was always in your power to rule me. What pained me worst, +and hardened me against you, was that I saw you didn't care to +exert your influence. There was never a time when I could have +resisted a word of yours spoken out of your love for me. But even +then, I am afraid, you no longer loved me, and now--' + +He broke off, and stood watching her face. + +'Have you any love for me left?' burst from his lips, as if the +words all but choked him in the utterance. + +Amy tried to shape some evasive answer, but could say nothing. + +'Is there ever so small a hope that I might win some love from +you again?' + +'If you wish me to come and live with you when you go to Croydon +I will do so.' + +'But that is not answering me, Amy.' + +'It's all I can say.' + +'Then you mean that you would sacrifice yourself out of--what? +Out of pity for me, let us say.' + +'Do you wish to see Willie?' asked Amy, instead of replying. + +'No. It is you I have come to see. The child is nothing to me, +compared with you. It is you, who loved me, who became my wife-- +you only I care about. Tell me you will try to be as you used to +be. Give me only that hope, Amy; I will ask nothing except that, +now.' + +'I can't say anything except that I will come to Croydon if you +wish it.' + +'And reproach me always because you have to live in such a place, +away from your friends, without a hope of the social success +which was your dearest ambition?' + +Her practical denial that she loved him wrung this taunt from his +anguished heart. He repented the words as soon as they were +spoken. + +'What is the good?' exclaimed Amy in irritation, rising and +moving away from him. 'How can I pretend that I look forward to +such a life with any hope?' + +He stood in mute misery, inwardly cursing himself and his fate. + +'I have said I will come,' she continued, her voice shaken with +nervous tension. 'Ask me or not, as you please, when you are +ready to go there. I can't talk about it.' + +'I shall not ask you,' he replied. 'I will have no woman slave +dragging out a weary life with me. Either you are my willing +wife, or you are nothing to me.' + +'I am married to you, and that can't be undone. I repeat that I +shan't refuse to obey you. I shall say no more.' + +She moved to a distance, and there seated herself, half turned +from him. + +'I shall never ask you to come,' said Reardon, breaking a short +silence. 'If our married life is ever to begin again it must be +of your seeking. Come to me of your own will, and I shall never +reject you. But I will die in utter loneliness rather than ask +you again.' + +He lingered a few moments, watching her; she did not move. Then +he took his hat, went in silence from the room, and left the +house. + +It rained harder than before. As no trains were running at this +hour, he walked in the direction where he would be likely to meet +with an omnibus. But it was a long time before one passed which +was any use to him. When he reached home he was in cheerless +plight enough; to make things pleasanter, one of his boots had +let in water abundantly. + +'The first sore throat of the season, no doubt,' he muttered to +himself. + +Nor was he disappointed. By Tuesday the cold had firm grip of +him. A day or two of influenza or sore throat always made him so +weak that with difficulty he supported the least physical +exertion; but at present he must go to his work at the hospital. +Why stay at home? To what purpose spare himself? It was not as if +life had any promise for him. He was a machine for earning so +much money a week, and would at least give faithful work for his +wages until the day of final breakdown. + +But, midway in the week, Carter discovered how ill his clerk was. + +'You ought to be in bed, my dear fellow, with gruel and mustard +plasters and all the rest of it. Go home and take care of +yourself--I insist upon it.' + +Before leaving the office, Reardon wrote a few lines to Biffen, +whom he had visited on the Monday. 'Come and see me if you can. I +am down with a bad cold, and have to keep in for the rest of the +week. All the same, I feel far more cheerful. Bring a new chapter +of your exhilarating romance.' + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. MARRIED WOMAN'S PROPERTY + +On her return from church that Sunday Mrs Edmund Yule was anxious +to learn the result of the meeting between Amy and her husband. +She hoped fervently that Amy's anomalous position would come to +an end now that Reardon had the offer of something better than a +mere clerkship. John Yule never ceased to grumble at his sister's +permanence in the house, especially since he had learnt that the +money sent by Reardon each month was not made use of; why it +should not be applied for household expenses passed his +understanding. + +'It seems to me,' he remarked several times, 'that the fellow +only does his bare duty in sending it. What is it to anyone else +whether he lives on twelve shillings a week or twelve pence? It +is his business to support his wife; if he can't do that, to +contribute as much to her support as possible. Amy's scruples are +all very fine, if she could afford them; it's very nice to pay +for your delicacies of feeling out of other people's pockets.' + +'There'll have to be a formal separation,' was the startling +announcement with which Amy answered her mother's inquiry as to +what had passed. + +'A separation? But, my dear--!' + +Mrs Yule could not express her disappointment and dismay. + +'We couldn't live together; it's no use trying.' + +'But at your age, Amy! How can you think of anything so shocking? +And then, you know it will be impossible for him to make you a +sufficient allowance.' + +'I shall have to live as well as I can on the seventy-five pounds +a year. If you can't afford to let me stay with you for that, I +must go into cheap lodgings in the country, like poor Mrs Butcher +did.' + +This was wild talking for Amy. The interview had upset her, and +for the rest of the day she kept apart in her own room. On the +morrow Mrs Yule succeeded in eliciting a clear account of the +conversation which had ended so hopelessly. + +'I would rather spend the rest of my days in the workhouse than +beg him to take me back,' was Amy's final comment, uttered with +the earnestness which her mother understood but too well. + +'But you are willing to go back, dear?' + +'I told him so.' + +'Then you must leave this to me. The Carters will let us know how +things go on, and when it seems to be time I must see Edwin +myself.' + +'I can't allow that. Anything you could say on your own account +would be useless, and there is nothing to say from me.' + +Mrs Yule kept her own counsel. She had a full month before her +during which to consider the situation, but it was clear to her +that these young people must be brought together again. Her +estimate of Reardon's mental condition had undergone a sudden +change from the moment when she heard that a respectable post was +within his reach; she decided that he was 'strange,' but then all +men of literary talent had marked singularities, and doubtless +she had been too hasty in interpreting the peculiar features +natural to a character such as his. + +A few days later arrived the news of their relative's death at +Wattleborough. + +This threw Mrs Yule into a commotion. At first she decided to +accompany her son and be present at the funeral; after changing +her mind twenty times, she determined not to go. John must send +or bring back the news as soon as possible. That it would be of a +nature sensibly to affect her own position, if not that of her +children, she had little doubt; her husband had been the +favourite brother of the deceased, and on that account there was +no saying how handsome a legacy she might receive. She dreamt of +houses in South Kensington, of social ambitions gratified even +thus late. + +On the morning after the funeral came a postcard announcing +John's return by a certain train, but no scrap of news was added. + +'Just like that irritating boy! We must go to the station to meet +him. You'll come, won't you, Amy?' + +Amy readily consented, for she too had hopes, though +circumstances blurred them. Mother and daughter were walking +about the platform half an hour before the train was due; their +agitation would have been manifest to anyone observing them. When +at length the train rolled in and John was discovered, they +pressed eagerly upon him. + +'Don't you excite yourself,' he said gruffly to his mother. +'There's no reason whatever.' + +Mrs Yule glanced in dismay at Amy. They followed John to a cab, +and took places with him. + +'Now don't be provoking, Jack. Just tell us at once.' + +'By all means. You haven't a penny.' + +'I haven't? You are joking, ridiculous boy!' + +'Never felt less disposed to, I assure you.' + +After staring out of the window for a minute or two, he at length +informed Amy of the extent to which she profited by her uncle's +decease, then made known what was bequeathed to himself. His +temper grew worse every moment, and he replied savagely to each +successive question concerning the other items of the will. + +'What have you to grumble about?' asked Amy, whose face was +exultant notwithstanding the drawbacks attaching to her good +fortune. 'If Uncle Alfred receives nothing at all, and mother has +nothing, you ought to think yourself very lucky.' + +'It's very easy for you to say that, with your ten thousand.' + +'But is it her own?' asked Mrs Yule. 'Is it for her separate +use?' + +'Of course it is. She gets the benefit of last year's Married +Woman's Property Act. The will was executed in January this year, +and I dare say the old curmudgeon destroyed a former one. + +'What a splendid Act of Parliament that is!' cried Amy. 'The only +one worth anything that I ever heard of.' + +'But my dear--' began her mother, in a tone of protest. However, +she reserved her comment for a more fitting time and place, and +merely said: 'I wonder whether he had heard what has been going +on?' + +'Do you think he would have altered his will if he had?' asked +Amy with a smile of security. + +'Why the deuce he should have left you so much in any case is +more than I can understand,' growled her brother. 'What's the use +to me of a paltry thousand or two? It isn't enough to invest; +isn't enough to do anything with.' + +'You may depend upon it your cousin Marian thinks her five +thousand good for something,' said Mrs Yule. 'Who was at the +funeral? Don't be so surly, Jack; tell us all about it. I'm sure +if anyone has cause to be ill-tempered it's poor me.' + +Thus they talked, amid the rattle of the cab-wheels. By when they +reached home silence had fallen upon them, and each one was +sufficiently occupied with private thoughts. + +Mrs Yule's servants had a terrible time of it for the next few +days. Too affectionate to turn her ill-temper against John and +Amy, she relieved herself by severity to the domestic slaves, as +an English matron is of course justified in doing. Her daughter's +position caused her even more concern than before; she constantly +lamented to herself: 'Oh, why didn't he die before she was +married!'--in which case Amy would never have dreamt of wedding a +penniless author. Amy declined to discuss the new aspect of +things until twenty-four hours after John's return; then she +said: + +'I shall do nothing whatever until the money is paid to me. And +what I shall do then I don't know.' + +'You are sure to hear from Edwin,' opined Mrs Yule. + +'I think not. He isn't the kind of man to behave in that way.' + +'Then I suppose you are bound to take the first step?' + +'That I shall never do.' + +She said so, but the sudden happiness of finding herself wealthy +was not without its softening effect on Amy's feelings. Generous +impulses alternated with moods of discontent. The thought of her +husband in his squalid lodgings tempted her to forget injuries +and disillusions, and to play the part of a generous wife. It +would be possible now for them to go abroad and spend a year or +two in healthful travel; the result in Reardon's case might be +wonderful. He might recover all the energy of his imagination, +and resume his literary career from the point he had reached at +the time of his marriage. + +On the other hand, was it not more likely that he would lapse +into a life of scholarly self-indulgence, such as he had often +told her was his ideal? In that event, what tedium and regret lay +before her! Ten thousand pounds sounded well, but what did it +represent in reality? A poor four hundred a year, perhaps; mere +decency of obscure existence, unless her husband could glorify it +by winning fame. If he did nothing, she would be the wife of a +man who had failed in literature. She would not be able to take a +place in society. Life would be supported without struggle; +nothing more to be hoped. + +This view of the future possessed her strongly when, on the +second day, she went to communicate her news to Mrs Carter. This +amiable lady had now become what she always desired to be, Amy's +intimate friend; they saw each other very frequently, and +conversed of most things with much frankness. It was between +eleven and twelve in the morning when Amy paid her visit, and she +found Mrs Carter on the point of going out. + +'I was coming to see you,' cried Edith. 'Why haven't you let me +know of what has happened?' + +'You have heard, I suppose?' + +'Albert heard from your brother.' + +'I supposed he would. And I haven't felt in the mood for talking +about it, even with you.' + +They went into Mrs Carter's boudoir, a tiny room full of such +pretty things as can be purchased nowadays by anyone who has a +few shillings to spare, and tolerable taste either of their own +or at second-hand. Had she been left to her instincts, Edith +would have surrounded herself with objects representing a much +earlier stage of artistic development; but she was quick to +imitate what fashion declared becoming. Her husband regarded her +as a remarkable authority in all matters of personal or domestic +ornamentation. + +'And what are you going to do?' she inquired, examining Amy from +head to foot, as if she thought that the inheritance of so +substantial a sum must have produced visible changes in her +friend. + +'I am going to do nothing.' + +'But surely you're not in low spirits?' + +'What have I to rejoice about?' + +They talked for a while before Amy brought herself to utter what +she was thinking. + +'Isn't it a most ridiculous thing that married people who both +wish to separate can't do so and be quite free again?' + +'I suppose it would lead to all sorts of troubles--don't you +think?' + +'So people say about every new step in civilisation. What would +have been thought twenty years ago of a proposal to make all +married women independent of their husbands in money matters? All +sorts of absurd dangers were foreseen, no doubt. And it's the +same now about divorce. In America people can get divorced if +they don't suit each other--at all events in some of the States-- +and does any harm come of it? Just the opposite I should think.' + +Edith mused. Such speculations were daring, but she had grown +accustomed to think of Amy as an 'advanced' woman, and liked to +imitate her in this respect. + +'It does seem reasonable,' she murmured. + +'The law ought to encourage such separations, instead of +forbidding them,' Amy pursued. 'If a husband and wife find that +they have made a mistake, what useless cruelty it is to condemn +them to suffer the consequences for the whole of their lives!' + +'I suppose it's to make people careful,' said Edith, with a +laugh. + +'If so, we know that it has always failed, and always will fail; +so the sooner such a profitless law is altered the better. Isn't +there some society for getting that kind of reform? I would +subscribe fifty pounds a year to help it. Wouldn't you?' + +'Yes, if I had it to spare,' replied the other. + +Then they both laughed, but Edith the more naturally. + +'Not on my own account, you know,' she added. + +'It's because women who are happily married can't and won't +understand the position of those who are not that there's so much +difficulty in reforming marriage laws.' + +'But I understand you, Amy, and I grieve about you. What you are +to do I can't think.' + +'Oh, it's easy to see what I shall do. Of course I have no choice +really. And I ought to have a choice; that's the hardship and the +wrong of it. Perhaps if I had, I should find a sort of pleasure +in sacrificing myself.' + +There were some new novels on the table; Amy took up a volume +presently, and glanced over a page or two. + +'I don't know how you can go on reading that sort of stuff, book +after book,' she exclaimed. + +'Oh, but people say this last novel of Markland's is one of his +best.' + +'Best or worst, novels are all the same. Nothing but love, love, +love; what silly nonsense it is! Why don't people write about the +really important things of life? Some of the French novelists do; +several of Balzac's, for instance. I have just been reading his +"Cousin Pons," a terrible book, but I enjoyed it ever so much +because it was nothing like a love story. What rubbish is printed +about love!' + +'I get rather tired of it sometimes,' admitted Edith with +amusement. + +'I should hope you do, indeed. What downright lies are accepted +as indisputable! That about love being a woman's whole life; who +believes it really? Love is the most insignificant thing in most +women's lives. It occupies a few months, possibly a year or two, +and even then I doubt if it is often the first consideration.' + +Edith held her head aside, and pondered smilingly. + +'I'm sure there's a great opportunity for some clever novelist +who will never write about love at all.' + +'But then it does come into life.' + +'Yes, for a month or two, as I say. Think of the biographies of +men and women; how many pages are devoted to their love affairs? +Compare those books with novels which profess to be biographies, +and you see how false such pictures are. Think of the very words +"novel," "romance"--what do they mean but exaggeration of one bit +of life?' + +'That may be true. But why do people find the subject so +interesting?' + +'Because there is so little love in real life. That's the truth +of it. Why do poor people care only for stories about the rich? +The same principle.' + +'How clever you are, Amy!' + +'Am I? It's very nice to be told so. Perhaps I have some +cleverness of a kind; but what use is it to me? My life is being +wasted. I ought to have a place in the society of clever people. +I was never meant to live quietly in the background. Oh, if I +hadn't been in such a hurry, and so inexperienced!' + +'Oh, I wanted to ask you,' said Edith, soon after this. 'Do you +wish Albert to say anything about you--at the hospital?' + +'There's no reason why he shouldn't.' + +'You won't even write to say--?' + +'I shall do nothing.' + +Since the parting from her husband, there had proceeded in Amy a +noticeable maturing of intellect. Probably the one thing was a +consequence of the other. During that last year in the flat her +mind was held captive by material cares, and this arrest of her +natural development doubtless had much to do with the appearance +of acerbity in a character which had displayed so much sweetness, +so much womanly grace. Moreover, it was arrest at a critical +point. When she fell in love with Edwin Reardon her mind had +still to undergo the culture of circumstances; though a woman in +years she had seen nothing of life but a few phases of artificial +society, and her education had not progressed beyond the final +schoolgirl stage. Submitting herself to Reardon's influence, she +passed through what was a highly useful training of the +intellect; but with the result that she became clearly conscious +of the divergence between herself and her husband. In +endeavouring to imbue her with his own literary tastes, Reardon +instructed Amy as to the natural tendencies of her mind, which +till then she had not clearly understood. When she ceased to read +with the eyes of passion, most of the things which were Reardon's +supreme interests lost their value for her. A sound intelligence +enabled her to think and feel in many directions, but the special +line of her growth lay apart from that in which the novelist and +classical scholar had directed her. + +When she found herself alone and independent, her mind acted like +a spring when pressure is removed. After a few weeks of +desoeuvrement she obeyed the impulse to occupy herself with a +kind of reading alien to Reardon's sympathies. The solid +periodicals attracted her, and especially those articles which +dealt with themes of social science. Anything that savoured of +newness and boldness in philosophic thought had a charm for her +palate. She read a good deal of that kind of literature which may +be defined as specialism popularised; writing which addresses +itself to educated, but not strictly studious, persons, and which +forms the reservoir of conversation for society above the sphere +of turf and west-endism. Thus, for instance, though she could not +undertake the volumes of Herbert Spencer, she was intelligently +acquainted with the tenor of their contents; and though she had +never opened one of Darwin's books, her knowledge of his main +theories and illustrations was respectable. She was becoming a +typical woman of the new time, the woman who has developed +concurrently with journalistic enterprise. + +Not many days after that conversation with Edith Carter, she had +occasion to visit Mudie's, for the new number of some periodical +which contained an appetising title. As it was a sunny and warm +day she walked to New Oxford Street from the nearest Metropolitan +station. Whilst waiting at the library counter, she heard a +familiar voice in her proximity; it was that of Jasper Milvain, +who stood talking with a middle-aged lady. As Amy turned to look +at him his eye met hers; clearly he had been aware of her. The +review she desired was handed to her; she moved aside, and turned +over the pages. Then Milvain walked up. + +He was armed cap-a-pie in the fashions of suave society; no +Bohemianism of garb or person, for Jasper knew he could not +afford that kind of economy. On her part, Amy was much better +dressed than usual, a costume suited to her position of bereaved +heiress. + +'What a time since we met!' said Jasper, taking her delicately +gloved hand and looking into her face with his most effective +smile. + +'And why?' asked Amy. + +'Indeed, I hardly know. I hope Mrs Yule is well?' + +'Quite, thank you.' + +It seemed as if he would draw back to let her pass, and so make +an end of the colloquy. But Amy, though she moved forward, added +a remark: + +'I don't see your name in any of this month's magazines.' + +'I have nothing signed this month. A short review in The Current, +that's all.' + +'But I suppose you write as much as ever?' + +'Yes; but chiefly in weekly papers just now. You don't see the +Will-o'-the-Wisp?' + +'Oh yes. And I think I can generally recognise your hand.' + +They issued from the library. + +'Which way are you going?' Jasper inquired, with something more +of the old freedom. + +'I walked from Gower Street station, and I think, as it's so +fine, I shall walk back again.' + +He accompanied her. They turned up Museum Street, and Amy, after +a short silence, made inquiry concerning his sisters. + +'I am sorry I saw them only once, but no doubt you thought it +better to let the acquaintance end there.' + +'I really didn't think of it in that way at all,' Jasper +replied.'We naturally understood it so, when you even ceased to +call, yourself.' + +'But don't you feel that there would have been a good deal of +awkwardness in my coming to Mrs Yule's?' + +'Seeing that you looked at things from my husband's point of +view?' + +'Oh, that's a mistake! I have only seen your husband once since +he went to Islington.' + +Amy gave him a look of surprise. + +'You are not on friendly terms with him?' + +'Well, we have drifted apart. For some reason he seemed to think +that my companionship was not very profitable. So it was better, +on the whole, that I should see neither you nor him.' + +Amy was wondering whether he had heard of her legacy. He might +have been informed by a Wattleborough correspondent, even if no +one in London had told him. + +'Do your sisters keep up their friendship with my cousin Marian?' +she asked, quitting the previous difficult topic. + +'Oh yes!' He smiled. 'They see a great deal of each other.' + +'Then of course you have heard of my uncle's death?' + +'Yes. I hope all your difficulties are now at an end.' + +Amy delayed a moment, then said: 'I hope so,' without any +emphasis. + +'Do you think of spending this winter abroad?' + +It was the nearest he could come to a question concerning the +future of Amy and her husband. + +'Everything is still quite uncertain. But tell me something about +our old acquaintances. How does Mr Biffen get on?' + +'I scarcely ever see him, but I think he pegs away at an +interminable novel, which no one will publish when it's done. +Whelpdale I meet occasionally.' + +He talked of the latter's projects and achievements in a lively +strain. + +'Your own prospects continue to brighten, no doubt,' said Amy. + +'I really think they do. Things go fairly well. And I have lately +received a promise of very valuable help.' + +'From whom?' + +'A relative of yours.' + +Amy turned to interrogate him with a look. + +'A relative? You mean--?' + +'Yes; Marian.' + +They were passing Bedford Square. Amy glanced at the trees, now +almost bare of foliage; then her eyes met Jasper's, and she +smiled significantly. + +'I should have thought your aim would have been far more +ambitious,' she said, with distinct utterance. + +'Marian and I have been engaged for some time--practically.' + +'Indeed? I remember now how you once spoke of her. And you will +be married soon?' + +'Probably before the end of the year. I see that you are +criticising my motives. I am quite prepared for that in everyone +who knows me and the circumstances. But you must remember that I +couldn't foresee anything of this kind. It enables us to marry +sooner, that's all.' + +'I am sure your motives are unassailable,' replied Amy, still +with a smile. 'I imagined that you wouldn't marry for years, and +then some distinguished person. This throws new light upon your +character.' + +'You thought me so desperately scheming and cold-blooded?' + +'Oh dear no! But--well, to be sure, I can't say that I know +Marian. I haven't seen her for years and years. She may be +admirably suited to you.' + +'Depend upon it, I think so.' + +'She's likely to shine in society? She is a brilliant girl, full +of tact and insight?' + +'Scarcely all that, perhaps.' + +He looked dubiously at his companion. + +'Then you have abandoned your old ambitions?' Amy pursued. + +'Not a bit of it. I am on the way to achieve them.' + +'And Marian is the ideal wife to assist you?' + +'From one point of view, yes. Pray, why all this ironic +questioning?' + +'Not ironic at all.' + +'It sounded very much like it, and I know from of old that you +have a tendency that way.' + +'The news surprised me a little, I confess. But I see that I am +in danger of offending you.' + +'Let us wait another five years, and then I will ask your opinion +as to the success of my marriage. I don't take a step of this +kind without maturely considering it. Have I made many blunders +as yet?' + +'As yet, not that I know of.' + +'Do I impress you as one likely to commit follies?' + +'I had rather wait a little before answering that.' + +'That is to say, you prefer to prophesy after the event. Very +well, we shall see.' + +In the length of Gower Street they talked of several other things +less personal. By degrees the tone of their conversation had +become what it was used to be, now and then almost confidential. + +'You are still at the same lodgings?' asked Amy, as they drew +near to the railway station. + +'I moved yesterday, so that the girls and I could be under the +same roof--until the next change.' + +'You will let us know when that takes place?' + +He promised, and with exchange of smiles which were something +like a challenge they took leave of each other. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. THE LONELY MAN + +A touch of congestion in the right lung was a warning to Reardon +that his half-year of insufficient food and general waste of +strength would make the coming winter a hard time for him, worse +probably than the last. Biffen, responding in person to the +summons, found him in bed, waited upon by a gaunt, dry, +sententious woman of sixty--not the landlady, but a lodger who +was glad to earn one meal a day by any means that offered. + +'It wouldn't be very nice to die here, would it?' said the +sufferer, with a laugh which was cut short by a cough. 'One would +like a comfortable room, at least. Why, I don't know. I dreamt +last night that I was in a ship that had struck something and was +going down; and it wasn't the thought of death that most +disturbed me, but a horror of being plunged in the icy water. In +fact, I have had just the same feeling on shipboard. I remember +waking up midway between Corfu and Brindisi, on that shaky tub of +a Greek boat; we were rolling a good deal, and I heard a sort of +alarmed rush and shouting up on deck. It was so warm and +comfortable in the berth, and I thought with intolerable horror +of the possibility of sousing into the black depths.' + +'Don't talk, my boy,' advised Biffen. 'Let me read you the new +chapter of "Mr Bailey." It may induce a refreshing slumber.' + +Reardon was away from his duties for a week; he returned to them +with a feeling of extreme shakiness, an indisposition to exert +himself, and a complete disregard of the course that events were +taking. It was fortunate that he had kept aside that small store +of money designed for emergencies; he was able to draw on it now +to pay his doctor, and provide himself with better nourishment +than usual. He purchased new boots, too, and some articles of +warm clothing of which he stood in need--an alarming outlay. + +A change had come over him; he was no longer rendered miserable +by thoughts of Amy--seldom, indeed, turned his mind to her at +all. His secretaryship at Croydon was a haven within view; the +income of seventy-five pounds (the other half to go to his wife) +would support him luxuriously, and for anything beyond that he +seemed to care little. Next Sunday he was to go over to Croydon +and see the institution. + +One evening of calm weather he made his way to Clipstone Street +and greeted his friend with more show of light-heartedness than +he had been capable of for at least two years. + +'I have been as nearly as possible a happy man all to-day,' he +said, when his pipe was well lit. 'Partly the sunshine, I +suppose. There's no saying if the mood will last, but if it does +all is well with me. I regret nothing and wish for nothing.' + +'A morbid state of mind,' was Biffen's opinion. + +'No doubt of that, but I am content to be indebted to morbidness. +One must have a rest from misery somehow. Another kind of man +would have taken to drinking; that has tempted me now and then, I +assure you. But I couldn't afford it. Did you ever feel tempted +to drink merely for the sake of forgetting trouble?' + +'Often enough. I have done it. I have deliberately spent a +certain proportion of the money that ought to have gone for food +in the cheapest kind of strong liquor.' + +'Ha! that's interesting. But it never got the force of a habit +you had to break?' + +'No. Partly, I dare say, because I had the warning of poor Sykes +before my eyes.' + +'You never see that poor fellow?' + +'Never. He must be dead, I think. He would die either in the +hospital or the workhouse.' + +'Well,' said Reardon, musing cheerfully, 'I shall never become a +drunkard; I haven't that diathesis, to use your expression. +Doesn't it strike you that you and I are very respectable +persons? We really have no vices. Put us on a social pedestal, +and we should be shining lights of morality. I sometimes wonder +at our inoffensiveness. Why don't we run amuck against law and +order? Why, at the least, don't we become savage revolutionists, +and harangue in Regent's Park of a Sunday?' + +'Because we are passive beings, and were meant to enjoy life very +quietly. As we can't enjoy, we just suffer quietly, that's all. +By-the-bye, I want to talk about a difficulty in one of the +Fragments of Euripides. Did you ever go through the Fragments?' + +This made a diversion for half an hour. Then Reardon returned to +his former line of thought. + +'As I was entering patients yesterday, there came up to the table +a tall, good-looking, very quiet girl, poorly dressed, but as +neat as could be. She gave me her name, then I asked +"Occupation?" She said at once, "I'm unfortunate, sir." I +couldn't help looking up at her in surprise; I had taken it for +granted she was a dressmaker or something of the kind. And, do +you know, I never felt so strong an impulse to shake hands, to +show sympathy, and even respect, in some way. I should have liked +to say, "Why, I am unfortunate, too!" such a good, patient face +she had.' + +'I distrust such appearances,' said Biffen in his quality of +realist. + +'Well, so do I, as a rule. But in this case they were convincing. +And there was no need whatever for her to make such a +declaration; she might just as well have said anything else; it's +the merest form. I shall always hear her voice saying, "I'm +unfortunate, sir." She made me feel what a mistake it was for me +to marry such a girl as Amy. I ought to have looked about for +some simple, kind-hearted work-girl; that was the kind of wife +indicated for me by circumstances. If I had earned a hundred a +year she would have thought we were well-to-do. I should have +been an authority to her on everything under the sun--and above +it. No ambition would have unsettled her. We should have lived in +a couple of poor rooms somewhere, and--we should have loved each +other.' + +'What a shameless idealist you are!' said Biffen, shaking his +head. 'Let me sketch the true issue of such a marriage. To begin +with, the girl would have married you in firm persuasion that you +were a "gentleman" in temporary difficulties, and that before +long you would have plenty of money to dispose of. Disappointed +in this hope, she would have grown sharp-tempered, querulous, +selfish. All your endeavours to make her understand you would +only have resulted in widening the impassable gulf. She would +have misconstrued your every sentence, found food for suspicion +in every harmless joke, tormented you with the vulgarest forms of +jealousy. The effect upon your nature would have been degrading. +In the end, you must have abandoned every effort to raise her to +your own level, and either have sunk to hers or made a rupture. +Who doesn't know the story of such attempts? I myself ten years +ago, was on the point of committing such a folly, but, Heaven be +praised! an accident saved me.' + +'You never told me that story.' + +'And don't care to now. I prefer to forget it.' + +'Well, you can judge for yourself but not for me. Of course I +might have chosen the wrong girl, but I am supposing that I had +been fortunate. In any case there would have been a much better +chance than in the marriage that I made.' + +'Your marriage was sensible enough, and a few years hence you +will be a happy man again.' + +'You seriously think Amy will come back to me?' + +'Of course I do.' + +'Upon my word, I don't know that I desire it.' + +'Because you are in a strangely unhealthy state.' + +'I rather think I regard the matter more sanely than ever yet. I +am quite free from sexual bias. I can see that Amy was not my fit +intellectual companion, and all emotion at the thought of her has +gone from me. The word "love" is a weariness to me. If only our +idiotic laws permitted us to break the legal bond, how glad both +of us would be!' + +'You are depressed and anaemic. Get yourself in flesh, and view +things like a man of this world.' + +'But don't you think it the best thing that can happen to a man +if he outgrows passion?' + +'In certain circumstances, no doubt.' + +'In all and any. The best moments of life are those when we +contemplate beauty in the purely artistic spirit--objectively. I +have had such moments in Greece and Italy; times when I was a +free spirit, utterly remote from the temptations and harassings +of sexual emotion. What we call love is mere turmoil. Who +wouldn't release himself from it for ever, if the possibility +offered?' + +'Oh, there's a good deal to be said for that, of course.' + +Reardon's face was illumined with the glow of an exquisite +memory. + +'Haven't I told you,' he said, 'of that marvellous sunset at +Athens? I was on the Pnyx; had been rambling about there the +whole afternoon. For I dare say a couple of hours I had noticed a +growing rift of light in the clouds to the west; it looked as if +the dull day might have a rich ending. That rift grew broader and +brighter--the only bit of light in the sky. On Parnes there were +white strips of ragged mist, hanging very low; the same on +Hymettus, and even the peak of Lycabettus was just hidden. Of a +sudden, the sun's rays broke out. They showed themselves first in +a strangely beautiful way, striking from behind the seaward hills +through the pass that leads to Eleusis, and so gleaming on the +nearer slopes of Aigaleos, making the clefts black and the +rounded parts of the mountain wonderfully brilliant with golden +colour. All the rest of the landscape, remember, was untouched +with a ray of light. This lasted only a minute or two, then the +sun itself sank into the open patch of sky and shot glory in +every direction; broadening beams smote upwards over the dark +clouds, and made them a lurid yellow. To the left of the sun, the +gulf of Aegina was all golden mist, the islands floating in it +vaguely. To the right, over black Salamis, lay delicate strips of +pale blue--indescribably pale and delicate.' + +'You remember it very clearly.' + +'As if I saw it now! But wait. I turned eastward, and there to my +astonishment was a magnificent rainbow, a perfect semicircle, +stretching from the foot of Parnes to that of Hymettus, framing +Athens and its hills, which grew brighter and brighter--the +brightness for which there is no name among colours. Hymettus was +of a soft misty warmth, a something tending to purple, its ridges +marked by exquisitely soft and indefinite shadows, the rainbow +coming right down in front. The Acropolis simply glowed and +blazed. As the sun descended all these colours grew richer and +warmer; for a moment the landscape was nearly crimson. Then +suddenly the sun passed into the lower stratum of cloud, and the +splendour died almost at once, except that there remained the +northern half of the rainbow, which had become double. In the +west, the clouds were still glorious for a time; there were two +shaped like great expanded wings, edged with refulgence.' + +'Stop!' cried Biffen, 'or I shall clutch you by the throat. I +warned you before that I can't stand those reminiscences.' + +'Live in hope. Scrape together twenty pounds, and go there, if +you die of hunger afterwards.' + +'I shall never have twenty shillings,' was the despondent answer. + +'I feel sure you will sell "Mr Bailey."' + +'It's kind of you to encourage me; but if "Mr Bailey" is ever +sold I don't mind undertaking to eat my duplicate of the proofs.' + +'But now, you remember what led me to that. What does a man care +for any woman on earth when he is absorbed in contemplation of +that kind?' + +'But it is only one of life's satisfactions.' + +'I am only maintaining that it is the best, and infinitely +preferable to sexual emotion. It leaves, no doubt, no bitterness +of any kind. Poverty can't rob me of those memories. I have lived +in an ideal world that was not deceitful, a world which seems to +me, when I recall it, beyond the human sphere, bathed in diviner +light.' + +It was four or five days after this that Reardon, on going to his +work in City Road, found a note from Carter. It requested him to +call at the main hospital at half-past eleven the next morning. +He supposed the appointment had something to do with his business +at Croydon, whither he had been in the mean time. Some +unfavourable news, perhaps; any misfortune was likely. + +He answered the summons punctually, and on entering the general +office was requested by the clerk to wait in Mr Carter's private +room; the secretary had not yet arrived. His waiting lasted some +ten minutes, then the door opened and admitted, not Carter, but +Mrs Edmund Yule. + +Reardon stood up in perturbation. He was anything but prepared, +or disposed, for an interview with this lady. She came towards +him with hand extended and a countenance of suave friendliness. + +'I doubted whether you would see me if I let you know,' she said. +'Forgive me this little bit of scheming, will you? I have +something so very important to speak to you about.' + +He said nothing, but kept a demeanour of courtesy. + +'I think you haven't heard from Amy?' Mrs Yule asked. + +'Not since I saw her.' + +'And you don't know what has come to pass?' + +'I have heard of nothing.' + +'I am come to see you quite on my own responsibility, quite. I +took Mr Carter into my confidence, but begged him not to let Mrs +Carter know, lest she should tell Amy; I think he will keep his +promise. It seemed to me that it was really my duty to do +whatever I could in these sad, sad circumstances.' + +Reardon listened respectfully, but without sign of feeling. + +'I had better tell you at once that Amy's uncle at Wattleborough +is dead, and that in his will he has bequeathed her ten thousand +pounds.' + +Mrs Yule watched the effect of this. For a moment none was +visible, but she saw at length that Reardon's lips trembled and +his eyebrows twitched. + +'I am glad to hear of her good fortune,' he said distantly and in +even tones. + +'You will feel, I am sure,' continued his mother-in-law, 'that +this must put an end to your most unhappy differences.' + +'How can it have that result?' + +'It puts you both in a very different position, does it not? But +for your distressing circumstances, I am sure there would never +have been such unpleasantness--never. Neither you nor Amy is the +kind of person to take a pleasure in disagreement. Let me beg you +to go and see her again. Everything is so different now. Amy has +not the faintest idea that I have come to see you, and she +mustn't on any account be told, for her worst fault is that +sensitive pride of hers. And I'm sure you won't be offended, +Edwin, if I say that you have very much the same failing. Between +two such sensitive people differences might last a lifetime, +unless one could be persuaded to take the first step. Do be +generous! A woman is privileged to be a little obstinate, it is +always said. Overlook the fault, and persuade her to let bygones +be bygones.' + +There was an involuntary affectedness in Mrs Yule's speech which +repelled Reardon. He could not even put faith in her assurance +that Amy knew nothing of this intercession. In any case it was +extremely distasteful to him to discuss such matters with Mrs +Yule. + +'Under no circumstances could I do more than I already have +done,' he replied. 