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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17481-8.txt b/17481-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..88f3c23 --- /dev/null +++ b/17481-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12881 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Parts Men Play, by Arthur Beverley +Baxter, et al + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Parts Men Play + + +Author: Arthur Beverley Baxter + + + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [eBook #17481] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARTS MEN PLAY*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE PARTS MEN PLAY + +by + +ARTHUR BEVERLEY BAXTER + +Author of "The Blower of Bubbles" + +With Foreword by Lord Beaverbrook + + + + + + + +McClelland & Stewart +Publishers ======== Toronto +Copyright, Canada, 1920 +By McClelland & Stewart, Limited, Toronto + + + + + + THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED + + TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER + + JAMES BENNETT BAXTER + + WHO BELIEVED THOUGHT TO BE MORE IMPORTANT + THAN THINGS, AND WHO WENT THROUGH THIS + WORLD DISPENSING GENIAL PHILOSOPHY + AND KINDLY HUMOUR TO ALL + WHO CAME WITHIN + HIS CIRCLE + + + + +FOREWORD. + +Mr. Baxter is my countryman, and, as a Canadian, I commend _The Parts +Men Play_, not only for its literary vitality, but for the freshness of +outlook with which the author handles Anglo-American susceptibilities. + +A Canadian lives in a kind of half-way house between Britain and the +United States. He understands Canada by right of birth; he can +sympathise with the American spirit through the closest knowledge born +of contiguity; his history makes him understand Britain and the British +Empire. He is, therefore, a national interpreter between the two +sundered portions of the race. + +It is this rôle of interpreter that Mr. Baxter is destined to fill, a +rôle for which he is peculiarly suited, not only by temperament, but by +reason of his experiences gained from his entrance into the world of +London journalism and English literature. + +I do not know in what order the chapters of _The Parts Men Play_ were +written, but it seems to me that as Mr. Baxter gets to grip with the +realities of his theme, he begins to lose a certain looseness of touch +which marks his opening pages. If so, he is showing the power of +development, and to the artist this power is everything. The writer +who is without it is a mere static consciousness weaving words round +the creatures of his own imagination. The man who has it possesses a +future, because he is open to the teaching of experience. And among +the men with a future I number Mr. Baxter. + +Throughout the book his pictures of life are certainly arresting--taken +impartially both in Great Britain and America. What could be better +than some of his descriptions? + +The speech of the American diplomat at a private dinner is the truest +defence and explanation of America's delay in coming into the war that +I remember to have read. The scene is set in the high light of +excitement, and the rhetorical phrasing of the speech would do credit +to a famous orator. + +But I fear that I may be giving the impression that _The Parts Men +Play_ is merely a piece of propagandist fiction--something from which +the natural man shrinks back with suspicion. Nothing could be farther +from the truth. Mr. Baxter's strength lies in the rapid flow and sweep +of his narrative. His characterisation is clear and firm in outline, +but it is never pursued into those quicksands of minute analysis which +too often impede the stream of good story-telling. + +I am glad that a Canadian novelist should have given us a book which +supports the promise shown by the author in _The Blower of Bubbles_, +and marks him out for a distinguished future. + +If in the course of a novel of action he has something to teach his +British readers about the American temperament, and his American public +about British mentality, so much the better. + + +BEAVERBROOK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +CHAPTER + + I. LADY DURWENT DECIDES ON A DINNER + II. CONCERNING LADY DURWENT'S FAMILY + III. ABOUT A TOWN HOUSE + IV. PROLOGUE TO A DINNER-PARTY + V. THE OLYMPIANS THUNDER + VI. A MORNING IN NOVEMBER + VII. THE CAFE ROUGE + VIII. INTERMEZZO + IX. A HOUSE-PARTY AT ROSELAWN + X. GATHERING SHADOWS + XI. THE RENDING OF THE VEIL + XII. THE HONOURABLE MALCOLM DURWENT STARTS ON A JOURNEY + XIII. THE MAN OF SOLITUDE + XIV. STRANGE CRAFT + XV. DICK DURWENT + XVI. THE FEMININE TOUCH + XVII. MOONLIGHT + XVIII. ELISE + XIX. EN VOYAGE + XX. THE GREAT NEUTRAL + XXI. A NIGHT IN JANUARY + XXII. THE CHALLENGE + XXIII. THE SMUGGLER BREED + XXIV. THE SENTENCE + XXV. THE FIGHT FOR THE BRIDGE + XXVI. THE END OF THE ROAD + XXVII. A LIGHT ON THE WATER + + + + +THE PARTS MEN PLAY. + + +CHAPTER I. + +LADY DURWENT DECIDES ON A DINNER. + + +I. + +His Majesty's postmen were delivering mail. Through the gray grime of +a November morning that left a taste of rust in the throat, the +carriers of letters were bearing their cargo to all the corners of that +world which is called London. + +There were letters from hospitals asking for funds; there were appeals +from sick people seeking admission to hospital. There were long, legal +letters and little, scented letters lying wonderingly together in the +postman's bag. There were notes from tailors to gentlemen begging to +remind them; and there were answers from gentlemen to their tailors, in +envelopes bearing the crests of Pall Mail clubs, hinting of temporary +embarrassment, but mentioning certain prospects that would shortly +enable them to . . . . + +Fat, bulging envelopes, returning manuscripts with editors' regrets, +were on their way to poor devils of scribblers living in the altitude +of unrecognised genius and a garret. There were cringing, fawning +epistles, written with a smirk and sealed with a scowl; some there were +couched in a refinement of cruelty that cut like a knife. + +But, as unconcerned as tramps plying contraband between South America +and Mexico, His Majesty's postmen were delivering His Majesty's mail, +with never a thought of the play of human emotions lying behind the +sealed lips of an envelope. If His Majesty's subjects insisted upon +writing to one another, it was obvious that their letters, in some +mysterious way become the property of His Majesty, had to be delivered. + +Thus it happened, on a certain November morning in the year 1913, that +six dinner invitations, enclosed in small, square envelopes with a +noble crest on the back, and large, unwieldy writing on the front, were +being carried through His Majesty's fog to six addresses in the West +End of London. + +Lady Durwent had decided to give a dinner. + +An ordinary hostess merely writes a carelessly formal note stating that +she hopes the recipient will be able to dine with her on a certain +evening. The form of her invitations varies as little as the +conversation at her table. But Lady Durwent was _unusual_. For years +she had endeavoured to impress the fact on London, and by careful +attention to detail had at last succeeded in gaining that reputation. +She was that _rara avis_ among the women of to-day--the hostess who +knows her guests. She never asked any one to dine at her house without +some definite purpose in mind--and, for that matter, her guests never +dined with her except on the same terms. + +Therefore it came about that Lady Durwent's dinners were among the +pleasantest things in town, and, true to her character of the +_unusual_, she always worded her invitations with a nice discrimination +dictated by the exact motive that prompted the sending. + + +II. + +H. Stackton Dunckley looked up from his pillow as the man-servant who +valeted for the gentlemen of the Jermyn Street Chambers drew aside a +gray curtain and displayed the gray blanket of the atmosphere outside. + +'Good-morning, Watson,' said Mr. Dunckley in a voice which gave the +impression that he had smoked too many cigars the previous evening--an +impression considerably strengthened by the bilious appearance of his +face. + +'Good-morning, sir. Will you have the _Times_ or the _Morning Post_? +And here are your letters, sir.' + +The recumbent gentleman took the letters and waved them philosophically +at the valet. 'Leave me to my thoughts,' he said thickly, but with +considerable dignity. 'I am not interested in the squeaky jarring of +the world revolving on its rusty axis.' + +Being an author, he almost invariably tried out his command of language +in the morning, as a tenor essays two or three notes on rising, to make +sure that his voice has not left him during his slumber. + +Mr. Watson bowed and withdrew. H. Stackton Dunckley lit a cigarette, +opened the first letter, and read it. + + +'8 CHELMSFORD GARDENS. + +'MY DEAR STACKY,--Next Friday I am giving a little dinner-party--just a +few _unusual_ people--to meet an American author who has recently come +to England. Do come; but, you brilliant man, don't be too caustic, +will you? + +'Isn't it dreadful the way gossip is connecting our names? Supposing +Lord Durwent should hear about it!--Until Friday, + +'SYBIL DURWENT. + +'P.S.--How is _the_ play coming on? Dinner will be at 8.30.' + + +H. Stackton Dunckley put the letter down and sighed. He was an author +who had been writing other men's ideas all his life, but without +sufficient distinction to achieve either a success or a failure. He +had gained some notoriety by his wife suing him for divorce; but when +the Court granted her separation on the ground of desertion, it cleared +him of the charge of infidelity--and of the chance of advertisement at +the same moment. Later, by being a constant attendant on Lady Durwent, +he almost succeeded in creating a scandal; but, to the great +disappointment of them both, London flatly refused to believe there was +anything wrong. For one thing, she was the daughter of a commoner--and +the morality of the middle classes is a conviction solidly rooted in +English society. And then there were his writings. How could one +doubt the character of a man so dull? + +Undiscouraged, they still maintained their perfectly innocent +friendship, and, like kittens playing with a spool, invested it with +all the appearances of an intrigue. + +Dismissing his depressing thoughts, H. Stackton Dunckley noticed that +his cigarette was out, and closing his eyes, fell asleep once more. + + +III. + +Madame Carlotti, clothed in a kimono of emphatic shade, sat by the fire +in her rooms in Knightsbridge and read her mail while sipping coffee. +She was the wife of an Italian diplomat, a sort of wandering +plenipotentiary who did business in every part of the world but London, +and with every Government but that of Britain. It was the signora's +somewhat incomprehensible complaint that her husband's duties forced +her to live in that fog-bound metropolis, and having thus achieved the +pedestal of a martyr, she poured abuse on everything English from +climate to customs. Possessed of a certain social dexterity and the +ability to make the most ordinary conversation seem to concern a +forbidden topic, Madame Carlotti was in great demand as a guest, and +abused more English habits and attended more dinner-parties than any +other woman in London. + +From beneath seven tradesmen's letters she extracted one from Lady +Durwent. + + +'8 CHELMSFORD GARDENS, + +'DEAREST LUCIA,--I am counting on you for next Friday. A young +American author studying England--I suppose like that Count +Something-or-other in _Pickwick Papers_--is coming to dinner. I +understand he drinks very little, so I am relying on you to thaw him. + +'Stackton Dunckley _insists_ upon coming, though I tell him that it is +dangerous; and of course people are saying dreadful things, I know. He +is _so_ persistent. There will be just half-a-dozen _unusual_ people +there, my dear, so don't fail me. Dinner will be at 8.30.--So +sincerely, SYBIL DERWENT. + +'P.S.--Don't you think you could make Stackton interested in you? Your +husband is away so much.' + + +Madame Carlotti smiled with her teeth and drank some very strong coffee. + +'It ees deefficult,' she said, with that seductive formation of the +lips used by her countrywomen when speaking English, 'for a magnet to +attract putty. Still--there ees the American. At least I shall not be +altogether bored.' + + +IV. + +That noon, in a restaurant of Chelsea, the district of Pensioners and +Bohemians, two young gentlemen, considerably in need of renovation by +both tailor and barber, met at a table and nodded gloomily. One was +Johnston Smyth, an artist, who, finding himself possessed neither of a +technique nor of the industry to acquire one, had evolved a +super-futurist style that had made him famous in a night. He was +spoken of as 'a new force;' it was prophesied that English Art would +date from him. Unfortunately his friends neglected to buy his +paintings, and as his art was a vivid one, consisting of vast +quantities of colour splashed indiscriminately on the canvas, it took +more than his available funds to purchase the accessories of his +calling. He was tall, with expressive arms that were too long for his +sleeves, and a nose that would have done credit to a field-marshal. + +The other was Norton Pyford, the modernist composer, who had developed +the study of discord to such a point that his very features seemed to +lack proportion, and when he smiled his face presented a lop-sided +appearance. He had given a recital which set every one who is any one +in London talking. There was but one drawback--they talked so much +that he could persuade no one to listen, and he carried his discords +about with him, like a bad half-crown, unable to rid himself of them. +He was short, with a retreating forehead and an overhanging wealth of +black, thread-like hair, gamely covering the retreat as best it could. + +'Hello, Smyth!' drawled the composer, who affected a manner of speech +usually confined to footmen in the best families. 'Hah d' do?' + +'Topping, Pyford. How's things?' + +'Rotten.' + +'Same here.' + +'I say, you couldn't'---- + +'Just what I was going to ask you.' + +The composer sighed; the artist echoed the sigh. + +'Have you seen Shaw's show?' + +'Awful, isn't it?' + +'Putrid--but the English don't'---- + +'Ah! What a race!' + +'Just so. I say, are you going to Lady Durwent's on Friday?' + +'Yes, rather.' + +'Look here, old fellow--don't dress, eh?' + +'Right. Let's be natural--what? Just Bohemians.' + +'The very thing. By-the-by, you don't know a laundry that gives'---- + +'No, I can't say I do.' + +'Well, so long.' + +'Good-bye.' + +'See you Friday.' + +'Right.' + + +V. + +Mrs. Le Roy Jennings looked up from her task of drafting the new +Resolution to be presented to Parliament by the League of Equal Sex +Rights and Complete Emancipation for Women, as a diminutive, +half-starved servant brought in a letter on a tray. + +Mrs. Jennings took the missive, and frowning threateningly at the girl, +who withdrew to the dark recesses of the servants' quarters, opened it +by slitting its throat with a terrific paper-knife. + + +'8 CHELMSFORD GARDENS. + +'DEAR MRS LE ROY JENNINGS,--An American author is coming to dinner next +Friday. There will just be a few _unusual_ people, and I have asked +them for 8.30. I want him to meet one of England's intellectual women, +and I _know_ he will be interested to hear of your ideas on the New +Home. + +'My daughter joins with me in wishing you every success.--Until Friday, +dear, + +'SYBIL DURWENT.' + + +Mrs. Jennings, who had made a complete failure of her own home, and +consequently felt qualified to interfere with all others, scribbled a +hasty note of acceptance in a handwriting so forceful that on some +words the pen slid off the paper completely. + +Then, with a look of profundity, she resumed the Resolution. + + +VI. + +And so, by the medium of His Majesty's mail, a little group of actors +were warned for a performance at Lady Durwent's house, No. 8 Chelmsford +Gardens. + +Through the November fog the endless traffic of the streets was +cautiously feeling its way along the diverging channels of the +Metropolis--a snorting, sliding, impatient fleet of vehicles +perpetually on their way, yet never seeming to get there. Taxi-cabs +hugged the pavements, trying to penetrate the gloom with their meagre +lights; omnibuses fretted and bullied their way, avoiding collision by +inches, but struggling on and on as though their very existence +depended on their reaching some place immediately or being interned for +failure. Hansom-cabs, with ancient, glistening horses driven by +ancient, glistening cabbies, felt for elbow-space in the throng of +motor-vehicles. And on all sides the badinage of the streets, the +eternal wordy conflict of London's mariners of traffic, rose in +cheerful, insulting abundance. + +On the pavements pedestrians jostled each other--men with hands in +their pockets and arms tight to their sides, women with piqued noses +and hurrying steps; while sulky lamps offered half-hearted resistance +to the conquering fog that settled over palaces, parks, and motley +streets until it hugged the very Thames itself in unholy glee. + +And through the impenetrable mist of circumstance, the millions of +souls that make up the great city pursued their millions of destinies, +undeterred by biting cold and grisly fog. For it was a day in the life +of England's capital; and every day there is a great human drama that +must be played--a drama mingling tragedy and humour with no regard to +values or proportion; a drama that does not end with death, but renews +its plot with the breaking of every dawn; a drama knowing neither +intermezzo nor respite: and the name of it is--LONDON. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CONCERNING LADY DURWENT'S FAMILY. + + +I. + +Lady Durwent was rather a large woman, of middle age, with a high +forehead unruffled by thought, and a clear skin unmarred by wrinkles. +She had a cheerfulness that obtruded itself, like a creditor, at +unpropitious moments; and her voice, though not displeasing, gave the +impression that it might become volcanic at any moment. She also +possessed a considerable theatrical instinct, with which she would +frequently manoeuvre to the centre of the stage, to find, as often as +not, that she had neglected the trifling matter of learning any lines. + +She was the daughter of an ironmonger in the north of England, whose +father had been one of the last and most famous of a long line of +smugglers. It was perhaps the inherited love of adventure that +prompted the ironmonger, against his wife's violent protest, to invest +the savings of a lifetime in an obscure Canadian silver-mine. To the +surprise of every one (including its promoters), the mine produced +high-grade ore in such abundance that the ironmonger became a man of +means. Thereupon, at the instigation of his wife, they moved from +their little town into the city of York, where he purchased a large, +stuffily furnished house, sat on Boards, became a councillor, wore +evening-dress for dinner, and died a death of absolute respectability. + +Before the final event he had the satisfaction of seeing his only child +Sybil married to Arthur, Lord Durwent. (The evening-clothes for dinner +were a direct result.) Lord Durwent was a well-behaved young man of +unimpeachable character and family, and he was sincerely attracted by +the agreeable expanse of lively femininity found in the fair Sybil. +After a wedding that left her mother a triumphant wreck and appreciably +hastened her father's demise, she was duly installed as the mistress of +Roselawn, the Durwent family seat, and its tributary farms. The +tenants gave her an address of welcome; her husband's mother gracefully +retired to a villa in Sussex; the rector called and expressed +gratification; the county families left their cards and inquired after +her father, the ironmonger. + +Unfortunately the new Lady Durwent had the temperament neither of a +poet nor of a lady of the aristocracy. She failed to hear the tongues +in trees, and her dramatic sense was not satisfied with the little +stage of curtsying tenantry and of gentlefolk who abhorred the very +thought of anything theatrical in life. + +On the other hand, her husband was a man who was unhappy except on his +estate. He thought along orthodox lines, and read with caution. He +loved his lawns, his gardens, his horses, and his habits. He was a +pillar of the church, and always read a portion of Scripture from the +reading-desk on Sunday mornings. His wife he treated with simple +courtesy as the woman who would give him an heir. If his mind had been +a little more sensitive, Lord Durwent would have realised that he was +asking a hurricane to be satisfied with the task of a zephyr. + +They had a son. + +The tenants presented him with a silver bowl; Lord Durwent presented +them with a garden fête; and the parents presented the boy with the +name of Malcolm. + +Two years later there came a daughter. + +The tenants gave her a silver plate; Lord Durwent gave them a garden +fête; and he and his wife gave the girl the name of Elise. + +Three years later a second son appeared. + +There was a presentation, followed by a garden fête and a christening. +The name was Richard. + +In course of time the elder son grew to that mental stature when the +English parent feels the time is ripe to send him away to school. The +ironmonger's daughter had the idea that Malcolm, being her son, was +hers to mould. + +'My dear,' said Lord Durwent, exerting his authority almost for the +first time, 'the boy is eight years of age, and no time must be lost in +preparing him for Eton and inculcating into him those qualities which +mark'---- + +'But,' cried his wife with theatrical unrestraint, 'why send him to +Eton? Why not wait until you see what he wants to be in the world?' + +Lord Durwent's face bore a look of unperturbed calm. 'When he is old +enough, he must go to Eton, my dear, and acquire the qualities which +will enable him to take over Roselawn at my death'---- + +At this point Lady Durwent interrupted him with a tirade which, in +common with a good many domestic unpleasantries, was born of much that +was irrelevant, springing from sources not readily apparent. She +abused the public-school system of England, and sneered at the county +families which blessed the neighbourhood with their presence. She +reviled Lord Durwent's habits, principally because they _were_ habits, +and thought it was high time some Durwent grew up who wasn't just a +'sticky, stuffy, starched, and bored porpoise--yes, PORPOISE!' (shaking +her head as if to establish the metaphor against the whole of the +English aristocracy). In short, it was the spirit of the Ironmonger +castigating the Peerage, and at its conclusion Lady Durwent felt much +abused, and quite pleased with her own rhetoric. + +Lord Durwent glanced for courage at an ancestor who looked +magnificently down at him over a ruffle. He adjusted his own cravat +and spoke in nicely modulated accents: 'Sybil, nothing can change me on +this point. In spite of what you say, it is my intention to keep to +the tradition of the Durwents, and that is that the occupant of +Roselawn'---- + +'What! am not I his mother?' cried the good woman, her hysteria having +much the same effect on Lord Durwent's smoothly developing monologue as +a heavy pail dropped by a stage-hand during Hamlet's soliloquy. + +'Sybil,' said Lord Durwent sternly, 'it was arranged at Malcolm's birth +that he should go to Eton. I shall take him next Tuesday to a +preparatory school, and you must excuse me if I refuse to discuss the +matter further.' + +Lady Durwent rushed from the room and clasped her eldest child in her +arms. That young gentleman, not knowing what had caused his mother's +grief, sympathetically opened his throat and bellowed lustily, thereby +shedding tears for positively the last time in his life. + +When he returned for the holidays a few months later, he was an +excellent example of that precocity, the English schoolboy, who cloaks +a juvenile mind with the pose of sophistication, and by twelve years of +age achieves a code of thought and conduct that usually lasts him for +the rest of his life. In vain the mother strove for her place in the +sun; the rule of the masculine at Roselawn became adamant. + +Life in the Durwent _ménage_ developed into a thing of laws and customs +dictated by the youthful despot, aided and abetted by his father. The +sacred rites of 'what isn't done' were established, and the mother +gradually found herself in the position of an outsider--a privileged +outsider, it is true, yet little more than the breeder of a +thoroughbred, admitted to the paddock to watch his horse run by its new +owner. + +She vented her feelings in two or three tearful scenes, but she felt +that they lacked spontaneity, and didn't really put her heart into them. + +During these struggles for her place in a Society that was probably +more completely masculine in domination than any in the world (with the +possible exception of that of the Turk), Lady Durwent was only dimly +aware that her daughter was developing a personality which presented a +much greater problem than that of the easily grooved Malcolm. + +The girl's hair was like burnished copper, and her cheeks were lit by +two bits of scarlet that could be seen at a distance before her +features were discernible. Her eyes were of a gray-blue that changed +in shade with her swiftly varying moods. Her lower lip was full and +red, the upper one firm and repressed with the dull crimson of a fading +rose-petal. Her shapely arms and legs were restless, seemingly +impatient to break into some quickly moving dance. She was +extraordinarily alive. Vitality flashed from her with every gesture, +and her mind, a thing of caprice and whim, knew no boundaries but those +of imagination itself. + +Puzzled and entirely unable to understand anything so instinctive, Lady +Durwent engaged a governess who was personally recommended by Lady +Chisworth, whose friend the Countess of Oxeter had told her that the +three daughters of the Duchess of Dulworth had all been entrusted to +her care. + +In spite of this almost unexampled set of references, the governess was +completely unable to cope with Elise Durwent. She taught her (among +other things) decorum and French. Her pupil was openly irreverent +about the first; and when the governess, after the time-honoured +method, produced an endless vista of exceptions to the rule in French +grammar, the girl balked. She was willing to compromise on _Avoir_, +but mutinied outright at the ramifications of _Être_. + +Seeing that the child was making poor progress, and as it was out of +the question to dismiss a governess who had been entrusted with the +three daughters of the Duchess of Dulworth, Lady Durwent sent for +reinforcement in the person of the organist of their church, and bade +him teach Elise the art of the piano. With the dull lack of vision +belonging to men of his type, he failed to recognise the spirit of +music lying in her breast, merely waiting the call to spring into life. +He knew that her home was one where music was unheard, and his method +of unfolding to the girl the most spiritual and fundamental of all the +arts was to give her SCALES. He was a kindly, well-intentioned fellow, +and would not willingly have hurt a sparrow; but he took a nature +doomed to suffer for lack of self-expression, and succeeded in walling +up the great river of music which might have given her what she lacked. +He hid the edifice and offered her scaffolding--then wondered. + + +II. + +Elise was consistent in few things, but her love for Richard, the +youngest of the family, was of a depth and a mature tenderness that +never varied. Doomed to an insufficient will-power and an easy, +plastic nature that lent itself readily to the abbreviation 'Dick,' he +quickly succumbed to his fiery-tinted sister, and became a willing dupe +in all her escapades. + +At her order he turned the hose on the head-gardener; when told to put +mucilage on the rector's chair at dinner, he merely asked for the pot. +On six different occasions she offered him soap, telling him it was +toffy, and each time he bit of it generously and without suspicion. +Every one else in the house represented law and order to him--Elise was +the spirit of outlawry, and he her slave. She taught him a dance of +her own invention entitled 'The Devil and the Maiden' (with a certain +inconsistency casting him as the maiden and herself as the Devil), and +frequently, when ordered to go to bed, they would descend to the +servants' quarters and perform it to the great delight of the family +retainers. + +A favourite haunt of theirs was the stables, where they would persuade +the grooms to place them on their father's chargers; and they were +frequent visitors at feeding-time, taking a never-ending delight in the +gourmandism of the whinnying beasts, and finding particular joy in +acquiring the language and the mannerisms of the stablemen, which they +would reserve for, and solemnly use at, the next gathering of the +neighbouring gentry. + +When Elise was ten and Dick seven, she read him highwaymen's tales +until his large blue eyes almost escaped from their sockets. It was at +the finish of one of these narratives of derring-do that she whispered +temptation into his ear, with the result that they bided their +opportunity, and, when the one groom on duty was asleep, repaired to +the stables armed with a loaded shot-gun. After herculean efforts they +succeeded in harnessing Lord Durwent's famous hunter with the saddle +back to front, the curb-bit choking the horse's throat, the brow-band +tightly strapped around the poor beast's nostrils, the surcingle +trailing in the dust. + +With improvised masks over their faces, they mounted the steed and set +out for adventure, the horse seeming to comprehend its strange burden +and stepping as lightly as its tortures would permit, while the saddle +slid cheerfully about its back, threatening any moment to roll the +desperados on to the road. + +They had just emerged from the estate into the public highway, when a +passing butcher's cart stopped their progress. The younger Durwent, +who had been mastering the art of retaining his seat while his steed +was in motion, was unprepared for its cessation, and promptly +overbalanced over the horse's shoulder, reaching the road head first, +and discharging a couple of pellets from the shotgun into a fleshy part +of the butcher-boy's anatomy. + +The groom was dismissed; the butcher-boy received ten pounds; Richard +(when it was certain that concussion of the brain was not going to +materialise) was soundly whipped; and Elise was banished for +forty-eight hours to her room, issuing with a carefully concocted plan +to waylay the rector coming from church, steal the collection, and +purchase with the ill-gotten gains the sole proprietary interests in +the village sweet-shop. + +There is little doubt but that the _coup_ would have been attempted had +not Lord Durwent decided that the influence of his sister was not good +for Dick, and sent him to a preparatory school at Bexhill-on-Sea, there +to imbibe sea-air and some little learning, and await his entrance into +Eton. + +Robbed of her brother's stimulating loyalty, Elise relapsed into a +sulky obedience to her governess and her mother. To their puny vision +it seemed that her attitude towards them was one of haughty aloofness, +and everything possible was done to subdue her spirit. Being unable to +see that the child was lonely, and too proud to admit her craving for +sympathetic companionship, they tried to tame the thoroughbred as they +would a mule. + +Only when Dick returned for holidays would her petulant moods vanish, +and in his company her old vitality sparkled like the noonday sun upon +the ocean's surface. And if her affection for him knew no variation, +his was no less true. The friendships and the adventures of school +were forgotten in the comradeship of his sister as, over the fields of +Roselawn or on the tennis-court, they would renew their childhood's +hours. He taught her to throw a fly for trout, and she initiated him +into the mysteries of answering the calls of birds in the woods. +Mounted on a couple of ponies, they became familiar figures at the +tenants' cottages, and though the spirit of outlawry mellowed with +advancing years, Lady Durwent never saw them start away from the house +without the uneasy feeling that there was more than a chance they would +get into some mischief before they returned. + +In the meantime the elder son was bringing credit to his ancestors and +himself. His accent became a thing of perfection, nicely nuanced, and +entirely free of any emphasis or intensity that might rob it of its +placid suggestion of good-breeding. His attitude towards the servants +was one of pleasant dignity, and the tenantry all spoke of Master +Malcolm as a fine young gentleman who would make a worthy ruler of +Roselawn. + +Between him and Richard there was little love lost. The elder boy +disapproved of his hoydenish sister, and sought at all times to shame +her tempestuous nature by insistence on decorum in their relations. +Richard, who invariably brought home adverse reports from school, could +find no fault in his colourful sister, and blindly espoused her cause +at all times. + +On one occasion, when Malcolm had been more than usually censorious, +Dick challenged him to a fight. They adjourned to the seclusion of a +small plot of grass by a great oak, where the Etonian knocked Dick down +five times in succession, afterwards escorting him to the cook, who +placed raw beefsteak on his eyes. + +It was characteristic of the worthy Richard that he bore his brother no +malice whatever for the punishment. He had proposed the fight, +conscious of the fact that he would be soundly beaten, but he was a bit +of a Quixote--and a lady's name was involved. + +And no nurse ever tended a wounded hero more tenderly than the little +copper-haired creature of impulse who bathed the battered face of poor +Dick. Wilful and rebellious as she was, there was in Elise a deep well +of love for her brother that no other being could fathom. And it was +not his loyalty alone that had inspired it. Her solitary life had +quickened her perceptive powers, and intuitively she knew that, in the +years before him, her weak-willed, buoyant-natured brother would be +unable to meet the cross-currents of his destiny and maintain a steady +course. + +But he thought it was because of his swollen eyes that she cried. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ABOUT A TOWN HOUSE. + + +I. + +It was perhaps not inconsistent with the character of Lady Durwent +that, although she had striven to secure the guiding of Malcolm's +development, she should find herself totally devoid of any plan for the +training of a daughter. + +Vaguely--and in this she mirrored thousands of other mothers--there was +a hope in her heart that Elise would grow up pretty, virtuous, amiable, +and would eventually marry well. It did not concern her that the girl +was permeated with individuality, that the temperament of an artist lay +behind the changing eyes in that restless, graceful figure. She could +not see that her daughter had a delicate, wilful personality, which +would rebel increasingly against the monotony of a social regime that +planned the careers of its sons before they were born, and offered its +daughters a mere incoherency of good intentions. + +Full of the swift imaginativeness which makes the feminine contribution +to life so much a thing of charm and colour, Elise pursued the paths +which Youth has for its own--those wonderful streets of fantasy that +end with adolescence in Society's ugly fields of sign-posts. + +Lacking the companionship of others of a similar age, she wove her own +conception of life, and dreamed of a world actuated by quick and +generous emotions. With every pulsing beat of the warm blood coursing +through her veins she demanded in her girl's mind that the world in +which her many-sided self had been placed should yield the wines to +satisfy the subtle shades of thirst produced by her insistent +individuality. + +And the world offered her sign-posts. This must you do and thus must +you talk; hither shall you go and here remain: these are the Arts with +which you may enjoy a very slight acquaintance, but do not aspire to +genuine accomplishment--leave that to common people; be lady-like, be +calm and reserved; behold your brothers, how they swank!--but they are +men, and this is England; desire nought but the protected privileges of +your class, and in good season some youth of the same social stratum as +yourself will marry you, and, lo! in place of being a daughter in a +landed gentleman's house, you will be a wife. + +Into this little world of a kind-hearted, chivalrous aristocracy (whose +greatest fault was their ignorance of the fact that the smallest +upheaval in humanitarianism, no matter what distance away, registers on +the seismograph of human destiny the world over) Elise Durwent found +her path laid. Increasingly resentful, she trod it until she was +fourteen years of age, when her mother, who had long been bored with +country life, made an important decision--and purchased a town house. + +Having done this, Lady Durwent sent her daughter to a convent, a move +which enabled her to get rid of the governess discreetly, and left her +without family cares at all, as both boys were now at school. +Unencumbered, therefore, she said _au revoir_ to Roselawn, and set her +compass for No. 8 Chelmsford Gardens, London. + + +II. + +Chelmsford Gardens is a row of dignified houses on Oxford Street--yet +not on Oxford Street. A miniature park, some forty feet in depth, acts +as a buffer-state between the street itself and the little group of +town houses. It is an oasis in the great plains of London's dingy +dwelling-places, a spot where the owners are rarely seen unless the +season is at its height, when gaily cloaked women and stiff-bosomed men +emerge at theatre-hour and are driven to the opera. Throughout the day +the Gardens (probably so styled on account of the complete absence of +horticultural embellishments) are as silent as the tomb; there is no +sign of life except in the mornings, when a solemn butler or a +uniformed parlour-maid appears for a moment at the door like some +creature of the sea coming up for air, then unobtrusively retires. + +No. 8 was exactly like its neighbours, consisting of an exterior +boasting a huge oak door, with cold, stone steps leading up to it, and +an interior composed of rooms with very high ceilings, an insufficient +and uncomfortable supply of furniture, large pictures and small grates, +terrific beds and meagre chairs, and a general air of so much marble +and bare floor that one could almost imagine that house-cleaning could +be accomplished by turning on the hose. + +After Lady Durwent had taken possession she sent for her husband, but +that gentleman reminded her that he was much happier at Roselawn, +though he would be glad if she would keep a room for him when business +at the 'House' or with his lawyers necessitated his presence in town. +Unhampered, therefore, by a husband, Lady Durwent prepared to invade +London Society, only to receive a shock at the very opening of the +campaign. + +The Ironmonger had preceded her! + +It is one of the tragedies of the _élite_ that even peers are not +equal. The law of class distinction, that amazing doctrine of +timidity, penetrated even the oak door of 8 Chelmsford Gardens. The +Ironmonger's daughter found that being the daughter of a man who had +made an honest living rendered her socially the unequal of the +daughters of men who, acting on a free translation of 'The earth is the +Lord's,' had done nothing but inherit unearned substance. + +Then there was her cheerfulness, and the menacing voice! + +Turning from the aloofness of the exclusive, Lady Durwent thought of +taking in famous performing Lions and feeding them. Unfortunately the +market was too brisk, and the only Lion she could get was an Italian +tenor from Covent Garden, who refused to roar, but left a poignant +memory of garlic. + +It was then that a brilliant idea entered her brain. Lady Durwent +decided to cultivate _unusual_ people. + +No longer would she batter at oak doors that refused to open; no more +would she dangle morsels of food in front of overfed Lions. She would +create a little Kingdom of remarkable people--not those acclaimed great +by the mealy mob, but those whose genius was of so rare and subtle a +growth that ordinary eyes could not detect it at all. Her only fear +was that she might be unable to discover a sufficient number to create +a really satisfactory _clientèle_. + +But she reckoned without her London. + +For every composer in the Metropolis who is trying to translate the +music of the spheres, there are a dozen who can only voice the +discordant jumble of their minds or ask the world to listen to the +hollow echo of their creative vacuum. For every artist striving to +catch some beauty of nature that he may revisualise it on canvas, there +are a score whose eyes can only cling to the malformation of existence. +For every writer toiling in the quiet hours to touch some poor, dumb +heart-strings, or to open unseeing eyes to the joy of life, there are +many whose gaze is never lifted from the gutter, so that, when they +write, it is of the slime and the filth that they have smelt, crying to +the world that the blue of the skies and the beauty of a rose are +things engendered of sentimental minds unable to see the real, the +vital things of life. + +To this community of _poseurs_ Lady Durwent jingled her town house and +her title--and the response was instantaneous. She became the hostess +of a series of dinner-parties which gradually made her the subject of +paragraphs in the chatty columns of the press, and of whole chapters in +the gossip of London's refined circles. + +Her natural cheerfulness expanded like a sunflower, and when her son +Malcolm secured a commission in the --th Hussars, her triumph was +complete. Even the staggering news that Dick had been taken away from +Eton to avoid expulsion for drunkenness proved only a momentary cloud +on the broad horizon of her contentment. + +When she was nineteen years of age Elise came to live with her mother, +and as the fiery beauty of the child had mellowed into a sort of +smouldering charm that owed something to the mystic atmosphere of +convent life, Lady Durwent felt that an ally of importance had entered +the arena. + +Thus four years passed, and in 1913 (had peeresses been in the habit of +taking inventories) Lady Durwent could have issued a statement somewhat +as follows: + + + ASSETS. + + 1 Husband; a Peer. + 1 Son; aged twenty-five; decently popular with his regiment. + 1 Daughter; marriageable; aged twenty-three. + 1 Town House. + 1 Country Estate. + The goodwill of numerous _unusual_ people, and the envy of a + lot of minor Peeresses. + + + LIABILITIES. + + 1 Son; aged twenty; at Cambridge; in perpetual trouble, + and would have been rusticated ere now had he not been the + son of a lord. + 1 Ironmonger. + + + * * * * * * + +'My dear,' said Lady Durwent, glancing at her daughter, who was reading +a novel, 'hadn't you better go and dress?' + +'Is there a dinner-party to-night?' asked the girl without looking up. + +'Of course, Elise. Have you forgotten that Mr. Selwyn of New York will +be here?' + +'Is he as tedious as Stackton Dunckley?' + +Lady Durwent frowned with vexation. 'My dear,' she said, 'you are very +trying.' + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +PROLOGUE TO A DINNER-PARTY. + + +I. + +Even _unusual_ dinner-parties begin like ordinary ones. There is the +discomfiture of the guest who arrives first, subjected to his hostess's +reassurances that he is not really early. After what seems an +interminable length of time, during which a score of conversational +topics are broached, and both hostess and guest are reduced to a state +bordering on mutual animosity, the remainder of the party arrive _en +masse_, as if by collusion. The butler (who likes to chew the cud of +reflection between the announcements) is openly pained, while the +distracted hostess must manage the introductions, and, as friendships +are begun or enmities renewed, endeavour to initiate the new-comer into +the subject of conversation immediately preceding his or her entrance. +As the good woman's subconscious mind is in the kitchen, and as she is +constantly interrupted by the necessity of greeting new arrivals, she +usually succeeds in mystifying every one, and creating that atmosphere +of 'nerves' so familiar to denizens of the best sets. + +But we had almost forgotten--there is always one guest who is late. + +The fateful hour mentioned in the dinner invitation arrives, strikes, +and floats down the mists to the eerie catacombs of the Past. The +hostess knows that the cook, with arms akimbo, is breathing rebellion, +but tries to blot out the awful vision by an extra spurt of hollow +gaiety. + +Ten minutes pass. + +Conversation flags. The portly bachelor who lives at his club wonders +why he didn't have a chop before he came. His fellow-diners try to +refrain from the topic, but it is as hopeless as trying to talk to an +ex-convict without mentioning jails. Finally, in an abandon of +desperation, they all turn inquiringly to the hostess, who, affecting +an ease of manner, says pleasantly, 'Dear me! What _can_ have detained +Mr. So-and-so? I wonder if we had better go in without him?' + +And then he arrives--the jackass--and in a sublime good-humour! He +tells some cock-and-bull story about his taxi breaking down, and +actually seems to think he's done rather a smart thing in turning up at +all. In short, he brings in such an air of geniality and +self-appreciation that the guest who arrived first has more than a +notion to 'have him out' and send him to a region where dinner-parties +are popularly supposed to be unknown. + +No--the lot of a lady who gives dinners is not a happy one. + + +II. + +On this Friday night of November in the year 1918, Lady Durwent sat by +the fire in the drawing-room and discussed music with Norton Pyford. +Having sacrificed his watch on the altar of art, he had been compelled +to rely on appetite, with the result that he arrived just as eight was +striking. Lady Durwent did her best, but as she knew nothing of music, +nor he anything of anything else, the situation was becoming difficult, +when the entrance of Madame Carlotti brought welcome relief. + +That lady was wearing a yellow gown rather too tight for her, so that +her somewhat ample flesh slightly overran the confines of the garment, +giving the effect that she had grown up in the thing and was unable to +shed it. This impression was heightened by a mannerism, repeated +frequently during the evening, of grasping her very low bodice with her +hands, exhausting her breath, pulling the bodice up, and compressing +herself into it. It was an innocent enough performance, but invariably +left the feeling that she should retire upstairs to do it. + +She wore a yellow flower in her hair; her stockings were a rich yellow +with a superimposed pattern like strands of fine gold, and her dainty +feet were enclosed in a pair of bronzed shoes. As her lips were +heavily carmined and her eyes brilliantly dark, Madame Carlotti's was a +distinctly illuminating presence. + +But the sunniness of her entrance was dimmed by the lack of audience. +She had not expended her genius to throw it away on a strangely dressed +young man whose hair fell straight and black over a large collar that +had earned a holiday some days before, and whose velvet jacket was +minus two buttons, the threads of which could still be seen, +out-stretched, appealing for their owners' return. + +'Lucia, my dear,' said Lady Durwent, just like an ordinary hostess, +'you look' (_sotto voce_) 'simply wonderful! I think you have met Mr. +Norton Pyford, _the_ Norton Pyford, haven't you?' + +'Hah d' ye do?' said the Pyford. + +'Chairmed,' minced Madame Carlotti. + +'Lucia, take this chair by the fire. You must be frozen.' + +'Ah, _grazie_, Sybil. What a perfectly meeserable climate you have in +this London!' + +'Just what I tha-a-y,' bleated Mr. Pyford, sinking into his chair in an +apparently boneless heap. 'The other night, at a fella's +thupper-party, I'---- + +'MRS. LE ROY JENNINGS.' + +The resolutionist swept into the room clothed in black disorder, much +as if she had started to dress in a fit of temper and had been +overtaken by a gale. + +She knew Madame Carlotti.--She did _not_ know Mr. Norton Pyford, _the_ +Norton Pyford.--She was glad to know him. + +He muttered something inarticulate, and glancing at the ring of women +about him, shrank into his clothes until his collar almost hid his +lower lip. + +'We were discussing,' said Lady Durwent, vaguely relying on the last +sounds retained by her ear--'discussing--suppers.' + +'Don't believe in 'em,' said Mrs. Jennings sternly; 'three regular +meals--tea at eleven and four, and hot milk with a bit of ginger in it +before retiring--are sufficient for any one.' + +The Italian took in the forceful figure of the New Woman and smiled +with her teeth. + +'Madame Jennings,' she said, 'perhaps finds sufficient distraction in +just ordinary life--and _una tazza di tè_. But we who are not +so--_comment dirai-je?_--so self-complete must rely on frivolous things +like _una buona cena_.' + +'Don't believe in 'em,' reiterated the resolutionist; 'three +regular'---- + +'_Ah, c'est mauvais_,' gesticulated Madame Carlotti, who alternated +between Italian and French phrases in London, and kept her best English +for the Continent. + +'Mr. Pyford,' put in Lady Durwent, descrying a storm on the yellow and +black horizon, 'has just written'---- + +'MR. H. STACKTON DUNCKLEY,' announced the butler, with an appropriate +note of _mysterioso_. Lady Durwent summoned a blush, and rose to meet +the ardent author, who was dressed in a characterless evening suit with +disconsolate legs, and whose chin was heavily powdered to conceal the +stubble of beard grown since morning. + +'You have come,' she said softly and dramatically. + +'I have,' said the writer, bowing low over her hand. + +'I rely on you to be discreet,' she murmured. + +'Eh?' + +'Discreet,' she coquetted. 'People will talk.' + +'Let them,' said Mr. Dunckley earnestly. + +'Madame Carlotti, I think you know Mr. Dunckley--H. Stackton +Dunckley--and you too, Mrs. Le Roy Jennings; you clever people ought to +be friends at once.--And I want you to meet Mr. Pyford, _the_'---- + +'Hah d'ye do?' + +'How are you?' + +'Ro--splendid, thanks.' + +'We were discussing,' said Lady Durwent--'discussing'---- + +'MR. AUSTIN SELWYN.' + +Every one turned to see the guest of the evening, as the hostess rose +to meet him. He was a young man on the right side of thirty, with +dark, closely brushed hair that thinned slightly at the temples. He +was clean-shaven, and his light-brown eyes lay in a smiling setting of +quizzical good-humour. He was of rather more than medium height, with +well-poised shoulders; and though a firmness of lips and jaw gave a +suggestion of hardness, the engaging youthfulness of his eyes and a +hearty smile that crinkled the bridge of his nose left a pleasant +impression of frankness, mingled with a certain _naïveté_. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, 'I knew you would want to meet some of +London's--I should say some of England's--accomplished people.' + +'_Oimè_! I am afraid that obleeterates me,' smiled Madame Carlotti, +whose social charm was rising fast at the sight of a good-looking +stranger. + +'No, indeed, Lucia,' effused the hostess. 'To be the personification +of Italy in dreary London is more than an accomplishment; it--it'---- + +'It is a boon,' said Dunckley, coming to the aid of his floundering +loved one. + +'Exactly,' said Lady Durwent with a sigh of relief. 'Madame Lucia +Carlotti--Mr. Selwyn of New York.' + +'_Buona sera, signora_.' + +'_Buona sera, signore_.' + +He stooped low and pressed a light kiss on the Neapolitan's hand, thus +taking the most direct route obtainable by an Anglo-Saxon to the good +graces of a woman of Italy. + +'How well you speak Italian!' cooed Madame Carlotti; 'so--like one of +us.' + +The American bowed. It was rarely he achieved a reputation with so +little effort. + +The remaining introductions were effected; the clock struck +eight-thirty; and there followed an awkward silence, born of an +absolute unanimity of thought. + +'Of course, you two authors,' said Lady Durwent, forcing a smile, 'knew +of each other, anyway. It's like asking H. G. Wells if he ever heard +of Mark Twain.' + +The smile in the American's eyes widened. 'Lady Durwent flatters me,' +he said. 'I am not widely known in my own country, and can hardly +expect that you should know of me on this side of the Atlantic.' + +'What,' said Mr. Dunckley--'what does New York think of "Precipitate +Thoughts"?' + +The American considered quickly. He wished that in conversation, as +well as in writing, people would use inverted commas. + +'Whose precipitate thoughts?' he ventured. + +'Mine,' said H. S. D., with ill-concealed importance. + +'Oh yes, of course,' said Selwyn, wondering how any one so stationary +as the other could project anything precipitate. 'New York was keenly +interested.' + +'Ah,' said the English author benignly, 'it is satisfactory to hear +that. Of course, the great difference between there and here is that +in New York one impresses: in London one is impressed.' + +An ominous silence followed this epigrammatic wisdom (which Dunckley +had just heard from the lips of a poet who had succeeded in writing +both an American and an English publishing house into bankruptcy) while +the various members of the group pursued their trains of thought along +the devious routes of their different mentalities. + +'Dear me!' said Lady Durwent anxiously, 'what _can_ have detained'---- + +'MR. JOHNSTON SMYTH.' + +With a jerky action of the knees, the futurist briskly entered the room +with all the easy confidence of a famous comedian following on the +heels of a chorus announcing his arrival. He looked particularly long +and cadaverous in an abrupt, sporting-artistic, blue jacket, with +sleeves so short that when he waved his arms (which he did with almost +every sentence) he reminded one of a juggler requesting his audience to +notice that he has absolutely nothing up his sleeves. + +'Lady Durwent,' he exclaimed, striking an attitude and looking over his +Cyrano-like nose with his right eye as if he were aligning the sights +of a musket, 'don't tell me I'm late. If you do, I shall never speak +to the Duke of Earldub again--never!' + +As he refused to move an inch until assured that he was not late, and +as Lady Durwent was anxious to proceed with the main business of the +evening (to say nothing of maintaining the friendship between Smyth and +the Duke of Earldub, whose part in his dilatory arrival was rather +vague), she granted the necessary pardon, whereupon he straightened his +legs and winked long and solemnly at Norton Pyford. + +'Good gracious!' cried Lady Durwent just as she was about to suggest an +exodus to the dining-room, 'I had forgotten all about Elise!' She +hurriedly rang the bell, which was answered by the butler. 'Send word +to Miss Elise that'---- + +'Milady,' said the servitor, addressing an arc-light just over the +door, 'she is descending the stairs this very minute.' + + +III. + +There are moments when women appear at their best--fleeting moments +that cannot be sustained. Sometimes it is a tremor of timidity that +lends a fawn-like gentleness to their movements, and a frightened +wistfulness to the eye, too subtle a thing of beauty to bear analysis +in words. A sudden triumph, noble or ignoble, the conquering of a +rival, the sound of a lover's voice, will flush the cheek and liberate +the whole radiancy of a woman's being. Such moments come in every +woman's life, when the quick impulse of emotion achieves an unconscious +beauty that defies the ordinary standards of critical appreciation. It +is that little instant that is the torch to light a lover's worship or +a poet's verses--to send strange yearnings into a young man's breast +and set an old man's memory philandering with the distant past. + +It was such a moment for Elise Durwent as she stood in the doorway, the +overhanging arc touching her hair and shoulders with the high lights of +some master's painting. Conversation ceased, and in every face there +was the universal homage paid to beauty, even though it be tendered +grudgingly. + +She was dressed in a gown of deep blue, that colour which renders its +ageless tribute to the fair women of the world, and from her shoulders +there hung a black net that subdued the colour of the gown and left the +graceful suggestion of a cape. + +'I am so sorry, mother,' she said. 'I was reading, and quite forgot +the time.' + +Austin Selwyn stroked the back of his head, then thrust both hands into +his pockets. There was something in the girl's appearance and the +contralto timbre of her voice that left him with the odd sensation that +she was out of place in the room--that her real sphere was in the +expanse of unbridled nature. He could see her wealth of copper-hued +hair blown by the western wind; he could picture her joining in +Spring's minuet of swaying rose-bushes. + +'My daughter Elise--Mr. Austin Selwyn.' + +He bowed as the words penetrated his thoughts; then, glancing up, he +felt a sudden contraction of disappointment. + +The girl's eyes had narrowed, and were no longer sparkling, but +steady--almost to the point of dullness; her lower lip was full, and +too scarlet for the upper one, which chided its sister for the wanton +admission of slumbering passion; and her voice was abrupt. He almost +cried out '_Legato, legato_,' to coax back the lilt which had caressed +his ear a moment before. + +He was dimly conscious that dinner was announced, and that amidst a +babel of tongues he was being led by, or was leading, Lady Durwent into +the dining-room. He heard the resolutionist and Dunckley both talking +at once, and felt the melancholy languor of Pyford floating like +incense through the air. He had an obscure recollection of sitting +down next to his hostess; that the table, like Arthur's, was a round +one; that Johnston Smyth was seated beside Miss Durwent and was ogling +one of Lady Durwent's maids. Then he remembered that he had heard some +voice in his ear for several minutes past, and, growing curious, took a +surreptitious glance, to find that it belonged to Madame Carlotti. + +'Meester Selwyn,' she said indignantly, 'you have not been listening to +me.' + +'That is true, signora,' he said; 'but I have been thinking of you.' + +'Yes?' she purred, leaning towards him. 'What did you thought?' + +He turned squarely to her in an impassioned counterfeit of frankness. +'Are all Italian women beautiful?' he murmured. + +'Hush-sh!' Her hand touched his beneath the table, reprovingly and +tenderly. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, 'you have not tasted your soup.' + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE OLYMPIANS THUNDER. + + +I. + +Lady Durwent was blessed in the possession of a cook whose artistry was +beyond question, if the same could not be said of the guests to whom +she so frequently ministered. She was a descendant of the French, that +race which makes everything tend towards development of the soul, and +consequently looks upon a meal as something of a sacrament. She +prepared a dinner with a balance of contrast and climax that a composer +might show in writing a tone poem. + +On this eventful evening, therefore, the dinner-party, stimulated by +her art and by potent wines (gazing with long-necked dignity at the +autocratic whisky-decanter), rapidly assumed a crescendo and an +accelerando--the two things for which a hostess listens. + +H. Stackton Dunckley had held the resolutionist in a duel of +language--a combat with broadswords--and honours were fairly even. The +short-sleeved Johnston Smyth had waged futurist warfare against the +modernist Pyford, while the Honourable Miss Durwent sat helplessly +between them, with as little chance of asserting her rights as the +Dormouse at the Mad Hatter's tea-party. The American had held his own +in badinage with the daughter of Italy on one side and his hostess on +the other, the latter, however, being too skilled in entertaining to do +more than murmur a few encouragements to the spontaneity that so +palpably existed. + +'Let me see,' said Lady Durwent as the meal came to a close and the +butler looked questioningly at her. 'Shall we'--she opened the caverns +of her throat, producing a volume that instantly silenced every +one--'SHALL WE HAVE COFFEE IN HERE OR IN THE DRAWING-ROOM? I suppose +you gentlemen, as usual, want to chat over your port and cigars alone.' + +H. Stackton Dunckley protested that absence from the ladies, even for +so short a time, would completely spoil his evening--receiving in +reward a languorous glance from Lady Durwent. Johnston Smyth, who had +done more than ample justice to the wines, offered to 'pink' at fifty +yards any man who would consider the proposition for a moment. Only +Norton Pyford, in a sort of befuddled gallantry, suggested that the +ladies might have sentimental confidences to exchange, and leered +amorously at Elise Durwent. + +'Well,' said Lady Durwent, 'I am sure we are all curious to hear what +Mr. Selwyn thinks of England, so I think we shall have coffee here. Is +it agreeable to every one?' + +Unanimous approval greeted the proposal, and, at a sign from the +hostess, cigarettes, cigars, and coffee made their appearance, with the +corresponding niceties of 'Just one, please,' 'Well, perhaps a +cigarette might be enjoyable,' 'I know men like a cigar,' 'After you, +old man,' and all those various utterances which tickle the ear, +creating in the speaker's breast the feeling of saying the right thing +and doing it rather well. + +Throughout the dinner the daughter of the house had sat practically +without a remark, and even when chorus effects were achieved by the +rest, remained with almost immobile features, merely glancing from one +to another, momentarily interested or openly bored. Several times the +American had looked furtively at the arresting face, marred by too +apparent mental resentment, but the barricade of Johnston Smyth's +angular personality had been too powerful for him to surmount with +anything but the most superficial persiflage. + +He had watched her take a cigarette, accepting a light from Smyth, who +surrounded the action with a ludicrous dignity, when she looked up and +met his eyes. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said, speaking with the same rapidity of phrasing +that had both held and exasperated him before, 'we are all waiting for +the verdict of the Man from America.' + +'Over there,' he smiled, 'it is customary to take evidence before +giving a verdict.' + +'Good,' boomed the resolutionist; 'very good!' + +'Then,' said Lady Durwent, 'we seven shall constitute a jury.' + +'Order!' Johnston Smyth rose to his feet and hammered the table with a +bottle. '_Oyez, oyez_, you hereby swear that you shall well and truly +try'---- + +'Can't,' said Norton Pyford, pulling himself up; 'I'm prejudiced.' + +'For or against?' + +'Against the culprit.' + +'My discordant friend,' said Smyth, producing a second bottle from an +unsuspected source and making it disappear mysteriously, 'means that he +is prejudiced against England. Am I right, sir?' + +'Not exactly,' drawled the composer. 'I don't mind England--but I +think the English are awful.' + +'That is a nice point,' said Lady Durwent. + +'Ah,' broke in Madame Carlotti, 'but, much as I detest the English, I +hate England more. _Nom de Dieu_! I--a daughter of the Mediterranean, +where the sun ees so rarely a stranger, and the sky and the water it +ees always blue. In Italy one lives because she ees alive--it ees +sufficient. Here it ees always gray, gray--always g-r-ray. When the +sun comes--_sacramento_! he sees his mistake and goes queek away. Ah, +Signor Selwyn, it ees _désolant_ that I am compelled to live here.' + +A roar of unfeeling laughter greeting her familiar plaint, Madame +Carlotti took a hitch in her gown and reimprisoned some of her person +which had escaped from custody. + +'Then,' said Johnston Smyth, 'if we are all of a mind, there is no need +to have a trial. You have all seen the accusation in Mr. Selwyn's eye, +you have considered the unbiassed evidence of the lovely Carlotti'---- + +'But jurors can't give evidence,' muttered Mr. Dunckley. + +'My dear sir, I know she can't, but she did,' said Smyth triumphantly. +'_Oyez, oyez_--all in favour'---- + +'But,' interrupted the American, 'are we not to hear any one for the +defence?' + +'No,' said Smyth, who was thoroughly happy as a self-constituted master +of ceremonies. 'No one would accept the brief.' + +'Then,' said Selwyn, 'I apply for the post of counsel for the defence, +for in the limited time I have been in your country I have seen much +that appeals to me.' + +'Of course, it is a well-known fact,' said Dunckley sententiously, +'that American humour relies on exaggeration.' + +'No, no,' said Johnston Smyth, hushing the voices with a _pianissimo_ +movement of his hands, 'it is not humour on Mr. Selwyn's part, but +gratitude. In return for Christopher Columbus discovering America, +this gentleman is going to repay the debt of the New World to the Old +by discovering England.' + +'SHALL WE HAVE SOME PORT?' said Lady Durwent, opening the sluice-gates +of her vocal production. + + +II. + +'Speaking of America,' said Mrs. Le Roy Jennings a few minutes later, +Johnston Smyth having sat down in order to do justice to the wine of +Portugal, 'she is in the very vanguard of progress. Women have +achieved an independence there unknown elsewhere in the world.' + +'That is true,' said Lady Durwent, who knew nothing whatever about it. + +'You are right,' said Madame Carlotti. + +'The other day in Paris I heard an American woman whistling. "Have you +lost your dog?" I asked. "No," she says; "my husband."' + +A chorus of approval greeted this malicious sally, followed by the +retailing of various anti-American anecdotes that made up in sting what +they lacked in delicacy. These showed no signs of abatement until, +slightly nettled, Selwyn put in an oar. + +'I had hoped,' he said, 'to find some illuminating points in the +conversation to-night. But it seems as if you treat not only your own +country in a spirit of caricature, but mine as well. We are a very +young race, and we have the faults of youth; but, then, youth always +has a future. It was a sort of post-graduate course to come to England +and Europe to absorb some of the lore--or isn't it one of your poets +who speaks of "The Spoils of Time"? Your past is so rich that +naturally we look to you and Europe for the fundamental things of +civilisation.' + +'And what have you found?' asked Elise Durwent. + +'Well,' said the American, 'much to admire--and much to deplore.' + +'In other words,' said Johnston Smyth, 'he has been to Edinburgh and to +London.' + +'That is so,' smiled Selwyn; 'but I don't'---- + +'All people,' said Smyth serenely, 'admire Edinburgh, but abuse London. +Over here a man will jest about his religion or even his grandfather, +but never about Edinburgh. On the other hand, as every one damns +London, and as an Englishman is never so happy as when he has something +on hand to grouse about, London's population has grown to some eight +millions.' + +'I think, Mr. Smyth,' said Lady Durwent, 'that you are as much a +philosopher as a painter.' + +'Lady Durwent,' said the futurist, 'all art is philosophy--even old +Pyford's here, though his amounts almost to theology.' + +For a few minutes the conversation drifted in inconsequential channels +until H. Stackton Dunckley becalmed everything with a laborious +dissertation on the lack of literary taste in both England and America. +Selwyn took the opportunity of studying the elusive beauty of Elise +Durwent, which seemed to provoke the eye to admiration, yet fade into +imperfection under a prolonged searching. Pyford grew sleepy, and even +Smyth appeared a little melancholy, when, on a signal from Lady +Durwent, brandy and liqueurs were served, checking Mr. Dunckley's +oratory and reviving every one's spirits noticeably. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Mrs. Le Roy Jennings in her best manner, 'after you +have subjected England to a microscopic examination for a sufficient +length of time, you will discover that we are a nation of parasites.' + +'I would rather you said that than I, Mrs. Jennings.' + +'Parasites,' reiterated the speaker, fixing an eye on some point on the +wall directly between Selwyn and the hostess. 'We sprawl over the +world--why? To develop resources? No! It is to reap the natural +growth of others' endeavours? Yes! The Englishman never creates. He +is the world's greatest brigand'---- + +'Too thoroughly masculine to be really cruel,' chimed in the +irrepressible Smyth. + +'Brigand,' repeated Mrs. Jennings, not deigning the artist so much as a +glance, 'skimming the earth of its surface riches, and rendering every +place the poorer for his being there.' + +There was an awesome silence, which no one seemed courageous enough to +break. + +'Yes,' said H. Stackton Dunckley finally, 'and in addition England is +decadent.' + +'But, Mr. Selwyn'--again the American heard the voice of Elise Durwent, +that quick intensity of speech that always left a moment of startled +silence in its wake--'you have discovered something admirable about +England. Won't you tell us what it is?' + +'Well,' he said, smiling, 'for one thing, no one can deny the beauty of +your women.' + +'All decadent nations,' said H. Stackton Dunckley, 'produce beautiful +women--it is one of the surest signs that they are going to pieces. +The Romans did at the last, and Rome and England are parallel cases. +As Mrs. Le Roy Jennings says, they are parasitic nations. What did the +Romans add to Greek art? The Greeks had this'--he made an elliptical +movement of his hands--'the Romans did that to it'--he described a +circle, then shrugged his shoulders, convinced that he had said +something crushing. + +'So you think English women beautiful, Mr. Selwyn?' said Lady Durwent, +trying to retrieve the conversation from the slough of her inamorato's +ponderosity. + +'Undoubtedly,' answered the American warmly. 'It is no doubt the +out-of-door life they lead, and I suppose the moist climate has +something to do with their wonderful complexions, but they are womanly +as well, and their voices are lovely.' + +'I smell a rat,' said Smyth, who had in his mouth an unlit cigarette, +which had fastened itself to his lip and bobbed up and down with his +speech, like a miniature baton. 'When a man says a woman's voice is +sweet, it means that she has bored him; that what she has to say +interests him so little that he turns to contemplation of her voice. +This American is a devilish cute fellow.' + +A babble of voices took up the charge and demanded immediate +explanation. + +'To a certain extent,' said Selwyn stoutly, 'there is much in what Mr. +Smyth says.' + +'List to the pigmy praising the oracle,' chanted the artist. + +'I do not think,' went on the American, 'that the English girls I have +met are as bright or as clever as the cultured young women of the +continent of America. In other words, with all her natural charm, the +English girl does not edit herself well.' + +'In that,' said H. Stackton Dunckley, 'she reflects the breed. The +Anglo-Saxon has an instinctive indifference to thought.' + +'As soon as an Englishman thinks,' minced Madame Carlotti, 'he leaves +England with its _cattivo_ climate and goes to the Colonies. _C'est +pourquoi_ the Empire ees so powerful--its brains are in the legs.' + +'Come, come,' laughed Selwyn, 'is there no one here but me who can +discover any merit in Old England?' + +'Yes,' said Pyford gloomily; 'London is only seven hours from Paris.' + +'Ah--_Parigi_!' ejaculated Madame Carlotti with the fervour born of the +feeling in all Latin women that Paris is their spiritual capital. + +'And yet,' said Selwyn, after a pause to see if Madame Carlotti's +exuberance was going to develop any further, 'in literature, which I +suppose is the natural art of the Anglo-Saxon temperament, we still +look to you for the outstanding figures. With all our ability for +writing short stories--and I think we are second only to the French in +that--England still produces the foremost novelists. In the sustained +effort required in the formation of a novel, England is yet first. Of +course, musically, I think England is very near the bottom.' + +'And yet,' said Johnston Smyth, 'we are the only people in the world +candid enough to have a monument to our lack of taste.' + +Every one looked at the artist, who stroked his left arm with the back +of his right hand, like a barber sharpening a razor. + +'In that part of London known as Kingsway,' he said, 'there is a +beautiful building called "The London Opera House"!' He thrust both +hands out, palms upwards, as if the building itself rested on them. +'It stands in a commanding position, with statues of the great +composers gazing from the roof at the passing proletariat emanating +from the Strand. Inside it is luxuriously equipped, as bents the home +of Opera.' + +'Yes,' said the American, as the speaker paused. + +Smyth produced a watch from nowhere in particular. 'It is just past +ten,' he said. 'I am not sure whether it is Charlie Chaplin or Mary +Pickford showing on the screen at this hour, at the London Opera House.' + +A murmur of applause acknowledged the artist's well-planned climax. He +looked about with a satisfied smile, then replaced the watch with the +air of pocketing both it and the subject. + +'But--you have opera?' said Selwyn wonderingly. + +'Of course,' said Smyth; 'and where? In a vegetable-market. In Covent +Garden. Yet England has been accused of hypocrisy! What other nation +is so candid?' + +By one of those unspoken understandings that are the rules of mobs and +dinner-parties, it was felt that the topic was ceasing to be exhaustive +and becoming exhausting. Lady Durwent glanced, interrogatively about +the table; Madame Carlotti took a hitch in her gown; Norton Pyford +emptied his glass and sat pensively staring at it as if it had hardly +done what he expected, but on the whole he felt inclined to forgive it; +Johnston Smyth made a belated attempt to be sentimental with the +Honourable Miss Durwent, whose lips, always at war with each other, +merely parted in a smile that utterly failed to bring any sympathy from +her eyes; Mrs. Le Roy Jennings took a last sip of coffee, and finding +it quite cold, put it down with a gesture of finality. + +'Lady Durwent,' said Austin Selwyn--and the quality of his voice was +lighter and more musical than it had been--'I suppose that a man who +deliberately goes to a country to gather impressions lays himself open +to the danger of being influenced by external things only. If I were +to base my knowledge of England on what her people say of her, I think +I should be justified in assuming that the century-old charge of her +decadence is terribly true. Yet I claim to have something of an +artist's sensitiveness to undercurrents, and it seems to me that there +is a strong instinct of race over here--perhaps I express myself +clumsily--but I think there is an England which has far more depth to +it than your artists and writers realise. For some reason you all seem +to want to deny that; and when, as to-night, it is my privilege to meet +some of this country's expressionists, it appears that none has any +intention of trying to reveal what is fine in your life as a +people--you seek only to satirise, caricature, or damn altogether. If +I believe my ears, there is nothing but stupidity and insularity in +England. If I listen to my senses, to my subconscious mind, I feel +that a great crisis would reveal that she is still the bed-rock of +civilisation.' + +Madame Carlotti raised her glass. + +'To America's next ambassador to England!' she cried. + + +III. + +The momentous evening was drawing to a close. + +Rain, in fitful gusts, had been besieging the windows, driven by an +ill-tempered wind that blustered around the streets, darting up dark +alleys, startling the sparks emerging from chimney-pots, roaring across +the parks, slamming doors, and venting itself, every now and then, in +an ill-natured howl. + +Inside the refuge of No. 8 Chelmsford Gardens a fire threw its merry +warmth over the large music-room, and did its best to offset the +tearful misery of the November night. + +Conversation had dwindled in energy with the closing hour of the +affair, and seizing an auspicious moment, Norton Pyford had reached the +piano, and for twenty minutes demonstrated the close relation of the +chord of C Minor to the colour brown. Modernist music, acting on +unusual souls as classical music on ordinary souls, stimulated the +flagging conversational powers of the guests, and he was soon +surrounded by a gesticulating group of dissenting or condoning critics. + +Selwyn noticed that Elise Durwent had not left her seat by the fire, +and absenting himself from the harmonic debate, he took a chair by hers. + +'You are pensive, Miss Durwent,' he said. + +She smiled, with a slight suggestion of weariness, though her eyes had +a softness he had not seen in them before. + +'I am very dull company to-night,' she said, 'but ever since I was a +child, rain beating against the windows has always made me dreamy. I +suppose I am old-fashioned, but it is sweeter music to me than Mr. +Pyford's new harmonies.' + +He laughed, and leaning towards the fire, rubbed his hands +meditatively. 'You must have found our talk wearisome at dinner,' he +said. + +'No,' she answered, 'it was not so bad as usual. You introduced a note +of sincerity that had all the effect of a novelty.' + +Her mannerism of swift and disjointed speech, which broke all her +sentences into rapidly uttered phrases, again annoyed him. Though her +voice was refined, it seemed to be acting at the behest of a whip-like +brain, and she spoke as if desirous rather of provoking a retort than +of establishing any sense of compatibility. Yet she was +feminine--gloriously, delicately feminine. The finely moulded arms and +the gracefulness of body, indicated rather than revealed beneath her +blue gown, intrigued the eye and the senses, just as the swiftly spoken +words challenged the brain and infused exasperation in the very midst +of admiration. The complicated elements of the girl offered a peculiar +fascination to the eternal instinct of study possessed by the young +American author. + +'Miss Durwent,' he said, 'if I was sincere to-night, it was because you +encouraged me to be so.' + +'But I said nothing.' + +'Nevertheless, you were the inspiration.' + +'I never knew a girl could accomplish so much by holding her tongue.' + +A crash of 'Bravos' broke from the group around the piano; Pyford had +just scored a point. + +'You know,' resumed Selwyn thoughtfully, 'a man doesn't go to a +dinner-party conscious of what he is going to say. It is the people he +meets that produce ideas in him, many of which he had never thought of +before.' + +She tapped the ground with her foot, and looked smilingly at his +serious face. 'It is the reverse with me,' she said. 'I go out to +dinner full of ideas, and the people I meet inspire a silence in me of +unsuspected depth.' + +'May I smoke?' asked Selwyn, calling a halt in the verbal duel. + +'Certainly; I'll join you. Don't smoke your own cigarettes--there are +some right in front of you.' + +He reached for a silver box, offered her a cigarette, and struck a +match. As he leaned over her she raised her face to the light, and the +blood mounted angrily to his head. + +Though a man accustomed to dissect rather than obey his passions, he +possessed that universal quality of man which demands the weakness of +the feminine nature in the woman who interests him. He will satirise +that failing; if he be a writer, it will serve as an endless theme for +light cynicism. He will deplore that a woman's brains are so submerged +by her emotions; but let him meet one reversely constituted, and he +steers his course in another direction with all possible speed. + +Selwyn had come to her with a comfortable, after-dinner desire for a +_tête-à-tête_. He expected flattering questions about his writings, +and would have enjoyed talking about them; instead of which this +English girl with the crimson colouring and the maddening eyes had +coolly kept him at a distance with her rapier brain. He felt a sudden +indignation at her sexlessness, and struck a match for his own +cigarette with such energy that it broke in two. + +'Miss Durwent,' he said suddenly, lighting another match, 'I want to +see you again--soon.' He paused, astonished at his own abruptness, and +an awkward smile expanded until it crinkled the very pinnacle of his +nose. + +'I like you when you look like that,' she said. 'It was just like my +brother Dick when he fell off a horse. By the way, do you ride?' + +'Yes,' he said, watching the cigarette-smoke curl towards the +fireplace, 'though I prefer an amiable beast to a spirited one.' + +'Good!' she said, so quickly that it seemed like the thrust of a sword +in tierce. 'You have the same taste in horses as in women. Most men +have.' + +'Miss Durwent'--his face flushed angrily and his jaw stiffened--'I'll +ride any horse you choose in England, and'---- + +'And break the heart of the most vixenish maiden in London! You are a +real American, after all. What is it you say over there? "Shake!"' + +She slapped her hand into his, and he held it in a strong grip. + +'But you _will_ let me see you again soon?' + +'Certainly.' She withdrew her hand from his with a firmness that had +neither censure nor coquetry in it, and the heightened colour of her +cheeks subsided with the sparkle of her eyes. + +'When?' he said. + +'To-morrow morning, if you like. I shall have horses here at eleven, +and we can ride in the Row, providing you will put up with anything so +quiet as our cattle.' + +'That is bully of you. I shall be here at eleven.' + +'I thought all Americans used slang,' she said. + +'You are the first English girl I have met,' he answered with +extraordinary venom in his voice, 'who has not said "ripping."' + + * * * * * * + +Twenty minutes later Austin Selwyn, unable to secure a taxi, tramped +along Oxford Street towards his hotel. He had just reached the Circus +when the malignant wind, hiding in ambush down Regent Street, rushed at +him unawares and sent his hat roistering into the doorway of a store. +With a frown, Selwyn stopped and stared at the truant. + +'Confound the wretched thing!' he said. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A MORNING IN NOVEMBER. + + +I. + +Austin Selwyn rose from his bed and looked at Berners Street glistening +in a sunlight that must have warmed the heart of Madame Carlotti +herself. With a lazy pleasure in the process, he recalled the picture +of Elise Durwent sitting in the dim shadows of the firelit room; he +felt again the fragrance of her person as he leaned over her with the +lighted match. On the canvas of his brain was thrown the rich +colouring of the English girl, with the copper-hued luxury of hair and +the eyes that seemed to steal some magic from the fire; and he saw +again those warring lips, the crimson upper one chiding the passionate +scarlet of its twin. + +Idly, while enjoying the unusual dissipation of a pre-breakfast +cigarette, he tried to imagine the course of incident and heredity that +had produced her strange personality. That there was a bitterness +somewhere in her disposition was obvious; but it certainly could not +have come from the mother, who was the soul of contentment. He found +himself speculating on the peculiar quality of personality, that +strange thing which makes an individual something apart from others of +his kind, that gift which singles out a girl of ordinary appearance and +leaves one of flawless beauty still wagging her pretty head in the +front row of the chorus. From that point he began to speculate on the +loneliness of personality, which so often robs its owner of the cheery +companionship of commonplace people. + +On the whole, he regretted that he was going to see her again so soon. +Her pertness, which had seemed fairly clever the previous night, would +probably descend to triteness in the morning; he could even see her +endeavouring to keep up the same exchange of short sentences. Bah! It +was like a duel with toothpicks. The stolid respectability of Berners +Street lent its aid to the conviction that the morning would hold +nothing but anti-climax. + +And he was poet enough to prefer an unfinished sonnet to one with an +inartistic ending. + + +II. + +Austin Selwyn was twenty-six--an age which has something in common with +almost every one of the seven celebrated by Shakespeare. Like most men +in their twenties, he had the character of a chameleon, and adapted +himself to his surroundings with almost uncanny facility. At college +he had been an ardent member of a dozen cliques, even falling under the +egotism of the men who dabbled in Spiritualism, but a clarity of +thought and a strain of Dutch ancestry kept his feet on the earth when +the rest of him showed signs of soaring. + +Some moderate wit had said of him at college that he was himself only +twice a day--when he got up in the morning and when he went to bed at +night. This Stevensonian theory was not quite true, for a chameleon +does not cease to be a chameleon because it changes its colour. + +It was perhaps his susceptibility to the many vintages of existence +that had impelled him to write, authors being more or less a natural +result of the economic law of intake and output. As is the habit of +most young writers, he wrote on various subjects, put enough material +for a two-volume novel into a short story, and generally revelled in +the prodigality of literary youth. He was prepared to be a social +satirist, a chronicler of the Smart Set, a champion of the down-trodden +masses, or a commercial essayist, according to the first public that +showed appreciation of his work. + +Although he had lived in Boston, that city which claims so close an +affinity to ancient Athens (as a matter of fact, has it not been said +that Athens is the Boston of Europe?), he was drawn to the great vortex +of New York, that mighty capital of modernism which sucks the best +brains of an entire continent. For some time he wrote beneath his own +standard and with considerable success. Following the example of +several successful New York authors, he plunged into a hectic portrayal +of 'high' society, a set of people that makes one wonder as to the +exact meaning of the adjective. For a short space he came under the +influence of the studied Bohemianism of 'Greenwich Village,' and wrote +deucedly clever things for the applause of the villagers, then sneered +at American taste because people in Arkansas did not like his work. +Still retaining his love of Greenwichery, he next succumbed to the +money lure of the motion-picture industry, which offered to buy the +picture-rights of his stories, provided he would introduce into them +the elements which go to make up successful American films. + +With the prospect of a bank president's income before him, he succeeded +in writing his share of that form of American literature which has a +certain love interest, almost obscured by a nasty sexual diagnosis, an +element of comedy relief, and, above all, a passionate adherence to the +craze of the moment--a work that fades from the mind with the closing +of the book, as the memory of the author's name vanishes almost before +the last sound of the earth dropped upon his coffin. + +He knew that there were sincere _literati_ writing of the abiding +things that do not die with the passing of a season, but the clamour of +commercialism drowned their voices. As though they were stocks upon an +exchange, he heard the cries: 'Brown's getting five thousand dollars a +month writing serials for Hitch's;' 'Smith sold two novels on synopsis +for thirty thousand dollars;' 'Green's signed up with Tagwicks for four +years at two thousand dollars a month writing problem novels.' Into +the maelstrom of 'Dollars, Dollars, Dollars,' the sensitive brains of +all America were drifting, throwing overboard ideals and aspirations in +order to keep afloat in the swirling foam. + +And then--the Fates stooped and touched his destiny with a star. + +A New York publisher (one of that little group which has for its motto, +'Art for Art's sake,' not 'Art, for God's sake!') noticed him, and +spoke of literature as an expression of the soul, a thing not of a +season or a decade, but as ageless as a painting. + +His ear caught the new song of attainment just as readily as it had +received the chorus of 'Dollars.' He wrote a novel of New England +life, full of faults, but vibrant with promise; and having gathered +together quite a nice sum of money, he went to England, at the advice +of the before-mentioned publisher, there and elsewhere in Europe to +absorb the less oxygenic atmosphere of older civilisations, which still +gives birth to the beginnings of things. + +Twice he had visited Paris. The first time, with the instinct of the +tourist, he had discovered the vileness of the place--a discovery +fairly easy of accomplishment. The second time he had ignored the +tourist-stimulated aspect of Paris life, and had allowed his senses to +absorb the soul of the Capital of all the Latins, the laboratory of +civilisation. And he who has done that is never the same man again. +Germany had ministered to his reason, and Italy to his emotions; but he +found his greatest interest in London, which offered to him an endless +inspiration of changing moods, of vagrant smells, and the effect of a +stupendous drama of humanity. + +Under the spell of Europe's ageless artistry and the rich-hued meadows +of England's literary past he had grown humble. The song of 'Dollars' +was less clamorous than the echo of the ocean in the heart of a +sea-shell. When he wrote, which was seldom, he approached his +paper-littered desk as an artist does his canvas. It was the medium by +which he might gain a modest niche in the Hall of the Immortals--or, +failing that, his soul at least would be enriched by the sincerity of +his endeavour. + +In that highly artistic frame of mind he suddenly secured the _entrée_ +into London Society. For some reason, as unaccountable as the reverse, +a wave of popularity for Americans was breaking against the oak doors, +and he was carried in on the crest. The result was not ennobling. The +dormant instinct of satire leaped to life and the idealist became the +jester. + +But then he was twenty-six and most agreeably susceptible to hap-hazard +influence. Being a Bostonian, he acquitted himself with creditable +_savoir faire_; and being an American, his appreciation of the +ridiculous saved him from the quagmire of snobbery, though he made many +friends and dined regularly with august people, whose family trees were +so rich in growth that they lived in perpetual gloom from the foliage. + +Lady Durwent's dinner-party had been an expedition into the artistic +fakery of London, and he would have dismissed the whole affair as a +stimulating and amusing diversion from the ultra-aristocratic rut if +the personality of Elise Durwent had not remained with him like a +haunting melody. + +He looked at his watch. 'By Jove!' he muttered; 'it's nine o'clock;' +and hurriedly completing his ablutions, he dressed and descended to +breakfast. + + +III. + +Into the row of splendidly inert houses known as Chelmsford Gardens, +Austin Selwyn turned his course. A couple of saddle-horses were +standing outside No. 8, held by a groom of expressionless countenance. +From No. 3 a butler emerged, looked at the morning, and retired. +Elsewhere inaction reigned. + +Ringing the bell, Selwyn was admitted into the music-room of the +previous night's scene. The portrait of a famous Elizabethan beauty +looked at him with plump and saucy arrogance. In place of the +crackling fire a new one was laid, all orderly and proper, like a set +of new resolutions. The genial disorder of the chairs, moved at the +whim of the Olympians, had all been put straight, and the whole room +possessed an air of studied correctness, as though it were anxious to +forget the previous evening's laxity with the least possible delay. + +'Good-morning.' + +Elise Durwent swept into the room with an impression of boundless +vitality. She was dressed in a black riding-habit with a divided +skirt, from beneath which a pair of glistening riding-boots shone with +a Cossack touch. Her copper hair, which was arranged to lie rather low +at the back, was guarded by a sailor-hat that enhanced to the full the +finely formed features and arched eyebrows. There was an extraordinary +sense of youthfulness about her--not the youthfulness of immaturity, +but the stimulating quality of the spirit. + +'I came here this morning,' began Selwyn vaguely, 'expecting'---- + +'Expecting a frumpy, red-haired girl with a black derby hat down to her +nose.' + +He bowed solemnly. 'Instead of which, I find--a Russian princess.' + +'You are a dear. You can't imagine how much thought I expended on this +hat.' + +'It was worth it. You look absolutely'---- + +'Just a minute, Mr. Selwyn. You are not going to tell me I look +charming?' + +'That was my intention.' + +She sighed, with a pretty pretence at disappointment. 'That will cost +me half-a-crown,' she said. + +'I beg your'---- + +'Yes; I wagered myself two-and-six to a "bob" that you wouldn't use +that word.' + +'It is really your fault that I did,' he said seriously. + +She curtsied daintily. 'I make money on Englishmen and lose it on +Americans,' she said. 'I have a regular scale of bets. I give ten to +one that an Englishman will say in the first ten minutes that I look +"topping," five to one on "absolutely ripping" in the first thirty, and +even money on "stunning" in the first hour.' + +His face, which had been portraying an amusing mixture of perplexity +and admiration, broke into a smile which encompassed all his features. +'Do all bets cease at the end of the first hour?' he asked. + +'Yes, ra-_ther_. An Englishman never pays compliments then, because he +is used to you. Isn't it awful seeing people getting used to you?' + +'Do they ever?' + +'Umph'm. The only chance of bagging one of the nobility as a husband +is to limit interviews to half-an-hour and never wear the same clothes +twice. Startle him! Keep him startled! Save your most daring gown +for the night you're going to make him propose, then wear white until +the wedding. An Englishman will fall in love with a woman in scarlet, +but he likes to think he's marrying one who wears white. Costume, my +dear Americano--costume does it. Hence the close alliance between the +nobility and the chorus. But come along; we're snubbing the sunlight.' + +With something like intoxication in his blood, he followed his +imperious, high-spirited companion from the house. He hurried forward +to help her to mount, but she had her foot in the stirrup and had swung +herself into the saddle before he could reach her side. With less +ease, but with creditable horse-management, Selwyn mounted the chestnut +and drew alongside the bay, who was cavorting airily, as if to taunt +the larger horse with the superior charm of the creature that bestrode +him. + +'We'll be back, Smith, at twelve-thirty,' she called; and with the +tossing of the horses' heads, resentful of the restraining reins, and +the clattering of hoofs that struck sparks from the roadway, they made +for the Park. + + +IV. + +London is a stage that is always set. The youthful Dickens watching +the murky Thames found the setting for his moments of horror, just as +surely as cheery coach-houses, many of them but little changed to this +day, bespoke the entrance of Wellers senior and junior. London gave to +Wilde's exotic genius the scenes wherein his brilliantly futile +characters played their wordy dramas; then, turning on the author, +London's own vileness called to his. Thackeray the satirist needed no +further inspiration than the nicely drawn distinction between Belgravia +and Mayfair. Generous London refused nothing to the seeking mind. Nor +is it more sparing to-day than it was in the past; it yields its +inspiration to the gloom of Galsworthy, the pedagogic utterances of Mr. +Wells, the brilliant restlessness of Arnold Bennett, and the +ever-delightful humour of Punch. + +On this morning in November London was in a gracious mood, and Hyde +Park, coloured with autumn's pensive melancholy, sparkled in the +sunlight. Snowy bits of cloud raced across the sky, like sails against +the blue of the ocean. November leaves, lying thick upon the grass, +stirred into life, and for an hour imagined the fickle wind to be a +harbinger of spring. Children, with laughter that knew no other cause +than the exhilaration of the morning, played and romped, weaving dreams +into their lives and their lives into dreams. Invalids in chairs +leaned back upon their pillows and smiled. Something in the laughter +of the children or the spirit of the wind had recalled their own +careless moments of full-lived youth. + +Paris, despite your Bois de Boulogne; New York, for all the beauties of +your Central Park and Riverside Drive--what have you to compare with +London's parks on a sun-strewn morning in November? + +Reaching the tan-bark surface of Rotten Row, Selwyn and the English +girl eased the reins and let the horses into a canter. With the motion +of the strong-limbed chestnut the American felt a wave of exultation, +and chuckled from no better cause than sheer enjoyment in the morning's +mood of emancipation. He glanced at Elise Durwent, and saw that her +eyes were sparkling like diamonds, and that the self-conscious bay was +shaking his head and cantering so lightly that he seemed to be borne on +the wings of the wind. Selwyn wished that he were a sculptor that he +might make her image in bronze: he would call it 'Recalcitrant Autumn.' +He even felt that he could burst into poetry. He wished---- + +But then he was in the glorious twenties; and, after all, what has the +gorged millionaire, rolling along in his beflowered, bewarmed, +becushioned limousine, that can give one-tenth the pleasure of the grip +on the withers of a spirited horse? + +Sometimes they walked their beasts, and chatted on such subjects as +young people choose when spirits are high and care is on a vacation. +They were experiencing that keenest of pleasures--joy in the _present_. + +They watched London Society equestrianising for the admiration of the +less washed, who were gazing from chairs and benches, trying to tell +from their appearance which was a duke and which merely 'mister'--and +usually guessing quite wrongly. Ladies of title, some of them riding +so badly that their steeds were goaded into foam by the incessant pull +of the curb bit, trotted past young ladies and gentlemen with +note-books, who had been sent by an eager Press to record the +activities of the truly great. Handsome women rode in the Row with +their children mounted on wiry ponies (always a charming sight); and +middle-aged, angular females, wearing the customary riding-hat which +reduces beauty to plainness and plainness to caricature, rode +melancholy quadrupeds, determined to do that which is done by those who +are of consequence in the world. + +But pleasures born of the passing hour, unlike those of the past or of +anticipation, end with the striking of the clock. It seemed to Austin +Selwyn that they had been riding only for the space of minutes, when +Elise asked him the time. + +'It is twenty minutes to one,' he said. 'I had no idea time had passed +so quickly.' + +'Nor I,' she answered. 'Just one more canter, and then we'll go.' + +The eager horses chafed at their bits, and pleaded, after the manner of +their kind, to be allowed one mad gallop with heaving flanks and +snorting triumph at the end; but decorum forbade, and contenting +themselves with the agreeable counterfeit, Selwyn and the girl +reluctantly turned from the Park towards home. + +The expressionless Smith was waiting for them, and looked at the two +horses with that peculiar intolerance towards their riders which the +very best groom in the world cannot refrain from showing. + +'Won't you come in and take the chance of what there is for lunch?' she +said as Selwyn helped her to dismount. + +'N-no, thanks,' he said. + +She pouted, or pretended to. 'Now, why?' she said as Smith mounted the +chestnut, and touching his hat, walked the horses away. + +'There is no reason,' he said, smiling, 'except---- Look here; will +you come downtown and have dinner with me to-night?' + +'You Americans are refreshing,' she said, burrowing the toe of her +riding-boot with the point of the crop, 'As a matter of fact, I have to +go to dinner to-night at Lady Chisworth's.' + +'Then have a headache,' he persisted. + +'Please,' as her lips proceeded to form a negative. + +'Some one would see us, and Lady Chisworth would declare war.' + +'Then let us dine in some obscure restaurant in Soho.' + +'There's no such thing, old dear. Soho is always full of the best +people dining incog. Almost the only place where you are free from +your friends is Claridge's.' + +'Well'--his nose crinkled at her remark--'then let us go to Claridge's. +Miss Durwent, I know I'm too persistent, but it would be a wonderful +ending to a bully day. You know you'll be bored at Lady Chisworth's, +and I shall be if you don't come.' + +'Humph!' She stood on the first of the stone steps, her agile +gracefulness lending itself to the picture of healthy, roseate youth. + +'Where could we meet?' + +'Let me call for you.' + +'N-no. That wouldn't do.' + +'Would your mother object?' + +'Heavens, no!--but the servants would. You see, English morality is +largely living up to your servants--and we met only last night.' + +'But you will come?' He crossed his hands behind his back and swung +the crop against his boots. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said, 'your books should be very interesting.' + +'From now on they will be,' he said, 'if'---- + +'All right,' she interrupted him with something of the staccato +mannerism of the evening before. 'I'll motor down in my little car, +and we'll go to the Café Rouge.' + +'Good--wherever that may be.' + +'No one has discovered it yet but me,' she said. 'Then I shall have a +headache at four, and meet you outside Oxford Circus Tube at seven.' + +'You're a real sport, Miss Durwent.' + +'Ah, monsieur'--she smiled with a roguishness that completely unsettled +him for the remainder of the day--'have you no sympathy for my +headache?' + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE CAFÉ ROUGE. + + +I. + +Monsieur Anton Beauchamp was the proprietor of the Café Rouge in +London. Monsieur Anton Beauchamp was once proprietor of the Café Bleu +in Paris. + +For many years he had cast envious eyes on London. Did not always his +guests, those strange blonde people with the clothes like blankets, pay +his prices without question? Did they not drink bad wine and never add +the bill? _Pardi_! if he could have only English as patrons, madame +and himself could purchase that wine-shop in the Bou' Mich', and never +worry again. + +For years the thought of London haunted Anton; and then one day, in a +superb moment of decision, he announced his intention of journeying +thither. A large entourage followed him to the Gare du Nord, and, with +much the same feelings as those of an explorer leaving for the North +Pole, he bade a dramatic farewell, and almost missed his train by +running back to give a final embrace to Madame Beauchamp. + +With no undue mishap he reached London the same night, and next day he +lunched at a famous London restaurant. At night he dined at a +fashionable establishment in Shaftesbury Avenue. In both places he +received ordinary food served without distinction, reckoned up the +bill, and found that in each case _l'addition_ was correct--and rushed +madly back to Paris, where he sold the Café Bleu, packed up his +belongings, and explained matters to his wife, doing all three things +simultaneously. + +'The dinner,' he exclaimed in a fever of excitement, 'is served--so! +As a funeral. I order what I like, and the waiter he stands there +_comme un gendarme_, as if it is my name I give. "Any vegetables?" +demands he. _Mon Dieu_! As if vegetables they are no more to him than +so much--so much umbrellas. I say, "_Garçon, la carte des vins_!" and, +quite correct, he hands it me with so many wines he has not got, just +as in Paris, but--_que penses tu_?--he permits me to order what wine I +choose, so--by myself. _C'est terrible_! I give him three pennies and +say, "_Garçon_, for such stupidity you should pay the whole bill."' + +Monsieur Beauchamp was a man of shrewdness. He knew he could not +compete with the established solidity of the Trocadero, the Ritz, the +Piccadilly, or the garishness of Frascati's, so he purchased and +remodelled an unobtrusive building in an unobtrusive street between +Shaftesbury Avenue and Oxford Street, but clear of Soho and its +adherents. He decorated the place in a rich red, and arranged some +_cabinets particuliers_ upstairs, where, by the screening of a curtain, +Madame the Wife and Monsieur the Lover could dine without molestation +of vulgar eyes. + +Monsieur Beauchamp felt himself a benefactor, a missionary. He argued +that the only reason Londoners were not so flirtatious as Parisians was +lack of opportunity. He, the proprietor of the Café Rouge, would bring +light to the inhabitants of the foggy city. To assist in this +philanthropic work he brought with him an excellent cook, who had +killed a dyspeptic Cabinet Minister by tempting him with dishes +intended only for robust digestions, and three young and ambitious +waiters; while madame engaged what unskilled labour was required. + +Unobtrusively they opened for business, for he knew that publicity +would spoil his chance of success. (Once convince a Londoner that he +is one of a select few who know a restaurant, and he will stand an hour +waiting for a table.) The first customer to enter received such +attention that he brought his family the next night. Monsieur +Beauchamp issued orders that he should be snubbed. _Parbleu_! was the +Café Rouge for _families_? + +Gradually the justification of Monsieur Beauchamp's policy became +evident. Ladies of the Chorus brought their admirers there, and to the +former Monsieur Beauchamp paid particular courtesy. Long study of +feminine psychology had taught him that, whereas a woman may change her +lover, she will not change her favourite café. Therefore, though the +man may pay the bill, the woman is the one to please. Artists from +Chelsea would come as well to the Café Rouge, celebrating the sale of a +picture, and drinking plentifully to the confounding of all art +critics. Also, the _cabinets particuliers_ were the scene of some +exceedingly expensive and recherché dinners--and almost no one added +the bill. When any one did, Monsieur Beauchamp was mortified, and +invariably dismissed the same waiter on the spot--thereby gaining for +himself and France a reputation for sterling integrity. + +'_Ma foi_! London may be gray,' thought Monsieur Beauchamp, 'but she +pays well.' + + +II. + +One November evening Monsieur Anton Beauchamp's critical eye noted the +entrance of a dark-haired young man in well-fitting evening clothes, +and with him a young lady whose deep-green cloak and white fur round +the shoulders set off to perfection her radiant colouring and +well-poised figure. Monsieur Beauchamp did not hesitate. After all, +he was an artist, and subject to inspiration like other men of genius; +so, hurrying downstairs, he waved the waiter aside, and greeted them +with a bow which almost amounted to virtuosity. + +'_Bon soir, monsieur et madame_.' He cast an anxious glance about the +café, which was two-thirds filled. 'This tabil will do?--_Ah, mais +non_! He grew indignant at the very thought. '_Pardon, monsieur_, +that one is very nice--_par ici_--_Non, non_! Ah--perhaps you would +like a _cabinet particulier_?' + +The sirenic tone of voice and the gesture of his hands indicated the +seraphic pleasure to be obtained only in one of those secluded spots. + +The American turned inquiringly to the girl. + +'When I was here before,' she said, 'I was at a table just upstairs to +the right. Have you one there, Monsieur Beauchamp?' + +_Nom d'une pipe_! She knew him. And she was beautiful, this English +lady. As he personally escorted them upstairs, with the importance of +a Lord Chamberlain at a Court function, Monsieur Beauchamp speculated +on the flirtatious potentialities of the young woman. If she were only +clever enough to be fickle, what a source of profit she might be to the +Café Rouge! And was she not in appearance much like Mademoiselle +Valerie, for whom a member of the Chamber of Deputies had blown out the +brains of Monsieur P---- de l'Académie Française? + +With the assistance of a waiter, he ushered them to a table almost +hidden by a pillar, where a crimson-shaded light sent a soft glow that +was guaranteed to make the most of a woman's eyes. Monsieur Beauchamp +with his own hands brought them the menu card, while the waiter stood +expectantly, crouched for an immediate start as soon as he received the +signal. A small waitress appeared with the butter and rolls, and made +her way underneath the arms of the proprietor and the waiter like a tug +running round two ocean liners. Monsieur Beauchamp could recommend the +_Barquettes Norvégienne_--No? Madame did not so desire? Of course +not. He frowned terrifically at the waiter, who glared ferociously at +the diminutive waitress. _Morbleu_! What imbecile suggested +_Barquettes Norvégienne_? Monsieur Beauchamp mentioned other dishes as +an overture to the meal, waxing increasingly wrathy towards the waiter +on each veto. Ah! monsieur desired _Consommé Anton_. The proprietor's +face beamed and his arms were outstretched towards heaven. That this +gentleman should order _Consommé Anton_, the soup of which he alone +knew the secret, and which had been named after himself! Truly, the +life of a restaurateur was not without compensations. He turned on the +waiter--but that worthy had darted away to execute the order. + + +III. + +The soup appeared. Monsieur Beauchamp stood by with the attitude of an +artist watching the hanging of his first painting in the Academy. + +'You might let me see the wine list,' said Selwyn. + +Monsieur Beauchamp struck an attitude of horror. Had it come to this +in the Café Rouge, that a patron must _ask_ for the wine list? +Brandishing his arms, he rushed from the table, almost colliding with +the little waitress, flew downstairs to the very farthest table near +the door, seized a wine card, and puffing generously, arrived with the +trophy at the table, much as Rothschild's messenger must have reached +London with the news that the British were winning at Waterloo. Having +then succeeded in making the American order a red wine when he wanted +white, Monsieur Beauchamp withdrew in a state of histrionic +self-satisfaction. + +With a smile of relief Selwyn looked across the table at the girl. +Even in the soft glow of the lamp, which made for flattery, it seemed +to him that the vivacity of the morning had disappeared, and in its +place was the petulance of the previous evening. Her eyes, which +seemed when they were riding to have caught something of the alchemy of +the skies, were steady and lighter in shade. Again he noticed the +suggestion of discontent about the mouth, and the upper lip looked thin +and lacking in colour. + +'It is your turn to-night to be pensive,' she said. + +'I was thinking,' he answered, 'that it is hardly twenty-four hours +since we met, and yet I have as many impressions of you as an ordinary +woman would give in six months. For instance, last night when you +entered the room'---- + +'But, Mr. Selwyn, any girl knows enough to arrive late when there is no +woman within twenty years of her age in the room. The effect is +certain.' + +There was no humour in her voice, but just a tone of weary, world-wise +knowledge. A look of displeasure clouded his face. + +'Surely,' he said, 'with your qualities and appearance, you don't need +such an elaborate technique.' + +'In a world where there is so little that is genuine, why should I +debar myself from the pleasure of being a humbug?' + +'Come, come,' he said, smiling, 'you are not going to join the ranks of +England's detractors?' + +She shrugged her shoulders. 'I'm certainly not going to become a +professional critic like Stackton Dunckley, who hasn't even the excuse +that he's an Irishman; or Lucia Carlotti, who hardly ever leaves London +because her dinners cost her nothing. But I reserve the right of +personal resentment.' + + +IV. + +They were interrupted by a waiter, who removed the soup-plates with +studied dexterity, and substituted _Tronçon de turbotin Duglère_; +_pommes vapeur_, the dish which had delivered the fatal blow against +the Cabinet Minister's digestive armour. + +'Perhaps I am too personal,' resumed Selwyn after the completion of +this task, 'but last night one of the impressions I took away with me +was your critical attitude towards your surroundings. Then this +morning you were so completely'---- + +'Charming?' + +'----bewitching,' he said, smiling, 'that I thought myself an idiot for +the previous night's opinion. But, then, this evening'---- + +'Mr. Selwyn, you are not going to tell me I'm disappointing, and we +just finished with the soup?' + +More than her words, the forced rapidity with which she spoke nettled +him. With bad taste perhaps, but still with well-meant sincerity, he +was trying to elucidate the personality which had gripped him; while +she, though seemingly having no objection to serving as a study for +analysis, was constantly thrusting her deflecting sentences in his +path. To him words were as clay to the sculptor. When he conversed he +liked to choose his theme, then, by adroit use of language, bring his +artistry to bear on the subject, accentuating a line here, introducing +a note of subtlety elsewhere, amplifying, smoothing, finishing with the +veneer of words the construction of his mind. Another quality in her +that troubled him was the apparent rigidity of her thoughts. Not once +did she give the impression that she was nursing an idea in the lap of +her mentality, but always that she had arrived at a conclusion by an +instantaneous process, which would not permit of retraction or +expansion. As though by suggestion he could reduce her phrasing to a +_tempo_ less quick, his own voice slowed to a drawl. + +'Miss Durwent,' he said, 'you are unique among the English girls I have +met. I should think that contentment, almost reduced to placidity, is +one of their outstanding characteristics.' + +'That is because you are a man, and with a stranger we have our company +manners on. England is full of bitter, resentful women, but they don't +cry about it. That's one result of our playing games like boys. We +learn not to whine.' + +'I suppose the activities of your suffragettes are a sign of this +unrest.' + +'Yes--though they don't know what is really the trouble. I do not +think women should run the country, but I do feel that we should have +something to say about our ordinary day-to-day lives. Man-made laws +are stupid enough, but a man-made society is intolerable. Just a very +little wine, please.' + +For a moment there was silence; then she continued: 'Oh, I suppose if +it were all sifted down I should find that it is largely egotism on my +part.' + +He waited, not wanting to alter her course by any injudicious comment. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said abruptly, 'do you feel that there is a Higher +Purpose working through life?' + +'Y-yes,' he said, rather startled, 'I think there is.' + +'Sometimes I do,' she went on; 'then, again, I think we're here on this +earth for no purpose at all. It often strikes me that Some One up +above started humanity with a great idea, but lost interest in us.' + +'I think,' he said slowly, 'that every man has an instinctive feeling +sometime in his life that he is a small part of a great plan that is +working somehow towards the light.' + +'Yes. It's a comfortable thought. It's what makes good Christians +enjoy their dinner without worrying too much about the poor.' + +He made no answer, though he was not one who often let an epigram go by +without a counter-thrust; but he could see that the girl was struggling +towards a sincerity of expression much as a frightened horse crosses a +bridge which spans a roaring waterfall, ready to bolt at the first +thing that affrights it. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said--and for the first time her words had something +of a lilt and less incision--'do you think women are living the life +intended for them?' + +'Why not?' he fenced. + +'Well, it seems to me that when any living creature is placed in the +world it is given certain powers to use. You saw this morning how our +horses wanted to race, and couldn't understand our holding them back. +A mosquito bites because that's apparently its job in the world, and it +doesn't know anything else. I was once told that if animals do not use +some faculty they possess, in time Nature takes it away from them.' + +'You are quite a student of natural history, Miss Durwent.' + +'No--but every now and then mother unearths a man who teaches us +something, like last night.' + +He acknowledged the compliment with a slight inclination of his head. +The waiter leant expectantly beside him. + +'To descend from the metaphysical to the purely physical,' he said, +glancing in some perplexity at the terrific nomenclature of Monsieur +Beauchamp's dishes, 'do you think we might take a chance on this +_Poulet reine aux primeurs; salade lorette_? I gather that it has +something to do with chicken.' + +'It's rather artful of Monsieur Beauchamp to word it so we poor English +can get that much, isn't it?' + +'Yes. He apparently acts on the principle that a little learning is a +common thing.' + + +V. + +As Selwyn gave the necessary order to the waiter, a noisy hubbub of +laughter from an adjoining _cabinet particulier_ almost drowned his +words. There was one woman's voice that was rasping and sustained with +an abandon of vulgarity released by the potency of champagne. + +Elise Durwent looked across the table at her companion. 'Are you bored +with all my talk?' she said. 'You Americans aren't nearly so candid +about such things as Englishmen.' + +'On the contrary, Miss Durwent, I am deeply interested. Only, I am a +little puzzled as to how you connect the usual functions of animals +with woman's place in the world.' + +With an air of abstraction she drew some pattern on the table-cloth +with the prongs of a fork. 'I don't know,' she said dreamily, 'that I +can apply the argument correctly, 'but--Mr. Selwyn, when I was a child +playing about with my little brother "Boy-blue"--that was a pet name I +had for him--I was just as happy to be a girl as he was to be a boy. I +think that is true of all children. But ask any woman which she would +rather be, a man or a woman, and unless she is trying to make you fall +in love with her she will say the former. That is not as it should be, +but it's true. Yet, if we are part of your great plan working towards +the light, we're entitled to the same share in life as you--more, if +anything, because we perpetuate life and have more in common with all +that it holds than men have. There, that is a long speech for me.' + +'Please don't stop.' + +There was a howl in a man's voice from the noisy _cabinet particulier_, +followed by a laugh from the same woman as before, which set the teeth +on edge. + +'That woman in there,' she went on, 'will partly show what I mean. In +the beginning we were both given certain qualities. She has lost her +modesty through disuse; I'm losing my womanliness and power of sympathy +for the same reason. She's more candid about it, that's all. When +Dick and I were youngsters I dreamed of life as Casim Baba's cave full +of undiscovered treasures that would be endless. Now I look back upon +those days as the only really happy ones I shall ever have.' + +'You are--how old?' + +'Twenty-three.' + +'You will grow less cynical as you grow older,' he said, from the +altitude of twenty-six. + +'I agree,' she said. 'As, unlike the Japanese, we haven't the moral +courage of suicide, I shall get used to the idea of being an +Englishman's wife; of living in a calm routine of sport, bridge, +week-ends, and small-talk--entertaining people who bore you, and in +turn helping to bore those who entertain you. In time I'll forget that +I was born, as most women are, with a fine perception of life's +subtleties, and settle down to living year in and year out with no +change except that each season you're less attractive and more petty. +After a while I shall even get to like the calm level of being an +Englishman's wife, and if I see any girl thinking as I do now, I'll +know what a little fool she is. That's what happens to us--we get used +to things. Those of us who don't, either get a divorce, or go to the +devil, or just live out our little farce. It is a real tragedy of +English life that women are losing through disuse the qualities that +were given them. That is why an American like you comes here and says +we do not edit ourselves cleverly.' + +The rapid succession of sentences came to an end, and the colour which +had mounted to her cheeks slowly subsided. + + +VI. + +'I feel,' he said, 'that I can only vaguely understand what you mean. +But is it not possible that you are looking at it too much from the +standpoint of an individualist?' + +'Women are all individualists,' she broke in; 'or they are until +society breaks their spirit. This lumping of people into generations +and tuning your son's brain to the same pitch as his medieval +ancestors' doesn't interest women--that's man's performance. The great +thing about a woman is her own life, isn't it? And the great event in +a woman's life is when she has a child--because it's _hers_. This +class and family stuff comes from men, because their names are +perpetuated, not ours. There is no snobbery equal to men's; it is more +noticeable with women, because it isn't instinctive with them, and they +have to talk to show it.' + +'Then,' said Selwyn, 'in addition to an Irish Rebellion, we may look +for one from English women?' + +'Yes. I don't know when, but it will come.' + +He produced a cigarette-case. 'Would you care for a cigarette now?' he +asked. + +'No, thanks. But you smoke.' + +'Poor England!' he said in pretended seriousness, tapping the table +with the end of the cigarette, 'with two revolutions on her hands, and +neither party knowing what it wants.' + +'We may not know what we want,' she said, 'but, as an Irishman said the +other day, "we won't be satisfied till we get it." If the rebellion of +our women doesn't come, I prophesy that in a couple of thousand years, +when the supermen inhabit the earth, they will find a sort of land +mermaid with an expressionless face, perpetually going through the +motion of dealing cards or drinking tea. Then some old fogy will spend +ten years in research, and pronounce her an excellent example of the +extinct race "_Femina Anglica_."' + +'As one of the tyrants who wishes you well,' said Selwyn, after a laugh +in which she joined, 'may I be permitted to know what women want--or +think they want?' + +'Mr. Selwyn, revolutions never come from people who think. That is why +they are so terrible. The unhappiness of so many Englishwomen comes +from the life which does not demand or permit the use of half the +powers they possess. Nor does it satisfy half their longings. Such a +condition produces either stagnation or revolution. Our ultimatum +is--give us a life which demands all our resources and permits women +unlimited opportunity for self-development. + +'And if the men cannot do this?' + +'The women will have to take charge.' + +'And when does the ultimatum expire?' + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +'When will the next great earthquake be?' + + +VII. + +The noise of the party in the _cabinet particulier_ had been growing +apace with the reinforcement of champagne-bottles. The strident +laughter of the women dominated the lower level of men's voices, and +there was a constant clinking of glasses, punctuated by the occasional +drawing of a cork, which always whipped the gaiety to a feverish pitch. +Monsieur Beauchamp rubbed his hands rather anxiously. He would have +preferred a little more intrigue and not quite so much noise. But, +then, was it not a testimony to his wine?--and certainly there would be +an excellent bill. + +One of the men in the party called on some one for a song. There was a +hammering on the table, a promise of a kiss in a girl's voice that +trailed off into a tipsy giggle, the sound of shuffling chairs and +accompanying hilarity as the singer was apparently hoisted on to the +table. There came a crash of breaking glass as his foot collided with +some dinner-things. + +Monsieur Beauchamp winced, but consoled himself with the reflection +that he could charge what he wished for the damage. The voices were +hushed at the order of the singer, who was trying to enunciate the +title of his song. + +'I shall shing,' he said, with considerable difficulty, '"Moon, Moon, +Boo--(hic)--Booful Moon," composhed by myself at the early age of +sheven months. It ish very pash--pashesh--it ish very shad, so, if ye +have tearsh, pre--(hic)--pare to shed 'em now.' + +There was loud applause, which the singer interrupted by commencing to +sing in a bass voice that broke into falsetto with such frequency that +it was difficult to tell which voice was the natural one. He started +off the verse very stoutly, but was growing rather maudlin, when, +reaching the chorus, he seemed to take on a new lease of vitality and +bellowed quite lustily: + + + 'Moon, Moon, boo-oo-oo-ooful Moon, + Shining reshplendantly, radiant an' tenderly; + Moon, Moon, boo-oo--(hic)--booful Moon-- + Tell her I shy for her, tell her I die for her, + Booful, BOO-OO-ooful Moon. + + +'Now then, fellow Athenians, chorush, chorush!' With an indescribable +medley of discordant howling the party broke into a series of 'Moon, +Moon, boo-oo-ooful Moon,' which came to an abrupt ending as the singer +fell back, apparently unconscious, in the arms of his friends. There +was a murmuring of voices, and a waiter was sent for some water to +revive the young man. + +Considerably disgusted at the ending to the incident, Selwyn, who had +turned to look towards the _cabinet particulier_, once more sought his +companion's eyes. + +Her face was white; there was not a vestige of colour in the cheeks. + +'Miss Durwent,' he gasped, 'you are not well.' + +'I am quite well,' she answered quickly, but her voice was weak and +quivering. 'I--I thought I recognised the singer's voice. That was +all.' + +The curtain of the _cabinet particulier_ was drawn aside, and two +youths in evening-dress emerged, supporting between them the +dishevelled singer, who was miserably drunk, and whose hat almost +completely obscured his right eye. They were followed by three girls +with untidy hair, whose flushed, rouged faces had been made grotesque +by clumsy dabs of powder. + +The singer's hat fell off, and Monsieur Beauchamp, who was hovering +about with the bill, had just stooped to recover it, when Selwyn heard, +a suppressed cry of pain from Elise Durwent. Thrusting her chair away +from her, she made for the emerging party, and halted them at the top +of the stairway. + +'Dick!' she said breathlessly. 'Dick!' + +The drunken youth raised his heavy eyelids and looked with bewildered +eyes at his sister. One of the girls tried to laugh, but there was +something in the insane lightness of his eyes and the agony of hers +that stifled the ribaldry in its birth. His face was as pale as hers, +a pallor that was accentuated by dark hair, matted impotently over his +forehead. But there was a careless, debonair charm about the fellow +that made him stand out apart from the other revellers. + +'Hello, sis!' he muttered, trying to pull himself together. 'My li'l +sister Elise--friends of mine here--forget their names, but jolly good +fellosh--and ladies too; nice li'l ladies'---- + +'Bravo, Durwent!' cried one of his friends, emitting a dismal howl of +encouragement. + +'Dick! Boy-blue!' The breathy intensity of her voice seemed to rouse +some latent manhood in her brother. He stiffened his shoulders and +threw off his two supporting friends--a manoeuvre which enabled +Monsieur Beauchamp to present his trifling bill to the more sober of +the two. 'Why aren't you at Cambridge?' + +'Advice of conshul,' he muttered. 'Refushe to answer.' He shook his +head solemnly from side to side. + +With a swift gesture she turned to the American. 'This is my brother,' +she said, 'and I know where his rooms are in town. If you will bring +my cloak, I'll get him to my car and take him home.' + +Selwyn nodded his understanding. He hardly knew what words he could +speak that might not hurt her. + +'Listen, Dick dear,' she said, stepping very close to him and taking +his hand in hers. 'Please don't say anything. Just come with me, and +I'll take you to your rooms.' + +Through the befuddled wits of the young fellow came the sound of the +voice that had dominated his childhood. He smelt the freshness of the +long grass in the Roselawn meadows; with his disordered imagination he +heard again the clattering of horses' hoofs on the country-road, and he +saw his sister with her copper-tinted hair flung to the breeze. With a +look of mixed wonder and pain in the yellowish blue of his eyes, he +allowed her to take his arm, and together they went slowly downstairs +and through the throng of diners craning their necks to see, while the +party he had left emitted snorts and howls of contempt. + +Selwyn reached the door in time to help the drunken youth into the car, +and then placed the cloak about Elise's shoulders. She put out her +hand. + +'Good-night,' she said. + +'But you will permit me to come?' he said. 'I could be of assistance.' + +'No--no,' she said tensely, 'please--I want to be alone with him. Have +no fear, Mr. Selwyn. Poor old Dick would do anything for me.' + +He held her hand in his. 