'And after what you have told me, it is +impossible for me to go and see her unless she expressly invites +me.' + +'Oh, if only you would overcome this sensitiveness!' + +'It is not in my power to do so. My poverty, as you justly say, +was the cause of our parting; but if Amy is no longer poor, that +is very far from a reason why I should go to her as a suppliant +for forgiveness.' + +'But do consider the facts of the case, independently of feeling. + +I really think I don't go too far in saying that at least some-- +some provocation was given by you first of all. I am so very, +very far from wishing to say anything disagreeable--I am sure you +feel that--but wasn't there some little ground for complaint on +Amy's part? Wasn't there, now?' + +Reardon was tortured with nervousness. He wished to be alone, to +think over what had happened, and Mrs Yule's urgent voice rasped +upon his ears. Its very smoothness made it worse. + +'There may have been ground for grief and concern,' he answered, +'but for complaint, no, I think not.' + +'But I understand'--the voice sounded rather irritable now--'that +you positively reproached and upbraided her because she was +reluctant to go and live in some very shocking place.' + +'I may have lost my temper after Amy had shown-- But I can't +review our troubles in this way.' + +'Am I to plead in vain?' + +'I regret very much that I can't possibly do as you wish. It is +all between Amy and myself. Interference by other people cannot +do any good.' + +'I am sorry you should use such a word as "interference,"' +replied Mrs Yule, bridling a little. 'Very sorry, indeed. I +confess it didn't occur to me that my good-will to you could be +seen in that light.' + +'Believe me that I didn't use the word offensively.' + +'Then you refuse to take any step towards a restoration of good +feeling?' + +'I am obliged to, and Amy would understand perfectly why I say +so.' + +His earnestness was so unmistakable that Mrs Yule had no choice +but to rise and bring the interview to an end. She commanded +herself sufficiently to offer a regretful hand. + +'I can only say that my daughter is very, very unfortunate.' + +Reardon lingered a little after her departure, then left the +hospital and walked at a rapid pace in no particular direction. + +Ah! if this had happened in the first year of his marriage, what +more blessed man than he would have walked the earth! But it came +after irreparable harm. No amount of wealth could undo the ruin +caused by poverty. + +It was natural for him, as soon as he could think with +deliberation, to turn towards his only friend. But on calling at +the house in Clipstone Street he found the garret empty, and no +one could tell him when its occupant was likely to be back. He +left a note, and made his way back to Islington. The evening had +to be spent at the hospital, but on his return Biffen sat waiting +for him. + +'You called about twelve, didn't you?' the visitor inquired. + +'Half-past.' + +'I was at the police-court. Odd thing--but it always happens so-- +that I should have spoken of Sykes the other night. Last night I +came upon a crowd in Oxford Street, and the nucleus of it was no +other than Sykes himself very drunk and disorderly, in the grip +of two policemen. Nothing could be done for him; I was useless as +bail; he e'en had to sleep in the cell. But I went this morning +to see what would become of him. Such a spectacle when they +brought him forward! It was only five shillings fine, and to my +astonishment he produced the money. I joined him outside--it +required a little courage--and had a long talk with him. He's +writing a London Letter for some provincial daily, and the first +payment had thrown him off his balance.' + +Reardon laughed gaily, and made inquiries about the eccentric +gentleman. Only when the subject was exhausted did he speak of +his own concerns, relating quietly what he had learnt from Mrs +Yule. Biffen's eyes widened. + +'So,' Reardon cried with exultation, 'there is the last burden +off my mind! Henceforth I haven't a care! The only thing that +still troubled me was my inability to give Amy enough to live +upon. Now she is provided for in secula seculorum. Isn't this +grand news?' + +'Decidedly. But if she is provided for, so are you.' + +'Biffen, you know me better. Could I accept a farthing of her +money? This has made our coming together again for ever +impossible, unless--unless dead things can come to life. I know +the value of money, but I can't take it from Amy.' + +The other kept silence. + +'No! But now everything is well. She has her child, and can +devote herself to bringing the boy up. And I--but I shall be rich +on my own account. A hundred and fifty a year; it would be a +farce to offer Amy her share of it. By all the gods of Olympus, +we will go to Greece together, you and I!' + +'Pooh!' + +'I swear it! Let me save for a couple of years, and then get a +good month's holiday, or more if possible, and, as Pallas Athene +liveth! we shall find ourselves at Marseilles, going aboard some +boat of the Messageries. I can't believe yet that this is true. +Come, we will have a supper to-night. Come out into Upper Street, +and let us eat, drink, and be merry!' + +'You are beside yourself. But never mind; let us rejoice by all +means. There's every reason.' + +'That poor girl! Now, at last, she'll be at ease.' + +'Who?' + +'Amy, of course! I'm delighted on her account. Ah! but if it had +come a long time ago, in the happy days! Then she, too, would +have gone to Greece, wouldn't she? Everything in life comes too +soon or too late. What it would have meant for her and for me! +She would never have hated me then, never. Biffen, am I base or +contemptible? She thinks so. That's how poverty has served me. If +you had seen her, how she looked at me, when we met the other +day, you would understand well enough why I couldn't live with +her now, not if she entreated me to. That would make me base if +you like. Gods! how ashamed I should be if I yielded to such a +temptation! And once--' + +He had worked himself to such intensity of feeling that at length +his voice choked and tears burst from his eyes. + +'Come out, and let us have a walk,' said Biffen. + +On leaving the house they found themselves in a thick fog, +through which trickled drops of warm rain. Nevertheless, they +pursued their purpose, and presently were seated in one of the +boxes of a small coffee-shop. Their only companion in the place +was a cab-driver, who had just finished a meal, and was now +nodding into slumber over his plate and cup. Reardon ordered +fried ham and eggs, the luxury of the poor, and when the +attendant woman was gone away to execute the order, he burst into +excited laughter. + +'Here we sit, two literary men! How should we be regarded by-- ' + +He named two or three of the successful novelists of the day. + +'With what magnificent scorn they would turn from us and our +squalid feast! They have never known struggle; not they. They are +public-school men, University men, club men, society men. An +income of less than three or four hundred a year is inconceivable +to them; that seems the minimum for an educated man's support. It +would be small-minded to think of them with rancour, but, by +Apollo! I know that we should change places with them if the work +we have done were justly weighed against theirs.' + +'What does it matter? We are different types of intellectual +workers. I think of them savagely now and then, but only when +hunger gets a trifle too keen. Their work answers a demand; ours- +-or mine at all events--doesn't. They are in touch with the +reading multitude; they have the sentiments of the respectable; +they write for their class. Well, you had your circle of readers, +and, if things hadn't gone against you, by this time you +certainly could have counted on your three or four hundred a +year.' + +'It's unlikely that I should ever have got more than two hundred +pounds for a book; and, to have kept at my best, I must have been +content to publish once every two or three years. The position +was untenable with no private income. And I must needs marry a +wife of dainty instincts! What astounding impudence! No wonder +Fate pitched me aside into the gutter.' + +They ate their ham and eggs, and exhilarated themselves with a +cup of chicory--called coffee. Then Biffen drew from the pocket +of his venerable overcoat the volume of Euripides he had brought, +and their talk turned once more to the land of the sun. Only when +the coffee-shop was closed did they go forth again into the foggy +street, and at the top of Pentonville Hill they stood for ten +minutes debating a metrical effect in one of the Fragments. + +Day after day Reardon went about with a fever upon him. By +evening his pulse was always rapid, and no extremity of weariness +brought him a refreshing sleep. In conversation he seemed either +depressed or excited, more often the latter. Save when attending +to his duties at the hospital, he made no pretence of employing +himself; if at home, he sat for hours without opening a book, and +his walks, excepting when they led him to Clipstone Street, were +aimless. + +The hours of postal delivery found him waiting in an anguish of +suspense. At eight o'clock each morning he stood by his window, +listening for the postman's knock in the street. As it approached +he went out to the head of the stairs, and if the knock sounded +at the door of his house, he leaned over the banisters, trembling +in expectation. But the letter was never for him. When his +agitation had subsided he felt glad of the disappointment, and +laughed and sang. + +One day Carter appeared at the City Road establishment, and made +an opportunity of speaking to his clerk in private. + +'I suppose,' he said with a smile, 'they'll have to look out for +someone else at Croydon?' + +'By no means! The thing is settled. I go at Christmas.' + +'You really mean that?' + +'Undoubtedly.' + +Seeing that Reardon was not disposed even to allude to private +circumstances, the secretary said no more, and went away +convinced that misfortunes had turned the poor fellow's brain. + +Wandering in the city, about this time, Reardon encountered his +friend the realist. + +'Would you like to meet Sykes?' asked Biffen. 'I am just going to +see him.' + +'Where does he live?' + +'In some indiscoverable hole. To save fuel, he spends his +mornings at some reading-rooms; the admission is only a penny, +and there he can see all the papers and do his writing and enjoy +a grateful temperature.' + +They repaired to the haunt in question. A flight of stairs +brought them to a small room in which were exposed the daily +newspapers; another ascent, and they were in a room devoted to +magazines, chess, and refreshments; yet another, and they reached +the department of weekly publications; lastly, at the top of the +house, they found a lavatory, and a chamber for the use of those +who desired to write. The walls of this last retreat were of blue +plaster and sloped inwards from the floor; along them stood +school desks with benches, and in one place was suspended a +ragged and dirty card announcing that paper and envelopes could +be purchased downstairs. An enormous basket full of waste-paper, +and a small stove, occupied two corners; ink blotches, satirical +designs, and much scribbling in pen and pencil served for mural +adornment. From the adjacent lavatory came sounds of splashing +and spluttering, and the busy street far below sent up its +confused noises. + +Two persons only sat at the desks. One was a hunger-bitten, out- +of-work clerk, evidently engaged in replying to advertisements; +in front of him lay two or three finished letters, and on the +ground at his feet were several crumpled sheets of note-paper, +representing abortive essays in composition. The other man, also +occupied with the pen, looked about forty years old, and was clad +in a very rusty suit of tweeds; on the bench beside him lay a +grey overcoat and a silk hat which had for some time been +moulting. His face declared the habit to which he was a victim, +but it had nothing repulsive in its lineaments and expression; on +the contrary, it was pleasing, amiable, and rather quaint. At +this moment no one would have doubted his sobriety. With +coat-sleeve turned back, so as to give free play to his right +hand and wrist, revealing meanwhile a flannel shirt of singular +colour, and with his collar unbuttoned (he wore no tie) to leave +his throat at ease as he bent myopically over the paper, he was +writing at express speed, evidently in the full rush of the +ardour of composition. The veins of his forehead were dilated, +and his chin pushed forward in a way that made one think of a +racing horse. + +'Are you too busy to talk?' asked Biffen, going to his side. + +'I am! Upon my soul I am!' exclaimed the other looking up in +alarm. 'For the love of Heaven don't put me out! A quarter of an +hour!' + +'All right. I'll come up again.' + +The friends went downstairs and turned over the papers. + +'Now let's try him again,' said Biffen, when considerably more +than the requested time had elapsed. They went up, and found Mr +Sykes in an attitude of melancholy meditation. He had turned back +his coat sleeve, had buttoned his collar, and was eyeing the +slips of completed manuscript. Biffen presented his companion, +and Mr Sykes greeted the novelist with much geniality. + +'What do you think this is?' he exclaimed, pointing to his work. +'The first instalment of my autobiography for the "Shropshire +Weekly Herald." Anonymous, of course, but strictly veracious, +with the omission of sundry little personal failings which are +nothing to the point. I call it "Through the Wilds of Literary +London." An old friend of mine edits the "Herald," and I'm +indebted to him for the suggestion.' + +His voice was a trifle husky, but he spoke like a man of +education. + +'Most people will take it for fiction. I wish I had inventive +power enough to write fiction anything like it. I have published +novels, Mr Reardon, but my experience in that branch of +literature was peculiar --as I may say it has been in most others +to which I have applied myself. My first stories were written for +"The Young Lady's Favourite," and most remarkable productions +they were, I promise you. That was fifteen years ago, in the days +of my versatility. I could throw off my supplemental novelette of +fifteen thousand words without turning a hair, and immediately +after it fall to, fresh as a daisy, on the "Illustrated History +of the United States," which I was then doing for Edward Coghlan. +But presently I thought myself too good for the "Favourite"; in +an evil day I began to write three-volume novels, aiming at +reputation. It wouldn't do. I persevered for five years, and made +about five failures. Then I went back to Bowring. "Take me on +again, old man, will you?" Bowring was a man of few words; he +said, "Blaze away, my boy." And I tried to. But it was no use; I +had got out of the style; my writing was too literary by a long +chalk. For a whole year I deliberately strove to write badly, but +Bowring was so pained with the feebleness of my efforts that at +last he sternly bade me avoid his sight. "What the devil," he +roared one day, "do you mean by sending me stories about men and +women? You ought to know better than that, a fellow of your +experience!" So I had to give it up, and there was an end of my +career as a writer of fiction.' + +He shook his head sadly. + +'Biffen,' he continued, 'when I first made his acquaintance, had +an idea of writing for the working classes; and what do you think +he was going to offer them? Stories about the working classes! +Nay, never hang your head for it, old boy; it was excusable in +the days of your youth. Why, Mr Reardon, as no doubt you know +well enough, nothing can induce working men or women to read +stories that treat of their own world. They are the most consumed +idealists in creation, especially the women. Again and again +work-girls have said to me: "Oh, I don't like that book; it's +nothing but real life."' + +'It's the fault of women in general,' remarked Reardon. + +'So it is, but it comes out with delicious naivete in the working +classes. Now, educated people like to read of scenes that are +familiar to them, though I grant you that the picture must be +idealised if you're to appeal to more than one in a thousand. The +working classes detest anything that tries to represent their +daily life. It isn't because that life is too painful; no, no; +it's downright snobbishness. Dickens goes down only with the best +of them, and then solely because of his strength in farce and his +melodrama.' + +Presently the three went out together, and had dinner at an a la +mode beef shop. Mr Sykes ate little, but took copious libations +of porter at twopence a pint. When the meal was over he grew +taciturn. + +'Can you walk westwards?' Biffen asked. + +'I'm afraid not, afraid not. In fact I have an appointment at +two--at Aldgate station.' + +They parted from him. + +'Now he'll go and soak till he's unconscious,' said Biffen. 'Poor +fellow! Pity he ever earns anything at all. The workhouse would +be better, I should think.' + +'No, no! Let a man drink himself to death rather. I have a horror +of the workhouse. Remember the clock at Marylebone I used to tell +you about.' + +'Unphilosophic. I don't think I should be unhappy in the +workhouse. I should have a certain satisfaction in the thought +that I had forced society to support me. And then the absolute +freedom from care! Why, it's very much the same as being a man of +independent fortune.' + +It was about a week after this, midway in November, that there at +length came to Manville Street a letter addressed in Amy's hand. +It arrived at three one afternoon; Reardon heard the postman, but +he had ceased to rush out on every such occasion, and to-day he +was feeling ill. Lying upon the bed, he had just raised his head +wearily when he became aware that someone was mounting to his +room. He sprang up, his face and neck flushing. + +This time Amy began 'Dear Edwin'; the sight of those words made +his brain swim. + +'You must, of course, have heard [she wrote] that my uncle John +has left me ten thousand pounds. It has not yet come into my +possession, and I had decided that I would not write to you till +that happened, but perhaps you may altogether misunderstand my +silence. + +'If this money had come to me when you were struggling so hard to +earn a living for us, we should never have spoken the words and +thought the thoughts which now make it so difficult for me to +write to you. What I wish to say is that, although the property +is legally my own, I quite recognise that you have a right to +share in it. Since we have lived apart you have sent me far more +than you could really afford, believing it your duty to do so; +now that things are so different I wish you, as well as myself, +to benefit by the change. + +'I said at our last meeting that I should be quite prepared to +return to you if you took that position at Croydon. There is now +no need for you to pursue a kind of work for which you are quite +unfitted, and I repeat that I am willing to live with you as +before. If you will tell me where you would like to make a new +home I shall gladly agree. I do not think you would care to leave +London permanently, and certainly I should not. + +'Please to let me hear from you as soon as possible. In writing +like this I feel that I have done what you expressed a wish that +I should do. I have asked you to put an end to our separation, +and I trust that I have not asked in vain. + +'Yours always, + +'AMY REARDON.' + +The letter fell from his hand. It was such a letter as he might +have expected, but the beginning misled him, and as his agitation +throbbed itself away he suffered an encroachment of despair which +made him for a time unable to move or even think. + +His reply, written by the dreary twilight which represented +sunset, ran thus. + +'Dear Amy,--I thank you for your letter, and I appreciate your +motive in writing it. But if you feel that you have "done what I +expressed a wish that you should do," you must have strangely +misunderstood me. + +'The only one thing that I wished was, that by some miracle your +love for me might be revived. Can I persuade myself that this is +the letter of a wife who desires to return to me because in her +heart she loves me? If that is the truth you have been most +unfortunate in trying to express yourself. + +'You have written because it seemed your duty to do so. But, +indeed, a sense of duty such as this is a mistaken one. You have +no love for me, and where there is no love there is no mutual +obligation in marriage. Perhaps you think that regard for social +conventions will necessitate your living with me again. But have +more courage; refuse to act falsehoods; tell society it is base +and brutal, and that you prefer to live an honest life. + +'I cannot share your wealth, dear. But as you have no longer need +of my help--as we are now quite independent of each other--I +shall cease to send the money which hitherto I have considered +yours. In this way I shall have enough, and more than enough, for +my necessities, so that you will never have to trouble yourself +with the thought that I am suffering privations. At Christmas I +go to Croydon, and I will then write to you again. + +'For we may at all events be friendly. My mind is relieved from +ceaseless anxiety on your account. I know now that you are safe +from that accursed poverty which is to blame for all our +sufferings. You I do not blame, though I have sometimes done so. +My own experience teaches me how kindness can be embittered by +misfortune. Some great and noble sorrow may have the effect of +drawing hearts together, but to struggle against destitution, to +be crushed by care about shillings and sixpences--that must +always degrade. + +'No other reply than this is possible, so I beg you not to write +in this way again. Let me know if you go to live elsewhere. I +hope Willie is well, and that his growth is still a delight and +happiness to you. + +'EDWIN REARDON.' + +That one word 'dear,' occurring in the middle of the letter, gave +him pause as he read the lines over. Should he not obliterate it, +and even in such a way that Amy might see what he had done? His +pen was dipped in the ink for that purpose, but after all he held +his hand. Amy was still dear to him, say what he might, and if +she noted the word--if she pondered over it-- + +A street gas lamp prevented the room from becoming absolutely +dark. When he had closed the envelope he lay down on his bed +again, and watched the flickering yellowness upon the ceiling. He +ought to have some tea before going to the hospital, but he cared +so little for it that the trouble of boiling water was too great. + +The flickering light grew fainter; he understood at length that +this was caused by fog that had begun to descend. The fog was his +enemy; it would be wise to purchase a respirator if this hideous +weather continued, for sometimes his throat burned, and there was +a rasping in his chest which gave disagreeable admonition. + +He fell asleep for half an hour, and on awaking he was feverish, +as usual at this time of day. Well, it was time to go to his +work. Ugh! That first mouthful of fog! + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. INTERIM + +The rooms which Milvain had taken for himself and his sisters +were modest, but more expensive than their old quarters. As the +change was on his account he held himself responsible for the +extra outlay. But for his immediate prospects this step would +have been unwarrantable, as his earnings were only just +sufficient for his needs on the previous footing. He had resolved +that his marriage must take place before Christmas; till that +event he would draw when necessary upon the girls' little store, +and then repay them out of Marian's dowry. + +'And what are we to do when you are married?' asked Dora. + +The question was put on the first evening of their being all +under the same roof. The trio had had supper in the girls' +sitting-room, and it was a moment for frank conversation. Dora +rejoiced in the coming marriage; her brother had behaved +honourably, and Marian, she trusted, would be very happy, +notwithstanding disagreement with her father, which seemed +inevitable. Maud was by no means so well pleased, though she +endeavoured to wear smiles. It looked to her as if Jasper had +been guilty of a kind of weakness not to be expected in him. +Marian, as an individual, could not be considered an appropriate +wife for such a man with such a future; and as for her five +thousand pounds, that was ridiculous. Had it been ten-- something +can be made of ten thousand; but a paltry five! Maud's ideas on +such subjects had notably expanded of late, and one of the +results was that she did not live so harmoniously with her sister +as for the first few months of their London career. + +'I have been thinking a good deal about that,' replied Jasper to +the younger girl's question. He stood with his back to the fire +and smoked a cigarette. 'I thought at first of taking a flat; but +then a flat of the kind I should want would be twice the rent of +a large house. If we have a house with plenty of room in it you +might come and live with us after a time. At first I must find +you decent lodgings in our neighbourhood.' + +'You show a good deal of generosity, Jasper,' said Maud, 'but +pray remember that Marian isn't bringing you five thousand a +year.' + +'I regret to say that she isn't. What she brings me is five +hundred a year for ten years--that's how I look at it. My own +income will make it something between six or seven hundred at +first, and before long probably more like a thousand. I am quite +cool and collected. I understand exactly where I am, and where I +am likely to be ten years hence. Marian's money is to be spent in +obtaining a position for myself. At present I am spoken of as a +"smart young fellow," and that kind of thing; but no one would +offer me an editorship, or any other serious help. Wait till I +show that I have helped myself and hands will be stretched to me +from every side. 'Tis the way of the world. I shall belong to a +club; I shall give nice, quiet little dinners to selected people; +I shall let it be understood by all and sundry that I have a +social position. Thenceforth I am quite a different man, a man to +be taken into account. And what will you bet me that I don't +stand in the foremost rank of literary reputabilities ten years +hence?' + +'I doubt whether six or seven hundred a year will be enough for +this.' + +'If not, I am prepared to spend a thousand. Bless my soul! As if +two or three years wouldn't suffice to draw out the mean +qualities in the kind of people I am thinking of! I say ten, to +leave myself a great margin.' + +'Marian approves this?' + +'I haven't distinctly spoken of it. But she approves whatever I +think good.' + +The girls laughed at his way of pronouncing this. + +'And let us just suppose that you are so unfortunate as to fail?' + +'There's no supposing it, unless, of course, I lose my health. I +am not presuming on any wonderful development of powers. Such as +I am now, I need only to be put on the little pedestal of a +decent independence and plenty of people will point fingers of +admiration at me. You don't fully appreciate this. Mind, it +wouldn't do if I had no qualities. I have the qualities; they +only need bringing into prominence. If I am an unknown man, and +publish a wonderful book, it will make its way very slowly, or +not at all. If I, become a known man, publish that very same +book, its praise will echo over both hemispheres. I should be +within the truth if I had said "a vastly inferior book," But I am +in a bland mood at present. Suppose poor Reardon's novels had +been published in the full light of reputation instead of in the +struggling dawn which was never to become day, wouldn't they have +been magnified by every critic? You have to become famous before +you can secure the attention which would give fame.' + +He delivered this apophthegm with emphasis, and repeated it in +another form. + +'You have to obtain reputation before you can get a fair hearing +for that which would justify your repute. It's the old story of +the French publisher who said to Dumas: "Make a name, and I'll +publish anything you write." "But how the diable," cries the +author, "am I to make a name if I can't get published?" If a man +can't hit upon any other way of attracting attention, let him +dance on his head in the middle of the street; after that he may +hope to get consideration for his volume of poems. I am speaking +of men who wish to win reputation before they are toothless. Of +course if your work is strong, and you can afford to wait, the +probability is that half a dozen people will at last begin to +shout that you have been monstrously neglected, as you have. But +that happens when you are hoary and sapless, and when nothing +under the sun delights you.' + +He lit a new cigarette. + +'Now I, my dear girls, am not a man who can afford to wait. First +of all, my qualities are not of the kind which demand the +recognition of posterity. My writing is for to-day, most +distinctly hodiernal. It has no value save in reference to +to-day. The question is: How can I get the eyes of men fixed upon +me? The answer: By pretending I am quite independent of their +gaze. I shall succeed, without any kind of doubt; and then I'll +have a medal struck to celebrate the day of my marriage.' + +But Jasper was not quite so well assured of the prudence of what +he was about to do as he wished his sisters to believe. The +impulse to which he had finally yielded still kept its force; +indeed, was stronger than ever since the intimacy of lovers' +dialogue had revealed to him more of Marian's heart and mind. +Undeniably he was in love. Not passionately, not with the +consuming desire which makes every motive seem paltry compared +with its own satisfaction; but still quite sufficiently in love +to have a great difficulty in pursuing his daily tasks. This did +not still the voice which bade him remember all the opportunities +and hopes he was throwing aside. Since the plighting of troth +with Marian he had been over to Wimbledon, to the house of his +friend and patron Mr Horace Barlow, and there he had again met +with Miss Rupert. This lady had no power whatever over his +emotions, but he felt assured that she regarded him with strong +interest. When he imagined the possibility of contracting a +marriage with Miss Rupert, who would make him at once a man of +solid means, his head drooped, and he wondered at his +precipitation. It had to be confessed that he was the victim of a +vulgar weakness. He had declared himself not of the first order +of progressive men. + +The conversation with Amy Reardon did not tend to put his mind at +rest. Amy was astonished at so indiscreet a step in a man of his +calibre. Ah! if only Amy herself were free, with her ten thousand +pounds to dispose of! She, he felt sure, did not view him with +indifference. Was there not a touch of pique in the elaborate +irony with which she had spoken of his choice?--But it was idle +to look in that direction. + +He was anxious on his sisters' account. They were clever girls, +and with energy might before long earn a bare subsistence; but it +began to be doubtful whether they would persevere in literary +work. Maud, it was clear, had conceived hopes of quite another +kind. Her intimacy with Mrs Lane was effecting a change in her +habits, her dress, even her modes of speech. A few days after +their establishment in the new lodgings, Jasper spoke seriously +on this subject with the younger girl. + +'I wonder whether you could satisfy my curiosity in a certain +matter,' he said. 'Do you, by chance, know how much Maud gave for +that new jacket in which I saw her yesterday?' + +Dora was reluctant to answer. + +'I don't think it was very much.' + +'That is to say, it didn't cost twenty guineas. Well, I hope not. + +I notice, too, that she has been purchasing a new hat.' + +'Oh, that was very inexpensive. She trimmed it herself.' + +'Did she? Is there any particular, any quite special, reason for +this expenditure?' + +'I really can't say, Jasper.' + +'That's ambiguous, you know. Perhaps it means you won't allow +yourself to say?' + +'No, Maud doesn't tell me about things of that kind.' + +He took opportunities of investigating the matter, with the +result that some ten days after he sought private colloquy with +Maud herself. She had asked his opinion of a little paper she was +going to send to a ladies' illustrated weekly, and he summoned +her to his own room. + +'I think this will do pretty well,' he said. 'There's rather too +much thought in it, perhaps. Suppose you knock out one or two of +the less obvious reflections, and substitute a wholesome +commonplace? You'll have a better chance, I assure you.' + +'But I shall make it worthless.' + +'No; you'll probably make it worth a guinea or so. You must +remember that the people who read women's papers are irritated, +simply irritated, by anything that isn't glaringly obvious. They +hate an unusual thought. The art of writing for such papers-- +indeed, for the public in general--is to express vulgar thought +and feeling in a way that flatters the vulgar thinkers and +feelers. Just abandon your mind to it, and then let me see it +again.' + +Maud took up the manuscript and glanced over it with a +contemptuous smile. Having observed her for a moment, Jasper +threw himself back in the chair and said, as if casually: + +'I am told that Mr Dolomore is becoming a great friend of yours.' + +The girl's face changed. She drew herself up, and looked away +towards the window. + +'I don't know that he is a "great" friend.' + +'Still, he pays enough attention to you to excite remark.' + +'Whose remark?' + +'That of several people who go to Mrs Lane's.' + +'I don't know any reason for it,' said Maud coldly. + +'Look here, Maud, you don't mind if I give you a friendly +warning?' + +She kept silence, with a look of superiority to all monition. + +'Dolomore,' pursued her brother, 'is all very well in his way, +but that way isn't yours. I believe he has a good deal of money, +but he has neither brains nor principle. There's no harm in your +observing the nature and habits of such individuals, but don't +allow yourself to forget that they are altogether beneath you.' + +'There's no need whatever for you to teach me self-respect,' +replied the girl. + +'I'm quite sure of that; but you are inexperienced. On the whole, +I do rather wish that you would go less frequently to Mrs Lane's. + +It was rather an unfortunate choice of yours. Very much better if +you could have got on a good footing with the Barnabys. If you +are generally looked upon as belonging to the Lanes' set it will +make it difficult for you to get in with the better people.' + +Maud was not to be drawn into argument, and Jasper could only +hope that his words would have some weight with her. The Mr +Dolomore in question was a young man of rather offensive type-- +athletic, dandiacal, and half-educated. It astonished Jasper that +his sister could tolerate such an empty creature for a moment; +who has not felt the like surprise with regard to women's +inclinations? He talked with Dora about it, but she was not in +her sister's confidence. + +'I think you ought to have some influence with her,' Jasper said. + +'Maud won't allow anyone to interfere in--her private +affairs.''It would be unfortunate if she made me quarrel with +her.' + +'Oh, surely there isn't any danger of that?' + +'I don't know, she mustn't be obstinate.' + +Jasper himself saw a good deal of miscellaneous society at this +time. He could not work so persistently as usual, and with wise +tactics he used the seasons of enforced leisure to extend his +acquaintance. Marian and he were together twice a week, in the +evening. + +Of his old Bohemian associates he kept up intimate relations with +one only, and that was Whelpdale. This was in a measure +obligatory, for Whelpdale frequently came to see him, and it +would have been difficult to repel a man who was always making +known how highly he esteemed the privilege of Milvain's +friendship, and whose company on the whole was agreeable enough. +At the present juncture Whelpdale's cheery flattery was a +distinct assistance; it helped to support Jasper in his +self-confidence, and to keep the brightest complexion on the +prospect to which he had committed himself. + +'Whelpdale is anxious to make Marian's acquaintance,' Jasper said +to his sisters one day. 'Shall we have him here tomorrow +evening?' + +'Just as you like,' Maud replied. + +'You won't object, Dora?' + +'Oh no! I rather like Mr Whelpdale.' + +'If I were to repeat that to him he'd go wild with delight. But +don't be afraid; I shan't. I'll ask him to come for an hour, and +trust to his discretion not to bore us by staying too long.' + +A note was posted to Whelpdale; he was invited to present himself +at eight o'clock, by which time Marian would have arrived. +Jasper's room was to be the scene of the assembly, and punctual +to the minute the literary adviser appeared. He was dressed with +all the finish his wardrobe allowed, and his face beamed with +gratification; it was rapture to him to enter the presence of +these three girls, one of whom he had, more suo, held in romantic +remembrance since his one meeting with her at Jasper's old +lodgings. His eyes melted with tenderness as he approached Dora +and saw her smile of gracious recognition. By Maud he was +profoundly impressed. Marian inspired him with no awe, but he +fully appreciated the charm of her features and her modest +gravity. After all, it was to Dora that his eyes turned again +most naturally. He thought her exquisite, and, rather than be +long without a glimpse of her, he contented himself with fixing +his eyes on the hem of her dress and the boot-toe that +occasionally peeped from beneath it. + +As was to be expected in such a circle, conversation soon turned +to the subject of literary struggles. + +'I always feel it rather humiliating,' said Jasper, 'that I have +gone through no very serious hardships. It must be so gratifying +to say to young fellows who are just beginning: + +"Ah, I remember when I was within an ace of starving to death," +and then come out with Grub Street reminiscences of the most +appalling kind. Unfortunately, I have always had enough to eat.' + +'I haven't,' exclaimed Whelpdale. 'I have lived for five days on +a few cents' worth of pea-nuts in the States.' + +'What are pea-nuts, Mr Whelpdale?' asked Dora. + +Delighted with the question, Whelpdale described that undesirable +species of food. + +'It was in Troy,' he went on, 'Troy, N.Y. To think that a man +should live on pea-nuts in a town called Troy!' + +'Tell us those adventures,' cried Jasper. 'It's a long time since +I heard them, and the girls will enjoy it vastly.' + +Dora looked at him with such good-humoured interest that the +traveller needed no further persuasion. + +'It came to pass in those days,' he began, 'that I inherited from +my godfather a small, a very small, sum of money. I was making +strenuous efforts to write for magazines, with absolutely no +encouragement. As everybody was talking just then of the +Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia, I conceived the brilliant +idea of crossing the Atlantic, in the hope that I might find +valuable literary material at the Exhibition--or Exposition, as +they called it--and elsewhere. I won't trouble you with an +account of how I lived whilst I still had money; sufficient that +no one would accept the articles I sent to England, and that at +last I got into perilous straits. I went to New York, and thought +of returning home, but the spirit of adventure was strong in me. +"I'll go West," I said to myself. "There I am bound to find +material." And go I did, taking an emigrant ticket to Chicago. It +was December, and I should like you to imagine what a journey of +a thousand miles by an emigrant train meant at that season. The +cars were deadly cold, and what with that and the hardness of the +seats I found it impossible to sleep; it reminded me of tortures +I had read about; I thought my brain would have burst with the +need of sleeping. At Cleveland, in Ohio, we had to wait several +hours in the night; I left the station and wandered about till I +found myself on the edge of a great cliff that looked over Lake +Erie. A magnificent picture! Brilliant moonlight, and all the +lake away to the horizon frozen and covered with snow. The clocks +struck two as I stood there.' + +He was interrupted by the entrance of a servant who brought +coffee. + +'Nothing could be more welcome,' cried Dora. 