'Miss Durwent,' he said, 'I cannot express +what I mean. But if this makes any difference at all, it is only that +I admire you infinitely more for'---- + +'No--please--please say nothing more,' she cried with a sound of pain +in her voice. + +'But may I come and see you again?' + +She withdrew her hand and pressed it against her brow. + +'Yes. I--I don't know. Good-night. Please don't say any more.' The +words ended in a choking, tearless sob. She stepped into the car, and +with no further sign to him threw in the clutch and started away. + +Huddled in the corner, his pale face glistening in the lamplight of the +street, the Honourable Richard Durwent lay in a drunken sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +INTERMEZZO. + +It was several months later--May 1914, to be precise--when Austin +Selwyn made the determination, common to most men, to remain in for an +evening and catch up in his correspondence. + +After the manner of his species, he produced a small army of letters +from various pockets, and spreading them in a heap on his desk, +proceeded to answer the more urgent, and postpone the less important to +a further occasion when conscience would again overcome indolence. For +an hour he wrote trivial politenesses to hostesses who had extended +hospitality or were going to do so; there was a reply to a literary +agent, one to a moving-picture concern, an answer to a critic, and a +note of thanks to an admirer. + +Having disposed of these sundry matters, he sat back in his chair and +read a long letter that had been enclosed in an envelope bearing the +postage-stamp of the United States of America. At its finish he +settled himself comfortably, lit a cigar, and, squaring his shoulders, +wrote a reply to the Reverend Edgerton Forbes, Rector of St. Giles' +Episcopal Church, Fifth Avenue, New York: + + +'LONDON, _May 12, 1914_. + +'MY DEAR EDGE,--I've been supplying your friend the Devil with all +sorts of cobblestones recently, but, my dear old boy, if I had written +you every time I intended to, you would have had no time to prepare +those knock-out sermons of yours. + +'In your letter you hint at possible heart entanglements for me. Has +it not been said that to a writer all women are "copy"? Even when he +falls in love, your author is so busy studying the symptoms that he +usually fails to inform the lady until she has eloped with some other +clown. + +'In fairness, however, I must admit that you were partly correct in +your surmise. I almost fell in love last November with a girl who +invariably angered me when I was with her, but clung to my mind next +day like an unfinished plot. I saw her quite frequently up to +February, when I went to the Continent, but have not called on her +since my return. + +'I met her first at her mother's town house, where there were several +people who admitted their greatness with an aplomb one was forced to +admire. This girl sort of sat there and said nothing, but her silence +had a good deal more in it than some of the talk. We had our first +chat that night by the fire, next morning went riding in Rotten Row, +and had dinner together the same night. Fast travelling, you say? On +paper, yes; but actually I don't know the girl any better now than the +night I met her. She's a strange creature--self-willed, fiery, sweet, +and sometimes as clever as your Ancient Adversary. But friendship with +her makes me think of the days when I was a kid. My great hobby was +building sky-scrapers with blocks, and very laboriously I would erect +the structure up to the point when "feeding-time" or "washing-time" or +"being shown to the minister" used always to intervene. When I +returned, the blocks had always fallen down. Well, friendship with +Elise (pretty name, isn't it?) is not unlike my experience with the +blocks. You can leave her, firmly convinced that at last you are on a +basis of real understanding; and two or three days later, when you meet +her again, you find all the blocks lying around in disorder. Instead +of a friend, one is an esteemed acquaintance. The only way to win her, +I suppose, would be to call at dawn and stay until midnight. It would +be a bit trying, but I get awfully "fed up" (as they say over here) +with being constantly recalled to the barrier. + +'Of course, you old humbug, I can see you pursing your lips and saying, +"Does Austin really love her? If he did, he would be unable to see her +faults." It's an exploded theory that love is blind. Good heavens! if +a man in love can see in a girl beauty which doesn't exist, is there +any reason to suppose he will be unable to see the faults that _do_? + +'But, candidly, I don't think I am in love with this young lady. I +might be if I were given half a chance; but, then, emotional icebergs +were always my specialty. I meet a dozen girls who treat me with a +tender cordiality that is touching; then there comes into my course one +who expresses a sort of friendly indifference, and there I stay +scorching my wings or freezing my toes--whichever figure of speech you +prefer. + +'She makes me think of a painting sometimes, one that changes in +appearance with the varying lights and shadows of the sky. But, Edge, +given the exact light that her beauty needs, she is a masterpiece. In +some strange way her personality has given me a new pleasure in Corot +and Diaz. It is difficult to explain, but it is so. I feel my powers +of description are inadequate really to picture Elise to you. She is +truly feminine, and yet when she is with other women her unique gift of +personality makes them _merely_ feminine. "Lordy, Lordy," as a nigger +of mine used to say, "dis am becomin' abtuse." + +'As a matter of fact, the girl is a result of conflicting elements of +heredity. I haven't met her father, but I gather that he is a good old +Tory of blameless respectability, and has a deep-seated disbelief in +evolution. On the other hand, the girl's mother is rather a buxom and +florid descendant of a vigorous North of England family, the former +members of which, with the exception of her father, were highly +esteemed smugglers. The lady's grandfather, Elise tells me, was known +as "Gentleman Joe," and was as adventurous a cut-throat as a small +boy's imagination could desire. + +'Well, Mr. Parson, you can imagine what happened when these conflicting +elements of heredity were brought together. In the language of +science, there was one negative result and two positive. The first +mentioned is a son Malcolm, whom I have not met. He has a commission +in the cavalry, is a devil at billiards, can't read a map, and rides +like a Centaur. + +'Of the positive results it seems to me I may have already mentioned +one--Elise. The other is Richard, the tragedy of the family. Poor +Dick was practically kicked out of Eton for drunkenness when he was +about sixteen. For the past year or so he has been at Cambridge, but +he got in with a bad set there, and after several warnings has been +"sent down"--or, in ordinary language, expelled. It appears that the +old combination of "booze" and women got the better of him, though +there's something oddly fine about the fellow too. He was hitting an +awful pace at Cambridge, and when he tried to pass off a fourth-rate +chorus-girl as the Duchess of Turveydrop, the axe descended. As the +masquerading duchess was rather noisy and very "elevated," you can see +that there must have been complications. + +'Of course, his governor was furious, and, settling a very small +allowance on the poor beggar, turned him out of the family home, and +forbade him to ever darken, &c., &c. (see, split infinitive and all, +any "best seller" of a few years back). + +'Does this seem at all incongruous to you? These so-called aristocrats +bring a son into existence, and, providing he's a decent-living, +rule-abiding chap, he is sheltered from the world and kept for the +enriching of their own hot-house of respectability. But--if one of +them upsets the ash-can and otherwise messes up the family escutcheon, +the father says, "You have disgraced our traditions. Get thee hence +into the cold, outside world. After this you belong to it." + +'Damned generous of paterfamilias, isn't it? Only, as one of the cold, +outside world, I can't help wondering why, if Milord is going to keep +his good apples for himself, we should have to accept the rotten ones. + +'Concerning Cambridge--I spent a weekend there recently with Doug +Watson of Boston, who is taking Engineering. Cambridge is quite a +little community, as separate from the rest of England as the Channel +Islands. On the Saturday evening I was there Watson took a punt, and +with considerable dexterity piloted me along the Cam, with its green +velvet banks and overhanging trees. The river is an exquisite thing, +and there was a sensuous drowsiness in the beauty of the hour before +dark. + +'The lawns from the backs of the colleges slope down to the river, and +as we passed along we noticed group after group of students drinking +coffee made in percolators in their possession. There was something +almost pastoral in the sight of those young Britishers in such complete +repose. Perhaps I should have enjoyed it all without question if it +had not been that, a week before, I had visited a poor little +Nonconformist preacher who labours on an empty stomach to a little +congregation in a chain-making district. Edge, the sights I saw there +were not good for any man to see and remain quiet. Women work at the +fires when pregnant, and fuddle themselves with beer at night; the men +are a shiftless lot, who spend their lives hand-in-hand with poverty +and think only of beer, "baccy," and loafing. You know I'm no +prohibitionist, but I hate to see beer the goal of men's ambitions. In +one school there was a class with forty "backward" children. That's +the kinder word, Edge, but the real one is "imbecile." Think of +it--forty human destinies that must be lived out to a finish! They +tell me that conditions are improving there. I hope so, in Heaven's +name. + +'It was that visit I had in mind when punting along the Cam. A man is +a fool to pit his little mind against so vast and wonderful an edifice +as a great university like Cambridge, but one thought which occurred +more than once to me was whether or not a man can be considered +educated if he be ignorant of human misery existing beyond the college +gates. In the Scottish universities the Professor of Latin is called +Professor of Humanity. I wonder, Edge, if the time is not ripe for a +chair of Humanity in a wider sense in all universities. + +'On Sunday we went to one of the churches, and, with eleven others, +managed to present a formidable congregation of thirteen. The +preacher's prayer, which he read, was a superb piece of work. He +started off with the King and the Royal Family, passed on to titled and +landed gentry, after them the higher orders of the clergy, leaders of +the navy, the army, and all those in more or less authority, then the +lower orders of the clergy, and after several categories I have +forgotten, he reached the commoners, and (in an appropriate tone of +voice) hoped we should live in peace, one with another. + +'Think of it, Edge, in this enlightened age! I wanted to go up to him +after the service and ask him why he had left out the minor poets, but +Doug stopped me--which is perhaps just as well. He might have added a +prayer for Americans after the commoners. + +'Sometimes I think that the English Church is losing its grip. I don't +mean that snobbery of the kind I have described is common, but in the +development of Church character it seems to me that the truth of +Christ's birth into a humble walk of life is drifting steadily farther +from the clerical consciousness. The timid snobbery which permeates so +much of English life, and reaches its wretched climax in the terms +"working class" and "lower classes," finds condonement in the ranks of +the clergy. Even in its humorous aspect, when Mrs. Retired Naval +Officer starts to swank it over Mrs. Retired Army Officer (senior +service, deah boy, y'know), and so on down the line, the local rector +too often takes an active part in seeing that the various grades are +punctiliously preserved. Of course, there are glorious exceptions to +all this, and they are the men who count. + +'I suppose at home we are just as bad, and that even so democratic a +preacher as yourself doesn't take supper on Sunday night with the +poorest parishioner. Perhaps living in a strange country makes a man +see many things he would not notice in his own. + +'To finish with Cambridge--we joined a party of two large punts on +Sunday afternoon, and with about twelve college chaps and local +(approved) girls we went for a picnic up the river. The girls were +fairly pretty and terrifically energetic, insisting upon doing an equal +share in the punting, and managing to look graceful while they +manoeuvred the punts, which were really fair-sized barges. And when we +reached the picnic-place, they made all the preparations, and waited on +us as if we were royal invalids. Bless their hearts! Edge, to restore +a man's natural vanity, commend me to life in England. Coming home we +played the gramophone, and, with appropriate flirtation, floated nearly +the whole way to the holding of hands and the hearing of music. + +'And, theologian as you are, if you deny the charm of that combination, +I renounce you utterly. + +'Just one more Cambridge thought. (This letter has as many false +endings as one of your sermons.) There were quite a number of native +students from India in attendance, and I noticed that these men, many +of them striking-looking fellows, were left pretty much to themselves. +The English answer when spoken to, and offer that well-bred tolerance +exerted by them so easily, but the Indian student must feel that he is +not admitted on a footing of equality. I'm not certain that the dark +races can be admitted as equals; but what effect on India will it have +if these fellows are educated, then sent back with resentment +fermenting their knowledge into sedition? It may be another case where +the Englishman is instinctively right in his racial psychology; or, +again, it may be a further example of his dislike to look facts +squarely in the face. + +'Of course, we have our own racial problem, and have hardly made such a +success of it that we can afford to offer advice. + +'Well, Edge, this letter has run on to too great a length to permit of +any European treatment. That will have to wait. Of course, I have +paid several visits to Paris, and understand as never before the +saying: "Every man loves two countries--his own and France." + +'Edge, why is it that people who travel always have the worst +characteristics of their nationality? On the Continent one sees +Englishmen wearing clothes that I swear are never to be seen in +England, and their women so often appear angular and semi-masculine, +whereas at home--but, then, you know what an admirer I am of English +women. And our own people are worse. Tell me: at home, when a +gentleman talks to you, does he keep his cigar in his mouth and merely +resonate through his nose? Or is that a mannerism acquired through +travelling? + +'But enough, old boy. This has covered too vast an acreage of thought +already. Oh yes--about my writing. I have been doing very little +recently, but can feel the tide rising to that point where it will of +necessity overflow the confines of my lethargy. I have had the honour +of meeting several of the foremost writers here, and there is no +question about it, they are doing excellent work. But I wish that I +could feel a little more idealism in their work. The whole country +here is parched for the lack of Heaven's moisture of idealism. People +must have an objective in their lives, and the Arts should combine with +the Church in creating it. + +'Of course, there is an amazing amount of drivel written over here, +most of which, I think, would never get past the office-boy of an +American publication. The English short story and the English +music-hall are things to be avoided. + +'Before I end, have you seen Gerard Van Derwater recently? I heard +that he joined the diplomatic service at Washington after leaving +college. I often think of him with his strange pallor, but suggestion +of brooding strength. Did it ever strike you that every one respected +him, and yet he really never had a close friend? It always seemed to +me that he carried about with him a sense of impending tragedy. Find +out what he is doing, and let me know. + +'Well, old boy, in another few months I shall pack up and return to +America, and once more woo the elusive editor. I am looking forward to +our sitting by your fireside and, through the cloud of tobacco-smoke, +weaving again our old romances. I am really proud of you, Edgerton, +and know that you must be a tremendous power for good. + +'A letter any time addressed c/o The Royal Automobile Club, Pall Mall, +will find me.--As ever, your old chum, + +'AUSTIN SELWYN.' + + + * * * * * * + +The writer addressed an envelope, inserted the letter, sealed and +stamped it, then yawned lazily. Gathering his outgoing correspondence +and the old letters, he took his hat and sauntered into the street, +conscious of having done his duty--also that he had unearthed some +thoughts the existence of which he had not suspected beneath the +surface shrubbery of everyday existence. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A HOUSE-PARTY AT ROSELAWN. + + +I. + +As is the habit of the year, June followed May, and in its turn gave +way to the yellow hours of July. Lady Durwent, wearying of London and +its triumphs, returned to Roselawn to share the solitary, rural reign +of her husband. + +As she drove in a sumptuous car through the village and into the wide +confines of the estate she purred with contentment. Men doffed their +caps, women curtsied, and the country-side mingled its smile with +theirs. It was not unlike the return of a conqueror from a campaign +abroad, and after the incognito forced by London on all but the most +journalised duchesses, it was distinctly pleasant to be acknowledged by +every one she passed. + +In this most amiable of moods she dined with her husband, and was so +vivacious that, looking at her over his glass of port, he thought how +little she had changed since, years before, she had first affected his +subnormal pulse. Together they wandered over the lawns, and he showed +the improvements wrought since her last visit. She gave the +head-gardener the benefit of her unrestricted smile, and shed among all +the retainers a bountiful largesse of good-humour. + +Still noting the beauties of Roselawn, they discussed their children. +She learned that Malcolm was on leave from the --th Hussars, and was +golfing in, and yachting off, Scotland with scions of the Scottish +nobility. The mention of Dick brought a pang to her heart, and a cloud +that marred the serenity of her husband's brow. Lord Durwent regretted +the necessity of his actions, but the boy had proved himself a 'waster' +and a 'rotter.' He had been given every chance, and had persistently +disgraced the family name. If he would go to Canada or Australia, he +could have money for the passage; otherwise---- + +After that imperialistic pronouncement, Lord Durwent turned to more +congenial topics, and spoke of additions to the stables and +improvements to the church. His wife answered mechanically, and it was +many minutes before the heart-hunger for the blue-eyed Dick was lulled. +She said nothing, for the development of her sons' lives had long since +passed from her to a system, but in the seclusion of their country home +the domestic tragedy made a deeper inroad on her feelings than it had +done in London. + +It was perhaps not unnatural that they barely spoke of Elise at all. +She was visiting a county family in the north, and would be home in a +couple of days. As there was no immediate suitor on the horizon, what +more was there to be said of the daughter of the house? + +Next morning Lady Durwent was still amiable, but rather dull. The +following day she was frankly bored. On Sunday, during the sermon, she +planned a house-party; and so, in due course, invitations were issued, +and accepted or regretfully declined. She possessed sufficient sense +of the fitness of things to refrain from transplanting any of her +_unusual_ varieties from their native soil, but asked only those +persons whose family connections ensured a proper tone to the affair. + +Perhaps it was just a kindly thought on her part to ask Austin Selwyn. +It may have been the desire of having an author to lend an exotic touch +to the gathering. Or, being a woman, she may have wanted an American +to see her at the head of the table in two widely different settings. + +Perhaps it was all three motives. + + +II. + +In preparation for the arrival of guests, 'a certain liveliness' +pervaded the tranquil atmosphere of Roselawn. The tennis-court was +rolled and marked; fishing-tackle was inspected and repaired; in view +of the possibility of dancing, the piano was tuned; bridge deficiencies +were made good at the local stationer's; and gardeners and gamekeepers +hurried about their tasks, while flapping game-birds signalled to +trembling trout that the enemy was mobilising for the yearly campaign. + +Roselawn differed little from the hundreds of English country-houses, +the seclusion and invulnerability of which have played so great a part +in forming the English character. A lodge at the entrance to the +estate supplied a medieval sense of challenge to the outside world, and +the beautifully kept hedges at the side of the mile-long carriage-drive +gave that feeling of retirement and emancipation from the world so much +desired by tranquil minds. + +It was the setting to produce a poet, or a race of Tories. Once within +the embracing solitude of Roselawn, the discordant jangling of common +people worrying about their long hours of work or the right to give +their offspring a decent chance in the world became a distant murmur, +no more unpleasant or menacing than the whang of a wasp outside the +window. + +Not that the inhabitants of Roselawn were any more callous or selfish +than others of their class, for the record of the Durwent family was by +no means devoid of kindly and knightly deeds. Tenantry lying ill were +always the recipients of studied thoughtfulness from the lord and lady +of the place, and servants who had served both long and faithfully +could look forward to a decent pension until death sent them to the +great equality of the next world. + +If one could trace the history of the Durwent family from the +beginning, it would be seen that among the victims of a hereditary +system there must be numbered many of the aristocracy themselves. +Caricaturists and satirists, who smear the many with the weaknesses of +the few, would have us believe that the son of a lord is no better than +the son of a fool; yet, if the vaults of some of the old families were +to unfold their century-hugged secrets, it would be seen that, as +Gray's country churchyard might hold some mute inglorious Milton, so +might these vaults hold the ashes of many a splendid brain ruined by +the genial absurdity of 'class' wherein it had been placed. A boy with +a title suspended over his head like the sword of Damocles may enter +life's arena armed with great aspirations and the power to bring a +depth of human understanding to earth's problems, but what chance has +he against the ring of antagonists who confront him? Flunkeyism, +'swank,' the timid worship of the peerage, the leprosy of social +hypocrisy, all sap his strength, as barnacles clinging to the keel of a +ship lessen her speed with each recurring voyage. + +It is not that the hereditary system injures directly; its crime lies +in what it engenders--the pestilence of snobbery, which poisons nearly +all who come into contact with it, titled and untitled, frocked and +unfrocked, washed and unwashed. The very servants create a comic-opera +set of rules for their below-stairs life, and the man who has butlered +for a lord, even if the latter be the greatest fool of his day, looks +with scorn upon the valet of some lesser fellow who, perchance, is +forced to make a living by his brains. + + +III. + +The house at Roselawn was large, and, with its ivy-covered exterior, +presented a spectacle of considerable beauty. The front was in the +form of a 'hollow square,' creating an imposing courtyard, and giving +the windows of the library and the drawing-room ample opportunity for +sunshine. From these windows there was a charming vista of well-kept +lawns, margined with gardens possessed of a hundred tones of exquisite +colour. At the back of the house the windows looked out on receding +meadows that melted into the solidarity of woods. + +The drawing-room (Lady Durwent tried to designate it 'the music-room,' +but the older name persisted) had all the conglomeration of contents +which is at once the charm and the drawback of English country homes. +Furniture of various periods indulged in mute and elegant warfare. +Scattered in graceful disorder about the room were relics procured by +an ancestor who had been to Japan; there was a Spanish bowl gathered by +Lord Dudley Durwent; there was an Italian tapestry, an Indian tomahawk, +a Chinese sword that had beheaded real Chinamen, all procured by Lord +Dingwall Durwent in the eighteenth century. There was a massive Louis +Seize table and a frail Louis Quinze chair; a slice of Chippendale +here, and a bit of Sheraton there; portraits of ancestors who fought at +Quebec, Waterloo, Sebastopol, and a very military-looking gentleman on +a terrific horse, who had done all his fighting in Pall Mall clubs. +There were 'oils' purchased by Durwents who liked to patronise the +arts, and 'waters' by Durwents who didn't like oils. + +And year after year, generation after generation, the ancient +drawing-room received its additional impedimenta without so much as a +creak of protest. + +In the impressive seclusion of Roselawn, therefore, the house-party +began to gather. They were an admirably assorted group of people who +never objected to being bored, providing it was accomplished in an +atmosphere of good breeding. The soothing balm of the Roselawn meadows +offered its potency of healing to fatigued minds or weary bodies, but, +like the fragrance of the unseen flower, it was wasted on the desert +air. Lady Durwent's guests had not been using either their brains or +their bodies to a point where honest fatigue would seek healing in the +perfume of clover. If a hundred gamins from Whitechapel's crowded +misery had been brought from London and let loose in summer's +sweet-scented prodigality, the incense of fields and flowers might have +brought sparkle to young eyes dull with the wretchedness of poverty, +and colour to pale, unnourished cheeks. But Lord and Lady Durwent, +denying themselves the luxury of such a treat, asked people who lived +in the country to come and enjoy the country. + +The pleasure of their guests was about as keen as would be that of a +party of bricklayers invited by a fellow-labourer to spend a Saturday +with him laying bricks. + + +IV. + +To the insatiable curiosity of Austin Selwyn the party presented an +infinite chance for study, as well as an unlooked-for opportunity to +meet Elise Durwent under circumstances which should either cement their +friendship or else demonstrate its utter impracticability. + +He listened to the chat of men who did the same things all the year +round with the same people, and he wondered a little at their +persistency in conversing at all. They rarely disagreed on anything, +partly because they were all of the same political faith, and it seemed +an understood thing that, so far as it was humanly possible, no one +would introduce any subject which would entail controversy. When +Selwyn, who was almost too thorough a believer in the productive powers +of fiction, used to drop conversational depth-bombs, they treated him +with easy tolerance as one who was entitled to his racial +peculiarities. Sometimes they would even put to sea clinging to the +raft of one of his ideas, but one by one would grow numb and drop off +into the waters of mental indifference. They had a nice sense of +satire, and it was a delight for the American to indulge in an easy, +inconsequential banter which was full of humour without being labelled +funny; but it used to fill him with sorrow to see many of his best +controversial subjects punctured by a lazily conceived play of words. +He felt that, coming from the New World, he was in a position to give +knowledge for knowledge, but his fellow-guests were impervious to his +geographical qualifications, and persisted in their pleasant task of +rolling vocabulary along the straight grooved channels of their +well-bred thoughts. + +The women were less of a type, but their little lives were so lacking +in horizon that they seemed to live in a perpetual atmosphere of +personalities. As pretty much the same topics of conversation did them +for a whole season, they were not unlike a travelling theatrical +company producing the one show wherever they went. One woman +occasioned some mirth to Selwyn by her familiarity with the obscure +royalties of Europe, whom she thrust forward on every possible +occasion. On dowager-duchesses and retired empresses she was without +parallel, and she went through life expressing perpetual regret that +she had not known you were going to Ruritania, because she would have +insisted upon your calling on her friend the Empress Lizajania. + +It was perhaps an unfortunate circumstance that had brought together a +group of women none of whom was artistically accomplished, although +they were by no means lacking in social charm. Music for them was not +a refreshing stream which ran by the road of everyday life, but +something which was to be heard at the Opera, and which enjoyed a close +alliance with sables and diamond tiaras. Pictures were of the Academy, +and, like all the best people, they invariably said, 'Have you seen +this year's show at Burlington House? My dear, it's frightful.' Nor +did they neglect literature in their curriculum. Though literature +lacks a yearly exhibition, such as is possessed by music and painting, +they made it a subject for gossip, and denounced H. G. Wells as a +'bounder.' 'I never read him, Mr. Selwyn,' said the obscure-royalist +person. 'My cousin the Duchess of Atwater met him, and says--well, +really, she says he's quite impossible.' + +With a mixture of wonder and amusement Selwyn watched the spectacle of +these people of more than average education and intelligence contenting +themselves with a perpetual routine of small-talk and genteel +insularity, and he wondered how it was that a race so gifted with the +blessed quality of humour could evolve a state of society offering such +a butt to the shafts of ridicule. + +He liked Lord Durwent, whose unfailing gentleness and courtesy would +have stamped him as a gentleman in any walk of life. Although his mind +was comparatively unimpressionable to new ideas, it was saturated with +the qualities of integrity and fairness, and in his attitude towards +every one of his guests there was an old-world dignity, born of the +respect in which he held both himself and them. The study of this man +moving contentedly about his daily tasks, never making any one's day +harder by reason of his passing that way, was the first jolt Selwyn had +received in his gathering arraignment against English social life. By +way of contrast he pictured certain successful gentlemen of his +acquaintance in America, and the vision was not flattering to his +national self-esteem. + +He also enjoyed the refreshing vitality of Lady Durwent, who never +quite lost her optimism no matter how tight was the grip of good form; +and he admired without stint the devotion of every one, regardless of +sex, to sport. Throughout the day there were constant expeditions that +necessitated long, invigorating hours in the open air; and it seemed to +the American that they were never so free from affectation, that the +comradeship between the men and the women was never so marked, as when +they were indulging their wise instinct for out-of-door sports. + +He had been at Roselawn a couple of days before he had a chance to do +more than observe Elise Durwent as one of the party. She had been his +partner at tennis and bridge, and a dozen times he had exchanged light +talk with her, but there was always about her the defensive shield of +impersonal cordiality. When he spoke to her it was almost in a drawl, +but no matter to what a lackadaisical level he reduced his voice, her +replies were always punctuated by a retort that had in it the sense of +sting, as Alfio in _Cavalleria Rusticana_ accompanies his song with the +crack of a driving-whip. + +He watched her with the men of the party, and wondered at their +good-natured endurance of her sharpness, as reckless as it was +disturbing; and he saw that her inclusion among the women made them +less at ease and disinclined to chatter. No matter what group she +joined, she was never of it; and even when it was obvious that she was +doing everything in her power to reduce her personality to the pitch of +the others, her individuality branded her as something apart. + +Studying her, partly subconsciously and partly with the keen +observation prompted by the attraction she held for him, Selwyn began +to feel the loneliness of the girl. Not once did he see the melting of +eyes which comes when one person finds close affinity in the +understanding of a friend. When she spoke at the table her suddenness +always left a silence in its wake. At bridge her moves were so +spasmodic that, when opposite dummy, she seemed to play the two cards +with a simultaneous movement. The same mannerisms were in her outdoor +games, a second service at tennis often following a faulty first so +rapidly that her opponent would sometimes be almost unaware that more +than one ball had been played. + +Selwyn's original feeling of exasperation mellowed to one of genuine +pity in contemplation of her solitary life--a life directed by a +restless energy that only grew in intensity with the deepening +realisation of her purposelessness. Yet she was so confident in her +bearing, and so capable of foiling with repartee any approach of his, +that he contented himself with a studied politeness that was no more +personal than the grief of an undertaker at a funeral. + + +V. + +One evening, after dressing for dinner, Selwyn found that he had +half-an-hour to fill in, and as the smell of grass was scenting the +air, he sauntered from the house and strolled across the lawn to a path +which led to the trout-stream. + +His mind was drowsy with a thousand half-formed ideas that lazily lay +in the pan of his brain waiting the reveille of thought. A skylark +twitted earth's creatures from its aerial height. A cow, munching in +endless meditation on its unfretful existence, emitted a philosophic +moo. + +Selwyn smiled, and let his mind wander listlessly through the fields of +his impressions. He thought of Britain, and wondered what there is in +the magic of that little island that fastens on one's heart-strings +even while the brain is pounding insistent criticism. For the first +time the insidious beauty of Roselawn's tranquillity was cloying the +energy of his mind--a mind that never gave him rest, but was always +questioning and seeking the truth in every phase of human endeavour. +The peacefulness of the twilight hour was lulling his mental faculties, +and the perfumes of summer's zenith were stirring his senses like music +of the Nile. + +As though he were picturing inhabitants of another world, he conjured +to his vision the feverish traffic of New York, deluged with human +beings belched from their million occupations into the glare of +lunch-hour. It gave him a strange sensation of being among the gods to +be able to look at the lowering sun and know that at the same moment it +held New York in the pitiless heat of midday. . . . And he wondered +dreamily why people lived such a mockery of existence as in its +towering streets. The pastoral atmosphere was so perfect, so +completely soothing in its cool fragrance of evening, that he thought +if he could only remain there, away from the conflict of the world, he +could write of such things as only poets dream and painters see. + +He had readied the stream, and was about to retrace his steps, when he +heard the rustle of a dress, and coming round a bend in the path he saw +Elise Durwent. She was in an evening gown that looked oddly exotic in +those surroundings, and, still in a haze of reverie, he stood in +perplexed silence until she stopped opposite him. + +'Have I interrupted the muse?' she said. + +'On the contrary, you have awakened it. I was just thinking how vivid +you looked with that setting of overhanging bushes and the background +of fields. I--I think it must have been your gown that gave such a +quaintly incongruous effect.' + +'And, of course, there is nothing incongruous in a dinner-jacket near a +trout-stream? If I were an artist I should paint you, and call the +picture "Despondency."' + +'Well,' he smiled, 'that would be an improvement on most Academy +titles. An ordinary artist would simply name it "Young Gentleman by +Trout-Stream." Haven't you often gone through a gallery picturing all +sorts of dramatic meanings in paintings, only to have your illusions +shattered by the catalogue?' + +She nodded. 'You have expressed no surprise at my coming,' she said +abruptly. 'Are women in the habit of tracking you in this way?' + +'I'm sorry,' he answered, lazily thrusting his hands into his pockets. +'As a matter of fact you are never very far from my thoughts. Perhaps +that is why I felt no surprise.' + +'How are you enjoying your visit?' + +'Tremendously.' + +'How do you like the guests?' + +'Is this a catechism, Miss Durwent?' + +She shrugged her shoulders and pulled a leaf from a bush. 'I was +wondering,' she said, 'whether they bored you as much as me.' + +'Why,' he said with a slight laugh, 'to be frank, people never bore me. +The moment they become tedious they are of interest to me as a study in +tediousness.' + +'Just the same,' she said quickly, 'as when a woman interests you she +becomes an object of analysis. I wish I could detach myself like that.' + +'And yet,' he said gently, wondering at the intensity of her eyes, 'I +should have thought you possessed the gift of detachment to a greater +degree than I. You always seem separate and distinct from your +associates.' + +She said nothing in reply, and as if by tacit agreement they started +back along the path. He did not break the silence, feeling that words +might be provocative of a retort that would dispel the growing feeling +of mutual confidence. + +'No,' she said, after a long pause, 'I do not possess the power of +detachment. It's just that I don't mix well. Have you read Robert +Service's poem about the men that don't fit in?' + +'Yes.' + +'Well, it's far worse for the women who don't. A man can go out and +try to find some place for himself. We have simply to stay and endure +things.' + +Half in compassion he watched her from the corner of his eye, but again +refrained from saying anything. He felt intuitively that she was +trying to break down the barrier of impersonality, but he knew that she +must do it in her own way of timid starts and quick withdrawals. + +Although her movements were more restricted by her gown than when she +wore ordinary walking-garments, her vitality and limitless energy lent +a lilt to her step, and even touched the shoulders with a suggestion of +restless virility. When she walked there was an imperious tilt to her +head; but no matter how carefully planned her toilette, or how cleverly +her coiffure might have been arranged by her maid, there was nearly +always some stray bit of colour or carelessly chosen flower that +combined with her nature in a suggestion of outlawry: the same instinct +of rebellion that had dominated her brother Dick during their +childhood. Inside the house she would sometimes look, in her quickly +changing moods, as if she were some creature of Nature imprisoned +within the walls. + +Selwyn wondered if heredity, in one of its strange jests, had recalled +the spirit of the smuggler ancestor and recast it into the soul of the +girl. + +They were nearing the house, when, emerging upon a clearing, they came +to a rustic bench looking across a short field lined with shrubbery. + +'Let us sit down a minute,' she said. 'We can hear the dinner-gong +from here.' + +He took his seat beside her, and dreamily watched the yellow rays of +the sun casting their receding tints along the bushes opposite them. +It was strangely quiet, and the hum of insects seemed like a soft +orchestral accompaniment to the crickets' song. + +'It is not very sporting of me, Mr. Selwyn,' she said softly, but with +her old staccato mannerism, 'to force my mood on you like this. I did +it once before--that dreadful night at the Café Rouge--and I know that +you must think it is just selfishness on my part that makes me so +unhappy. But--you know I never had a real friend--except little +Dick--and I felt to-night as if I had lost all my courage about life. +That's why I followed you. I knew you would be patient and kind.' + +'My dear girl,' said Selwyn gently, speaking almost listlessly for fear +the smouldering power of retort should be fanned into being, 'for +months I have been hoping that some day we should be able to talk like +this, as friends. Perhaps it was my fault, but there always seemed a +sort of third-person-singular attitude in our talk, as if we were +speaking at each other, which served to block our friendship from +becoming anything of value to each other. Naturally I have seen that +you are not happy, though there have been moments when you were the +very personification of light-hearted ness, and I have known for a long +time that the motif of your whole nature is resentment. Believe me, +Miss Durwent, if I could be a friend--and I mean that to the last +ditch--I should be deeply grateful for the privilege.' + +'Thanks,' she said simply, and placing her hand in his, let it remain +there. + +The hot blood of his impressionable nature mounted to his cheeks, and +his heart was aflame with a sudden intoxication of desire. But +chivalry told him how much it had cost this girl, whose whole being +rebelled at the thought of being physically conquered, to show such a +mark of confidence. And reason warned him that any triumph he might +obtain would be only for the moment. He watched the flight of a hawk +in the sky--and his lips were parched and hot. + +'For a long time,' she said, 'I have had a growing sensation of +suffocation in life. It's stifling me. When I look ahead and see +nothing but this kind of life--visiting, visiting, entertaining, +entertaining, listening to that endless talk in London--well, I think I +understand why some women go to the devil. At least there's something +genuine about sin.' + +A rabbit leaped from a bush opposite as though it bad seen something +terrifying, and scampered madly across the field to some burrowed +refuge by a great oak. Selwyn felt the hand in his tighten +convulsively. + +'Look!' she cried. 'Austin--look!' + +Her face blanched with sudden alarm. He sprang to his feet. + +'What is it?' he cried. + +'The bush--there--where the rabbit darted out.' + +He looked at the spot indicated by her trembling hand, but the +dwindling sunlight had just passed it, and he could see nothing but a +clump of shrubbery. + +'It was a man,' she said, her voice shaking querulously. 'I saw his +face. He was crouching there and watching us.' + +Selwyn frowned. 'Some poacher fellow,' he said, 'that's all. At any +rate, I'll make sure.' + +He started for the bush, when, with a tearful laugh, she stopped him, +her hands clinging to his arm. + +'No--no,' she said swiftly, 'it's nothing. It was just my nerves. +There is no one there. The rabbit startled me.' + +He hesitated momentarily, then, turning to her, gripped her arms with +his hands. A great feeling of pity for the high-strung girl welled up +in him, and he wished that it were possible to impart some of his own +strength to her. 'Elise,' he began hoarsely, his whole being in a +cloud of passion through which his brain slashed its lightning shafts +of warning--'Elise'---- + +The hall gong, growing in a clamant intensity, rang out on the quiet +air. With the lightness of a fawn she released herself from his grip, +and gathering her skirts in her hand, moved towards the path. 'Come +along,' she cried; 'we shall be late for dinner.' + +He followed her slowly, his hands in his pockets and his mind besieged +with countless thoughts. As he crossed the lawn he looked up. + +From a window in the tower of Roselawn there was shining an angry, +blood-red reflection of the sun's dying moments. + + +VI. + +It was a few minutes after midnight when the party at Roselawn retired +to their rooms. There had been an impromptu dance, following some +spirited bridge, and there was more than the usual chaffing and +laughter as the guests dispersed to the various wings of the house. + +Tired with the many events of the day, the American quickly undressed, +and soothed by the comfort of cool sheets, lay in that relaxation of +mind and body which prefaces the panacea of sleep. With half-closed +eyes and drowsy semi-consciousness he heard the sounds of life growing +less and less in the roomy passages of Roselawn, as his mind lingered +over the burning memory of Elise's proximity a few hours before. He +felt again the perfume of her hair and the radiant freshness of her +womanhood, with its inexplicable sense of spring-time. And memory, +with its power of exquisite torture, recalled to his mind the +questioning eyes and the trembling, beckoning lips. + +The soft chime of a clock downstairs sounded the passing of another +hour. Its murmuring echo died to a silence unbroken by any sound save +that of the summer breeze playing about the eaves and towers of the +house. + +Minutes passed. His thoughts blurred into the gathering shadows of +sleep. + +Of a sudden he was awake, his eyes staring into the dark, his whole +body nervously, acutely, on the alert. He had heard a cry--of a +nightjar--but so strange and eerie that it made him hold his breath. + +The call was repeated. An owl answered with a creepy cry of alarm. +Selwyn muttered impatiently at the trick played upon him by his nerves, +and turning over, was about to settle again to slumber, when he heard a +door softly opening. Light footsteps passed in the hall, stopping at +each creaking board as though suspicious that some one might hear; then +their sound was lost in the thick carpet of the stairway. + +For a minute there was complete silence. He heard from below the +cautious opening of the side-door leading to the lawn. + +Wondering what mischief was on foot, he rose from his bed, and peering +through the window, tried to penetrate the gloom. A sullen sky kept +the stars imprisoned behind deep banks of clouds, and only the trees, +by reason of their solid blackness, were discernible in the darkness of +the night. Slipping on a dressing-gown, he stealthily left his room, +and creeping downstairs, found the open door. Emerging on the lawn, he +looked quickly about. + +Beneath a near-by tree he saw a woman in white, and the figure of a man +pleading for something. Suddenly Selwyn saw the woman take some +article from around her neck and hand it to the man. The fellow took +it, and seemed to be turning away, when, with a suppressed sob, she +caught him in her arms, murmuring incoherent endearments through her +tears. + +The black scudding clouds left the sky-clear for a moment overhead--and +Selwyn felt a contraction of pain in his heart. + +The woman was Elise, and the man--her brother Dick. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +GATHERING SHADOWS. + + +I. + +Breakfast at Roselawn was a studiously inconsequential meal. Places +were set as usual by the servants, but the viands and the paraphernalia +necessary for their preparation were placed on a separate table in the +alcove by the great window overlooking the lawn. Having performed this +duty, the servants did nothing more; but one could not help feeling +that they were just outside the door, like a group of prompters, ready +to render instantaneous assistance should the amateurs falter. + +Lord Durwent made a kindly and efficient supervisor of the commissariat +table, and--there was no question of it--could boil an egg with any one +in the county. And the guests plying between the source of supply and +the breakfast-table proper created a vagabondish camping-out air of +geniality that did much to dispel the natural stiffness of the morning +intercourse. As the meal had no formal opening, every one arrived at +any time during the breakfast period, and though constant apologies +were offered for the frequent interruptions to Lord Durwent's own meal, +it could be seen that his enjoyment of buffet proprietorship was almost +a professional one. + +Lady Durwent's part in the function was to supervise the coffee, and +ask each guest how he or she had slept, expressing regret that the +night had not been cooler, warmer, calmer, or fresher, according to the +polite customs of social dialogue at breakfast. + +At nine-fifteen the papers used to arrive from the village, always +causing a flutter of excitement. The sense of solitude at Roselawn +made the outside world something so remote and apart that there was +genuine curiosity to discover what the deuce it had been doing with +itself during the house-party's retreat. + +Lord Durwent read the _Morning Post_ as a sort of 'prairie oyster' or +'bromo-seltzer.' It settled him. There was something about that +journal's editorial page and its dignified treatment of events that +made Roselawn seem the embodiment of British principle. Being a man +who prided himself on a catholicity of view-point, he also subscribed +to the _Daily Mail_--that frivolous young thing that has as many +editions as a _débutante_ has frocks, and by its super-delicate +apparatus at Carmelite House can detect a popular clamour before it is +louder than a kitten's miaow. + +As a concession to the ladies of the household, he took, in addition, +the _Daily Sketch_ and the _Daily Mirror_, those two energetic +illustrated papers, which, benefiting from the remarkable geographical +fact that every place of consequence in England is exactly two hours +from London, are able to offer photos of riders in Rotten How, bathers +at Brighton, rowers at Oxford, and foreign monarchs walking at Windsor, +the very morning after all these remarkable persons have astonished the +world by riding, bathing, rowing, or walking. + +But to Lord Durwent these papers and the _Daily Mail_ were but +interludes. The _Morning Post_ was the real business of life, and +after reading through its solid columns of type, he enjoyed the +sensation of somehow having done something for his country. + + +II. + +It was just before the arrival of the morning papers that Selwyn +descended to the dining-room. Helping himself to porridge, he answered +Lady Durwent's polite conventional questions. + +'And _how_ did you sleep?' asked his hostess, putting into the inquiry +that artistic personal touch which made it seem as if this were the +first time she had asked the question, and he the first guest to whom +it had been propounded. + +'Lady Durwent,' he answered, smiling, 'I haven't the faintest idea.' + +'Then,' said his hostess, triumphantly explaining the obvious, 'you +must have slept well.' + +Selwyn thought that when he answered Lady Durwent's query a quick look +of relief had passed across the face of Elise. It was for her peace of +mind he had lied, as into the hours of dawn he had lain awake, trying +to unravel the meaning of the nocturnal scene. He knew that her +prodigal brother had been forbidden the ancestral home, but it was +hardly necessary that he should lie in hiding like a negro slave +dreading the hounds upon his track. And yet, as he recalled the sudden +glimpse of Dick's face, Selwyn remembered that there had been a hunted +look in the dark-shadowed, luminous eyes. Vaguely he felt that this +new development would hinder the understanding reached by Elise and +himself during the evening. If only he could go to her and offer his +help or solace; or if she would come to him frankly and let him share +the unhappy secret, whatever it was, it might prove a bond of +comradeship instead of another element to deepen her consciousness of +aloofness. + +Still churning these various thoughts, he smiled his greetings to her, +and affecting an easy unconcern, took his part in the fashionable +agricultural conversation which marks the morning intercourse of +country-living gentle-folk. If it had not been that the pigs mentioned +were Lord Fitz-Guff's, and the cabbages Lady Dingworthy's--and the +accents of the speakers beyond question--Selwyn could have imagined +that he was sitting around Hank Myer's stove in Doanville, N.Y., +listening to the gossip of the local Doanvillians on earth's produce. + +'Ah,' said Lord Durwent, sighting a messenger from over the egg-timer, +'here are the papers.' + +Directly afterwards the butler entered with the four morning journals, +solemnly presented them to his master (with a little more dignity than +a Foreign Minister displays in handing the ambassador of an enemy +country his passports), then made his exit with his eyes sedately +raised, to avoid noting more than was necessary of the 'behind-stage' +aspect of his domain. + +'Hello!' said Lord Durwent, perusing the _Morning Post_; 'what's this? +Austria has delivered an ultimatum to Servia.' + +'What!' cried one of the ladies; 'over that unpronounceable +assassination?' + +'Dear me!' said the woman who kept record of retired royalties, 'that +will upset my dear friend Empress----' + +But her voice was lost in the clamour, as every one, deserting +breakfast, crowded about Lord Durwent, and half in jest demanded to +know what the ramshackle empire had to say for itself. + +In a voice that grew tremulous with anger, the host read the details, +point by point, and as the seriousness of the thing broke upon the +hearers, even the very lightest tongues were for the moment stilled. + +With a frown the nobleman looked up as he reached the end of the +ultimatum, in which one nation, for its pride, demanded that another +should hand over its honour, debased and shackled. + +'It is infamous,' said Lord Durwent. + +'I tell you what,' said a bland youth named Maynard, who was always in +high spirits at breakfast, bored at lunch, 'frightfully bucked' by a +cup of tea at four, and invariably sentimental after dinner; 'it would +do these nasty little Balkans a lot of good to hold 'em all under water +for about three minutes--what?' + +'But this is more than a Balkan quarrel,' said Lord Durwent. + +'Balkan quarrels always are,' said the youth amiably. + +In a chorus of quick questions and answers, in which surmise and +conjecture played ducks and drakes with fact, the party divided into +two camps, the majority taking the stand that it was a local affair and +would lead to nothing; the minority, led by a retired army captain +called Fensome, reading a dark augury for the future. In the midst of +all the chaffing Selwyn noticed, however, that the placidity of decorum +had been dropped, and both men and women were leaning forward in the +unaccustomed stimulus of their brains rallying to meet a new and +powerful situation. + +The men did not lose that note of easy banter which seemed the rule +when women were present, but in the faces of the little group who +contended that danger was ahead he could detect the stiffening of the +jaw and the steadying of the eye which come to those who see events +riding towards them with the threat of a prairie fire driven by a wind. + +'But, good heavens!' said Selwyn, in answer to some one's prophecy that +war would result, 'surely the big nations can stop it. Germany and you +and America--we three won't let Austria cut Servia's throat in full +daylight.' + +The retired army captain turned a monocle on him. 'You have been in +Germany, Mr. Selwyn?' + +'Yes, just recently.' + +'Did you ever hear them toasting _Der Tag_? My friend, it has +arrived.--Durwent, old boy, if you will excuse me, I think I shall go +to town at noon. If my old bones aren't lying, the thing which a few +of us fossils have been preaching to deaf ears has come to pass, and +there may be a job for a belivered old devil like me yet.' + +'But,' cried Lady Durwent, whose easily roused theatrical instinct gave +her the delightful sensation of presiding at a meeting of the Cabinet, +'what have we to do with Austria and Servia?' + +'Hear, hear,' said the bland youth. 'Let 'em hop aboard each other if +they like. I think it would be deucedly splendid for us to have +another war; we're all fed up--aren't we?--with just enjoying +ourselves. But I don't see how we can intrude into those blighters' +little show.' + +'Exactly,' said Selwyn; 'it's an isolated incident in European affairs. +In what possible way can it lead to a rupture between Britain and +Germany, as Captain Fensome here predicts?' + +The officer referred to shrugged his shoulders. 'It's fairly simple,' +he said. 'If, as I think, Germany is behind all this, Servia will +appeal to Russia; and remember that the Great Bear is mother to all the +Slavs. There will, of course, be jockeying for position, bluff, +bravado, and all the rest of it; but France is bound to act with +Russia, and with all that explosive hanging around it will be strange +if some spark doesn't fall among it.' + +'But what has that to do with England?' + +'Nothing and everything. The greatest hope of maintaining peace lies +with Great Britain. If we had the army we should have, I don't think +there would be a war; but, thanks to our ostrich temperament, we are +reduced to a handful of men and our action is robbed of everything but +merely moral strength.' + +'But that is a tremendous factor,' said Selwyn. + +'Yes,' admitted the other dryly; 'but I prefer guns.' + +'Then you don't think Britain powerful enough to steady the situation +if it comes?' + +'N-no. Not unless'---- The monocle dropped from the speaker's eye, +and with annoying coolness he paused to replace it. 'Do you think +America will swallow her doctrine and throw in her lot with us?' + +Selwyn bit his lip to keep himself from too impetuous an answer. For +the first time he felt an envy for the cool imperturbability of the +Island Race. + +'If you ask me,' he said, 'whether America will plunge into war at the +bidding of a group of diplomats who shuffle the nations like a pack of +cards, then I say no. If you older nations over here allow this thing +to come to a crisis with a rattling of swords and "_Hock der Kaiser!_" +and "Britannia Rules the Waves," count us out. But should the occasion +arise when palpable injustice is being done, and the soul of Britain +calls to the soul of America that Right must be maintained, then the +Republic that was born--if you will permit me to say so--born out of +its resentment against injustice will act instantly.' + +'Supposing,' said the other, 'that Germany invades Belgium?' + +'But--I understand that Germany has guaranteed Belgium's neutrality.' + +The ex-officer showed no signs of having heard him, but shook his head +impatiently as one does when annoyed by a fly. 'Supposing,' he +repeated, 'that Germany invades Belgium.' + +'In that case,' said Selwyn sternly, 'America will be the first to +protest.' + +'To protest?' + +'And fight,' said the American, swallowing a desire to hurl a plate at +the monocle. + +'You will pardon me,' said Lord Durwent, 'but I do not think we can +expect America to become mixed up in this thing. She has her own +problems of the New World, and it is too much to hope that she is going +to come over here and become embroiled in a European conflict.' + +'But, dad,' said Elise Durwent, speaking for the first time, 'if, as +Mr. Selwyn says, it is clear that a wrong is being committed, America +will insist upon acting.' + +'Oh, I don't know,' broke in the youth who was always lively at +breakfast, but who was beginning to be bored; 'it's one thing to get +waxy about your own corns, and quite another when they're on some other +blighter's foot--what? I mean, you chaps over there got awfully hot +under the collar when dear old Georgius Rex--Heaven rest his +soul!--tried to jump down your throat with both spurs on and gallop +your little tum-tums out. But the question is, does it hurt in the +same place if old Frankie-Joseph of Austria pinks Thingmabob of Servia +underneath the fifth rib--what, what?' + +'Is Britain great enough for such a situation?' asked Selwyn, +repressing a smile. 'Would she accept Belgium's crisis as her own?' + +'Oh, that's another thing,' said the young man a little uncomfortably. +'We've signed the bally thing, and of course we'll play the game, +and'---- + +'As Maynard says,' interrupted the former army man, 'it's a bigger +thing for America than for us. Mind you, I don't say we need America +to help us to make war, but we do need her help if war is to be +averted; and any move of such a nature on her part demands what you +author fellows would call "a high degree of altruism." How's that, +Durwent, for a chap who never reads anything but the _Pink Un_?' + +'Oh, well,' said Lady Durwent complacently, 'it's probably all a storm +in a teacup, anyway. Some Austrian diplomat has been jilted for a +Servian, I suppose. Isn't that the way wars always happen?' and she +sighed heavily, recalling to her mind the classic features of H. +Stackton Dunckley. + +'That's what I say,' said the bright youth of the morning splendour. +'Why make a horse cross a bridge if it won't drink? Here goes--heads, +a European war; tails, another thousand years of peace.--Ah, tough +luck, Fensome, old son; it's tails.' + +'Then let's begin the thousand years with some tennis,' cried Elise, +whose eyes were sparkling, 'immediately after breakfast.' + +'Shall us? Let's,' cried the talkative Maynard. 'So lay on, +comrades--the victuals are waiting--and "damned be he that first cries, +'Hold, enough!"' + + +III. + +With an animated burst of chatter the house-party had given itself over +to a thorough enjoyment of the remainder of breakfast. Ultimatums and +the alarums of war vanished into thin air, like mists dispelled by the +sun. The serious face of the ex-officer and the unwonted air of +distraction on Lord Durwent's countenance were the only indications +that the morning was different from any other. Tongues and hearts were +light, and airy bubbles of badinage were blown into space for the +delectation of all who cared to look. + +It was during a fashionable monologue of the Court-Circular lady that +Maynard, the man of moods, who was sitting next to Selwyn, leaned over +and whispered, 'Get hold of the _Sketch_. It's on your right. Pretend +you're looking at the pictures. I've got the _Mirror_.' + +Wondering what asinine prank was in the young man's mind, but not +wanting to disturb the monologuist by untimely controversy, Selwyn +reached for the _Sketch_, and assumed a deep interest in the very +latest picture of London's very latest stage favourite who could +neither sing, dance, nor act, and was tremendously popular. + +'Excuse me, Lady Durwent,' said the gilded youth when a lull permitted +him to speak, 'but would you pass the _Daily Mail_, please?' + +'My dear Horace,' said Elise, 'you haven't taken to reading the _Mail_?' + +'No, dear one. Heaven forbid! I merely write for it.' + +'What!' There was an _ensemble_ of astonishment. + +'Ra-ther. I sent their contributed page a scholarly little thing from +my pen entitled "Should One Kiss in the Park?" If it's in I get three +guineas, and I'm going to start for Fiji to escape old Fensome's war.' + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, passing the journal along, 'you have a +rival.' + +With an air of considerable embarrassment the fair-haired contributor +to newspapers opened the pages of the _Daily Mail_, but protesting that +he was too bashful to endure the gaze of the curious, he begged +permission to retire to the library, there to search in privacy for his +literary child. + +'I say, Selwyn,' he said, 'you come along too if you're through +pecking. Nothing like having the opinion of an expert, even if he is +jealous.' + +With a promise to return immediately and read the effort aloud, the two +men left the table and adjourned to the adjoining room. With a frown +of impatience Selwyn was about to demand the reason for his inclusion +in the silly affair, when the other stopped him with a gesture and +closed the door. + +'Quick!' he said. 'Grab that knife--here's the _Sketch_. Look through +it for anything about Dick Durwent.' + +Seeing that the other was serious, Selwyn spread the paper before him +and hurriedly searched its columns. + +'Great Scott!' he cried. 'Here it'---- + +'Sh-sh! Hurry up and cut it out. Right. I'll fix up the _Mirror_ in +the same way. Now skim through the _Mail_. Got it? By Jove! damn +near a whole column. Here'--Maynard ran the knife down the side of the +column. 'Now then, old Fensome has promised to get the thing out of +the _Post_, and to tell Lord Durwent before he goes to town. But he +mustn't hear of it this way, and those women are not to know a word +about it while they're in the house.' + +Selwyn nodded and looked at the ragged clippings in his hand: + + + 'ATTEMPTED MURDER IN WEST END.' + 'WELL-KNOWN NOBLEMAN ATTACKED BY PEER'S SON.' + 'QUARREL OVER DEMI-MONDAINE.' + + +'Gad, those are juicy lines, aren't they?' said Maynard. 'Won't some +of our worthy citizens lick their chops over them, and point to the +depravity of the upper classes? Do you know Dick Durwent?' + +'I have seen him a couple of times.' + +'Awfully decent chap. Screw loose, you know, and punishes his Scotch +no end, but a topping fellow underneath. I don't know who the bit of +fluff is that they're fighting about, but you can wager a quid to a bob +that Dick thought he was doing her a good turn.' + +'I wonder who the nobleman is.' + +'Can't say, I'm sure. Probably he can't either just now, seeing what +Durwent did to him. Of course, it's a rotten thing to say, but if the +blighter's really going to die, I hope he's one of the seventeen who +stand between me and the Earldom of Forth.' + +There was a knock at the door, and an inquiry regarding the newly +discovered author. + +'Coming,' called Maynard, reaching for the _Daily Mail_. 'Shove those +clippings in your pocket, Selwyn, and for the love of Allah help me to +select something here that I can pretend to have written. Fortunately +I can play the blithering idiot without much trouble.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE RENDING OF THE VEIL. + + +I. + +The house-party at Roselawn had hurriedly broken up, and only Selwyn +remained. In view of the scandal about Dick Durwent, although it was not +spoken of by any one, he felt that it would have been more delicate to +leave with the other guests. But it seemed as if the Durwents dreaded to +be alone. His presence gave an impersonal shield behind which they could +seek shelter from each other, and they urged him so earnestly to remain +that it would have been ungracious to refuse. + +It was the evening of August 4th, and the family circle, reduced to four, +had just finished dinner. There had been only one topic of +conversation--there could be but one. Britain had given Germany until +midnight (Central European time) to guarantee withdrawal from Belgium. + +After dinner the family adjourned for coffee to the living-room, and, as +was his custom, Lord Durwent proffered his guest a cigar. + +'No, thanks,' said Selwyn. 'If you will excuse me, I think I will do +without a smoke just now.--Lady Durwent, do you mind if I go to my room +for half-an-hour? There are one or two matters I must attend to.' + +Half-way up the stairs he changed his mind, and went out on the lawn +instead. Darkness was setting in with swiftly gathering shadows, and he +found the cool evening air a slight solace to a brow that was weary with +conflicting thoughts. + +America had not acted. There towards the west his great country lay +wrapped in ocean's aloofness. The pointed doubts of the ex-army captain +had been confirmed--America had stood aside. Well, why shouldn't she! +It was all very well, he argued, for Britain to pose as a protector of +Belgium, but she could not afford to do otherwise. It was simply +European politics all over again, and the very existence of America +depended on her complete isolation from the Old World. + +Yet Germany had sworn to observe Belgium's neutrality, and at that very +moment her guns were battering the little nation to bits. Was that just +a European affair, or did it amount to a world issue? + +If only Roosevelt were in power! . . . Who was this man Wilson, anyway? +Could anything good come out of Princeton? . . . In spite of himself, +Selwyn laughed to find how much of the Harvard tradition remained. + +If America had only spoken. If she had at least recorded her protest. +Supposing Germany won. . . . + +Supposing---- + +He kicked at a twig that lay in his path, and recalled the wonderful +regiments that he had seen march past the Kaiser only three months ago. +Who was going to stop that mighty empire? Effeminate France? Insular, +ease-loving England? + +Passing the stables, he started nervously at hearing his name spoken. + +'Good-evening, Mr. Selwyn. It's pleasant out o' doors, sir.' + +It was Mathews, the head-groom of the Durwents. + +'Yes,' said the American, pausing, 'very pleasant.' + +'It looks sort of as if we was going to 'ave some ditherin's wi' Germany, +Mr. Selwyn.' + +'It does. I don't see how war can be averted now.' + +'It's funny Mister Malcolm ain't 'ome yet, sir. Has 'is moberlizin' +orders came?' + +'There's a War Office telegram in the house. I suppose his instructions +are in it.' + +The groom shook his head and swung philosophically on his heels. He was +a broad-faced man of nearly fifty, with an honest simplicity of +countenance and manner engendered of long service where master and man +live in a relation of mutual confidence. He sucked meditatively at a +corn-cob pipe, and Selwyn, changing his mind about a cigar, produced a +case from his pocket. + +'Have one, Mathews?' he asked. + +'No, thank 'ee, sir. I'm a man o' easy-goin' 'abits, and likes me old +pipe and me old woman likewise, both being sim'lar and the same.' + +With which profound thought he drew a long breath of smoke and sent it on +the air, to follow his philosophy to whatever place words go to. + +'If Germany and us puts on the gloves,' ruminated Mathews, 'I'll be real +sorry Mas'r Dick ain't 'ere. He's a rare lad, 'e is--one o' the right +breed, and no argifyin' can prove contrariwise. I always was fond o' +Mas'r Dick, I was, since 'e was so high, and used to come in 'ere and ask +me to learn 'im how to swear proper like a groom. Ah, a fine lad 'e was; +and--criky!--'e were a lovely sight on a hoss. Mister Malcolm 'e's a +fine rider hisself, but just a little stiff to my fancy, conseckens o' +sittin' up on parade with them there Hussars o' hisn. But Mas'r Dick--he +were part o' the hoss, he were, likewise and sim'lar.' + +Selwyn nodded and smoked in silence. He was rather glad to have run into +the garrulous groom. The steady stream of inelegant English helped to +ease the torture of his mind. + +'Has milord said anything about the hosses, Mr. Selwyn?' + +'No. What do you mean?' + +'Nothing much, sir, excep' that it's just what you can expeck from a +gen'l'man like him. He comes in 'ere this arternoon and says to me, +"Mathews," he says, "if this 'ere war comes about it'll be a long one, +and make no mistake, so I estermate we'd better give the Government our +hosses right away, in course keepin' old Ned for to drive." Never +twigged an eyelash, he didn't. No, sir. Just up and tells it to me like +I'm a-doin' to you. "Then," I says, "you won't be wanting me no longer, +milord?" And he says, "Mathews, as long as there's a home for me, +there's one for you," and he clapped me on my shoulder likewise as if him +and me were ekals. It kind o' done me in, it did, what with the prospick +o' losin' my hosses--them as I'd raised since they was runnin' around +arter their mothers like young galathumpians--and what with his speakin' +so fair and kindly like. Well--criky!--I could ha' swore; I felt so bad.' + +'It will be a great loss for Lord Durwent to lose his stable.' + +'Ah, that it will. But this arternoon, arter what I'm a-tellin' you, he +just goes through with me and says, "Nell's lookin' pretty fit," or +"How's Prince's bad knee?" just as if nothink had happened at all. I +says to myself, "Milord, you're a thoroughbred, you are," for he makes me +think o' Mister Malcolm's bull-terrier, he do. Breed? That there dog +has a ancestry as would do credit to a Egyptian mummy. I've seen Mister +Malcolm take a whip arter the dog had got among the chickens or took a +bite out o' the game-keeper's leg, him never liking the game-keeper, +conseckens o' his being bow-legged and having a contrary dispersition, +and do you think that there dog would let a whimper out o' him? No, sir. +He would just turn his eye on Mister Malcolm and sorter say, "All right, +thrash away. I may hev my little weaknesses, but, thank Gord! I come of +a distinkished fam'ly."' + +They smoked in silence for a few minutes. + +'No, sir,' resumed the groom, pushing his hat back in order to scratch +his head, 'he never whimpered, did milord; but I saw when he got opposite +Mas'r Dick's old mare Princess that he felt kind o' bad, and he didn't +say much for the better part o' a minute. Mr. Selwyn, I'm a bit creaky +in my jints and ain't as frisky as I were, but I'd be werry much obliged +to be sent over to this 'ere war and see if I couldn't put a bullet or +two in some o' them there sausage-eaters.' + +'Well,' said the American moodily, 'you may get your chance.' + +'Thank 'ee, sir. I hope so, sir.' + +'Good-night, Mathews.' + +'Good-night, sir. Thank 'ee, sir.' + +Selwyn moved off into the network of shadows. Looking back once, he saw +the weather-beaten groom with hands on his hips, tilting himself to and +fro in benicotined enjoyment of some odd strain of philosophy. Good +heavens! was that the way men went to war,--as if it were a hunt with an +equal chance of being the hound or the hare? 