'Mr Whelpdale makes +one feel quite chilly.' + +There was laughter and chatting whilst Maud poured out the +beverage. Then Whelpdale pursued his narrative. + +'I reached Chicago with not quite five dollars in my pockets, +and, with a courage which I now marvel at, I paid immediately +four dollars and a half for a week's board and lodging. "Well," I +said to myself, "for a week I am safe. If I earn nothing in that +time, at least I shall owe nothing when I have to turn out into +the streets." It was a rather dirty little boarding-house, in +Wabash Avenue, and occupied, as I soon found, almost entirely by +actors. There was no fireplace in my bedroom, and if there had +been I couldn't have afforded a fire. But that mattered little; +what I had to do was to set forth and discover some way of making +money. Don't suppose that I was in a desperate state of mind; how +it was, I don't quite know, but I felt decidedly cheerful. It was +pleasant to be in this new region of the earth, and I went about +the town like a tourist who has abundant resources.' + +He sipped his coffee. + +'I saw nothing for it but to apply at the office of some +newspaper, and as I happened to light upon the biggest of them +first of all, I put on a bold face, marched in, asked if I could +see the editor. There was no difficulty whatever about this; I +was told to ascend by means of the "elevator" to an upper storey, +and there I walked into a comfortable little room where a +youngish man sat smoking a cigar at a table covered with print +and manuscript. I introduced myself, stated my business. "Can you +give me work of any kind on your paper?" "Well, what experience +have you had?" "None whatever." The editor smiled. "I'm very much +afraid you would be no use to us. But what do you think you could +do?" Well now, there was but one thing that by any possibility I +could do. I asked him: "Do you publish any fiction--short +stories?" "Yes, we're always glad of a short story, if it's +good." This was a big daily paper; they have weekly supplements +of all conceivable kinds of matter. "Well," I said, "if I write a +story of English life, will you consider it?" "With pleasure." I +left him, and went out as if my existence were henceforth +provided for.' + +He laughed heartily, and was joined by his hearers. + +'It was a great thing to be permitted to write a story, but then- +-what story? I went down to the shore of Lake Michigan; walked +there for half an hour in an icy wind. Then I looked for a +stationer's shop, and laid out a few of my remaining cents in the +purchase of pen, ink, and paper--my stock of all these things was +at an end when I left New York. Then back to the boarding-house. +Impossible to write in my bedroom, the temperature was below +zero; there was no choice but to sit down in the common room, a +place like the smoke-room of a poor commercial hotel in England. +A dozen men were gathered about the fire, smoking, talking, +quarrelling. Favourable conditions, you see, for literary effort. +But the story had to be written, and write it I did, sitting +there at the end of a deal table; I finished it in less than a +couple of days, a good long story, enough to fill three columns +of the huge paper. I stand amazed at my power of concentration as +often as I think of it!' + +'And was it accepted?' asked Dora. + +'You shall hear. I took my manuscript to the editor, and he told +me to come and see him again next morning. I didn't forget the +appointment. As I entered he smiled in a very promising way, and +said, "I think your story will do. I'll put it into the Saturday +supplement. Call on Saturday morning and I'll remunerate you." +How well I remember that word "remunerate"! I have had an +affection for the word ever since. And remunerate me he did; +scribbled something on a scrap of paper, which I presented to the +cashier. The sum was eighteen dollars. Behold me saved!' + +He sipped his coffee again. + +'I have never come across an English editor who treated me with +anything like that consideration and general kindliness. How the +man had time, in his position, to see me so often, and do things +in such a human way, I can't understand. Imagine anyone trying +the same at the office of a London newspaper! To begin with, one +couldn't see the editor at all. I shall always think with +profound gratitude of that man with the peaked brown beard and +pleasant smile.' + +'But did the pea-nuts come after that!' inquired Dora. + +'Alas! they did. For some months I supported myself in Chicago, +writing for that same paper, and for others. But at length the +flow of my inspiration was checked; I had written myself out. And +I began to grow home-sick, wanted to get back to England. The +result was that I found myself one day in New York again, but +without money enough to pay for a passage home. I tried to write +one more story. But it happened, as I was looking over newspapers +in a reading-room, that I saw one of my Chicago tales copied into +a paper published at Troy. Now Troy was not very far off; and it +occurred to me that, if I went there, the editor of this paper +might be disposed to employ me, seeing he had a taste for my +fiction. And I went, up the Hudson by steamboat. On landing at +Troy I was as badly off as when I reached Chicago; I had less +than a dollar. And the worst of it was I had come on a vain +errand; the editor treated me with scant courtesy, and no work +was to be got. I took a little room, paying for it day by day, +and in the meantime I fed on those loathsome pea-nuts, buying a +handful in the street now and then. And I assure you I looked +starvation in the face.' + +'What sort of a town is Troy?' asked Marian, speaking for the +first time. + +'Don't ask me. They make straw hats there principally, and they +sell pea-nuts. More I remember not.' + +'But you didn't starve to death,' said Maud. + +'No, I just didn't. I went one afternoon into a lawyer's office, +thinking I might get some copying work, and there I found an odd- +looking old man, sitting with an open Bible on his knees. He +explained to me that he wasn't the lawyer; that the lawyer was +away on business, and that he was just guarding the office. Well, +could he help me? He meditated, and a thought occurred to him. +"Go," he said, "to such-and-such a boarding-house, and ask for Mr +Freeman Sterling. He is just starting on a business tour, and +wants a young man to accompany him." I didn't dream of asking +what the business was, but sped, as fast as my trembling limbs +would carry me, to the address he had mentioned. I asked for Mr +Freeman Sterling, and found him. He was a photographer, and his +business at present was to go about getting orders for the +reproducing of old portraits. A good-natured young fellow. He +said he liked the look of me, and on the spot engaged me to +assist him in a house-to-house visitation. He would pay for my +board and lodging, and give me a commission on all the orders I +obtained. Forthwith I sat down to a "square meal," and ate--my +conscience, how I ate!' + +'You were not eminently successful in that pursuit, I think?' +said Jasper. + +'I don't think I got half-a-dozen orders. Yet that good Samaritan +supported me for five or six weeks, whilst we travelled from Troy +to Boston. It couldn't go on; I was ashamed of myself; at last I +told him that we must part. Upon my word, I believe he would have +paid my expenses for another month; why, I can't understand. But +he had a vast respect for me because I had written in newspapers, +and I do seriously think that he didn't like to tell me I was a +useless fellow. We parted on the very best of terms in Boston.' + +'And you again had recourse to pea-nuts?' asked Dora. + +'Well, no. In the meantime I had written to someone in England, +begging the loan of just enough money to enable me to get home. +The money came a day after I had seen Sterling off by train.' + +An hour and a half quickly passed, and Jasper, who wished to have +a few minutes of Marian's company before it was time for her to +go, cast a significant glance at his sisters. Dora said +innocently: + +'You wished me to tell you when it was half-past nine, Marian.' + +And Marian rose. This was a signal Whelpdale could not disregard. +Immediately he made ready for his own departure, and in less than +five minutes was gone, his face at the last moment expressing +blended delight and pain. + +'Too good of you to have asked me to come,' he said with +gratitude to Jasper, who went to the door with him. 'You are a +happy man, by Jove! A happy man!' + +When Jasper returned to the room his sisters had vanished. Marian +stood by the fire. He drew near to her, took her hands, and +repeated laughingly Whelpdale's last words. + +'Is it true?' she asked. + +'Tolerably true, I think.' + +'Then I am as happy as you are.' + +He released her hands, and moved a little apart. + +'Marian, I have been thinking about that letter to your father. I +had better get it written, don't you think?' + +She gazed at him with troubled eyes. + +'Perhaps you had. Though we said it might be delayed until--' + +'Yes, I know. But I suspect you had rather I didn't wait any +longer. Isn't that the truth?' + +'Partly. Do just as you wish, Jasper.' + +'I'll go and see him, if you like.' + +'I am so afraid-- No, writing will be better.' + +'Very well. Then he shall have the letter to-morrow afternoon.' + +'Don't let it come before the last post. I had so much rather +not. Manage it, if you can.' + +'Very well. Now go and say good-night to the girls. It's a vile +night, and you must get home as soon as possible.' + +She turned away, but again came towards him, murmuring: + +'Just a word or two more.' + +'About the letter?' + +'No. You haven't said--' + +He laughed. + +'And you couldn't go away contentedly unless I repeated for the +hundredth time that I love you?' + +Marian searched his countenance. + +'Do you think it foolish? I live only on those words.' + +'Well, they are better than pea-nuts.' + +'Oh don't! I can't bear to--' + +Jasper was unable to understand that such a jest sounded to her +like profanity. She hid her face against him, and whispered the +words that would have enraptured her had they but come from his +lips. The young man found it pleasant enough to be worshipped, +but he could not reply as she desired. A few phrases of +tenderness, and his love-vocabulary was exhausted; he even grew +weary when something more--the indefinite something--was vaguely +required of him. + +'You are a dear, good, tender-hearted girl,' he said, stroking +her short, soft hair, which was exquisite to the hand. 'Now go +and get ready.' + +She left him, but stood for a few moments on the landing before +going to the girls' room. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. CATASTROPHE + +Marian had finished the rough draft of a paper on James +Harrington, author of 'Oceana.' Her father went through it by the +midnight lamp, and the next morning made his comments. A black +sky and sooty rain strengthened his inclination to sit by the +study fire and talk at large in a tone of flattering benignity. + +'Those paragraphs on the Rota Club strike me as singularly +happy,' he + +said, tapping the manuscript with the mouthpiece of his pipe. +'Perhaps you might say a word or two more about Cyriac Skinner; +one mustn't be too allusive with general readers, their ignorance +is incredible. But there is so little to add to this paper--so +little to alter--that I couldn't feel justified in sending it as +my own work. I think it is altogether too good to appear +anonymously. You must sign it, Marian, and have the credit that +is due to you.' + +'Oh, do you think it's worth while?' answered the girl, who was +far from easy under this praise. Of late there had been too much +of it; it made her regard her father with suspicions which +increased her sense of trouble in keeping a momentous secret from +him. + +'Yes, yes; you had better sign it. I'll undertake there's no +other girl of your age who could turn out such a piece of work. I +think we may fairly say that your apprenticeship is at an end. +Before long,' he smiled anxiously, 'I may be counting upon you as +a valued contributor. And that reminds me; would you be disposed +to call with me on the Jedwoods at their house next Sunday?' + +Marian understood the intention that lay beneath this proposal. +She saw that her father would not allow himself to seem +discouraged by the silence she maintained on the great subject +which awaited her decision. He was endeavouring gradually to +involve her in his ambitions, to carry her forward by insensible +steps. It pained her to observe the suppressed eagerness with +which he looked for her reply. + +'I will go if you wish, father, but I had rather not.' + +'I feel sure you would like Mrs Jedwood. One has no great opinion +of her novels, but she is a woman of some intellect. Let me book +you for next Sunday; surely I have a claim to your companionship +now and then.' + +Marian kept silence. Yule puffed at his pipe, then said with a +speculative air: + +'I suppose it has never even occurred to you to try your hand at +fiction?' + +'I haven't the least inclination that way.' + +'You would probably do something rather good if you tried. But I +don't urge it. My own efforts in that line were a mistake, I'm +disposed to think. Not that the things were worse than multitudes +of books which nowadays go down with the many-headed. But I never +quite knew what I wished to be at in fiction. I wasn't content to +write a mere narrative of the exciting kind, yet I couldn't hit +upon subjects of intellectual cast that altogether satisfied me. +Well, well; I have tried my hand at most kinds of literature. +Assuredly I merit the title of man of letters.' + +'You certainly do.' + +'By-the-by, what should you think of that title for a review-- +Letters? It has never been used, so far as I know. I like the +word "letters." How much better "a man of letters" than "a +literary man"! And apropos of that, when was the word +"literature" first used in our modern sense to signify a body of +writing? In Johnson's day it was pretty much the equivalent of +our "culture." You remember his saying, "It is surprising how +little literature people have." His dictionary, I believe, +defines the word as "learning, skill in letters"--nothing else.' + +It was characteristic of Yule to dwell with gusto on little +points such as this; he prosed for a quarter of an hour, with a +pause every now and then whilst he kept his pipe alight. + +'I think Letters wouldn't be amiss,' he said at length, returning +to the suggestion which he wished to keep before Marian's mind. +'It would clearly indicate our scope. No articles on bimetallism, +as Quarmby said--wasn't it Quarmby?' + +He laughed idly. + +'Yes, I must ask Jedwood how he likes the name.' + +Though Marian feared the result, she was glad when Jasper made up +his mind to write to her father. Since it was determined that her +money could not be devoted to establishing a review, the truth +ought to be confessed before Yule had gone too far in nursing his +dangerous hope. Without the support of her love and all the +prospects connected with it, she would hardly have been capable +of giving a distinct refusal when her reply could no longer be +postponed; to hold the money merely for her own benefit would +have seemed to her too selfish, however slight her faith in the +project on which her father built so exultantly. When it was +declared that she had accepted an offer of marriage, a sacrifice +of that kind could no longer be expected of her. Opposition must +direct itself against the choice she had made. It would be stern, +perhaps relentless; but she felt able to face any extremity of +wrath. Her nerves quivered, but in her heart was an exhaustless +source of courage. + +That a change had somehow come about in the girl Yule was aware. +He observed her with the closest study day after day. Her health +seemed to have improved; after a long spell of work she had not +the air of despondent weariness which had sometimes irritated +him, sometimes made him uneasy. She was more womanly in her +bearing and speech, and exercised an independence, appropriate +indeed to her years, but such as had not formerly declared itself +The question with her father was whether these things resulted +simply from her consciousness of possessing what to her seemed +wealth, or something else had happened of the nature that he +dreaded. An alarming symptom was the increased attention she paid +to her personal appearance; its indications were not at all +prominent, but Yule, on the watch for such things, did not +overlook them. True, this also might mean nothing but a sense of +relief from narrow means; a girl would naturally adorn herself a +little under the circumstances. + +His doubts came to an end two days after that proposal of a title +for the new review. As he sat in his study the servant brought +him a letter delivered by the last evening post. The handwriting +was unknown to him; the contents were these: + +'DEAR MR YULE,--It is my desire to write to you with perfect +frankness and as simply as I can on a subject which has the +deepest interest for me, and which I trust you will consider in +that spirit of kindness with which you received me when we first +met at Finden. + +'On the occasion of that meeting I had the happiness of being +presented to Miss Yule. She was not totally a stranger to me; at +that time I used to work pretty regularly in the Museum Reading- +room, and there I had seen Miss Yule, had ventured to observe her +at moments with a young man's attention, and had felt my interest +aroused, though I did not know her name. To find her at Finden +seemed to me a very unusual and delightful piece of good fortune. + +When I came back from my holiday I was conscious of a new purpose +in life, a new desire and a new motive to help me on in my chosen +career. + +'My mother's death led to my sisters' coming to live in London. +Already there had been friendly correspondence between Miss Yule +and the two girls, and now that the opportunity offered they +began to see each other frequently. As I was often at my sisters' +lodgings it came about that I met Miss Yule there from time to +time. In this way was confirmed my attachment to your daughter. +The better I knew her, the more worthy I found her of reverence +and love. + +'Would it not have been natural for me to seek a renewal of the +acquaintance with yourself which had been begun in the country? +Gladly I should have done so. Before my sisters' coming to London +I did call one day at your house with the desire of seeing you, +but unfortunately you were not at home. Very soon after that I +learnt to my extreme regret that my connection with The Current +and its editor would make any repetition of my visit very +distasteful to you. I was conscious of nothing in my literary +life that could justly offend you--and at this day I can say the +same--but I shrank from the appearance of importunity, and for +some months I was deeply distressed by the fear that what I most +desired in life had become unattainable. My means were very +slight; I had no choice but to take such work as offered, and +mere chance had put me into a position which threatened ruin to +the hope that you would some day regard me as a not unworthy +suitor for your daughter's hand. + +'Circumstances have led me to a step which at that time seemed +impossible. Having discovered that Miss Yule returned the feeling +I entertained for her, I have asked her to be my wife, and she +has consented. It is now my hope that you will permit me to call +upon you. Miss Yule is aware that I am writing this letter; will +you not let her plead for me, seeing that only by an unhappy +chance have I been kept aloof from you? Marian and I are equally +desirous that you should approve our union; without that +approval, indeed, something will be lacking to the happiness for +which we hope. + +'Believe me to be sincerely yours, + +'JASPER MILVAIN.' + +Half an hour after reading this Yule was roused from a fit of the +gloomiest brooding by Marian's entrance. She came towards him +timidly, with pale countenance. He had glanced round to see who +it was, but at once turned his head again. + +'Will you forgive me for keeping this secret from you, father?' + +'Forgive you?' he replied in a hard, deliberate voice. 'I assure +you it is a matter of perfect indifference to me. You are long +since of age, and I have no power whatever to prevent your +falling a victim to any schemer who takes your fancy. It would be +folly in me to discuss the question. I recognise your right to +have as many secrets as may seem good to you. To talk of +forgiveness is the merest affectation.' + +'No, I spoke sincerely. If it had seemed possible I should gladly +have let you know about this from the first. That would have been +natural and right. But you know what prevented me.' + +'I do. I will try to hope that even a sense of shame had +something to do with it.' + +'That had nothing to do with it,' said Marian, coldly. 'I have +never had reason to feel ashamed.' + +'Be it so. I trust you may never have reason to feel repentance. +May I ask when you propose to be married?' + +'I don't know when it will take place.' + +'As soon, I suppose, as your uncle's executors have discharged a +piece of business which is distinctly germane to the matter?' + +'Perhaps.' + +'Does your mother know?' + +'I have just told her.' + +'Very well, then it seems to me that there's nothing more to be +said.' + +'Do you refuse to see Mr Milvain?' + +'Most decidedly I do. You will have the goodness to inform him +that that is my reply to his letter.' + +'I don't think that is the behaviour of a gentleman,' said +Marian, her eyes beginning to gleam with resentment. + +'I am obliged to you for your instruction.' + +'Will you tell me, father, in plain words, why you dislike Mr +Milvain?' + +'I am not inclined to repeat what I have already fruitlessly told +you. For the sake of a clear understanding, however, I will let +you know the practical result of my dislike. From the day of your +marriage with that man you are nothing to me. I shall distinctly +forbid you to enter my house. You make your choice, and go your +own way. I shall hope never to see your face again.' + +Their eyes met, and the look of each seemed to fascinate the +other. + +'If you have made up your mind to that,' said Marian in a shaking +voice, 'I can remain here no longer. Such words are senselessly +cruel. To-morrow I shall leave the house.' + +'I repeat that you are of age, and perfectly independent. It can +be nothing to me how soon you go. You have given proof that I am +of less than no account to you, and doubtless the sooner we cease +to afflict each other the better.' + +It seemed as if the effect of these conflicts with her father +were to develop in Marian a vehemence of temper which at length +matched that of which Yule was the victim. Her face, outlined to +express a gentle gravity, was now haughtily passionate; nostrils +and lips thrilled with wrath, and her eyes were magnificent in +their dark fieriness. + +'You shall not need to tell me that again,' she answered, and +immediately left him. + +She went into the sitting-room, where Mrs Yule was awaiting the +result of the interview. + +'Mother,' she said, with stern gentleness, 'this house can no +longer be a home for me. I shall go away to-morrow, and live in +lodgings until the time of my marriage.' + +Mrs Yule uttered a cry of pain, and started up. + +'Oh, don't do that, Marian! What has he said to you? Come and +talk to me, darling--tell me what he's said--don't look like +that!' + +She clung to the girl despairingly, terrified by a transformation +she would have thought impossible. + +'He says that if I marry Mr Milvain he hopes never to see my face +again. I can't stay here. You shall come and see me, and we will +be the same to each other as always. But father has treated me +too unjustly. I can't live near him after this.' + +'He doesn't mean it,' sobbed her mother. 'He says what he's sorry +for as soon as the words are spoken. He loves you too much, my +darling, to drive you away like that. It's his disappointment, +Marian; that's all it is. He counted on it so much. I've heard +him talk of it in his sleep; he made so sure that he was going to +have that new magazine, and the disappointment makes him that he +doesn't know what he's saying. Only wait and see; he'll tell you +he didn't mean it, I know he will. Only leave him alone till he's +had time to get over it. Do forgive him this once.' + +'It's like a madman to talk in that way,' said the girl, +releasing herself. 'Whatever his disappointment, I can't endure +it. I have worked hard for him, very hard, ever since I was old +enough, and he owes me some kindness, some respect. It would be +different if he had the least reason for his hatred of Jasper. It +is nothing but insensate prejudice, the result of his quarrels +with other people. What right has he to insult me by representing +my future husband as a scheming hypocrite?' + +'My love, he has had so much to bear--it's made him so quick- +tempered.' + +'Then I am quick-tempered too, and the sooner we are apart the +better, as he said himself' + +'Oh, but you have always been such a patient girl.' + +'My patience is at an end when I am treated as if I had neither +rights nor feelings. However wrong the choice I had made, this +was not the way to behave to me. His disappointment? Is there a +natural law, then, that a daughter must be sacrificed to her +father? My husband will have as much need of that money as my +father has, and he will be able to make far better use of it. It +was wrong even to ask me to give my money away like that. I have +a right to happiness, as well as other women.' + +She was shaken with hysterical passion, the natural consequence +of this outbreak in a nature such as hers. Her mother, in the +meantime, grew stronger by force of profound love that at length +had found its opportunity of expression. Presently she persuaded +Marian to come upstairs with her, and before long the +overburdened breast was relieved by a flow of tears. But Marian's +purpose remained unshaken. + +'It is impossible for us to see each other day after day,' she +said when calmer. 'He can't control his anger against me, and I +suffer too much when I am made to feel like this. I shall take a +lodging not far off where you can see me often.' + +'But you have no money, Marian,' replied Mrs Yule, miserably. + +'No money? As if I couldn't borrow a few pounds until all my own +comes to me! Dora Milvain can lend me all I shall want; it won't +make the least difference to her. I must have my money very soon +now.' + +At about half-past eleven Mrs Yule went downstairs, and entered +the study. + +'If you are coming to speak about Marian,' said her husband, +turning upon her with savage eyes, 'you can save your breath. I +won't hear her name mentioned.' + +She faltered, but overcame her weakness. + +'You are driving her away from us, Alfred. It isn't right! Oh, it +isn't right!' + +'If she didn't go I should, so understand that! And if I go, you +have seen the last of me. Make your choice, make your choice!' + +He had yielded himself to that perverse frenzy which impels a man +to acts and utterances most wildly at conflict with reason. His +sense of the monstrous irrationality to which he was committed +completed what was begun in him by the bitterness of a great +frustration. + +'If I wasn't a poor, helpless woman,' replied his wife, sinking +upon a chair and crying without raising her hands to her face, +'I'd go and live with her till she was married, and then make a +home for myself. But I haven't a penny, and I'm too old to earn +my own living; I should only be a burden to her.' + +'That shall be no hindrance,' cried Yule. 'Go, by all means; you +shall have a sufficient allowance as long as I can continue to +work, and when I'm past that, your lot will be no harder than +mine. Your daughter had the chance of making provision for my old +age, at no expense to herself. But that was asking too much of +her. Go, by all means, and leave me to make what I can of the +rest of my life; perhaps I may save a few years still from the +curse brought upon me by my own folly.' + +It was idle to address him. Mrs Yule went into the sitting-room, +and there sat weeping for an hour. Then she extinguished the +lights, and crept upstairs in silence. + +Yule passed the night in the study. Towards morning he slept for +an hour or two, just long enough to let the fire go out and to +get thoroughly chilled. When he opened his eyes a muddy twilight +had begun to show at the window; the sounds of a clapping door +within the house, which had probably awakened him, made him aware +that the servant was already up. + +He drew up the blind. There seemed to be a frost, for the +moisture of last night had all disappeared, and the yard upon +which the window looked was unusually clean. With a glance at the +black grate he extinguished his lamp, and went out into the +passage. A few minutes' groping for his overcoat and hat, and he +left the house. + +His purpose was to warm himself with a vigorous walk, and at the +same time to shake off if possible, the nightmare of his rage and +hopelessness. He had no distinct feeling with regard to his +behaviour of the past evening; he neither justified nor condemned +himself; he did not ask himself whether Marian would to-day leave +her home, or if her mother would take him at his word and also +depart. These seemed to be details which his brain was too weary +to consider. But he wished to be away from the wretchedness of +his house, and to let things go as they would whilst he was +absent. As he closed the front door he felt as if he were +escaping from an atmosphere that threatened to stifle him. + +His steps directing themselves more by habit than with any +deliberate choice, he walked towards Camden Road. When he had +reached Camden Town railway-station he was attracted by a coffee- +stall; a draught of the steaming liquid, no matter its quality, +would help his blood to circulate. He laid down his penny, and +first warmed his hands by holding them round the cup. Whilst +standing thus he noticed that the objects at which he looked had +a blurred appearance; his eyesight seemed to have become worse +this morning. Only a result of his insufficient sleep perhaps. He +took up a scrap of newspaper that lay on the stall; he could read +it, but one of his eyes was certainly weaker than the other; +trying to see with that one alone, he found that everything +became misty. + +He laughed, as if the threat of new calamity were an amusement in +his present state of mind. And at the same moment his look +encountered that of a man who had drawn near to him, a shabbily- +dressed man of middle age, whose face did not correspond with his +attire. + +'Will you give me a cup of coffee?' asked the stranger, in a low +voice and with shamefaced manner. 'It would be a great kindness.' + +The accent was that of good breeding. Yule hesitated in surprise +for a moment, then said: + +'Have one by all means. Would you care for anything to eat?' + +'I am much obliged to you. I think I should be none the worse for +one of those solid slices of bread and butter.' + +The stall-keeper was just extinguishing his lights; the frosty +sky showed a pale gleam of sunrise. + +'Hard times, I'm afraid,' remarked Yule, as his beneficiary began +to eat the luncheon with much appearance of grateful appetite. + +'Very hard times.' He had a small, thin, colourless countenance, +with large, pathetic eyes; a slight moustache and curly beard. +His clothes were such as would be worn by some very poor clerk. +'I came here an hour ago,' he continued, 'with the hope of +meeting an acquaintance who generally goes from this station at a +certain time. I have missed him, and in doing so I missed what I +had thought my one chance of a breakfast. When one has neither +dined nor supped on the previous day, breakfast becomes a meal of +some importance.' + +'True. Take another slice.' + +'I am greatly obliged to you.' + +'Not at all. I have known hard times myself, and am likely to +know worse.' + +'I trust not. This is the first time that I have positively +begged. I should have been too much ashamed to beg of the kind of +men who are usually at these places; they certainly have no money +to spare. I was thinking of making an appeal at a baker's shop, +but it is very likely I should have been handed over to a +policeman. Indeed I don't know what I should have done; the last +point of endurance was almost reached. I have no clothes but +these I wear, and they are few enough for the season. Still, I +suppose the waistcoat must have gone.' + +He did not talk like a beggar who is trying to excite compassion, +but with a sort of detached curiosity concerning the difficulties +of his position. + +'You can find nothing to do?' said the man of letters. + +'Positively nothing. By profession I am a surgeon, but it's a +long time since I practised. Fifteen years ago I was comfortably +established at Wakefield; I was married and had one child. But my +capital ran out, and my practice, never anything to boast of, +fell to nothing. I succeeded in getting a place as an assistant +to a man at Chester. We sold up, and started on the journey.' + +He paused, looking at Yule in a strange way. + +'What happened then?' + +'You probably don't remember a railway accident that took place +near Crewe in that year--it was 1869? I and my wife and child +were alone in a carriage that was splintered. One moment I was +talking with them, in fairly good spirits, and my wife was +laughing at something I had said; the next, there were two +crushed, bleeding bodies at my feet. I had a broken arm, that was +all. Well, they were killed on the instant; they didn't suffer. +That has been my one consolation.' + +Yule kept the silence of sympathy. + +'I was in a lunatic asylum for more than a year after that,' +continued the man. 'Unhappily, I didn't lose my senses at the +moment; it took two or three weeks to bring me to that pass. But +I recovered, and there has been no return of the disease. Don't +suppose that I am still of unsound mind. There can be little +doubt that poverty will bring me to that again in the end; but as +yet I am perfectly sane. I have supported myself in various ways. + +No, I don't drink; I see the question in your face. But I am +physically weak, and, to quote Mrs Gummidge, "things go contrairy +with me." There's no use lamenting; this breakfast has helped me +on, and I feel in much better spirits.' + +'Your surgical knowledge is no use to you?' + +The other shook his head and sighed. + +'Did you ever give any special attention to diseases of the +eyes?' + +'Special, no. But of course I had some acquaintance with the +subject.' + +'Could you tell by examination whether a man was threatened with +cataract, or anything of that kind?' + +'I think I could.' + +'I am speaking of myself.' + +The stranger made a close scrutiny of Yule's face, and asked +certain questions with reference to his visual sensations. + +'I hardly like to propose it,' he said at length, 'but if you +were willing to accompany me to a very poor room that I have not +far from here, I could make the examination formally.' + +'I will go with you.' + +They turned away from the stall, and the ex-surgeon led into a +by-street. Yule wondered at himself for caring to seek such a +singular consultation, but he had a pressing desire to hear some +opinion as to the state of his eyes. Whatever the stranger might +tell him, he would afterwards have recourse to a man of +recognised standing; but just now companionship of any kind was +welcome, and the poor hungry fellow, with his dolorous life- +story, had made appeal to his sympathies. To give money under +guise of a fee would be better than merely offering alms. + +'This is the house,' said his guide, pausing at a dirty door. 'It +isn't inviting, but the people are honest, so far as I know. My +room is at the top.' + +'Lead on,' answered Yule. + +In the room they entered was nothing noticeable; it was only the +poorest possible kind of bed-chamber, or all but the poorest +possible. Daylight had now succeeded to dawn, yet the first thing +the stranger did was to strike a match and light a candle. + +'Will you kindly place yourself with your back to the window?' he +said. 'I am going to apply what is called the catoptric test. You +have probably heard of it?' + +'My ignorance of scientific matters is fathomless.' + +The other smiled, and at once offered a simple explanation of the +term. By the appearance of the candle as it reflected itself in +the patient's eye it was possible, he said, to decide whether +cataract had taken hold upon the organ. + +For a minute or two he conducted his experiment carefully, and +Yule was at no loss to read the result upon his face. + +'How long have you suspected that something was wrong?' the +surgeon asked, as he put down the candle. + +'For several months.' + +'You haven't consulted anyone?' + +'No one. I have kept putting it off. Just tell me what you have +discovered.' + +'The back of the right lens is affected beyond a doubt.' + +'That means, I take it, that before very long I shall be +practically blind?' + +'I don't like to speak with an air of authority. After all, I am +only a surgeon who has bungled himself into pauperdom. You must +see a competent man; that much I can tell you in all earnestness. + +Do you use your eyes much?' + +'Fourteen hours a day, that's all.' + +'H'm! You are a literary man, I think?' + +'I am. My name is Alfred Yule.' + +He had some faint hope that the name might be recognised; that +would have gone far, for the moment, to counteract his trouble. +But not even this poor satisfaction was to be granted him; to his +hearer the name evidently conveyed nothing. + +'See a competent man, Mr Yule. Science has advanced rapidly since +the days when I was a student; I am only able to assure you of +the existence of disease.' + +They talked for half an hour, until both were shaking with cold. +Then Yule thrust his hand into his pocket. + +'You will of course allow me to offer such return as I am able,' +he said. 'The information isn't pleasant, but I am glad to have +it.' + +He laid five shillings on the chest of drawers--there was no +table. The stranger expressed his gratitude. + +'My name is Duke,' he said, 'and I was christened Victor-- +possibly because I was doomed to defeat in life. I wish you could +have associated the memory of me with happier circumstances.' + +They shook hands, and Yule quitted the house. + +He came out again by Camden Town station. The coffee-stall had +disappeared; the traffic of the great highway was growing +uproarious. Among all the strugglers for existence who rushed +this way and that, Alfred Yule felt himself a man chosen for +fate's heaviest infliction. He never questioned the accuracy of +the stranger's judgment, and he hoped for no mitigation of the +doom it threatened. His life was over--and wasted. + +He might as well go home, and take his place meekly by the +fireside. He was beaten. Soon to be a useless old man, a burden +and annoyance to whosoever had pity on him. + +It was a curious effect of the imagination that since coming into +the open air again his eyesight seemed to be far worse than +before. He irritated his nerves of vision by incessant tests, +closing first one eye then the other, comparing his view of +nearer objects with the appearance of others more remote, +fancying an occasional pain--which could have had no connection +with his disease. The literary projects which had stirred so +actively in his mind twelve hours ago were become an +insubstantial memory; to the one crushing blow had succeeded a +second, which was fatal. He could hardly recall what special +piece of work he had been engaged upon last night. His thoughts +were such as if actual blindness had really fallen upon him. + +At half-past eight he entered the house. Mrs Yule was standing at +the foot of the stairs; she looked at him, then turned away +towards the kitchen. He went upstairs. On coming down again he +found breakfast ready as usual, and seated himself at the table. +Two letters waited for him there; he opened them. + +When Mrs Yule came into the room a few moments later she was +astonished by a burst of loud, mocking laughter from her husband, +excited, as it appeared, by something he was reading. + +'Is Marian up?' he asked, turning to her. + +'Yes.' + +'She is not coming to breakfast?' + +'No.' + +'Then just take that letter to her, and ask her to read it.' + +Mrs Yule ascended to her daughter's bedroom. She knocked, was +bidden enter, and found Marian packing clothes in a trunk. The +girl looked as if she had been up all night; her eyes bore the +traces of much weeping. + +'He has come back, dear,' said Mrs Yule, in the low voice of +apprehension, 'and he says you are to read this letter.' + +Marian took the sheet, unfolded it, and read. As soon as she had +reached the end she looked wildly at her mother, seemed to +endeavour vainly to speak, then fell to the floor in +unconsciousness. The mother was only just able to break the +violence of her fall. Having snatched a pillow and placed it +beneath Marian's head, she rushed to the door and called loudly +for her husband, who in a moment appeared. + +'What is it?' she cried to him. 'Look, she has fallen down in a +faint. Why are you treating her like this?' + +'Attend to her,' Yule replied roughly. 'I suppose you know better +than I do what to do when a person faints.' + +The swoon lasted for several minutes. + +'What's in the letter?' asked Mrs Yule whilst chafing the +lifeless hands. + +'Her money's lost. The people who were to pay it have just +failed.' + +'She won't get anything?' + +'Most likely nothing at all.' + +The letter was a private communication from one of John Yule's +executors. It seemed likely that the demand upon Turberville & +Co. for an account of the deceased partner's share in their +business had helped to bring about a crisis in affairs that were +already unstable. Something might be recovered in the legal +proceedings that would result, but there were circumstances which +made the outlook very doubtful. + +As Marian came to herself her father left the room. An hour +afterwards Mrs Yule summoned him again to the girl's chamber; he +went, and found Marian lying on the bed, looking like one who had +been long ill. + +'I wish to ask you a few questions,' she said, without raising +herself. 'Must my legacy necessarily be paid out of that +investment?' + +'It must. Those are the terms of the will.' + +'If nothing can be recovered from those people, I have no +remedy?' + +'None whatever that I can see.' + +'But when a firm is bankrupt they generally pay some portion of +their debts?' + +'Sometimes. I know nothing of the case.' + +'This of course happens to me,' Marian said, with intense +bitterness. 'None of the other legatees will suffer, I suppose?' + +'Someone must, but to a very small extent.' + +'Of course. When shall I have direct information?' + +'You can write to Mr Holden; you have his address.' + +'Thank you. That's all.' + +He was dismissed, and went quietly away. + + + +PART FIVE + +CHAPTER XXX. WAITING ON DESTINY + +Throughout the day Marian kept her room. Her intention to leave +the house was, of course, abandoned; she was the prisoner of +fate. Mrs Yule would have tended her with unremitting devotion, +but the girl desired to be alone. At times she lay in silent +anguish; frequently her tears broke forth, and she sobbed until +weariness overcame her. In the afternoon she wrote a letter to Mr +Holden, begging that she might be kept constantly acquainted with +the progress of things. + +At five her mother brought tea. + +'Wouldn't it be better if you went to bed now, Marian?' she +suggested. + +'To bed? But I am going out in an hour or two.' + +'Oh, you can't, dear! It's so bitterly cold. It wouldn't be good +for you.' + +'I have to go out, mother, so we won't speak of it.' + +It was not safe to reply. Mrs Yule sat down, and watched the girl +raise the cup to her mouth with trembling hand. + +'This won't make any difference to you--in the end, my darling,' +the mother ventured to say at length, alluding for the first time +to the effect of the catastrophe on Marian's immediate prospects. + +'Of course not,' was the reply, in a tone of self-persuasion. + +'Mr Milvain is sure to have plenty of money before long.' + +'Yes.' + +'You feel much better now, don't you?' + +'Much. I am quite well again.' + +At seven, Marian went out. Finding herself weaker than she had +thought, she stopped an empty cab that presently passed her, and +so drove to the Milvains' lodgings. In her agitation she inquired +for Mr Milvain, instead of for Dora, as was her habit; it +mattered very little, for the landlady and her servants were of +course under no misconception regarding this young lady's visits. + +Jasper was at home, and working. He had but to look at Marian to +see that something wretched had been going on at her home; +naturally he supposed it the result of his letter to Mr Yule. + +'Your father has been behaving brutally,' he said, holding her +hands and gazing anxiously at her. + +'There is something far worse than that, Jasper.' + +'Worse?' + +She threw off her outdoor things, then took the fatal letter from +her pocket and handed it to him. Jasper gave a whistle of +consternation, and looked vacantly from the paper to Marian's +countenance. + +'How the deuce comes this about?' he exclaimed. 'Why, wasn't your +uncle aware of the state of things?' + +'Perhaps he was. He may have known that the legacy was a mere +form.' + +'You are the only one affected?' + +'So father says. It's sure to be the case.' + +'This has upset you horribly, I can see. Sit down, Marian. When +did the letter come?' + +'This morning.' + +'And you have been fretting over it all day. But come, we must +keep up our courage; you may get something substantial out of the +scoundrels still.' + +Even whilst he spoke his eyes wandered absently. On the last word +his voice failed, and he fell into abstraction. Marian's look was +fixed upon him, and he became conscious of it. He tried to smile. + +'What were you writing?' she asked, making involuntary diversion +from the calamitous theme. + +'Rubbish for the Will-o'-the-Wisp. Listen to this paragraph about +English concert audiences.' + +It was as necessary to him as to her to have a respite before the +graver discussion began. He seized gladly the opportunity she +offered, and read several pages of manuscript, slipping from one +topic to another. To hear him one would have supposed that he was +in his ordinary mood; he laughed at his own jokes and points. + +'They'll have to pay me more,' was the remark with which he +closed. 'I only wanted to make myself indispensable to them, and +at the end of this year I shall feel pretty sure of that. They'll +have to give me two guineas a column; by Jove! they will.' + +'And you may hope for much more than that, mayn't you, before +long?' + +'Oh, I shall transfer myself to a better paper presently. It +seems to me I must be stirring to some purpose.' + +He gave her a significant look. + +'What shall we do, Jasper?' + +'Work and wait, I suppose.' + +'There's something I must tell you. Father said I had better sign +that Harrington article myself. If I do that, I shall have a +right to the money, I think. It will at least be eight guineas. +And why shouldn't I go on writing for myself--for us? You can +help me to think of subjects.' + +'First of all, what about my letter to your father? We are +forgetting all about it.' + +'He refused to answer.' + +Marian avoided closer description of what had happened. It was +partly that she felt ashamed of her father's unreasoning wrath, +and feared lest Jasper's pride might receive an injury from which +she in turn would suffer; partly that she was unwilling to pain +her lover by making display of all she had undergone. + +'Oh, he refused to reply! Surely that is extreme behaviour.' + +What she dreaded seemed to be coming to pass. Jasper stood rather +stiffly, and threw his head back. + +'You know the reason, dear. That prejudice has entered into his +very life. It is not you he dislikes; that is impossible. He +thinks of you only as he would of anyone connected with Mr +Fadge.' + +'Well, well; it isn't a matter of much moment. But what I have in +mind is this. Will it be possible for you, whilst living at home, +to take a position of independence, and say that you are going to +work for your own profit?' + +'At least I might claim half the money I can earn. And I was +thinking more of--' + +'Of what?' + +'When I am your wife, I may be able to help. I could earn thirty +or forty pounds a year, I think. That would pay the rent of a +small house.' + +She spoke with shaken voice, her eyes fixed upon his face. + +'But, my dear Marian, we surely oughtn't to think of marrying so +long as expenses are so nicely fitted as all that?' + +'No. I only meant--' + +She faltered, and her tongue became silent as her heart sank. + +'It simply means,' pursued Jasper, seating himself and crossing +his legs, 'that I must move heaven and earth to improve my +position. You know that my faith in myself is not small; there's +no knowing what I might do if I used every effort. But, upon my +word, I don't see much hope of our being able to marry for a year +or two under the most favourable circumstances.' + +'No; I quite understand that.' + +'Can you promise to keep a little love for me all that time?' he +asked with a constrained smile. + +'You know me too well to fear.' + +'I thought you seemed a little doubtful.' + +His tone was not altogether that which makes banter pleasant +between lovers. Marian looked at him fearfully. Was it possible +for him in truth so to misunderstand her? He had never satisfied +her heart's desire of infinite love; she never spoke with him but +she was oppressed with the suspicion that his love was not as +great as hers, and, worse still, that he did not wholly +comprehend the self-surrender which she strove to make plain in +every word. + +'You don't say that seriously, Jasper?' + +'But answer seriously.' + +'How can you doubt that I would wait faithfully for you for years +if it were necessary?' + +'It mustn't be years, that's very certain. I think it +preposterous for a man to hold a woman bound in that hopeless +way.' + +'But what question is there of holding me bound? Is love +dependent on fixed engagements? Do you feel that, if we agreed to +part, your love would be at once a thing of the past?' + +'Why no, of course not.' + +'Oh, but how coldly you speak, Jasper!' + +She could not breathe a word which might be interpreted as fear +lest the change of her circumstances should make a change in his +feeling. Yet that was in her mind. The existence of such a fear +meant, of course, that she did not entirely trust him, and viewed +his character as something less than noble. Very seldom indeed is +a woman free from such doubts, however absolute her love; and +perhaps it is just as rare for a man to credit in his heart all +the praises he speaks of his beloved. Passion is compatible with +a great many of these imperfections of intellectual esteem. To +see more clearly into Jasper's personality was, for Marian, to +suffer the more intolerable dread lest she should lose him. + +She went to his side. Her heart ached because, in her great +misery, he had not fondled her, and intoxicated her senses with +loving words. + +'How can I make you feel how much I love you?' she murmured. + +'You mustn't be so literal, dearest. Women are so desperately +matter-of-fact; it comes out even in their love-talk.' + +Marian was not without perception of the irony of such an opinion +on Jasper's lips. + +'I am content for you to think so,' she said. 'There is only one +fact in my life of any importance, and I can never lose sight of +it.' + +'Well now, we are quite sure of each other. Tell me plainly, do +you think me capable of forsaking you because you have perhaps +lost your money?' + +The question made her wince. If delicacy had held her tongue, it +had no control of HIS. + +'How can I answer that better,' she said, 'than by saying I love +you?' + +It was no answer, and Jasper, though obtuse compared with her, +understood that it was none. But the emotion which had prompted +his words was genuine enough. Her touch, the perfume of her +passion, had their exalting effect upon him. He felt in all +sincerity that to forsake her would be a baseness, revenged by +the loss of such a wife. + +'There's an uphill fight before me, that's all,' he said, +'instead of the pretty smooth course I have been looking forward +to. But I don't fear it, Marian. I'm not the fellow to be beaten. + +You shall be my wife, and you shall have as many luxuries as if +you had brought me a fortune.' + +'Luxuries! Oh, how childish you seem to think me!' + +'Not a bit of it. Luxuries are a most important part of life. I +had rather not live at all than never possess them. Let me give +you a useful hint; if ever I seem to you to flag, just remind me +of the difference between these lodgings and a richly furnished +house. Just hint to me that So-and-so, the journalist, goes about +in his carriage, and can give his wife a box at the theatre. Just +ask me, casually, how I should like to run over to the Riviera +when London fogs are thickest. You understand? That's the way to +keep me at it like a steam-engine.' + +'You are right. All those things enable one to live a better and +fuller life. Oh, how cruel that I--that we are robbed in this +way! You can have no idea how terrible a blow it was to me when I +read that letter this morning.' + +She was on the point of confessing that she had swooned, but +something restrained her. + +'Your father can hardly be sorry,' said Jasper. + +'I think he speaks more harshly than he feels. The worst was, +that until he got your letter he had kept hoping that I would let +him have the money for a new review.' + +'Well, for the present I prefer to believe that the money isn't +all lost. If the blackguards pay ten shillings in the pound you +will get two thousand five hundred out of them, and that's +something. But how do you stand? Will your position be that of an +ordinary creditor?' + +'I am so ignorant. I know nothing of such things.' + +'But of course your interests will be properly looked after. Put +yourself in communication with this Mr Holden. I'll have a look +into the law on the subject. Let us hope as long as we can. By +Jove! There's no other way of facing it.' + +'No, indeed.' + +'Mrs Reardon and the rest of them are safe enough, I suppose?' + +'Oh, no doubt.' + +'Confound them!--It grows upon one. One doesn't take in the whole +of such a misfortune at once. We must hold on to the last rag of +hope, and in the meantime I'll half work myself to death. Are +you going to see the girls?' + +'Not to-night. You must tell them.' + +'Dora will cry her eyes out. Upon my word, Maud'll have to draw +in her horns. I must frighten her into economy and hard work.' + +He again lost himself in anxious reverie. + +'Marian, couldn't you try your hand at fiction?' + +She started, remembering that her father had put the same +question so recently. + +'I'm afraid I could do nothing worth doing.' + +'That isn't exactly the question. Could you do anything that +would sell? With very moderate success in fiction you might make +three times as much as you ever will by magazine pot-boilers. A +girl like you. Oh, you might manage, I should think.' + +'A girl like me?' + +'Well, I mean that love-scenes, and that kind of thing, would be +very much in your line.'Marian was not given to blushing; very +few girls are, even on strong provocation. For the first time +Jasper saw her cheeks colour deeply, and it was with anything but +pleasure. His words were coarsely inconsiderate, and wounded her. + +'I think that is not my work,' she said coldly, looking away. + +'But surely there's no harm in my saying--' he paused in +astonishment. 'I meant nothing that could offend you.' + +'I know you didn't, Jasper. But you make me think that--' + +'Don't be so literal again, my dear girl. Come here and forgive +me.' + +She did not approach, but only because the painful thought he had +excited kept her to that spot. + +'Come, Marian! Then I must come to you.' + +He did so and held her in his arms. + +'Try your hand at a novel, dear, if you can possibly make time. +Put me in it, if you like, and make me an insensible masculine. +The experiment is worth a try I'm certain. At all events do a few +chapters, and let me see them. A chapter needn't take you more +than a couple of hours I should think.' + +Marian refrained from giving any promise. She seemed irresponsive +to his caresses. That thought which at times gives trouble to all +women of strong emotions was working in her: had she been too +demonstrative, and made her love too cheap? Now that Jasper's +love might be endangered, it behoved her to use any arts which +nature prompted. And so, for once, he was not wholly satisfied +with her, and at their parting he wondered what subtle change had +affected her manner to him. + +'Why didn't Marian come to speak a word?' said Dora, when her +brother entered the girls' sitting-room about ten o'clock. + +'You knew she was with me, then?' + +'We heard her voice as she was going away.' + +'She brought me some enspiriting news, and thought it better I +should have the reporting of it to you.' + +With brevity he made known what had befallen. + +'Cheerful, isn't it? The kind of thing that strengthens one's +trust in Providence.' + +The girls were appalled. Maud, who was reading by the fireside, +let her book fall to her lap, and knit her brows darkly. + +'Then your marriage must be put off, of course?' said Dora. + +'Well, I shouldn't be surprised if that were found necessary,' +replied her brother caustically. He was able now to give vent to +the feeling which in Marian's presence was suppressed, partly out +of consideration for her, and partly owing to her influence. + +'And shall we have to go back to our old lodgings again?' +inquired Maud. + +Jasper gave no answer, but kicked a footstool savagely out of his +way and paced the room. + +'Oh, do you think we need?' said Dora, with unusual protest +against economy. + +'Remember that it's a matter for your own consideration,' Jasper +replied at length. 'You are living on your own resources, you +know.' + +Maud glanced at her sister, but Dora was preoccupied. + +'Why do you prefer to stay here?' Jasper asked abruptly of the +younger girl. + +'It is so very much nicer,' she replied with some embarrassment. + +He bit the ends of his moustache, and his eyes glared at the +impalpable thwarting force that to imagination seemed to fill the +air about him. + +'A lesson against being over-hasty,' he muttered, again kicking +the footstool. + +'Did you make that considerate remark to Marian?' asked Maud. + +'There would have been no harm if I had done. She knows that I +shouldn't have been such an ass as to talk of marriage without +the prospect of something to live upon.' + +'I suppose she's wretched?' said Dora. + +'What else can you expect?' + +'And did you propose to release her from the burden of her +engagement?' Maud inquired. + +'It's a confounded pity that you're not rich, Maud,' replied her +brother with an involuntary laugh. 'You would have a brilliant +reputation for wit.' + +He walked about and ejaculated splenetic phrases on the subject +of his ill-luck. + +'We are here, and here we must stay,' was the final expression of +his mood. 'I have only one superstition that I know of and that +forbids me to take a step backward. If I went into poorer +lodgings again I should feel it was inviting defeat. I shall stay +as long as the position is tenable. Let us get on to Christmas, +and then see how things look. Heavens! Suppose we had married, +and after that lost the money!' + +'You would have been no worse off than plenty of literary men,' +said Dora. + +'Perhaps not. But as I have made up my mind to be considerably +better off than most literary men that reflection wouldn't +console me much. Things are in statu quo, that's all. I have to +rely upon my own efforts. What's the time? Half-past ten; I can +get two hours' work before going to bed.' + +And nodding a good-night he left them. + +When Marian entered the house and went upstairs, she was followed +by her mother. On Mrs Yule's countenance there was a new +distress, she had been crying recently. + +'Have you seen him?' the mother asked. + +'Yes. We have talked about it.' + +'What does he wish you to do, dear?' + +'There's nothing to be done except wait.' + +'Father has been telling me something, Marian,' said Mrs Yule +after a long silence. 'He says he is going to be blind. There's +something the matter with his eyes, and he went to see someone +about it this afternoon. He'll get worse and worse, until there +has been an operation; and perhaps he'll never be able to use his +eyes properly again.' + +The girl listened in an attitude of despair. + +'He has seen an oculist?--a really good doctor?' + +'He says he went to one of the best.' + +'And how did he speak to you?' + +'He doesn't seem to care much what happens. He talked of going to +the workhouse, and things like that. But it couldn't ever come to +that, could it, Marian? Wouldn't somebody help him?' + +'There's not much help to be expected in this world,' answered +the girl. + +Physical weariness brought her a few hours of oblivion as soon as +she had lain down, but her sleep came to an end in the early +morning, when the pressure of evil dreams forced her back to +consciousness of real sorrows and cares. A fog-veiled sky added +its weight to crush her spirit; at the hour when she usually rose +it was still all but as dark as midnight. Her mother's voice at +the door begged her to lie and rest until it grew lighter, and +she willingly complied, feeling indeed scarcely capable of +leaving her bed. + +The thick black fog penetrated every corner of the house. It +could be smelt and tasted. Such an atmosphere produces low- +spirited languor even in the vigorous and hopeful; to those +wasted by suffering it is the very reek of the bottomless pit, +poisoning the soul. Her face colourless as the pillow, Marian lay +neither sleeping nor awake, in blank extremity of woe; tears now +and then ran down her cheeks, and at times her body was shaken +with a throe such as might result from anguish of the torture +chamber. + +Midway in the morning, when it was still necessary to use +artificial light, she went down to the sitting-room. The course +of household life had been thrown into confusion by the disasters +of the last day or two; Mrs Yule, who occupied herself almost +exclusively with questions of economy, cleanliness, and routine, +had not the heart to pursue her round of duties, and this +morning, though under normal circumstances she would have been +busy in 'turning out' the dining-room, she moved aimlessly and +despondently about the house, giving the servant contradictory +orders and then blaming herself for her absent-mindedness. In the +troubles of her husband and her daughter she had scarcely greater +share--so far as active participation went--than if she had been +only a faithful old housekeeper; she could only grieve and lament +that such discord had come between the two whom she loved, and +that in herself was no power even to solace their distresses. +Marian found her standing in the passage, with a duster in one +hand and a hearth-brush in the other. + +'Your father has asked to see you when you come down,' Mrs Yule +whispered. + +'I'll go to him.' + +Marian entered the study. Her father was not in his place at the +writing-table, nor yet seated in the chair which he used when he +had leisure to draw up to the fireside; he sat in front of one of +the bookcases, bent forward as if seeking a volume, but his chin +was propped upon his hand, and he had maintained this position +for a long time. He did not immediately move. When he raised his +head Marian saw that he looked older, and she noticed--or fancied +she did--that there was some unfamiliar peculiarity about his +eyes. + +'I am obliged to you for coming,' he began with distant +formality. 'Since I saw you last I have learnt something which +makes a change in my position and prospects, and it is necessary +to speak on the subject. I won't detain you more than a few +minutes.' + +He coughed, and seemed to consider his next words. + +'Perhaps I needn't repeat what I have told your mother. You have +learnt it from her, I dare say.' + +'Yes, with much grief.' + +'Thank you, but we will leave aside that aspect of the matter. +For a few more months I may be able to pursue my ordinary work, +but before long I shall certainly be disabled from earning my +livelihood by literature. Whether this will in any way affect +your own position I don't know. Will you have the goodness to +tell me whether you still purpose leaving this house?' + +'I have no means of doing so.' + +'Is there any likelihood of your marriage taking place, let us +say, within four months?' + +'Only if the executors recover my money, or a large portion of +it.' + +'I understand. My reason for asking is this. My lease of this +house terminates at the end of next March, and I shall certainly +not be justified in renewing it. If you are able to provide for +yourself in any way it will be sufficient for me to rent two +rooms after that. This disease which affects my eyes may be only +temporary; in due time an operation may render it possible for me +to work again. In hope of that I shall probably have to borrow a +sum of money on the security of my life insurance, though in the +first instance I shall make the most of what I can get for the +furniture of the house and a large part of my library; your +mother and I could live at very slight expense in lodgings. If +the disease prove irremediable, I must prepare myself for the +worst. What I wish to say is, that it will be better if from +to-day you consider yourself as working for your own subsistence. +So long as I remain here this house is of course your home; there +can be no question between us of trivial expenses. But it is +right that you should understand what my prospects are. I shall +soon have no home to offer you; you must look to your own efforts +for support.' + +'I am prepared to do that, father.' + +'I think you will have no great difficulty in earning enough for +yourself. I have done my best to train you in writing for the +periodicals, and your natural abilities are considerable. If you +marry, I wish you a happy life. The end of mine, of many long +years of unremitting toil, is failure and destitution.' + +Marian sobbed. + +'That's all I had to say,' concluded her father, his voice +tremulous with self-compassion. 'I will only beg that there may +be no further profitless discussion between us. This room is open +to you, as always, and I see no reason why we should not converse +on subjects disconnected with our personal differences.' + +'Is there no remedy for cataract in its early stages?' asked +Marian. + +'None. You can read up the subject for yourself at the British +Museum. I prefer not to speak of it.' + +'Will you let me be what help to you I can?' + +'For the present the best you can do is to establish a connection +for yourself with editors. Your name will be an assistance to +you. My advice is, that you send your "Harrington" article +forthwith to Trenchard, writing him a note. If you desire my help +in the suggestion of new subjects, I will do my best to be of +use.' + +Marian withdrew. She went to the sitting-room, where an ochreous +daylight was beginning to diffuse itself and to render the lamp +superfluous. With the dissipation of the fog rain had set in; its +splashing upon the muddy pavement was audible. + +Mrs Yule, still with a duster in her hand, sat on the sofa. +Marian took a place beside her. They talked in low, broken tones, +and wept together over their miseries. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. A RESCUE AND A SUMMONS + +The chances are that you have neither understanding nor sympathy +for men such as Edwin Reardon and Harold Biffen. They merely +provoke you. They seem to you inert, flabby, weakly envious, +foolishly obstinate, impiously mutinous, and many other things. +You are made angrily contemptuous by their failure to get on; why +don't they bestir themselves, push and bustle, welcome kicks so +long as halfpence follow, make place in the world's eye--in +short, take a leaf from the book of Mr Jasper Milvain? + +But try to imagine a personality wholly unfitted for the rough +and tumble of the world's labour-market. From the familiar point +of view these men were worthless; view them in possible relation +to a humane order of Society, and they are admirable citizens. +Nothing is easier than to condemn a type of character which is +unequal to the coarse demands of life as it suits the average +man. These two were richly endowed with the kindly and the +imaginative virtues; if fate threw them amid incongruous +circumstances, is their endowment of less value? You scorn their +passivity; but it was their nature and their merit to be passive. + +Gifted with independent means, each of them would have taken +quite a different aspect in your eyes. The sum of their faults +was their inability to earn money; but, indeed, that inability +does not call for unmingled disdain. + +It was very weak of Harold Biffen to come so near perishing of +hunger as he did in the days when he was completing his novel. +But he would have vastly preferred to eat and be satisfied had +any method of obtaining food presented itself to him. He did not +starve for the pleasure of the thing, I assure you. Pupils were +difficult to get just now, and writing that he had sent to +magazines had returned upon his hands. He pawned such of his +possessions as he could spare, and he reduced his meals to the +minimum. Nor was he uncheerful in his cold garret and with his +empty stomach, for 'Mr Bailey, Grocer,' drew steadily to an end. + +He worked very slowly. The book would make perhaps two volumes of +ordinary novel size, but he had laboured over it for many months, +patiently, affectionately, scrupulously. Each sentence was as +good as he could make it, harmonious to the ear, with words of +precious meaning skilfully set. Before sitting down to a chapter +he planned it minutely in his mind; then he wrote a rough draft +of it; then he elaborated the thing phrase by phrase. He had no +thought of whether such toil would be recompensed in coin of the +realm; nay, it was his conviction that, if with difficulty +published, it could scarcely bring him money. The work must be +significant, that was all he cared for. And he had no society of +admiring friends to encourage him. Reardon understood the merit +of the workmanship, but frankly owned that the book was repulsive +to him. To the public it would be worse than repulsive--tedious, +utterly uninteresting. No matter; it drew to its end. + +The day of its completion was made memorable by an event +decidedly more exciting, even to the author. + +At eight o'clock in the evening there remained half a page to be +written. Biffen had already worked about nine hours, and on +breaking off to appease his hunger he doubted whether to finish +to-night or to postpone the last lines till tomorrow. The +discovery that only a small crust of bread lay in the cupboard +decided him to write no more; he would have to go out to purchase +a loaf and that was disturbance. + +But stay; had he enough money? He searched his pockets. Two pence +and two farthings; no more. + +You are probably not aware that at bakers' shops in the poor +quarters the price of the half-quartern loaf varies sometimes +from week to week. At present, as Biffen knew, it was twopence +three-farthings, a common figure. But Harold did not possess +three farthings, only two. Reflecting, he remembered to have +passed yesterday a shop where the bread was marked twopence +halfpenny; it was a shop in a very obscure little street off +Hampstead Road, some distance from Clipstone Street. Thither he +must repair. He had only his hat and a muffler to put on, for +again he was wearing his overcoat in default of the under one, +and his ragged umbrella to take from the corner; so he went +forth. + +To his delight the twopence halfpenny announcement was still in +the baker's window. He obtained a loaf wrapped it in the piece of +paper he had brought--small bakers decline to supply paper for +this purpose--and strode joyously homeward again. + +Having eaten, he looked longingly at his manuscript. But half a +page more. Should he not finish it to-night? The temptation was +irresistible. He sat down, wrought with unusual speed, and at +half-past ten wrote with magnificent flourish 'The End.' + +His fire was out and he had neither coals nor wood. But his feet +were frozen into lifelessness. Impossible to go to bed like this; +he must take another turn in the streets. It would suit his +humour to ramble a while. Had it not been so late he would have +gone to see Reardon, who expected the communication of this +glorious news. + +So again he locked his door. Half-way downstairs he stumbled over +something or somebody in the dark. + +'Who is that?' he cried. + +The answer was a loud snore. Biffen went to the bottom of the +house and called to the landlady. + +'Mrs Willoughby! Who is asleep on the stairs?' + +'Why, I 'spect it's Mr Briggs,' replied the woman, indulgently. +'Don't you mind him, Mr Biffen. There's no 'arm: he's only had a +little too much. I'll go up an' make him go to bed as soon as +I've got my 'ands clean.' + +'The necessity for waiting till then isn't obvious,' remarked the +realist with a chuckle, and went his way. + +He walked at a sharp pace for more than an hour, and about +midnight drew near to his own quarter again. He had just turned +up by the Middlesex Hospital, and was at no great distance from +Clipstone Street, when a yell and scamper caught his attention; a +group of loafing blackguards on the opposite side of the way had +suddenly broken up, and as they rushed off he heard the word +'Fire!' This was too common an occurrence to disturb his +equanimity; he wondered absently in which street the fire might +be, but trudged on without a thought of making investigation. +Repeated yells and rushes, however, assailed his apathy. Two +women came tearing by him, and he shouted to them: 'Where is it?' + +'In Clipstone Street, they say,' one screamed back. + +He could no longer be unconcerned. If in his own street the +conflagration might be in the very house he inhabited, and in +that case-- He set off at a run. Ahead of him was a thickening +throng, its position indicating the entrance to Clipstone Street. +Soon he found his progress retarded; he had to dodge this way and +that, to force progress, to guard himself against overthrows by +the torrent of ruffiandom which always breaks forth at the cry of +fire. He could now smell the smoke, and all at once a black +volume of it, bursting from upper windows, alarmed his sight. At +once he was aware that, if not his own dwelling, it must be one +of those on either side that was in flames. As yet no engine had +arrived, and straggling policemen were only just beginning to +make their way to the scene of uproar. By dint of violent effort +Biffen moved forward yard by yard. A tongue of flame which +suddenly illumined the fronts of the houses put an end to his +doubt. + +'Let me get past!' he shouted to the gaping and swaying mass of +people in front of him. 'I live there! I must go upstairs to save +something!' + +His educated accent moved attention. Repeating the demand again +and again he succeeded in getting forward, and at length was near +enough to see that people were dragging articles of furniture out +on to the pavement. + +'That you, Mr Biffen?' cried someone to him. + +He recognised the face of a fellow-lodger. + +'Is it possible to get up to my room?' broke frantically from his +lips. + +'You'll never get up there. It's that-- Briggs'--the epithet was +alliterative--''as upset his lamp, and I 'ope he'll--well get +roasted to death.' + +Biffen leaped on to the threshold, and crashed against Mrs +Willoughby, the landlady, who was carrying a huge bundle of +household linen. + +'I told you to look after that drunken brute;' he said to her. +'Can I get upstairs?' + +'What do I care whether you can or not!' the woman shrieked. 'My +God! And all them new chairs as I bought--!' + +He heard no more, but bounded over a confusion of obstacles, and +in a moment was on the landing of the first storey. Here he +encountered a man who had not lost his head, a stalwart mechanic +engaged in slipping clothes on to two little children. + +'If somebody don't drag that fellow Briggs down he'll be dead,' +observed the man. 'He's layin' outside his door. I pulled him +out, but I can't do no more for him.' + +Smoke grew thick on the staircase. Burning was as yet confined to +that front room on the second floor tenanted by Briggs the +disastrous, but in all likelihood the ceiling was ablaze, and if +so it would be all but impossible for Biffen to gain his own +chamber, which was at the back on the floor above. No one was +making an attempt to extinguish the fire; personal safety and the +rescue of their possessions alone occupied the thoughts of such +people as were still in the house. Desperate with the dread of +losing his manuscript, his toil, his one hope, the realist +scarcely stayed to listen to a warning that the fumes were +impassable; with head bent he rushed up to the next landing. +There lay Briggs, perchance already stifled, and through the open +door Biffen had a horrible vision of furnace fury. To go yet +higher would have been madness but for one encouragement: he knew +that on his own storey was a ladder giving access to a trap-door, +by which he might issue on to the roof, whence escape to the +adjacent houses would be practicable. Again a leap forward! + +In fact, not two minutes elapsed from his commencing the ascent +of the stairs to the moment when, all but fainting, he thrust the +key into his door and fell forward into purer air. Fell, for he +was on his knees, and had begun to suffer from a sense of failing +power, a sick whirling of the brain, a terror of hideous death. +His manuscript was on the table, where he had left it after +regarding and handling it with joyful self-congratulation; though +it was pitch dark in the room, he could at once lay his hand on +the heap of paper. Now he had it; now it was jammed tight under +his left arm; now he was out again on the landing, in smoke more +deadly than ever. + +He said to himself: 'If I cannot instantly break out by the trap- +door it's all over with me.' That the exit would open to a +vigorous thrust he knew, having amused himself not long ago by +going on to the roof. He touched the ladder, sprang upwards, and +felt the trap above him. But he could not push it back. 'I'm a +dead man,' flashed across his mind, 'and all for the sake of "Mr +Bailey, Grocer."' A frenzied effort, the last of which his +muscles were capable, and the door yielded. His head was now +through the aperture, and though the smoke swept up about him, +that gasp of cold air gave him strength to throw himself on the +flat portion of the roof that he had reached. + +So for a minute or two he lay. Then he was able to stand, to +survey his position, and to walk along by the parapet. He looked +down upon the surging and shouting crowd in Clipstone Street, but +could see it only at intervals, owing to the smoke that rolled +from the front windows below him. + +What he had now to do he understood perfectly. This roof was +divided from those on either hand by a stack of chimneys; to get +round the end of these stacks was impossible, or at all events +too dangerous a feat unless it were the last resource, but by +climbing to the apex of the slates he would be able to reach the +chimney-pots, to drag himself up to them, and somehow to tumble +over on to the safer side. To this undertaking he forthwith +addressed himself. Without difficulty he reached the ridge; +standing on it he found that only by stretching his arm to the +utmost could he grip the top of a chimney-pot. Had he the +strength necessary to raise himself by such a hold? And suppose +the pot broke? + +His life was still in danger; the increasing volumes of smoke +warned him that in a few minutes the uppermost storey might be in +flames. He took off his overcoat to allow himself more freedom of +action; the manuscript, now an encumbrance, must precede him over +the chimney-stack, and there was only one way of effecting that. +With care he stowed the papers into the pockets of the coat; then +he rolled the garment together, tied it up in its own sleeves, +took a deliberate aim--and the bundle was for the present in +safety. + +Now for the gymnastic endeavour. Standing on tiptoe, he clutched +the rim of the chimney-pot, and strove to raise himself. The hold +was firm enough, but his arms were far too puny to perform such +work, even when death would be the penalty of failure. Too long +he had lived on insufficient food and sat over the debilitating +desk. He swung this way and that, trying to throw one of his +knees as high as the top of the brickwork, but there was no +chance of his succeeding. Dropping on to the slates, he sat there +in perturbation. + +He must cry for help. In front it was scarcely possible to stand +by the parapet, owing to the black clouds of smoke, now mingled +with sparks; perchance he might attract the notice of some person +either in the yards behind or at the back windows of other +houses. The night was so obscure that he could not hope to be +seen; voice alone must be depended upon, and there was no +certainty that it would be heard far enough. Though he stood in +his shirt-sleeves in a bitter wind no sense of cold affected him; +his face was beaded with perspiration drawn forth by his futile +struggle to climb. He let himself slide down the rear slope, and, +holding by the end of the chimney brickwork, looked into the +yards. At the same instant a face appeared to him--that of a man +who was trying to obtain a glimpse of this roof from that of the +next house by thrusting out his head beyond the block of +chimneys. + +'Hollo!' cried the stranger. 'What are you doing there?' + +'Trying to escape, of course. Help me to get on to your roof.' + +'By God! I expected to see the fire coming through already. Are +you the-- as upset his lamp an' fired the bloomin' 'ouse?' + +'Not I! He's lying drunk on the stairs; dead by this time.' + +'By God! I wouldn't have helped you if you'd been him. How are +you coming round? Blest if I see! You'll break your bloomin' neck +if you try this corner. You'll have to come over the chimneys; +wait till I get a ladder.' + +'And a rope,' shouted Biffen. + +The man disappeared for five minutes. To Biffen it seemed half an +hour; he felt, or imagined he felt, the slates getting hot +beneath him, and the smoke was again catching his breath. But at +length there was a shout from the top of the chimney-stack. The +rescuer had seated himself on one of the pots, and was about to +lower on Biffen's side a ladder which had enabled him to ascend +from the other. Biffen planted the lowest rung very carefully on +the ridge of the roof, climbed as lightly as possible, got a +footing between two pots; the ladder was then pulled over, and +both men descended in safety. + +'Have you seen a coat lying about here?' was Biffen's first +question. 