'Sausage-eaters'--what a +phrase to describe those eagle-helmeted supermen of Prussia's cavalry! +And this little island of pipe-smoking, country-side philosophers and +pampered, sport-loving youth--this was the country, heart of a crumbling +empire, that had ordered the gray torrent of Germany to alter its course +and flow back to its own confines. It was absurd. It was grotesque. It +was a sporting thing to do, but would it mean the collapse of the +sprawling, disjointed British Empire, linked together by a flimsy +tradition of loyalty to the Crown? + +Scotland would be faithful, not so much to England as to her own +instincts. Even if England were the heart of things, Scotland was the +brain, and more than any other part supplied the driving-power for the +wheels of empire. But what of rebellious Ireland and the distant +Dominions isolated by the seas? Would they seize this moment of +Britain's mad impetuosity and declare for their own independence? It was +the history of nations--and did not history repeat itself? + +Canada, of course, would be governed in her actions by the mighty +neighbouring Republic. That was inevitable when the young Dominion's +life was so dominated by that of the United States. But what of the +others? . . . + +Thus for half-an-hour queried the man from America. He was about to turn +into the house, when he glanced once more in the direction of the +stables. It was too dark to distinguish anything, but there was the glow +from Mathews's pipe as it faintly lit the surrounding darkness. + + +II. + +Eleven o'clock. + +'Austin.' + +He had been sitting in the library talking to Lord Durwent, but the +latter had just left the room to answer a phone-call from London. Elise, +who had been playing the gramophone in the music-room, shut the +instrument off and hurried to the American's side. + +'Yes, Elise?' He tried to rise, but she pressed him back and sat on the +arm of the huge chair, looking down at him with a face that was glowing +with excitement. Her eyes were like jewels of fate lit from within by +some magic flame, and a mutinous lock of hair fell on the side of her +face, almost touching the crimson lips. There was so much magnetism in +her beauty, such a heaven in the unconquered warmth of her impetuous +being, that Selwyn gripped the arms of his chair to help to restrain the +mad impulse to grasp her in his arms and smother those lips and the +flushed, satin cheeks in a tempest of kisses. + +'Yes, Elise?' he repeated, clearing his throat. + +'Listen, Austin. I can't stay inside any longer. I think my blood is on +fire. Will you come with me to the village?' + +'At eleven o'clock?' + +'Yes. The news from London will reach the village first, and I want to +be there when it comes. We shall have to hurry if we are to make it in +time.' + +'I'm at your service, Elise.' + +'Right-o. I'll let the mater know. I'll just run upstairs and put +something easy on, and I'll meet you at the front of the house. You had +better change too.' + +A few minutes later she joined him on the lawn. They had just reached +the road which led to the porter's lodge, when, without a word of +warning, she grasped his hand, and, half-running, half-dancing, pulled +him forward at a rapid pace. With a laugh he joined in her mood, and, +running side by side, they sped along the drive, while startled rabbits +leaped across their path, and melancholy owls hooted disapprobation. As +if the fumes of madness had mounted even to the skies, dark flecks of +cloud raced headlong across the starry heavens. + +They were mad. The world was mad. He wondered whether his brain might +be playing some prank, and this absurd thing of two young people laughing +and running to discover whether or not a nation was at war would prove a +pointless jest of unsound imagination. + +'Come along,' she cried. 'You're dragging.' + +Then it wasn't a dream. The sound of her voice whipped the wandering +fantasies of his brain into coherency. With a shout he jumped forward, +and ran as he had not done since that one great game when, as a 'scrub,' +he had his chance against Yale. + +'Oh-oh-oh,' she laughed, 'I'm--winded.' + +He caught her up in his arms as if her weight were no more than a +child's, and carried her forward a hundred paces. His strength was +limitless. He felt as if his body would never again know the lassitude +of fatigue. + +His pulses were throbbing with double fever: that of the world and his +own hot love for her. Yes, it was love. What a fool he had been ever to +doubt it! His last thoughts at night were of her; the last word +whispered was her name; the last picture shrouded by the approaching +mists of sleep was of her face. What was morning but a sunlit moment +that meant Elise? What was the day, what were the years, what was life, +but one great moment to be lived for Elise--Elise? + +'Put me down, Austin. There! you'll be tired.' + +'Tired!' + +But her feet had touched the ground, and she was away again by herself, +like a tantalising sprite of the woods. The errant lock had been joined +in its mutiny by a wealth of dark-hued, auburn hair, blowing free in the +reckless summer breeze. + +Out of the estate and along the highway, shadowed by tall bushes; past +cottages hiding in snug retreat of vines and flowers; past the +cross-roads, with their sign-post standing like a gibbet waiting its +prize; past the inn on the outskirts of the village, with its creaking +sign, and its neighing horses in the stable; past the church on the rise +of the hill, with its graveyard and its ivy-covered steeple--and then the +village. + +Gathered in the square they could see a group of people listening to a +man who was reading something aloud. + +'It's the rector,' said Elise. 'Let us wait a minute. Can you hear what +he is saying?' + +The voice had stopped, and the crowd broke into a cheer that echoed +strangely on the night-air. It had hardly died away when a quavering, +high-pitched voice started 'God Save the King,' and with a sturdy +indifference to pitch the rest followed, the octogenarian who had begun +it sounding clear above the others as he half-whistled and half-sang the +anthem through his two remaining teeth. + +'That's old Hills!' cried Elise, laughing hysterically. 'He was at +Sebastopol.' + +The crowd was coming away. + +Some were boisterous, others silent. A girl was laughing, but there was +a strange look in her eyes. Bounding ahead in high appreciation of the +village's nocturnal behaviour, a nondescript hound was preceding an +elderly widow who was weeping quietly as with faltering step she clung to +the arm of her son, who was carrying himself with a new erectness. + +Behind them walked Mathews the groom, corn-cob pipe and all, shaking his +head argumentatively and squaring his shoulders. + +An Empire had declared war. + + +III. + +Elise entered the post-office to telephone the news to Roselawn, and +Selwyn was left alone. It was only for a few minutes, but in that brief +space of time his whole being underwent a vital crisis, which was not +only to change the course of his own life, but was to affect thousands +who would never meet him. + +The creative mind is ever elusive and unexpected in its workings. In it +the masculine and feminine temperaments are fused. It leaps to +conclusions--erroneous maybe, but sustained by the feminine conviction +that what is instinctive must be true. Selwyn's was essentially a +creative mind, prone to emotionalism and to inspiration. With men of his +type logic is largely retrogressive: the conclusion is reached first; the +reasons follow. + +A few days before his imagination had been strangely stirred by the +swiftness of thought which at twilight in England could visualise New +York at noon. Simple though the scientific explanation might be, it had +left him with a sense of detachment, almost as if he were on Olympus and +the world spread out below for him to gaze upon. + +That feeling now returned with redoubled force. + +The group of villagers had parted into many human fragments. He could +hear the hearty invitation of the innkeeper for all boon spirits to join +him, free of expense--and regardless of the liquor laws--in a pint of +bitter, to drink confusion to the enemy. But to Selwyn they seemed +creatures of another planet--or, rather, that he was the visitor in a +world of strange inhabitants. + +All the resentfulness of an idealist whose ancestry was steeped in +liberty of action rose to a fury at this unwarrantable interference of +war with the lives of men--a fury maddened by his feeling of utter +impotence. Was it possible, he argued, that a group of men drunk with +pomp and lust of conquest could wreck the whole fabric of civilisation? +What of science and education? Had they risen only to be the playthings +of madmen? What kind of a world was it that allowed such things? + +Was it possible, however, that this war was different from any other? +Granted that Austria had willed the crushing of Servia, and that Germany +was instigator of the crime--had not the rest of the world proved false +to their creeds by allowing the war-hunger of the Central Powers to +achieve its aim? Supposing France, Britain, America, and Italy had +joined in an immediate warning to Germany and Austria that if they did +not desist from their malpractices the area of their countries would be +declared a plague-spot, commercial intercourse with the outside world +would be brought to an end, and their citizens treated as lepers. If +that had been done, men could have gone on leading the lives to which +they had been called, and by sheer cumulative effect could have exerted a +moral pressure on the war-lust of Germany that would have been +irresistible. + +Yet, like a bull that sees red, the nations had rushed madly at each +other, thirsting to gore each other's vitals with their horns. Men of +peaceful vocations were at that very moment slaughtering their +brother-men. It was wrong--hideously wrong! + +And the charge of responsibility could not be laid at the door of those +idiots of Emperors. Their crime was evil enough, but the responsibility +for war was with the people who allowed themselves to be led to murder by +a mad, jingoistic patriotism. Supposing that when Europe was mobilising, +the people of Great Britain had sent a message to the Germans: 'Brothers, +justice must be done and malefactors punished. Fearing nothing but the +universal conscience, we refuse to fight with you, but demand in +humanity's name that you join with us in establishing the permanent +supremacy of Right.' Some such message as that coming from a Power +steeped in a great past would have been ashes to smother the smouldering +flames of world-war. + +But there was no machinery for such a thing. There was no method by +which the great heart of one country could speak with that of another. +Our obsolete diplomatic envoys, the errand-boys of international +politics, were mere artifices, tending to cement rather than to dispel +the mutual distrust of nations. What, then, stood in the way of +world-understanding? What was the cause of the blindness which permitted +men to be led like dumb cattle to the slaughter? + +_Ignorance_. + +That was the answer to it all. It was ignorance that kept a nation +unaware of its own highest destiny; it was ignorance that fomented +trouble among the peoples of the earth. Suffering, sickness, crime, +tyranny, war, were all growths whose roots were buried in ignorance and +sucked its vile nourishment. + +An impetuous wave of loyalty towards his own country swept over Austin +Selwyn at the thought. Other peoples had declared war on each other: +America by her silence had declared war on Ignorance. He felt a sudden +shame for his previous doubts. He saw clearly that his great +continent-country was a rock to which the other baffled, despairing +nations might cling when disaster overtook them. + +And as he was joined by Elise Durwent, the American swore an eternal oath +of vengeance against Ignorance. + + +IV. + +With her arm in his, their subdued voices trembling with the repression +of emotion, they retraced their steps. Back past the church with its +white gravestones so curiously peaceful in the midst of it all; past the +inn, jovial with light and the clamour of village oracles; past the +forge, with its lifeless fires a presage of things to come; past the +cross-roads, where the sign-post, silhouetted against the sky, seemed no +longer a gibbet, but a crucifix; past cottages stirring with unaccustomed +life, unconscious of the unbidden guest that was soon to knock with +ghostly fingers at almost every door. + +Along the quiet English lane they walked, but though the closeness of the +girl beside him was ministering to the senses, his mind remained so +clutched in the grip of thought that his head throbbed with pain with +each step of his foot jarring upon the road. + +They had reached the entrance to the estate and were nearing the house, +when his reverie was broken by the sound of a quivering breath and a +trembling of the hand on his arm. Like a conflagration that is already +out of control, his brain flared into further revolt with the stimulus of +a new resentment--he had not thought of woman's part in the thing. + +'Elise,' he cried, 'this is monstrous. It is only the vile selfishness +of men that makes it possible. They are not giving a thought to the +women, yet you are the real sufferers. Now I know what you meant when +you said that women don't have their place in the world. If they did, +this never could have happened; for their hearts would never permit the +men that are born of women to slaughter each other like bestial savages. +Now is the time for you to speak. This is the hour for your rebellion. +Let the whole world of women rise in a body and denounce this inhuman, +insufferable wrong. If your rebellion is ever to come, let it come now.' + +The hand on his arm was wrenched free, and Elise stood facing him with +fury in her eyes. + +'Are you mad, Mr. Selwyn? Or is this your idea of a joke?' + +He stared at her, dumbfounded. Her eyes were glowing, and her lips were +parched with the fever of the breath passing through them. + +'A joke?' he said. 'Great heavens! Do you think I would jest on such a +subject?' + +'But---- You mean that we women should organise, rise up, to hinder our +men from going to war?' + +'Doesn't your heart tell you how infamous war is?' + +'What does that matter?' + +'But, Elise,' he pleaded desperately, 'some one must be great enough to +rise to the new citizenship of the world even if martyrdom be the +condition of enrolment. It is far, far harder than snatching a musket +and sweeping on with the mob, but it is for people like you and me to +have the courage to try to stem this flood of ignorance, to stop this +butchery of women's hearts.' + +'Women's hearts!' She laughed hysterically. 'And you believe that you +understand women! Do you think war appals us? Do you think because we +may shed tears that it is from self-pity? Rubbish! There are thousands +of us to-night who could almost shout for joy.' + +'Elise!' + +'I mean it. Don't you see that to-night our whole life has been changed? +Men are going to die--horribly, cruelly--but they're going to play the +parts of men. Don't you understand what that means to us? _We're part +of it all_. It was the women who gave them birth. It was the women who +reared them, then lost them in ordinary life--and now it's all justified. +They can't go to war without us. We're partners at last. Do you think +women are afraid of war? Why, the glory of it is in our very blood.' + +'But,' cried Selwyn, 'you can't think what you are saying.' + +'I don't want to. All I know is that I could sing and dance and go mad +for the wonder of it all.' + +He took a step forward and grasped both her wrists in his hands. + +'Listen to me,' he said, his jaw stiffening as he spoke; 'some of us have +got to keep our sanity in this crisis. You know better than I, for you +have described it to me, that this country has been darkened with +ignorance just as Germany and the rest have been. This is the climax of +it all--and you're going to help it on, instead of having the courage to +take your stand. Elise, to-night I pledged my whole life to a crusade +against the darkness that men are forced to endure. It is going to be a +long fight, and perhaps a hopeless one, although some day, somehow, the +cause must win. And I need your inspiration. Oh, my dear, my dear, you +must know how much I love you. Every minute that you're away I'm hungry +for you. When we were together that evening by the stream I longed so to +take you in my arms that my heart ached with the repression I forced on +myself. I have known that there were a thousand difficulties in the way, +and I was not going to speak, but the other night when you met your +brother by the oak'---- + +'Oh! you were spying.' + +'It was an accident. I said nothing to you about it, but I thought that +perhaps you needed me a little, that it might be my privilege to share +your sorrow. And to-night, dear, I know that together we could work and +live, and be a tremendous power for good.' + +Her face, which had gone strangely pale, was darkened by a return of the +crimson flush. + +'Do you think I'd marry you,' she exclaimed scornfully--'a man who +counsels treason?' + +'I counsel loyalty to the higher citizenship.' + +'H'mm!' Her shoulders contracted, and forcing her wrists free of his +hands, she looked haughtily into his burning eyes. 'You had better go +back to America and tell them there of this ignorant little island whose +men are so crude and stupid that when the King calls they go to war.' + +'Elise'---- + +'I would rather marry the poorest groom in our stables than you. He +would at least be a man.' + +'I have not deserved this, Elise. God knows I am no more a coward than +other men, but I feel that I have seen a great truth which demands my +loyalty.' + +'It is easier to be loyal to a truth than to a country.' + +'You know you are wrong when you say that. Come--we are both unnerved +to-night. Perhaps I was injudicious to speak at a time when I should +have known that you would be overwrought, but I could not keep back the +love which you must have read'---- + +'Please, Mr. Selwyn, you must never mention that again. I don't want to +marry you. I don't want to marry any one. I always said that a women's +rebellion would come, and I feel in my blood that it has started +to-night. I don't know how, or when, or where, but I am going to join it +and'---- + +'Then you agree with me?' he cried eagerly. 'You feel that the women of +this country should rise, and try to prevent this catastrophe?' + +'You fool,' she said, half in pity, but with a sneer; 'you poor blind +American! Yes, there's going to be a revolution against conventions, +Society, customs, morality, for all I know. They're all going overboard. +We've hoisted the black flag to-night, but with one, and only one, +object--to help Britain and the men of Britain to fight!' + + * * * * * * + +And the British Fleet, at the King's command, was steaming out into the +night. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE HONOURABLE MALCOLM DURWENT STARTS ON A JOURNEY. + + +I. + +An early morning mist hung over the fields of Roselawn. From his nest in +the branches of a tree, a bird chirruped dubiously, as though to assure +himself even against his better judgment that the rain was only a threat. +The woods which bordered the meadows were blurred into a foreboding, +formless black, like a fringe of mourning, and the distant hills stood +sentinels at the sepulchre of nature. + +Flowers, rearing their lovely necks for the first caress of the sun, +drooped disconsolately, their petals like the lips of a maid who has +waited in vain for the coming of her lover. Cattle in the fields moved +restlessly from one spot to another, finding the grass sour and +unpalatable. Through the damp-charged air the melancholy plaint of a +single cow sounded like the warning of rocks on a foggy coast. + +In the air which was unstirred by a breath of wind the very buildings of +Roselawn seemed strangely motionless, with their roofs glistening in +their covering of moisture. And through an archway of trees the distant +spire of the church on the hill rose above the mist as a symbol held +aloft by some smoke-shrouded martyr of the past. + +A hound with apologetic tail came stealthily from the house and made for +the cover of the stables. A horse rattled its headstall and pawed the +flooring with a restless hoof. + +With a feeling of chill in the air, Selwyn rose at seven, and dressing +himself quickly, left the house for a walk before breakfast. His body +was fatigued from the long vigil of the mind which had kept at bay all +but a short hour of sleep, but he felt the necessity of exercise, as +though in the striding of limbs his torturing thoughts might lessen their +thumbscrew grip. + +His feet grew heavy in the thick dew of the grass, as he plunged across +the fields to a path which led through the woods, where squirrels, +coquetting with the intruder, dared him to follow to the summit of the +oaks. + +Heedless of the morning's melancholy, yet unconsciously soothed by its +calm solace, he went briskly forward, and his blood, sluggish from +inaction, leaped through his veins and coloured the shadowed pallor of +his face with a glow of warmth. + +He had lost her. + +That was the dominant note of his thoughts. What a jest the Fates had +prepared for him that the very moment when the incoherencies of his life +were crystallised by a great flash of truth--the very moment when he had +felt the overwhelming impulse to consecrate his life in a crusade against +Ignorance--that same instant should witness the snapping of the silk +threads of his love! + +How scornful she had been--as if he were something unclean, too low a +thing for her to touch! This girl, whom he had pitied for her +loneliness--this woman who had ridiculed the life of England and declared +that it was stifling her--had said that the glory of war was in her +blood. She had called him a fool because he dared to say that carnage +was wrong. He had thought her an advanced thinker; she was a reactionary +of the most pronounced type. + +A feeling of fury whipped his pulses. Confound her and her unbridled +tongue! What a fool he had been to woo her! One might as well try to +coax a wild horse into submission. She would have to be conquered; she +should be brought into subjugation by the stronger will of a man, for +only through surrender would she achieve her own happiness. At present +she resented equally the conquering of herself physically and mentally. +For her own sake she must be taught the perversion of her outlook on life. + +And Austin Selwyn, the idealist, little thought that he was applying to +Elise Durwent the same philosophy as Prussia was applying to Europe. + +But of one thing he was certain--much as he loved her (and at the thought +his heart grew heavy with longing), his words on war had not been the +idle declaimings of a sophist. There was a higher citizenship; the world +was wrong to allow this war; and ignorance was the foe of mankind. + +He would not withdraw from that platform. Duty was not something from +which a man could step lightly aside. All his writings, all his +thoughts, all his half-worked-out philosophies had been but training for +this great moment. And now that it had come he would not prove renegade. + +He would write with the language of inspiration. The agony of Man would +be his spur, so that neither fatigue nor indifference could impede his +labours. With the tears of the world he would pen such works that people +everywhere would see the beacon-light of truth, and by it steer their +troubled course. + +Five miles he covered in little more than an hour, and with the returning +sense of strength his purpose grew in firmness. + +The call of the Universal Mind had penetrated through the labyrinth of +life as the sound of the hunting-horn through leafy woods. There must be +millions, he knew, who were of that great unison, kept from _ensemble_ by +the absence of co-ordination, by the lack of self-expression. It might +not be for him to do more than help to light the torch, but, once lit, it +would burst into flame, and the man to carry it would then come forward, +as he had always done since ages immemorial when a world-crisis called +for a world-man. + +A sudden weakness crept into his blood. He was nearing home, and in a +few minutes would see her again. If only he could have left the previous +night on some pretext--but now he would have to wait until the afternoon +at least. How strange it was to think of losing her! How wedded his +subconscious thoughts had been to living out the future with her as his +revelation of Heaven's poetry! Would he have the courage to maintain his +purpose, or, at the sight of her, would he throw himself at her feet, +and, admitting failure, plead for mercy to the vanquished? + +No. A thousand times no. Anything but that. + +Reaching the clearing in the woods, he paused as the ivy-covered towers +of Roselawn were presented to his gaze. With a characteristic working of +his shoulders he drew himself to his full height, and his jaws and lips +were set in implacable determination. + +The mist still clung to the earth, but over the north-east tower of +Roselawn he could see the sun, monstrous and red, looming with its sullen +threat of heat. + + +II. + +It was nearing the end of a breakfast that had been trying for every one. +Lord Durwent's usual kindly affability was overcast by a fresh worry--the +non-appearance of his son Malcolm. Four telegrams had been despatched to +Scotland, but no answer had come. Elise had been gay and talkative with +a forced vivacity; and Lady Durwent had been bordering on hysteria. Not +that the dear lady was of sufficient depth to be profoundly moved by the +world's tragedy, but her unsatisfied sense of the dramatic gave her a new +thrill every time she said, 'WE ARE AT WAR--THINK OF IT!' as if she were +afraid that without her reminder they might forget the fact. + +Selwyn sat in almost complete silence, merely acknowledging Lady +Durwent's proclamations of a state of war by appropriate acquiescence, +but his eyes remained fixed on the table. He could not trust them to +look at Elise for fear they should prove traitor and sue for an ignoble +peace. As for her, she met the situation with a smile, using woman's +instinct of protection to assume a cloak behind which her real feelings +were concealed. + +They had just risen from the table, when the sound of a motor-car was +heard in the courtyard, and Elise hurried to the window. + +'It's Malcolm, dad,' she said. + +More in hysteria than ever, Lady Durwent hurried from the room, followed +more slowly by her husband and her daughter, and greeting the Honourable +Malcolm at the door, smothered him in a melodramatic embrace. + +'My dear, brave Malcolm,' she cried. + +With as good grace as possible the young man submitted to the maternal +endearments, disengaging her arms as soon as he decently could. + +'Where's the governor?' he asked. 'Ah, there you are.--Hello, +Elise!--I'm frightfully sorry, pater,' he went on, shaking hands with +Lord Durwent and patting his sister on the shoulder, 'about those +telegrams of yours, but we were on M'Gregor's yacht miles from nowhere, +and didn't even know the dear old war was on until a fishing-johnny told +us. Are my orders here?' + +'Yes,' answered Lord Durwent; 'there are two telegrams for you. One came +last night, and one this morning. I will just go into the library and +fetch them.' + +'But, Malcolm,' said Lady Durwent, 'let me introduce our guest, Mr. +Selwyn of New York. + +The young Englishman smiled with rather an attractive air of +embarrassment. 'I'm frightfully sorry,' he said amiably, proffering his +hand, 'I didn't see you there. Have you had any kind of a time? It's +rather a bore being inland in the summer, don't you think?' + +'I have enjoyed myself very much,' said the American, 'in spite of the +tragic end to my visit.' + +'Eh,' said the Honourable Malcolm, startled by the seriousness of the +other's voice, 'what's that? Ah yes--you mean the war. Excuse me if I +look at these, won't you?--Thanks, pater.' + +'WE ARE AT WAR----THINK OF IT!' cried Lady Durwent in a gust of emotion, +assuming the duties of a Greek chorus while her son examined the +telegrams brought by her husband. + +'Well, well!' said the cavalry lieutenant, reading the first message, +which was signed by the adjutant of his regiment; 'dear old Agitato. How +he does love sending out those sweet little things: "Leave cancelled; +return at once"! Ah, my word! "Secret and Confidential"--good old War +Office. What a rag they'll have now running their pet little regiments +all over the world! Humph! By Jove! we're to move to-morrow. Good +work! Let me see, pater. What train can I catch to town? I must throw +a few things together'--he looked at his watch--'but I'll be in heaps of +time for the 11.50. The Agitato always has a late lunch and never drinks +less than three glasses of port, so I'll throw myself on his full stomach +and squeal for mercy for being late. I say, pater, do come up while I +toss a few unnecessaries into my case.--That's right, Brown; put my bag +in my room. And, Brown, you might put some vaseline on those golf-clubs. +I sha'n't be wanting them for some little time.--Come along, +pater.--Excuse me, Mr.--Mr.'---- + +'SELWYN,' cried Lady Durwent. + +'Mr. Selwyn, I'll see you later, eh?' + +'The old nobleman ascended the stairs with his son, and the agreeable +chatter of the younger man, with its references to 'topping sport' and +'absolutely ripping weather,' came to an end as they disappeared along +the western wing of the house. Lady Durwent, wiping her eyes, went into +the library, and Selwyn, who was not particularly enamoured of solitude +and its attending tyranny of thoughts, followed her. + +Elise, who had stood in mute contemplation of her brother, neither +addressing a remark nor being addressed, hesitated momentarily, then went +into the drawing-room by herself and closed the door. + +'Oh, Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, breathing heavily, 'you have no idea +what a mother's feelings are at a time like this.' + +'I can only sympathise most sincerely,' said the American gravely. + +'He has been such a good boy,' she said vaguely, 'and so devoted to his +mother.' + +'I can see that, Lady Durwent.' + +'I shall never forget,' she went on, her own words creating a deliciously +dramatic trembling in her bosom, 'how he wept when his father insisted +upon his leaving home for school. It was all I could do to console the +child; and when he came home for the holidays he was just my shadow.' + +At that satisfactory thought (though Selwyn was a little puzzled at the +picture of the diminutive Malcolm serving as a shadow for Lady Durwent's +bulk) she expanded into a smile, but immediately corrected the error with +a burst of unrestrained grief. + +'THINK OF IT, MR. SELWYN,' she cried, reversing the formula--'WE ARE AT +WAR!' + +He murmured assent. 'I am afraid, Lady Durwent,' he said, 'that I must +return to London this afternoon.' + +'Oh, Mr. Selwyn!' + +'Yes, I must. I have a great deal of work before me, and only the +cordiality of your welcome and the pleasure I have felt in being here +would have allowed me to stay so long. You have been wonderfully kind, +and perhaps the fact that I was here when war broke out will lend a +special significance to our friendship for the future.' + +'Oh, I shall never forget you,' murmured his hostess, whose emotions were +so near the surface that almost any remark was sufficient to tap them. +'You have been the truest of friends, and Elise is so fond of you.' + +'I am very fond of Elise,' blurted Selwyn, feeling his cheeks grow red. +'Her companionship and inspiration were something'---- + +'Ye-es.' An instinct of caution plugged the emotional channel. Lady +Durwent saw that she had been indiscreet. It was not in her plan of +things that her daughter should become enamoured of a commoner. Selwyn +was all very well for company, and no doubt his books were very good, but +Elise Durwent would have to marry in her own station of life. + +'You feel that you must go this afternoon?' said the Ironmonger's +daughter dismally, but with an inflection that made it more a reminder +than a question. + +'Yes, Lady Durwent,' he answered, with a cynical smile creeping into his +lips, which seemed thin and almost cruel. 'I shall catch the 3.50.' + +'Then you must come again and see us sometime, Mr. Selwyn,' she said, +with that vagueness of date used by polite persons when they don't mean a +thing. Lady Durwent rose with great dignity. 'Will you excuse me, Mr. +Selwyn? I always meet my housekeeper at ten to discuss domestic matters. +Elise is somewhere around. Is it too damp for tennis?' + +She paused at the door. She had to. It is one of the traditions of the +stage that a player must stop at the exit and utter one compelling, +terrific sentence. + +'WE ARE AT WAR,' she cried--'TH'---- + +'Think of it!' he said maliciously, bowing and closing the door after her. + + +III. + +Going to his room, Selwyn packed his own bags, dispensing with the +services of the valet, and with more than one sigh of regret glanced +about at the luxury which he was soon to quit. The great bed with its +snowy billows of comfort; the reading-lamp on the little table with the +motley collection of books borrowed from the library with the very best +intentions--books which had hardly been opened before sleep would +obliterate everything from his sight; that merry picture of the two +medieval enthusiasts playing chess, and those jolly Dickensian paintings +of huntsmen at luncheon with grinning waiters and ubiquitous dogs. What +a charm they all had! What a merry little spot England had been in those +good old days! + +A ray of sunshine stole through the curtains as if it were not quite sure +of its welcome, and shyly rested against the farthest wall of the room. +With an exclamation of pleasure Selwyn threw open the window and looked +out upon the lawns. + +The sun had won its battle, and the countryside was cleared of the +invading mist, which was ingloriously retreating to its own territory +behind the distant hills. There was a sparkle in the air, and the rich +colourings of the flowers vied with each other in Beauty's quarrel. The +birds flew from tree to tree, singing their paean of the sun's victory, +and a light summer breeze was scattering perfume over the earth. + +As a sick man emerging from a fever, Selwyn let the refreshing vigour of +the morning lave his temples with its potency. Looking towards the +stables, he saw Mathews, the groom, come out of his domain to cast an +approving glance on Nature's performance. Selwyn decided that he would +go and say good-bye to the fellow. There was something both sturdy and +picturesque about him, and the American presumed that even the head-groom +of the Durwents would not be averse to a ten-shilling gratuity. He +therefore left his room, and reaching the lawn, strolled over to the +stables. + +'Good-morning, Mr. Selwyn,' said the groom cheerily, touching his +forehead in a semi-nautical greeting. + +'Good-day, Mathews. How are all your family this morning?' + +'Meaning the hosses, sir, or opposite-like, my old mare and her colt? +Likewise and sim'lar, and no disrespeck meant, meaning my old woman and +little Wellington.' + +'Well,' Selwyn smiled at the worthy man's ramifications, 'I did mean the +horses, but I am even more anxious to know how Mrs. Mathews is.' + +'She's a-bloomin', Mr. Selwyn, she is. When I sees 'er t' other night +dancin' at the village, I says to myself, "Criky! If she hain't got a +action like a young filly!" Real proud I was of 'er, and 'er being no +two-year-old neither, but opposite-wise free of the rheumatiz, as is +getting into my withers like.' + +'And how is--did you say his name was Wellington?' + +'That's 'is 'andle, Mr. Selwyn, conseckens o' 'is being born with the +largest nose I ever sees on a hoffspring o' his age. He's only four year +and a little better, but--criky!--if 'e ain't the knowingest little colt +as ever I raised! When my old woman gives 'im 'is bath 'e goes "Hiss-ss, +hiss-ss," just like a proper groom rubbin' down a hoss. But 'e's a +hunfeeling wretch, 'e is, for when I goes 'ome arter feedin'-time o' +nights, and thinks I'll just smoke a quiet pipe, 'e ups and says, +"Lincoln Steeplechase, guv'nor, and I'm a-riding you." And there he has +everything around the room--'is little table and chairs and toy pianner, +and I've got to jump over 'em on my 'ands and knees with that there +wicious scoundrel a-sitting on my neck and yelling, "Come on, you d--d +old slow-coach! Wot did I give you them oats for?" Now I puts it to +you, Mr. Selwyn, if a himp as makes 'is fayther jump over a toy pianner +is the kind o' child as is like to be a comfort to a feller in 'is old +age.' + +With which harrowing query the groom slapped his pipe on his heel and +blew violently through it to try to disguise his gratification at the +paternal reminiscence. + +'I don't think I've seen all the horses,' said Selwyn. 'Can you spare a +few minutes to show them to me?' + +'Wi' all the pleasure in life, sir. Come in, sir. I know it ain't +becomin' o' me for to boast,' said the groom as they entered the +building, 'but if there's a better stable o' hosses than them there, then +my name ain't Mathews, nor is my Christian names William John neither. +There ain't many in England as knows a hoss quicker 'an me, Mr. Selwyn, +though I says it that shouldn't ought to, but I knows a hoss just as soon +as I sets eyes on 'im. Milord, 'e's just a small bit better, though +likewise and sim'lar we usually thinks exac'ly the same. Only once we +disergreed on a hoss. I says it were wicious, and 'e said as 'ow it +weren't. So we bought it.' + +'And who was right?' + +'Well, sir, I sort of estermate as 'ow 'e was, for just arter we got 'im +Mas'r Dick, who ain't afraid o' any beast as walks on four legs, took 'im +out for a airing. Well, sir, that hoss--powerful brute 'e were, with a +eye like Sin--goes along like as if 'e 'adn't a evil thought in 'is 'ead; +but all on a sudden 'e comes to a ditch, and sort o' rolls Mas'r Dick +into it, and bungs 'is 'ead against a stone.' + +'Then he was vicious, after all?' + +'No, sir--that's the extr'ord'nary part of it. He comes right back to +the stables to me and pulls up short. I goes up and looks into that +there sinful eye. "You hulk o' misery," I says; "you willainous son of a +abandoned sire!" You know, sir, I always likes to make a hoss feel real +bad by telling him what's what, for they got intelligence. Mr. Selwyn, I +should say, by Criky! a 'uman being ain't in the same stall as a hoss for +intelligence.' + +'I think you may be right,' said Selwyn decisively. + +'May be? There ain't no doubt about it nowise.' + +'And what happened to your horse?' + +'Ah yes, sir. Well, sir, I gets on 'im, and pullin' 'is face around by +'is ear, I give 'im another look in 'is sinful eye. "Where's Mas'r +Dick?" I says. And--criky!--off 'e goes, lickerty-split, like as if we +was entered for the Derby, and, sure enough, 'e stops right at the ditch +where Mas'r Dick was a-lying all peaceful and muddy like a stiff un. +Well, sir, I gets off and lifts 'im up, and then mounts be'ind 'im, and +that there hoss 'e never moved until I tells 'im, and then 'e goes home +so smooth-like that a old lady could 'ave rid 'im and done 'er knitting +sim'lar. And arter that 'e were as gentle as a lamb, 'e were--and there +'e is right afore your eyes, Mr. Selwyn. He's a old hoss now, and ain't +much to look on, but every morning when I comes in 'e takes a look with +that there bad eye o' hisn and says, just like I says to 'im that day, +"Where's Mas'r Dick?" I sometimes feels so sorry for the old feller that +I swears something horrible just to cheer 'im up.' + +With considerable interest, though with a certain doubt as to the strict +authenticity of the narrative, the American looked at the horse, which, +after a melancholy survey of the visitors, vented its grief in an attempt +to bite a large-sized slice from the neck of a neighbour. + +'Nah, then, you ---- ---- ----,' remarked Mathews unfeelingly, catching +the old beast a resounding thump on the rump with a stick he carried. +'That'll learn you, you old hulk o' misery.' + +'There's a beautiful mare, said the American, pausing at the stall of a +superb charger whose graceful limbs and shapely neck spoke of speed and +spirit. + +'Ah! Now that there is a beauty and no mistake. She's got the spirit of +a young pup, but is as amiable and sweet-tempered as a angel. She's +Mister Malcolm's hunter, she is, and 'is favourite in the whole stables. +He never rides anything but 'er to hounds; leastways, 'e never did but +once, and then Nell--that's 'er name--Nell was took so sick with frettin' +that she kicked a groom as 'ad come to feed 'er clean across the floor +agin' that there far wall. Never I see a feller so put out as that there +groom--never. Well, sir, she wouldn't let no one come nigh 'er, and just +as we was thinkin' as 'ow we'd 'ave to forcible-feed 'er, in comes Mister +Malcolm. She 'ears 'im, but don't make no sign, and just as 'e comes up +close she lets fling 'er 'eels at 'is 'ead. But 'e was watchin' for it, +and just says "Nellie" kind o' sorrowful and reproachful, sim'lar to the +prodigal son returnin' to 'is aged fayther. Well, sir, the mare she just +gives in at the knees and rubbed 'er nose agin' 'im, and says just as +plain as Scripter that she was real sorry, and 'oped 'e 'd forget it as +one gen'l'man to a lady.' + +With sundry anecdotes of a like nature, Mathews guided the visitor past +the long line of stalls, whose inhabitants kept their stately heads +turned to gratify the insatiable curiosity of the equine. To the weary +mind of the American there was an agreeable balm in the groom's fund of +anecdote, and even in the odoriferousness of the stable itself. + +Reaching the end of that line, Mathews proposed that before they went any +farther they should go to an adjoining shed and inspect a litter of +little hounds that were blinking in amazement at their second day's view +of the world. From a near-by kennel there was the discordant yelping of +a dozen hounds, and between the two places a kitten was performing its +toilet with arrogant indifference to the canine threat. + +They were just about to retrace their steps, when Selwyn felt Mathews's +hand on his arm. + +'Sh-sh!' the groom whispered. 'There's Mister Malcolm a-come to say +good-bye to Nellie. I knew 'e would, sir. She'd ha' fretted 'er heart +out if 'e hadn't.' + + +IV. + +Selwyn looked down the stable, and in the dull light he saw the Hussar +officer standing in the stall by the mare, crooning some endearing words, +while the beast, in her delight, rubbed her face against his clothes and +whinnied her plea to be taken for a gallop over the fields. + +Not wanting to disturb him, or give the impression that he had been +watching, Selwyn softly withdrew by a door near the dogs, and after +giving Mathews a half-sovereign, made a circuit of the lawns and +approached the house as if he were coming from the woods. As he did so +young Durwent emerged from the stables, followed by a collie-dog that +jumped and frolicked about him as he walked. Noticing the American, +Malcolm crossed over to where he stood, proffering a cigarette. + +'Have a gasper, Selwyn?' he asked. + +'Thanks very much. I suppose it will be some time before the British +Army will get into action?' + +'I don't know, I'm sure,' answered Durwent, holding a match for the +other, 'but three weeks at the outside ought to see us over there and +ready.' + +'The Germans have a tremendous start.' + +'Yes, haven't they? Damned plucky of Belgium to try to hold them up, +isn't it? Though, of course, you can't expect the Belgian johnnies to +keep them back more than a few days.' + +'You think, then, that she will be conquered?' + +'Ra-ther. That's a cert. But I don't think it will be for long.' + +'You mean that the British will drive the Germans back?' + +'Not all at once, but sooner or later. Of course, I'm an awful muff on +strategy--always was--but the general idea seems to be that we go over +now and stop the bounders, and then our dear old citizens gird up their +loins, train themselves as soldiers, and chase the Germans back to +Berlin.' + +'But--isn't it an open secret that your regular army is very small? Can +you seriously expect to stop that huge force once it sweeps through +Belgium?' + +The Englishman picked up a stone and sent it hurtling across the lawn for +the collie to chase. + +'Ever play "Rugger"?' he asked. + +'Rugby? Yes.' + +'Then you've often seen a little chap bring a big one an awful cropper.' + +'That is true, but the cases are hardly parallel.' + +'Perhaps not,' said the other, rather relieved at not having to maintain +the analogy any further; 'but, then, the beauty of being a junior officer +is that one doesn't have to worry. I wouldn't be in old man French's +shoes for a million quid, but for us subaltern johnnies it looks as if +we'll have some great sport.' + +As the two young men, almost of an age, stood on the rich carpet of the +lawn with their figures outlined against the open background of the +fields, they presented a strange contrast. The Englishman was dressed in +a rough, brown tweed, and though there was a looseness about his +shoulders that almost amounted to slouchiness, they gave a suggestion of +latent strength that could be instantly galvanised into great power. +When he moved, either to throw something for his dog or just to break the +monotony of standing, his movements were slow and deliberate, and he took +a long pace with a slight inclination towards the side, as is the habit +of cavalrymen and sailors. His eyes were a clear, unsubtle blue, and +though his skin was tanned from exposure to the elements, its texture was +unspoiled. His hair was light brown, and, while closely cropped, in +keeping with military tradition, was naturally of thick growth; in the +centre where it was parted there was more than a tendency towards curls. +From his lip a slight moustache was trained to point upwards at the ends, +and beneath the tan of his face could be seen the glow of health, token +of a decent mode of living and a life spent out of doors. + +There was a frankness of countenance, a certain humour which one felt +would rarely rise above banter, and the whole bearing was manly and +attractive. But search the features as he would, Selwyn could not +discover any lurking traces of undiscovered personality. Malcolm's very +frankness seemed to rob him of possession of any hidden, unexpected vein +of individuality. He was essentially a type, and of as clear Anglo-Saxon +origin as if he were living in the days before his breed was modified by +inter-association with other tribes. + +Selwyn recalled the words of Mathews: 'Milord, you're a thoroughbred, you +are.' This youth was of a race of thoroughbreds. Maternal heredity had +skipped him altogether; he was a Durwent of Durwents, and heir to all the +distinction and lack of distinction which marked the long line of that +family. + +And opposite him was an American whose two generations of Republican +ancestry led to the paths of Dutch and Irish parentage. Selwyn had never +tried to discover the cause why his paternal ancestor had left the Green +Island, or his maternal ancestor the land of dikes and windmills; it was +sufficient that, out of resentment against conditions either avoidable or +unavoidable, each had resolved to endure the ordeal of making his way in +a land of strangers. Austin Selwyn bore the marks of that inheritance no +less clearly than Malcolm Durwent bore the marks of his. In his features +there was a certain repose, as became the part-son of a race that had +produced the art of Rembrandt, but there was a roving Celtic strain as +well that hid itself by turn in his eyes, in his lips, in his smile, in +the lines of his frown. In contrast to the clear Saxon steadiness of +Malcolm Durwent, his own face was constantly touched by lights and +shadows of his mind, lit by the incessant prompting of his thoughts that +demanded their answer to the riddle of life. + +Although his build was fairly powerful, Selwyn's well-knit shoulders and +alert movements of body spoke of a physique that was always tuned to +pitch, but one missed the impression of limitless endurance which lay +behind the easy carelessness of Malcolm Durwent's pose. + +'I want to ask you, Durwent,' said the American, 'more from the +stand-point of a writer than anything else, if these men of yours who are +going out to fight are actuated by a great sense of patriotism, or a +feeling that the liberty of the world depends on them or--well, in other +words, I am trying to discover what it is that makes you men face death +as if it were a game.' + +'My dear chap,' said the Englishman, with a slightly embarrassed smile, +'there again we leave it to the fellows higher up. Naturally, if Britain +goes to war, it isn't up to her army to question it one way or another. +Of course, back in our heads we like to feel that she is in the +right--but, then, I don't think Britain would ever do the rotten thing; +do you?' + +'N--no, I suppose not.' + +'You see, a chap can't help looking at it a bit like a game, for there's +Belgium doing an absolutely sporting thing, and there isn't one of us +that isn't straining at the bit to get over and give them a hand.' + +With a slight blush at this admission of fervour, the Englishman grasped +his collie-dog by the forepaws and rolled him on his back. + +'But,' said Selwyn, unwilling to let the bone of discussion drop while +there was one shred of knowledge clinging to it, 'supposing that Britain +were in the wrong and you fellows knew it, yet you were ordered to +war--what then?' + +His companion laughed and thrust his hands in his pockets. + +'Oh, we'd fight anyway; and after we had knocked the other chap out we'd +tell him how sorry we were, then go back and hang the bounders who had +brought the thing on. But then, you see, you're riding the wrong horse, +because soldiering's my job, and I was always an awful muff when it came +to jawing on matters I don't know anything about. You had better get +hold of some of our politician johnnies; they've always got ideas on +things.' + + +V. + +A little later the Honourable Malcolm Durwent left Roselawn in a +motor-car. + +As it rounded the curve in the drive he turned and waved at the little +group who were standing in the courtyard, and then he was lost to sight. +And in the hearts of each of the three there was a poignant grief. Lord +Durwent's head was bowed with regret that at Britain's call he had been +able to give one only of his two sons. Dry-eyed, but with aching heart, +Elise stood with an overwhelming remorse that she had never really known +her elder brother. And Lady Durwent, free of all theatricalism, was dumb +with the mother's pain of losing her first-born. + +And as the heir to Roselawn went to war, so did the sons of every old +family in the Island Kingdom. In something of the spirit of sport, yet +carrying beneath their cheeriness the high purpose of ageless chivalry, +the blue-eyed youth of Britain went out with a smile upon their lips to +play their little parts in the great jest of the gods. + +Not with the cry of 'Liberty!' or 'Freedom!' but merely as heirs to +British traditions, they took the field. Of a race that acts more on +instinct than on reason, they were true to their vision of Britain, and +asking no better fate than to die in her service, they helped to stem the +Prussian flood while home after home, in its ivy-covered seclusion, +learned that the last son, like his brothers, had 'played the game' to a +finish. + +Let the men who cry for the remodelling of Britain--and progress must +have an unimpeded channel--let them try to bring to their minds the +Britain that men saw in August 1914, when catastrophe yawned in her path. +That picture holds the secret for the Great Britain of the future. + + +VI. + +It was almost the last day in August, when the little British Army was +fighting desperately against unthinkable odds, that a brigade of cavalry +made a brave but futile charge to try to break the German grip. The --th +Hussars was one of the regiments that took part, and only a remnant +returned. + +Staring with fixed, unseeing eyes at the blue of the sky, which was not +unlike the colour of his eyes, the Honourable Malcolm Durwent lay on the +field of battle, with a bullet through his heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE MAN OF SOLITUDE. + + +I. + +In a large room overlooking St. James's Square a man sat writing. In +the shaded light his face showed haggard, and his eyes gleamed with the +brilliancy of one whose blood is lit with a fever. + +The clocks had just struck nine when he paused in his work, and +crossing to the French windows, which opened on a little terrace, +looked out at the darkened square. The restless music of London's life +played on his tired pulses. He heard the purring of limousines gliding +into Pall Mall, and the vibrato of taxi-cabs whipped into action by the +piercing blast of club-porters' whistles. The noise of horses' hoofs +on the pavement echoed among the roof-tops of the houses, and beneath +those outstanding sounds was the quiet staccato of endless passing +feet, losing itself in the murmur of the November wind as it searched +among the dead leaves lying in the little park. + +He had remained there only a few minutes, when, as though he had lost +too much time already, the writer returned to the table and resumed his +pen. + +There was a knock at the door, and he looked up with a start. 'Come +in,' he said; and a man-servant entered. + +'Will you be wanting anything, Mr. Selwyn?' + +'No, Smith.' + +'You haven't been out to dinner, sir.' + +'I am not hungry.' + +'Better let me make you a cup of tea with some toast, and perhaps boil +an egg.' + +'N--no, thanks, Smith. Well, perhaps you might make some coffee, with +a little buttered toast, and just leave them here.' + +'Very good, sir.' + +Although less than a year had elapsed since Austin Selwyn had first +dined at Lady Durwent's home, experience, which is more cruel than +time, had marked him as a decade of ordinary life could not have done. +His mind had been subjected to a burning ordeal since summer, and his +drawn features and shadowed eyes showed the signs of inward conflict. + +As he had said of himself, all his previous experiences and education +were but a novitiate in preparation for the great moment when truth +challenged his consciousness and illuminated a path for him to follow. +From an intellectual dilettante, a connoisseur of the many fruits which +grace life's highway, he had become a single-purposed man aflame with +burning idealism. From the sources of heredity the spirit of the +Netherlands fighting against the yoke of Spain, and the instinct of +revolt which lies in every Celtic breast, flowed and mingled with his +own newly awakened passion for world-freedom. + +He had left Roselawn with a formal good-bye taken of the whole family +together. He had avoided the eyes of Elise, and she had made no +attempt to alter the impersonal nature of the parting. Reaching +London, he had been offered these rooms in St. James's Square by an +American, resident in London, whose business compelled him to go to New +York for an indefinite period. As Selwyn felt the need for absolute +aloofness, he had gladly accepted. + +Hardly waiting to unpack his 'grips,' he at once began his battle of +the written word, his crusade against the origin and the fruits of +Ignorance as shown by the war. + +Always a writer of sure technique and facile vocabulary, he let the +intensity of his spirit focus on the subject. He knew that to make his +voice heard above the clamour of war his language must have the +transcendent quality of inspiration. No composer searching for the +_motif_ of a great moving theme ever approached his instrument with +deeper emotional artistry than Selwyn brought to bear on the language +which was to ring out his message. + +He felt that words were potential jewels which, when once the rays of +his mind had played upon them, would be lit with the fire of magic. +Words of destiny like blood-hued rubies; words fraught with ominous +opal warning; words that glittered with the biting brilliance of +diamonds--they were his to link together with thought: he was their +master. The necromancy of language was his to conjure with. + +Day after day, and into the long hours of the night, he wrote, +destroying pages as he read them, refining, changing, rewriting, always +striving for results which would show no signs of construction, but +only breathe with life. When fatigue sounded its warnings he +disregarded them, and spurred himself on with the thought of the +thousands dying daily at the front. He saw no one. His former London +acquaintances were engrossed in affairs of war, and made no attempt to +seek him out. It was his custom to have breakfast and luncheon in his +rooms; at dinner-time he would traverse the streets until he found some +little-used restaurant, and then, selecting a deserted corner, would +eat his meal alone. The walk there and back to his rooms was the only +exercise he permitted himself, except occasionally, when, late at +night, cramped fingers and bloodshot eyes would no longer obey the +lashing of the will, and he would venture out for an hour's stroll +through night-shrouded London. + +Prowling about from square to square, through deserted alleys, and by +slumbering parks, he would feel the cumulative destinies of the +millions of sleeping souls bearing on his consciousness. Solitude in a +metropolis, unlike that of the country, which merely lulls or tends to +the purifying of thought, intensifies the moods of a man like strong +liquor. He who lives alone among millions courts all the mad fancies +that his brain is heir to. Insanity, perversion, incoherent idealism, +fanaticism--these are the offspring of unnatural detachment from one's +fellows, and in turn give birth to the black moods of revolt against +each and every thing that is. + +Living as he did in a sort of ecstasy by reason of his suddenly +realised world-citizenship, Selwyn's incipient feeling of godlikeness +developed still further under the spell of isolation. The fact that he +trod the realm of thought, while all around him men and women grappled +with the problems of war, only accentuated this condition of mind. + +He suffered--that was true. He missed the companionship of kindred +spirits, and sometimes his memory would play truant, recalling the +pleasant glitter of sterling silver and conversational electroplate +which accompanied his former London dinner-parties. He did not dare to +think of Elise at all. She was the intoxicating climax of his past +life. She was the blending of his life's melodies into a brief, tender +nocturne of love that his heart would never hear again. + +In place of all that, he had the spiritual vanity of martyrdom. Few +voyagers but have felt the exultation of mid-ocean: that desire of the +soul to leap the distance to the skies and claim its kinship to the +stars. It comes to men on the Canadian prairies; it throbs in one's +blood when the summit of a mountain is reached; it is borne on the +wings of the twilight harmonies in a lonely forest. + +Unknown to himself, perhaps, that was Selwyn's compensation. From his +hermit's seclusion in the great metropolis he felt the thrill of one +who challenges the gods. + + +II. + +His man-servant had hardly left the room when the bell in the front +hall rang, and Smith reappeared to announce a visitor. + +'Who is it?' asked Selwyn. + +'A Mr. Watson, sir.' + +'I wonder if it can be Doug Watson of Cambridge. Bring him right up.' + +A moment later a young man entered the cosily shaded room, and they met +with the hearty hand-clasp and the sincere good-feeling which come when +a man who is abroad meets a friend who is a fellow-countryman. The +new-comer was younger than Selwyn, and though of lighter complexion and +hair, was unmistakably American in appearance. Like the author, he was +clean-shaven, but there was more repose in the features. His face was +broad, and in the poise of his head and thick neck there was the clear +impression of great physical and mental driving-power. Although still +a student, the mark of the engineer was strongly stamped on him. He +was of the type that spans a great river with a bridge; that glories in +the overcoming of obstacles by sheer domination of will. + +'Well, Doug,' said Selwyn as they drew their chairs up to the fire, +'when did you leave Cambridge?' + +'Last week,' said the other. 'I couldn't stand it any longer with +every one gone. I don't think that one of the bunch I played around +with is there now.' + +'That was a bully week-end I had with you at the university.' + +'We sure had a good time, didn't we?' + +'But how did you know I was here?' + +'Jarvis sent me a note that he and his wife were running hack to New +York, and that you were taking his rooms. Damn fine place, isn't it? +There's a woman's touch all over here. But you're looking precious +seedy.' + +'I feel all right.' + +'You don't look it.' + +'I have been very busy, Doug.' + +'Glad to hear it. Putting over a killing in the literature game?' + +'The biggest thing yet,' said Selwyn, opening a drawer and searching +for the cigars. 'I am making a sincere attempt to write something +which will sway people. Have one of these?' + +'Thanks. I guess I'd better smoke one while I have the chance. It +might get the sergeant-major's goat if he found a buck private smoking +half-crown cigars.' + +'You haven't joined the army?' + +'Not yet; but I shall to-morrow. You can do it by graft, old boy. For +three weeks I've courted a colonel's daughter so as to get next to the +old man, and to-morrow I receive my reward. I am to become a +full-fledged Tommy Atkins.' + +'And the daughter?' + +The younger man grinned and cut off the end of his cigar with a +pocket-knife. 'Can you see the colonel's daughter "walking out" with a +Tommy? My dear Austin, patriotism excuses much, but the social code +must be maintained. I'd render that in Latin if I wasn't so rusty on +languages. What are the chances of your coming along with me tomorrow?' + +Selwyn reached for an ash-tray and matches. + +'America is neutral,' he said quietly. + +'America is not neutral,' replied Watson with a decisiveness that one +would hardly have suspected to lie beneath the calm exterior and the +veneer of good-breeding polished by Cambridge associations--a veneer +that made his occasional lapses into crudity of language seem oddly out +of place. 'The German-Americans, the Irish-Americans, the +Jewish-Americans, the God-knows-who-else-Americans may be neutral, but +the America of Washington and Lincoln, the America of Lee and Grant, +isn't neutral. Not by a long sight.' + +'Doug,' said Selwyn reproachfully, 'you are the last man I thought +would be caught by this flag-waving, drum-beating stuff.' + +The younger man's brows puckered as he looked through the haze of +tobacco-smoke at his host. 'Austin,' he said abruptly, 'you've +changed.' + +'Yes,' said Selwyn thoughtfully. He was going to say more, but, +changing his mind, remained silent. + +'I thought you looked different,' went on Watson. 'What's up?' + +Selwyn's eyes narrowed and his lips and jaw stiffened resolutely. 'I +am writing,' he said, enunciating each word distinctly, 'in the hope of +arousing the slumbering conscience of the world against this war.' + +'Canute the Second,' commented Watson dryly. + +'Doug,' said the other, frowning, 'I deserve better than sarcasm from +you.' + +'I'm sorry,' said Watson with a laugh, 'but I can't just get this new +Austin Selwyn right off the bat. Of course war is wrong--any boob +knows that--but what can you hope to do with writing about it?' + +Selwyn rose to his feet, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, strode +up and down the room. 'What can I hope to do?' he said. 'Remove the +scales from the eyes of the blind; recall to life the spirit of +universal brotherhood; destroy ignorance instead of destroying life.' + +'Some platform!' said Watson, making rings of tobacco-smoke. + +'Take yourself, for example,' said Selwyn vehemently, pausing in his +walk and pointing towards the younger man. 'You are a man of +international experience and university education. On the surface you +have the attributes of a man of thought. You are one that the world +has a right to expect will take the correct stand on great human +questions. Yet the moment the barriers are down and jingoism floods +the earth you give up without a struggle and join the great mass of the +world's driftwood.' + +'H'm,' mused Watson, 'so that's your tack, eh?' + +'I tell you, Doug, you have no right to fight in this war.' + +'Thanks.' + +'You should have the courage to keep out of it. Even assuming that +Germany is wholly in the wrong and Britain completely in the right, +can't you see that when the Kaiser and his advisers said, "Let there be +war," you and I and the millions of men in every country who believe in +justice and Christianity should have risen up and answered, "_You shall +not have war_"?' + +Watson rose to his feet, and crossing to the fireplace, flicked the ash +from his cigar, and leaned lazily against the stone shelf. 'You're a +member of the Royal Automobile Club, aren't you?' he drawled. + +Selwyn nodded and resumed his nervous walk. + +'Take my advice, Austin. Every time you feel that kind of dope +mounting to your head, trot across the road to the club and have a swim +in their tank. You'd be surprised how it would bring you down to +earth.' + +'You talk like a child,' said Selwyn angrily. + +'Well,' retorted the other, 'that's better than talking like an old +woman.' + +With an impatient movement of his shoulders the younger man left the +fireplace, and walking over to the piano, picked up a Hawaiian ukulele +which had been left there by Mrs. Jarvis. Getting the pitch from the +piano, while Selwyn continued his restless march up and down the room, +he studiously occupied himself with tuning the instrument, then +strummed a few chords with his fingers. + +'Sorry not to fit in with your peace-brother-peace stuff,' said Watson +amiably, strumming a recent rag-time melody with a certain amount of +dexterity, 'but I always played you for a real white man at college.' + +'Doug,' said Selwyn, stopping his walk and sitting on the arm of a big +easy-chair, 'if there is a coward in this room, it's you.' + +The haunting music of the ukulele was the only response. + +'Here you are at Cambridge--an American,' went on Selwyn. 'Just +because the set you know enlists with an accompaniment of +tub-thumping'---- + +'That isn't the way the English do things,' said Watson without pausing +in his playing. + +'My dear fellow,' said Selwyn, 'don't let the pose of modesty fool you +over here. They profess to hold up their hands in horror when we get +hold of megaphones and roar about "The Star-Spangled Banner," but what +of the phrases, "The Empire on which the sun never sets," "What we have +we'll hold," "Mistress of the Seas"? Is there so much difference +between the Kaiser's "_Ich und Gott_" and the Englishman's "God of our +far-flung battle-line"? Jingoism! We're amateurs in America compared +with the British--and you're caught by it all.' + +'Nothing of the sort,' said Watson, putting down the ukulele. 'All I +know is that Germany runs amuck and gives a mighty good imitation of +hell let loose. I am not discounting the wonderful bravery of France +and Belgium, but you know that the hope of everything lies right in +this country here. Well, that's good enough for me. I'm a hundred per +cent. American, but right now I'm willing to throw over my citizenship +in the United States and join this Empire that's got the guts to go to +war.' + +'Listen, Doug,' said Selwyn, moving over to the younger man and placing +his hands on his shoulders; 'can't you see that Germany is not the +menace? She is only a symptom of it. War, not Germany, is the real +enemy. I admire your pluck: my regret is that you are so blind. The +whole world is turning murder loose; it is prostituting Christian +civilisation to the war-lust--and you imagine that by slaughter Right +may prevail. The tragic fallacy of the ages has been that men, instead +of destroying evil, have destroyed each other. If every criminal in +the world were executed, would crime end? Then, do you think the +annihilation of this or that army will abolish war?' + +'I haven't your gift of plausible argument,' said Watson, 'and I +suppose that theoretically you are sound in everything you say. Yet, +instinctively, I know that I am doing the right thing.' + +'A woman's reasoning, Doug.' Selwyn relit his cigar, which had gone +out. 'For a few days after the outbreak of war I will admit that I +doubted, myself, and wondered if, after all, there was a universal +heart-beat. Then came the news of the silent march of those thousands +of women down Fifth Avenue, marching to the beat of muffled drums as a +protest against war--not against Germany--higher than that. It was a +symbol that the cry of Rachel for her children still rings through the +centuries. It was the heart of America's women calling to the mothers +of France, Germany, and Britain against this butchery of their sons.' + +Selwyn sank into a chair, and a look of weariness succeeded the +momentary flush of excitement. + +'That ended my last doubt,' he went on quietly. 'I knew then that if I +could summon the necessary language to express the vision I saw, my +message would sound clear above the guns. I completed three +articles--"A Fool There Was," "When Hell Laughed," and "Gods of +Jingoism." I gave them to my London agent, but you would have thought +they held germs of disease. He brought them back to me, and said that +no one would dare to publish them in England. In other words, the +English couldn't stand the truth. I sent them on to New York. This is +my agent's reply.' + +He took a letter from a file on the table and handed it to his guest. +'Read it,' he said. + +With an inscrutable smile the Cambridge-American looked at the paper +and read: + + +'NEW YORK, _10th October 1914_. + +DEAR MR. SELWYN,--You will be pleased to know that I have succeeded in +placing your articles "When Hell Laughed," "A Fool There Was," and +"Gods of Jingoism" with a prominent newspaper syndicate. The price +paid was $800 each, and I herewith remit my cheque for $2160, having +deducted the usual commission. I have every reason to believe that any +further articles you send will meet with a ready market, especially if +they follow along the same lines of exposing the utter futility of war. +As a matter of fact, this syndicate is prepared to pay even a higher +price if these articles, which will be published all over the United +States, meet with the approval they confidently expect. + +'Assuring you of my desire to be of service to you, I remain, yours +very sincerely, + +'S. T. LYONS.' + + +'Very nice, too,' murmured Watson at the conclusion of the letter. +'Who says that high ideals don't pay?' + +'What do you mean?' said Selwyn sternly. The younger man got up from +his chair and looked at his watch. 'Don't get shirty,' he said. 'I +was only thinking that 800 per is a fairly healthy figure for that +dope.' + +'I don't give a damn for the money,' said Selwyn hotly, 'except that it +shows there is a demand in America for the truth. Britain has always +been afraid to face facts. Thank God, America isn't.' + +'Well,' said Watson with a slight yawn, 'it's quite obvious that we're +as far apart as the poles on that question, so I think I'll cut along.' + +'Stay and have a cup of coffee. There's some being made; it will be +here in a minute.' + +'No, thanks. To be brutally frank, Austin, the ozone around here is a +little too rarefied for me. I'm going out to a cab-stand somewhere to +have a sandwich and a cup of tea with any Cockney who hasn't joined the +Citizenship of the World.' + +With the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than before, but with +the unchanging look of determination, Selwyn helped the younger man on +with his coat, and handed him his hat and stick. 'I am sorry you won't +stay,' he said calmly, 'for your abuse and sarcasm are nothing to me. +When I took this step I foresaw the consequences, and, believe me, I +have suffered so much already that the loss of another friend means +very little.' + +The powerfully built young American twirled his hat uncomfortably +between his fingers. 'Look here, Austin,' he said vehemently, 'why in +blazes can't you get all that hot air out of your system? Come +on--meet me to-morrow, and we'll join up together. It'll be all kinds +of experience, you'll get wagon-loads of copy, and when it's all over +you'll feel like a man instead of a sissy.' + +With a tired, patient smile Selwyn put out his hand. 'Good-night, +Doug,' he said. 'I hope you come through all right.' + +When he heard the door close downstairs as Watson went out, Selwyn +re-entered the room. The light of the electric lamp glaring on his +manuscript pained his eyes, and he turned it out, leaving the room in +the dim light of the fire. The man-servant entered with a tray. + +'Will you have the light on, sir?' + +'No, thanks, Smith. Just leave the things on the table.' + +'Thank you, sir. Good-night, sir.' + +'Good-night, Smith.' + +The room was strangely, awesomely quiet. There was no sound from the +deserted square; only the windows shook a little in the breeze. He +reached for the ukulele, and staring dreamily into the fire, picked +softly at the strings until he found four notes that blended +harmoniously. + +The fire slowly faded from his gaze, and in its place, by memory's +alchemy, came the vision of _her_ face--a changing vision, one moment +mocking as when he first met her, turning to a look of pain as when she +spoke of Dick, and then resolving into the wistful tenderness that had +crept into her eyes that evening by the trout-stream--a tenderness that +vanished before the expression of scorn she had shown that fateful +August night. + +The night stole wearily on, but still Selwyn sat in the shadowy +darkness, occasionally strumming the one chord on the strings, like a +worshipper keeping vigil at some heathen shrine and offering the +incense of soft music. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +STRANGE CRAFT. + + +I. + +One slushy night in December Selwyn was returning from a solitary +dinner at a modest Holborn restaurant, when a damp sleet began to fall, +making the sickly street-lamps darker still, and defying the protection +of mufflers and heavy coats. With hat pulled over his eyes and hands +immersed in the pockets of his coat, he made his way through the +throng, while the raucous voices of news-venders cried out the latest +tidings from the front. + +To escape the proximity of the crowds and the nerve-shaking noises of +traffic, he turned down a wide thoroughfare, and eventually emerged on +Fleet Street. Again the seething discontent of rumbling omnibuses and +hurrying crowds irritated him, and crossing to Bouverie Street, where +Mr. Punch looks out on England with his genial satire, he followed its +quiet channel until he reached the Thames. + +In contrast to the throbbing arteries of Holborn and Fleet Street, the +river soothed his nerves and lent tranquillity to his mind. Following +the Embankment, which was shrouded in heavy darkness, he reached the +spot where Cleopatra's Needle, which once looked on the majesty of +ancient Egypt, stands, a sentinel of incongruity, on the edge of +London's river. Giving way to a momentary whim, Selwyn paused, and +finding a spot that was sheltered from the sleet, sat down and leaned +against the monument. + +In the masque of night he could just make out the sketchy forms of a +river-barge and two steamers anchored a few yards out. From their +masts he could see the dull glow of red where a meagre lamp was hung, +and he heard the hoarse voice of a man calling out to some one across +the river. As if in answer, the rattle of a chain came from the deck +of some unseen craft, like a lonely felon in a floating prison. + +The river's mood was so in keeping with his own that Selwyn's senses +experienced a numbing pleasure; the ghostly mariners of the night, the +motionless ships at their moorings, the eerie hissing of the sleet upon +the water, combined to form a drug that left his eyelids heavy with +drowsy contentment. + +How long he had remained there he could not have stated, when from the +steps beneath him, leading towards the water, he heard a man's slovenly +voice. + +'Are you going to stay the night here?' + +As apparently the remark was intended for him, Selwyn leaned forward +and peered in the direction from which the voice had come. At the foot +of the dripping steps he could just make out a huddled figure. + +'If you're putting up here,' went on the speaker, 'we had better pool +resources. I've got a cape, and if you have a coat we can make a +decent shift of it. Two sleep warmer than one on a night like this.' + +In spite of the sluggish manner of speech, Selwyn could detect a faint +intonation which bespoke a man of breeding. He tried to discern the +features, but they were completely hidden beneath the pall of night. + +'Well,' said the voice, 'are you deaf?' + +'I am not staying here for the night,' answered Selwyn. + +'Then why the devil didn't you say that before?' For a moment the +fellow's voice was energised by a touch of brusqueness, but before the +last words were finished it had lapsed into the dull heaviness of +physical lethargy. 'Tell me,' said the stranger, after a silence of +several minutes, 'how is the war going on?' + +'You probably know as much as I.' + +'Not likely. I've been beating back from China for three months in a +more or less derelict tramp. Chased into every blessed little port, +losing our way, and cruising for days without water--we were a fine +family of blackguards, and no mistake. Grog could be had for the +asking, and a scrap for less than that; but I'd as lief not ship on the +_Nancy Hawkins_ again.' + +Selwyn leaned back against the obelisk and speculated idly on the +strange personality hidden in the dark recess of the descending stairs. +It was not difficult to tell that, though he spoke of himself as a +sailor, sailoring was not his calling. There was a subtle cadence of +refinement in his voice, an arresting lilt on certain words, that +remained on the air after the words had ended. + +'Did the Germans get to Paris?' + +'No,' said Selwyn; 'though they were very near it.' + +'Good! How did our chaps do?' + +'I believe they fought very bravely, but were pretty well wiped out.' + +'I suppose so,' said the other quietly--'wiped out, eh? Tell me--did +the Colonies throw in their lot with us?' + +'All of them,' said Selwyn, 'even including South Africa.' + +'What about Canada?' + +'She has over thirty thousand men in England now, ready to cross.' + +'Splendid!' muttered the fellow. 'So they're British after all, in +spite of the Yankees beside them. . . . The cubs didn't leave the old +mother to fight alone, eh? Jove! but it's something to be an +Englishman today, isn't it?' + +Selwyn made no response, but his brow contracted with the thought that +even the flotsam, the dregs thrown up on the river's bank, were imbued +with the overwhelming instinct of jingoism. He glanced up from the +steps, and saw on either side of the obelisk a sphinx, woman-headed, +with the body of a lioness, monuments to the memory of Cleopatra. How +little had been accomplished by humanity since the first sphinx had +gazed upon the sands of Egypt! It had seen the treachery and the lust +of Antony, the slaughter of men by men led blindly to the +carnage. . . . Was not the smile, perhaps, its hoarded knowledge of +the futility of the ages? + +'Can you give me a match?' asked the man from the steps. 'Everything +on me is soaked. I'll come up if you have one, but I don't want to +shift otherwise.' + +'Don't bother,' said Selwyn, getting up and stamping his feet to +restore their warmth. 'I'll bring you one, and then I'll have to move +along.' + +He produced a silver match-box, and feeling his way carefully down the +slippery steps, handed it to the stranger. Acknowledging the action +with a murmur of thanks, the fellow took it, and making a protection +with his cape, struck a match to light his pipe. It flickered for a +moment and flared up, illuminating his features grotesquely. + +Selwyn uttered a sharp ejaculation of surprise and stepped back a pace. +'Durwent!' he cried. + +'Eh?' snapped the other, dropping the match on the wet stone, where it +went out with a faint splutter. 'What's your game?' + +'I could not see you before,' said the American quickly; 'but though I +heard your voice only once, there was something about it I remembered.' + +The Englishman struck a second match, and with a casual air of +indifference lit his pipe. + +'Thanks,' he said, handing the box to the American. Selwyn reached +forward to take it, when suddenly his wrists were caught in a grip of +steel. + +'Damn you!' said Dick Durwent hotly, springing to his feet. 'Are you +tracking me? I didn't come back to be caught like a rat. Are you a +detective? If you are, by George! I'll drown you in the river.' + +'Don't be a fool,' said Selwyn, writhing in pain with the other's +torture. + +'Who are you?' + +'My name is Selwyn. I am an American; a friend of your mother and your +sister.' + +'Where have you seen me before?' + +'At the Café Rouge--a year ago.' Beads of perspiration stood out on +Selwyn's head, and his body was faint with the pain of his twisted +wrists. + +'You're not lying?' said Dick Durwent, slowly relaxing his grip, and +peering into the American's eyes. 'No. I seem to remember you +somewhere with Elise. I'm sorry.' He released the clutch completely, +and resumed his seat on the steps. 'I hope I didn't hurt you.' + +'No,' said Selwyn, rubbing each wrist in turn to help to restore the +circulation. + +Durwent laughed grimly. 'It's a wonder I didn't break something,' he +said. 'Once more--I'm sorry. But you can understand the risk I am +running in returning here with the police wanting me. They're not +going to get me if I can help it.' + +'Why didn't you stay away?' + +'With the Old Country at war! Not likely. Do you think I should ever +have gone if I had known what was going to happen?' + +'What are your plans?' + +'Fight,' said the other briefly. 'Somewhere--somehow. I'll get into a +recruiting line about dawn to-morrow. . . . But--what can you tell me +about Elise?' + +'I have neither seen nor heard of her since August,' said Selwyn, +wondering at the calm level of his own voice in spite of tumultuous +heart-beats. + +'Too bad. Then you don't know anything about the rest?' + +'No. I'---- He paused awkwardly. 'I suppose you haven't heard about +your brother?' + +There was no response, but Selwyn could feel the Englishman's eyes +steeled on his face. 'He was killed,' he went on slowly, 'last August.' + +Still there was no sound from the younger son, now heir to his father's +title and estates. For the first time Selwyn caught the ripple of the +river's current eddying about the steps at the bottom. From the great +bridges spanning the river there was the distant thunder of lumbering +traffic. + +'I understand that he died very bravely,' said the American in an +attempt to ease the intensity of the silence. + +'Yes,' muttered Durwent dreamily, 'he would. . . . So old Malcolm is +dead. . . . Somehow, I always looked on his soldiering as a joke. I +never thought that those fellows in the Regulars would ever really go +to war. . . . Yet, when the time came, he was ready, and I was +skulking off to China like a thief in the night.' + +The Englishman's voice was so low that it seemed as if he were talking +more to himself than to his listener. + +'What happened to that swine?' he ejaculated suddenly. 'I mean the one +I almost killed. By any chance, did he die?' + +'I saw in a paragraph last week,' said Selwyn, 'that he was out on +crutches for the first time. The paper also commented on your complete +disappearance.' + +'I wish I had killed him,' said the young man grimly. 'If I ever get a +chance I'll tell you about him. I was drunk at the time--that's what +saved his life. If I had been sober I should have finished him. Well, +it's a damp night, my friend, and I won't keep you any longer from a +decent billet.' + +'Look here, Durwent,' said Selwyn; 'come along to my rooms. You're +soaked to the skin, and I could give you a change and a shakedown for +the night.' + +'Thanks very much; but I'm accustomed to this kind of thing.' + +'You won't be seen,' urged Selwyn. 'I have accepted so much from your +family that you would do me a kindness in coming.' + +'Well, I must say I'm not married to this place. If you don't mind +taking in a disreputable wharf-rat'---- + +'That's the idea,' said Selwyn, helping him to his feet. The +Englishman shivered slightly. + +'You haven't a flask, have you?' he queried. 'I didn't know how cold I +was.' + +'I haven't anything with me,' said the American; 'but I can give you a +whisky and something to eat at my rooms.' + +'Right! Thanks very much.' + +Tucking the cape under his arm, and shaking his waterproof cap to clear +it of water, Dick Durwent followed the American on to the Embankment, +where the two sphinxes of Egypt squatted, silent sentinels. + + +II. + +To avoid the crowds as much as possible, the two men followed the +Embankment, and had reached the Houses of Parliament, intending to make +a detour into St. James's Square, when Selwyn felt a hand upon his +shoulder. He turned quickly about, and Durwent moved off to one side +to be out of the light of a lamp. + +'Sweet son of liberty,' said the new-comer, 'how fares it?' + +It was Johnston Smyth, more airily shabby than ever. Over his head he +held an umbrella in such disrepair that the material hung from the ribs +in shreds. A profuse black tie hid any sign of shirt, and both the +legs of his trousers and the sleeves of his coat seemed to have shrunk +considerably with the damp. + +'How are you?' said Selwyn, shaking hands. + +'Temperamentally on tap; artistically beyond question; gastronomically +unsatisfied.' At this concise statement of his condition, Smyth took +off his hat, gazed at it as if he had been previously unaware of its +existence, and replaced it on the very back of his head. + +'Things are not going too well, then?' said Selwyn, glancing anxiously +towards Durwent, and wondering how he could get rid of the garrulous +artist. + +'Not going well?' Smyth straightened his right leg and relaxed the +left one. 'In the last three weeks a pair of pyjamas, my other coat, +two borrowed umbrellas, and a set of cuff-links have gone. If things +go much better I shall have to live in a tub like Diogenes. But--do +the honours, Selwyn.' + +'I beg your pardon,' said the American. 'Mr--Mr. Sherwood,' he went +on, taking the first name that came to his lips, 'allow me to introduce +Mr. Johnston Smyth.' + +'How are you?' said the artist, making an elaborate bow and seizing the +other's hand. + +'As you may have gathered from my costume and the ventilated condition +of my umbrella, I am not in that state of funds which lends +tranquillity to the mind and a glow of contentment to the bosom. Yet +you see before you a man--if I may be permitted a sporting +expression--who has set the pace to the artists of England. I am glad +to know you. Our mutual friend from Old Glory has done himself proud.' + +With which flourish Smyth left off shaking hands and closed his +umbrella, immediately opening it and putting it up again. Dick Durwent +replaced his hands in his pockets, and Selwyn heard his quivering +breath as he shivered with cold. + +'However,' went on the loquacious artist, 'though my art has been +heralded as a triumph, though it has filled columns of the press, +though my admirers can be found on every page of the directory, I can +only say, like our ancient enemy across the Channel after Austerlitz, +"Another such victory and I am ruined!" . . . Selwyn, shall we indulge +in the erstwhile drop?' + +'Have you a flask?' broke in Durwent, his dull eyes lighting greedily. + +'I think not,' said Smyth, handing the umbrella to Selwyn, and +carefully searching all his pockets. 'I am afraid my valet has +neglected that essential part of a gentleman's wardrobe. But what do +you say, gentlemen, to a short pilgrimage to Archibald's?' + +'No, Smyth,' said the American, putting his hand in Durwent's arm. +'For certain reasons, Mr. Sherwood'---- + +'Ha!' said Smyth, with a dramatic pose of his legs, 'Archibald is the +soul of discretion. Compared to him, an Egyptian mummy is a pithy +paragrapher. _Mes amis_, Archibald's is just across the bridge, and I +can assure you that the Twilight Tinkle, in which I have the honour to +have collaborated, is guaranteed to change the most elongated +countenance of glum into a globular surface of blithesome joy.' + +'No,' began Selwyn impatiently. + +'Let us try it,' said Durwent eagerly. 'I think this chill has got +into my blood. I'd give a lot for a shot of rum or brandy.' + +'We can have anything in my rooms,' protested the American. 'You want +to get your wet things off--and, besides, it's a risk going in there.' + +'No risk--no risk,' said Durwent, laughing foolishly and rubbing his +hands together.--'Where is this hole, Smyth?' + +'Gentlemen,' said the artist, 'after the custom of these military days, +I urge you "fall in."' + +Getting in the centre and adjusting his hat at a precipitate angle on +the extreme left of his head, Smyth took Dick Durwent's arm, and +extending the other to Selwyn, marched the pair across the bridge, +holding the absurd umbrella over each in turn as if it offered some +real resistance to the scurvy downpour. + + +III. + +'This way, gentlemen,' said Smyth, leading them up an alley, across a +court, and into a lane. 'Permit me to welcome you to Archibald's.' + +They entered a dimly lit tavern, where a dozen or so men sat about the +room at little tables. Instead of the usual pictures one sees in such +places, pictures of dancers with expressive legs, and race-horses with +expressive faces, the walls were hung with dusty signed portraits of +authors, artists, and actors, most of whom had attained distinction +during the previous half-century. Sir Henry Irving as Othello held the +place of honour over the bar, with Garrick as his _vis-à-vis_ on the +opposite wall. The divine Sarah cast the spell of her eternal youth on +all who gathered there; and Lewis Waller, with eyes intent on his +sword-handle, seemed oblivious to the close proximity of Lily Langtry +and Ellen Terry, those empresses of the dual realms of Beauty and +Intelligence. Without any companion portrait, the puffy sensuality of +Oscar Wilde held a prominent place. And between the spectacled face of +Rudyard Kipling on one side and the author of _Peter Pan_ on the other, +Forbes-Robertson in the garb of the Melancholy Dane looked out with his +fine nobility of countenance. The room was heavy with tobacco-smoke, +which seemed to have been accumulating for years, and to have darkened +the very beams of the ceiling. Over the floor a liberal coating of +sawdust was sprinkled. + +'Strange place, this,' whispered Johnston Smyth as they took a table in +an unfrequented corner. 'It's an understood thing that the habitués of +Archibald's are trailers in the race of life. If you have a fancy for +human nature, gentlemen, this is the shop to come to. We've got some +queer goods on the shelves--newspaper men with no newspapers to write +for; authors that think out new plots every night and forget 'em by +morning; playwrights that couldn't afford the pit in the Old Vic.--Do +you see that old chap over there?' + +'The little man,' said Selwyn, 'with the strange smile?' + +'That's right. He's been writing a play now for twenty years, but +hasn't had time to finish the last act. "There's no hurry," he says; +"true art will not permit of haste"--and the joke of it is that he has +a cough that'll give him his own curtain long before he ever writes it +on his play. There he goes now.' + +The old playwright had been seized with a paroxysm of coughing that +took his meagre storehouse of breath. Weakly striking at his breast, +he shook and quivered in the clutch of the thing, leaning back +exhausted when it had passed, but never once losing the odd, whimsical +smile. + +'What about something to drink?' broke in Dick Durwent hurriedly, his +eyes narrowing. + +'Directly,' said Smyth, beckoning to the proprietor, a small man, who, +in spite of his years and an oblong head undecorated by a single hair, +appeared strangely fresh and unworried, as if he had been sleeping for +fifty years in a cellar, and had just come up to view the attending +changes. + +'Archibald,' said Smyth, 'these are my friends the Duke of Arkansas and +Sir Plumtree Crabapple.' + +The extraordinary little man smiled toothlessly and fingered his tray. + +'Gentlemen,' said Smyth, 'name your brands.' + +'Give me a double brandy,' said Durwent, blowing on his chilled +fingers. 'Better make it two doubles in a large glass.' + +'Soda, sir?' queried the proprietor in a high-pitched, tranquil voice. + +'No,' said Durwent. 'You can bring a little water in a separate glass.' + +'What is your pleasure, your Grace?' said Smyth, addressing the +American. 'If you will do Archibald and myself the honour of trying +the Twilight Tinkle, it would be an event of importance to us both.' + +'Anything at all,' said Selwyn, sick at heart as he saw the nervous +interlocked fingers of Dick Durwent pressed together with such +intensity that they were left white and bloodless. + +'This is a little slice of London's life,' said Smyth after he had +given the order, crossing his left leg over the right, 'that you +visitors would never find. You hear about the chaps who succeed and +those who come a cropper, but these are the poor beggars who never had +a chance to do either. There's genius in this room, gentlemen, but +it's genius that started swimming up-stream with a millstone round its +neck.' + +With a profound shaking of the head, Smyth straightened his left leg, +and after carefully taking in its shape with partially closed eyes, he +replaced it on its fellow. + +'How do they live?' queried Selwyn. + +'Scavengers,' said Smyth laconically. 'Scavengers to success. Do you +see that fellow there with the poached eyes and a four-days' beard?' + +Selwyn looked to the spot indicated by Smyth, and saw a heavily built +man with a pale, dissipated face, who was fingering an empty glass and +leering cynically with some odd trend of thought. It was a face that +gripped the attention, for written on it was talent--immense talent. +It was a face that openly told its tale of massive, misdirected power +of mentality, fuddled but not destroyed by alcohol. + +'That's Laurence De Foe,' said Smyth; 'a queer case altogether. +Barnardo boy--doesn't know who his parents were, but claims direct +descent from Charlemagne. He's never really drunk, but no one ever saw +him sober. If he wanted to, he could write better than any man in +London. Last year, when the critics scored Welland's play _Salvage_ +for its rotten climax, the author himself came to De Foe. All night +they sat in his stuffy room, and when Welland went away he had a play +that made his name for ever. I could tell you of two of the heavy +artillery among the London leader-writers who always bring their big +stuff to De Foe before they fire it. Last July, when the war was +making its preliminary bow, and Hemphill was thundering those +editorials of his that warned the Old Lion he would have to wake up and +clean the jungle, Hemphill was simply the errand urchin. There's the +man who wrote "To Arms, England!" one day after the Austrian note to +Serbia. Hemphill got the credit and the money--but Laurence De Foe did +it.' + +Smyth's stream of narrative, which carried considerably less +impedimenta of caricature and persiflage than was usual with him, came +to an end with the arrival of two Twilight Tinkles and a generous-sized +tumbler, more than half-full of brandy. After an elaborate search of +his coat and trousers pockets to locate a five-pound note, Smyth was +forced to allow Selwyn to pay for the refreshment, promising to knock +him up before six next morning and repay him. + +'Well, gentlemen,' said the conscientious artist, 'here's success to +crime!' + +Not waiting to honour the misanthropic toast, Dick Durwent had reached +greedily for his glass, and poured its contents down his throat. With +a heavy sigh of gratification, he leaned back in his chair, and the +pallor of his cheeks showing beneath the weather-beaten surface of tan +was flecked with patches of colour. For an instant only his eyes went +yellow, as on the night at the Café Rouge; but the horrible glare died +out, and was succeeded by the calm, blue tranquillity that had reigned +before. + +'By St. George!' said Smyth admiringly, 'but we have no amateur with +us, Selwyn.' + +The solitary figure of De Foe, who had been watching them, left his +table, and lurching over to them, stood swaying unevenly. + +'_Bon soir_, gentlemen,' he said, speaking with the deep sonorousness +which comes of long saturation of the vocal cords with undiluted +spirits, 'I think one or two of these faces are new to Archibald's. Am +I right?' + +'Yes, sir,' said Smyth, rising. 'Permit me, Mr. De Foe, to +introduce'---- + +The writer stopped him with a slow, majestic movement of the hand. +'What care I who they are?' he said heavily. 'Names mean +nothing--pretty labels on empty vessels. By what right do these +gentlemen invade the sanctity of Archibald's?' He drew a chair near +them and sat down sullenly, hanging his arm over the back. 'Do I see +aright?' he queried thickly, opening his eyes with difficulty, and +revealing their lustreless shade. 'There are three of you? Humph! +The one I know--a clumsy dauber in a smudgy world.' + +Smyth nodded delightedly to his companions to indicate that the +compliment was intended for him. + +'Or your friends,' went on the heavy resonant voice, 'one has the face +of a dreamer. Come, sir, tell me of these dreams that are keeping you +awake of nights. I am descended from Joseph by the line of +Charlemagne, and I have it in my power to interpret them. Are you a +writer?' + +'I am,' said Selwyn calmly. + +'You are not English. You haven't the leathery composure of our race.' + +'I am an American.' + +'I thought as much. You show the smug complacency of your nation. How +dare you write, sir? What do you know of life?' + +'We have learned something on that subject,' said Selwyn with a slight +smile, 'even over there. You see, we have the mistakes of your older +countries by which we can profit.' + +'Bah!' said the other contemptuously. 'Cant--platitudes--words! Since +when have either nations or individuals learned from the mistakes of +others? Take you three. Which of you lies closest to life? Which of +you has drunk experience to the dregs? The dauber?--You, +author-dreamer, fired by the passion of a robin for a cherry?--No, +neither of you. . . . That boy there--that youngster with the blue +eyes of a girl; he is the one to teach--not you. He has the stamp of +failure on him. Welcome, sir--the Prince of Failures welcomes you to +Archibald's.' + +He lurched forward and extended an unsteady hand to Dick Durwent, who +rose slowly from his chair to take it. As Selwyn watched the two men +standing with clasped hands over the table, he felt his heart-strings +contract with pain. + +Although separated by more than thirty years, there was a cruel +similarity in the pair--in the half-bravado, half-timorous poise of the +head; in the droop of sensuous lips; in the dark hair of each, matted +over pallid foreheads. It was as if De Foe had summoned some black art +to show the future held in the lap of the gods for the youngest Durwent. + +'My boy,' said De Foe drunkenly, but with a moving tenderness, 'life +has refused me much, but it has left me the power to read a man's soul +in his eyes. The world brands you as a beaten man--and by men's +standards it is right. But Laurence De Foe can read beyond those +sea-blue eyes of yours; he it is who knows that behind them lies the +gallant soul of a gallant gentleman. End your days in a gutter or on +the gibbet--what matters it where the actor sleeps when the drama is +done?--but to-night you have done great honour to the Prince of +Failures by letting him grasp your hand.' + +He slowly released the young man's hand, and turned wearily away as +Durwent sank into his chair, his eyes staring into filmy space. Moving +clumsily across the room, De Foe reached the bar and ordered a drink. +When it had been poured out for him he turned about, and, leaning back +lazily, looked around the room, with his eyes almost hidden by the +close contraction of thick, black eyelashes. Such was the unique power +of his personality that the disjointed threads of conversation at the +various tables wound to a single end as if by a signal. + +'_Mes amis_,' said De Foe--and his voice was low and sonorous--'I see +before me many, like myself, who have left behind them futures where +other men left only pasts. I see before me many, like myself, who had +the gift of creating exquisite, soul-stirring works of art and +literature. But because we were not content to be mere mouthy clowns, +with pen or brush, jabbering about the play of life, we have paid the +penalty for thinking we could be both subject and painter, author and +actor. Because we chose to live, we have failed. The world goes on +applauding its successful charlatans, its puny-visioned authors pouring +their thoughts of sawdust in the reeking trough of popularity; while +we, who know the taste of every bitter herb in all experience--we are +thrust aside as failures. . . . But the gift of prophecy is on me +to-night. There is a youth here who has a soul capable of scaling +heights where none of us could follow--and a soul that could sink to +depths that few of us have known. He is one of us, and he has chosen +to fight for England. I can see the glory of his death written in his +eyes. Gentlemen--you who are adrift with uncharted destinies--drink to +the boy of the sea-blue eyes. May he die worthy of himself and of us.' + +Throughout the dimly lit room every one rose to his feet, incoherently +echoing the last words of the speaker. . . . Still with the filmy +wistfulness about his eyes and a tired, weary smile, Dick Durwent sat +in his chair beating a listless tattoo on the table with his hand. + +From across the room came the sound of the old playwright's hacking +cough. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +DICK DURWENT. + + +I. + +Late that night Selwyn lay in his bed and listened to the softened +tones of his two guests conversing in the living-room, Johnston Smyth +having conceived such an attachment to his newly found friend that it +was quite impossible to persuade him to leave. At his own request, +blankets had been spread for Durwent on the floor, and after a hot bath +he had rolled up for the night close to the fire. Johnston Smyth had +also disdained the offer of a bed and ensconced himself on the couch, +where he lay on his back and uttered vagrant philosophies on a vast +number of subjects. + +Wishing his strangely assorted guests a good night's repose, Selwyn had +retired to his own room shortly after midnight, but, tired as he was, +sleep refused to come. Like an etcher planning a series of scenes to +be depicted, his mind summoned the various incidents of the night in a +tedious cycle. The huddled figure at the foot of Cleopatra's steps; +the fantastic airiness of Smyth with his shredded umbrella; the smoky +atmosphere of Archibald's, with its strange gathering of derelicts; the +two chance acquaintances spending the night in the adjoining room--what +vivid, disjointed cameos they were! If there was such a thing as Fate, +what meaning could there be in their having met? Or was their meeting +as purposeless as that of which some poet had once written--two pieces +of plank-wood touching in mid-ocean and drifting eternally? + +It seemed that the low voices of the others had been going on for more +than an hour when the sense of absolute stillness told Selwyn that he +must have fallen asleep for an interval. He listened for their voices, +but nothing could be heard except the sleet driven against the windows, +and a far-away clock striking the hour of two. + +Wondering if his visitors were comfortable, he rose from his bed, and +creeping softly to the living-room door, opened it enough to look in. + +Smyth's heavy breathing, not made any lighter by his having his head +completely covered by bed-clothes, indicated that the futurist was in +the realm of Morpheus. Durwent was curled up cosily by the fire, the +blankets over him rising and subsiding slightly, conforming to his +deep, tranquil breaths. + +In the light of the fire, and with the warm glow of the skin caused by +its heat and the refreshing bath, the pallor of dissipation had left +the boy's face. In the musing curve of his full-blooded lips and in +the corners of his closed eyes there was just the suggestion of a +smile--the smile of a child tired from play. There was such refinement +in the delicate nostrils dilating almost imperceptibly with the intake +of each breath, and such spiritual smoothness in his brow contrasting +with the glowing tincture of his face, that to the man looking down on +him he seemed like a youth of some idyl, who could never have known the +invasion of one sordid thought. + +A feeling of infinite compassion came over Selwyn. He rebelled against +the cruelty of vice that could fasten its claws on anything so fine, +when there was so much human decay to feed upon. + +The eyelids parted a little, and Selwyn stepped back towards the door. + +'Hullo, Selwyn, old boy!' murmured Durwent dreamily. 'Is it time to +get up?' + +'No,' whispered Selwyn. 'I didn't mean to wake you.' + +Durwent smiled deprecatingly and reached sleepily for the other's hand. +'It's awfully decent of you to take me in like this,' he said. + +There was a simplicity in his gesture, a child-like sincerity in his +voice, that made Selwyn accept the hand-clasp, unable to utter the +words which came to his lips. + +'Selwyn,' said Dick, keeping his face turned towards the fire, 'are you +likely to see Elise soon?' + +'I hardly think so,' said the American, kneeling down and stirring the +coals with the poker. + +'If you do, please don't tell her I've come back. She thinks I'm in +the Orient somewhere, and if she knew I was joining up she would worry. +I suppose I shall always be "Boy-blue" to her, and never anything +older.' + +Selwyn replaced the poker and sat down on a cushion that was on the +floor. + +'It may be a rotten thing to say,' resumed the younger man, speaking +slowly, 'but she was more of a mother to me than my mother was. As far +back as I can remember she was the one person who believed in me. The +rest never did. When I was a kid at prep. school and brought home bad +reports, every one seemed to think me an outsider--that I wasn't +conforming--and I began to believe it. Only Elise never changed. She +was the one of the whole family who didn't want me to be somebody or +something else. You can hardly believe what that meant to me in those +days. It was a little world I lived in, but to my youngster's eyes it +looked as if everything and every person were on one side, doubting me, +and Elise was on the other, believing in me. . . . I'm not whining, +Selwyn, or saying that any one's to blame for my life except myself, +but I do believe that if Elise and I had been kept together I might not +have turned out such a rotter. Sometimes, too, I wonder if it wouldn't +have been better for her. She never made many friends--and looking +back, I think the poor little girl has had a lonely time of it.' + +He relapsed into silence and shifted his head wearily on the pillow. +Johnston Smyth murmured something muffled and unintelligible in his +sleep. Selwyn placed some new lumps of coal on the fire, the flames +licking them eagerly as the sharp crackle of escaping gases punctured +the sleep-laden air. + +'It does sound rather like whining to say it,' said Durwent without +opening his eyes, 'but after I was rusticated at Cambridge I tried to +travel straight. If I had gone then to the Colonies I might have made +a man of myself, but I hung around too long, and got mixed up with one +of the rottenest sets in London. I went awfully low, Selwyn, but booze +had me by the neck, and my conscience wasn't working very hard either. +And then another woman helped me. She was one of those who aren't +admitted among decent people. She came of poor family, and had made a +fairly good name for herself on the stage, and was absolutely straight +until she met that blackguard Moorewell about three years ago.' + +'The man you nearly killed?' + +'Yes. At any rate, she and I fell in love with each other. I know +it's all damned sordid, but we were both outcasts, and, as that chap +said to-night, it's the people who have failed who lie closest to life. +Once more a woman believed in me, and I believed in a woman. We +planned to get married. We were going away under another name, to make +a new world for ourselves. For weeks I never touched a drop, and it +seemed at last that I could see--just a little light ahead. You don't +know what that means, Selwyn, when a man is absolutely down.' + +The smile had died out in the speaker's face and given way to a cold, +gray mist of pain. + +'Moorewell heard about it,' went on Durwent, 'and though the blackguard +had discarded her, he grew jealous, and began his devilry again. She +did not tell me, but I know for a long time she was as true to me as I +was to her. Then they went to Paris--I believe he promised to marry +her there. A week later I got a letter from her, begging forgiveness. +He had left her, she said, and she was going away where I should never +find her again. My first impulse was to follow her--and then I started +to drink. God! what nights those were! I waited my time. I watched +Moorewell until one night I knew he was alone. I forced an entrance, +and caught him in his library. . . . As I said before, I was drunk; +and that's what saved his life. I thought at the time he was dead; and +having no money, I caught a late train, and hid all night and next day +in the woods at Roselawn. Three times I saw Elise, but she was never +alone; but that night I called her with a cry of the night-jar which +she had taught me. She came out, and I told her as much as I could; +and with her necklace I raised some money and got away.' + +Again the murmured words came to a close. Selwyn searched his mind for +some comment to make, but none would come. He could not offer sympathy +or condolence--Durwent wasn't seeking that. It was impossible to +condemn, or to suggest a new start in life, because the young fellow +was not trying to justify his actions. Yet it seemed such a tragedy to +look helplessly on without one effort to change the floating course of +the driftwood. + +'Durwent,' he said haltingly, 'it's not too late for you to start over +again. If you will go to America, I have friends there who would give +you every opening and'---- + +'You're an awfully decent chap,' said Durwent, once more touching +Selwyn's hand with his; 'but I shall not come back from the war. I +felt _that_ the moment I stepped on shore yesterday. I felt it again +when that fellow spoke to me in the tavern. It may come soon, or it +may be a long time, but this is the end.' + +'No, no,' said Selwyn earnestly; 'all that's the effect of your chill. +It has left you depressed.' + +'You don't understand,' said the lad, smiling with closed eyes, 'or you +wouldn't say that. I said before that it means a lot, when a man's +down, to be able to see a little light ahead. . . . I can see that now +again. . . . It doesn't matter what I've been or done--I can go out +there now, and die like a gentleman. War gives us poor devils that +chance. . . . You know what I mean. My life has been no damned use to +any one, Selwyn, but they won't care about that in France. To die in +the trenches--that's my last chance to do something . . . to do +something that counts.' + +Selwyn leaned over and patted the lad on his shoulder. 'Dick,' he +said, 'wait until the morning, and all these fancies will clear from +your mind. We'll discuss everything then together.' + +The musing smile lingered again about the boy's lips. + +'You're tired out, old man,' went on the American. 'I shouldn't have +waked you. Good-night.' + +The other stopped him from rising by catching his arm with his hand. +'Do you mind,' said Dick, his eyes opening wide, 'just staying here +until I go to sleep? . . . There are all sorts of wild things going +through my head to-night . . . waves pounding, pounding, pounding. It +never stops, Selwyn. . . . And I seem to hear shouts a long way +off--like smugglers landing their stuff in the dark. I'm an awful +idiot to talk like this, old boy, but I've lost my courage a bit.' + +And so for nearly half-an-hour the American remained watching by the +lad as sleep hovered about and gradually settled on him. + +As Selwyn quietly stole from the room the City's clocks were striking +three. + + +II. + +It was after nine o'clock when Selwyn woke from a deep, refreshing +sleep. Hurrying into the other room, he found no sign of his guests. + +'When did these gentlemen leave?' he asked of his servant, who had +answered his ring. + +'It must have been about six o'clock, sir. I heard the door open and +shut then.' + +'Why didn't you call me?' + +'I wasn't wanting to disturb you, sir. It's the first good sleep +you've had for a long time.' + +It was true. The sinking of himself into the personality of another +man had released the fetters of his intensive egotism. For a whole +night he had forgotten, or at least neglected, his world-mission in +simple solicitude for one who had fallen by the wayside. + +After the stimulus of a cold shower and a hearty breakfast, he resumed +his crusade against the entrenched forces of Ignorance, but in spite of +the utmost effort in concentration, the memory of the lonely figure by +the Thames intruded constantly on his mind. It was not only that Dick +was the brother of Elise--although Selwyn's longing for her had become +a dull pain that was never completely buried beneath his thoughts; nor +was it merely the unconscious charm possessed by the boy, a charm that +seized on the very heart-strings. To the American the real cruelty of +the thing lay in the existence of a Society that could first debase so +fine a creature, and then make no effort to retrieve or to atone for +its crime. + +Putting aside the day's work he had planned, he flung his mind into the +arena of England's social conditions. Exerting to the full his gift of +mental discipline, he rejected the promptings of prejudice and of +sentiment, and brought his sense of analysis to bear on his subject +with the cold, callous detachment of a scientist studying some cosmic +phenomenon. + +For more than an hour his brain skirmished for an opening, until, +spreading the blank sheets of paper before him, he wrote: 'THE ISLAND +OF DARKNESS.' Tilting his chair back, he surveyed the title critically. + +'Yes,' he said aloud, squaring his shoulders resolutely, 'I have +generalised long enough. Without malice, but without restraint, I will +trace the contribution of Britain towards the world's débâcle.' + +With gathering rapidity and intensity he covered page after page with +finely worded paragraphs. He summoned the facts of history, and +churning them with his conceptions of humanity's duty to humanity, +poured out a flood of ideas, from which he chose the best. Infatuated +by the richness of the stream, he created such a powerful sequence of +facts that the British began to loom up as a reactionary tribe fighting +a rearguard action throughout the ages against the advancing hosts of +enlightenment. The Island of Britain, the 'Old Country,' as its people +called it, began to shape in his eyes like a hundred-taloned monster +sprawling over the whole earth. This was the nation which had forced +opium on China, ruled India by tyranny, blustered and bullied America +into rebellion, conquered South Africa at the behest of business +interests. . . . Those and endless others were the counts against +Britain in the open court of history. + +And if those had been her crimes in the international sphere, what +better record could she show in the management of human affairs at +home? She had clung to the feudal idea of class distinction, only +surrendering a few outposts reluctantly to the imperious onslaught of +time; she had maintained a system of public schools which produced +first-class snobs and third-rate scholars; she had ignored the rights +of women until in very desperation they had resorted to the crudities +of violence in order to achieve some outlet for the pent-up uselessness +and directionlessness of their sex; she had tolerated vile living +conditions for the poor, and had forced men and women to work under +conditions which were degrading and an insult to their Maker. . . . +One by one these dragons reared their heads and fell to the gleaming +Excalibur of the author. + +Selwyn made one vital error--he mistook facts for truth. He forgot +that a sequence of facts, each one absolutely accurate in itself, may, +when pieced together, create a fabric of falsehood. + +There were many contributing influences to Austin Selwyn's denunciation +of Britain that morning. Although he had ordered sentiment and +prejudice to leave his mind unclogged, these two passions cannot be +dismissed by mere will-power. + +He was keenly moved by the meeting with Dick Durwent, and, almost +unknown to himself, his love for Elise was a smouldering fever whose +fumes mounted to his head. Love is so overpowering that it overlaps +the confines of hate, and his hunger for her was mixed with an almost +savage desire to conquer her, force homage from her. And she was +English! + +In addition to these undercurrents affecting his thoughts, there was +the dislike towards England which lies dormant in so many American +breasts. Gloss it over as they will, no political _entente_ can do +away with the mutual dislike of Americans and Englishmen. It is a +thing which cannot be eradicated in a day, but will die the sooner for +exposure to the light, being an ugly growth of swampy prejudice and +evil-smelling provincialism that needs the darkness and the damp for +life. + +Mingling these subconscious elements with those of logic and reason, +Selwyn wrote for two days, almost without an hour's rest, and when it +was finished 'The Island of Darkness' was a powerful, vivid, passionate +arraignment of England, the heart of the British Empire. It was +clever, full of big thoughts, and glowed with the genius of a man who +had made language his slave. + +It lacked only one ingredient, a simple thing at best--_Truth_. + +But that is the tragedy of idealism, which studies the world as a +crystal-gazer reading the forces of destiny in a piece of glass. + + +III. + +A week later, in the early afternoon, Selwyn was going up Whitehall, +when he heard the sound of pipes, and turned with the crowd to gaze. +With rhythmic pomposity a pipe-major was twirling a staff, while a band +of pipes and drums blared out a Scottish battle-song on the frosty air. +Following them in formation of fours were five or six hundred men in +civilian clothes, attested recruits on their way to training-centres. + +With the intellectual appetite of the psychologist, Selwyn looked +searchingly at the faces of the strangely assorted crowd, and the +contrasts offered would have satisfied the most rapacious student of +human nature. + +His eyes seized on one well-built, well-groomed man of thirty odd years +whose slight stoop and cultured air of tolerance marked him a ''Varsity +man' as plainly as cap and gown could have done. Just behind him a +costermonger in a riot of buttons was indulging in philosophic quips of +a cheerfully vulgar nature. A few yards back a massive labourer with +clear untroubled eye and powerful muscles stood out like a superior +being to the three who were alongside. Half-way a poet marched. What +form his poesy took--whether he expressed beauty in words, or, catching +the music of the western wind, wove it into a melody, or whether he +just dreamed and never told of what he dreamed--it matters not; he was +a poet. His step, his dreamy eyes, the poise of his forehead raised +slightly towards the skies, were things which showed his personality as +clearly as the mighty forearm or the plethora of buttons bespoke the +labourer or the costermonger. + +With a great sense of pity the American watched them pass, while the +skirl of the bagpipes lessened in the distance. In spite of the +dissimilarity of type, there was a community of shyness that embraced +almost every one--a silent plea not to be mistaken for heroes. As they +passed the Horse Guards and saw the two sentries astride their horses +still as statues (their glorious trappings, breastplates, helmets, and +swords, the embodiment of spectacular militarism) an apologetic, +humorous smile was on the face of almost every recruit. The sight was +a familiar enough one to the large majority, but in the presence of +those grim, superb cavalrymen they felt the self-conscious +embarrassment of small boys about to enter a room full of their elders. + +In its own way it was Britain's mob saying to Britain's Regulars that +it was to be hoped no one would think they imagined themselves soldiers +in the real sense of the word. + +But to Selwyn the noise of their marching feet on the roadway had the +ominous sound of the roll of the tumbrils, bearing their victims to the +guillotine. + +The procession was nearly ended and he was about to turn away, when his +eye was attracted by a peculiar pair of knees encased in trousers that +were much too tight, working jerkily from side to side as their owner +marched. Although his face was almost hidden by reason of his vagabond +hat being completely on one side, it was not difficult to recognise the +futurist, Johnston Smyth. He appeared to be in rare form, as an +admiring group of fellow-recruits in his immediate vicinity were almost +doubled up with laughter, and even the grizzled Highland sergeant +marching sternly in the rear had such difficulty in suppressing a loud +guffaw that his face was a mottled purple. + +And marching beside the humorist, with a slouch-cap low over his eyes, +was the lad who was known as 'Boy-blue.' + + +IV. + +_As this tale of the parts men play unfolds itself a passing thought +comes._ + +_From the standpoint of fairness, economics, and efficiency, +conscription should have been Britain's first move. But nations, like +individuals, have great moments that reveal the inner character and +leave beacons blazing on the hills of history._ + +_In a war in which every nation was the loser, Britain can at least +reclaim from the wreckage the memory of that glorious hour when the +Angelus of patriotism rang over the Empire, and men of every creed, +pursuit, and condition dropped their tasks and sank themselves in the +great consecration of service._ + +_What is the paltry glory of a bloody victory or the passing sting of a +defeat?_ + +_War is base, senseless, and degrading--that was one truth that Selwyn +did recognise; but what he failed to see was that in the midst of all +the foulness there lay some glorious gems. When battles are forgotten +and war is remembered as a hideous anachronism of the past, our +children and their children will bow in reverence to that stone set +high in Britain's diadem_--THEY SERVED. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE FEMININE TOUCH. + + +I. + +In a small South Kensington flat a young woman was seated before a +mirror, adding to her beauty with those artifices which are supposed to +lure the male to helpless capitulation. Two candles gave a shadowy, +mysterious charm to the reflection--a quality somewhat lacking in the +original--and it was impossible for its owner to look on the picture of +pensive eyelashes, radiant eyes, and warm cheeks without a murmur of +admiration. She smiled once to estimate the exact amount of teeth that +should be shown; she leaned forward and looked yearningly, soulfully, +into the brown eyes in the glass. With a sigh of satisfaction she lit a +cigarette from one of the candles, and leaning back, watched the smoke +passing across the face of the reflection. + +'Hello, Elise!' said the beauty casually, as the door opened and Elise +Durwent entered, dressed in the uniform of an ambulance-driver. + +'You'll find the room standing on its head, but chuck those things +anywhere.' + +'Going out again?' asked the new-comer, stepping over several feminine +garments that had been thrown on the floor. + +'Just a dance up the street--in Jimmy Goodall's studio. Listen, old +thing; do put on some water. I'm croaking for a cup of tea.' + +Without any comment, Elise went into the adjoining room, used as a +kitchen, while the voluptuary dabbed clouds of powder over her neck and +shoulders. With a tired listlessness, Elise returned and sank into a +chair, from the back of which an underskirt was hanging disconsolately. + +'You didn't do the breakfast-dishes, Marian.' + +'Didn't I? Oh, well, they're not very dirty. Had a rotten day at the +garage?' + +'It was rather long.' + +'You're a chump for doing it. Working for your country's all very well, +but wait until after the war and see if the girl who's spoiled her hands +has a chance with the men. Why don't you wangle leave like I do? You +can pull old Huggin's leg any day in the week--and he likes it. All you +have to do is to lean on his shoulder and say you won't give up--you +simply _won't_. Aren't men a scream?' + +'I suppose so,' said Elise after a pause. 'Who is your cavalier +to-night?' + +'Horry.' + +'Horace Maynard?' + +'Absolutely. You know him, don't you, Elise?' + +'Yes. He was visiting at our place in the country when war broke out. +When is he going back to France?' + +'Monday.' + +'He's been dancing pretty constant attendance, hasn't he?' + +'Ra-_ther_. He says if I don't write him every day after he buzzes back, +he'll stick his head over the parapet and spoil a Hun bullet.' + +'Those things come easily to Horace.' + +'Oh, do they? I notice he doesn't go to you to say them.' + +'No,' said Elise with a smile, 'that is so. Think of the thrills I miss.' + +'Now don't get sarcastic. If Horry wants to make a fuss over me, that's +his business.' + +'What about your husband at the front?' + +'My husband and I understand each other perfectly,' said the girl, +glancing critically at the picture of two parted, carmined lips in the +mirror. 'He wouldn't want me to be lonely. He knows I have my boy +friends, and he's not such a fool as to be jealous. You want to wake up, +Elise--things have changed. A woman who sticks at home and meets her +darling hubby at night with half-a-dozen squalling kids and a pair of +carpet slippers--no thanks! The war has shown that women are going to +have just as much liberty as the men. We've taken it; and I tell you the +men like us all the better for it.' + +'You think that because every man you meet kisses you.' + +'Elise!' + +'Good heavens! Don't they?' + +'Well, I never! Anyhow, what if they do? Is there any harm in it?' + +Elise smiled and shook her head. 'None, my dear Marian,' she said. +'There is no possible harm in it. There's no harm in anything now. The +old idea that a woman's purity and modesty---- But what's the use of +saying that to you? Of course you're right. Who wants to stay at home +with a lot of little brats, if you can have a dozen men a week standing +you dinners, and mauling you like a bargee, and'---- + +'Elise!' + +'There's the water getting near the boil.' Elise rose with a strange +little laugh and looked at a yellow silk stocking which dangled over the +side of a wicker table. As if trying to solve a conundrum, she glanced +from it to the shapely form of the young woman at her toilet. 'When the +war's over,' she said ruminatingly, 'and our men find what kind of girls +they married when they were on leave'---- + +'There you go again. For Heaven's sake, Elise, if you can't attract men +yourself, don't nag a girl who does. You're positively sexless. The way +you talk'---- + +'There's the water. When Horace comes I don't want to see him.' + +'I guess he can live without it,' said the patriotic, leave-wangling +war-worker, with an angry glance at Elise as she disappeared into the +kitchen. Catching a glimpse of the frown in the mirror, she checked it, +and once more leaned towards the reflection as if she would kiss the +alluring lips that beckoned coaxingly in the glass. + + +II. + +Marian had gone, radiant, and exulting in her radiance; and Elise sat by +the meagre fire trying to take interest in a novel. Although she had +found it easy to be confident and self-assertive when the other girl was +there, the solitariness of the flat and the silence of the street +undermined her courage. The dragging minutes, the meaningless +pages. . . . She wished that even Marian were there in all her +complacent vulgarity. + +Although she had drawn many people to her, the passing of the years had +left Elise practically friendless. It was easy for her to attract with +her gift of intense personality; but the very quality that attracted was +the one that eventually repelled. The impossibility of forgetting +herself, of losing herself in the intimacies of friendship, made her own +personality a thing which was stifling her life. Since she was a child +she had craved for understanding and sympathy, but nature and her +upbringing had made it impossible for her to accept them when they were +offered. Lacking the power of self-expression, and consequently +self-forgetfulness, her own individuality oppressed her. It was like an +iron mask which she could not remove, and which no one could penetrate. + +Going to London soon after the outbreak of war, she had been taken on the +strength of a motor-ambulance garage; and to be near her work she had +leased a small flat in Park Walk, sharing it by turn with various +companion drivers. Although her desire to be of service was the prime +reason of her action, it was with unconcealed joy that she had thrown off +the restraints of home. Freedom of action, a respite from the petty +gossip of her mother's set, had loomed up as the portals to a new life. +The thought of sharing the discomforts and the privileges of patriotic +work with young women who had broken the shackles of convention was a +prospect that thrilled her. + +To her amazement, she discovered that the feminine nature alters little +with environment. It was true, her new companions had broken with all +the previous conceptions of decorum, but they had used their newly found +liberty to enslave themselves still further with the idea of +man-conquest. Officers--callow, heroic, squint-eyed, supercilious, +superb, of any and every Allied country--officers were the quarry, and +they the hunters. To love or not to love? Their talks, their thoughts, +their lives concerned little else. They fought for the attentions of men +like starving sparrows for crumbs. + +In such an environment, where she had hoped to lose the burden of +persistent self, Elise found emancipation farther away than ever. The +_abandon_ of the others first created a reversion to prudery in her +breast, and then developed a cynical indifference. The others treated +her with friendly insouciance. Had she been ill, or had she met with an +accident, there was probably not one who wouldn't have proved herself a +'ministering angel.' As it was, they largely ignored her, indulging the +instinct of inhumanity which so often is woman's attitude towards woman. + +So she sat alone, the Elise who had always been so resolute and +independent, feeling very small and pathetic, yearning for far-off +things--utterly lonesome, and a little inclined to cry. + +The words of the book grew dim, and her thoughts drifted towards Austin +Selwyn. He had been contemptible! A pacifist! His idealism was a pose +to try to ennoble utter cowardice. At a time when men's blood ran high +he had prated of brotherhood, and peace, and suggested that the infamous +Hun had a soul! How she hated him! . . . And when she had finished with +that thought her heart's yearning returned more cruelly than before. + +That evening by the trout-stream when she had seen Dick hiding in the +bush, Selwyn had caught her when she had almost swooned. He had gripped +her arms with his hands, and, quivering with emotion, had lent his +strength to her. At the memory the crimson of her cheeks deepened. They +had been so close to each other. His burning eyes, his lips trembling +with passion--what strange impulse in her heart had made her thrill with +a heavenly exhilaration? For that instant while his hands had gripped +her a glorious vista had appeared before her eyes--a world of dreams +where the tyranny of self could not enter. For that one instant her +whole soul had leaped in response to his strong tenderness. + +She tried to dismiss the recollection as an admission of cowardice +engendered of the night's mood. But she could not do away with the +memories which lingered obstinately. Not since the days when Dick had +offered his blind loyalty had any one tried to understand her as Austin +Selwyn had done. She was grateful for that. She might even have valued +his friendship if he had not been so despicable that awful night. To +insult her with his talk of pacifism, and then, heedless of her +intensity, to propose to her! She could not forgive him for that. She +was glad her words had stung him! + +Minutes passed. The fire would not answer to any attention, but sulkily +lived out its little hour. The evening seemed interminable. + +It was shortly after ten o'clock when there was a knock at the door, and +Elise hurried to open it, thinking there might be a message from the +garage. + +'It's only me, Elise,' said a familiar voice. + +'Oh!--Horace,' she laughed. 'What's the trouble? Did Marian leave +anything behind?' + +'No. I was just absolutely fed up; and when she told me you were here +alone, I thought I'd jolly well come down and talk to you.' + +'Good! Come in. You mustn't stay long, though. Please don't notice +this horrible mess.' + +In sheer pleasure at the breaking of the solitude, her vivacity made her +eyes sparkle with life. Her sentences were crisp and rapid, and as she +led the young officer to a seat by the fire it would have been difficult +for Elise herself to think that a few minutes before she had been +helplessly and lonesomely on the brink of tears. + +'How is the dance going on up the street?' she asked, as Maynard inserted +a cigarette between his lips without lighting it. + +'It's a poisonous affair.' + +'Poor boy!' + +'I'm fed up, Elise. I'm--I'm _gorged_. When I heard you were down here, +I said, "By George! I'll go and see her. I can talk to Elise. She's +got some sense."' + +'What a thing to say about a woman!' + +'Don't chaff me, Elise. I can't stand it. I'm frightfully +upset--really.' + +'What has Marian been doing to you?'' + +'Nothing, except making a blithering ass of me. You know, I was +fearfully keen on her, and I've passed up all sorts of fluff so as to do +the decent; but when that brute Heckles-Jennings advised me to-night to +be sure and sit out a dance with Marian because she was such hot stuff, +he said . . . Of course, he's an outsider and all that, and I told him +to go to hell--but you don't blame me for feeling cut up, do you, Elise?' + +'Didn't you know she was that kind?' + +'What kind?' + +'Oh--the--the universal kisser--the complete osculator--the'---- + +'I say'---- + +'But surely you don't think you are the only one she has made a fool of? +To begin with, there's her husband in France--a brother-officer, Horace.' + +Maynard wriggled uneasily, sliding down the chair in the movement until +his knees were very near his chin. + +'He's a rotter, Elise.' + +'Do you know him?' + +'N-no. But Marian says he absolutely neglects her. He's one of those +cold-blooded fish--doesn't understand her a bit. After all'--the extra +vehemence shifted him another few inches, so that he presented an +extraordinary figure, like the hump of a dromedary--'women must have +sympathy. They need it. They'---- + +'Oh, Horace!' Elise burst into a laugh. 