'I threw mine over.' + +'What did you do that for?' + +'There are some valuable papers in the pockets.' + +They searched in vain; on neither side of the roof was the coat +discoverable. + +'You must have pitched it into the street,' said the man. + +This was a terrible blow; Biffen forgot his rescue from +destruction in lament for the loss of his manuscript. He would +have pursued the fruitless search, but his companion, who feared +that the fire might spread to adjoining houses, insisted on his +passing through the trap-door and descending the stairs.'If the +coat fell into the street,' Biffen said, when they were down on +the ground floor, 'of course it's lost; it would be stolen at +once. But may not it have fallen into your back yard?' + +He was standing in the midst of a cluster of alarmed people, who +stared at him in astonishment, for the reek through which he had +fought his way had given him the aspect of a sweep. His +suggestion prompted someone to run into the yard, with the result +that a muddy bundle was brought in and exhibited to him. + +'Is this your coat, Mister?' + +'Heaven be thanked! That's it! There are valuable papers in the +pockets.' + +He unrolled the garment, felt to make sure that 'Mr Bailey' was +safe, and finally put it on. + +'Will anyone here let me sit down in a room and give me a drink +of water?' he asked, feeling now as if he must drop with +exhaustion. + +The man who had rescued him performed this further kindness, and +for half an hour, whilst tumult indescribable raged about him, +Biffen sat recovering his strength. By that time the firemen were +hard at work, but one floor of the burning house had already +fallen through, and it was probable that nothing but the shell +would be saved. After giving a full account of himself to the +people among whom he had come, Harold declared his intention of +departing; his need of repose was imperative, and he could not +hope for it in this proximity to the fire. As he had no money, +his only course was to inquire for a room at some house in the +immediate neighbourhood, where the people would receive him in a +charitable spirit. + +With the aid of the police he passed to where the crowd was +thinner, and came out into Cleveland Street. Here most of the +house-doors were open, and he made several applications for +hospitality, but either his story was doubted or his grimy +appearance predisposed people against him. At length, when again +his strength was all but at an end, he made appeal to a +policeman. + +'Surely you can tell,' he protested, after explaining his +position, 'that I don't want to cheat anybody. I shall have money +to-morrow. If no one will take me in you must haul me on some +charge to the police-station; I shall have to lie down on the +pavement in a minute.' + +The officer recognised a man who was standing half-dressed on a +threshold close by; he stepped up to him and made representations +which were successful. In a few minutes Biffen took possession of +an underground room furnished as a bedchamber, which he agreed to +rent for a week. His landlord was not ungracious, and went so far +as to supply him with warm water, that he might in a measure +cleanse himself. This operation rapidly performed, the hapless +author flung himself into bed, and before long was fast asleep. + +When he went upstairs about nine o'clock in the morning he +discovered that his host kept an oil-shop. + +'Lost everything, have you?' asked the man sympathetically. + +'Everything, except the clothes I wear and some papers that I +managed to save. All my books burnt!' + +Biffen shook his head dolorously. + +'Your account-books!' cried the dealer in oil. 'Dear, dear!--and +what might your business be?' + +The author corrected this misapprehension. In the end he was +invited to break his fast, which he did right willingly. Then, +with assurances that he would return before nightfall, he left +the house. His steps were naturally first directed to Clipstone +Street; the familiar abode was a gruesome ruin, still smoking. +Neighbours informed him that Mr Briggs's body had been brought +forth in a horrible condition; but this was the only loss of life +that had happened. + +Thence he struck eastward, and at eleven came to Manville Street, +Islington. He found Reardon by the fireside, looking very ill, +and speaking with hoarseness. + +'Another cold?' + +'It looks like it. I wish you would take the trouble to go and +buy me some vermin-killer. That would suit my case.' + +'Then what would suit mine? Behold me, undeniably a philosopher; +in the literal sense of the words omnia mea mecum porto.' + +He recounted his adventures, and with such humorous vivacity that +when he ceased the two laughed together as if nothing more +amusing had ever been heard. + +'Ah, but my books, my books!' exclaimed Biffen, with a genuine +groan. 'And all my notes! At one fell swoop! If I didn't laugh, +old friend, I should sit down and cry; indeed I should. All my +classics, with years of scribbling in the margins! How am I to +buy them again?' + +'You rescued "Mr Bailey." He must repay you.' + +Biffen had already laid the manuscript on the table; it was dirty +and crumpled, but not to such an extent as to render copying +necessary. Lovingly he smoothed the pages and set them in order, +then he wrapped the whole in a piece of brown paper which Reardon +supplied, and wrote upon it the address of a firm of publishers. + +'Have you note-paper? I'll write to them; impossible to call in +my present guise.' + +Indeed his attire was more like that of a bankrupt costermonger +than of a man of letters. Collar he had none, for the griminess +of that he wore last night had necessitated its being thrown +aside; round his throat was a dirty handkerchief. His coat had +been brushed, but its recent experiences had brought it one stage +nearer to that dissolution which must very soon be its fate. His +grey trousers were now black, and his boots looked as if they had +not been cleaned for weeks. + +'Shall I say anything about the character of the book?' he asked, +seating himself with pen and paper. 'Shall I hint that it deals +with the ignobly decent?' + +'Better let them form their own judgment,' replied Reardon, in +his hoarse voice. + +'Then I'll just say that I submit to them a novel of modern life, +the scope of which is in some degree indicated by its title. Pity +they can't know how nearly it became a holocaust, and that I +risked my life to save it. If they're good enough to accept it +I'll tell them the story. And now, Reardon, I'm ashamed of +myself, but can you without inconvenience lend me ten shillings?' + +'Easily.' + +'I must write to two pupils, to inform them of my change of +address--from garret to cellar. And I must ask help from my +prosperous brother. He gives it me unreluctantly, I know, but I +am always loth to apply to him. May I use your paper for these +purposes?' + +The brother of whom he spoke was employed in a house of business +at Liverpool; the two had not met for years, but they +corresponded, and were on terms such as Harold indicated. When he +had finished his letters, and had received the half-sovereign +from Reardon, he went his way to deposit the brown-paper parcel +at the publishers'. The clerk who received it from his hands +probably thought that the author might have chosen a more +respectable messenger. + +Two days later, early in the evening, the friends were again +enjoying each other's company in Reardon's room. Both were +invalids, for Biffen had of course caught a cold from his +exposure in shirt-sleeves on the roof, and he was suffering from +the shock to his nerves; but the thought that his novel was safe +in the hands of publishers gave him energy to resist these +influences. The absence of the pipe, for neither had any palate +for tobacco at present, was the only external peculiarity of this +meeting. There seemed no reason why they should not meet +frequently before the parting which would come at Christmas; but +Reardon was in a mood of profound sadness, and several times +spoke as if already he were bidding his friend farewell. + +'I find it difficult to think,' he said, 'that you will always +struggle on in such an existence as this. To every man of mettle +there does come an opportunity, and it surely is time for yours +to present itself. I have a superstitious faith in "Mr Bailey." +If he leads you to triumph, don't altogether forget me.' + +'Don't talk nonsense.' + +'What ages it seems since that day when I saw you in the library +at Hastings, and heard you ask in vain for my book! And how +grateful I was to you! I wonder whether any mortal ever asks for +my books nowadays? Some day, when I am well established at +Croydon, you shall go to Mudie's, and make inquiry if my novels +ever by any chance leave the shelves, and then you shall give me +a true and faithful report of the answer you get. "He is quite +forgotten," the attendant will say; be sure of it.' + +'I think not.' + +'To have had even a small reputation, and to have outlived it, is +a sort of anticipation of death. The man Edwin Reardon, whose +name was sometimes spoken in a tone of interest, is really and +actually dead. And what remains of me is resigned to that. I have +an odd fancy that it will make death itself easier; it is as if +only half of me had now to die.' + +Biffen tried to give a lighter turn to the gloomy subject. + +'Thinking of my fiery adventure,' he said, in his tone of dry +deliberation, 'I find it vastly amusing to picture you as a +witness at the inquest if I had been choked and consumed. No +doubt it would have been made known that I rushed upstairs to +save some particular piece of property--several people heard me +say so--and you alone would be able to conjecture what this was. +Imagine the gaping wonderment of the coroner's jury! The Daily +Telegraph would have made a leader out of me. "This poor man was +so strangely deluded as to the value of a novel in manuscript, +which it appears he had just completed, that he positively +sacrificed his life in the endeavour to rescue it from the +flames." And the Saturday would have had a column of sneering +jocosity on the irrepressibly sanguine temperament of authors. At +all events, I should have had my day of fame.' + +'But what an ignoble death it would have been!' he pursued. +'Perishing in the garret of a lodging-house which caught fire by +the overturning of a drunkard's lamp! One would like to end +otherwise.' + +'Where would you wish to die?' asked Reardon, musingly. + +'At home,' replied the other, with pathetic emphasis. 'I have +never had a home since I was a boy, and am never likely to have +one. But to die at home is an unreasoning hope I still cherish.' + +'If you had never come to London, what would you have now been?' + +'Almost certainly a schoolmaster in some small town. And one +might be worse off than that, you know.' + +'Yes, one might live peaceably enough in such a position. And I-- +I should be in an estate-agent's office, earning a sufficient +salary, and most likely married to some unambitious country girl. + +I should have lived an intelligible life, instead of only trying +to live, aiming at modes of life beyond my reach. My mistake was +that of numberless men nowadays. Because I was conscious of +brains, I thought that the only place for me was London. It's +easy enough to understand this common delusion. We form our ideas +of London from old literature; we think of London as if it were +still the one centre of intellectual life; we think and talk like +Chatterton. But the truth is that intellectual men in our day do +their best to keep away from London--when once they know the +place. There are libraries everywhere; papers and magazines reach +the north of Scotland as soon as they reach Brompton; it's only +on rare occasions, for special kinds of work, that one is bound +to live in London. And as for recreation, why, now that no +English theatre exists, what is there in London that you can't +enjoy in almost any part of England? At all events, a yearly +visit of a week would be quite sufficient for all the special +features of the town. London is only a huge shop, with an hotel +on the upper storeys. To be sure, if you make it your artistic +subject, that's a different thing. But neither you nor I would do +that by deliberate choice.' + +'I think not.' + +'It's a huge misfortune, this will-o'-the-wisp attraction +exercised by London on young men of brains. They come here to be +degraded, or to perish, when their true sphere is a life of +peaceful remoteness. The type of man capable of success in London +is more or less callous and cynical. If I had the training of +boys, I would teach them to think of London as the last place +where life can be lived worthily.' + +'And the place where you are most likely to die in squalid +wretchedness.' + +'The one happy result of my experiences,' said Reardon, is that +they have cured me of ambition. What a miserable fellow I should +be if I were still possessed with the desire to make a name! I +can't even recall very clearly that state of mind. My strongest +desire now is for peaceful obscurity. I am tired out; I want to +rest for the remainder of my life.' + +'You won't have much rest at Croydon.' + +'Oh, it isn't impossible. My time will be wholly occupied in a +round of all but mechanical duties, and I think that will be the +best medicine for my mind. I shall read very little, and that +only in the classics. I don't say that I shall always be content +in such a position; in a few years perhaps something pleasanter +will offer. But in the meantime it will do very well. Then there +is our expedition to Greece to look forward to. I am quite in +earnest about that. The year after next, if we are both alive, +assuredly we go.' + +'The year after next.' Biffen smiled dubiously. + +'I have demonstrated to you mathematically that it is possible.' + +'You have; but so are a great many other things that one does not +dare to hope for.' + +Someone knocked at the door, opened it, and said: + +'Here's a telegram for you, Mr Reardon.' + +The friends looked at each other, as if some fear had entered the +minds of both. Reardon opened the despatch. It was from his wife, +and ran thus: + +'Willie is ill of diphtheria. Please come to us at once. I am +staying with Mrs Carter, at her mother's, at Brighton.' + +The full address was given. + +'You hadn't heard of her going there?' said Biffen, when he had +read the lines. + +'No. I haven't seen Carter for several days, or perhaps he would +have told me. Brighton, at this time of year? But I believe +there's a fashionable "season" about now, isn't there? I suppose +that would account for it.' + +He spoke in a slighting tone, but showed increasing agitation. + +'Of course you will go?' + +'I must. Though I'm in no condition for making a journey.' + +His friend examined him anxiously. + +'Are you feverish at all this evening?' + +Reardon held out a hand that the other might feel his pulse. The +beat was rapid to begin with, and had been heightened since the +arrival of the telegram. + +'But go I must. The poor little fellow has no great place in my +heart, but, when Amy sends for me, I must go. Perhaps things are +at the worst.' + +'When is there a train? Have you a time table?' + +Biffen was despatched to the nearest shop to purchase one, and in +the meanwhile Reardon packed a few necessaries in a small +travelling-bag, ancient and worn, but the object of his affection +because it had accompanied him on his wanderings in the South. +When Harold returned, his appearance excited Reardon's +astonishment--he was white from head to foot. + +'Snow?' + +'It must have been falling heavily for an hour or more.' + +'Can't be helped; I must go.' + +The nearest station for departure was London Bridge, and the next +train left at 7.20. By Reardon's watch it was now about five +minutes to seven. + +'I don't know whether it's possible,' he said, in confused hurry, +'but I must try. There isn't another train till ten past nine. +Come with me to the station, Biffen.' + +Both were ready. They rushed from the house, and sped through the +soft, steady fall of snowflakes into Upper Street. Here they were +several minutes before they found a disengaged cab. Questioning +the driver, they learnt what they would have known very well +already but for their excitement: impossible to get to London +Bridge Station in a quarter of an hour. + +'Better to go on, all the same,' was Reardon's opinion. 'If the +snow gets deep I shall perhaps not be able to have a cab at all. +But you had better not come; I forgot that you are as much out of +sorts as I am.' + +'How can you wait a couple of hours alone? In with you!' + +'Diphtheria is pretty sure to be fatal to a child of that age, +isn't it?' Reardon asked when they were speeding along City Road. + +'I'm afraid there's much danger.' + +'Why did she send?' + +'What an absurd question! You seem to have got into a thoroughly +morbid state of mind about her. Do be human, and put away your +obstinate folly.' + +'In my position you would have acted precisely as I have done. I +have had no choice.' + +'I might; but we have both of us too little practicality. The art +of living is the art of compromise. We have no right to foster +sensibilities, and conduct ourselves as if the world allowed of +ideal relations; it leads to misery for others as well as +ourselves. Genial coarseness is what it behoves men like you and +me to cultivate. Your reply to your wife's last letter was +preposterous. You ought to have gone to her of your own accord as +soon as ever you heard she was rich; she would have thanked you +for such common-sense disregard of delicacies. Let there be an +end of this nonsense, I implore you!' + +Reardon stared through the glass at the snow that fell thicker +and thicker. + +'What are we--you and I?' pursued the other. 'We have no belief +in immortality; we are convinced that this life is all; we know +that human happiness is the origin and end of all moral +considerations. What right have we to make ourselves and others +miserable for the sake of an obstinate idealism? It is our duty +to make the best of circumstances. Why will you go cutting your +loaf with a razor when you have a serviceable bread-knife?' + +Still Reardon did not speak. The cab rolled on almost silently. + +'You love your wife, and this summons she sends is proof that her +thought turns to you as soon as she is in distress.' + +'Perhaps she only thought it her duty to let the child's father +know--' + +'Perhaps--perhaps--perhaps!' cried Biffen, contemptuously. 'There +goes the razor again! Take the plain, human construction of what +happens. Ask yourself what the vulgar man would do, and do +likewise; that's the only safe rule for you.' + +They were both hoarse with too much talking, and for the last +half of the drive neither spoke. + +At the railway-station they ate and drank together, but with poor +pretence of appetite. As long as possible they kept within the +warmed rooms. Reardon was pale, and had anxious, restless eyes; +he could not remain seated, though when he had walked about for a +few minutes the trembling of his limbs obliged him to sink down. +It was an unutterable relief to both when the moment of the +train's starting approached. + +They clasped hands warmly, and exchanged a few last requests and +promises. + +'Forgive my plain speech, old fellow,' said Biffen. 'Go and be +happy!' + +Then he stood alone on the platform, watching the red light on +the last carriage as the train whirled away into darkness and +storm. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. REARDON BECOMES PRACTICAL + +Reardon had never been to Brighton, and of his own accord never +would have gone; he was prejudiced against the place because its +name has become suggestive of fashionable imbecility and the +snobbishness which tries to model itself thereon; he knew that +the town was a mere portion of London transferred to the +sea-shore, and as he loved the strand and the breakers for their +own sake, to think of them in such connection could be nothing +but a trial of his temper. Something of this species of +irritation affected him in the first part of his journey, and +disturbed the mood of kindliness with which he was approaching +Amy; but towards the end he forgot this in a growing desire to be +beside his wife in her trouble. His impatience made the hour and +a half seem interminable. + +The fever which was upon him had increased. He coughed +frequently; his breathing was difficult; though constantly +moving, he felt as if, in the absence of excitement, his one wish +would have been to lie down and abandon himself to lethargy. Two +men who sat with him in the third-class carriage had spread a rug +over their knees and amused themselves with playing cards for +trifling sums of money; the sight of their foolish faces, the +sound of their laughs, the talk they interchanged, exasperated +him to the last point of endurance; but for all that he could not +draw his attention from them. He seemed condemned by some +spiritual tormentor to take an interest in their endless games, +and to observe their visages until he knew every line with a +hateful intimacy. One of the men had a moustache of unusual form; +the ends curved upward with peculiar suddenness, and Reardon was +constrained to speculate as to the mode of training by which this +singularity had been produced. He could have shed tears of +nervous distraction in his inability to turn his thoughts upon +other things. + +On alighting at his journey's end he was seized with a fit of +shivering, an intense and sudden chill which made his teeth +chatter. In an endeavour to overcome this he began to run towards +the row of cabs, but his legs refused such exercise, and coughing +compelled him to pause for breath. Still shaking, he threw +himself into a vehicle and was driven to the address Amy had +mentioned. The snow on the ground lay thick, but no more was +falling. + +Heedless of the direction which the cab took, he suffered his +physical and mental unrest for another quarter of an hour, then a +stoppage told him that the house was reached. On his way he had +heard a clock strike eleven. + +The door opened almost as soon as he had rung the bell. He +mentioned his name, and the maid-servant conducted him to a +drawing-room on the ground-floor. The house was quite a small +one, but seemed to be well furnished. One lamp burned on the +table, and the fire had sunk to a red glow. Saying that she would +inform Mrs Reardon at once, the servant left him alone. + +He placed his bag on the floor, took off his muffler, threw back +his overcoat, and sat waiting. The overcoat was new, but the +garments beneath it were his poorest, those he wore when sitting +in his garret, for he had neither had time to change them, nor +thought of doing so. + +He heard no approaching footstep but Amy came into the room in a +way which showed that she had hastened downstairs. She looked at +him, then drew near with both hands extended, and laid them on +his shoulders, and kissed him. Reardon shook so violently that it +was all he could do to remain standing; he seized one of her +hands, and pressed it against his lips. + +'How hot your breath is!' she said. 'And how you tremble! Are you +ill?' + +'A bad cold, that's all,' he answered thickly, and coughed. 'How +is Willie?' + +'In great danger. The doctor is coming again to-night; we thought +that was his ring.' + +'You didn't expect me to-night?' + +'I couldn't feel sure whether you would come.' + +'Why did you send for me, Amy? Because Willie was in danger, and +you felt I ought to know about it?' + +'Yes--and because I--' + +She burst into tears. The display of emotion came very suddenly; +her words had been spoken in a firm voice, and only the pained +knitting of her brows had told what she was suffering. + +'If Willie dies, what shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?' broke +forth between her sobs. + +Reardon took her in his arms, and laid his hand upon her head in +the old loving way. + +'Do you wish me to go up and see him, Amy?' + +'Of course. But first, let me tell you why we are here. Edith-- +Mrs Carter--was coming to spend a week with her mother, and she +pressed me to join her. I didn't really wish to; I was unhappy, +and felt how impossible it was to go on always living away from +you. Oh, that I had never come! Then Willie would have been as +well as ever.' + +'Tell me when and how it began.' + +She explained briefly, then went on to tell of other +circumstances. + +'I have a nurse with me in the room. It's my own bedroom, and +this house is so small it will be impossible to give you a bed +here, Edwin. But there's an hotel only a few yards away.' + +'Yes, yes; don't trouble about that.' + +'But you look so ill--you are shaking so. Is it a cold you have +had long?' + +'Oh, my old habit; you remember. One cold after another, all +through the accursed winter. What does that matter when you speak +kindly to me once more? I had rather die now at your feet and see +the old gentleness when you look at me, than live on estranged +from you. No, don't kiss me, I believe these vile sore-throats +are contagious.' + +'But your lips are so hot and parched! And to think of your +coming this journey, on such a night!' + +'Good old Biffen came to the station with me. He was angry +because I had kept away from you so long. Have you given me your +heart again, Amy?' + +'Oh, it has all been a wretched mistake! But we were so poor. Now +all that is over; if only Willie can be saved to me! I am so +anxious for the doctor's coming; the poor little child can hardly +draw a breath. How cruel it is that such suffering should come +upon a little creature who has never done or thought ill!' + +'You are not the first, dearest, who has revolted against +nature's cruelty.' + +'Let us go up at once, Edwin. Leave your coat and things here. +Mrs Winter--Edith's mother--is a very old lady; she has gone to +bed. And I dare say you wouldn't care to see Mrs Carter to- +night?' + +'No, no! only you and Willie.' + +'When the doctor comes hadn't you better ask his advice for +yourself?' + +'We shall see. Don't trouble about me.' + +They went softly up to the first floor, and entered a bedroom. +Fortunately the light here was very dim, or the nurse who sat by +the child's bed must have wondered at the eccentricity with which +her patient's father attired himself. Bending over the little +sufferer, Reardon felt for the first time since Willie's birth a +strong fatherly emotion; tears rushed to his eyes, and he almost +crushed Amy's hand as he held it during the spasm of his intense +feeling. + +He sat here for a long time without speaking. The warmth of the +chamber had the reverse of an assuaging effect upon his difficult +breathing and his frequent short cough--it seemed to oppress and +confuse his brain. He began to feel a pain in his right side, and +could not sit upright on the chair. + +Amy kept regarding him, without his being aware of it. + +'Does your head ache?' she whispered. + +He nodded, but did not speak. + +'Oh, why doesn't the doctor come? I must send in a few minutes.' + +But as soon as she had spoken a bell rang in the lower part of +the house. Amy had no doubt that it announced the promised visit. + +She left the room, and in a minute or two returned with the +medical man. When the examination of the child was over, Reardon +requested a few words with the doctor in the room downstairs. + +'I'll come back to you,' he whispered to Amy. + +The two descended together, and entered the drawing-room. + +'Is there any hope for the little fellow?' Reardon asked. + +Yes, there was hope; a favourable turn might be expected. + +'Now I wish to trouble you for a moment on my own account. I +shouldn't be surprised if you tell me that I have congestion of +the lungs.' + +The doctor, a suave man of fifty, had been inspecting his +interlocutor with curiosity. He now asked the necessary +questions, and made an examination. + +'Have you had any lung trouble before this?' he inquired gravely. + +'Slight congestion of the right lung not many weeks ago.' + +'I must order you to bed immediately. Why have you allowed your +symptoms to go so far without--' + +'I have just come down from London,' interrupted Reardon. + +'Tut, tut, tut! To bed this moment, my dear sir! There is +inflammation, and--' + +'I can't have a bed in this house; there is no spare room. I must +go to the nearest hotel.' + +'Positively? Then let me take you. My carriage is at the door.' + +'One thing--I beg you won't tell my wife that this is serious. +Wait till she is out of her anxiety about the child.' + +'You will need the services of a nurse. A most unfortunate thing +that you are obliged to go to the hotel.' + +'It can't be helped. If a nurse is necessary, I must engage one.' + +He had the strange sensation of knowing that whatever was needful +could be paid for; it relieved his mind immensely. To the rich, +illness has none of the worst horrors only understood by the +poor. + +'Don't speak a word more than you can help,' said the doctor as +he watched Reardon withdraw. + +Amy stood on the lower stairs, and came down as soon as her +husband showed himself. + +'The doctor is good enough to take me in his carriage,' he +whispered. 'It is better that I should go to bed, and get a good +night's rest. I wish I could have sat with you, Amy.' + +'Is it anything? You look worse than when you came, Edwin.' + +'A feverish cold. Don't give it a thought, dearest. Go to Willie. +Good-night!' + +She threw her arms about him. + +'I shall come to see you if you are not able to be here by nine +in the morning,' she said, and added the name of the hotel to +which he was to go. + +At this establishment the doctor was well known. By midnight +Reardon lay in a comfortable room, a huge cataplasm fixed upon +him, and other needful arrangements made. A waiter had undertaken +to visit him at intervals through the night, and the man of +medicine promised to return as soon as possible after daybreak. + +What sound was that, soft and continuous, remote, now clearer, +now confusedly murmuring? He must have slept, but now he lay in +sudden perfect consciousness, and that music fell upon his ears. +Ah! of course it was the rising tide; he was near the divine sea. + +The night-light enabled him to discern the principal objects in +the room, and he let his eyes stray idly hither and thither. But +this moment of peacefulness was brought to an end by a fit of +coughing, and he became troubled, profoundly troubled, in mind. +Was his illness really dangerous? He tried to draw a deep breath, +but could not. He found that he could only lie on his right side +with any ease. And with the effort of turning he exhausted +himself; in the course of an hour or two all his strength had +left him. Vague fears flitted harassingly through his thoughts. +If he had inflammation of the lungs--that was a disease of which +one might die, and speedily. Death? No, no, no; impossible at +such a time as this, when Amy, his own dear wife, had come back +to him, and had brought him that which would insure their +happiness through all the years of a long life. + +He was still quite a young man; there must be great reserves of +strength in him. And he had the will to live, the prevailing +will, the passionate all-conquering desire of happiness. + +How he had alarmed himself! Why, now he was calmer again, and +again could listen to the music of the breakers. Not all the +folly and baseness that paraded along this strip of the shore +could change the sea's eternal melody. In a day or two he would +walk on the sands with Amy, somewhere quite out of sight of the +repulsive town. But Willie was ill; he had forgotten that. Poor +little boy! In future the child should be more to him; though +never what the mother was, his own love, won again and for ever. + +Again an interval of unconsciousness, brought to an end by that +aching in his side. He breathed very quickly; could not help +doing so. He had never felt so ill as this, never. Was it not +near morning? + +Then he dreamt. He was at Patras, was stepping into a boat to be +rowed out to the steamer which would bear him away from Greece. A +magnificent night, though at the end of December; a sky of deep +blue, thick set with stars. No sound but the steady splash of the +oars, or perhaps a voice from one of the many vessels that lay +anchored in the harbour, each showing its lantern-gleams. The +water was as deep a blue as the sky, and sparkled with reflected +radiance. + +And now he stood on deck in the light of early morning. Southward +lay the Ionian Islands; he looked for Ithaca, and grieved that it +had been passed in the hours of darkness. But the nearest point +of the main shore was a rocky promontory; it reminded him that in +these waters was fought the battle of Actium. + +The glory vanished. He lay once more a sick man in a hired +chamber, longing for the dull English dawn. + +At eight o'clock came the doctor. He would allow only a word or +two to be uttered, and his visit was brief. Reardon was chiefly +anxious to have news of the child, but for this he would have to +wait. + +At ten Amy entered the bedroom. Reardon could not raise himself, +but he stretched out his hand and took hers, and gazed eagerly at +her. She must have been weeping, he felt sure of that, and there +was an expression on her face such as he had never seen there. + +'How is Willie?' + +'Better, dear; much better.' + +He still searched her face. + +'Ought you to leave him?' + +'Hush! You mustn't speak.' + +Tears broke from her eyes, and Reardon had the conviction that +the child was dead. + +'The truth, Amy!' + +She threw herself on her knees by the bedside, and pressed her +wet cheek against his hand. + +'I am come to nurse you, dear husband,' she said a moment after, +standing up again and kissing his forehead. 'I have only you +now.' + +His heart sank, and for a moment so great a terror was upon him +that he closed his eyes and seemed to pass into utter darkness. +But those last words of hers repeated themselves in his mind, and +at length they brought a deep solace. Poor little Willie had been +the cause of the first coldness between him and Amy; her love for +him had given place to a mother's love for the child. Now it +would be as in the first days of their marriage; they would again +be all in all to each other. + +'You oughtn't to have come, feeling so ill,' she said to him. +'You should have let me know, dear.' + +He smiled and kissed her hand. + +'And you kept the truth from me last night, in kindness.' + +She checked herself, knowing that agitation must be harmful to +him. She had hoped to conceal the child's death, but the effort +was too much for her overstrung nerves. And indeed it was only +possible for her to remain an hour or two by this sick-bed, for +she was exhausted by her night of watching, and the sudden agony +with which it had concluded. Shortly after Amy's departure, a +professional nurse came to attend upon what the doctor had +privately characterised as a very grave case. + +By the evening its gravity was in no respect diminished. The +sufferer had ceased to cough and to make restless movements, and +had become lethargic; later, he spoke deliriously, or rather +muttered, for his words were seldom intelligible. Amy had +returned to the room at four o'clock, and remained till far into +the night; she was physically exhausted, and could do little but +sit in a chair by the bedside and shed silent tears, or gaze at +vacancy in the woe of her sudden desolation. Telegrams had been +exchanged with her mother, who was to arrive in Brighton +to-morrow morning; the child's funeral would probably be on the +third day from this. + +When she rose to go away for the night, leaving the nurse in +attendance, Reardon seemed to lie in a state of unconsciousness, +but just as she was turning from the bed, he opened his eyes and +pronounced her name. + +'I am here, Edwin,' she answered, bending over him. + +'Will you let Biffen know?' he said in low but very clear tones. + +'That you are ill dear? I will write at once, or telegraph, if +you like. What is his address?' + +He had closed his eyes again, and there came no reply. Amy +repeated her question twice; she was turning from him in +hopelessness when his voice became audible. + +'I can't remember his new address. I know it, but I can't +remember.' + +She had to leave him thus. + +The next day his breathing was so harassed that he had to be +raised against pillows. But throughout the hours of daylight his +mind was clear, and from time to time he whispered words of +tenderness in reply to Amy's look. He never willingly +relinquished her hand, and repeatedly he pressed it against his +cheek or lips. Vainly he still endeavoured to recall his friend's +address. + +'Couldn't Mr Carter discover it for you?' Amy asked. + +'Perhaps. You might try.' + +She would have suggested applying to Jasper Milvain, but that +name must not be mentioned. Whelpdale, also, would perchance know +where Biffen lived, but Whelpdale's address he had also +forgotten. + +At night there were long periods of delirium; not mere confused +muttering, but continuous talk which the listeners could follow +perfectly. + +For the most part the sufferer's mind was occupied with revival +of the distress he had undergone whilst making those last efforts +to write something worthy of himself. Amy's heart was wrung as +she heard him living through that time of supreme misery--misery +which she might have done so much to alleviate, had not selfish +fears and irritated pride caused her to draw further and further +from him. Hers was the kind of penitence which is forced by sheer +stress of circumstances on a nature which resents any form of +humiliation; she could not abandon herself to unreserved grief +for what she had done or omitted, and the sense of this defect +made a great part of her affliction. When her husband lay in mute +lethargy, she thought only of her dead child, and mourned the +loss; but his delirious utterances constrained her to break from +that bittersweet preoccupation, to confuse her mourning with +self-reproach and with fears. + +Though unconsciously, he was addressing her: 'I can do no more, +Amy. My brain seems to be worn out; I can't compose, I can't even +think. Look! I have been sitting here for hours, and I have done +only that little bit, half a dozen lines. Such poor stuff too! I +should burn it, only I can't afford. I must do my regular +quantity every day, no matter what it is.' + +The nurse, who was present when he talked in this way, looked to +Amy for an explanation. + +'My husband is an author,' Amy answered. 'Not long ago he was +obliged to write when he was ill and ought to have been resting.' + +'I always thought it must be hard work writing books,' said the +nurse with a shake of her head. + +'You don't understand me,' the voice pursued, dreadful as a voice +always is when speaking independently of the will. 'You think I +am only a poor creature, because I can do nothing better than +this. If only I had money enough to rest for a year or two, you +should see. Just because I have no money I must sink to this +degradation. And I am losing you as well; you don't love me!' + +He began to moan in anguish. + +But a happy change presently came over his dreaming. He fell into +animated description of his experiences in Greece and Italy, and +after talking for a long time, he turned his head and said in a +perfectly natural tone: + +'Amy, do you know that Biffen and I are going to Greece?' + +She believed he spoke consciously, and replied: + +'You must take me with you, Edwin.' + +He paid no attention to this remark, but went on with the same +deceptive accent. + +'He deserves a holiday after nearly getting burnt to death to +save his novel. Imagine the old fellow plunging headlong into the +flames to rescue his manuscript! Don't say that authors can't be +heroic!' + +And he laughed gaily. + +Another morning broke. It was possible, said the doctors (a +second had been summoned), that a crisis which drew near might +bring the favourable turn; but Amy formed her own opinion from +the way in which the nurse expressed herself. She felt sure that +the gravest fears were entertained. Before noon Reardon awoke +from what had seemed natural sleep--save for the rapid breathing- +-and of a sudden recollected the number of the house in Cleveland +Street at which Biffen was now living. He uttered it without +explanation. Amy at once conjectured his meaning, and as soon as +her surmise was confirmed she despatched a telegram to her +husband's friend. + +That evening, as Amy was on the point of returning to the sick- +room after having dined at her friend's house, it was announced +that a gentleman named Biffen wished to see her. She found him in +the dining-room, and, even amid her distress, it was a +satisfaction to her that he presented a far more conventional +appearance than in the old days. All the garments he wore, even +his hat, gloves, and boots, were new; a surprising state of +things, explained by the fact of his commercial brother having +sent him a present of ten pounds, a practical expression of +sympathy with him in his recent calamity. Biffen could not speak; +he looked with alarm at Amy's pallid face. In a few words she +told him of Reardon's condition. + +'I feared this,' he replied under his breath. 