'Are there really some of you +left? How refreshing! Why don't you put it on your card: "2nd Lt. +Horace Maynard, Grenadier Guards, soul-mate by appointment"?' + +'I wish you wouldn't laugh like that.' + +He was a picture of such utter dejection that, checking her mirth, Elise +laid her hand on his arm. 'Sorry, Horace. You know, if it hadn't been +for this war we might never have known how _nice_ our men are. I only +wonder how it is that the women have the heart to make such fools of you.' + +The unhappy warrior pulled himself up to a fairly upright posture and +tapped his cigarette against the palm of his hand. 'I'm glad,' he said +with a slight blush, 'that you don't quite put me down as a rotter. I +don't know what's come over us all. Before the war, when you met a +chap's wife--well, hang it all!--she was his wife, and that was all there +was about it. But nowadays'---- + +'I know, Horace, it's a miserable business altogether--partly war +hysteria, and partly the fact that women can't stand independence, I +suppose. Marian's a splendid type of the female war-shirker. You know +she's married; yet, because she lets you maul her'---- + +'I say, Elise!' + +'----and she murmurs pathetically that her husband in France neglects +her--at least, that's what she tells you. When she was dressing to-night +Marian said that she and her husband absolutely trusted each other.' + +'By Jove! You don't mean that?' + +'She also said that all men, including you, were a scream. Probably she +considers you a perfect shriek.' + +Trembling with indignation, Maynard suddenly collapsed like a punctured +balloon and relapsed dejectedly into his recumbent attitude. 'What an +ass I have been!' he lamented sorrowfully. 'What a sublime ass! And +Marian--the little devil!' + +'Rubbish!' + +'Eh? I suppose you think I am an idiot for---- Well, perhaps you're +right.' + +For a couple of minutes nothing was said, and the melancholy lover, with +his chin resting on his chest, ruminated over his unhappy affair. + +'Hang it all!' he said at last, hesitatingly, 'when a chap gets leave +from the front he's--he's sort of woman-hungry. You don't know what it +feels like, after getting away from all that mud and corruption, to hear +a girl's voice--one of our own. It goes to the head like bubbly. It's +a--a dream come true. There's just the two things in your life--eight or +nine months in the trenches; then a fortnight with the company of women +again. It's awfully soppy to talk like this'---- + +'No, it isn't, Horace. It's the biggest compliment ever paid our women. +I only wish we could try to be what you boys picture us. That's what +makes me feel like drowning Marian every few days. Horace, I'm proud of +you.' + +She patted his hand which was grasping the arm of the chair, and he +blushed a hearty red. + +'Elise!' He sat bolt-upright. 'By gad! I never knew it until this +minute. _You_ are the woman I ought to marry. You are far too good and +clever and all that; but, by Jove! I could do something in the world if I +had you to work for. Don't stop me, Elise. I am serious. I should have +known all along'---- + +'Horace, Horace!' Hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry, Elise put +her hand over his mouth and checked the amorous torrent. 'You're a +perfect dear,' she said, 'and I'm ever so grateful'---- + +'But'---- + +'But you mustn't be silly. This is only the reaction from Marian.' + +'It's nothing of the sort,' he blurted, putting aside her hand. 'I--I +really do--I love you. You're different from any other girl I ever met.' + +'My dear, you mustn't say such things. You know you don't love me as you +will the right girl when you meet her.' + +He got out of the chair by getting over its arm. 'I beg your pardon, +Elise,' he said, not without a certain shy dignity. 'I meant every word +I said--but I suppose there's some one else.' + +'Only a dream-man, Horace.' + +'What about that American?' + +'What--American?' Her agitation was something she could hardly have +explained. + +'That author-fellow at Roselawn. He was frightfully keen on you. I +remember half-a-dozen times when he would be talking to us, and if you +came in he'd go as mum as an oyster, and just follow you with his eyes. +Is _he_ the chap, Elise?' + +'Good gracious!'--she forced a laugh-- 'why, I don't even know where he +is.' + +'Don't you? He's in London; I can tell you that much. Last month in +France I ran across that Doosenberry-Jewdrop fellow---you know--the +futurist artist.' + +'Do you mean Johnston Smyth?' + +'That's the chap.' + +'I didn't know he was in France.' + +'Rather. I thought your brother would have told you.' + +'_My brother?_' There was not a vestige of colour in her cheeks. 'What +do you mean?' + +Maynard scratched the back of his head. 'Smyth told me,' he said, +wondering at the cause of her agitation, 'that Dick and he enlisted +together some months ago. By Jove! I remember now. He told me that +this American fellow put them up at his rooms in St. James's Square one +night. Smyth didn't know who Dick was until they got to France. He was +travelling under the name of Sherlock, or Shylock, or Sherwood'---- + +'I--I thought Dick was in China.' She wrung her hands nervously. 'You +didn't see him?' + +'No. That's all I know about him, except that he was transferred to some +other battalion than Dinglederry Smyth's.' + +She went over to a table and took a piece of notepaper from a drawer. +'Mr. Selwyn used to belong to the R.A.C.,' she said quickly. 'Would you +do me a favour, Horace dear?' + +He murmured his desire to be of service in any capacity. Hesitating a +moment, she wrote hurriedly: + + +'_4th March 1915_, 2lA PARK WALK. + +'DEAR MR. SELWYN,--Will you please come and see me as soon as you can? I +am not on night-duty this week.--Yours sincerely, ELISE DURWENT.' + + +She sealed the envelope and handed it to Maynard. 'Please find out from +the R.A.C. where he is, and ask them to send this note to him. I am +ever so grateful, Horace.' + +'I suppose,' he said, looking at the envelope, 'that this means the--the +finish of my chances?' + +She answered the question by wishing him good luck in France, but there +was a strange tremulousness in the softly spoken words. + +He put out his hand shyly. 'Good-night, old girl,' he said, smiling with +a sort of rueful boyishness. + +She took his proffered hand, and then, obeying an impulse, stooped and +pressed her burning cheek against it. 'Good-night, Horace,' she said +softly. 'I hope you'll come back safe to be a fine husband for some nice +girl.' + +When he had gone, and his footsteps died away, she returned to the table. +Burying her face in her hands, she fought back the tears which surged to +the surface. Her love for Dick, her own loneliness, a mad joy in the +thought of seeing Selwyn again, a motherly pity for Maynard, a fury +towards Marian, an incomprehensible yearning--she felt that her heart was +bursting, but could not have said herself whether it was with grief or +with joy. + + +III. + +From the time that Austin Selwyn received the note there was nothing else +in his mind--as in Elise's--but the coming meeting. As playwrights +planning a scene, each went through the encounter in prospect a dozen +times, reading into it the play of emotions which was almost certain to +dominate the affair. Although completely ignorant of her motive in +writing to him, Selwyn invented a hundred different reasons--only to +discard them all. Nor was Elise more able to satisfy herself as to the +outcome of the meeting. It was not his actions that were difficult to +forecast, but her own. Would her dislike of him be intensified? Would +she experience again the momentary rapture of that summer afternoon? + +It was fortunate that another lover had appeared for Marian, so that the +desertion of Maynard did not leave her moping untidily about the place. +She was one of those women who are so singularly lacking in +self-sufficiency that, except when in the company of men, they are as +fiat as champagne from which the sparkle has departed. + +It so happened, therefore, that Elise was again alone the following +evening, dreading Selwyn's arrival, yet impatient of delay. + +A few minutes after eight she heard him knock, and going to the street +door, opened it for him. The night was a vapourish, miserable one, +blurring his figure into indistinctness, and when he spoke his voice was +hoarse, as though the damp tendrils of the mist had penetrated to his +throat. + +Answering something to his greeting, she led him through the hall into +the sitting-room. He paused as he entered. Without looking back, she +crossed to the fireplace, and kneeling down, stirred the fire. + +'May I help?' + +'No, thanks. I prefer to do it.' + +Her answer had followed so swiftly on his question that he stopped in the +act of stepping forward. She looked over her shoulder with a swift, +searching glance. + +His face was a tired gray, and the silk scarf thrown about his neck +looked oddly vivid against the black evening-clothes and overcoat. But +if his face suggested weariness, his eyes were alive with dynamic force. +The intensity of the man's personality strangely moved Elise. She felt +the presence of a mind and a body vibrating with tremendous purpose--a +man who drew vitality from others, yet charged them in return with his +own greater store. + +To her he seemed to have divorced himself from type--he had lost even the +usual characteristics of race. With the thought, she wondered how far +his solitary life had effected the transition, if his idealism had +brought him loneliness. + +'Won't you sit down?' she said hesitatingly. + +He acquiesced, and took a seat in the chair from which Maynard had run +the emotional gamut the previous evening. + +'You look pale,' she said, drawing a chair near the fire. 'I hope you +have not been unwell.' + +'No--no; it is merely that I have been so little out of doors. I could +not gather from your note what kind of work you were engaged in. I see +you are an ambulance-driver. I congratulate you.' + +His voice conveyed nothing but polite interest in an obvious situation. +With over-sensitive apprehension she listened for any suggestion of +sarcasm that lay behind his words, but she could detect nothing beyond +mere impersonal courtesy--that, and a far-off weariness, as of one who +has passed the borders of fatigue. + +'I wrote to your mother,' he said, 'when I heard of your elder brother's +death. It must have been a great grief to you all.' + +She did not answer him. His manner was so cold that he might have been +deliberately disposing of a number of prepared comments rendered +imperative by the laws of polite intercourse. + +'Why didn't you let us know you had seen Dick?' she said abruptly. + +'Then--you have heard?' He raised his eyebrows in surprise. + +'Only last night, by the merest accident. He might have been killed in +France, and we should never have known about it.' Her words were +resentful and swift. 'Will you please tell me about him?' + +Omitting the incident of Archibald's tavern, Selwyn told of the chance +meeting with Dick, the encounter with Johnston Smyth, the night at the +rooms in St. James's Square, and the subsequent glimpse of them marching +through Whitehall. + +'Your brother asked me to say nothing,' he said calmly. 'That is one of +the reasons why I did not let you know.' + +'Had Dick changed at all?' she asked, trying to make her words as +listless as his. 'I wish that you would tell me something that he said. +You must know more about him than just'---- + +'I don't think he had changed,' said Selwyn; and for the first time his +voice was tinged with compassion. 'He spoke of you with a kind of +worship. I suppose you know how he idolises you.' + +His dark eyes looked at her through partially closed eyelashes, but only +the manner in which her fingers compressed the fold of her skirt betrayed +the turmoil of her feelings. + +'Is that all you can tell me?' + +'That is all.' He made no attempt to elaborate the conversation or to +introduce any new theme. The scene which had promised to be so dramatic +was actually dragging with uncomfortable silences. She waited long +enough for him to speak, but when he remained silent--it was a sardonic +silence to her--she rose from the chair with the manner of one who has +determined to bring an interview to a close. + +'Thank you for coming so promptly,' she said. 'I am most grateful for +your kindness to Dick--and I know enough of the law to realise that you +were taking a risk in hiding him.' + +'It was nothing at all,' he said. He looked at her for an indication +that her questions were at an end. + +'I hope you will be able to get a taxi,' she ventured helplessly. + +For the first time he smiled, and she reddened with mortification. He +had been so cool and unyielding, so bloodless, that he had forced her to +a disadvantage. She knew he could not be ignorant of the strain of the +affair on her, yet he had done nothing to ease it. If she could have +projected her mind into his, she would have seen that his conduct was as +inexplicable to himself as to her. He knew he was hurting her. Perhaps +it was because her warm lips and crimson cheeks were creating a torment +in his soul that he could not curb the impulse to wound her. It may have +been the subconscious knowledge that where one can hurt one can conquer +that dominated his actions. While she resented the invulnerability with +which he guarded his own feelings, it is probable that any different +attitude on his part would have brought forth a more active unkindness on +hers. When men and women love, strange paradoxes are found. + +They went to the door together, and in the brighter light of the hall +Elise saw for the first time that he was considerably thinner, and that +his brow was like marble. She felt a little stab of pity for him, +forgetting his own lack of sympathy towards herself; she caught a faint +realisation of what he must have endured for it to have marked him so +indelibly. + +'Don't you think,' she said, 'that you ought to go to the seaside for a +while? You are not looking at all well.' + +His lips grew firmer, but there was a curious look in his eyes as he +turned towards her. 'I have work to do here,' he said crisply. + +'I know--but surely'---- + +'In London,' he said--and there was a suggestion of the fanatic's ecstasy +in his voice--'it is impossible to forget life. I don't want my mind +soothed or lulled. You can always hear the challenge of the human +destiny in London. It cries out to you everywhere. It'---- He had held +his head erect, and had spoken louder than was his custom; but, checking +himself, he made a queer, dramatic gesture with his hands. + +The fire of his spirit swept over her. Once more she stood close to him, +as she had done so many times in her thoughts. She did not know whether +she loved or detested him. She was fascinated--trembling--longing for +him to force her to surrender in his arms--knowing that she would hate +him if he did. She gave a little cry as Selwyn, almost as if he read her +conflicting thoughts, took her arms with his hands once more. + +'If we had both been English,' he said, and his voice was so parched that +it seemed to have been scorched by his spirit, 'or if we had met in other +times than these, things might have been different. I know what you +think of me for the work I am doing, but it would be as impossible for me +to give it up as for you to think as I do. We come of two different +worlds, you and I. . . . I am sorry we have met to-night. For me, at +least, it has reopened old wounds. And it is all so useless.' + +She made no reply; but as his eyes were lowered to her face, and he saw +once more the trembling lips, her unsoiled womanliness, her whole vivid, +lonely, gripping charm, a look of suffering crossed his face. He +realised the hopelessness of it all, but the admission was like tearing +out a thread which had been woven into the whole scheme of his being. + +'We both have our work to do,' he said wearily, letting his arms drop to +his side. + +'Good-night.' + +She answered, but did not give him her hand. With a repetition of the +farewell he left her, and she walked musingly into the room again. She +felt a flush of anger at his daring to say their friendship was +impossible, when she had not even suggested that it could ever be +resumed. His vanity knew no bounds. She was furious at having let him +hold her as he did--even more furious with the knowledge that she would +not have resisted if he had kissed her. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +MOONLIGHT. + + +I. + +Two summers came and went, and the little park in St. James's Square +rested once more beneath its covering of autumn leaves. + +Selwyn, who was still occupying the rooms of the absent New Yorker, was +looking over his morning mail. The thinning of his hair at the temples +was more pronounced, and here and there was the warning of premature +gray. He had lost flesh, but his face had steadied into a set +grimness, and his mouth had the firmness of one who had fought a long +uphill fight. + +Looking through a heavy mail, he extracted a letter from his New York +agent: + + +'_Oct. 2nd, 1916_. + +'DEAR MR. SELWYN,--You will be interested to know that the +extraordinary sensation caused by your writings in America has resulted +in the sale of them to Mr. J. V. Schneider for foreign rights. They +have been translated, and will shortly appear in the press of Spain, +Norway, Holland, and the various states of South America. + +'It would be impossible for me to forward more than a small percentage +of the comments of our press on your work, but in my whole literary +experience I don't remember any writer who has caused such a storm of +comment on every appearance as you. As you can see by the selection I +have made, the papers are by no means entirely favourable. I feel that +you should know that you are openly accused of pro-Germanism, of being +a conscientious objector, &c., &c.--all of which, of course, means +excellent advertisement. + +'I have had many inquiries as to whether you would care to conduct a +lecture-tour. There is a Mr. C. B. Benjamin, who is financially +interested in Mr. Schneider's affairs, and who is willing to pay you +almost anything within reason, if you care to state your terms. + +'Of course, the most discussed article of all is "The Island of +Darkness," in which you accuse Britain of contributing so largely +towards bringing about the present war. The German-American +organisations and the strong Irish section here were especially +jubilant, and every one concedes that it has awakened a great deal of +resentment against Britain that had been forgotten since the beginning +of the war. Even your detractors admit that "The Island of Darkness" +will live as a literary classic. + +'Your first ten articles have been made into book form under the title +_America's War_, and are selling most satisfactorily. The first +edition has gone into 40,000 copies. The attached clipping from the +_New York Express_ is fairly typical of the reception given the book by +the pro-Entente press. + +'Your September statement will go forward to-morrow with cheque +covering foreign rights, royalties, &c.--I am, Mr. Selwyn, yours very +truly, + +S. T. LYONS.' + + +With hardly more than a merely casual interest, Selwyn glanced at the +clipping attached to the letter. It was from the editorial page of the +_Express_. + + +'THE MENACE OF SELWYN. + +'In 1912 Austin Selwyn was known as a younger member of New York's +writing fraternity. He had done one or two good things and several +mediocre ones, but promised to reach the doubtful altitude of +best-sellership without difficulty. To-day Selwyn is the mouthpiece of +neutrality. He has preached it in a language that will not permit of +indifference. He has succeeded in surrounding his doubtful idealism +with a vigour that commands attention, even if not respect. Right in +the heart of London he is turning out insidious propaganda which is +being seized upon by every neutral American who has his own reasons for +wanting us to keep out of war. It would be absurd to say that one +man's writing could in itself sway a great nation, but nevertheless it +is a vehicle which is being used to the limit by every pro-German +agency in this free land. + +'Truly we are a strange people. We have a President who deliberately +cuts his political throat with a phrase, "too proud to fight;" but +because we think Wilson is a greater man than he himself knows, we sew +up the cut and send him back for another term. In the same way, +although every red-blooded American has in his heart been at war with +Germany since the _Lusitania_, we permit this man Selwyn to go on +cocaining the conscience of our people until our flag, which we have +loved to honour, is beginning to be a thing of shame. He should be +brought back from England and interned here with a few "neutral" +German-Americans. He certainly can write, and perhaps from confinement +he might give us a second _De Profundis_. His book, _America's War_, +which is now on the market, is a series of arguments showing that +America is at war with the causes of the war. It is a nice conceit. +Our advice is to add the book to your library--but don't read it for +ten years. In that time it will be interesting to see the work of a +brilliant mind prostituted (and in this we are placing the most +charitable construction on Mr. Selwyn's motives) by intellectual +perversion.' + + +Without the expression of his face undergoing any change, Selwyn +carefully placed the letter on his file, and took from the envelope a +number of American press clippings. Choosing them at random, he +contented himself with reading the headings: + + +'Author of "The Island of Darkness" again hits out.' + +'"Britain has thrived on European medievalism," says Austin Selwyn.' + +'More hot air from the super-Selwyn.' + +'Selwyn is the spokesman for enlightened America.' + +'Masterful thinker, masterful writer, is the author of "The Island of +Darkness."' + +'What does Selwyn receive from Germany?' + +'The arch-hypocrite of American letters.' + + +With a shrug of his shoulders he threw them to one side. 'A pack of +hounds,' he muttered, 'howling at the moon!' + +He leaned back in his chair and pondered over the written word that +could leap such spaces and carry his message into countries which he +had never seen. It was with a deeper emotion than just the author's +pleasure at recognition that he visualised his ancestor leaving Holland +for the New World, and the strange trend of events which was resulting +in the emigrant's descendant sending back to the Netherlands his call +to higher and world citizenship. + +Still ruminating over the power that had become his, he noticed a +letter, on the envelope of which was written 'On Active Service,' and +breaking the seal, found that it was from Douglas Watson, written at a +British hospital in France. As Selwyn read it the impassiveness of his +face gave way to a look of trouble. For the first time in many months +there was the quick play of expression about his lips and his eyes that +had always differentiated him from those about him. + +At the conclusion of the letter he put it down, and crossing to the +French windows, leaned against them, while his fingers drummed +nervously on the glass. With a gesture of impatience, as though he +resented its having been written at all, he picked up the letter once +more, and turning the pages, quickly reached the part which had +affected him so: + + +'They tell me I'm going to lose my arm, and that I'm out of it; but +they're wrong. I'm going back to America just as soon as they will let +me, and I'm going to tell them at home what this war is about. And, +what's more, I'm going to tell them what war is. It isn't great armies +moving wonderfully forward "as if on parade," as some of these +newspaper fellows tell you. It's a putrid, rotten business. After +Loos dead men and horses rotted for days in the sun. War's not a thing +of glory; it's rats and vermin and filth and murder. Three weeks ago I +killed a German. He hadn't a chance to get his gun up before I stuck +him with my bayonet like a pig. As he fell his helmet rolled off; he +was about eighteen, with sort of golden hair, and light, light blue +eyes. I've been through some hell, Austin, but when I saw his face I +cried like a kid. To you that's another argument for our remaining +neutral. To me that poor little Fritzie is the very reason America +should have been in it from the first. Can't you see that this +Prussian outfit is not only murdering Frenchmen and Russians and +Britishers, but is murdering her own men as well? If America had been +in the war it would have been over now, and every day she holds back +means so many more of the best men in the world dead. + +'For the love of Mike, Austin, clear your brains. I have seen your +stuff in American papers sent over to me, and it's vile rot. Tomorrow +they're going to take my left arm from me, but'---- + + +Selwyn crumpled the letter in his hand and hurled it into the +fireplace. Plunging his hands into his pockets, he paced the room as +he had done that night when Watson had called to tell him he was going +to enlist. He was seized with an incoherent fury at it all--the +inhumanity of it--the degradation of the whole thing. But through the +formless cloud of his thoughts there gleamed the one incessant phrase +'about eighteen, with sort of golden hair, and light, light blue eyes.' +Why should that groove his consciousness so deeply? He had heard, +unmoved, of the death of Malcolm Durwent. A month ago he had read how +Captain Fensome, of Lady Durwent's house-party, had been killed trying +to rescue his servant in No Man's Land. The sight of Dick Durwent and +Johnston Smyth marching away had been only a spur to more intensive +writing. Then why should that haltingly worded sentence lie like ice +against his heart? + +A sharp pain shot through his head. + +Stopping his walk, he leaned once more against the windows, and rested +his hot face on the grateful coolness of the glass. + +What, he questioned, had he accomplished, after all? He had gained the +ears of millions, but the war was no nearer a close. America was +neutral--that was true. _But why was America neutral_? Had he falsely +idealised his own country? Was her aloofness from the world-war the +result of a passionate, overwhelming realisation of her God-deputed +destiny, as he had imagined? + +Hitherto he had paid no attention to the writings in the English press +chronicling the passing of the world's gold reserve from London to New +York. He had ignored the evidence of nation-wide prosperity from the +Atlantic coast to San Francisco. All such things he had dismissed as +unavoidable, unsought material results of America's spiritual +neutrality. + +Yet, while the wheels of prosperity were turning at such a pitch, there +was a boy lying dead--about eighteen. + +He beat his fist into the palm of his hand. Who was this Schneider who +had purchased the foreign rights of his articles? What sort of a man +was this Benjamin who wanted him to lecture? Were they, as he had +supposed, men of vision who wished to co-operate in achieving the great +unison of Right? . . . Or were they . . . ? + +The thought was hideous. Was it possible that those writings, born of +his mental torture, robbing him of every friend he valued---was it +thinkable that they had been used for gross purposes? + +His fingers again played rapidly against the windows as he wrestled +with the sudden ugly suspicion. At last, utterly exhausted, he sank +into a chair. + +'There is only one thing I can do,' he said decisively; 'return to +America at once. If, as I have thought, her neutrality is in tune with +the highest; if my fellow-countrymen are imbued with such a spirit of +infinite mercifulness that from them will flow the healing streams to +cure the wounds of bleeding Europe, then I have carried a lamp whose +light reflects the face of God. . . . But if . . .' + + +II. + +That night a glorious moonlight silvered the roof-tops of old London, +touching its jumbled architecture with fantastic beauty. + +Vagrant towers and angular church spires, uninspired statuary, and +weary, smoke-darkened trees shed their garments of commonplaceness and +shimmered like the mosques and turrets of an enchanted city. + +It was one of those nights that are sent to remind us that Beauty still +lives; a night to challenge our mad whirl of bargaining and barter, to +urge us to raise our eyes from the grubbing crawling of avarice; a +night to awaken old memories, and to stir the pent-up streams of poetry +lying asleep in every breast. + +It was a moonlight that descended on Old England's troubled heart as a +benediction. Her rivers were glimmering paths winding about the +country-side; her villages and her heavy-scented country lanes shared +its caress with open meadows and murky cities. The sea, binding the +little islands in its turbulent immensity, drew the night's beauty to +its bosom, and the spray of foam rising from the surf was a shower of +star-dust leaping towards the moon. + +As a weary traveller drinks thirstily at a pool, Selwyn wandered about +the streets trembling with emotion in the breathless ecstasy of the +night. All day the conjured picture of the German boy, guilty of no +crime save blind devotion to his Fatherland, had haunted him like the +eyes of a murdered man. It had robbed him of the power of constructive +thought, and stopped his writing with the decisiveness of a sword +descending on his wrist; it had made the food on his table tasteless, +and given him a dread of the solitude of his rooms. + +With nerves that contracted at every untoward sound, he had gone out at +dark, and gradually the peacefulness of the night had soothed and +calmed him as the dew of dusk cools the earth after the heat of a +summer's day. The familiar strains of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' +came to his mind, and as he walked he idly traced the different +movements of the music in the moods of the evening's witchery. + +His steps, like his thoughts, pursued a tangled course, and led him +into the prosaic brick-and-mortar monotony of Bayswater, but the moon +was lavish in her generosity, and strewed his path with glinting +strands of light. He paused in a quiet square to get his bearings. +There was the heavy smell of fallen leaves from the gardens on the +other side of the railing. + +His mind was still playing the slow minor theme of the sonata's opening +movement. + +Suddenly the air was shattered with the noise of warning guns. As if +released by a single switch, a dozen searchlights sprang into the sky, +crossing and blending in a swerving glare. There was the piercing +warning of bugles and the heavy booming of maroons. + +Dazed by the swiftness of it all, Selwyn leaned against the low iron +fence. A Boy Scout whirled past on a bicycle, his bugle hoarse and +discordant; an old woman went whimpering by, hatless, with a protesting +child in her arms; an ambulance, clanging its gong, rounded the corner +with reckless speed; a mightier searchlight than any of the rest swept +the sky in great circles. + +It seemed only a matter of seconds, though in reality much longer, when +the American heard a faint crunching sound in the distance, followed by +a deep, sullen thud. In rapid succession came three more, and the +defence guns of London burst into action, changing the night into +Bedlam. + +Still motionless, he listened, awe-struck, to the din of the weird +battle with an unseen foe, when the cough of exploding shells in the +air grew appreciably louder. Raising a whirlwind of dust, a motor-car +swerved dangerously into the square, and with a roar sped up the road, +carrying to their aerodrome three British airmen. As if driven by a +gale, the battle of the clouds drew nearer and nearer, the whine and +barking of the shells like a pack of dogs trying to repel some monster +of the jungle. + +There was a deafening crash. + +Selwyn was thrown against the fence, and almost buried beneath a shower +of bricks and earth. With the roar of a rushing waterfall in his ears, +and blood streaming from a wound in his forehead, he sank to his knees +and for a moment lost consciousness; but mastering his weakness, he +staggered to his feet and looked wildly about. On the other side of +the street, where there had been a house, there was a smoking chaos. A +little crowd had appeared seemingly from the bowels of the earth, and a +woman was shrieking horribly. + +Selwyn wiped his forehead with his hand and gazed stupidly at the blood +which covered it. The roar of the guns was louder than it had yet +been, and from a few streets away came the crunch of another bomb, +shaking the earth with the explosion which followed. Selwyn leaned +impotently against a post, and a quivering uncanny laugh broke from his +lips. It was all so grotesque, so absurd. _Human beings didn't do +such things_. It was a joke--a mad jest. He held his sides and +laughed with uncontrollable mirth. + +Then his whole form became rigid in a moment. A man had shouted +something. There had been a wail from the crowd. Was it true? Some +one buried alive--a little girl? + +With a blasphemous curse Selwyn staggered across the road, and roughly +elbowing his way through the crowd, found a solitary policeman, +hindered by willing undirected hands, digging in the wreckage as best +he could, while a couple of women sobbed hysterically and wrung their +hands. + +Those who watched hardly knew what had happened, but they saw a +hatless, bleeding figure appear, and, with the incision of snapping +hawsers, question the policeman and the weeping women. They heard his +quick commands to the men, and saw him jump into the centre of the +debris. With the instantaneous recognition of leadership his helpers +threw themselves to the work with a frenzy of determination. Lifting, +digging, pulling with torn hands and arms that ached with strain, they +struggled furiously towards the spot where it was known the girl was +buried. They were like starving wolves tearing at the carcass of an +animal. They yelled encouragement and fought through the chaos--and +still the stranger whipped them into madness with his cries. + +There in the smoke and the choking dust Austin Selwyn shook in the grip +of the greatest emotion he had ever known. A girl was buried--a +fraction of a minute might mean her life. With hot breath and pulses +on fire, he led his unknown men through the choking ruins to where one +small, insignificant life was imprisoned. + +An ambulance sounded its gong, and drew up by the crowd; the storm of +the guns continued to rage, but no one thought of anything but the +fight of those men for one little unknown life. + +At last. They had uncovered a great iron beam which had struck on a +stone foundation and left a zone of safety beneath. Eager hands +gripped it, dragging it aside, and there was hardly a sound as the +stranger lowered himself into the chasm. A minute later he reappeared, +and a shout broke from the on-lookers. He was carrying a little form +in his arms. + +But when they saw his face a hush fell on every one. She was dead. + +Wild-eyed, with the ghastliness of his pallor showing through the +coating of grime and blood, Austin Selwyn stood in the ruins of the +house, and the brown tresses of the child fell over his arm. + +Kind hands were stretched out to him, but he shook them off angrily. +He was talking to the thing in his arms--muttering, crooning something. + +Slowly he raised his face to the skies. In the glare of the +searchlights a gleaming, silvery, oblong-shaped form was turning and +twisting like an animal at bay. They heard him catch his breath; then +their blood was frozen by a choking, heart-rending cry of agony and +rage. + +It was the cry of the crystal-gazer who has had his crystal dashed from +his eyes, to find himself in the presence of murder. + +The crowd remained mute, helpless and frightened at the spectacle, when +they saw a young woman approach him, a woman dressed in the khaki +uniform of an ambulance-driver. + +'Austin,' they heard her say, 'please give me the little girl.' + +With a stupid smile he handed the child to her, and she laid it on a +stretcher. When it had been taken away, she took Selwyn's hand in hers +and led him, unresisting, to the ambulance. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +ELISE. + + +I. + +Early next morning, in a large military ward of a London hospital, Austin +Selwyn woke from a sleep that had been charged with black dreams, and +tried to recall the events leading to his present whereabouts. + +By slow, tortuous process he reconstructed the previous evening as far as +the moment when he had heard the warning guns. After that the incidents +grew dim, and faded into incoherency. He seemed to remember rushing +somewhere in a motor-vehicle. He distinctly recalled seeing a policeman +in Trafalgar Square. Yes, that was very clear--quite the most vivid +impression of the whole night, indeed. He would hang on to that +policeman. + +With the care of an Arctic explorer establishing his base before going +farther into _terra incognita_, he attached the threads of his wandering +mind to that limb of the law, and groped in all the directions of his +memory's compass. But it was of no avail. Tired out with the futile +efforts he had made, his bandaged head sank back in the pillows, and the +vivid policeman in Trafalgar Square was reluctantly surrendered as a +negligible means of solution. + +When he next awoke, it was to the sound of many voices. There were two +that were very close--one on either side of him, in fact. Affecting +sleep, Selwyn listened carefully. + +'Wot's that you say, Jock?' said a Cockney voice to his left. + +'I was obsairvin',' said the other, 'that Number Twenty-sax is occupied +this mornin'.' + +'Ow yus, so it is. I was 'oping as 'ow me pal the Duke of Mudturtle +would buy the plice next to mine. But he don't look a bad cove, wot you +can see under 'is farncy 'ead-dress.' + +'I dinna think he can be o' the airmy. His skin's as pale as a lassie in +love.' + +'In the army, Jock? Don't hinsult 'im. 'E's one of the 'eroes of the +'ome front--hindispensibles, they calls 'em.' + +'Weel, weel, noo,' expostulated the Scot, 'dinna tak' ower muckle for +granted. We canna a' gang tae the war, or wha wud bide at hame an' mak +the whusky?' + +'By Gar!' said a third patient opposite, sitting up suddenly and speaking +in the disjointed but strangely musical dialect of the French-Canadian, +'she is a wise feller, dis Scoachie.' + +'Bonn swoir, Frenchy,' said the Cockney graciously. ''Ow alley you +mantenongs?' + +'Verra good, Tommee. How is de godam bow bells?' + +'Well, the last toime I sees me old side-kick the Lord Mayor, 'e says as +'ow they was took by a Canadian for a soovenir.' + +'Na,' said the Scotsman reprovingly; 'I'm thinkin' yon's exaggerated.' + +'By Gar!' said the French-Canadian. 'See, the orderly come now with +water for shav'. Back in de bush or on de long portage I shav' once, +twice, perhaps tree time a month. Always before I meet my leetle girl I +shav'. But when I say good-bye and go to war--by gollies! de army make +me for do it every day. My officier, he say, "What for you no shav' dis +morning?" "Sair," I say, "I no kees de Boche--I keel him." He say +noding to dat excep', "Look at you. I shav' every day. Do you preten' I +doan' fight?" "Well," I say, "if de cap feets you, smoke it." And for +no reason he give me tree time extra for carry de godam ration.' + +At this stage the arrival of wash-basins interrupted further anecdote and +philosophy, and the entire ward became animated with soldiers performing +their ablutions, some sitting up in bed, others on the edge of their +beds, and a few so weak that they could just turn painfully on their side +and wait for other hands to help. + +A burst of hearty greetings told Selwyn that some one must have entered +the ward, and a few minutes later he felt the presence of a nurse beside +him. + +'Good-morning,' she said, gently touching him on the shoulder. 'How is +your head feeling?' + +He opened his eyes and looked into the face bending over his. 'I think +it's all right,' he said weakly. 'But, nurse, won't you tell me how I +got here?' + +She dipped a cloth into a basin and bathed his hands and face. + +'You were hit by a piece of shrapnel in last night's air-raid. I wasn't +on duty when you came in, but the night-sister said you were quite +delirious--though you seem ever so much better this morning, don't you? +I'll take your temperature, and after you've had some breakfast I'll put +a new dressing on your wound.' + +She was just going to insert the thermometer between his lips, when he +stopped her with his hand. 'Nurse,' he said, 'why was I brought +here--among soldiers?' + +'Because every hospital is filled to overflowing. The casualties are so +heavy just now.' Her voice was still kind, but there was a look of +resentment in her eyes at his question. + +'Please don't misunderstand me,' said Selwyn wearily. 'It is only the +feeling that I have no right here. This cot should be for a soldier, and +I'm a civilian. I'm an American, and--and if you only knew'---- + +'Just a minute, now, until we get this temperature, and then you can tell +me all about it.' + +With his lips silenced, but his doubts by no means so, he watched her +move down the ward in commencement of the countless duties of her day. +She was a woman of thirty-three or thirty-four years, still young, and +possessed of a womanliness that softened her whole appearance with a +tranquil restfulness. But beneath her eyes and in the texture of the +skin faint wrinkles were showing, thinly pencilled protests against +overwork, that no treatment could ever eradicate. On the red collar of +her uniform was a badge which told that she had gone to France with the +first little army of Regulars in 1914. + +Noting her calloused hands and the too rapid approach of life's +midsummer, Selwyn watched her, and wondered what recompense could be +offered for those things. In ordinary life, given the privileges and the +opportunities which she deserved, she would have been another of those +glorious English women whose beauty is nearest the rose. She would have +been a wife to grace any home, and as a mother her charm would have been +twofold. But for more than two years incessant toil and endless +suffering had been the companions of her days, and the not over-strong +body was giving to the ordeal. + +But as his heavy thoughts drifted slowly through this channel, he saw +grinning patients who were well enough get out of bed to help her. As if +she carried some magic gem of happiness, her soft voice and deft touch +brought smiles to eyes that had been scorched in the flames of hell. Men +looked up, and seeing her, believed once more in life; and hope crept +into their hearts. Men in the great shadowy valley murmured like a +child in its sleep when a ray of morning sunshine, stealing through the +curtains, plays upon its face. + +And of the many things which Selwyn learned that day, one was that those +ministering angels, those women of limitless spirit and sympathy, have +memories of mute, unspoken gratitude, beside which the proudest triumphs +of the greatest beauties are but the tawdry, tinsel glory of a pantomime +queen. + + +II. + +After the nurse had taken the thermometer from Selwyn and marked his +temperature on a chart which she placed beside him, breakfast was brought +in, and he was propped up with pillows. + +'Guid-mornin',' said the Highlander. 'I hope ye're nane the waur o' your +expeerience.' + +'Not 'im,' broke in the Cockney, eating his porridge with great relish. +'It done 'im good.' + +'I am very well,' said Selwyn haltingly. 'I hope my arrival did not +disturb any of you last night.' + +At the sound of his carefully nuanced Bostonian accent there was a +violent dumb-play of smoothing the hair and arranging the coats of +pyjamas, while one Tommy placed a penny in his eye in lieu of a monocle. + +'I was 'oping,' said the Cockney, with a solemn wink to the gathering, +'as 'ow Number 26 would be took by a toff, and, blime, if it ain't! It +were gettin' blinkin' lonesome for me with only Jock 'ere and Frenchy +opposite, who ain't bad blokes in their wy, but orful crude for my +likin'.' + +'Where did it hit ye?' asked the Scot encouragingly. + +'On the head,' said Selwyn, pointing to his bandage. + +'Mon, mon, that's apt to be dangerous.' + +'Nah then!' cried the Cockney, reaching for his temperature-chart, 'we'll +open the mornink proper with the 'Ymn of 'Ate. In cise you don't know +the piece, m'lud, you can read it off your temperacher-ticket. Steady +now--everybody got a full breath? Gow!' + +With great zest all the patients who were able to sit up broke into a +discordant jumble of scales as they followed the course of their +temperatures up and down the chart. Gradually, one by one, they fell out +and resumed their breakfast, until the Scotsman was the only one singing. + +'Ye ken,' he said, pausing temporarily and looking at Selwyn, 'yon should +be rendered wi' proper deegnity.' With which explanatory comment he +finished the last six notes, and solemnly replaced the chart on the ledge +behind him, as if it were a copy of Handel's _Messiah_. + +The last note had hardly died away when a violent controversy broke out +between a pair of Australian soldiers on one side and almost the entire +ward on the other. The thing had started by one of the Anzacs venturing +the modest opinion that if Britain had had a million Australian troops, +they, the present gathering, would be 'hoch, hoching' in Berlin +(apparently a delightful prospect) instead of being cooped up in a London +hospital. + +The little Cockney was just going to utter a crushing sarcasm, the +French-Canadian had taken in a perfectly stupendous breath, the +Highlander was calmly tasting the flavour of his own reply, when the +impending torrent was broken by the entrance of the chaplain, who wished +every one a somewhat sanctimonious 'Good-day.' + +'I shall read,' he said, putting on a pair of glasses, 'the latest +_communiqué_ from the front. We have done very well. The news is quite +good--quite good. "_This morning, on a front of three miles, after an +intense artillery preparation, the Australians_"'---- + +''OORAY!' roared the Cockney. + +The glasses popped off the chaplain's startled nose, and he just managed +by a brilliant bit of juggling to rescue them before they reached the +floor. + +'I--I,' he ventured, smiling blandly, 'am delighted at your enthusiasm, +but you did not let me finish. "_This morning_"--um, um, ah--"_three +miles_"--um, um, yes--"_three miles, after an intense artillery +preparation, the Australians_"'---- + +''OORAY!' It was a deafening roar from the whole crowd. + +'"_The Australians_"'---- + +'OORAY!' + +'"_The_"'---- + +'Oo'---- + +Really, men, you must control yourselves. We are all glad and sustained +by any victory, however slight, but you must not give way to unmeaning +boisterousness. "_This morning, on a front of three miles, after an +intense artillery preparation, the Australians_"'---- + +There was a medley of submerged, prolonged snores. The chaplain looked +up indignantly. With the exception of Selwyn and the two Australians, +every one had followed the lead of the Cockney and disappeared underneath +the bed-clothes. + +'This,' said the good man--'this frivolity at such a harrowing moment in +our country's destiny is neither seemly nor respectful. Cheerfulness is +admirable, until it descends to horseplay.' + +With which parting salvo the worthy chaplain, who had never been to +France, and who was doing the best he could according to his clerical +upbringing, left his unruly flock, taking the _communiqué_ with him. + +A little later the doctor made his rounds, pronouncing Selwyn's wound as +not dangerous, but assuring him he was lucky to be alive. Another inch +either way and---- Passing on to the Scotsman, he stayed a considerable +length of time; but as the screen was set for the examination, the +American had no way of knowing its nature. + +And so, with constant badinage, seldom brilliant, but never unkind, the +morning wore on. It was nearly noon when Selwyn saw a wheeled stretcher +brought into the ward and the Highlander lifted on to it. + +'Jock,' said the little Cockney, 'I 'opes as 'ow everythink will come out +orlright.' + +'By Gar, Scoachie!' cried the French-Canadian, 'I am sorree. You are one +dam fine feller, Scoachie.' + +'Dinna worry yersel's,' said the man from the North. 'I'm rare an' lucky +that it's to be ma richt leg an' no the left, for that richt shank o' +mine was aye a wee thing crookit at the knee, and didna dae credit tae +the airchitecture o' tither ane.' + +Thus, amid the rough encouragement of his fellows, and by no means +unconscious of the dignity of his position, the Highland soldier was +taken away to the operating-room. + +The French-Canadian made a remark to Selwyn, but it was not until the +second repetition that he heard him. + + +III. + +About three o'clock that afternoon a little stream of visitors began to +arrive, and Thomas Atkins, with his extraordinary adaptability, gravely, +if somewhat inaccurately, answered the catechism of well-meaning old +ladies, and flirted heartily and openly with giggling 'flappers.' + +To the visitors, however, Austin Selwyn paid no heed. He was enduring +the lassitude which follows a fever. He knew that the crisis had come, +the hour when he must face fairly the crash and ruin of his work; but he +put it off as something to which his brain was unequal. Like slow +drifting wisps of cloud, different phrases and incidents floated across +his mind, shadows of things that had left a clear imprint upon his +senses. With the odd vagrancy of an undirected mind, he found himself +recalling a few of Hamlet's lines, and smiled wanly to think how, after +all those years, the immortal Shakespeare could still give words to his +own thoughts: 'This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile +promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, . . . this brave +overhanging firmament--this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, +why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent +congregation of vapours.' + +The wings of memory bore him back to Harvard, where once in a scene from +_Hamlet_ he had mouthed those very words, little dreaming that in a few +short years he would lose the sense of euphony in the cruel realisation +of their meaning. + +Then, before he saw her or heard her step, he knew that SHE had come. +His heart quickened, and his breathing was tremulous with mingled +emotions. + +'Well,' she said, coming to his bedside and offering her hand, 'how is +the invalid?' + +'Elise,' he said, 'it is wonderful of you to come.' He looked at her +khaki uniform, at the driver's cap which imprisoned her hair. 'Now,' he +went on dreamily, 'it all comes back to me. It was you who brought me +here.' + +'Had you forgotten that already?' she said, bringing a chair to the +bedside. + +'I couldn't remember,' he answered weakly. 'All I know is that I was +walking alone--and there came a blank. When I woke up I was here with a +head that didn't feel quite like my own. But I knew, somehow, that you +had been with me.' + +'What does the doctor say about your wound?' + +'It is not serious.' + +'You have heard since what happened?' + +'Yes.' + +'It was absolutely topping the way you fought for that child's life.' + +He made a deprecatory gesture, and for a moment conversation ceased. He +was wondering at her voice. A subtle change had come over it. Her words +were just as uncomfortably rapid as in the first days of their +friendship, but there was a hidden quality caught by his ear which he +could not analyse. Looking at her with eyes that had waited so long for +her coming, he felt once more the affinity she held with things of +nature. Her presence obliterated everything else. They were alone--the +two of them. The hospital, London, the world, were dimmed to a distant +background. + +'After such a night,' he said, 'it is very kind of you to make this +effort.' + +'Not at all. We're cousins, you know.' + +'I--I don't'---- + +'The Americans and the English, I mean. Relatives always go to each +others' funerals, so I thought I might stretch a point and take in the +hospital.' + +'Oh! That was all?' + +'Goodness, no! You automatically became a protégé of mine when I picked +you up last night. Isn't that a horrid expression?--but frightfully +fashionable these unmoral days.' + +'You must excuse me,' he said slowly, 'but I was foolish enough to think +you came here because--well, because you wanted to.' + +'So I did. An air-raid casualty is ever so much more romantic than a +wounded soldier. If he lives through it, he always proposes the very +next day either to the nurse or to the ambulance-driver, whereas a Tommy, +after his third wound, becomes so _blasé_.' + +'You shouldn't torture me,' he said, wincing noticeably under the +incision of her words. + +Just for a fleeting instant her eyes were softened with a tender look of +self-reproach. His heart warmed at the sight, but before he could +convince himself that it was not a creation of his own fancy, it had +passed, and once more she was holding him at bay with her impersonal +abruptness. + +'Will you tell me about yourself?' he urged. 'Please.' + +'What do you want to know?' + +'Everything--everything!' he blurted out, impetuously leaning forward. +'My heavens! Don't you know how I've longed and waited for this moment +ever since that night at your flat? I want to hear all about you--what +you've done, where you've been, and--and in what mysterious way you've +changed.' + +'Have I changed?' + +'Of course you have. You're trying to appear just as you were when we +first met, but you can't do it. Even if I hadn't noticed the difference +in you, I should have known that no one could live through these times +and remain the same.' + +'Why not? Haven't you?' + +He laughed grimly, and his head sank back on the pillows. 'I want to +know all about you, Elise,' he repeated dully. + +'Very well.' She smoothed her skirt with her hands, and folded them +Quakeress-fashion. + +'As you know, I once had a flat in Park Walk--which I shared with various +and variegated female patriots, also engaged in guiding the destinies of +motor-cars. Edna was the first one to follow Marian, after she and I +quarrelled; but Edna couldn't break herself of the habit of wandering +into the Ritz for luncheon every second day with only a shilling in her +pocket.' + +'But I don't see how'---- + +'You poor innocent! Some one always paid--don't worry. So we parted +company on that issue, and I asked Mabel to take Edna's place. Mabel was +frightfully nice, but took to opium cigarettes, and then to heroin. She +disappeared one night, and never came back. Poor girl! Her going made +room for Lily, who read the very nicest modern novels, and always cried +through the love scenes. I wish you could have seen her sitting up in +bed reading a book, eating chocolates, and sobbing like a crocodile. +Lily had only one weakness--marrying Flying Corps officers. It was +really the army's fault giving two of her husbands leave at the same +time.' + +Selwyn frowned, 'What a dreadful experience!' he said. + +'Oh, I don't know.' She gave a little shrug of her shoulders, but the +spirit of badinage had vanished both from her face and from her voice. +'It didn't take long to lose most of one's illusions. It is one thing to +meet people as Lord Durwent's daughter, and quite another as a free-lance +ambulance-driver. I've seen what people really are since I've been on my +own, and I'm sick of the whole thing.' + +'You don't mean that, Elise?' + +'I do. Men are rotten, and women are cats.' + +He smiled quizzically, but she kept her eyes averted from his. It almost +appeared as if she were determined to retain her pose of callousness at +any effort, but his sense of psychology told him that his first +conjecture was correct. The girl who had endured was trying to hide +herself behind the personality of her old self. + +'My dear girl,' he said slowly, 'it is an old trick of women to talk for +the purpose of convincing themselves. I don't care what you have +seen--you could not have passed through the ordeal of these long months +and believe in your innermost soul that either men or women are rotten. +In many ways I feel as if what little knowledge I possess dates from last +night; and I have learned things about men right here in this ward to-day +that have made me humble. These chaps that we call ignorant, the lower +classes--why, they are superb, wonderful. I tell you they have greatness +in them. I wish you could have seen them'---- + +'Haven't I seen them,' she cried, with a little catch in her throat, +'hundreds and hundreds of times? Almost every day, and at all hours of +the night, I've gone to meet the Red Cross trains. I have seen men die +while being lifted out of the ambulance--men who would try to smile their +thanks to us just before the end came. I have'---- She caught her hands +in a tight grip, and her eyes welled with tears. 'But they're just +jingoes, I suppose,' she said, blending a scornfulness with her repressed +grief. + +'I have deserved this,' said Selwyn, his face drawn. 'Nothing that you +can say is half so bitter as my thoughts.' + +'I didn't mean to hurt you,' she said. + +'If ever a man was sincere, I was, Elise. Since I left you at Roselawn I +have followed the one path, thinking there was a great light ahead. Now +I am afraid that, perhaps, it was only a mirage.' + +'No, it wasn't,' she replied vehemently. 'I hated you for thinking +English women would not aid their men to fight, and I wanted never to see +you again. But do you remember when I said that the glory of war was in +women's blood? There was a certain amount of truth in it at the +beginning; for when I first saw the wounded arrive I was madly excited. +I wanted to shout and cheer. But as the months have gone on, and I have +seen our soldiers maimed and bleeding and suffering, while thousands of +their women at home have simply broken loose and lost all sense of +decency or self-respect--oh, what's the use?' + +'But you mustn't forget the women who have done such great things for the +country.' + +'I know--but what's it all for? Since this battle of the Somme our +casualties have been frightful, and every day means so many of our real +men killed, and so many more shirkers and rotters in proportion to carry +on the life of England. We've had our women's revolution all right. +There are not many of the old barriers left; but what a mess we have made +of our freedom! When I think of all that, and then recall what you said +about war, I know that you were right, and we were wrong.' + +'You are wonderfully brave,' said Selwyn, 'not only for having done so +much, but in telling me that.' + +'No,' she said, lowering her eyes to the gloves which she held in her +hand; 'I have lost all my courage. Every night I feel as if another day +of meeting the wounded will kill me. . . . If it could only end! +Anything would be better than these awful casualty lists.' + +'Elise'--he raised himself on his elbow and leaned towards her--'you +prove yourself a woman when you say that; but you're wrong. I can't give +my reasons yet, but since last night I have been seeing clearer and +clearer that Britain not only must not lose, but must _win_. I know +other men have said it ten thousand times, but only to-day have I begun +to see that, in its own strange, unidealistic manner, this Empire is +fighting for civilisation.' + +'Then'--her eyes were lit with sudden, glistening radiancy--'then you +don't think our men have died uselessly?' + +'I could not believe in God,' he answered, wondering at the calm +certainty of his voice uttering things which would have infuriated him a +few hours before, 'if I thought that this war's dead had fallen for +nothing.' His hand, which had been raised in gesture, fell limply on the +bed. 'Up to yesterday,' he went on slowly, 'I reasoned truth; to-day--I +feel truth. I wonder if it is not always so, that higher knowledge +begins with the end of reasoning.' + +For a couple of minutes neither spoke, and his head was throbbing with +anvil-beats. Twice she started to speak, but stopped each time as though +distrustful of her own words. + +'I am going back to America, Elise.' His dreamy eyes were gazing beyond +her into the distance, or he might have noted that the colour in her +cheeks fluctuated suddenly and the fingers on her gloves tightened. + +'Why?' There was nothing in her voice to indicate anything but casual +interest. + +'I must go back,' he said, leaning towards her--'back to my own country. +You don't understand. . . . There comes a moment when every fibre of a +man's being craves for his own people, for the very air that he breathed +as a boy. All these wasted months and last night's climax of damnable +murder have left me dazed. I am floundering hopelessly--but at home I +shall be able to clear my mind of its mists and see this whole thing as +it really is.' + +A wall of pain pressed against his head, and his face went gray with +agony. In an instant she was standing over him arranging his pillows, +and soothing his temples with the gentle pressure of her hands. + +For the first time in many months he knew the help and compassion of a +woman--and the woman was Elise. He was weak from loss of blood, weary +from the long travail of the mind, and her presence, with its indefinable +fragrance of clover and morning flowers, was as exquisite music to his +senses. + +'If you only knew,' he murmured, 'how I have longed for this moment. It +has been very lonely for me--and I have wanted you so much, Elise. God! +I've wanted you until I had to struggle to keep from crying out your name +in the very streets. Forgive me talking like this.' He groped for her +hand and held it tightly in his. 'I never had any right to tell you what +you meant to me--and less now than before--but when I come back'---- + +'You will never come back.' She laughed with a strange tremulousness, +but in her eyes there was something of the scorn she had shown towards +him at Roselawn. + +'You are wrong,' he said; 'I must'---- + +'You are an American,' she answered quickly, 'and that comes first with +you. Your country has nothing to do with this war, and you are going +back to it. You will stay there. I know you will.' + +With his old decisive mannerism he sat up, and his eyes flashed with +vigour. + +'I will come back,' he said firmly. 'Life has separated us--it has not +been your fault or mine--but some day, Elise, when I get my grip on +things again, I shall come to you, and you will have to listen. We need +each other, and nothing on the earth can alter that'---- + +'Except America!' She laughed again, and withdrew her hand from his. + +'Elise!' he cried, reaching towards her, 'listen to me'---- + +The Cockney patient leaned over with a bag in his hand. ''Ave a gripe?' +he said genially. + +'No, th'---- began Selwyn. + +'Thanks so much,' said Elise, taking the bag and picking a small cluster +for the American, afterwards handing the bag back to the Tommy. + +''Ave a few yourself, won't yer?' said the warrior. + +'May I?' + +''Ere,' said the Cockney, with mock brusqueness. 'Tike a bunch.' + +Perhaps from the very intensity of their previous talk, the threads +snapped, and her quickly uttered sentences, with the accompanying sparkle +in her eyes, showed him that he could hope for little more than badinage +for the rest of her visit. Almost as if she desired to eradicate the +memory of her emotional admission, she gave her vivacity full play. For +a few minutes he tried to bring back the close intimacy of their souls, +but she fenced him off, and met his heart-hungry glances with the gayest +of smiles. + +Roselawn, she told him, had been transformed into a convalescent home, +and Lord and Lady Durwent were living in one of the wings. Practically +all the servants had enlisted or gone into war-work; and even Mathews, +the groom, after perjuring himself before a whole regiment of army +doctors, had been accepted (with grave official doubts) for military +service. + +Interspersed with these details she recounted incidents of her London +life as an ambulance-driver, and it was all her listener could do to +follow the swift irrelevance of her course. Only once did she pause +when, in answer to his question, she told him she had heard nothing of +Dick. + + +IV. + +A few minutes later she rose to go. + +'I have stayed much too long,' she said. 'I do hope you'll get better +quickly.' + +He took her hand in his, but made no attempt to translate the meaning of +the moment into language. He had worked against her country; while she +plied her rounds of mercy, he had written on the debasement and the +fallacy of it all. Lying in the wreck of his idealism, in the grip of +physical pain, dreading the torture of his own thoughts, could he express +what her coming had meant? He wanted to tell her of his heart-hunger, of +his loneliness, his gratitude, understanding, reverence, and, above all, +of his love. There was so much that it made him silent. + +'Good-bye, Elise,' he said. + +'Good-bye,' she answered. + +That was the end. Of such paltry substance are words. + +'By Gar!' said the French-Canadian, looking after her as she disappeared +down the ward, 'she mak me tink of my leetle girl Marie; only Marie, +mebbe, is only so high, _comme ça_, and got de black hair, so! I am +homeseek. Yes. It mak me verra homeseek. _Godam_!' + + +V. + +She did not come again. Every morning his heart quickened with hope, and +each afternoon grew heavy with discouragement as the hours passed by +without the step he listened for. The arrival of the mail was an instant +of mad expectancy and mute resignation. But every day carried its cargo +of renewed hope, and he grudged the very hours of sleep that separated +him from it. + +He wrote to her three times--pleaded with her to come again. He begged +forgiveness for omitted or committed things which might have hurt her, +but no reply came. He thought of writing to Roselawn, fancying she might +have gone there, but he was certain that before the letter could reach +her she would have come again, and they would only laugh at the idea of +any misunderstanding. + +He blamed himself for a hundred imaginary crimes. He had not asked her +if she would return. Perhaps he had carelessly uttered words that +wounded her. He knew her pride; knew that after their parting at the +flat it must have been hard for her to make the first move towards +reconciliation--and she might have mistaken his joy for petty personal +triumph. + +Or--had he been an utter fool? Was this her punishment of him? With the +consummate artistry of her sex, had she simulated sympathy and +forbearance to make his torture all the more exquisite? He dismissed the +suggestion as something vile, but, feeding on his doubts and longings, it +grew stronger and more insistent with every hour's passing. A hundred +times a day he closed his eyes and lived the sweet memory of her visit; +but with the gathering arraignments of his doubts, he wondered if it had +all been the studied act of the English girl's reprisal on the American +who had dared to challenge her nation. + +Weary, weary hours--the inactivity of the body lending fuel to the flames +of his mind. He determined to dismiss her from his thoughts, and with +his power of mental discipline he reduced his mood to one of mute +resignation. + +Then the thought of America came to him, and he was seized with an +impetuous craving for his own country, his own land, where men's natures +were broad and mountainous, like America itself. He pictured New York +towering into the skies, the charming homes of Boston, where so many +happy hours had been spent in genial, cultured controversy. He smelt the +ozone of the West, where sandy plains melted into the horizon; where men +lived in the open, and a man was your friend for no better reason than +that he was following the same trail as yourself. + +America. . . . He was impatient now of every day that kept him in +England. He felt that his emotions, his brain, his convictions would all +be rudderless until he breathed once more the air of the New World, with +its vassal oceans bringing tribute to both Eastern and Western coasts. + +He would not call himself a failure or a success until he looked on his +handiwork in the light of the great Republic. As his ancestors leaving +the shores of Holland and Ireland, as millions of men and women had done +with the Old World dwindling away in the distance, he looked towards +America for the answer to existence. + +Ten days after his admission he was allowed to leave the hospital for his +rooms in St. James's Square. + +He took his leave of the little group who had been his companions +for the time--the little Cockney with his incessant exuberance; the +French-Canadian, picturesque of language and imagination; the one +remaining Australian, vigorous of thought and forceful of temperament; +the nurse, carrying Florence Nightingale's lamp through the +blackness of war. He tried to say a little of what was bursting for +utterance, but they only laughed and fenced it off. They wished him +'Cheerio--good-bye--good luck;' and he wondered if the whole realm of +lived or written drama held any farewell more sublimely expressive of a +great people enduring to the uttermost. + +His servant had a taxi-cab waiting for him. Driving first to a +florist's, he purchased roses for the nurse; then, stopping at a +tobacconist's, he left a generous order for all the occupants of the +ward. After that he went directly to the American Consul's office and +made arrangements for his return to New York. + + +VI. + +It was late in December when, driving to Waterloo to catch the boat-train +to Southampton, Selwyn was held up in the Strand by the crush of people +welcoming the arrival of Red Cross trains from the front. + +Leaning out of the window, he watched the motor-cars and ambulances +coming out from the station courtyard, while London's people, as they had +done from the beginning, welcomed the unknown wounded with waving +handkerchiefs and flowers, with hearts that wept and faces that bravely +smiled. + +With a suppressed cry, Selwyn opened the door and leaped into the crowd. +He had seen her driving one of the ambulances, and he fought his way +furiously through the human mass to the open roadway. But it was +useless. The ambulance had disappeared. + +Struggling back to the taxi, he re-entered it, and turning round, made +for Waterloo Bridge by way of the Embankment. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +EN VOYAGE. + +From a sheltered position on the hurricane-deck, Austin Selwyn watched +the curtain of night descending on England's coast. Portsmouth, with +its thousand naval activities, was already lost to view off the ship's +stern; and the Isle of Wight was but a dark margin on the water's edge. + +Not a light was to be seen on shore. Like an uninhabited island, +England lay in the mingled menace and protection of the sea, while +unseen eyes kept their endless vigil. + +The vibration from the ship's engines told him she was gathering speed. +Impatient of the six days that must elapse before harbour could be +reached, he walked to the front of the deck and watched the officers on +the bridge peering into the darkness ahead. + +When he retraced his steps he could no longer distinguish land. Two +searchlights playing on the surface of the water revealed a cruiser +steaming silently out to sea. + +A feeble star appeared in the sky. + + * * * * * * + +Mid-ocean. + +A clear winter sunlight touching the green, swirling water with strands +of yellow gold; a wind sweeping the ship's decks, blowing boisterously +down companion-ways and along the corridors; a few shimmering +snowflakes from an almost cloudless sky; everywhere the vastness of +ocean. And the ship buffeting its way towards the New World. + +Mid-ocean. + + * * * * * * + +The City of New York. + +Anchored down the bay just after sunset, Selwyn watched the great +metropolis as her form was vitalised with a million lights. From the +ship's side, it seemed to the eyes watching the birth of New York's +night that the buildings had come to the very water's edge to gaze into +its depths, and see their own reflection. + +Here and there in the outline of great buildings a mammoth structure +raised its head above all others, losing itself in the foam of light +that floated mist-like over the city's towering majesty. + +For more than two hours Selwyn remained motionless in the thrill of +patriotism. The burst of light challenging the reign of darkness was a +symbol to him. The Old World was crouching in darkness, fingering and +fearing the assassin's knife. . . . But America was the Spirit of +Light. + +How many times, he thought, emigrants must have looked on just as he +was doing! How many times that sight must have brought hope to weary, +discouraged souls that never thought to hope again! + +To the idealist returning to his own country, New York was not a +citadel guarding the entrance to a Nation, but a gateway opening to the +Continent of Opportunity. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE GREAT NEUTRAL. + + +I. + +One afternoon a tall, heavily built young man entered his house on +128th Street, New York, and after divesting himself of his coat and +hat, rubbed his hands in genial appreciation of his own hearth and the +exclusion of the raw outside air. He was dressed in a gray lounge +suit, a clerical collar alone denoting his vocation. + +'There's a gentleman in your room, Mr. Forbes,' said his housekeeper, +appearing from the kitchen. 'He said he was an old friend, and would +wait.' + +'What's his name?' + +'Mr. Selwyn, sir.' + +'Austin Selwyn? By George!' Taking the stairs three at a time, the +energetic clergyman burst into the library and advanced with both hands +outstretched. 'For the love of Pete!' he ejaculated most unclerically. +'How are you, my boy? Let me have a look at you. Still the same old +Sel, eh? A little thinner, I think, and not quite so much hair--humph! +Sit down; have that easy-chair; tell me all about yourself. Well, +well! this is an unexpected treat.' + +The Rev. Edgerton Forbes, who had been looking Selwyn over after the +custom of tailors about to offer sartorial advice, ceased his +inspection, and shook hands all over again. + +'Edge,' said Selwyn, speaking for the first time, 'you can't imagine +what your welcome means to me.' + +'My dear boy, you never doubted its warmth?' + +'Yes I did, old man--after what I've been writing.' + +The athletic clergyman laughed uproariously. 'I suppose you're a +dyed-in-the-wool Englishman now, and want your cup of tea. Well, I'll +join you.--Mrs. Perkins.' Going to the door, he gave the necessary +orders, and returned rubbing his hands, and venting his surplus energy +in a variety of hearty noises expressive of pleasure at seeing his old +friend. + +'Now, start at the beginning,' he said, 'and give me everything. The +semaphore's up, and there's a clear track ahead.' + +'But I want to know about things here first.' + +'After you, my son. Put it over now. By the way, that's a nasty scar +on your head. How did you get it?' + +In a few words Selwyn traced the course of events which had led to his +crusade against Ignorance, a crusade which had in an inexplicable way +turned particularly against England. He spoke of Doug Watson's letter +with its description of the slaughtered German boy, and he told of the +air-raid in the moonlight, the climax to his long orgy of idealism. He +touched lightly and humorously on his hospital experience, but not once +did he mention the inner secret of his heart. To the whole recital +Forbes listened with a genuineness and a bigness of sympathy which +seemed to belong to his body as well as his mind. + +'That is pretty well everything,' said Selwyn. 'I have come back here, +humble and perplexed, to try to get my bearings. There have been two +men financing my stuff, and they must account to me for the uses to +which they have put it. Edge, I was sincere. Not one word was written +but I put my very life-blood into it.' + +The arrival of tea put a temporary stop to the author's +self-revelation, and his host busied himself with his hospitable duties. + +Selwyn passed his hand querulously over his face. The clergyman looked +at him with a feeling of pervading compassion. + +'I was going to ask about Gerard Van Derwater,' said Selwyn, 'How is +he?' + +'Van's very well. He is in the Intelligence Division right here in New +York.' + +'I heard he was engaged to Marjory Shoreham.' + +'Yes--he was. They broke it off a few weeks ago; or, rather, she did.' + +'I am sorry to hear that,' said Selwyn earnestly. 'I always liked her +immensely, and I was glad that poor old Van had been the lucky suitor. +You remember how I used to say that he always carried a certain +atmosphere of impending tragedy, although he was never gloomy or moody +about it.' + +'Well, Austin, I think the tragedy has come.' + +'I must see him,' said Selwyn. 'In coming back here, you and he were +the two I wanted most to meet. I knew that neither of you would +withdraw your friendship without good reason; but also I knew you would +tell me bluntly where I stood. Why did Marjory break off with Van?' + +The clergyman told what he knew, and at the conclusion of the story +Selwyn rose to his feet. + +'I must see Van at once,' he said. 'There's more in this than appears +on the surface. If you will give me his number, I'll find out when we +can get together.' + +Receiving the necessary information, Selwyn went downstairs to the +telephone, returning in a couple of minutes to the den. + +'I just caught him,' he said to his host, 'and I am going to his rooms +at nine tonight.' + +'Good work. Now sit down and tell me about the English. You'll find +me the most attentive audience you ever had.' + + +II. + +It was theatre-time when Selwyn left his hotel and walked over to +Broadway. That diagonal, much-advertised avenue of Gotham was ablaze +with light. From shop windows, from illuminated signs, from office +buildings, street-cars, and motors, the carnival of theatre-hour was +lit with glaring brilliancy. Women, in all the semi-barbaric +costliness with which their sex loves to adorn itself of a night, +stepped from limousines with their tiny silvery feet twinkling beneath +the load of gorgeous furs and vivid opera-cloaks; while well-groomed +men, in the smart insignificance of their evening clothes, guided the +perilous passage of their fair consorts from the motor's step to the +pavement. + +Momentarily reduced to the democracy of pedestrianism, they would lose +themselves in the surging mob of passers-by--shop-girls on their way to +a cinema; rural visitors shocked and thrilled with everything; +keen-faced, black-haired Jews speculating on life's profits; +sallow-faced, lustrous-eyed girls hungry for romance, imagining every +begowned woman to be an adventuress, and every man a Prince Charming; +here and there an Irish policeman, proving that his people can control +any country but their own. Of such threads is woven the pattern of New +York's theatre-hour on Broadway. + +From sheer inability to stem the traffic, Selwyn stepped into a +doorway. On the opposite side of the street a theatrical sign +announced that 'Lulu' was 'the biggest, most stupendous, comedy of the +season.' He wondered what constituted largeness in a comedy. Surely +not the author's wit! Before he could formulate a solution of the +mystery, a great overhead sign suddenly ignited with the searching +question-- + + DO YOU CHEW SWORDSAFE'S GUM? + + +Hastily detaching his mind from the biggest, most stupendous, comedy of +the season, he stared at the interrogation of the gum company. It +suddenly disappeared, however, and then he saw that, like the goblins +who chased the small boy who was lost, the business interests of New +York had assumed a violent interest in his personal habits. What +underwear did he buy? Did he know that Hot-door's shaving-soap was +used by 76 per cent. of the entire manhood of America? There was only +one place humanly conceivable where lingerie could be purchased; to +prove it, the illuminated signboard promptly showed a lady in a costume +usually confined to boudoirs. To equalise the immodesty of the sexes, +a near male neighbour, at a height of two hundred odd feet, did an +electrified turn by putting on and taking off a pair of +trousers-suspenders. + + + DO YOU CHEW SWORDSAFE'S GUM? + +That was the question. What importance could a mere war have in +comparison with that? Blinking in the glare, Selwyn left the doorway +and made for Madison Avenue, where Van Derwater's rooms were. + +The clocks were just striking nine when he reached the number he +wanted, and a negro servant led him upstairs. As Selwyn entered Van +Derwater rose from his chair and greeted him with a restrained +courtliness that was gentlemanly to a degree, but had an instantly +chilling effect on the visitor. It was the room the owner used for +lounging or reading, and the only light was the shaded one on the table. + +Van Derwater had just passed thirty, but the premature thinness of his +hair in front, the listless droop of his heavy shoulders, and the +bluish pallor about his firm jaw contrived to make him appear older +than he was. There was a kindliness in the wrinkles about his eyes, +and his mouth, though solid, was not lacking in indications of +intuitive understanding. It was perhaps the formality of his bearing, +the stiffness of his body from the hips, that gave him the air of one +who belonged by right to a past and more ceremonious age. + +Although Van Derwater encouraged his guest, after the exchange of +greetings, to talk of his voyage and its attendant experiences, Selwyn +was aware that he was placing a cold impersonal wall between them. His +old friend was interested, courteous, intellectually even cordial, but +Selwyn knew he was being kept at a distance. He forced the talk to old +intimacies--recalled the game when, together, they had crossed Yale's +line in the closing moments of the great Rugby match--brought back a +host of joint experiences, trivial in themselves, but hallowed by time. + +Van Derwater remembered them all. For each one he had the slight smile +of his mouth and the quizzical weariness of his eyes; but when the +conversation would droop after each outburst of reminiscence, he would +not make the least attempt to lift it up again. Finally, being +convinced that nothing could come of so bloodless a meeting, Selwyn +dropped the impersonal mask. + +'I was mighty sorry,' he said, 'to hear that you and Marjory have +broken off your engagement.' + +'It was her wish: not mine.' Van Derwater's voice was deep and rich, +but almost monotonous in its lack of inflection. + +'I was talking to Forbes to-day,' went on Selwyn tenaciously. 'He had +been to see Marjory.' + +'Yes?' + +'Marjory told him that you didn't care enough for her to go overseas. +I should think she would realise that such a matter concerns you only.' + +'Not a bit of it.' For the first time the other's manner showed signs +of vitality. 'It means everything to her. She wants to feel that the +man she marries is big enough to go and help France. I admire her for +it. I wish there were more women with her character.' + +Selwyn shifted his chair uneasily. 'But--I don't understand,' he +stammered. 'You told her you wouldn't go.' + +'Well, what of it?' + +'Look here, Van,' said Selwyn vehemently; 'we have been friends for +many years. I came to you to-night because my whole career is at a +standstill. I want to tell you everything--I must do it--but I can't +as long as you withhold your confidence. It isn't curiosity on my +part--you know that. I want to bring back the old sense of +understanding we once had.' + +'You haven't changed,' said Van Derwater, an inscrutable smile playing +about his mouth. 'You always had a habit of piercing people's moods, +no matter what defence they put up. But if you want candour, I'll tell +you frankly I am sorry you came here this evening. I knew that it +would be difficult to keep from hurting you, and for old-times' sake I +didn't want to do that. As you know, I have never made friends. You +and Forbes were the nearest thing to it, and I suppose you two meant +more than I would ever care to admit. You might ring the bell over +your head. The fire needs more coal.' + +As the negro obeyed his master's instructions and stoked the fire into +vigour, the two friends sat without speaking. Selwyn was mute with +apprehension of what he was to hear; the older man was dreading the +words he had to utter. To certain strong natures it is more painful to +inflict than to receive a wound. + +'If you want my story,' resumed the host, after the servant had left +the room, 'and as you are concerned you have a right to hear it, this +is how it goes. I went into the diplomatic service. Then I met +Marjory. I needn't say what that meant to me. For the first time, I +think, I knew what living was. Shortly after came the war. At first I +thought that if America remained neutral as a country, it was not up to +individuals to quarrel with that attitude. Then came the _Lusitania_. +I wanted to go over at once, but hated to suggest it to Marjory. One +night, though, to my delight, the plucky little girl mentioned it +herself. I hurried back to Washington and offered my resignation, but +the chief urged me to remain three months longer, saying that I was +absolutely necessary in the reorganisation of a certain branch of the +Intelligence Division in New York. To cut the story short, months and +months went on, and they refused to release me. As a matter of fact I +was directing an investigation into German foreign diplomacy that was +of so delicate a nature I dared not mention it to Marjory. At its +conclusion I went to Washington and demanded that they let me go--I +gave my exact reason. The chief said he would give me a reply in a +week; but I told him that, no matter what he wrote, I would go at the +expiration of that time. It was while I was waiting for the answer +that Marjory said it rested with me whether or not the engagement was +to be broken. I told her that I should be able to state my position in +a couple of days. Well, the letter came. Perhaps you had better see +it. You can read it to yourself.' + +He went to his desk, and searching among the papers, produced a +correspondence-form bearing an official stamp. He handed it to Selwyn. + + +'WASHINGTON, November 2, 1916. + +'_Personal and Confidential_. + +'MY DEAR VAN DERWATER,--As a boyhood friend of your father's I have +been most anxious to accede to your request for release from your +present duties. I may say that in my desire to do the fairest thing by +you, I went so far as to place the facts of the matter before the +President himself. He agreed with me that your services entitled you +to every possible consideration; but he also pointed out that the +intimate knowledge of our secret diplomacy which you have gained marks +you as too valuable a man to let go lightly. I finally secured his +consent, but an hour later he sent for me again. It was to talk over a +new enemy that has arisen in this fight of the present administration +to weld the conflicting elements of our nation into a single-thinking +whole. I refer to the ultra-pacifist section which has grown so large +recently. + +'You told me once that you knew this fellow, Austin Selwyn. I am sorry +to set friend against friend, but his influence over the cultured and +pacifist elements has to be met sternly and at once. We cannot take +personal action against him, because he is within his rights as a +citizen of a neutral country; but nevertheless his writings are proving +a strong disrupting force--stronger, in fact, than many of the clumsier +methods employed by subjects of belligerent nations. + +'Word has reached us that in all probability this nation will be faced +shortly with the most momentous decision of the war. Therefore I must +insist that you take charge of the anti-disruptionist propaganda. I +shall be in New York next Wednesday, and will discuss with you the +methods by which we can stem the tide of disloyal pacificism as +exemplified by this man Selwyn. + +'We have no hold over you, my boy; but in the name of this great +Republic which is struggling against such odds for unification of her +national life, I bid you remain at your post. I know that the son of +my old friend Colonel Van Derwater will not question an order.--Yours +faithfully, + +A. WALTER GALLEY.' + + +As Selwyn finished the letter, a flush swept into his cheeks and his +jaw stiffened with his old fighting mannerism. + +'This is infamous!' he cried hotly. 'Do you accuse me of disloyalty to +my own country?' + +'I do,' said Van Derwater calmly. + +Selwyn's fists clenched with fury. 'Van,' he said, his voice quivering +with suppressed passion, 'I may have been blind--I can see where I have +injured you and many others--but when you or Galley say that I have +been trying to disrupt America, you lie. There is no one more +passionately devoted to his country than I.' + +'Which is your country?' said Van Derwater. + +Through the dim light of the room the eyes of the two men met. +Selwyn's were blazing like hot coals; Van Derwater's were cold and +steely. + +'What have I done,' said Selwyn, twice checking himself before he could +trust his voice, 'but tried to show that war is wrong--that men without +quarrel are killing each other now--that every nation has contributed +to this terrible thing by its ignorance? What is there in that which +merits the name of traitor?' + +Van Derwater shrugged his shoulders, and taking a book from the table, +idly studied its cover. 'Since the war began,' he said, his tones calm +and low, 'the United States has been trying to speak with one voice, +the voice of a united people. It was the plain duty of every American +to aid the Administration in that. Instead, what have we found? +Pro-Germans plotting outrage, and pro-Britishers casting slurs; +conspiracy, political blackmailing, financial pressure--everywhere she +has looked, this country has found within her borders the factors of +disruption. We have fought them all. We have refused to be bullied or +cajoled into choosing a false national destiny. At the moment that we +seem to have accomplished something--with Europe looking to us for the +final decision that must come--you, and others of your kind, contrive +to poison the great educated, decent-thinking class that we always +thought secure. Your cry of "Peace--peace--at any price let us have +peace," has done its work. Consciously or unconsciously, Austin, you +have been a traitor.' + +Selwyn rose furiously to his feet. 'This is the end of our +friendship,' he said, with his voice almost choking, and his shoulders +chafing under the passion which possessed him. 'Your chief has chosen +to name me as a reason for keeping you in America, and so it is I who +have come between you and Marjory. For that I am sorry. But when you +question my loyalty to America--that is the finish.' + +Van Derwater had also risen to his feet and with the utmost courtesy +listened to Selwyn's outburst. More than ever there was a mystic +atmosphere of the Past in his bearing. He might have been a diplomat +of the sixteenth century bidding adieu to a thwarted enemy +plenipotentiary. + +'Austin,' he said, with the merest inclination of his head, and his +arms hanging wearily by his sides, 'we live in difficult times.' + +With an angry gesture, Selwyn left the room, and taking his coat and +hat from the negro, went again into the street. + +Closing his study door, Van Derwater moved slowly to his chair, and +lifting his book, opened it. For a long time he gazed at the open page +without reading a line. 'Difficult times,' he murmured. + + +III. + +Still in the grip of uncontrollable fury, Selwyn stamped his way +through the streets. Colliding heavily with a passer-by, he turned and +cursed him for his clumsiness. He cherished a mad desire to return to +Van Derwater's rooms and force an apology by violence. He had expected +criticism, reproach, even abuse; but that any man should brand him +treasonous! . . . + +He spat into the gutter, and a sound that was almost a snarl escaped +from his throat. He stopped, irresolute, and the wound in his head +burst into a violent pain. He leaned against a post until the agony +had passed, and once more he made for Broadway. At the sight of his +face glowing-red with passion, girls tittered and men drew aside. + +Crossing the road, he stood to let a street-car pass, its covered +wheels giving an odd resemblance to an armoured car, when an extra +burst of light made him look up. + +It was the gum advertisement again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A NIGHT IN JANUARY. + + +I. + +Next morning, when Selwyn left his hotel, a few desultory snowflakes +were falling through the air, and moistly expiring on the asphalt +pavements. It lacked a few minutes of nine, and the thousands who man +the machinery of New York's business were hurrying to their appointed +places. People who had to catch trains were hurrying to stations; and +people who had nowhere to go were hurrying still faster. Taxi-cabs +were rushing people across the city; and other taxi-cabs were rushing +them back again. The overhead railway was rattling and roaring its +noisy way; the surface cars were clattering and clanging through the +traffic; and every half-minute the subways were belching up cargoes of +toilers into the open air. + +New York was in a hurry. + +All night the great engine of a million parts had lain idle, but +morning was the signal that every wheel must leap into action again, +driven by the inexhaustible army of human souls. Hurry, noise, +clamour, greed, fever, progress. . . . Another day had dawned! + +Crossing Broadway to reach Fourth Avenue, Selwyn could not repress a +smile at the stricken glory of the great Midway. The illuminated signs +that had searched the secret crevices of the mind, and had aided the +iridescent foam seen from the harbour, looked tawdry and vulgar, like a +circus on a rainy morning. Even the theatres, with their sign-borne +superlatives, were garish and illusion-shattering. There was almost an +apologetic air about the bill-boards proclaiming their nightly offering +to be the 'biggest ever.' + +Selwyn began to resent that word 'biggest.' One of the sad things +about America is that she started out to make language her slave--only +to find that it is becoming her master. + +Entering a great office-building, he consulted the directory-board, and +was swooped up to the twenty-fourth floor in a non-stop elevator. +Finding the room of his literary agent, he went in, but a young lady +told him Mr. Lyons was in Chicago. + +'It doesn't matter,' said Selwyn. 'I shall see him when he returns. +But I want a couple of addresses. Have you the file of letters to me? +Austin Selwyn is my name.' + +The young lady was gratifyingly flustered at the announcement, and by +her haste to produce the required letters indicated the esteem in which +her employer held the author. + +'It was early last September,' said he. 'Mr. Lyons mentioned two +names: a Mr. Schneider, who purchased the foreign rights of my stuff; +and some one who wanted me to lecture--yes, that is the letter. Could +you give me the addresses of these gentlemen?' + +She wrote them on a card and gave it to him. 'Mr. J. V. Schneider,' +she said, 'is in the Standard Exchange Building, just one block below +here; and Mr. C. B. Benjamin is on 28th Street, in the United +Manufacturing Corporation.' + +Thanking her for her courtesy, Selwyn left the office, and going +directly to Mr. Schneider's place of business, sent in his card. He +was ushered through a large room where a dozen typewriters were +clicking noisily, and reaching the private office of Mr. Schneider, +found himself in the presence of a small, crafty-faced man, whose oily +smile and air of deference did not harmonise with his eyes, which were +as shifty and gleaming as those of a rat. He shook hands with his +visitor, and then clawed at the papers on his desk with moist fingers +that were abnormally long. + +'Vell, Mister Selvyn,' said Mr. Schneider gutturally, 'to vot do I +attribute dis honour? Have a cigar--sit down.' + +'May I break the rule of your office?' said the author, indicating a +sign on the wall which read: 'NIX ON THE WAR.' 'If you will be so +kind, I want to speak of matters not far removed from that subject.' + +Mr. Schneider shifted his cigar to the corner of his mouth, and laughed +immoderately. + +'Ha, ha, ha!' he roared, leaning forward, and thrusting a long, dirty +finger into Selwyn's chest. 'That is vot I call mine adjustable creed. +For most peoples vot gom' here--Nix. But for fine fellers like you'---- + +With a greasy chuckle, he mounted his chair and turned the sign about. +On the reverse side there was a coat-of-arms, and the words: +'DEUTSCHLAND ÜBER ALLES.' + +'Vot you tink?' grinned Mr. Schneider, speaking from the altitude of +the chair. 'Goot, ugh?' He turned the thing about and stepped down +again, wringing his hands in huge enjoyment of the whole thing. 'You +can spik blainly, Mister Selvyn,' he went on amiably. 'Ve unnerstan' +each odder, hein? Von't you smoke one of dem cigars?' + +'No,' said Selwyn. He looked at the little man for about ten seconds, +then, crossing to the wall, wrenched the sign away, nail and all. + +'Here, here,' protested Mr. Schneider, backing warily to the door, 'vot +for you do dis? Vot you mean, you great big fourflusher?' + +The young man eyed the sign and then the German's head, apparently with +the idea of bringing them together. Mr. Schneider further developed +his plan of retreat by taking a grasp of the door-handle. + +'That's for people who say "Nix on the War,"' said Selwyn, breaking the +sign in his hands as if it were made of matchwood. 'And this is for +your damned Deutschland!' + +He broke the remainder over his knee, and threw the pieces on the flat +desk, upsetting an ink-bottle, the contents of which dripped juicily to +the floor. + +'But ain't you,' said Mr. Schneider, in a voice that was almost a +squeal--'don't you got no resbect for Chermany? Only yesterday der +ambassador, he tole me that after the var, for all you wrote to help +der Faderland, der Kaiser, himself, vill on you bestow'---- + +Before the speaker could acquaint the author with the exact nature of +the honour in store for him, Selwyn had seized him by the coat-lapels, +and was shaking him so violently that Mr. Schneider's natural talent +for double-facedness was developed to a pitch where an observant +looker-on might have counted at least five of him vibrating at once. + +'You dirty little hound,' said Selwyn, without relaxing in the least +the shaking process, 'if you ever use my name again, or send out +anything written, or supposed to be written, by me, I'll'---- + +For once words failed him, and lifting the little man almost off the +floor, he deposited him violently on his own desk, in the midst of the +pool formed by the ink. + +'Nix on the war!' snorted Selwyn defiantly, putting on his hat. He was +going to add a few more crushing remarks, but, altering his mind, went +out, slamming the door so violently that all the typewriters engaged in +sending out German propaganda were startled into an instant of silence. + +As for Mr. Schneider, he sat still amidst the wreck of his desk, +pondering over a famous definition of war given by an American general +named Sherman. + + +II. + +Without waiting to catch the driver's eye, the impetuous idealist +overtook an empty taxi-cab, and jumped into it. + +'United Manufacturing, 28th Street,' he called. 'Make it fast.' + +On arrival at his destination he found that Mr. C. B. Benjamin was the +president of the United Manufacturing Corporation, which--so a large +calendar stated--was the biggest business of its kind in the universe. +It had more branches, more output, more character, more push than any +other three enterprises in America. + +Mr. Benjamin was in, but could be seen only by appointment, so said a +sleek-haired young man of immaculate dress. + +'Give him that card, and tell him I want to see him _at once_,' said +Selwyn, with a forcefulness that caused a look of pain to cross the +young man's countenance. + +'Please sit down,' he said, 'and I'll see what I can do.' + +As a result of his efforts, Selwyn received a summons to go right +in--which he did, going past a number of people who had various big +propositions to put before the big man when they could gain his ear. + +'Good-morning, Mr. Selwyn,' said the president, a smartly dressed Jew, +with a shrewd face and an unquestionable dignity of manner. 'You have +returned to America, I see.' + +'Yes, Mr. Benjamin. Do you mind if I come right down to business?' + +'Mind? How else could I have built up the United Manufacturing +Corporation? Have a cigar?' + +'No, thanks. Mr. Benjamin, you wrote my agent that you wanted me to +lecture on the fallacy of war.' + +'Sure,' said the president. + +'May I ask why?' + +Mr. Benjamin removed his spectacles and wiped them carefully. Putting +them on, he surveyed his visitor through them. After that he took them +off again, and winked confidentially. 'Mr. Selwyn,' he chuckled, 'you +ain't a child, and I see that I can't put over any sob stuff with you. +I told your agent I would pay him real money for you to lecture. Well, +take it from me, when the president of the United Manufacturing +Corporation pays out any of his greenbacks he don't expect nothing for +something, eh?' + +'I don't understand you--yet,' said Selwyn quietly. + +Mr. Benjamin leaned back in his swivel-chair and cut the end of a cigar +with a little silver knife. 'Business,' he said, 'is business, eh?' + +'Agreed,' was the terse response. 'I am still waiting to know why you +offered your money to me.' + +Mr. Benjamin leaned forward, and taking up his glasses, waved them +hypnotically at the young man. 'Simply business,' he said. 'Same with +you--same with me. You write all this dope against war--why? Because +you know there's big money in it. I pay you to lecture because you can +help to keep America out of the war. In 1913 I was worth two hundred +thousand dollars. To-day I have ten million. We are wise men, Mr. +Selwyn, both of us. While all the rest of the peoples fight, you and I +make money.' + +As if his bones were aching with fatigue, Austin Selwyn rose wearily to +his feet, and, without comment, walked slowly out of the office. But +the clerks noticed that his face was ashy-pale, like that of a prisoner +who has received the maximum sentence of the law. + + +III. + +The days that followed were the bitterest Austin Selwyn had ever known. + +It is not in the plan of the Great Dramatist that men shall look on +life and not play a part. It is true that there are a few who escape +the call-boy's summons, and gaze on human existence much as a passing +pageant, but even for them is the knowledge that there is a moment +called Death when every man must take the stage. + +For years Austin Selwyn had stood apart, mingling with those who were +enduring the sword-thrusts of fate, as an author chats with the players +on the stage between the acts. Even the great tragedy of war had +served only to enrich the processes of his mind. It is true he had +known compassion, sorrow, and anger through it, but they were only +counterfeit emotions, born of the grip of war on his imagination. + +But at last life had reached out its talons and grasped him. Every +human experience he had avoided, he was now to know, multiplied. +Stripped of his last hope of justifying his idealism, he saw remorse, +discouragement, a sense of utter futility, the scorn of friends, the +applause of traitors--he saw them all as shadows closing into blackness +ahead of him. + +He tried to return to England, but passport difficulties were made +insurmountable. He went to Boston, only to find that those he valued +turned against him, and those he detested welcomed him as comrade. He +returned to New York, but every avenue of activity was closed to him, +save the one he had chosen for himself--that of world-pacificism. + +He had always been a man of strong, underlying passions, and in his +veins there was the hot undissipated blood of youth; but his brain had +been the controlling force in every action of his life. Hitherto he +had never questioned its complete mastery; but as he pondered over his +fall he knew that it was his brain that had ridden him to it. He no +longer trusted its workings. It had proved rebel and brought him to +disaster. + +And with that inner challenge came the supreme ordeal of his life. + +As rivers, held imprisoned by winter, will burst their confines in the +spring and overrun the land, all the passions which had been cooled and +tempered by his intellectual discipline swarmed through his arteries in +revolt. No longer was the brain dominating the body; instead, he was +on fire with a hundred mad flames of desire, springing from sources he +knew nothing of. They clung to him by day and haunted him at night. +They sang to him that vice had its own heaven, as well as hell--that +licentiousness held forgetfulness. He heard whispers in the air that +there were drugs which opened perfumed caves of delight, and secret +places where sin was made beautiful with mystic music and incense of +flowers. + +When conscience--or whatever it is in us that combats desire--urged him +to close his ears to the voices, he cursed it for a meddlesome thing. +Since Life had thrown down the gauntlet, he would take it up! If he +had to travel the chambers of disgrace and discouragement, he would go +on to the halls of sensual abandonment. Life had torn aside the +curtain--it was for him to search the recesses of experience. + + +IV. + +One night towards the end of January Selwyn had tried to sleep, but the +furies of desire called to him in the dark. He got up and dressed. He +did not know where he was going, but he knew that his steps would be +guided to adventure, to oblivion. + +There was a drizzling rain falling, and, with his coat buttoned close +about his throat, he walked from street to street, his breath +quickening with the ecstasy of sensual surrender which had at last come +to him. Men spoke to him from dark corners; women called at him as he +passed; he caught faint glimmers down murky alleys, where opium was +opening the gates to bliss and perdition; but, with a step that was +agile and graceful, he went on, his arteries tingling in anticipation +of the senses' gratification. Once a mongrel slunk out of a lane, and +he called to it. It crawled up to him, and he stooped down to stroke +its head, when, with a yelp of terror, it leaped out of his reach and +ran back into the lane. As if it was the best of jests, he laughed +aloud, and picking up a stone, sent it hurtling after the cur. Then he +was suddenly afraid. The loneliness of the spot--the horrors lurking +in the dark--the dog's howl and his own meaningless laughter. He felt +a fear of night--of himself. He hurried on, but it was not until he +reached a lighted street of shops that his courage returned, and with +the courage his fever of desire, greater than before. + +An extra burst of rain warned him to seek shelter, and hurrying down +the street, he paused under the canopy of a shabby theatre. There was +one other person there--a woman. She came over to speak to him; but +when she saw the mad gleam of his eyes she drew back, and, with a +frightened exclamation, pressed her hand against her breast. + +He made an ironic bow, then, with a smile, looked up at her, and she +heard him utter an ejaculation of amazement. + +For a moment he had fancied that it might be true. The likeness was +uncanny! The burnished-copper hair, the silk-fringed eyes, the poise +of her head, the tapering fingers--even in the scarlet of her rouged +cheeks, there was a similarity to the high colouring of the English +girl. What a jest of the Fates--that they should cast this poor +creature of New York's streets in the same mould with her who was the +very spirit of chastity! + +'What a mockery!' he muttered aloud. 'What a hideous mockery!' + +He was touched with sudden pity. Perhaps this woman had been born with +the same spirit of rebellion as Elise. Perhaps her poor mind had never +been developed, and so she had succumbed to the current of +circumstance. She might have been the plaything of environment. The +wound in his head was hurting again, and he covered the scar with his +moist hand. Horrible as it seemed, this creature had brought Elise to +him once more--Elise, and everything she meant. He wanted to cry out +her name. His hands were stretched forward as if they could bridge the +sea between them. + +Like a man emerging from a trance, he looked dreamily about him--at the +street running with streams of water--at the silent theatre--at the +woman. A weakness came over him, and his pulses were fluttering and +unsteady. + +A peddler of umbrellas passed, and Selwyn purchased one for a dollar. + +'Won't you take this?' he asked, stepping over to the woman, who +cringed nervously. 'It is raining hard, and you will need it.' + +She took the thing, and looked up at him wonderingly, like a child that +has received a caress where it expected a blow. + +'Say,' she said, in a queer nasal whine, 'I thought you was a devil +when I seen you a minute ago. Honest--you frightened me.' + +He said nothing. + +'Why'--there was a weak quaver in her whine, and she caught his wrist +with her hand--'why, you're kind--and I thought you was a devil. Gee! +ain't it funny?' + +With a shrill laugh that set his teeth on edge, she put up the umbrella +and walked out into the rain. And only a passing policeman saw, by the +light of a lamp, that her eyes were glistening. + +Selwyn remained where he was, blinking stupidly into the rain-soaked +night, as one who has been walking in his sleep and has waked at the +edge of an abyss. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE CHALLENGE. + + +I. + +It was nearly noon next day before Selwyn woke from a heavy, dreamless +sleep. Both in mind and in body there was the listlessness which follows +the passing of a crisis, but for the first time in many days he felt the +impulse to face life again, to accept its bludgeonings, unflinching. + +He was almost fully dressed, when a messenger arrived with a letter. It +was from Edgerton Forbes. + + +'MY DEAR AUSTIN,--I have been trying to get hold of you for the past +week, but you are as elusive as a hundred-dollar bill. Douglas Watson +has returned from the front, minus an arm, and he has asked as many +ex-Harvard men as possible to meet him at the University Club. We are +having dinner there to-night in one of the smaller rooms, and I want you +to come with me. I'll pick you up at your hotel at seven, and we can +walk over. If it is all right, send word by the messenger.--As ever, +FORBES.' + + +Selwyn's first instinct was to refuse. He had no desire to meet Watson +again just yet, nor did he want to face men with whom he had lived at +Harvard. But the thought of another lonely night arose--night, with its +germs of madness. + +'Tell Mr. Forbes,' he said, 'that I shall expect him at seven.' + +A few minutes before the time arranged the clergyman called, and they +started for the club. The air was raw and chilling, and people were +hurrying through the streets, taking no heed of the illuminated shop +windows, tempting the eye of woman and the purse of man. In almost every +towering building the lights of offices were gleaming, as tired, +routine-chained staffs worked on into the night tabulating and recording +the ever-increasing prosperity of the times. + +The times! + +Ordinary forms of greeting had changed to mutual congratulations on +affluence. Anecdotes of business men were no longer of struggle and +privation, but of record outputs and maximum prices. Theatres, cafés, +cinema palaces, churches, hotels--they had never seen such times. +Success was in the very dampness of the air as thousands of people looked +at it from the cosy interior of limousines, people who had never aspired +higher than an occasional taxi-cab. The times! Dollars multiplied and +begat great families of dollars--and Broadway glittered as never before. + +It is difficult to state what trend of thought made conversation between +the friends difficult, but after two or three desultory attempts they +walked on without speaking. As they were entering the majestic portals +of the club, Selwyn was reminded of a question he had intended all day to +ask. + +'Edge,' he said, 'have you heard anything of Marjory Shoreham?' + +'She sailed two weeks ago for France,' answered the clergyman. + +They were directed to an upper floor, where they found a hundred or so +guests who claimed Harvard as their _alma mater_. Although most of his +old acquaintances were quite cordial, Selwyn felt oddly self-conscious. +He caught sight of Gerard Van Derwater with his impassive courtliness +dominating a group of active but less impressive men; and behind them he +saw Douglas Watson of Cambridge surrounded by a dozen guests; but he +pleaded a headache to Forbes, and sought a secluded corner, where he +remained until dinner was announced. + +Like all affairs where men are alone and the charming artifices of +femininity are missing, there was a severity and a formality which did +not disappear until the ministrations of wine and food had engendered a +glow which did away with shyness. The table was arranged in the form of +the letter U, with Watson beside the chairman at the head. + +Towards the end of the dinner conversation and hilarity were growing +apace. Men were forgetting the scramble of existence in the recollection +of old college days, when their blood was like wine and the world a thing +of adventure. Mellowed by retrospect, they laughed over incidents that +had caused heart-burnings at the time; and as they laughed more than one +felt a swelling of the throat. It was, perhaps, just an odd streak of +sentiment (and the man who is without such is a sorry spectacle); or it +may have been the memory of ideals, aspirations, dreams--left behind the +college gates. + +'Gentlemen.' The chairman had risen to his feet. Cigars were lit; and +he was greeted with the usual applause. 'Gentlemen, we have gathered +here at short notice to welcome an old boy of Harvard--Douglas Watson. +He has a message which he wants to deliver to us, and not only because he +is one with us in tradition would we listen, but his empty sleeve is a +mute testimony that he has fought in a cause which--though not our +own--is one which I know has the sympathy of every man in this room. I +shall not detain you, gentlemen, but ask your most attentive hearing for +Mr. Watson.' + +As the guest of the evening rose to speak he was greeted with prolonged +applause, which broke into 'For he's a jolly good fellow,' and ended in a +college football yell. During it Selwyn sat motionless, his alert mind +trying to decipher the difference between Watson's face and the others. +It was not only that they were, almost without exception, clean-shaven, +and that Watson wore a small military moustache; the dissimilarity went +beyond that. Although he was obviously nervous, Watson's eyes looked +steadily ahead as those of a man who has faced death and looked on things +that never were intended for human vision. It had left him aged--not +aged as with years, but by an experience which made all the keen-faced +men about him seem clever precocities whose mentalities had outstripped +the growth of their souls. + +And studying this phenomenon, Selwyn became conscious of the American +business face. + +Although differing in colouring and shape, practically every face showed +lips thin and straight, eyes narrowing and restlessly on the _qui vive_, +the nervous, muscular tension from the battle for supremacy in feverish +competition, the dull, leaden complexion of those who disregard the +sunshine--these combined in a clear impression of extraordinary abilities +and capacities with which to meet the affairs of the day. What one +missed in all their faces was a sense of the centuries. + +No--not in all. At the table opposite to Selwyn was Gerard Van Derwater, +whose self-composure and air of formal courtliness made him, as always, a +man of distinctive, almost lonely, personality. + +'Thank you very much,' said Watson, as the applause and singing died +away. His fingers pressed nervously on the table, and his first words +were uneven and jerky. 'I needn't tell you I am not a speaker. I have a +great message for you chaps, but I may not be able to express it. That +was my reason for asking to speak to ex-Harvard men. I did it because I +knew I should have men who thought as I did--men who looked on things in +the same way as myself. I knew you would be patient with me, and I was +certain you would give an answer to the question which I bring from +France.' + +He paused momentarily, and shifted his position, but his face had gained +in determination. A few of his listeners encouraged him audibly, but the +remainder waited to see what lay behind the intensity of his manner. + +'I don't want pity for my wound,' he resumed. 'The soldier who comes out +of this war with only the loss of an arm is lucky. Put that aside. I +want you to listen to me as an American who loves his country just as you +do, and who once was proud to be an American.' + +He raised his head defiantly, and when he spoke again, the indecision and +the faltering had vanished. + +'Gentlemen, the question I bring is from France to America. It is more +than a question; it is a challenge. It is not sent from one Government +to another Government, but from the heart of France to the conscience of +America. They don't understand. Month after month the women there are +seeing their sons and husbands killed, their homes destroyed, and no end +in sight. And every day they are asking, "Will America never come?" My +God! I've seen that question on a thousand faces of women who have lost +everything but their hope in this country. I used to tell them to +wait--it would come. I said it had to come. When the Hun sank the +_Lusitania_ I was glad, for at last, I told them, America would act. Do +you know what the British Tommies were saying about you as we took our +turn in the line and read in the papers how Wilson was _conversing_ with +Germany about that outrage? I could have killed some of them for what +they said, for I was still proud of my nationality; but time went on and +the French people asked "When?" and the British Tommy laughed. + +'If I'm hurting any of you chaps, think of what I felt. One night behind +the lines a soldiers' concert-party gave a show. Two of the comedians +were gagging, and one asked the other if he knew what the French flag +stood for, and he said, "Yes--liberty." His companion then asked him if +he knew what the British flag stood for, and he replied, "Yes--freedom." +"Then," said the first comedian, "what does the American flag stand for?" +"I can't just say," said the other one, "but I know that it has stood a +hell of a lot for two years." The crowd roared--officers and men alike. +I wanted to get up and fight the whole outfit; but what could I have said +in defence of this nation? America--our country here--has become a +vulgar joke in men's mouths.' + +He stopped abruptly, and poured himself out a glass of water. No one +made a sound. There was hot resentment on nearly every face, but they +would hear him out without interruption. + +'The educated classes of England,' he went on, 'are different in their +methods, but they mean the same thing. They say it is America's business +to decide for herself, but the Englishman conveys what he means in his +voice, not in his words. When I was hit, I swore I would come back here +and find out what had changed the nation I knew in the old days into a +thing too yellow to hit hack. Mr. Chairman, you said I had fought in a +cause that is not yours. I beg to differ. There are hundreds of +Americans fighting to-night in France. They're with the +Canadians--they're with the French--they're with the British. Ask them +if this cause isn't ours. I lay beside a Princeton grad. in hospital. +He had been hit, serving with the Durhams. "I'm never going back to +America," he said. "I couldn't stand it." As a matter of fact, he +died--but I don't think you like that picture any more than I do.' + +Bringing his fist down on the table with a crash, Watson leaned forward, +and with flashing eyes poured out a stream of words in which reproach, +taunts, accusations, and pleading were weirdly mixed. He told them they +should remove the statue of Liberty and substitute one of Pontius Pilate. +In a voice choking with emotion, he asked what they had done with the +soul left them by the Fathers of the Republic. He pictured the British +troops holding on with nothing but their indomitable cheeriness, and +dying as if it were the greatest of jokes. In one sentence he visualised +Arras with refugees fleeing from it, and New York glittering with +prosperity. With no relevancy other than that born of his tempestuous +sincerity, he thrust his words at them with a ring and an incision as +though he were in the midst of an engagement. + +'That is all,' he said when he had spoken for twenty minutes. 'In the +name of those Americans who have died with the Allies, in the name of the +_Lusitania's_ murdered, in the name of civilisation, I ask, _What have +you done with America's soul?_' + +He sat down amidst a strained silence. Everywhere men's faces were +twitching with repressed fury. Some were livid, and others bit their +lips to keep back the hot words that clamoured for utterance. The +chairman made no attempt to rise, but by a subconscious unanimity of +thought every eye was turned to the one man whose appearance had +undergone no change. As if he had been listening to the legal +presentation of an impersonal case, Gerard Van Derwater leaned back in +his chair with the same courtly detachment he had shown from the +beginning of the affair. + + +II. + +'Mr. Van Derwater,' said the chairman hoarsely; and a murmur indicated +that he had voiced the wish of the gathering. + +Slowly, almost ponderously, the diplomat rose, bowing to the chairman and +then to Watson, who was looking straight ahead, his face flushed crimson. + +'Mr. Chairman--Mr. Watson--Gentlemen,' said Van Derwater. He stroked his +chin meditatively, and looked calmly about as though leisurely recalling +a titbit of anecdote or quotation. 'Our friend from overseas has not +erred on the side of subterfuge. He has been frank--excellently frank. +He has told us that this Republic has become a jest, and that we are +responsible. I assume from several of your faces that you are not +pleased with the truth. Surely you did not need Mr. Watson to tell you +what they are saying in England and France. That has been +obvious--unpleasantly obvious--and, I suppose, obviously unpleasant.' + +He smiled with a little touch of irony, and leaning forward, flicked the +ash from his cigar on to a plate. + +'Mr. Watson,' he resumed, 'has asked what we have done with America's +soul. That is a telling phrase, and I should like to meet it with an +equally telling one; but this is not a matter of phraseology, but of the +deepest thought. Gentlemen, if you will, look back with me over the +brief history of this Republic. There are great truths hidden in the +Past. + +'In 1778 Monsieur Turgot wrote that America was the hope of the human +race--that the earth could see consolation in the thought of the asylum +at last open to the down-trodden of all nations. Three years later the +Abbé Taynals, writing of the American Revolution, said: "At the sound of +the snapping chains our own fetters seem to grow lighter, and we imagine +for a moment that the air we breathe grows purer at the news that the +universe counts some tyrants the less." Ten years after that the editor +Prudhomme declared: "Philosophy and America have brought about the French +Revolution." + +'I will not weary you, gentlemen, with further extracts, but I ask you to +note--_and this is something which many of our public men have forgotten +to-day_--that at the very commencement of our career we were inextricably +involved with European affairs. Entangling alliances--no! But +segregation--impossible!' + +For an instant his cold, academic manner was galvanised into emphasis. +His listeners, who were still smarting under Watson's words, and had been +restless at the unimpassioned tone of Van Derwater's reply, began to feel +the grip of his slowly developing logic. + +'Thus,' the speaker went on, 'at the commencement, our national destiny +became a thing dominated by the philosophy of humanitarianism. When we +had shed our swaddling-clothes and taken form as a people, the issue of +the North and the South began to rise. Because of his realisation of the +part America had to play in human affairs, Lincoln, the great-hearted +Lincoln, said we must have war. Against the counsel of his Cabinet, +loathing everything that had to do with bloodshed, this man of the people +declared that there could be no North or South, but only America. And to +secure that he plunged this country into a four years' war--four years of +untold suffering and terrible bravery. When, during the struggle, +Lincoln was informed that peace could be had by dropping the question of +the slaves' emancipation, his answer was the proclamation that all men +were free. With his great heart bleeding, he said, "The war must go on." +Philosophy and America brought on the French Revolution. Philosophy and +humanitarianism brought on the war of North and South. + +'The psychology of America, which had been hidden beneath the physical +side of our rebellion, took definite form as a result. The gates of the +country were open to the entire world. The down-trodden, the persecuted, +the discouraged, the helpless, no matter of what creed or nationality, +saw the rainbow of hope. By hundreds of thousands they poured into this +country. Slav and Teuton, Galician, Italian, Belgian, Jew, in an endless +stream they came to America, and, true to Washington and Lincoln, she +received them with the words, "Welcome--free men." And so we shouldered +the burdens of the Past, and men who had been slaves--white as well as +black--drank of freedom.' + +There was no applause, but men were leaning forward, afraid they might +miss a single word. Van Derwater's depth of human understanding, his +lack of passion, his solitariness that had been likened to an air of +impending tragedy, held his listeners with a magic no one could have +explained. He might have come as a spirit of times that had passed, so +charged with the ages was his strange, powerful personality. + +'From an open sky,' he continued, 'came the present war. The older +nations, knit by tradition and startled by its imminence, flew to arms at +a word from their leaders. France, who had been our friend, looked to +us; but what was our position? In fifty tongues our citizens cried out +that it was to escape war that they had come to America. Could we tell +the Jew that Russia, which had persecuted him to the point of madness, +was on the side of mercy? Could we convince the Teuton that his +Fatherland had become suddenly peopled with savages? Could we say to the +Irishman, bitterly antagonistic to England, that Britain was fighting for +the liberation of small nations? Could we ask the Greek, the Pole, the +Galician, to go back to the continent from which they had come, and give +their blood that the old order of things might go on? + +'But, you ask, what of the real American, descended from the men who +fought in the War of Independence and the Civil War. Yes--what of him? +From earliest boyhood he has been taught that Britain is our traditional +enemy. To secure existence we had to fight her. To maintain existence +we fought her again in 1812. When we were locked in a death-struggle +with the rebellious South, she tried to hurt our cause--although history +will show that the real heart of Britain was solidly with the North. In +our short life as a people we find that, always, the enemy is Britain. +In one day could we change the teaching of a lifetime? The soul of +America was not dead, but it was buried beneath the conflicting elements +in which lay her ultimate strength, but her present weakness. + +'What, then, was the situation? Events had outridden our national +development. Whether it could have been avoided or not I do not know. +Whether our education was at fault, or whether materialism had made us +blind--these things I cannot tell you. I only know that this war found +us potentially a nation, but actually a babel of tongues. Without +philosophy and humanitarianism this nation could not go to war--and in +those two things we were not ready. + +'I do not belittle the many gallant men who have left these shores to +fight with the Allies, but I say that in a world-crisis the voices of +individuals cannot be heard unless they speak through the medium of their +nationality. The question from France is not "Will Americans never +come?" but "Will America never come?" When the war found the +Americanisation of our people unfinished, it became the duty of every +loyal man in the Republic to give his very life-blood to achieve +solidarity. Do you think we could not see that the Allies were fighting +our battle? It was impossible for this nation that had shouldered the +problems of the Old World not to see it; so we began the education of all +our people. We could have hurled this nation into war at almost any hour +by an appeal to national dignity, but our destiny was imperative in its +demands. Not in heat, which would be bound to cool; not in revenge, +which would soon be forgotten; but by philosophy and humanitarianism +alone could this great Republic go to war. + +'Yet, when this Administration looked for help, what did it find? The +two races that come to this country and never help its Americanisation +are the Germans and the English. They remain true to their former +citizenship, and they die true to them. Gentlemen, that must not be +again. America will always be open to the world, but he who passes +within these gates to live must accept responsibilities as well as +privileges. + +'I am almost finished. For two years and a half we have fought against +the disintegrating forces within our country. We have endured the sneers +of belligerents, the insults of Germany, and the tolerance of +Britain--and still we have fought on. Literally we were struggling, as +did our forefathers, for nationhood. But let me ask Mr. Watson if our +psychological unpreparedness was entirely our fault. When Britain allied +herself with Russia, did she give a thought to the effect it would have +on the American mind? To us, Russia was the last stronghold of barbaric +despotism, and yet Britain made that alliance, identifying herself with +the forces of reaction. I do not say that we would have entered into a +similar or any agreement with Britain, but there are alliances of the +spirit far more binding than the most solemn treaties. I accuse Britain +of failing to make the advances toward a spiritual covenant with the +United States, in which lay--and still lies--the hope of this world.' + +A messenger had entered the room and handed a note to the chairman. It +was passed along to Van Derwater's place and left in front of him. He +took it up without opening it, and fingered it idly as he spoke. + +'A nation does not need to be at war,' he went on, 'to find that traitors +are in her midst. The struggle of this Administration for unity of +thought has been thwarted right and left by men of no vision, men drunk +with greed, men blinded with education and so-called idealism. Mr. +Watson, you ask what we have done with America's soul. I will tell you +what we have done _for_ it. There are many of us in this room who have +given everything we have--our time, our friends, and things which we +valued more than life--because we have respected the trust imposed on us +of maintaining America's destiny. I am sorry for your empty sleeve. But +let me assure you that we, also, have known suffering. Because we +believe in America--_first, last, and always in America_--we have stayed +here, enduring sneers and contumely, in order that when America speaks it +will be like the sound of a rushing cataract--one voice, one heart, but +the voice and heart of Humanity. In no other way can America go to war. +. . . And until that moment arrives I shall wear this garb of neutrality +as proudly as any soldier his uniform of honour.' + +He sat down, and in an instant the whole crowd was on its feet. Men +cheered and shouted, and, unashamed, tears ran down many faces. With his +heart pounding and his eyes blinded with emotion, Selwyn did not make a +move. He could only watch, through the mist, the figure of Gerard Van +Derwater with its cloak of loneliness. He saw him look down at the +message and break the seal of the envelope. He saw a flush of colour +sweep into the pallid cheeks and then recede again. Still with the air +of calmness and self-control, Van Derwater rose again to his feet. +'Gentlemen,' he said. The room was hushed instantly and every face was +turned towards him. 'Gentlemen, I have received a message from my +headquarters. Germany has announced the resumption of unrestricted +submarine warfare.' + +For a moment the room swam before Selwyn's eyes. The shouts and +exclamations of the others seemed to come from a distance. And suddenly +he found that he was on his feet. His eyes were like brilliants and his +voice rang out above all the other sounds. + +'Van!' he cried, 'does this mean war--at last?' + +With steady, unchanging demeanour his former friend looked at him. +'Yes,' he said. 'At last.' + +And as they watched they saw Van Derwater's hands contract, and for a +moment that passed as quickly as it came his whole being shook in a +convulsive tremor of feeling. Then, in a silence that was poignant, he +sank slowly into his chair, his shoulders drooping, listless and weary. +With eyes that were seeing into some secret world of their own he gazed +dreamily across the room, and a smile crept into his face--a smile of one +who sees the dawn after a long, bitter night. + +'Thank God,' he said, with lips that trembled oddly. 'Thank God.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE SMUGGLER BREED. + + +I. + +On an April evening, fifteen months later, a certain liveliness could +have been noted in the vicinity of Drury Lane Theatre. The occasion +was another season of opera in English, and as the offering for the +night was _Madam Butterfly_, the usual heterogeneous fraternity of +Puccini-worshippers were gathering in large numbers. + +Although the splendour of Covent Garden (which had been closed for the +war) was missing, the boxes held their modicum of brilliantly dressed +women; and through the audience there was a considerable sprinkling of +soldiers, mostly from the British Dominions and America, grasping +hungrily at one of the few war-time London theatrical productions that +did not engender a deep and lasting melancholy--to say nothing of a +deep and lasting doubt of English humour and English delicacy. + +In one of the upper boxes Lady Erskin had a small unescorted party. +Lady Erskin herself was a plump little miniature who was rather +exercised over the dilemma of whether to display a huge feathery fan +and obliterate herself, or to sacrifice the fan to the glory of being +stared at by common people. With her was her sister, the wife of a +country rector, who assumed such an elaborate air of _ennui_ that any +one could have told it was her first time in a box. Between them was +Lady Erskin's rather pretty daughter, and behind her, with all her +vivid personality made glorious in its setting of velvety cloak and +creamy gown, was Elise Durwent, enjoying a three days' respite from her +long tour of duty. + +The lights went out, and with the rising of the curtain the little +drama of tenderness and cruelty held the stage. From the distance, +Butterfly could be heard approaching, her voice coming nearer as the +typical Puccini progressions followed her ascent. There was the +marriage, the cursing of Butterfly by the Bonze, and the exquisite love +duet, so full of passionate _abandon_, and yet shaded with such +delicacy. At the conclusion of the act, where the orchestra adds its +overpowering _tour de force_ to the singers', the audience burst into +applause that lasted for several minutes. It was the spontaneous +gratitude of hundreds of war-tired souls whose bonds had been relaxed +for an hour by the magic touch of music. + +'Do you think the tenor is good-looking?' asked Lady Erskin of no one +in particular. + +'Who is that in the opposite box, with the leopard's skin on her +shoulders?' queried the rector's wife. + +'I think Butterfly is topping,' said Lady Erskin's daughter. 