'He was ill when I +saw him off at London Bridge. But Willie is better, I trust?' + +Amy tried to answer, but tears filled her eyes and her head +drooped. Harold was overcome with a sense of fatality; grief and +dread held him motionless. + +They conversed brokenly for a few minutes, then left the house, +Biffen carrying the hand-bag with which he had travelled hither. +When they reached the hotel he waited apart until it was +ascertained whether he could enter the sick-room. Amy rejoined +him and said with a faint smile: + +'He is conscious, and was very glad to hear that you had come. +But don't let him try to speak much.' + +The change that had come over his friend's countenance was to +Harold, of course, far more gravely impressive than to those who +had watched at the bedside. In the drawn features, large sunken +eyes, thin and discoloured lips, it seemed to him that he read +too surely the presage of doom. After holding the shrunken hand +for a moment he was convulsed with an agonising sob, and had to +turn away. + +Amy saw that her husband wished to speak to her; she bent over +him. + +'Ask him to stay, dear. Give him a room in the hotel.' + +'I will.' + +Biffen sat down by the bedside, and remained for half an hour. +His friend inquired whether he had yet heard about the novel; the +answer was a shake of the head. When he rose, Reardon signed to +him to bend down, and whispered: + +'It doesn't matter what happens; she is mine again.' + +The next day was very cold, but a blue sky gleamed over land and +sea. The drives and promenades were thronged with people in +exuberant health and spirits. Biffen regarded this spectacle with +resentful scorn; at another time it would have moved him merely +to mirth, but not even the sound of the breakers when he had +wandered as far as possible from human contact could help him to +think with resignation of the injustice which triumphs so +flagrantly in the destinies of men. Towards Amy he had no shadow +of unkindness; the sight of her in tears had impressed him as +profoundly, in another way, as that of his friend's wasted +features. She and Reardon were again one, and his love for them +both was stronger than any emotion of tenderness he had ever +known. + +In the afternoon he again sat by the bedside. Every symptom of +the sufferer's condition pointed to an approaching end: a face +that had grown cadaverous, livid lips, breath drawn in hurrying +gasps. Harold despaired of another look of recognition. But as he +sat with his forehead resting on his hand Amy touched him; +Reardon had turned his face in their direction, and with a +conscious gaze. + +'I shall never go with you to Greece,' he said distinctly. + +There was silence again. Biffen did not move his eyes from the +deathly mask; in a minute or two he saw a smile soften its +lineaments, and Reardon again spoke: + +'How often you and I have quoted it!--"We are such stuff as +dreams are made on, and our--"' + +The remaining words were indistinguishable, and, as if the effort +of utterance had exhausted him, his eyes closed, and he sank into +lethargy. + +When he came down from his bedroom on the following morning, +Biffen was informed that his friend had died between two and +three o'clock. At the same time he received a note in which Amy +requested him to come and see her late in the afternoon. He spent +the day in a long walk along the eastward cliffs; again the sun +shone brilliantly, and the sea was flecked with foam upon its +changing green and azure. It seemed to him that he had never +before known solitude, even through all the years of his lonely +and sad existence. + +At sunset he obeyed Amy's summons. He found her calm, but with +the signs of long weeping. + +'At the last moment,' she said, 'he was able to speak to me, and +you were mentioned. He wished you to have all that he has left in +his room at Islington. When I come back to London, will you take +me there and let me see the room just as when he lived in it? Let +the people in the house know what has happened, and that I am +responsible for whatever will be owing.' + +Her resolve to behave composedly gave way as soon as Harold's +broken voice had replied. Hysterical sobbing made further speech +from her impossible, and Biffen, after holding her hand +reverently for a moment, left her alone. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. THE SUNNY WAY + +On an evening of early summer, six months after the death of +Edwin Reardon, Jasper of the facile pen was bending over his +desk, writing rapidly by the warm western light which told that +sunset was near. Not far from him sat his younger sister; she was +reading, and the book in her hand bore the title, 'Mr Bailey, +Grocer.' + +'How will this do?' Jasper exclaimed, suddenly throwing down his +pen. + +And he read aloud a critical notice of the book with which Dora +was occupied; a notice of the frankly eulogistic species, +beginning with: 'It is seldom nowadays that the luckless reviewer +of novels can draw the attention of the public to a new work +which is at once powerful and original;' and ending: 'The word is +a bold one, but we do not hesitate to pronounce this book a +masterpiece.' + +'Is that for The Current?' asked Dora, when he had finished. + +'No, for The West End. Fadge won't allow anyone but himself to be +lauded in that style. I may as well do the notice for The Current +now, as I've got my hand in.' + +He turned to his desk again, and before daylight failed him had +produced a piece of more cautious writing, very favourable on the +whole, but with reserves and slight censures. This also he read +to Dora. + +'You wouldn't suspect they were written by the same man, eh?' + +'No. You have changed the style very skilfully.' + +'I doubt if they'll be much use. Most people will fling the book +down with yawns before they're half through the first volume. If +I knew a doctor who had many cases of insomnia in hand, I would +recommend "Mr Bailey" to him as a specific.' + +'Oh, but it is really clever, Jasper!' + +'Not a doubt of it. I half believe what I have written. And if +only we could get it mentioned in a leader or two, and so on, old +Biffen's fame would be established with the better sort of +readers. But he won't sell three hundred copies. I wonder whether +Robertson would let me do a notice for his paper?' + +'Biffen ought to be grateful to you, if he knew,' said Dora, +laughing. + +'Yet, now, there are people who would cry out that this kind of +thing is disgraceful. It's nothing of the kind. Speaking +seriously, we know that a really good book will more likely than +not receive fair treatment from two or three reviewers; yes, but +also more likely than not it will be swamped in the flood of +literature that pours forth week after week, and won't have +attention fixed long enough upon it to establish its repute. The +struggle for existence among books is nowadays as severe as among +men. If a writer has friends connected with the press,. it is the +plain duty of those friends to do their utmost to help him. What +matter if they exaggerate, or even lie? The simple, sober truth +has no chance whatever of being listened to, and it's only by +volume of shouting that the ear of the public is held. What use +is it to Biffen if his work struggles to slow recognition ten +years hence? Besides, as I say, the growing flood of literature +swamps everything but works of primary genius. If a clever and +conscientious book does not spring to success at once, there's +precious small chance that it will survive. Suppose it were +possible for me to write a round dozen reviews of this book, in +as many different papers, I would do it with satisfaction. Depend +upon it, this kind of thing will be done on that scale before +long. And it's quite natural. A man's friends must be helped, by +whatever means, quocunque modo, as Biffen himself would say.' + +'I dare say he doesn't even think of you as a friend now.' + +'Very likely not. It's ages since I saw him. But there's much +magnanimity in my character, as I have often told you. It +delights me to be generous, whenever I can afford it.' + +Dusk was gathering about them. As they sat talking, there came a +tap at the door, and the summons to enter was obeyed by Mr +Whelpdale. + +'I was passing,' he said in his respectful voice, 'and couldn't +resist the temptation.' + +Jasper struck a match and lit the lamp. In this clearer light +Whelpdale was exhibited as a young man of greatly improved +exterior; he wore a cream-coloured waistcoat, a necktie of subtle +hue, and delicate gloves; prosperity breathed from his whole +person. It was, in fact, only a moderate prosperity to which he +had as yet attained, but the future beckoned to him flatteringly. + +Early in this year, his enterprise as 'literary adviser' had +brought him in contact with a man of some pecuniary resources, +who proposed to establish an agency for the convenience of +authors who were not skilled in disposing of their productions to +the best advantage. Under the name of Fleet & Co., this business +was shortly set on foot, and Whelpdale's services were retained +on satisfactory terms. The birth of the syndicate system had +given new scope to literary agencies, and Mr Fleet was a man of +keen eye for commercial opportunities. + +'Well, have you read Biffen's book?' asked Jasper. + +'Wonderful, isn't it! A work of genius, I am convinced. Ha! you +have it there, Miss Dora. But I'm afraid it is hardly for you.' + +'And why not, Mr Whelpdale?' + +'You should only read of beautiful things, of happy lives. This +book must depress you.' + +'But why will you imagine me such a feeble-minded person?' asked +Dora. 'You have so often spoken like this. I have really no +ambition to be a doll of such superfine wax.' + +The habitual flatterer looked deeply concerned. + +'Pray forgive me!' he murmured humbly, leaning forwards towards +the girl with eyes which deprecated her displeasure. 'I am very +far indeed from attributing weakness to you. It was only the +natural, unreflecting impulse; one finds it so difficult to +associate you, even as merely a reader, with such squalid scenes. + +The ignobly decent, as poor Biffen calls it, is so very far from +that sphere in which you are naturally at home.' + +There was some slight affectation in his language, but the tone +attested sincere feeling. Jasper was watching him with half an +eye, and glancing occasionally at Dora. + +'No doubt,' said the latter, 'it's my story in The English Girl +that inclines you to think me a goody-goody sort of young woman.' + +'So far from that, Miss Dora, I was only waiting for an +opportunity to tell you how exceedingly delighted I have been +with the last two weeks' instalments. In all seriousness, I +consider that story of yours the best thing of the kind that ever +came under my notice. You seem to me to have discovered a new +genre; such writing as this has surely never been offered to +girls, and all the readers of the paper must be immensely +grateful to you. I run eagerly to buy the paper each week; I +assure you I do. The stationer thinks I purchase it for a sister, +I suppose. But each section of the story seems to be better than +the last. Mark the prophecy which I now make: when this tale is +published in a volume its success will be great. You will be +recognised, Miss Dora, as the new writer for modern English +girls.' + +The subject of this panegyric coloured a little and laughed. +Unmistakably she was pleased. + +'Look here, Whelpdale,' said Jasper, 'I can't have this; Dora's +conceit, please to remember, is, to begin with, only a little +less than my own, and you will make her unendurable. Her tale is +well enough in its way, but then its way is a very humble one.' + +'I deny it!' cried the other, excitedly. 'How can it be called a +humble line of work to provide reading, which is at once +intellectual and moving and exquisitely pure, for the most +important part of the population--the educated and refined young +people who are just passing from girlhood to womanhood?' + +'The most important fiddlestick!' + +'You are grossly irreverent, my dear Milvain. I cannot appeal to +your sister, for she's too modest to rate her own sex at its true +value, but the vast majority of thoughtful men would support me. +You yourself do, though you affect this profane way of speaking. +And we know,' he looked at Dora, 'that he wouldn't talk like this +if Miss Yule were present.' + +Jasper changed the topic of conversation, and presently Whelpdale +was able to talk with more calmness. The young man, since his +association with Fleet & Co., had become fertile in suggestions +of literary enterprise, and at present he was occupied with a +project of special hopefulness. + +'I want to find a capitalist,' he said, 'who will get possession +of that paper Chat, and transform it according to an idea I have +in my head. The thing is doing very indifferently, but I am +convinced it might be made splendid property, with a few changes +in the way of conducting it.' + +'The paper is rubbish,' remarked Jasper, 'and the kind of +rubbish--oddly enough--which doesn't attract people.' + +'Precisely, but the rubbish is capable of being made a very +valuable article, if it were only handled properly. I have talked +to the people about it again and again, but I can't get them to +believe what I say. Now just listen to my notion. In the first +place, I should slightly alter the name; only slightly, but that +little alteration would in itself have an enormous effect. +Instead of Chat I should call it Chit-Chat!' + +Jasper exploded with mirth. + +'That's brilliant!' he cried. 'A stroke of genius!' + +'Are you serious? Or are you making fun of me? I believe it is a +stroke of genius. Chat doesn't attract anyone, but Chit-Chat +would sell like hot cakes, as they say in America. I know I am +right; laugh as you will.' + +'On the same principle,' cried Jasper, 'if The Tatler were +changed to Tittle-Tattle, its circulation would be trebled.' + +Whelpdale smote his knee in delight. + +'An admirable idea! Many a true word uttered in joke, and this is +an instance! Tittle-Tattle--a magnificent title; the very thing +to catch the multitude.' + +Dora was joining in the merriment, and for a minute or two +nothing but bursts of laughter could be heard. + +'Now do let me go on,' implored the man of projects, when the +noise subsided. 'That's only one change, though a most important +one. What I next propose is this:--I know you will laugh again, +but I will demonstrate to you that I am right. No article in the +paper is to measure more than two inches in length, and every +inch must be broken into at least two paragraphs.' + +'Superb!' + +'But you are joking, Mr Whelpdale!' exclaimed Dora. + +'No, I am perfectly serious. Let me explain my principle. I would +have the paper address itself to the quarter-educated; that is to +say, the great new generation that is being turned out by the +Board schools, the young men and women who can just read, but are +incapable of sustained attention. People of this kind want +something to occupy them in trains and on 'buses and trams. As a +rule they care for no newspapers except the Sunday ones; what +they want is the lightest and frothiest of chit-chatty +information--bits of stories, bits of description, bits of +scandal, bits of jokes, bits of statistics, bits of foolery. Am I +not right? Everything must be very short, two inches at the +utmost; their attention can't sustain itself beyond two inches. +Even chat is too solid for them: they want chit-chat.' + +Jasper had begun to listen seriously. + +'There's something in this, Whelpdale,' he remarked. + +'Ha! I have caught you?' cried the other delightedly. 'Of course +there's something in it?' + +'But--' began Dora, and checked herself. + +'You were going to say--' Whelpdale bent towards her with +deference. + +'Surely these poor, silly people oughtn't to be encouraged in +their weakness.' + +Whelpdale's countenance fell. He looked ashamed of himself. But +Jasper came speedily to the rescue. + +'That's twaddle, Dora. Fools will be fools to the world's end. +Answer a fool according to his folly; supply a simpleton with the +reading he craves, if it will put money in your pocket. You have +discouraged poor Whelpdale in one of the most notable projects of +modern times.' + +'I shall think no more of it,' said Whelpdale, gravely. 'You are +right, Miss Dora.' + +Again Jasper burst into merriment. His sister reddened, and +looked uncomfortable. She began to speak timidly: + +'You said this was for reading in trains and 'buses?' + +Whelpdale caught at hope. + +'Yes. And really, you know, it may be better at such times to +read chit-chat than to be altogether vacant, or to talk +unprofitably. I am not sure; I bow to your opinion unreservedly.' + +'So long as they only read the paper at such times,' said Dora, +still hesitating. 'One knows by experience that one really can't +fix one's attention in travelling; even an article in a newspaper +is often too long.' + +'Exactly! And if you find it so, what must be the case with the +mass of untaught people, the quarter-educated? It might encourage +in some of them a taste for reading--don't you think?' + +'It might,' assented Dora, musingly. 'And in that case you would +be doing good!' + +'Distinct good!' + +They smiled joyfully at each other. Then Whelpdale turned to +Jasper: + +'You are convinced that there is something in this?' + +'Seriously, I think there is. It would all depend on the skill of +the fellows who put the thing together every week. There ought +always to be one strongly sensational item--we won't call it +article. For instance, you might display on a placard: "What the +Queen eats!" or "How Gladstone's collars are made!"--things of +that kind.' + +'To be sure, to be sure. And then, you know,' added Whelpdale, +glancing anxiously at Dora, 'when people had been attracted by +these devices, they would find a few things that were really +profitable. We would give nicely written little accounts of +exemplary careers, of heroic deeds, and so on. Of course nothing +whatever that could be really demoralising--cela va sans dire. +Well, what I was going to say was this: would you come with me to +the office of Chat, and have a talk with my friend Lake, the sub- +editor? I know your time is very valuable, but then you're often +running into the Will-o'-the-Wisp, and Chat is just upstairs, you +know.' + +'What use should I be?' + +'Oh, all the use in the world. Lake would pay most respectful +attention to your opinion, though he thinks so little of mine. +You are a man of note, I am nobody. I feel convinced that you +could persuade the Chat people to adopt my idea, and they might +be willing to give me a contingent share of contingent profits, +if I had really shown them the way to a good thing.' + +Jasper promised to think the matter over. Whilst their talk still +ran on this subject, a packet that had come by post was brought +into the room. Opening it, Milvain exclaimed: + +'Ha! this is lucky. There's something here that may interest you, +Whelpdale.' + +'Proofs?' + +'Yes. A paper I have written for The Wayside.' He looked at Dora, +who smiled. 'How do you like the title?--"The Novels of Edwin +Reardon!"' + +'You don't say so!' cried the other. 'What a good-hearted fellow +you are, Milvain! Now that's really a kind thing to have done. By +Jove! I must shake hands with you; I must indeed! Poor Reardon! +Poor old fellow!' + +His eyes gleamed with moisture. Dora, observing this, looked at +him so gently and sweetly that it was perhaps well he did not +meet her eyes; the experience would have been altogether too much +for him. + +'It has been written for three months,' said Jasper, 'but we have +held it over for a practical reason. When I was engaged upon it, +I went to see Mortimer, and asked him if there was any chance of +a new edition of Reardon's books. He had no idea the poor fellow +was dead, and the news seemed really to affect him. He promised +to consider whether it would be worth while trying a new issue, +and before long I heard from him that he would bring out the two +best books with a decent cover and so on, provided I could get my +article on Reardon into one of the monthlies. This was soon +settled. The editor of The Wayside answered at once, when I wrote +to him, that he should be very glad to print what I proposed, as +he had a real respect for Reardon. Next month the books will be +out--"Neutral Ground," and "Hubert Reed." Mortimer said he was +sure these were the only ones that would pay for themselves. But +we shall see. He may alter his opinion when my article has been +read.' + +'Read it to us now, Jasper, will you?' asked Dora. + +The request was supported by Whelpdale, and Jasper needed no +pressing. He seated himself so that the lamplight fell upon the +pages, and read the article through. It was an excellent piece of +writing (see The Wayside, June 1884), and in places touched with +true emotion. Any intelligent reader would divine that the author +had been personally acquainted with the man of whom he wrote, +though the fact was nowhere stated. The praise was not +exaggerated, yet all the best points of Reardon's work were +admirably brought out. One who knew Jasper might reasonably have +doubted, before reading this, whether he was capable of so +worthily appreciating the nobler man. + +'I never understood Reardon so well before,' declared Whelpdale, +at the close. 'This is a good thing well done. It's something to +be proud of, Miss Dora.' + +'Yes, I feel that it is,' she replied. + +'Mrs Reardon ought to be very grateful to you, Milvain. By-the- +by, do you ever see her?' + +'I have met her only once since his death--by chance.' + +'Of course she will marry again. I wonder who'll be the fortunate +man?' + +'Fortunate, do you think?' asked Dora quietly, without looking at +him. + +'Oh, I spoke rather cynically, I'm afraid,' Whelpdale hastened to +reply. 'I was thinking of her money. Indeed, I knew Mrs Reardon +only very slightly.' + +'I don't think you need regret it,' Dora remarked. + +'Oh, well, come, come!' put in her brother. 'We know very well +that there was little enough blame on her side.' + +'There was great blame!' Dora exclaimed. 'She behaved shamefully! + +I wouldn't speak to her; I wouldn't sit down in her company!' + +'Bosh! What do you know about it? Wait till you are married to a +man like Reardon, and reduced to utter penury.' + +'Whoever my husband was, I would stand by him, if I starved to +death.' + +'If he ill-used you?' + +'I am not talking of such cases. Mrs Reardon had never anything +of the kind to fear. It was impossible for a man such as her +husband to behave harshly. Her conduct was cowardly, faithless, +unwomanly!' + +'Trust one woman for thinking the worst of another,' observed +Jasper with something like a sneer. + +Dora gave him a look of strong disapproval; one might have +suspected that brother and sister had before this fallen into +disagreement on the delicate topic. Whelpdale felt obliged to +interpose, and had of course no choice but to support the girl. + +'I can only say,' he remarked with a smile, 'that Miss Dora takes +a very noble point of view. One feels that a wife ought to be +staunch. But it's so very unsafe to discuss matters in which one +cannot know all the facts.' + +'We know quite enough of the facts,' said Dora, with delightful +pertinacity. + +'Indeed, perhaps we do,' assented her slave. Then, turning to her +brother, 'Well, once more I congratulate you. I shall talk of +your article incessantly, as soon as it appears. And I shall +pester every one of my acquaintances to buy Reardon's books-- +though it's no use to him, poor fellow. Still, he would have died +more contentedly if he could have foreseen this. By-the-by, +Biffen will be profoundly grateful to you, I'm sure.' + +'I'm doing what I can for him, too. Run your eye over these +slips.' + +Whelpdale exhausted himself in terms of satisfaction. + +'You deserve to get on, my dear fellow. In a few years you will +be the Aristarchus of our literary world.' + +When the visitor rose to depart, Jasper said he would walk a +short distance with him. As soon as they had left the house, the +future Aristarchus made a confidential communication. + +'It may interest you to know that my sister Maud is shortly to be +married.' + +'Indeed! May I ask to whom?' + +'A man you don't know. His name is Dolomore--a fellow in +society.' + +'Rich, then, I hope?' + +'Tolerably well-to-do. I dare say he has three or four thousand a +year!' + +'Gracious heavens! Why, that's magnificent.' + +But Whelpdale did not look quite so much satisfaction as his +words expressed. + +'Is it to be soon?' he inquired. + +'At the end of the season. Make no difference to Dora and me, of +course.' + +'Oh? Really? No difference at all? You will let me come and see +you--both--just in the old way, Milvain?' + +'Why the deuce shouldn't you?' + +'To be sure, to be sure. By Jove! I really don't know how I +should get on if I couldn't look in of an evening now and then. I +have got so much into the habit of it. And--I'm a lonely beggar, +you know. I don't go into society, and really--' + +He broke off, and Jasper began to speak of other things. + +When Milvain re-entered the house, Dora had gone to her own +sitting-room. It was not quite ten o'clock. Taking one set of the +proofs of his 'Reardon' article, he put it into a large envelope; +then he wrote a short letter, which began 'Dear Mrs Reardon,' and +ended 'Very sincerely yours,' the communication itself being as +follows: + +'I venture to send you the proofs of a paper which is to appear +in next month's Wayside, in the hope that it may seem to you not +badly done, and that the reading of it may give you pleasure. If +anything occurs to you which you would like me to add, or if you +desire any omission, will you do me the kindness to let me know +of it as soon as possible, and your suggestion shall at once be +adopted. I am informed that the new edition of "On Neutral +Ground" and "Hubert Reed" will be ready next month. Need I say +how glad I am that my friend's work is not to be forgotten?' + +This note he also put into the envelope, which he made ready for +posting. Then he sat for a long time in profound thought. + +Shortly after eleven his door opened, and Maud came in. She had +been dining at Mrs Lane's. Her attire was still simple, but of +quality which would have signified recklessness, but for the +outlook whereof Jasper spoke to Whelpdale. The girl looked very +beautiful. There was a flush of health and happiness on her +cheek, and when she spoke it was in a voice that rang quite +differently from her tones of a year ago; the pride which was +natural to her had now a firm support; she moved and uttered +herself in queenly fashion. + +'Has anyone been?' she asked. + +'Whelpdale.' + +'Oh! I wanted to ask you, Jasper: do you think it wise to let him +come quite so often?' + +'There's a difficulty, you see. I can hardly tell him to sheer +off. And he's really a decent fellow.' + +'That may be. But--I think it's rather unwise. Things are +changed. In a few months, Dora will be a good deal at my house, +and will see all sorts of people.' + +'Yes; but what if they are the kind of people she doesn't care +anything about? You must remember, old girl, that her tastes are +quite different from yours. I say nothing, but--perhaps it's as +well they should be.' + +'You say nothing, but you add an insult,' returned Maud, with a +smile of superb disregard. 'We won't reopen the question.' + +'Oh dear no! And, by-the-by, I have a letter from Dolomore. It +came just after you left.' + +'Well?' + +'He is quite willing to settle upon you a third of his income +from the collieries; he tells me it will represent between seven +and eight hundred a year. I think it rather little, you know; but +I congratulate myself on having got this out of him.' + +'Don't speak in that unpleasant way! It was only your abruptness +that made any kind of difficulty.' + +'I have my own opinion on that point, and I shall beg leave to +keep it. Probably he will think me still more abrupt when I +request, as I am now going to do, an interview with his +solicitors.' + +'Is that allowable?' asked Maud, anxiously. 'Can you do that with +any decency?' + +'If not, then I must do it with indecency. You will have the +goodness to remember that if I don't look after your interests, +no one else will. It's perhaps fortunate for you that I have a +good deal of the man of business about me. Dolomore thought I was +a dreamy, literary fellow. I don't say that he isn't entirely +honest, but he shows something of a disposition to play the +autocrat, and I by no means intend to let him. If you had a +father, Dolomore would have to submit his affairs to examination. + +I stand to you in loco parentis, and I shall bate no jot of my +rights.' + +'But you can't say that his behaviour hasn't been perfectly +straightforward.' + +'I don't wish to. I think, on the whole, he has behaved more +honourably than was to be expected of a man of his kind. But he +must treat me with respect. My position in the world is greatly +superior to his. And, by the gods! I will be treated +respectfully! It wouldn't be amiss, Maud, if you just gave him a +hint to that effect.' + +'All I have to say is, Jasper, don't do me an irreparable injury. +You might, without meaning it.' + +'No fear whatever of it. I can behave as a gentleman, and I only +expect Dolomore to do the same.' + +Their conversation lasted for a long time, and when he was again +left alone Jasper again fell into a mood of thoughtfulness. + +By a late post on the following day he received this letter: + +'DEAR MR MILVAIN,--I have received the proofs, and have just read +them; I hasten to thank you with all my heart. No suggestion of +mine could possibly improve this article; it seems to me perfect +in taste, in style, in matter. No one but you could have written +this, for no one else understood Edwin so well, or had given such +thought to his work. If he could but have known that such justice +would be done to his memory! But he died believing that already +he was utterly forgotten, that his books would never again be +publicly spoken of. This was a cruel fate. I have shed tears over +what you have written, but they were not only tears of +bitterness; it cannot but be a consolation to me to think that, +when the magazine appears, so many people will talk of Edwin and +his books. I am deeply grateful to Mr Mortimer for having +undertaken to republish those two novels; if you have an +opportunity, will you do me the great kindness to thank him on my +behalf? At the same time, I must remember that it was you who +first spoke to him on this subject. You say that it gladdens you +to think Edwin will not be forgotten, and I am very sure that the +friendly office you have so admirably performed will in itself +reward you more than any poor expression of gratitude from me. I +write hurriedly, anxious to let you hear as soon as possible. + +'Believe me, dear Mr Milvain, + +'Yours sincerely, + +'AMY REARDON.' + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. A CHECK + +Marian was at work as usual in the Reading-room. She did her +best, during the hours spent here, to convert herself into the +literary machine which it was her hope would some day be invented +for construction in a less sensitive material than human tissue. +Her eyes seldom strayed beyond the limits of the desk; and if she +had occasion to rise and go to the reference shelves, she looked +at no one on the way. Yet she herself was occasionally an object +of interested regard. Several readers were acquainted with the +chief facts of her position; they knew that her father was now +incapable of work, and was waiting till his diseased eyes should +be ready for the operator; it was surmised, moreover, that a good +deal depended upon the girl's literary exertions. Mr Quarmby and +his gossips naturally took the darkest view of things; they were +convinced that Alfred Yule could never recover his sight, and +they had a dolorous satisfaction in relating the story of +Marian's legacy. Of her relations with Jasper Milvain none of +these persons had heard; Yule had never spoken of that matter to +any one of his friends. + +Jasper had to look in this morning for a hurried consultation of +certain encyclopaedic volumes, and it chanced that Marian was +standing before the shelves to which his business led him. He saw +her from a little distance, and paused; it seemed as if he would +turn back; for a moment he wore a look of doubt and worry. But +after all he proceeded. At the sound of his 'Good-morning,' +Marian started--she was standing with an open book in hand--and +looked up with a gleam of joy on her face. + +'I wanted to see you to-day,' she said, subduing her voice to the +tone of ordinary conversation. 'I should have come this evening.' + +'You wouldn't have found me at home. From five to seven I shall +be frantically busy, and then I have to rush off to dine with +some people.' + +'I couldn't see you before five?' + +'Is it something important?' + +'Yes, it is.' + +'I tell you what. If you could meet me at Gloucester Gate at +four, then I shall be glad of half an hour in the park. But I +mustn't talk now; I'm driven to my wits' end. Gloucester Gate, at +four sharp. I don't think it'll rain.' + +He dragged out a tome of the 'Britannica.' Marian nodded, and +returned to her seat. + +At the appointed hour she was waiting near the entrance of +Regent's Park which Jasper had mentioned. Not long ago there had +fallen a light shower, but the sky was clear again. At five +minutes past four she still waited, and had begun to fear that +the passing rain might have led Jasper to think she would not +come. Another five minutes, and from a hansom that rattled hither +at full speed, the familiar figure alighted. + +'Do forgive me!' he exclaimed. 'I couldn't possibly get here +before. Let us go to the right.' + +They betook themselves to that tree-shadowed strip of the park +which skirts the canal. + +'I'm so afraid that you haven't really time,' said Marian, who +was chilled and confused by this show of hurry. She regretted +having made the appointment; it would have been much better to +postpone what she had to say until Jasper was at leisure. Yet +nowadays the hours of leisure seemed to come so rarely. + +'If I get home at five, it'll be all right,' he replied. 'What +have you to tell me, Marian?' + +'We have heard about the money, at last.' + +'Oh?' He avoided looking at her. 'And what's the upshot?' + +'I shall have nearly fifteen hundred pounds.' + +'So much as that? Well, that's better than nothing, isn't it?' + +'Very much better.' + +They walked on in silence. Marian stole a glance at her +companion. + +'I should have thought it a great deal,' she said presently, +'before I had begun to think of thousands.' + +'Fifteen hundred. Well, it means fifty pounds a year, I suppose.' + +He chewed the end of his moustache. + +'Let us sit down on this bench. Fifteen hundred--h'm! And nothing +more is to be hoped for?' + +'Nothing. I should have thought men would wish to pay their +debts, even after they had been bankrupt; but they tell us we +can't expect anything more from these people.' + +'You are thinking of Walter Scott, and that kind of thing'-- +Jasper laughed. 'Oh, that's quite unbusinesslike; it would be +setting a pernicious example nowadays. Well, and what's to be +done?' + +Marian had no answer for such a question. The tone of it was a +new stab to her heart, which had suffered so many during the past +half-year. + +'Now, I'll ask you frankly,' Jasper went on, 'and I know you will +reply in the same spirit: would it be wise for us to marry on +this money?' + +'On this money?' + +She looked into his face with painful earnestness. + +'You mean,' he said, 'that it can't be spared for that purpose?' + +What she really meant was uncertain even to herself. She had +wished to hear how Jasper would receive the news, and thereby to +direct her own course. Had he welcomed it as offering a +possibility of their marriage, that would have gladdened her, +though it would then have been necessary to show him all the +difficulties by which she was beset; for some time they had not +spoken of her father's position, and Jasper seemed willing to +forget all about that complication of their troubles. But +marriage did not occur to him, and he was evidently quite +prepared to hear that she could no longer regard this money as +her own to be freely disposed of. This was on one side a relief +but on the other it confirmed her fears. She would rather have +heard him plead with her to neglect her parents for the sake of +being his wife. Love excuses everything, and his selfishness +would have been easily lost sight of in the assurance that he +still desired her. + +'You say,' she replied, with bent head, 'that it would bring us +fifty pounds a year. If another fifty were added to that, my +father and mother would be supported in case the worst comes. I +might earn fifty pounds.' + +'You wish me to understand, Marian, that I mustn't expect that +you will bring me anything when we are married.' + +His tone was that of acquiescence; not by any means of +displeasure. He spoke as if desirous of saying for her something +she found a difficulty in saying for herself. + +'Jasper, it is so hard for me! So hard for me! How could I help +remembering what you told me when I promised to be your wife?' + +'I spoke the truth rather brutally,' he replied, in a kind voice. +'Let all that be unsaid, forgotten. We are in quite a different +position now. Be open with me, Marian; surely you can trust my +common sense and good feeling. Put aside all thought of things I +have said, and don't be restrained by any fear lest you should +seem to me unwomanly--you can't be that. What is your own wish? +What do you really wish to do, now that there is no uncertainty +calling for postponements?' + +Marian raised her eyes, and was about to speak as she regarded +him; but with the first accent her look fell. + +'I wish to be your wife.' + +He waited, thinking and struggling with himself. + +'Yet you feel that it would be heartless to take and use this +money for our own purposes?' + +'What is to become of my parents, Jasper?' + +'But then you admit that the fifteen hundred pounds won't support +them. You talk of earning fifty pounds a year for them.' + +'Need I cease to write, dear, if we were married? Wouldn't you +let me help them?' + +'But, my dear girl, you are taking for granted that we shall have +enough for ourselves.' + +'I didn't mean at once,' she explained hurriedly. 'In a short +time--in a year. You are getting on so well. You will soon have a +sufficient income, I am sure.' + +Jasper rose. + +'Let us walk as far as the next seat. Don't speak. I have +something to think about.' + +Moving on beside him, she slipped her hand softly within his arm; +but Jasper did not put the arm into position to support hers, and +her hand fell again, dropped suddenly. They reached another +bench, and again became seated. + +'It comes to this, Marian,' he said, with portentous gravity. +'Support you, I could--I have little doubt of that. Maud is +provided for, and Dora can make a living for herself. I could +support you and leave you free to give your parents whatever you +can earn by your own work. But--' + +He paused significantly. It was his wish that Marian should +supply the consequence, but she did not speak. + +'Very well,' he exclaimed. 'Then when are we to be married?' + +The tone of resignation was too marked. Jasper was not good as a +comedian; he lacked subtlety. + +'We must wait,' fell from Marian's lips, in the whisper of +despair. + +'Wait? But how long?' he inquired, dispassionately. + +'Do you wish to be freed from your engagement, Jasper?' + +He was not strong enough to reply with a plain 'Yes,' and so have +done with his perplexities. He feared the girl's face, and he +feared his own subsequent emotions. + +'Don't talk in that way, Marian. The question is simply this: Are +we to wait a year, or are we to wait five years? In a year's +time, I shall probably be able to have a small house somewhere +out in the suburbs. If we are married then, I shall be happy +enough with so good a wife, but my career will take a different +shape. I shall just throw overboard certain of my ambitions, and +work steadily on at earning a livelihood. If we wait five years, +I may perhaps have obtained an editorship, and in that case I +should of course have all sorts of better things to offer you.' + +'But, dear, why shouldn't you get an editorship all the same if +you are married?' + +'I have explained to you several times that success of that kind +is not compatible with a small house in the suburbs and all the +ties of a narrow income. As a bachelor, I can go about freely, +make acquaintances, dine at people's houses, perhaps entertain a +useful friend now and then--and so on. It is not merit that +succeeds in my line; it is merit plus opportunity. Marrying now, +I cut myself off from opportunity, that's all.' + +She kept silence. + +'Decide my fate for me, Marian,' he pursued, magnanimously. 'Let +us make up our minds and do what we decide to do. Indeed, it +doesn't concern me so much as yourself. Are you content to lead a +simple, unambitious life? Or should you prefer your husband to be +a man of some distinction?' + +'I know so well what your own wish is. But to wait for years--you +will cease to love me, and will only think of me as a hindrance +in your way.' + +'Well now, when I said five years, of course I took a round +number. Three--two might make all the difference to me.' + +'Let it be just as you wish. I can bear anything rather than lose +your love.' + +'You feel, then, that it will decidedly be wise not to marry +whilst we are still so poor?' + +'Yes; whatever you are convinced of is right.' + +He again rose, and looked at his watch. + +'Jasper, you don't think that I have behaved selfishly in wishing +to let my father have the money?' + +'I should have been greatly surprised if you hadn't wished it. I +certainly can't imagine you saying: "Oh, let them do as best they +can!" That would have been selfish with a vengeance.' + +'Now you are speaking kindly! Must you go, Jasper?' + +'I must indeed. Two hours' work I am bound to get before seven +o'clock.' + +'And I have been making it harder for you, by disturbing your +mind.' + +'No, no; it's all right now. I shall go at it with all the more +energy, now we have come to a decision.' + +'Dora has asked me to go to Kew on Sunday. Shall you be able to +come, dear?' + +'By Jove, no! I have three engagements on Sunday afternoon. I'll +try and keep the Sunday after; I will indeed.' + +'What are the engagements?' she asked timidly. + +As they walked back towards Gloucester Gate, he answered her +question, showing how unpardonable it would be to neglect the +people concerned. Then they parted, Jasper going off at a smart +pace homewards. + +Marian turned down Park Street, and proceeded for some distance +along Camden Road. The house in which she and her parents now +lived was not quite so far away as St Paul's Crescent; they +rented four rooms, one of which had to serve both as Alfred +Yule's sitting-room and for the gatherings of the family at +meals. Mrs Yule generally sat in the kitchen, and Marian used her +bedroom as a study. About half the collection of books had been +sold; those that remained were still a respectable library, +almost covering the walls of the room where their disconsolate +possessor passed his mournful days. + +He could read for a few hours a day, but only large type, and +fear of consequences kept him well within the limit of such +indulgence laid down by his advisers. Though he inwardly spoke as +if his case were hopeless, Yule was very far from having resigned +himself to this conviction; indeed, the prospect of spending his +latter years in darkness and idleness was too dreadful to him to +be accepted so long as a glimmer of hope remained. He saw no +reason why the customary operation should not restore him to his +old pursuits, and he would have borne it ill if his wife or +daughter had ever ceased to oppose the despair which it pleased +him to affect. + +On the whole, he was noticeably patient. At the time of their +removal to these lodgings, seeing that Marian prepared herself to +share the change as a matter of course, he let her do as she +would without comment; nor had he since spoken to her on the +subject which had proved so dangerous. Confidence between them +there was none; Yule addressed his daughter in a grave, cold, +civil tone, and Marian replied gently, but without tenderness. +For Mrs Yule the disaster to the family was distinctly a gain; +she could not but mourn her husband's affliction, yet he no +longer visited her with the fury or contemptuous impatience of +former days. Doubtless the fact of needing so much tendance had +its softening influence on the man; he could not turn brutally +upon his wife when every hour of the day afforded him some proof +of her absolute devotion. Of course his open-air exercise was +still unhindered, and in this season of the returning sun he +walked a great deal, decidedly to the advantage of his general +health--which again must have been a source of benefit to his +temper. Of evenings, Marian sometimes read to him. He never +requested this, but he did not reject the kindness. + +This afternoon Marian found her father examining a volume of +prints which had been lent him by Mr Quarmby. The table was laid +for dinner (owing to Marian's frequent absence at the Museum, no +change had been made in the order of meals), and Yule sat by the +window, his book propped on a second chair. A whiteness in his +eyes showed how the disease was progressing, but his face had a +more wholesome colour than a year ago. + +'Mr Hinks and Mr Gorbutt inquired very kindly after you to-day,' +said the girl, as she seated herself. + +'Oh, is Hinks out again?' + +'Yes, but he looks very ill.' + +They conversed of such matters until Mrs Yule--now her own +servant--brought in the dinner. After the meal, Marian was in her +bedroom for about an hour; then she went to her father, who sat +in idleness, smoking. + +'What is your mother doing?' he asked, as she entered. + +'Some needlework.' + +'I had perhaps better say'--he spoke rather stiffly, and with +averted face--'that I make no exclusive claim to the use of this +room. As I can no longer pretend to study, it would be idle to +keep up the show of privacy that mustn't be disturbed. Perhaps +you will mention to your mother that she is quite at liberty to +sit here whenever she chooses.' + +It was characteristic of him that he should wish to deliver this +permission by proxy. But Marian understood how much was implied +in such an announcement. + +'I will tell mother,' she said. 'But at this moment I wished to +speak to you privately. How would you advise me to invest my +money?' + +Yule looked surprised, and answered with cold dignity. + +'It is strange that you should put such a question to me. I +should have supposed your interests were in the hands of--of some +competent person.' + +'This will be my private affair, father. I wish to get as high a +rate of interest as I safely can.' + +'I really must decline to advise, or interfere in any way. But, +as you have introduced this subject, I may as well put a question +which is connected with it. Could you give me any idea as to how +long you are likely to remain with us?' + +'At least a year,' was the answer, 'and very likely much longer.' + +'Am I to understand, then, that your marriage is indefinitely +postponed?' + +'Yes, father.' + +'And will you tell me why?' + +'I can only say that it has seemed better--to both of us.' + +Yule detected the sorrowful emotion she was endeavouring to +suppress. His conception of Milvain's character made it easy for +him to form a just surmise as to the reasons for this +postponement; he was gratified to think that Marian might learn +how rightly he had judged her wooer, and an involuntary pity for +the girl did not prevent his hoping that the detestable alliance +was doomed. With difficulty he refrained from smiling. + +'I will make no comment on that,' he remarked, with a certain +emphasis. 'But do you imply that this investment of which you +speak is to be solely for your own advantage?' + +'For mine, and for yours and mother's.' + +There was a silence of a minute or two. As yet it had not been +necessary to take any steps for raising money, but a few months +more would see the family without resources, save those provided +by Marian, who, without discussion, had been simply setting aside +what she received for her work. + +'You must be well aware,' said Yule at length, 'that I cannot +consent to benefit by any such offer. When it is necessary, I +shall borrow on the security of--' + +'Why should you do that, father?' Marian interrupted. 'My money +is yours. If you refuse it as a gift, then why may not I lend to +you as well as a stranger? Repay me when your eyes are restored. +For the present, all our anxieties are at an end. We can live +very well until you are able to write again.' + +For his sake she put it in his way. Supposing him never able to +earn anything, then indeed would come a time of hardship; but she +could not contemplate that. The worst would only befall them in +case she was forsaken by Jasper, and if that happened all else +would be of little account. + +'This has come upon me as a surprise,' said Yule, in his most +reserved tone. 'I can give no definite reply; I must think of +it.' + +'Should you like me to ask mother to bring her sewing here now?' +asked Marian, rising. + +'Yes, you may do so.' + +In this way the awkwardness of the situation was overcome, and +when Marian next had occasion to speak of money matters no +serious objection was offered to her proposal. + +Dora Milvain of course learnt what had come to pass; to +anticipate criticism, her brother imparted to her the decision at +which Marian and he had arrived. She reflected with an air of +discontent. + +'So you are quite satisfied,' was her question at length, 'that +Marian should toil to support her parents as well as herself?' + +'Can I help it?' + +'I shall think very ill of you if you don't marry her in a year +at latest.' + +'I tell you, Marian has made a deliberate choice. She understands +me perfectly, and is quite satisfied with my projects. You will +have the kindness, Dora, not to disturb her faith in me.' + +'I agree to that; and in return I shall let you know when she +begins to suffer from hunger. It won't be very long till then, +you may be sure. How do you suppose three people are going to +live on a hundred a year? And it's very doubtful indeed whether +Marian can earn as much as fifty pounds. Never mind; I shall let +you know when she is beginning to starve, and doubtless that will +amuse you.' + +At the end of July Maud was married. Between Mr Dolomore and +Jasper existed no superfluous kindness, each resenting the +other's self-sufficiency; but Jasper, when once satisfied of his +proposed brother-in-law's straightforwardness, was careful not to +give offence to a man who might some day serve him. Provided this +marriage resulted in moderate happiness to Maud, it was +undoubtedly a magnificent stroke of luck. Mrs Lane, the lady who +has so often been casually mentioned, took upon herself those +offices in connection with the ceremony which the bride's mother +is wont to perform; at her house was held the wedding-breakfast, +and such other absurdities of usage as recommend themselves to +Society. Dora of course played the part of a bridesmaid, and +Jasper went through his duties with the suave seriousness of a +man who has convinced himself that he cannot afford to despise +anything that the world sanctions. + +About the same time occurred another event which was to have more +importance for this aspiring little family than could as yet be +foreseen. Whelpdale's noteworthy idea triumphed; the weekly paper +called Chat was thoroughly transformed, and appeared as Chit- +Chat. From the first number, the success of the enterprise was +beyond doubt; in a month's time all England was ringing with the +fame of this noble new development of journalism; the proprietor +saw his way to a solid fortune, and other men who had money to +embark began to scheme imitative publications. It was clear that +the quarter-educated would soon be abundantly provided with +literature to their taste. + +Whelpdale's exultation was unbounded, but in the fifth week of +the life of Chit-Chat something happened which threatened to +overturn his sober reason. Jasper was walking along the Strand +one afternoon, when he saw his ingenious friend approaching him +in a manner scarcely to be accounted for, unless Whelpdale's +abstemiousness had for once given way before convivial +invitation. The young man's hat was on the back of his head, and +his coat flew wildly as he rushed forwards with perspiring face +and glaring eyes. He would have passed without observing Jasper, +had not the latter called to him; then he turned round, laughed +insanely, grasped his acquaintance by the wrists, and drew him +aside into a court. + +'What do you think?' he panted. 'What do you think has happened?' + +'Not what one would suppose, I hope. You seem to have gone mad.' + +'I've got Lake's place on Chit-Chat!' cried the other hoarsely. +'Two hundred and fifty a year! Lake and the editor quarrelled-- +pummelled each other--neither know nor care what it was about. +My fortune's made!' + +'You're a modest man,' remarked Jasper, smiling. + +'Certainly I am. I have always admitted it. But remember that +there's my connection with Fleet as well; no need to give that +up. Presently I shall be making a clear six hundred, my dear sir! + +A clear six hundred, if a penny!' + +'Satisfactory, so far.' + +'But you must remember that I'm not a big gun, like you! Why, my +dear Milvain, a year ago I should have thought an income of two +hundred a glorious competence. I don't aim at such things as are +fit for you. You won't be content till you have thousands; of +course I know that. But I'm a humble fellow. Yet no; by Jingo, +I'm not! In one way I'm not--I must confess it.' + +'In what instance are you arrogant?' + +'I can't tell you--not yet; this is neither time nor place. I +say, when will you dine with me? I shall give a dinner to half a +dozen of my acquaintances somewhere or other. Poor old Biffen +must come. When can you dine?' + +'Give me a week's notice, and I'll fit it in.' + +That dinner came duly off. On the day that followed, Jasper and +Dora left town for their holiday; they went to the Channel +Islands, and spent more than half of the three weeks they had +allowed themselves in Sark. Passing over from Guernsey to that +island, they were amused to see a copy of Chit-Chat in the hands +of an obese and well-dressed man. + +'Is he one of the quarter-educated?' asked Dora, laughing. + +'Not in Whelpdale's sense of the word. But, strictly speaking, no +doubt he is. The quarter-educated constitute a very large class +indeed; how large, the huge success of that paper is +demonstrating. I'll write to Whelpdale, and let him know that his +benefaction has extended even to Sark.' + +This letter was written, and in a few days there came a reply. + +'Why, the fellow has written to you as well!' exclaimed Jasper, +taking up a second letter; both were on the table of their +sitting-room when they came to their lodgings for lunch. 'That's +his hand.' + +'It looks like it.' + +Dora hummed an air as she regarded the envelope, then she took it +away with her to her room upstairs. + +'What had he to say?' Jasper inquired, when she came down again +and seated herself at the table. + +'Oh, a friendly letter. What does he say to you?' + +Dora had never looked so animated and fresh of colour since +leaving London; her brother remarked this, and was glad to think +that the air of the Channel should be doing her so much good. He +read Whelpdale's letter aloud; it was facetious, but oddly +respectful. + +'The reverence that fellow has for me is astonishing,' he +observed with a laugh. 'The queer thing is, it increases the +better he knows me.' + +Dora laughed for five minutes. + +'Oh, what a splendid epigram!' she exclaimed. 'It is indeed a +queer thing, Jasper! Did you mean that to be a good joke, or was +it better still by coming out unintentionally?' + +'You are in remarkable spirits, old girl. By-the-by, would you +mind letting me see that letter of yours?' + +He held out his hand. + +'I left it upstairs,' Dora replied carelessly. + +'Rather presumptuous in him, it seems to me.' + +'Oh, he writes quite as respectfully to me as he does to you,' +she returned, with a peculiar smile. + +'But what business has he to write at all? It's confounded +impertinence, now I come to think of it. I shall give him a hint +to remember his position.' + +Dora could not be quite sure whether he spoke seriously or not. +As both of them had begun to eat with an excellent appetite, a +few moments were allowed to pass before the girl again spoke. + +'His position is as good as ours,' she said at length. + +'As good as ours? The "sub." of a paltry rag like Chit-Chat, and +assistant to a literary agency!' + +'He makes considerably more money than we do.' + +'Money! What's money?' + +Dora was again mirthful. + +'Oh, of course money is nothing! We write for honour and glory. +Don't forget to insist on that when you reprove Mr Whelpdale; no +doubt it will impress him.' + +Late in the evening of that day, when the brother and sister had +strolled by moonlight up to the windmill which occupies the +highest point of Sark, and as they stood looking upon the pale +expanse of sea, dotted with the gleam of light-houses near and +far, Dora broke the silence to say quietly: + +'I may as well tell you that Mr Whelpdale wants to know if I will +marry him.' + +'The deuce he does!' cried Jasper, with a start. 'If I didn't +half suspect something of that kind! What astounding impudence!' + +'You seriously think so?' + +'Well, don't you? You hardly know him, to begin with. And then-- +oh, confound it!' + +'Very well, I'll tell him that his impudence astonishes me.' + +'You will?' + +'Certainly. Of course in civil terms. But don't let this make any +difference between you and him. Just pretend to know nothing +about it; no harm is done.' + +'You are speaking in earnest?' + +'Quite. He has written in a very proper way, and there's no +reason whatever to disturb our friendliness with him. I have a +right to give directions in a matter like this, and you'll please +to obey them.' + +Before going to bed Dora wrote a letter to Mr Whelpdale, not, +indeed, accepting his offer forthwith, but conveying to him with +much gracefulness an unmistakable encouragement to persevere. +This was posted on the morrow, and its writer continued to +benefit most remarkably by the sun and breezes and +rock-scrambling of Sark. + +Soon after their return to London, Dora had the satisfaction of +paying the first visit to her sister at the Dolomores' house in +Ovington Square. Maud was established in the midst of luxuries, +and talked with laughing scorn of the days when she inhabited +Grub Street; her literary tastes were henceforth to serve as +merely a note of distinction, an added grace which made evident +her superiority to the well-attired and smooth-tongued people +among whom she was content to shine. On the one hand, she had +contact with the world of fashionable literature, on the other +with that of fashionable ignorance. Mrs Lane's house was a +meeting-point of the two spheres. + +'I shan't be there very often,' remarked Jasper, as Dora and he +discussed their sister's magnificence. 'That's all very well in +its way, but I aim at something higher.' + +'So do I,' Dora replied. + +'I'm very glad to hear that. I confess it seemed to me that you +were rather too cordial with Whelpdale yesterday.' + +'One must behave civilly. Mr Whelpdale quite understands me.' + +'You are sure of that? He didn't seem quite so gloomy as he ought +to have been.' + +'The success of Chit-Chat keeps him in good spirits.' + +It was perhaps a week after this that Mrs Dolomore came quite +unexpectedly to the house by Regent's Park, as early as eleven +o'clock in the morning. She had a long talk in private with Dora. +Jasper was not at home; when he returned towards evening, Dora +came to his room with a countenance which disconcerted him. + +'Is it true,' she asked abruptly, standing before him with her +hands strained together, 'that you have been representing +yourself as no longer engaged to Marian?' + +'Who has told you so?' + +'That doesn't matter. I have heard it, and I want to know from +you that it is false.' + +Jasper thrust his hands into his pockets and walked apart. + +'I can take no notice,' he said with indifference, 'of anonymous +gossip.' + +'Well, then, I will tell you how I have heard. Maud came this +morning, and told me that Mrs Betterton had been asking her about +it. Mrs Betterton had heard from Mrs Lane.' + +'From Mrs Lane? And from whom did she hear, pray?' + +'That I don't know. Is it true or not?' + +'I have never told anyone that my engagement was at an end,' +replied Jasper, deliberately. + +The girl met his eyes. + +'Then I was right,' she said. 'Of course I told Maud that it was +impossible to believe this for a moment. But how has it come to +be said?' + +'You might as well ask me how any lie gets into circulation among +people of that sort. I have told you the truth, and there's an +end of it.' + +Dora lingered for a while, but left the room without saying +anything more. + +She sat up late, mostly engaged in thinking, though at times an +open book was in her hand. It was nearly half-past twelve when a +very light rap at the door caused her to start. She called, and +Jasper came in. + +'Why are you still up?' he asked, avoiding her look as he moved +forward and took a leaning attitude behind an easy-chair. + +'Oh, I don't know. Do you want anything?' + +There was a pause; then Jasper said in an unsteady voice: + +'I am not given to lying, Dora, and I feel confoundedly +uncomfortable about what I said to you early this evening. I +didn't lie in the ordinary sense; it's true enough that I have +never told anyone that my engagement was at an end. But I have +acted as if it were, and it's better I should tell you.' + +His sister gazed at him with indignation. + +'You have acted as if you were free?' + +'Yes. I have proposed to Miss Rupert. How Mrs Lane and that lot +have come to know anything about this I don't understand. I am +not aware of any connecting link between them and the Ruperts, or +the Barlows either. Perhaps there are none; most likely the +rumour has no foundation in their knowledge. Still, it is better +that I should have told you. Miss Rupert has never heard that I +was engaged, nor have her friends the Barlows--at least I don't +see how they could have done. She may have told Mrs Barlow of my +proposal--probably would; and this may somehow have got round to +those other people. But Maud didn't make any mention of Miss +Rupert, did she?' + +Dora replied with a cold negative. + +'Well, there's the state of things. It isn't pleasant, but that's +what I have done.' + +'Do you mean that Miss Rupert has accepted you?' + +'No. I wrote to her. She answered that she was going to Germany +for a few weeks, and that I should have her reply whilst she was +away. I am waiting.' + +'But what name is to be given to behaviour such as this?' + +'Listen: didn't you know perfectly well that this must be the end +of it?' + +'Do you suppose I thought you utterly shameless and cruel beyond +words?' + +'I suppose I am both. It was a moment of desperate temptation, +though. I had dined at the Ruperts'--you remember--and it seemed +to me there was no mistaking the girl's manner.' + +'Don't call her a girl!' broke in Dora, scornfully. 'You say she +is several years older than yourself.' + +'Well, at all events, she's intellectual, and very rich. I +yielded to the temptation.' + +'And deserted Marian just when she has most need of help and +consolation? It's frightful!' + +Jasper moved to another chair and sat down. He was much +perturbed. + +'Look here, Dora, I regret it; I do, indeed. And, what's more, if +that woman refuses me--as it's more than likely she will--I will +go to Marian and ask her to marry me at once. I promise that.' + +His sister made a movement of contemptuous impatience. + +'And if the woman doesn't refuse you?' + +'Then I can't help it. But there's one thing more I will say. +Whether I marry Marian or Miss Rupert, I sacrifice my strongest +feelings--in the one case to a sense of duty, in the other to +worldly advantage. I was an idiot to write that letter, for I +knew at the time that there was a woman who is far more to me +than Miss Rupert and all her money--a woman I might, perhaps, +marry. Don't ask any questions; I shall not answer them. As I +have said so much, I wished you to understand my position fully. +You know the promise I have made. Don't say anything to Marian; +if I am left free I shall marry her as soon as possible.' + +And so he left the room. + +For a fortnight and more he remained in uncertainty. His life was +very uncomfortable, for Dora would only speak to him when +necessity compelled her; and there were two meetings with Marian, +at which he had to act his part as well as he could. At length +came the expected letter. Very nicely expressed, very friendly, +very complimentary, but--a refusal. + +He handed it to Dora across the breakfast-table, saying with a +pinched smile: + +'Now you can look cheerful again. I am doomed.' + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. FEVER AND REST + +Milvain's skilful efforts notwithstanding, 'Mr Bailey, Grocer,' +had no success. By two publishers the book had been declined; the +firm which brought it out offered the author half profits and +fifteen pounds on account, greatly to Harold Biffen's +satisfaction. But reviewers in general were either angry or +coldly contemptuous. 'Let Mr Biffen bear in mind,' said one of +these sages, 'that a novelist's first duty is to tell a story.' +'Mr Biffen,' wrote another, 'seems not to understand that a work +of art must before everything else afford amusement.' 'A +pretentious book of the genre ennuyant,' was the brief comment of +a Society journal. A weekly of high standing began its short +notice in a rage: 'Here is another of those intolerable +productions for which we are indebted to the spirit of grovelling +realism. This author, let it be said, is never offensive, but +then one must go on to describe his work by a succession of +negatives; it is never interesting, never profitable, never--' +and the rest. The eulogy in The West End had a few timid echoes. +That in The Current would have secured more imitators, but +unfortunately it appeared when most of the reviewing had already +been done. And, as Jasper truly said, only a concurrence of +powerful testimonials could have compelled any number of people +to affect an interest in this book. 'The first duty of a novelist +is to tell a story:' the perpetual repetition of this phrase is a +warning to all men who propose drawing from the life. Biffen only +offered a slice of biography, and it was found to lack flavour. + +He wrote to Mrs Reardon: 'I cannot thank you enough for this very +kind letter about my book; I value it more than I should the +praises of all the reviewers in existence. You have understood my +aim. Few people will do that, and very few indeed could express +it with such clear conciseness.' + +If Amy had but contented herself with a civil acknowledgment of +the volumes he sent her! She thought it a kindness to write to +him so appreciatively, to exaggerate her approval. The poor +fellow was so lonely. Yes, but his loneliness only became +intolerable when a beautiful woman had smiled upon him, and so +forced him to dream perpetually of that supreme joy of life which +to him was forbidden. + +It was a fatal day, that on which Amy put herself under his +guidance to visit Reardon's poor room at Islington. In the old +times, Harold had been wont to regard his friend's wife as the +perfect woman; seldom in his life had he enjoyed female society, +and when he first met Amy it was years since he had spoken with +any woman above the rank of a lodging-house keeper or a +needle-plier. Her beauty seemed to him of a very high order, and +her mental endowments filled him with an exquisite delight, not +to be appreciated by men who have never been in his position. +When the rupture came between Amy and her husband, Harold could +not believe that she was in any way to blame; held to Reardon by +strong friendship, he yet accused him of injustice to Amy. And +what he saw of her at Brighton confirmed him in this judgment. +When he accompanied her to Manville Street, he allowed her, of +course, to remain alone in the room where Reardon had lived; but +Amy presently summoned him, and asked him questions. Every tear +she shed watered a growth of passionate tenderness in the +solitary man's heart. Parting from her at length, he went to hide +his face in darkness and think of her--think of her. + +A fatal day. There was an end of all his peace, all his capacity +for labour, his patient endurance of penury. Once, when he was +about three-and-twenty, he had been in love with a girl of gentle +nature and fair intelligence; on account of his poverty, he could +not even hope that his love might be returned, and he went away +to bear the misery as best he might. Since then the life he had +led precluded the forming of such attachments; it would never +have been possible for him to support a wife of however humble +origin. At intervals he felt the full weight of his loneliness, +but there were happily long periods during which his Greek +studies and his efforts in realistic fiction made him indifferent +to the curse laid upon him. But after that hour of intimate +speech with Amy, he never again knew rest of mind or heart. + +Accepting what Reardon had bequeathed to him, he removed the +books and furniture to a room in that part of the town which he +had found most convenient for his singular tutorial pursuits. The +winter did not pass without days of all but starvation, but in +March he received his fifteen pounds for 'Mr Bailey,' and this +was a fortune, putting him beyond the reach of hunger for full +six months. Not long after that he yielded to a temptation that +haunted him day and night, and went to call upon Amy, who was +still living with her mother at Westbourne Park. When he entered +the drawing-room Amy was sitting there alone; she rose with an +exclamation of frank pleasure. + +'I have often thought of you lately, Mr Biffen. How kind to come +and see me!' + +He could scarcely speak; her beauty, as she stood before him in +the graceful black dress, was anguish to his excited nerves, and +her voice was so cruel in its conventional warmth. When he looked +at her eyes, he remembered how their brightness had been dimmed +with tears, and the sorrow he had shared with her seemed to make +him more than an ordinary friend. When he told her of his success +with the publishers, she was delighted. + +'Oh, when is it to come out? I shall watch the advertisements so +anxiously.' + +'Will you allow me to send you a copy, Mrs Reardon?' + +'Can you really spare one?' + +Of the half-dozen he would receive, he scarcely knew how to +dispose of three. And Amy expressed her gratitude in the most +charming way. She had gained much in point of manner during the +past twelve months; her ten thousand pounds inspired her with the +confidence necessary to a perfect demeanour. That slight hardness +which was wont to be perceptible in her tone had altogether +passed away; she seemed to be cultivating flexibility of voice. + +Mrs Yule came in, and was all graciousness. Then two callers +presented themselves. Biffen's pleasure was at an end as soon as +he had to adapt himself to polite dialogue; he escaped as +speedily as possible. + +He was not the kind of man that deceives himself as to his own +aspect in the eyes of others. Be as kind as she might, Amy could +not set him strutting Malvolio-wise; she viewed him as a poor +devil who often had to pawn his coat--a man of parts who would +never get on in the world--a friend to be thought of kindly +because her dead husband had valued him. Nothing more than that; +he understood perfectly the limits of her feeling. But this could +not put restraint upon the emotion with which he received any +most trifling utterance of kindness from her. He did not think of +what was, but of what, under changed circumstances, might be. To +encourage such fantasy was the idlest self-torment, but he had +gone too far in this form of indulgence. He became the slave of +his inflamed imagination. + +In that letter with which he replied to her praises of his book, +perchance he had allowed himself to speak too much as he thought. + +He wrote in reckless delight, and did not wait for the prudence +of a later hour. When it was past recall, he would gladly have +softened many of the expressions the letter contained. 'I value +it more than the praises of all the reviewers in existence'-- +would Amy be offended at that? 'Yours in gratitude and +reverence,' he had signed himself--the kind of phrase that comes +naturally to a passionate man, when he would fain say more than +he dares. To what purpose this half-revelation? Unless, indeed, +he wished to learn once and for ever, by the gentlest of +repulses, that his homage was only welcome so long as it kept +well within conventional terms. + +He passed a month of distracted idleness, until there came a day +when the need to see Amy was so imperative that it mastered every +consideration. He donned his best clothes, and about four o'clock +presented himself at Mrs Yule's house. By ill luck there happened +to be at least half a dozen callers in the drawing-room; the +strappado would have been preferable, in his eyes, to such an +ordeal as this. Moreover, he was convinced that both Amy and her +mother received him with far less cordiality than on the last +occasion. He had expected it, but he bit his lips till the blood +came. What business had he among people of this kind? No doubt +the visitors wondered at his comparative shabbiness, and asked +themselves how he ventured to make a call without the regulation +chimney-pot hat. It was a wretched and foolish mistake. + +Ten minutes saw him in the street again, vowing that he would +never approach Amy more. Not that he found fault with her; the +blame was entirely his own. + +He lived on the third floor of a house in Goodge Street, above a +baker's shop. The bequest of Reardon's furniture was a great +advantage to him, as he had only to pay rent for a bare room; the +books, too, came as a godsend, since the destruction of his own. +He had now only one pupil, and was not exerting himself to find +others; his old energy had forsaken him. + +For the failure of his book he cared nothing. It was no more than +he anticipated. The work was done--the best he was capable of-- +and this satisfied him. + +It was doubtful whether he loved Amy, in the true sense of +exclusive desire. She represented for him all that is lovely in +womanhood; to his starved soul and senses she was woman, the +complement of his frustrate being. Circumstance had made her the +means of exciting in him that natural force which had hitherto +either been dormant or had yielded to the resolute will. + +Companionless, inert, he suffered the tortures which are so +ludicrous and contemptible to the happily married. Life was +barren to him, and would soon grow hateful; only in sleep could +he cast off the unchanging thoughts and desires which made all +else meaningless. And rightly meaningless: he revolted against +the unnatural constraints forbidding him to complete his manhood. + +By what fatality was he alone of men withheld from the winning of +a woman's love? + +He could not bear to walk the streets where the faces of +beautiful women would encounter him. When he must needs leave the +house, he went about in the poor, narrow ways, where only +spectacles of coarseness, and want, and toil would be presented +to him. Yet even here he was too often reminded that the +poverty-stricken of the class to which poverty is natural were +not condemned to endure in solitude. Only he who belonged to no +class, who was rejected alike by his fellows in privation and by +his equals in intellect, must die without having known the touch +of a loving woman's hand. + +The summer went by, and he was unconscious of its warmth and +light. How his days passed he could not have said. + +One evening in early autumn, as he stood before the book-stall at +the end of Goodge Street, a familiar voice accosted him. It was +Whelpdale's. A month or two ago he had stubbornly refused an +invitation to dine with Whelpdale and other acquaintances--you +remember what the occasion was--and since then the prosperous +young man had not crossed his path. + +'I've something to tell you,' said the assailer, taking hold of +his arm. 'I'm in a tremendous state of mind, and want someone to +share my delight. You can walk a short way, I hope? Not too busy +with some new book?' + +Biffen gave no answer, but went whither he was led. + +'You are writing a new book, I suppose? Don't be discouraged, old +fellow. "Mr Bailey" will have his day yet; I know men who +consider it an undoubted work of genius. What's the next to deal +with?' + +'I haven't decided yet,' replied Harold, merely to avoid +argument. He spoke so seldom that the sound of his own voice was +strange to him. + +'Thinking over it, I suppose, in your usual solid way. Don't be +hurried. But I must tell you of this affair of mine. You know +Dora Milvain? I have asked her to marry me, and, by the Powers! +she has given me an encouraging answer. Not an actual yes, but +encouraging! She's away in the Channel Islands, and I wrote--' + +He talked on for a quarter of an hour. Then, with a sudden +movement, the listener freed himself. + +'I can't go any farther,' he said hoarsely. 'Good-bye!' + +Whelpdale was disconcerted. + +'I have been boring you. That's a confounded fault of mine; I +know it.' + +Biffen had waved his hand, and was gone. + +A week or two more would see him at the end of his money. He had +no lessons now, and could not write; from his novel nothing was +to be expected. He might apply again to his brother, but such +dependence was unjust and unworthy. And why should he struggle to +preserve a life which had no prospect but of misery? + +It was in the hours following his encounter with Whelpdale that +he first knew the actual desire of death, the simple longing for +extinction. One must go far in suffering before the innate will- +to-live is thus truly overcome; weariness of bodily anguish may +induce this perversion of the instincts; less often, that despair +of suppressed emotion which had fallen upon Harold. Through the +night he kept his thoughts fixed on death in its aspect of +repose, of eternal oblivion. And herein he had found solace. + +The next night it was the same. Moving about among common needs +and occupations, he knew not a moment's cessation of heart-ache, +but when he lay down in the darkness a hopeful summons whispered +to him. Night, which had been the worst season of his pain, had +now grown friendly; it came as an anticipation of the sleep that +is everlasting. + +A few more days, and he was possessed by a calm of spirit such as +he had never known. His resolve was taken, not in a moment of +supreme conflict, but as the result of a subtle process by which +his imagination had become in love with death. Turning from +contemplation of life's one rapture, he looked with the same +intensity of desire to a state that had neither fear nor hope. + +One afternoon he went to the Museum Reading-room, and was busy +for a few minutes in consultation of a volume which he took from +the shelves of medical literature. On his way homeward he entered +two or three chemists' shops. Something of which he had need +could be procured only in very small quantities; but repetition +of his demand in different places supplied him sufficiently. When +he reached his room, he emptied the contents of sundry little +bottles into one larger, and put this in his pocket. Then he +wrote rather a long letter, addressed to his brother at +Liverpool. + +It had been a beautiful day, and there wanted still a couple of +hours before the warm, golden sunlight would disappear. Harold +stood and looked round his room. As always, it presented a neat, +orderly aspect, but his eye caught sight of a volume which stood +upside down, and this fault--particularly hateful to a bookish +man--he rectified. He put his blotting-pad square on the table, +closed the lid of the inkstand, arranged his pens. Then he took +his hat and stick, locked the door behind him, and went +downstairs. At the foot he spoke to his landlady, and told her +that he should not return that night. As soon as possible after +leaving the house he posted his letter. + +His direction was westward; walking at a steady, purposeful pace, +with cheery countenance and eyes that gave sign of pleasure as +often as they turned to the sun-smitten clouds, he struck across +Kensington Gardens, and then on towards Fulham, where he crossed +the Thames to Putney. The sun was just setting; he paused a few +moments on the bridge, watching the river with a quiet smile, and +enjoying the splendour of the sky. Up Putney Hill he walked +slowly; when he reached the top it was growing dark, but an +unwonted effect in the atmosphere caused him to turn and look to +the east. An exclamation escaped his lips, for there before him +was the new-risen moon, a perfect globe, vast and red. He gazed +at it for a long time. + +When the daylight had entirely passed, he went forward on to the +heath, and rambled, as if idly, to a secluded part, where trees +and bushes made a deep shadow under the full moon. It was still +quite warm, and scarcely a breath of air moved among the +reddening leaves. + +Sure at length that he was remote from all observation, he +pressed into a little copse, and there reclined on the grass, +leaning against the stem of a tree. The moon was now hidden from +him, but by looking upward he could see its light upon a long, +faint cloud, and the blue of the placid sky. His mood was one of +ineffable peace. Only thoughts of beautiful things came into his +mind; he had reverted to an earlier period of life, when as yet +no mission of literary realism had been imposed upon him, and +when his passions were still soothed by natural hope. The memory +of his friend Reardon was strongly present with him, but of Amy +he thought only as of that star which had just come into his +vision above the edge of dark foliage--beautiful, but infinitely +remote. + +Recalling Reardon's voice, it brought to him those last words +whispered by his dying companion. He remembered them now: + +We are such stuff +As dreams are made on, and our little life +Is rounded with a sleep. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. JASPER'S DELICATE CASE + +Only when he received Miss Rupert's amiably-worded refusal to +become his wife was Jasper aware how firmly he had counted on her +accepting him. He told Dora with sincerity that his proposal was +a piece of foolishness; so far from having any regard for Miss +Rupert, he felt towards her with something of antipathy, and at +the same time he was conscious of ardent emotions, if not love, +for another woman who would be no bad match even from the +commercial point of view. Yet so strong was the effect upon him +of contemplating a large fortune, that, in despite of reason and +desire, he lived in eager expectation of the word which should +make him rich. And for several hours after his disappointment he +could not overcome the impression of calamity. + +A part of that impression was due to the engagement which he must +now fulfil. He had pledged his word to ask Marian to marry him +without further delay. To shuffle out of this duty would make him +too ignoble even in his own eyes. Its discharge meant, as he had +expressed it, that he was 'doomed'; he would deliberately be +committing the very error always so flagrant to him in the case +of other men who had crippled themselves by early marriage with a +penniless woman. But events had enmeshed him; circumstances had +proved fatal. Because, in his salad days, he dallied with a girl +who had indeed many charms, step by step he had come to the +necessity of sacrificing his prospects to that raw attachment. +And, to make it more irritating, this happened just when the way +began to be much clearer before him. + +Unable to think of work, he left the house and wandered gloomily +about Regent's Park. For the first time in his recollection the +confidence which was wont to inspirit him gave way to an attack +of sullen discontent. He felt himself ill-used by destiny, and +therefore by Marian, who was fate's instrument. It was not in his +nature that this mood should last long, but it revealed to him +those darker possibilities which his egoism would develop if it +came seriously into conflict with overmastering misfortune. A +hope, a craven hope, insinuated itself into the cracks of his +infirm resolve. He would not examine it, but conscious of its +existence he was able to go home in somewhat better spirits. + +He wrote to Marian. If possible she was to meet him at half-past +nine next morning at Gloucester Gate. He had reasons for wishing +this interview to take place on neutral ground. + +Early in the afternoon, when he was trying to do some work, there +arrived a letter which he opened with impatient hand; the writing +was Mrs Reardon's, and he could not guess what she had to +communicate. + +'DEAR MR MILVAIN,--I am distressed beyond measure to read in this + +morning's newspaper that poor Mr Biffen has put an end to his +life. Doubtless you can obtain more details than are given in +this bare report of the discovery of his body. Will you let me +hear, or come and see me?' + +He read and was astonished. Absorbed in his own affairs, he had +not opened the newspaper to-day; it lay folded on a chair. +Hastily he ran his eye over the columns, and found at length a +short paragraph which stated that the body of a man who had +evidently committed suicide by taking poison had been found on +Putney Heath; that papers in his pockets identified him as one +Harold Biffen, lately resident in Goodge Street, Tottenham Court +Road; and that an inquest would be held, &c. He went to Dora's +room, and told her of the event, but without mentioning the +letter which had brought it under his notice. + +'I suppose there was no alternative between that and starvation. +I scarcely thought of Biffen as likely to kill himself. If +Reardon had done it, I shouldn't have felt the least surprise.' + +'Mr Whelpdale will be bringing us information, no doubt,' said +Dora, who, as she spoke, thought more of that gentleman's visit +than of the event that was to occasion it. + +'Really, one can't grieve. There seemed no possibility of his +ever earning enough to live decently upon. But why the deuce did +he go all the way out there? Consideration for the people in +whose house he lived, I dare say; Biffen had a good deal of +native delicacy.' + +Dora felt a secret wish that someone else possessed more of that +desirable quality. + +Leaving her, Jasper made a rapid, though careful, toilet, and was +presently on his way to Westbourne Park. It was his hope that he +should reach Mrs Yule's house before any ordinary afternoon +caller could arrive; and so he did. He had not been here since +that evening when he encountered Reardon on the road and heard +his reproaches. To his great satisfaction, Amy was alone in the +drawing-room; he held her hand a trifle longer than was +necessary, and returned more earnestly the look of interest with +which she regarded him. + +'I was ignorant of this affair when your letter came,' he began, +'and I set out immediately to see you.' + +'I hoped you would bring me some news. What can have driven the +poor man to such extremity?' + +'Poverty, I can only suppose. But I will see Whelpdale. I hadn't +come across Biffen for a long time.' + +'Was he still so very poor?' asked Amy, compassionately. + +'I'm afraid so. His book failed utterly.' + +'Oh, if I had imagined him still in such distress, surely I might +have done something to help him!'--So often the regretful remark +of one's friends, when one has been permitted to perish. + +With Amy's sorrow was mingled a suggestion of tenderness which +came of her knowledge that the dead man had worshipped her. +Perchance his death was in part attributable to that hopeless +love. + +'He sent me a copy of his novel,' she said, 'and I saw him once +or twice after that. But he was much better dressed than in +former days, and I thought--' + +Having this subject to converse upon put the two more quickly at +ease than could otherwise have been the case. Jasper was closely +observant of the young widow; her finished graces made a strong +appeal to his admiration, and even in some degree awed him. He +saw that her beauty had matured, and it was more distinctly than +ever of the type to which he paid reverence. Amy might take a +foremost place among brilliant women. At a dinner-table, in grand +toilet, she would be superb; at polite receptions people would +whisper: 'Who is that?' + +Biffen fell out of the dialogue. + +'It grieved me very much,' said Amy, 'to hear of the misfortune +that befell my cousin.' + +'The legacy affair? Why, yes, it was a pity. Especially now that +her father is threatened with blindness.' + +'Is it so serious? I heard indirectly that he had something the +matter with his eyes, but I didn't know--' + +'They may be able to operate before long, and perhaps it will be +successful. But in the meantime Marian has to do his work.' + +'This explains the--the delay?' fell from Amy's lips, as she +smiled. + +Jasper moved uncomfortably. It was a voluntary gesture. + +'The whole situation explains it,' he replied, with some show of +impulsiveness. 'I am very much afraid Marian is tied during her +father's life.' + +'Indeed? But there is her mother.' + +'No companion for her father, as I think you know. Even if Mr +Yule recovers his sight, it is not at all likely that he will be +able to work as before. Our difficulties are so grave that--' + +He paused, and let his hand fail despondently. + +'I hope it isn't affecting your work--your progress?' + +'To some extent, necessarily. I have a good deal of will, you +remember, and what I have set my mind upon, no doubt, I shall +some day achieve. But--one makes mistakes.' + +There was silence. + +'The last three years,' he continued, 'have made no slight +difference in my position. Recall where I stood when you first +knew me. I have done something since then, I think, and by my own +steady effort.' + +'Indeed, you have.' + +'Just now I am in need of a little encouragement. You don't +notice any falling off in my work recently?' + +'No, indeed.' + +'Do you see my things in The Current and so on, generally?' + +'I don't think I miss many of your articles. Sometimes I believe +I have detected you when there was no signature.' + +'And Dora has been doing well. Her story in that girls' paper has +attracted attention. It's a great deal to have my mind at rest +about both the girls. But I can't pretend to be in very good +spirits.' He rose. 'Well, I must try to find out something more +about poor Biffen.' + +'Oh, you are not going yet, Mr Milvain?' + +'Not, assuredly, because I wish to. But I have work to do.' He +stepped aside, but came back as if on an impulse. 'May I ask you +for your advice in a very delicate matter?' + +Amy was a little disturbed, but she collected herself and smiled +in a way that reminded Jasper of his walk with her along Gower +Street. + +'Let me hear what it is.' + +He sat down again, and bent forward. + +'If Marian insists that it is her duty to remain with her father, +am I justified or not in freely consenting to that?' + +'I scarcely understand. Has Marian expressed a wish to devote +herself in that way?' + +'Not distinctly. But I suspect that her conscience points to it. +I am in serious doubt. On the one hand,' he explained in a tone +of candour, 'who will not blame me if our engagement terminates +in circumstances such as these? On the other--you are aware, by- +the-by, that her father objects in the strongest way to this +marriage?' + +'No, I didn't know that.' + +'He will neither see me nor hear of me. Merely because of my +connection with Fadge. Think of that poor girl thus situated. And +I could so easily put her at rest by renouncing all claim upon +her.' + +'I surmise that--that you yourself would also be put at rest by +such a decision?' + +'Don't look at me with that ironical smile,' he pleaded. 'What +you have said is true. And really, why should I not be glad of +it? I couldn't go about declaring that I was heartbroken, in any +event; I must be content for people to judge me according to +their disposition, and judgments are pretty sure to be +unfavourable. What can I do? In either case I must to a certain +extent be in the wrong. To tell the truth, I was wrong from the +first.' + +There was a slight movement about Amy's lips as these words were +uttered: she kept her eyes down, and waited before replying. + +'The case is too delicate, I fear, for my advice.' + +'Yes, I feel it; and perhaps I oughtn't to have spoken of it at +all. Well, I'll go back to my scribbling. I am so very glad to +have seen you again.' + +'It was good of you to take the trouble to come--whilst you have +so much on your mind.' + +Again Jasper held the white, soft hand for a superfluous moment. + +The next morning it was he who had to wait at the rendezvous; he +was pacing the pathway at least ten minutes before the appointed +time. When Marian joined him, she was panting from a hurried +walk, and this affected Jasper disagreeably; he thought of Amy +Reardon's air of repose, and how impossible it would be for that +refined person to fall into such disorder. He observed, too, with +more disgust than usual, the signs in Marian's attire of +encroaching poverty--her unsatisfactory gloves, her mantle out of +fashion. Yet for such feelings he reproached himself, and the +reproach made him angry. + +They walked together in the same direction as when they met here +before. Marian could not mistake the air of restless trouble on +her companion's smooth countenance. She had divined that there +was some grave reason for this summons, and the panting with +which she had approached was half caused by the anxious beats of +her heart. Jasper's long silence again was ominous. He began +abruptly: + +'You've heard that Harold Biffen has committed suicide?' + +'No!' she replied, looking shocked. + +'Poisoned himself. You'll find something about it in today's +Telegraph.' + +He gave her such details as he had obtained, then added: + +'There are two of my companions fallen in the battle. I ought to +think myself a lucky fellow, Marian. What?' + +'You are better fitted to fight your way, Jasper.' + +'More of a brute, you mean.' + +'You know very well I don't. You have more energy and more +intellect.' + +'Well, it remains to be seen how I shall come out when I am +weighted with graver cares than I have yet known.' + +She looked at him inquiringly, but said nothing. + +'I have made up my mind about our affairs,' he went on presently. +'Marian, if ever we are to be married, it must be now.' + +The words were so unexpected that they brought a flush to her +cheeks and neck. + +'Now?' + +'Yes. Will you marry me, and let us take our chance?' + +Her heart throbbed violently. + +'You don't mean at once, Jasper? You would wait until I know what +father's fate is to be?' + +'Well, now, there's the point. You feel yourself indispensable to +your father at present?' + +'Not indispensable, but--wouldn't it seem very unkind? I should +be so afraid of the effect upon his health, Jasper. So much +depends, we are told, upon his general state of mind and body. It +would be dreadful if I were the cause of--' + +She paused, and looked up at him touchingly. + +'I understand that. But let us face our position. Suppose the +operation is successful; your father will certainly not be able +to use his eyes much for a long time, if ever; and perhaps he +would miss you as much then as now. Suppose he does not regain +his sight; could you then leave him?' + +'Dear, I can't feel it would be my duty to renounce you because +my father had become blind. And if he can see pretty well, I +don't think I need remain with him.' + +'Has one thing occurred to you? Will he consent to receive an +allowance from a person whose name is Mrs Milvain?' + +'I can't be sure,' she replied, much troubled. + +'And if he obstinately refuses--what then? What is before him?' + +Marian's head sank, and she stood still. + +'Why have you changed your mind so, Jasper?' she inquired at +length. + +'Because I have decided that the indefinitely long engagement +would be unjust to you--and to myself. Such engagements are +always dangerous; sometimes they deprave the character of the man +or woman.' + +She listened anxiously and reflected. + +'Everything,' he went on, 'would be simple enough but for your +domestic difficulties. As I have said, there is the very serious +doubt whether your father would accept money from you when you +are my wife. Then again, shall we be able to afford such an +allowance?' + +'I thought you felt sure of that?' + +'I'm not very sure of anything, to tell the truth. I am harassed. + +I can't get on with my work.' + +'I am very, very sorry.' + +'It isn't your fault, Marian, and-- Well, then, there's only one +thing to do. Let us wait, at all events, till your father has +undergone the operation. Whichever the result, you say your own +position will be the same.' + +'Except, Jasper, that if father is helpless, I must find means of +assuring his support.' + +'In other words, if you can't do that as my wife, you must remain +Marian Yule.' + +After a silence, Marian regarded him steadily. + +'You see only the difficulties in our way,' she said, in a colder +voice. 'They are many, I know. Do you think them insurmountable?' + +'Upon my word, they almost seem so,' Jasper exclaimed, +distractedly. + +'They were not so great when we spoke of marriage a few years +hence.' + +'A few years!' he echoed, in a cheerless voice. 'That is just +what I have decided is impossible. Marian, you shall have the +plain truth. I can trust your faith, but I can't trust my own. I +will marry you now, but--years hence--how can I tell what may +happen? I don't trust myself.' + +'You say you "will" marry me now; that sounds as if you had made +up your mind to a sacrifice.' + +'I didn't mean that. To face difficulties, yes.' + +Whilst they spoke, the sky had grown dark with a heavy cloud, and +now spots of rain began to fall. Jasper looked about him in +annoyance as he felt the moisture, but Marian did not seem aware +of it. + +'But shall you face them willingly?' + +'I am not a man to repine and grumble. Put up your umbrella, +Marian.' + +'What do I care for a drop of rain,' she exclaimed with +passionate sadness, 'when all my life is at stake! How am I to +understand you? Every word you speak seems intended to dishearten +me. Do you no longer love me? Why need you conceal it, if that is +the truth? Is that what you mean by saying you distrust yourself? + +If you do so, there must be reason for it in the present. Could I +distrust myself? Can I force myself in any manner to believe that +I shall ever cease to love you?' + +Jasper opened his umbrella. + +'We must see each other again, Marian. We can't stand and talk in +the rain--confound it! Cursed climate, where you can never be +sure of a clear sky for five minutes!' + +'I can't go till you have spoken more plainly, Jasper! How am I +to live an hour in such uncertainty as this? Do you love me or +not? Do you wish me to be your wife, or are you sacrificing +yourself?' + +'I do wish it!' Her emotion had an effect upon him, and his voice +trembled. 'But I can't answer for myself--no, not for a year. +And how are we to marry now, in face of all these--' + +'What can I do? What can I do?' she sobbed. 'Oh, if I were but +heartless to everyone but to you! If I could give you my money, +and leave my father and mother to their fate! Perhaps some could +do that. There is no natural law that a child should surrender +everything for her parents. You know so much more of the world +than I do; can't you advise me? Is there no way of providing for +my father?' + +'Good God! This is frightful, Marian. I can't stand it. Live as +you are doing. Let us wait and see.' + +'At the cost of losing you?' + +'I will be faithful to you!' + +'And your voice says you promise it out of pity.' + +He had made a pretence of holding his umbrella over her, but +Marian turned away and walked to a little distance, and stood +beneath the shelter of a great tree, her face averted from him. +Moving to follow, he saw that her frame was shaken by soundless +sobbing. When his footsteps came close to her, she again looked +at him. + +'I know now,' she said, 'how foolish it is when they talk of love +being unselfish. In what can there be more selfishness? I feel as +if I could hold you to your promise at any cost, though you have +made me understand that you regard our engagement as your great +misfortune. I have felt it for weeks--oh, for months! But I +couldn't say a word that would seem to invite such misery as +this. You don't love me, Jasper, and that's an end of everything. + +I should be shamed if I married you.' + +'Whether I love you or not, I feel as if no sacrifice would be +too great that would bring you the happiness you deserve.' + +'Deserve!' she repeated bitterly. 'Why do I deserve it? Because I +long for it with all my heart and soul? There's no such thing as +deserving. Happiness or misery come to us by fate.' + +'Is it in my power to make you happy?' + +'No; because it isn't in your power to call dead love to life +again. I think perhaps you never loved me. Jasper, I could give +my right hand if you had said you loved me before--I can't put it +into words; it sounds too base, and I don't wish to imply that +you behaved basely. But if you had said you loved me before that, +I should have it always to remember.' + +'You will do me no wrong if you charge me with baseness,' he +replied gloomily. 'If I believe anything, I believe that I did +love you. But I knew myself and I should never have betrayed what +I felt, if for once in my life I could have been honourable.' + +The rain pattered on the leaves and the grass, and still the sky +darkened. + +'This is wretchedness to both of us,' Jasper added. 'Let us part +now, Marian. Let me see you again.' + +'I can't see you again. What can you say to me more than you have +said now? I should feel like a beggar coming to you. I must try +and keep some little self-respect, if I am to live at all.' + +'Then let me help you to think of me with indifference. Remember +me as a man who disregarded priceless love such as yours to go +and make himself a proud position among fools and knaves--indeed +that's what it comes to. It is you who reject me, and rightly. +One who is so much at the mercy of a vulgar ambition as I am, is +no fit husband for you. Soon enough you would thoroughly despise +me, and though I should know it was merited, my perverse pride +would revolt against it. Many a time I have tried to regard life +practically as I am able to do theoretically, but it always ends +in hypocrisy. It is men of my kind who succeed; the +conscientious, and those who really have a high ideal, either +perish or struggle on in neglect.' + +Marian had overcome her excess of emotion. + +'There is no need to disparage yourself' she said. 'What can be +simpler than the truth? You loved me, or thought you did, and now +you love me no longer. It is a thing that happens every day, +either in man or woman, and all that honour demands is the +courage to confess the truth. Why didn't you tell me as soon as +you knew that I was burdensome to you?' + +'Marian, will you do this?--will you let our engagement last for +another six months, but without our meeting during that time?' + +'But to what purpose?' + +'Then we would see each other again, and both would be able to +speak calmly, and we should both know with certainty what course +we ought to pursue.' + +'That seems to me childish. It is easy for you to contemplate +months of postponement. There must be an end now; I can bear it +no longer.' + +The rain fell unceasingly, and with it began to mingle an +autumnal mist. Jasper delayed a moment, then asked calmly: + +'Are you going to the Museum?' + +'Yes.' + +'Go home again for this morning, Marian. You can't work--' + +'I must; and I have no time to lose. Good-bye!' + +She gave him her hand. They looked at each other for an instant, +then Marian left the shelter of the tree, opened her umbrella, +and walked quickly away. Jasper did not watch her; he had the +face of a man who is suffering a severe humiliation. + +A few hours later he told Dora what had come to pass, and without +extenuation of his own conduct. His sister said very little, for +she recognised genuine suffering in his tones and aspect. But +when it was over, she sat down and wrote to Marian. + +'I feel far more disposed to congratulate you than to regret what +has happened. Now that there is no necessity for silence, I will +tell you something which will help you to see Jasper in his true +light. A few weeks ago he actually proposed to a woman for whom +he does not pretend to have the slightest affection, but who is +very rich, and who seemed likely to be foolish enough to marry +him. Yesterday morning he received her final answer--a refusal. +I am not sure that I was right in keeping this a secret from you, +but I might have done harm by interfering. You will understand +(though surely you need no fresh proof) how utterly unworthy he +is of you. You cannot, I am sure you cannot, regard it as a +misfortune that all is over between you. Dearest Marian, do not +cease to think of me as your friend because my brother has +disgraced himself. If you can't see me, at least let us write to +each other. You are the only friend I have of my own sex, and I +could not bear to lose you.' + +And much more of the same tenor. + +Several days passed before there came a reply. It was written +with undisturbed kindness of feeling, but in few words. + +'For the present we cannot see each other, but I am very far from +wishing that our friendship should come to an end. I must only +ask that you will write to me without the least reference to +these troubles; tell me always about yourself, and be sure that +you cannot tell me too much. I hope you may soon be able to send +me the news which was foreshadowed in our last talk--though +"foreshadowed" is a wrong word to use of coming happiness, isn't +it? That paper I sent to Mr Trenchard is accepted, and I shall be +glad to have your criticism when it comes out; don't spare my +style, which needs a great deal of chastening. I have been +thinking: couldn't you use your holiday in Sark for a story? To +judge from your letters, you could make an excellent background +of word-painting.' + +Dora sighed, and shook her little head, and thought of her +brother with unspeakable disdain. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. REWARDS + +When the fitting moment arrived, Alfred Yule underwent an +operation for cataract, and it was believed at first that the +result would be favourable. This hope had but short duration; +though the utmost prudence was exercised, evil symptoms declared +themselves, and in a few months' time all prospect of restoring +his vision was at an end. Anxiety, and then the fatal assurance, +undermined his health; with blindness, there fell upon him the +debility of premature old age. + +The position of the family was desperate. Marian had suffered +much all the winter from attacks of nervous disorder, and by no +effort of will could she produce enough literary work to +supplement adequately the income derived from her fifteen hundred +pounds. In the summer of 1885 things were at the worst; Marian +saw no alternative but to draw upon her capital, and so relieve +the present at the expense of the future. She had a mournful +warning before her eyes in the case of poor Hinks and his wife, +who were now kept from the workhouse only by charity. But at this +juncture the rescuer appeared. Mr Quarmby and certain of his +friends were already making a subscription for the Yules' +benefit, when one of their number--Mr Jedwood, the publisher-- +came forward with a proposal which relieved the minds of all +concerned. Mr Jedwood had a brother who was the director of a +public library in a provincial town, and by this means he was +enabled to offer Marian Yule a place as assistant in that +institution; she would receive seventy-five pounds a year, and +thus, adding her own income, would be able to put her parents +beyond the reach of want. The family at once removed from London, +and the name of Yule was no longer met with in periodical +literature. + +By an interesting coincidence, it was on the day of this +departure that there appeared a number of The West End in which +the place of honour, that of the week's Celebrity, was occupied +by Clement Fadge. A coloured portrait of this illustrious man +challenged the admiration of all who had literary tastes, and two +columns of panegyric recorded his career for the encouragement of +aspiring youth. This article, of course unsigned, came from the +pen of Jasper Milvain. + +It was only by indirect channels that Jasper learnt how Marian +and her parents had been provided for. Dora's correspondence with +her friend soon languished; in the nature of things this could +not but happen; and about the time when Alfred Yule became +totally blind the girls ceased to hear anything of each other. An +event which came to pass in the spring sorely tempted Dora to +write, but out of good feeling she refrained. + +For it was then that she at length decided to change her name for +that of Whelpdale. Jasper could not quite reconcile himself to +this condescension; in various discourses he pointed out to his +sister how much higher she might look if she would only have a +little patience. + +'Whelpdale will never be a man of any note. A good fellow, I +admit, but borne in all senses. Let me impress upon you, my dear +girl, that I have a future before me, and that there is no +reason--with your charm of person and mind--why you should not +marry brilliantly. Whelpdale can give you a decent home, I admit, +but as regards society he will be a drag upon you.' + +'It happens, Jasper, that I have promised to marry him,' replied +Dora, in a significant tone. + +'Well, I regret it, but--you are of course your own mistress. I +shall make no unpleasantness. I don't dislike Whelpdale, and I +shall remain on friendly terms with him.' + +'That is very kind of you,' said his sister suavely. + +Whelpdale was frantic with exultation. When the day of the +wedding had been settled, he rushed into Jasper's study and +fairly shed tears before he could command his voice. + +'There is no mortal on the surface of the globe one-tenth so +happy as I am!' he gasped. 'I can't believe it! Why in the name +of sense and justice have I been suffered to attain this +blessedness? Think of the days when I all but starved in my +Albany Street garret, scarcely better off than poor, dear old +Biffen! Why should I have come to this, and Biffen have poisoned +himself in despair? He was a thousand times a better and cleverer +fellow than I. And poor old Reardon, dead in misery! Could I for +a moment compare with him?' + +'My dear fellow,' said Jasper, calmly, 'compose yourself and be +logical. In the first place, success has nothing whatever to do +with moral deserts; and then, both Reardon and Biffen were +hopelessly unpractical. In such an admirable social order as +ours, they were bound to go to the dogs. Let us be sorry for +them, but let us recognise causas rerum, as Biffen would have +said. You have exercised ingenuity and perseverance; you have +your reward.' + +'And when I think that I might have married fatally on thirteen +or fourteen different occasions. By-the-by, I implore you never +to tell Dora those stories about me. I should lose all her +respect. Do you remember the girl from Birmingham?' He laughed +wildly. 'Heaven be praised that she threw me over! Eternal +gratitude to all and sundry of the girls who have plunged me into +wretchedness!' + +'I admit that you have run the gauntlet, and that you have had +marvellous escapes. But be good enough to leave me alone for the +present. I must finish this review by midday.' + +'Only one word. I don't know how to thank Dora, how to express my +infinite sense of her goodness. Will you try to do so for me? You +can speak to her with calmness. Will you tell her what I have +said to you?' + +'Oh, certainly.--I should recommend a cooling draught of some +kind. Look in at a chemist's as you walk on.' + +The heavens did not fall before the marriage-day, and the wedded +pair betook themselves for a few weeks to the Continent. They had +been back again and established in their house at Earl's Court +for a month, when one morning about twelve o'clock Jasper dropped +in, as though casually. Dora was writing; she had no thought of +entirely abandoning literature, and had in hand at present a very +pretty tale which would probably appear in The English Girl. Her +boudoir, in which she sat, could not well have been daintier and +more appropriate to the charming characteristics of its mistress. + +Mrs Whelpdale affected no literary slovenliness; she was dressed +in light colours, and looked so lovely that even Jasper paused on +the threshold with a smile of admiration. + +'Upon my word,' he exclaimed, 'I am proud of my sisters! What did +you think of Maud last night? Wasn't she superb?' + +'She certainly did look very well. But I doubt if she's very +happy.' + +'That is her own look out; I told her plainly enough my opinion +of Dolomore. But she was in such a tremendous hurry.' + +'You are detestable, Jasper! Is it inconceivable to you that a +man or woman should be disinterested when they marry?' + +'By no means.' + +'Maud didn't marry for money any more than I did.' + +'You remember the Northern Farmer: "Doan't thou marry for money, +but go where money is." An admirable piece of advice. Well, Maud +made a mistake, let us say. Dolomore is a clown, and now she +knows it. Why, if she had waited, she might have married one of +the leading men of the day. She is fit to be a duchess, as far as +appearance goes; but I was never snobbish. I care very little +about titles; what I look to is intellectual distinction.' + +'Combined with financial success.' + +'Why, that is what distinction means.' He looked round the room +with a smile. 'You are not uncomfortable here, old girl. I wish +mother could have lived till now.' + +'I wish it very, very often,' Dora replied in a moved voice. + +'We haven't done badly, drawbacks considered. Now, you may speak +of money as scornfully as you like; but suppose you had married a +man who could only keep you in lodgings! How would life look to +you?' + +'Who ever disputed the value of money? But there are things one +mustn't sacrifice to gain it.' + +'I suppose so. Well, I have some news for you, Dora. I am +thinking of following your example.' + +Dora's face changed to grave anticipation. + +'And who is it?' + +'Amy Reardon.' + +His sister turned away, with a look of intense annoyance. + +'You see, I am disinterested myself,' he went on. 'I might find a +wife who had wealth and social standing. But I choose Amy +deliberately.' + +'An abominable choice!' + +'No; an excellent choice. I have never yet met a woman so well +fitted to aid me in my career. She has a trifling sum of money, +which will be useful for the next year or two--' + +'What has she done with the rest of it, then?' + +'Oh, the ten thousand is intact, but it can't be seriously spoken +of. It will keep up appearances till I get my editorship and so +on. We shall be married early in August, I think. I want to ask +you if you will go and see her.' + +'On no account! I couldn't be civil to her.' + +Jasper's brows blackened. + +'This is idiotic prejudice, Dora. I think I have some claim upon +you; I have shown some kindness--' + +'You have, and I am not ungrateful. But I dislike Mrs Reardon, +and I couldn't bring myself to be friendly with her.' + +'You don't know her.' + +'Too well. You yourself have taught me to know her. Don't compel +me to say what I think of her.' + +'She is beautiful, and high-minded, and warm-hearted. I don't +know a womanly quality that she doesn't possess. You will offend +me most seriously if you speak a word against her.' + +'Then I will be silent. But you must never ask me to meet her.' + +'Never?' + +'Never!' + +'Then we shall quarrel. I haven't deserved this, Dora. If you +refuse to meet my wife on terms of decent friendliness, there's +no more intercourse between your house and mine. You have to +choose. Persist in this fatuous obstinacy, and I have done with +you!' + +'So be it!' + +'That is your final answer?' + +Dora, who was now as angry as he, gave a short affirmative, and +Jasper at once left her. + +But it was very unlikely that things should rest at this pass. +The brother and sister were bound by a strong mutual affection, +and Whelpdale was not long in effecting a compromise. + +'My dear wife,' he exclaimed, in despair at the threatened +calamity, 'you are right, a thousand times, but it's impossible +for you to be on ill terms with Jasper. There's no need for you +to see much of Mrs Reardon--' + +'I hate her! She killed her husband; I am sure of it.' + +'My darling!' + +'I mean by her base conduct. She is a cold, cruel, unprincipled +creature! Jasper makes himself more than ever contemptible by +marrying her.' + +All the same, in less than three weeks Mrs Whelpdale had called +upon Amy, and the call was returned. The two women were perfectly +conscious of reciprocal dislike, but they smothered the feeling +beneath conventional suavities. Jasper was not backward in making +known his gratitude for Dora's concession, and indeed it became +clear to all his intimates that this marriage would be by no +means one of mere interest; the man was in love at last, if he +had never been before. + +Let lapse the ensuing twelve months, and come to an evening at +the end of July, 1886. Mr and Mrs Milvain are entertaining a +small and select party of friends at dinner. Their house in +Bayswater is neither large nor internally magnificent, but it +will do very well for the temporary sojourn of a young man of +letters who has much greater things in confident expectation, who +is a good deal talked of, who can gather clever and worthy people +at his table, and whose matchless wife would attract men of taste +to a very much poorer abode. + +Jasper had changed considerably in appearance since that last +holiday that he spent in his mother's house at Finden. At present +he would have been taken for five-and-thirty, though only in his +twenty-ninth year; his hair was noticeably thinning; his +moustache had grown heavier; a wrinkle or two showed beneath his +eyes; his voice was softer, yet firmer. It goes without saying +that his evening uniform lacked no point of perfection, and +somehow it suggested a more elaborate care than that of other men +in the room. He laughed frequently, and with a throwing back of +the head which seemed to express a spirit of triumph. + +Amy looked her years to the full, but her type of beauty, as you +know, was independent of youthfulness. That suspicion of +masculinity observable in her when she became Reardon's wife +impressed one now only as the consummate grace of a +perfectly-built woman. You saw that at forty, at fifty, she would +be one of the stateliest of dames. When she bent her head towards +the person with whom she spoke, it was an act of queenly favour. +Her words were uttered with just enough deliberation to give them +the value of an opinion; she smiled with a delicious shade of +irony; her glance intimated that nothing could be too subtle for +her understanding. + +The guests numbered six, and no one of them was insignificant. +Two of the men were about Jasper's age, and they had already made +their mark in literature; the third was a novelist of circulating +fame, spirally crescent. The three of the stronger sex were +excellent modern types, with sweet lips attuned to epigram, and +good broad brows. + +The novelist at one point put an interesting question to Amy. + +'Is it true that Fadge is leaving The Current?' + +'It is rumoured, I believe.' + +'Going to one of the quarterlies, they say,' remarked a lady. 'He +is getting terribly autocratic. Have you heard the delightful +story of his telling Mr Rowland to persevere, as his last work +was one of considerable promise?' + +Mr Rowland was a man who had made a merited reputation when Fadge +was still on the lower rungs of journalism. Amy smiled and told +another anecdote of the great editor. Whilst speaking, she caught +her husband's eye, and perhaps this was the reason why her story, +at the close, seemed rather amiably pointless--not a common fault +when she narrated. + +When the ladies had withdrawn, one of the younger men, in a +conversation about a certain magazine, remarked: + +'Thomas always maintains that it was killed by that solemn old +stager, Alfred Yule. By the way, he is dead himself, I hear.' + +Jasper bent forward. + +'Alfred Yule is dead?' + +'So Jedwood told me this morning. He died in the country +somewhere, blind and fallen on evil days, poor old fellow.' + +All the guests were ignorant of any tie of kindred between their +host and the man spoken of. + +'I believe,' said the novelist, 'that he had a clever daughter +who used to do all the work he signed. That used to be a current +bit of scandal in Fadge's circle.' + +'Oh, there was much exaggeration in that,' remarked Jasper, +blandly. 'His daughter assisted him, doubtless, but in quite a +legitimate way. One used to see her at the Museum.' + +The subject was dropped. + +An hour and a half later, when the last stranger had taken his +leave, Jasper examined two or three letters which had arrived +since dinner-time and were lying on the hall table. With one of +them open in his hand, he suddenly sprang up the stairs and +leaped, rather than stepped, into the drawing-room. Amy was +reading an evening paper. + +'Look at this!' he cried, holding the letter to her. + +It was a communication from the publishers who owned The Current; +they stated that the editorship of that review would shortly be +resigned by Mr Fadge, and they inquired whether Milvain would +feel disposed to assume the vacant chair. + +Amy sprang up and threw her arms about her husband's neck, +uttering a cry of delight. + +'So soon! Oh, this is great! this is glorious!' + +'Do you think this would have been offered to me but for the +spacious life we have led of late? Never! Was I right in my +calculations, Amy?' + +'Did I ever doubt it?' + +He returned her embrace ardently, and gazed into her eyes with +profound tenderness. + +'Doesn't the future brighten?' + +'It has been very bright to me, Jasper, since I became your +wife.' + +'And I owe my fortune to you, dear girl. Now the way is smooth!' + +They placed themselves on a settee, Jasper with an arm about his +wife's waist, as if they were newly plighted lovers. When they +had talked for a long time, Milvain said in a changed tone: + +'I am told that your uncle is dead.' + +He mentioned how the news had reached him. + +'I must make inquiries to-morrow. I suppose there will be a +notice in The Study and some of the other papers. I hope somebody +will make it an opportunity to have a hit at that ruffian Fadge. +By-the-by, it doesn't much matter now how you speak of Fadge; but +I was a trifle anxious when I heard your story at dinner.' + +'Oh, you can afford to be more independent.--What are you +thinking about?' + +'Nothing.' + +'Why do you look sad?--Yes, I know, I know. I'll try to forgive +you.' + +'I can't help thinking at times of the poor girl, Amy. Life will +be easier for her now, with only her mother to support. Someone +spoke of her this evening, and repeated Fadge's lie that she used +to do all her father's writing.' + +'She was capable of doing it. I must seem to you rather a poor- +brained woman in comparison. Isn't it true?' + +'My dearest, you are a perfect woman, and poor Marian was only a +clever school-girl. Do you know, I never could help imagining +that she had ink-stains on her fingers. Heaven forbid that I +should say it unkindly! It was touching to me at the time, for I +knew how fearfully hard she worked.' + +'She nearly ruined your life; remember that.' + +Jasper was silent. + +'You will never confess it, and that is a fault in you.' + +'She loved me, Amy.' + +'Perhaps! as a school-girl loves. But you never loved her.' + +'No.' + +Amy examined his face as he spoke. + +'Her image is very faint before me,' Jasper pursued, 'and soon I +shall scarcely be able to recall it. Yes, you are right; she +nearly ruined me. And in more senses than one. Poverty and +struggle, under such circumstances, would have made me a +detestable creature. As it is, I am not such a bad fellow, Amy.' + +She laughed, and caressed his cheek. + +'No, I am far from a bad fellow. I feel kindly to everyone who +deserves it. I like to be generous, in word and deed. Trust me, +there's many a man who would like to be generous, but is made +despicably mean by necessity. What a true sentence that is of +Landor's: "It has been repeated often enough that vice leads to +misery; will no man declare that misery leads to vice?" I have +much of the weakness that might become viciousness, but I am now +far from the possibility of being vicious. Of course there are +men, like Fadge, who seem only to grow meaner the more prosperous +they are; but these are exceptions. Happiness is the nurse of virtue.' + +'And independence the root of happiness.' + +'True. "The glorious privilege of being independent"--yes, Burns +understood the matter. Go to the piano, dear, and play me +something. If I don't mind, I shall fall into Whelpdale's vein, +and talk about my "blessedness". Ha! isn't the world a glorious place?' + +'For rich people.' + +'Yes, for rich people. How I pity the poor devils!--Play +anything. Better still if you will sing, my nightingale!' + +So Amy first played and then sang, and Jasper lay back in dreamy bliss. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext New Grub Street, by George Gissing + |