'I always +weep buckets in the second act.' + +'I should like to die to music like that,' said Elise, almost to +herself. + + +II. + +Close by a communication-trench, Dick Durwent stood shivering in the +cool night-air. He was waiting to go forward on sentry-duty, the +remainder of the relief having gathered at the other end of the +reserve-trench in which he was standing; but though it was spring, +there was a chill and a dampness in the air that seemed to breathe from +the pores of the mutilated earth. A desultory shelling was going on, +but for a week past a comparative calm had succeeded the hideous +nightmare of March and early April, when Germany had so nearly swept +the board clean of stakes. + +He heard the voices of a carrying-party coming up, and suddenly he +crouched low. There was a horrible whine, growing to a shriek--and a +shell burst a few yards away. Shaken and almost deafened, Durwent +remained where he was until he saw an object roll nearly to his feet. +It was a jar of rum that was being brought up for issue. He lifted the +thing up, and again he shivered in the raw air like one sickening of +the ague. Quick as the thought itself, he put the jar down, and +seizing his water-bottle, emptied its contents on the ground. Kneeling +down, he filled it with rum, and leaving the jar lying at such an angle +that it would appear to have spilled a certain amount, he hurriedly +joined the rest of the relief warned for duty. + +Dick had been on guard in the front line for an hour, when he received +word that a patrol was going out. A moment later they passed him, an +officer and two men, and he saw them quietly climb over the parapet +which had been hastily improvised when the battalion took over the +position. They had been gone only a couple of minutes when +pistol-shots rang out, and the flares thrown up revealed a shadowy +fight between two patrols that had met in the dark. The firing +stopped, and Durwent's eyes, staring into the blackness, saw two men +crouching low and dragging something after them. He challenged, to +find that it was the patrol returning, and that the one they were +bringing back was the officer, killed. + +The trench was so narrow that they could not carry him back, and they +left the body lying on the parapet until a stretcher could be fetched. + +Dulled as he had become to terrible sights, the horror of that silent, +grotesque figure began to freeze Dick Durwent's blood. A few minutes +before it had been a thing of life. It had loved and hated and +laughed; its veins had coursed with the warm blood of youth; and there +it sprawled, a ghastly jumble of arms and legs--motionless, silent, +_dead_. He tried to keep his eyes turned away, but it haunted him. +When he stared straight ahead into the dark it beckoned to him--he +could see the fingers twitching! And not till he crept near could he +be satisfied that, after all, it had not moved. + +'Sherwood!' He heard a quivering voice to his right. It was the +nearest sentry, an eighteen-year-old boy, who had called him by the +name given him by Austin Selwyn, the name under which he had enlisted. + +'What's the matter?' called Durwent. + +Without his rifle, the little chap stumbled towards him, and, dark as +it was, Dick could see that his face was livid and his eyes were wide +with terror. + +'Sherwood,' whimpered the boy, 'I can't stand it--I've lost my +nerve. . . . That thing there--there. . . . It moves. It's dead, and +it moves. . . . Look, it's grinning at me now! I'm going back. I +can't stay here--I can't.' + +'Steady, steady,' said Durwent, gripping the boy by the shoulder and +shaking him roughly. 'Pull yourself together. Don't be a kid. You've +seen far worse than this and never turned a hair.' + +'I can't help it,' whined the boy. 'There's dead men walking out there +all over. Can't you see them? They whisper in the dark--I can hear +them all the time. I'm going back.' + +'You can't, you little idiot. They'll shoot you.' + +'I don't care. Let them shoot.' + +'Where's your rifle? Get back to your post. If you're caught like +this, there'll be a firing-party at daybreak for you.' + +'I don't care,' cried the lad hysterically. 'They can't keep me here. +I'm going'---- + +'Here'---- Throwing the young fellow against the parapet and holding +him there by leaning heavily against him, Durwent felt for his +water-bottle and withdrew the stopper. 'Drink this,' he said, forcing +the mouth of the flask between the boy's lips. 'Take a shot of rum. +It will put the guts back into you.' + +The young soldier choked with the burning liquid, and tears oozed from +his eyes, but the chill of the body passed, and with it the chill of +cowardice. With a half-whimper, half-laugh, he forced a silly, coarse +jest from his lips. 'Where did you get it, Sherwood?' + +'Never mind,' said Dick. 'Come on now. Back you go--and stick it out.' + + +III. + +The second act of _Madam Butterfly_ was in progress. + +With the sure touch of high artistry, both composer and librettist had +delineated the result of Pinkerton's faithlessness--a faithlessness +that was obvious to every one but Cho-cho-san, who still believed that +her husband would return with the roses. Firm in her trust, she +pictured to Sazuki the day when he would come, 'a little speck in the +distance, climbing the hillock'--how she would wait 'a bit to tease him +and a bit so as not to die at our first meeting'--ending with the +triumphant assurance (born of her woman's intuition, which, alas! +proves so frequently unreliable) that it would all come to pass as she +told. She _knew_ it. + +And so to the visit of the American consul, who tries to tell her that +her husband has written that he has tired of her--she, poor soul, +reading in his words the message that he still loves her. Then the +final tableau of the act with Butterfly, her baby and Sazuki standing +at the Shosi facing the distant harbour where his ship has just been +signalled. Softly the humming of the priests at worship ceases, and +the curtain descends on what must always remain a masterpiece of +delicate pathos--a story that will never lose its appeal while woman's +trust in man lends its charm to drab existence. + +'The tenor didn't come in at all in that act,' said Lady Erskin. + +'Really,' said the rector's wife, fixing her lorgnette on the opposite +box, 'that person with the leopard's skin looks absolutely like a +cannibal.' + +'I'm just swimming in tears,' was the comment of Lady Erskin's daughter. + +Elise said nothing; nor did she hear them speak. Her heart was +fluttering wildly, and her hands were clasped tightly together. She +had heard a far-away cry--and the voice was Dick's. + + +IV. + +The raw air of the night, the dread of that loathsome, silent thing, +the haunting terror of the boy's eyes a few minutes before, the whine +of shells, all bored their way into Dick Durwent's brain. He began to +tremble. With every bit of will-power he fought it off, but he felt +the fumes of madness coming over him. + +For days on end he had had no rest. In the Fifth Army _débâcle_ of +March his battalion had been one of the first to break, although +remnants had fought as few men had ever fought before; and when they +had been reorganised they were moved back into the line, undermanned, +ill-equipped, and branded with disgrace. It was the culmination of +three years' service at the front, and his nerves were at the +breaking-point. Mounds of earth ahead of him, and gnarled, dismembered +trees, began to take the ghostly shapes that the frightened boy had +told of. + +Mumbling meaningless things, he reached for his water-bottle and poured +a mouthful of rum down his throat. It set his heart beating more +firmly, and his blood was no longer like ice in a sluggish river. He +replaced the stopper and resumed his watch, but every fibre of his body +was craving for more of the alcohol. With set teeth he struggled for +self-control, but every instinct was fighting against him. He took +another sip, then a long draught of the scorching liquid, and leaned +against the parapet. He pressed his hot face against the damp earth, +and burrowed his fingers into it in a frenzied effort for self-mastery. +Again he drank, and his mouth burned with the stuff. His head was +swimming, and he could hear surf breaking on a rocky coast. The dead +man was grinning at him, but death no longer held any terrors for him. +He raised the bottle in a mock toast and drank greedily of the rum +again. + +The pounding of the waves puzzled him. He could not remember that they +were near any water. But more and more distinctly he could hear the +roll of surf dashed into spray against the shore. . . . It was +strange. . . . Once more he pressed the bottle to his lips, and it set +his very arteries on fire. Yes. Over to the left he could see the +glimmer of the ocean. There was a light; some one was beside it. It +was Elise! She was giving a signal. That was it--the smugglers were +landing their contraband, and she was signalling that all was clear. + +He looked over to the dead man. The corpse was rising to its feet. It +had all been a hoax on its part--it was an excise officer. His eyes +were fixed on the light, too. His men would be near, and they would +capture Elise--and afterwards the smugglers, led by their +great-grandfather. He would have to warn her. He couldn't shout, for +that would give everything away. He would crawl near to her first. + +He finished the rum, draining the bottle to the last drop, and started +to creep along the trench, his heavy, powerless limbs carrying him only +inches where his imagination made it yards. He looked back once. The +dead man was following him. It had become a race between himself and a +corpse. He kept his eye on the light. He could see Elise quite +plainly. She was looking out towards the sea. + +Feeling his muscles growing weaker, and fearful that the dead man would +overtake him, he struggled to his feet and clapped his hands to his +mouth. + +'_Elise_!' he yelled. '_Elise_!' + +And with the roar of surf in his ears, he sank to the ground in a +drunken stupor. + + +V. + +The last act of _Madam Butterfly_ was ending. The cruel little +story wound to a close with the return of Pinkerton and his +sympathy-uninspiring American wife, and then the suicide of +Butterfly--the logical, but comparatively unmoving, finale to the opera. + +But Elise neither saw the actors nor heard the music. With her hands +covering her eyes, she had been listening for the voice of Dick. She +could hear it, distant and faint, growing nearer, as if he were coming +towards her through a forest. There was in it a despair she had never +heard before. He was in danger--where or how she could not fathom--but +over the surging music of the orchestra she could hear the voice of +Boy-blue crying through the infinity of space. + +The opera was over, and there was a storm of applause that developed +into an ovation. + +'The tenor isn't really handsome, after all,' said Lady Erskin. + +'I think the women of to-day are shameless,' said the rector's wife, +casting a last indignant glance at the box across the theatre. + +'I feel a perfect rag,' said Lady Erskin's daughter. 'Good heavens! +Elise, what's the matter?' + +'Nothing. I--I don't know,' Elise answered, looking up with +terror-stricken eyes. 'I'm just overwrought. That's all.' + +'You poor dear!' said Lady Erskin. 'You shouldn't take the opera so +seriously. After all, it didn't really happen--and I have no doubt in +real life the tenor is quite a model husband, with at least ten +children.' + + +VI. + +'Drunk,' said the company commander, stooping over the prostrate body +of Dick Durwent. 'He was all right when he took over. Where did he +get the stuff?' + +'Smell that, sir,' said the subaltern of the night, handing him a +water-bottle. + +'Humph! This looks bad. Have him carried to the rear and placed under +arrest.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE SENTENCE. + + +I. + +On the outskirts of a village near the junction of the British and +French armies, two guards with loaded rifles kept watch at the doors of +a hut. The warm sunlight of May was bathing the fields in gold, where +here and there a peasant woman could be seen sprinkling seed into the +furrows. Across a field, cutting its way through a farmyard, a light +railway carried its occasional wobbling, narrow-gauged traffic; and +outside half-a-dozen huts soldiers were lolling in the warmth of early +afternoon, polishing accoutrements and exchanging the lazy philosophy +of men resting after herculean tasks. Elsewhere there was no sign of +war. Cattle browsed about the meadows, and the villagers, long since +grown used to the presence of foreign soldiers, pursued their endless +duties. + +A sergeant walked briskly from a cottage in the village and went +directly to the field where lay the hut guarded by the sentries. 'Fall +in outside!' he said sharply, opening the door. + +Bareheaded, and with his dark hair seeming to cast the shadows that had +gathered beneath his eyes, Dick Durwent emerged and took his place +between the guards. + +'To receive the sentence of the court,' said the sergeant in answer to +his questioning glance. 'Escort and prisoner--'shun! Right turn! +Quick march!' + +Past the lounging soldiers to the road, and on to the village, they +marched. Women glanced up, curious as to the meaning of the little +procession, but with a shrug of their shoulders resumed their work, and +soon forgot all about it. The escort halted outside the cottage from +which the sergeant had come, and he entered it alone. A minute later +he reappeared, and marched prisoner and guards into the room where the +court-martial had been held that morning. The three officers were +sitting in the same places--a lieutenant-colonel, whose set, sun-tanned +face told nothing; a captain, whose firmness of jaw and steadiness of +eye could not hide his twitching lip; and a subaltern, pale as Dick +Durwent himself. + +As president of the court, the senior officer handed a sealed envelope +to the prisoner. Not a word was spoken on either side. The sergeant's +command rang out, and the noise of metalled heels upon the floor was +startlingly loud. + +Still without a word, carrying the unread sentence in his hand, Durwent +was marched back to the hut. Again the women cast curious glances, and +a little urchin in a cocked-hat stood at the salute as they passed. + +When he was alone once more, Dick broke the seal of the envelope, and +without his face altering, except that the shadows grew darker beneath +his eyes, he read the finding of the court. + +He was to be shot. + +He read it twice. With a long, quivering intake of the breath, he tore +the thing slowly into a dozen pieces and threw them into a corner. + +Walking to the end of the hut, he leaned against the ledge of a little +window, and looked out towards the horizon where the great blue of the +sky stooped to earth. There was the laughter of soldiers, and from an +adjoining meadow came the neighing of a restive horse. The sunlight +deepened, and from a hundred branches birds were trilling welcome to +the promise of another summer. + +Two hours passed. The warmth of early afternoon was giving way to the +cool mood of twilight--but the solitary figure had not moved. + + +II. + +Nine days had passed when a motor-lorry drew up on the road, and the +same sergeant ordered Dick Durwent to take his place outside the hut +with his escort. The prisoner asked as to his destination, and was +told that the sentence, having been confirmed, was to be promulgated +before his unit. + +They had been travelling for half-an-hour when they reached a field in +which Durwent saw two companies of his battalion drawn up in the form +of a hollow square. Faint with shame, staggering under the hideous +cruelty of the whole thing, he was marched into the centre and ordered +to take a pace forward, while the commanding officer read the sentence +of court-martial to the men: that Private Sherwood, being found guilty +of drunkenness while on guard--it being further proved that he had +obtained unlawful possession of the liquor--was to be shot at dawn, and +that the sentence would be carried out the following morning. + +Although his senses reeled with the shock and ignominy of it all, the +prisoner's bearing showed no sign of it. With his head erect, he +looked into the faces of the men whom he had lived and slept and fought +beside; men with whom he had shared privation and danger; men who had +been his comrades through it all. But as he searched their faces he +felt an overpowering loneliness. In the eyes of every one there was +horror; To be killed in battle--what was that? But to be shot like a +cur in the grizzly morning! Yet their horror, their anger, was against +the military law, and was born of a fear that the same thing might come +to them. It was that which cut him to the quick. It was not that _he_ +was to be shot the next day, but that _they_ might meet a similar fate. +That was the fear which drove the blood from their cheeks and left +their lips parted in awe. + +And then he saw a face which almost broke down his manhood, and sent +scalding tears to the very brink. It was the face of the lad he had +saved from deserting that terrible night. The boy's agony was for him +alone; it was pleading for understanding; it was trying to tell him +that he would never forget--that the condemned man would not go to his +death unmourned by one human heart. + + +III. + +It was his last night. All evening the chaplain had been with him, +offering the solace of divine mercy and forgiveness; but though he was +grateful for the good man's ministrations, Durwent felt that he wanted +to be alone. He hardly knew why; but there were many things to think +of, things which would be remembered more easily if he were by himself. +Towards eleven o'clock he made the request of the chaplain, who left +him, promising to return shortly after midnight; and, with his hands +clasped behind his back, Dick walked slowly up and down the hut. + +His mind journeyed to Roselawn--and Elise. At least--and at the +thought he struck his hands together with joy--she would never know. +She would think he had died in China. For several minutes he walked +without his thoughts taking any other form than that, but gradually the +realisation of his surroundings began to leave him. He was roaming +through the woods with Elise; they were climbing a great tree for +birds' eggs; they were casting flies for trout in the stream that ran +through their estate; they were riding across country on ponies that +whinnied with pleasure at the feel of the soft turf. But wherever his +hungry imagination painted her, there was in her face the womanly +tenderness that had always been hers in their companionship. + +He stopped in his walk and pressed his clenched fingers against his +lips. She had always believed in him. Through all the hell in which +the Fates had cast his destiny, she had been one star towards which he +could grope. But now--a drunkard--a renegade soldier of a renegade +battalion--to be shot. He had killed her trust! The horrors of the +night closed on him like hounds on a dying stag. + +Uttering a dull cry of agony, he staggered across the hut with +outstretched hands--and in the darkness his poor disordered fancy saw +once more the vision of his sister's face. It was as he had seen her +when, as a boy bruised by life, he had gone to her for solace. She had +not changed. She could not change. Her eyes, her lips, were saying +that in the morning she would stand beside him, holding his hand in +hers, until the levelled rifles severed his soul and his body for +eternity. + +He sank to his knees, and for the first time in many years he prayed. +It was a prayer to an unknown God, in words that were meaningless, +disjointed things. It was a soul crying out to its source, a soul +struggling towards the throne of Eternal Justice, through a darkness +lit only by a sister's love and the gratitude of an eighteen-year-old +boy saved from shameful death. + +The commands of the sergeant of the guard could be heard as sentries +were changed. Durwent rose to his feet and tried to look from the +window, but the night was as black as the grave which had already been +dug for him. Once more there was no sound but the wind moaning about +the deserted fields. + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +Dick's body grew rigid. Was it a prank of his mind, or had he really +heard the words? + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +The door had opened an inch. His heart beat wildly, and he crouched +close to the crevice. + +'Mathews!' he gasped. + +'Sh-sh.' An admonishing hand touched him. 'Come close, sir. This is +a dirty business, Mas'r Dick. If you hear me cough noticeable, get +back and pretend like you're asleep.' + +'But--but, in God's name, what are you doing there?' + +'I'm a-guardin' you, sir. Sh-sh.' + +The old groom moved a couple of paces away from the door, humming a +song about a coachman who loved a turnkey's daughter. Almost mad with +excitement, Dick stood in the darkness of the hut with his outstretched +arms shaking and quivering. He was afraid he would shout, and bit his +finger-nails to help to repress the wild desire. + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +In an instant he was crouching again by the door. + +'There'll be a orficer's inspection,' whispered the sentry, 'a minute +or two arter midnight. When that there little ceremony has took place, +you and me is goin' for a walk.' + +'Where?' + +'Anywheres, Mas'r Dick.' + +'You mean--to escape?' + +'Precisely so, sir.' + +For a moment his pulses beat furiously with hope; but the realisation +of what it meant for the old groom killed it like a sudden frost. 'No, +Mathews,' he whispered. 'It isn't fair to you. I am not going to try +to escape. Give me your hand; I want to say good-bye.' + +For answer, the imperturbable Mathews moved off again, and, in a soft +but most unmusical bass, sang the second verse about the amorous +coachman and the susceptible turnkey's daughter. Dick listened, +hanging greedily on every little sound with its atmosphere of Roselawn. + +'Mas'r Dick.' Mathews had returned. 'No argifyin' won't get you +nowhere. If I have to knock you atwixt the ears and drag you out by +the 'eels, you're comin' out o' that there stall to-night. I ain't +goin' for to see a Durwent made a target of. No, sir; not if I have to +blow the whole army up, and them frog-eaters along with 'em. Close +that door, Mas'r Dick. I've got a contrary temper, and can't stand no +argifyin' like. Close that door, sir.' + +Almost crazed with excitement, Dick strode about the hut. Even if he +were to get away, the chances of capture were overwhelming. But--to be +shot in an open fight for freedom! That would be a thousand times +better than death by an open grave. Freedom! The word was +intoxication. To breathe the air of heaven once again--to feel the +canopy of the stars--to smell the musk of flowers and new grass! If +only for an hour; yet, what an hour! + +And then the chance, remote, but still within the realm of possibility, +of reaching the front line, where men died like men. Of all the +desires he had ever known, none had gripped him like the longing for +battle, where death and honour were inseparable. + +But once more the thought of Mathews chilled his purpose. It would +mean penal servitude or worse for the old groom, and he was not going +to be the means of ruining him for his faithfulness. He could not +stoop so low as that. + +These and a hundred similar thoughts flashed through his mind, and he +was no nearer their solution when the door was opened and a sergeant +shouted a command. He started. For a second he thought that dawn +might be breaking, and that his hour had arrived; but an officer came +up the steps, and he saw with a quiver of relief that it was the +nightly inspection. + +'Everything all right?' + +'Yes, sir,' he answered. + +'Where's the chaplain?' + +'He'll be back directly, sir.' + +'Food all right--everything possible being done for you?' + +'I have no complaints, sir.' + +In the light of the lamp held by the sergeant the two men looked at +each other. Without saying anything more, the officer glanced about +the hut. 'That will do, sergeant.--Good-night.' + +'Good-night, sir,' answered Durwent. + +The officer had hardly reached the door, where the sergeant had +preceded him with the light, when he turned back impulsively and put +out his hand. 'I suppose this sort of thing is necessary,' he said +hoarsely; 'but it's a damned rotten affair altogether.' + +They clasped hands; and turning on his heel, the officer left the hut. + +'Take every precaution, sergeant,' Dick heard him say; 'and send a +runner to the chaplain with my compliments. Tell him he must not leave +the prisoner.' + +'Very good, sir.' + +Silence again--and the crunching of the sentries' heels on the sparsely +sprinkled gravel. The ordeal was becoming unbearable. Dick feared the +passing of the minutes which would bring back the chaplain, and yet +every minute seemed an eternity. The conflict ravaged his very soul. +Was he to take the chance offered him by the strangest trick of +Destiny, or remain and die like a rat caught in a trap? + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +The door was quietly opened. The old groom's hand fell on his arm and +drew him firmly outwards. He tried to pull back, but with unexpected +strength the older man exerted pressure, until Dick found himself +outside. + +It was so dark that he could not see a yard ahead of him as Mathews, +retaining his grip on his companion's arm, led him towards the road. +They were nearly clear of the field, when the groom stopped abruptly, +and they lay flat on the ground. It was the orderly officer and the +sergeant returning from the inspection of a hut some distance off. + +'Sentry.' The officer had paused opposite the hut where the prisoner +had been. + +'Yes, sir,' came the answer from the soldier still on guard at the +other door. + +'Has the chaplain returned?' + +'Not yet, sir.' + +With an impatient exclamation, the officer went on towards the village; +and gaining their feet, the two men reached the road. + +'There's a path alongside, sir,' whispered Mathews, 'and you and me is +goin' to put as much terry-firmy atwixt this village and us as our four +legs can do. Now, sir, we're off!' + +With lowered heads, they broke into a run. Stumbling over unseen +stones, lacerating their hands and faces against bushes which over-hung +the path, they ran on into the dark. Once a staff car passed them, and +they huddled in a ditch; but it was only for a few seconds, and they +were up again. Unless they were unfortunate enough to run right into +the arms of the military police, the night was offering every chance of +success. A barking dog warned them that they had come to the outskirts +of another village. Leaving the road, they circled the place by +tortuously making their way through uneven fields, until they thought +it safe once more to take the path. On they ran--past silent +fields--by streams--by murky swamps. + +Towards dawn Dick was faint with fatigue. The ordeal of the last month +had cruelly sapped his vitality, and as he ran he found himself +stumbling to his knees. + +'Hold hard, sir,' said the groom, who was leading. 'Another mile or +so, and you and me, sir, will breathe ourselves proper.' + +Only another mile--but a mile of utter anguish. Twice Dick fell, and +the second time he could not rise without assistance. + +'Mas'r Dick,' pleaded the groom, 'look 'ee, sir. Up yonder hill +somewheres about I knows there is a cornfield, for I have noted it many +a time. 'We can't hide here, sir, in this stubble. Lean on me, Mas'r +Dick--that's the way. Now, sir, for England, 'ome, and beauty.' + +Struggling to retain his consciousness, Dick limped beside the old +servitor, until, gaining the hill, they saw an abandoned cornfield. +There was a roll of guns as they made their way into the field, and +through the dense blackness of the night a few streaks of gray could be +seen towards the east. + +Without a sound, Dick sank to the ground in complete exhaustion. The +groom unstrapped his own greatcoat, which had been carried rolled, and +covered the lad with it. Taking a thermos bottle from his haversack, +he poured some hot tea between Dick's lips, and saw a little glow of +warmth creep into the cheeks. + +'Now, sir,' he said, 'take a bit 'o' this sandwich. 'Ave another swig +o' the tea. Bless my heart, sir, won't them fellers be surprised when +they finds as how they ain't got no corpse for their funeral? That's +better, sir. I will say about army tea that even if it ain't what my +old woman would make, it's rare an' strong, Mas'r Dick--rare an' strong +an' powerful, likewise and sim'lar.' + +'Mathews,' said Dick weakly, 'how was it--you were on guard--last +night? Was it just an accident?' + +'Yes, sir. Just a accident. Well, not precisely a accident neither, +sir. I be what the War Office calls "a headquarter troop," and do odd +jobs behind the lines. Sometimes I dig graves, and other times I be a +officer's servant, and likewise do a turn o' sentry-go. Well, sir, +when I heard that you was a prisoner and was goin' for to be shot, I +persuades the corp'l to put me on guard, exchangin' a diggin' job with +a bloke by the name o' Griggs, so as not to incormode the records o' +the War Office. That's all, sir. There I were, and here we be; and +arter you've had a sleep, you and me will have a jaw on our immed'ate +future. 'Ave a good snooze, Mas'r Dick, and I'll keep an eye trimmed +on the road.' + +With the same boyishness he had shown that night in Selwyn's rooms, +Dick put out his hand and pressed the old groom's arm. With a paternal +air, Mathews patted the hand with his own and reached for his pipe, +explaining that he would steal a smoke before daylight. But the lad +did not hear him. He was lost in a deep, dreamless sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE FIGHT FOR THE BRIDGE. + + +I. + +It was nearly noon when the tired youth awoke. He looked wonderingly +about, and there was a haunting fear in his light eyes, like those of a +stag that dreads the hunters. From the north there came the sound of +drum-fire, a weird, almost tedious, rhythm of guns working at a feverish +pace; and the near-by road was a mass of jumbled traffic. Ambulances, +supply-wagons, field-artillery, lorries, with jingling harness or +snorting engines--streams of vehicles moved slowly up and down their +channel. At a reckless speed motorcyclists, carrying urgent messages, +swerved through it all; and in the ditches that ran alongside, refugees +were stumbling on, fleeing from the new terror, their crouching, +misshapen figures like players from a grotesque drama of the Macabre. + +'The sausage-eaters,' said Mathews philosophically, 'must be feelin' +their oats, sir.' + +At the sound of the familiar voice the fear passed from Dick's face. +Memory had returned, and he smiled, though his body trembled as if with a +chill. 'I'm starved,' he said, 'and I have nothing with me. How long +did I sleep, Mathews?' + +'Pretty near seven hours, Mas'r Dick. Here you are, sir--feedin'-time, +and the bugle's went.' + +He handed Durwent a sandwich, which the young man devoured ravenously, +washing it down with some cold tea. Mathews also munched at a sandwich, +and through the cornstalks they watched the two currents of war-traffic +eddying past each other. There was a roar of engines behind them, and, +flying low, a formation of sixteen British aeroplanes made in a straight +line for the battle area. + +With a map which the groom had thoughtfully borrowed from an officer the +previous day, Dick managed to gain fairly accurate information as to +their position. By calculation he figured out that they had travelled +seventeen or eighteen miles during the night, and identifying the main +road on which they had come, he saw that after two or three miles it +would take a rectangular turn to the right, running parallel to the line +of battle. Four miles to the south-east of the turning-point there was a +river, and this the fugitives decided to reach that night. + +'If we can locate that,' said Dick eagerly, 'it is bound to lead us into +the French lines.' + +'Werry good, sir,' said the groom, with an air of resignation. His +contempt for maps and their unintelligibility was deep-rooted, but if his +young master thought he could locate a river with one, he would keep an +open mind on the subject until it had, at least, been given a fair trial. + +'You see,' said Durwent, 'a great many of these troops on the road are +French, so when we follow that route we must get into French territory.' + +'Yezzir,' said Mathews profoundly. 'I won't go for to say as 'ow you +mayn't be right. All the same, Mas'r Dick, when it comes to enterin' the +ring wi' them sausage-eaters I'd raither 'ave a dozen Lancashire or Devon +lads about me than all the Frenchies you could put in Hyde Park. It +ain't that these here spec'mens don't 'ave a good sound heart as far as +standin' up and takin' knocks is concerned, but they be too frisky and +skittish for my likin'. I see 'em all wavin' their arms like as if a +carriage and pair has run away, and talkin' all at once and together, +likewise and sim'lar. Wot's more, they does it in a lingo that no one +can't go for to make out, not even a Frenchy hisself, because I never see +one Frog listenin' to another--did you, sir? Wot's more, sir, they gets +all of a lather over things which is only fit for women-folk to worry +on--such as w'ether a hen has laid its egg reg'lar; or the coffee, was it +black enough? From wot I see as puts a Frog in a dither, I sez to myself +that if you was to take him to a real hoss-race, he'd never see the +finish. No, sir; he'd be dead o' heart-failure afore the hosses was off.' + +Dick smiled at the tremendous seriousness of the old groom, and lay back +wearily on the ground. 'We had better both turn in for another nap,' he +said. 'We'll need all our strength to-night, and if we stay awake we're +sure to get hungry.' + +'Werry sound advice, Mas'r Dick,' said Mathews. 'But would I be +presumin', sir, to ask you a favour? I got a letter yesterday from my +old woman, and wot with her writin' and me bein' nought o' a scholar, I +was wonderin', Mas'r Dick, if you would just acquaint me with any fac's +that you might think the old girl would like me for to know.' + +'Willingly,' said Dick, taking a sealed letter from the groom, who +squatted solemnly on the ground, assuming an air of deep contemplation, +as one who has to give an opinion on a hitherto unread masterpiece. + +'It begins,' said Dick, with some difficulty making out the writing, +which was extremely small in some words and very large in others, and +punctuated mainly with blots--'"Dear Daddy"'---- + +'That,' said Mathews, 'is conseckens o' me bein' sire to little +Wellington.' + +'Oh yes,' said Dick. '"Dear Daddy, ther ain't nothing to tell you +Wellington has took the mumps and the cat had some more kittens"'---- + +'That's a werry remark'ble cat,' observed Mathews. 'I never see a animal +so ambitious. Wot does the old girl say Wellington has took?' + +'Mumps.' + +'By Criky! I hope it don't go for to make his nose no bigger. Wot a +infant he is! Mumps! Go on, Mas'r Dick--the old girl's doin' fine.' + +'"The day,"' resumed Dick--'"the day afor Tuesday come last week"'---- + +'Don't pull up, sir,' said Mathews as Dick paused to re-read the puzzling +words. 'You has to take my old woman at a good clip to get her +meanin'--but you'll find it hid somewere, Mas'r Dick. I never see the +old girl come a cropper yet.' + +With this to guide him, the reader found his place again with the aid of +a blot, a half-inch square, which surrounded the first word. '"The day +afor Tuesday,"' he went on, '"come last week Wellington and the rector's +boy Charlie fit."' + +'Werry good,' said Mathews approvingly. + +'"Wellington's nose were badly done in and he looks awful bad but the +rector's boy"'---- + +'Wot does she say about him?' asked Mathews, staring into space. + +'"The rector's boy could not see out of neither eye for 3 days."' + +Repressing a chuckle by a great effort, Mathews hastily fumbled for his +corncob pipe, and placing it unlit in his mouth, continued to look into +space with a face that was almost purple from smothered exuberance. + +'"Milord and Lady,"' resumed Dick, '"is just the same and Milord always +asks how you was and will I remember him to you."' + +'A thoroughbred--that's wot he is,' said Mathews, apparently addressing +the distant refugees. + +'"Miss Elise was heer last week and is that sweet grown that all the +woonded tommies fit with pillos to see who wud propos to her. There +ain't no news. Bertha the skullery maid marrid a hyland soldier and they +are going for to keep a sweet-shop after the war. Wellington sprayned +his ankil yesterday by clyming out of the windo where I had locked him in +as he has the mumps."' + +'Wot a infant!' commented Mathews admiringly. + +'"I am sending you a parsil and a picter of me and Wellington. We are +very lonesum, daddy, and I'll be reel glad when the war is over and you +come back. It is awful lonesum and Wellington is to. This morning he +cut his hand trying to carv our best chair into the shape of a horse. I +am feeling fine and hope the reumatiz don't worry you no more. With +heeps of love from me and Wellington, your wife, Maggie."' + +It was a strange contrast in faces as the young man folded the letter and +handed it back. In the countenance of the groom there was a sturdy pride +in the epistolary achievement of his wife--a pride which he made a +violent but unsuccessful effort to conceal. In the pale, handsome face +of the young aristocrat there was a whimsical pathos. By the picture +conjured up in the crudely written letter he had seen his parents, his +sister, the humble cottage of the groom, and the wife's faithfulness and +cheeriness. He had seen them, not as separate things, but hallowed and +unified by a common sacrifice for England. + +For the first time since his escape Dick Durwent regretted it. He could +see no safety ahead for Mathews, no matter how long they evaded arrest. +Although a cool, fretful wind was blowing over the fields, the warm noon +sun made his eyelids heavy. + +Against the wish of the groom, he insisted upon spreading the greatcoat +over them both, and in a few minutes master and man were resting side by +side as comrades. + +'Mathews,' said Dick quietly. + +'Yezzir?' + +'Give me your word that if you ever reach England you will never tell my +family about this. They don't know I am in France, and'---- + +'Mum as a oyster, sir--that's the ticket. Werry good, Mas'r Dick. A +oyster it is.' + +Ten minutes had passed without either of them speaking, when Mathews +partially raised himself on one elbow. 'If women,' he said ruminatingly, +'was to have votes, my old girl would run for Parlyment, sure as +skittles. I wonder, Mas'r Dick, if a feller who courted a girl in good +faith, and arter a few years found she were Prime Minister of +England--would that constitoot grounds for divorce?' + +But Dick was asleep, and dreaming of days when happiness was in the air +one breathed; when brother and sister had revelled in nature's carnival +of seasons. After several minutes' contemplation of the uncertainty of +married life, the old groom followed him into a slumber which was +unattended by dreams, but did not lack a sonorous serenade. + + +II. + +The night was streaked with tragedy as the fugitives stole to the road. +The drum-fire of the guns had grown to a roar, through which there came +the blast and the crash of siege artillery, shaking the earth to its very +foundations, as if the gases of hell had ignited and were bursting +through. As though by lightning striking low, the night was lit with +flashes illuminating the fields and the roads about; and shells were +screaming and whining through the air, winged, blood-sucking monsters +crying for their prey. Across a yellow moon broken clouds were driven on +a gale that whipped the dust of the roads into moaning whirlpools. + +Dense traffic moved sullenly on, the ghostly figures of drivers astride +horses that whinnied in terror of the night. Not a light was shown. +There were only the glimpses of the sickly moonlight and the flame-red +flashes of the guns; and, unnoticed, Durwent and the groom followed +beside a lorry. + +Once, as they strode forward in the roar and horror of the dark, they +heard the explosion of a shell that, by a trick of ill-luck, had found +the road. There followed the shriek of wounded horses, quick commands +penetrating the darkness. Corpses of men, dead horses, and shattered +vehicles were drawn aside, and the long line that had been halted for +four minutes closed the gap and moved on. + +When they reached the turn in the road, they left the shadowy procession +and made for the river by following a soft wagon-path that cut across the +fields. For two hours they hurried on through the night's madness. More +than once they were almost thrown to the ground by the terrific explosion +of heavy guns that had taken up positions by the path; and by the flashes +in the fields they could see the weird figures of the gunners toiling at +their work of death. + +As they neared the river they caught a glimpse of coloured flares not far +ahead, and there came a momentary lull in the confused bombardment. + +'Listen!' cried Dick. + +From somewhere on the banks of the river there was the sound of +rifle-fire, and the rat-tat-tat-tat of machine-guns, like the rattle of +riveters at work on a steel structure. + +Following a tow-path which ran by the river, they appeared to be entering +a zone of comparative quiet. Although the sound of rifle-fire grew more +clear, the noise of the guns came from behind them, but to the right and +the left. For an hour they ran rapidly forward, and it seemed that the +tide of battle had swept to the north, leaving this area denuded of +troops. They saw neither guns nor infantry, although a renewed burst of +machine-gun fire told them they were nearing their unknown destination. + +They had not started from their hiding-place until nearly midnight, and +as they reached a slight rise of the ground they could see that the +darkness was slowly lifting with day's approach. + +'See, sir,' said the groom, pointing ahead, 'yonder side o' the river to +the right.' + +'I can't see anything,' + +'Look 'ee, Mas'r Dick. Follow the river. I think that that there gray +streak is a bridge.' + +It was not until they had gone ahead a considerable distance that Durwent +could make out a heavy bridge spanning the river, which ran with a swift +current, and was more than two hundred feet in width. A blurring red was +tinting the black clouds in the east as they crept along the path, when +they heard a sharp challenge. + +'Friends,' cried Dick, and halted. + +'Stand still until I give you the once over.' An American corporal, who +had apparently been running and was out of breath, came up to them, +carrying a revolver, and looked closely into their faces. + +'What are you doing here?' he asked. + +'Stragglers,' answered Durwent, 'separated from our unit.' + +'Where in Samhill is the rest of your army?' + +'There are no troops back here for ten miles,' answered Dick. + +The American took off his helmet and wiped his brow. + +'Jumping Jehosophat!' he exclaimed ruefully, 'do I have to marathon ten +miles and back? They sure are generous with exercise in the army. Say, +you guys--if you're on the level about being stragglers, and want a real +honest-to-God showdown scrap, you hike over that bridge. Do you see that +big tree over in the bush? Can you make it out? Well, when you get +across the river, just line your lamps on that tree, and after half a +mile or so you'll come to a sunken road. Report to Major Van Derwater, +and tell him you're the only army M'Goorty--that's me--has found so far. +And tell him I'll discover the French admiral who is supposed to be +bringing up reinforcements, if I have to search this whole one-horse +country for him. You'd better get a move on before the light comes up, +for, believe me, Lizzie, those Boches can shoot, and if ever they see you +coming across that bridge you may as well kiss yourselves good-bye.' + +Having delivered himself of this expressive monologue, the corporal +replaced the revolver in its holster and took a seaman's hitch in his +breeches. Again the machine-guns spat out, the sound seeming to be borne +on the wind as the bullets traversed the air. + +'Gosh!' said the corporal, 'but I'd give a year's tips to see that scrap +out. They had the bulge on us by about three to one, and we had to back +up to keep the line straight, but now we're holding them great. +Say--we've got a bunch of bowhunks there who could shoot the wart off a +snail. Some scrap, believe me. Well, so long.' + +He had just started off at a run, when he stopped and turned round. 'If +you ever come to New York, look me up at the Belmont. I'm a waiter +there, and I can put you wise to a lot of things. Chin, Chin!' + +'Cheerio,' answered Dick, as the energetic corporal disappeared. + +'I'm gettin' 'ard o' 'earin',' said the old groom. 'Leastways I ain't +sure I 'eerd 'im correct. Wot did 'e say?' + +'Mathews!'--Dick turned to his servant, and his voice shook with +excitement--'there's a battle going on the other side of the river, and +we're to report to Major Van Derwater. By heavens, Mathews! I feel +half-mad with joy. They didn't get us after all, did they? We sha'n't +be shot like curs, at any rate. Think of it, old man--we've won out! +They can't stop us now'---- His words stopped suddenly. 'Mathews,' he +said, 'you must not come. Stay here, and join the reinforcements when +they turn up. You have to consider your wife and little Wellington.' + +For answer the groom started along the path towards the bridge, and +Durwent was forced to break into a run before he could head him off. + +'Mathews,' he said sternly. + +'Mas'r Dick,' replied the groom, snorting violently, 'you shouldn't go +for to insult me. Beggin' your pardon and meanin' no disrespeck, this +here war is as much mine as yourn. Orders or no orders, I'm agoin' to +have a howd'ee with them sausage-eaters, and, as that there free-spoke +young gen'l'man observed, the bridge ain't exactly a chancery in the +daylight. Come along, sir; argifyin' don't get nowhere.' + +Realising that further expostulation was useless, Dick followed the groom +to the bridge. As they crossed it he noted that it was strongly built of +steel, with supports that would bear the heaviest of weights. Gaining +the opposite side, they waited as Dick took his bearings by the tree; and +crossing a hard, chalky field, they stole towards the sunken road. They +could hear the occasional crack of a rifle, and there was the _ping_ of a +bullet passing over their heads as they pressed on through the lightening +gloom. + +'Halt!' + +A voice rang out, and they were questioned as to their identity. On +being ordered to advance, they jumped down into a sunken road which +constituted an admirable trench, and were at once surrounded by American +soldiers. + +'I was ordered to report to Major Van Derwater,' said Durwent. + +They were asked various questions, and were then escorted a few yards to +the right, where an officer was looking over the bank which hid the road. + +'British stragglers, sir,' said the sergeant who had taken charge of them. + +'What unit are you from?' asked the officer. + +His voice was calm and deep, but gave no indication as to how he felt +disposed towards the two fugitives. In answer to his question Dick gave +the name of his battalion, and Mathews did the same. + +'How did you know my name?' + +'We met your corporal, sir,' said Durwent. + +'Where are your rifles?' + +'Lost them, sir.' + +'In what engagement were you cut off from your units?' + +Dick tried to reply, but not only was he ignorant of the locality through +which he had travelled, but his soul burned with resentment at being +forced into lying. Mathews said nothing, and seemed quite untroubled. +He was prepared to accept his young master's choice of engagements for +his own, no matter where or when it might have taken place. + +'I don't like this,' said the officer. 'These men are a long way from +the British lines, and are either deserters or worse. Guard them +closely, and if things get hot, tie their arms together so they will give +no trouble.' + +'Very good, sir,' answered the sergeant, preparing to lead them away; but +Durwent, whose blood, had run cold with dismay at the officer's words, +struggled forward. + +'Sir,' he cried, 'if you think I'm not to be trusted, give me a dirty +job--anything. A bombing-raid, or a patrol--I'll do anything at all, +sir, if you'll only give me a chance.' + +'Well spoke, Mas'r Dick,' said Mathews proudly. 'Werry well spoke +indeed.' + +The officer, who had been about to issue a peremptory order, stopped at +the sturdy honesty of the groom's voice. 'Send for Captain Selwyn,' he +said. 'You will find him at the creek.' + + +III. + +By a creek that trickled across the road, Captain Austin Selwyn was +watching the brushwood which concealed the enemy. Beside him, lining the +bank, every available man was on the alert, waiting the developments +which would follow the raising of night's curtain. In the misty gray of +dawn they looked fabulous in size, and indistinct. + +The night in January at the University Club in New York had marked a +reconciliation between Selwyn and Van Derwater. With the issue between +America and Germany so clearly defined, they had both lent their voices +to the insistent demand for war. At first people had been incredulous, +and hazarded the guess that the young author was endeavouring to cover +his own tracks; but when he enlisted in the ranks at the outbreak of +hostilities, they made a popular hero of him. They spoke of him as the +Spirit of the Cause; but he paid little attention to the clamour. His +joy in the prospect of action, and the release from all his mental +tortures, had produced in him a kind of frenzy, that crystallised into an +intense hatred of Germany. + +The pendulum had swung to its extreme. Once a man animated with a +passionate humanitarianism, in whom the spirit of universal brotherhood +burned with an inextinguishable force, he had become a creature drunk +with lust for revenge. Patriotism, Justice, Freedom--they were all +catch-words to hide the brutal, primeval instinct to kill. + +In the little thought which he permitted himself, Selwyn argued that the +ignorance of many nations had made war possible, but only Germany had +been vile enough to try to exploit it for the achievement of world-power. +For that reason alone she was a thing of detestation. + +His enthusiasm and quickly acquired knowledge of army routine marked him +for promotion. He was given a commission, and at the request of Van +Derwater was attached to the same regiment as himself. Together they had +crossed to France, and were among the first American troops in action. + +In the months that followed, Selwyn had revelled in the carnage and the +excitement of war. He was reckless to the point of bravado, and his keen +dramatic instinct drove him into unnecessary escapades where his senses +could enjoy a thrill not far removed from insanity. Only when out of the +line, when the mockery and the hideousness of the whole thing demanded +his mind's solution, would the mood of despondency return. But in the +trenches he knew neither pity nor fear. Men fought for the privilege of +serving under him, and with their instinct for euphony and love of the +bizarre gave him the name of 'Hell-fire.' He gloried in the physical +ascendancy of it all--in the dangers--in the discomforts. He was an +instrument of revenge, a weapon without feeling. + +On the other hand, Van Derwater had undergone no appreciable change. He +carried himself with the same dignity and formality as in his days at +Washington--except when emergency would scatter the wits of his +fellow-officers, and he would suddenly become a dynamic force, vigorous +in conception and swift of action. Yet success or failure left him +unmoved, once a crisis had passed. His men respected but did not +understand him. They wove a legend about his name. They said he had +come to France wanting to be killed, but that no bullet could touch him. +And even those who scoffed, when they saw him, unruffled and strangely +solitary, moving about with almost ironic contempt of danger, wondered if +there might not be some truth in the story. + +'Major Van Derwater would like to speak to you right away, sir.' + +Telling a non-commissioned officer to take his place, Selwyn followed the +messenger along the road until they came to the spot which Van Derwater +had chosen for his headquarters. Daylight was emerging from its retreat, +and there was the promise of a warm day in the glowing east. + +'You sent for me, sir?' he said. + +'Yes. You might question these two British stragglers. Their story is +not straight, but they seem decent enough fellows. If you are not +satisfied'---- + +He was interrupted by an exclamation of astonishment from Selwyn, who had +noticed the Englishmen for the first time. + +'Great Scott!' gasped Selwyn. 'Dick Durwent!' + +Dick looked up, and at the sight of the American's face he uttered a cry +of relief. 'Is that really you, Selwyn? What luck! You remember +Mathews at Roselawn, don't you? You can say'---- + +'Good-mornin', sir,' said the unperturbed groom. 'This is a werry +pleasant surprise, to be sure. How are you, sir?' + +'Van,' said Selwyn, after shaking hands with them both, 'this is Lord +Durwent's son, and the other is his groom, Mathews. I will vouch for +them absolutely.' + +'Good!' Van Derwater slightly inclined his head as an indication that he +was satisfied. 'We need every man. You had better take them in your +section and equip them with rifles from casualties.' + + +IV. + +A few minutes later, after he had procured food for the two men, who were +growing faint with hunger, Selwyn resumed his post. The heavy grass +fringing the bank made it possible to keep watch without being directly +exposed as a target; but beyond a desultory rifle-fire about a mile on +their right, there was no indication of enemy activity. + +When Durwent had been equipped with a steel helmet and a rifle, Selwyn +called him over to his side, and as concisely as possible explained the +military situation. In the German attack against the French forces (with +which the Americans were brigaded) the line had been swept back. Deep +salients had been driven in on both their flanks, but orders had been +received to hold the bridge at all costs, as, if a counter-attack could +be launched, it would be an enfilading one made by troops brought across +the river. Relying on their machine-gun and rifle fire to overcome the +Americans' resistance, the enemy's artillery had been drawn into the +deepening salients; but in spite of all-day fighting the straggling line +had held. + +After a few questions from Durwent they relapsed into silence, gazing at +the undulating expanse of country revealed by the ascending sun. + +'Selwyn.' Dick cleared his throat nervously. 'I must tell you the +truth. You were decent enough to stand sponsor for Mathews and me, and I +want you to know everything. The major was right. We're not +stragglers--we're deserters.' + +Selwyn made no comment, and both men stared fixedly through the long +grass that drooped with heavy dew. + +'Yesterday morning,' said Durwent dully, 'I was to have been shot. I was +drunk in the line, and deserved it. It's no use trying to excuse myself. +I fancy my nerves were a bit gone after what we'd been through the last +few months, but---- Well, I suppose I am simply a failure, as that chap +said in London--there isn't much more to it than that. By a queer deal +of the cards, Mathews was on guard, and helped me to escape. It was +rotten of me to let him take the chance; but it's been that way all +through. Even at the end of everything--after being a waster and a +rotter since I was a kid--I have to drag this poor chap down with me. +Promise, Selwyn, if you come out of this alive, that you'll fight his +case for him.' + +Selwyn murmured assent, but he was trying to shake off a haunting feeling +that was enveloping him like a mist--a feeling that everything the young +Englishman was saying he had heard before. It left him dazed, and made +Durwent's voice sound far away. He tried to dismiss it as an illogical +prank of the mind, but the thing was relentless. He could not rid +himself of the thought that sometime in the past--months, years, perhaps +centuries ago--this pitiful scene had been enacted before. + +It chilled his soul with its presage of disaster. He saw the hand of +destiny, and everything in him rebelled against the inexorable cruelty of +it all. It was infamous that any life should be dominated by a whim of +the Fates; that any creature should enter this world with a silken cord +about his throat. Destiny. Does it mould our lives; or do our lives, +inundated with the forces of heredity, mould our destinies? He tried to +grapple with the thought; but through the pain and confusion of his mind +he could only feel the presence of unseen fingers spelling out the words +written in a hidden past. + +'I wonder,' said Durwent, after a pause of several minutes, during which +neither had spoken, 'what happens when this is finished.' + +'Do you mean--after death?' said Selwyn, forcing his mind clear of its +clouds. + +Durwent nodded and leaned wearily with his arms on the bank. 'I tried to +think it out the night before I was to be shot,' he said. 'I can't just +say what I did think--but I know there's something after this world. +Selwyn, is there a God? I wonder if there will be another chance for the +men who have made a mess of things here.' + +The American turned towards the young fellow, whose pale face looked +singularly boyish, and had a wistfulness that touched him to his very +heart. Durwent was gazing over the grass into the distance, oblivious of +everything about him, and in the blue of his eyes, which borrowed lustre +from the morning, there was the mysticism of one who is searching for the +land which lies beyond this life's horizon. + +'I wonder,' repeated Durwent dreamily. + +Selwyn tried to frame words for a reply, but skilled as he was in the +interpretation of thought, he was dumb in confession of his faith. He +longed to speak the things which might have brought comfort to the lad's +harassed soul, but everything which came to him, echoing from his former +years, was so inadequate, so tinctured with smug complacency. Was there +a God? + +The question left him mute. + +'There are times,' went on Durwent, almost to himself, 'when my head is +full of strange fancies--when I'm listening to music--or at dawn like +this. While I was under arrest, a little French girl who had heard I was +to die brought some flowers she had picked for me. When I think of that +girl, and her flowers, and Elise, and the faithfulness of old Mathews, I +do believe there is some kind of a God. . . . Selwyn'--unconsciously his +hands stretched forward supplicatingly--'surely these things can't +die? . . . There's been so much that's ugly and lonely in my life. . . . +Don't you believe that we fellows who have failed will be able to have a +little of the things we've missed down here?' + +'Dick,' said Selwyn hoarsely, 'I believe'---- + +The words faltered on his lips, and in silence the two men stood together +in the presence of the day's birth. There was a strange calm in the air. +The dew on the grass caught a faint sparkle from a ray of sunlight that +penetrated the eastern skies. + + +V. + +'_The Boches, sir! They're coming!_' + +The sergeant's warning rang out, and in an instant the air was shattered +with battle. Protected by the fire from a nest of machine-guns, the +Germans launched a converging attack towards the bridge. Waiting until +the advancing troops were too close to permit the aid of their own +machine-gun fire, the Americans poured a deadly hail of bullets into +their ranks. The attack broke, but fresh troops were thrown in, and the +line was penetrated at several points. + +Van Derwater rallied his men, directed the defence, and time after time +organised or led counter-attacks which restored their position. His +voice rose sonorously above everything. Hearing it, and seeing his +powerful figure oblivious to the bullets which stung the air all about +him, his men yelled that they could never be beaten so long as he led +them. + +Half-mad with excitement, Selwyn repelled the attacks on his sector, +though his casualties were heavy and ammunition was running low. +Durwent's mood of reverie had passed, and he fought with limitless +energy. Once, when the Huns had penetrated the road, one of their +officers levelled a revolver on him, but discharged the bullet into the +ground as the butt of Mathews's rifle was brought smashing on his wrist. +The old groom followed his master with eyes that saw only the danger +hanging over him. For his own safety he gave no care, but wherever Dick +stepped or turned, the groom was by his side, with his large, rough face +set in a look that was like that of a mastiff protecting its young. + +As waves breaking against a rock, the Huns retreated, rallied, and +attacked again and again, and each time the resistance was less +formidable as the heroic little band grew smaller and the ugly story +passed that ammunition was giving out. + +They had just thrown back an assault, and Van Derwater had sent for his +section commanders to advise an attack on the enemy in preference to +waiting to be wiped out with no chance of successful resistance, when he +heard a shout, and bullets spat over their heads. Turning swiftly about, +they saw a tank lurching across the bridge. Amidst wild shouting from +the Americans, the clumsy landship stumbled towards them, with bullets +glancing harmlessly off its metal carcass. Lumbering on to the road, the +tank stopped astride it. + +In almost complete forgetfulness of the impending enemy attack, the +jubilant Americans crowded about the machine and cheered its occupants to +the echo, as a small door was opened and two French faces could be seen. +In a few words Van Derwater explained the situation, receiving the +discouraging information that no troops were anywhere near the vicinity. +The tank had been discovered by the ex-Belmont waiter and sent on to the +bridge. + +'Pass word along,' said Van Derwater crisply, 'to prepare for an attack. +The tank will go first, and when it is astride their machine-gun position +we will go forward and drive them out of the brushwood into the +open.--Messieurs, the machine-guns are gathered there--straight across, +about forty yards from the great tree.' + +The Frenchmen tried to locate the spot indicated, but were obviously +puzzled and too excited to listen attentively. Van Derwater was about to +repeat his instructions, when Dick Durwent shouldered his way into the +group. Men's voices were hushed at the sight of his blazing eyes. + +In a bound he was on the bank, and stood exposed to the enemy's fire. +With something that was like a laugh and yet had an unearthly quality +about it, he threw his helmet off and stood bareheaded in the golden +sunlight. '_En avant, messieurs_!' he cried. '_Suivez-moi_!' + +There was a grinding of the gears and a roar of machinery as the tank +reared its head and lunged after him. + +'Stop that man, Selwyn!' + +Van Derwater's voice rang out just in time. The old groom had scrambled +to the bank to follow his master, but four hands grasped him and pulled +him back. With a moan he clung to the bank, following Dick with his +eyes. And his face was the colour of ashes. + +With their voices almost rising to a scream, the chafing Americans +watched the Englishman walk towards the enemy lines. Bullets bit the +ground near his feet, but, untouched, he went on, with the metal monster +following behind. Once he fell, and a hush came over the watchers; but +he rose and limped on. His face pale and grim, Van Derwater moved among +his men, urging them to wait; but they cursed and yelled at the delay. + +Again Dick fell, and with difficulty stumbled to his feet. For a moment +he swayed as if a heavy gale were blowing against him, and as his face +turned towards his comrades they could see his lips parted in a strange +smile. Raising his arm like one who is invoking vengeance, he staggered +on, and by some miracle reached the very edge of the enemy's position. +There he collapsed, but rising once more, pointed ahead, and lurched +forward on his face. + +With a roar the American torrent burst its bounds and swept towards the +enemy. Selwyn leaped in advance of his men, his voice uttering a long, +pulsating cry, like a bloodhound that has found its trail. + +He did not see, over towards the centre, that Van Derwater had stopped +half-way and had fallen to his knees, both hands covering his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE END OF THE ROAD. + + +I. + +One noonday in the November of 1918 a taxi-cab drew up at the +Washington Inn, a hostelry erected in St. James's Square for American +officers. An officer emerged, and walking with the aid of a stout +Malacca cane, followed his kit into the place. + +It was Austin Selwyn, who a few days before had come from France, where +he had hovered for a long time in the borderland between life and +death. Although he had been severely wounded, it was the nervous +strain of the previous four years that told most heavily against him. +Week after week he lay, listless and almost unconscious; but gradually +youth had reasserted itself, and the lassitude began to disappear with +the return of strength. The horrors through which he had passed were +softened by the merciful effect of time, and as the reawakened streams +of vitality flowed through his veins, his eyes were kindled once more +with the magic of alert expression. + +Having secured a cubicle and indulged in a light luncheon, he went for +a stroll into the street. Looking up, he saw the windows of the rooms +where he had spent such lonely, bitter hours crusading against the +world's ignorance. It was all so distant, so far in the past, that it +was like returning to a boyhood's haunt after the lapse of many years. + +Going into Pall Mall, he felt a curiosity to see the Royal Automobile +Club again. He entered its busy doors, and passing through to the +lounge, took a seat in a corner. The place was full of officers, most +of them Canadians on leave; but here and there in the huge room he +caught a glimpse of sturdy old civilian members, well past the sixty +mark, fighting Foch's amazing victories anew over their port and cigars. + +Inciting his eyes roam about the place, Selwyn noticed a group of six +or seven subalterns surrounding a Staff officer, the whole party +indulging in explosive merriment apparently over the quips of the +betabbed gentleman in the centre. Selwyn shifted his chair to get a +better view of the official humorist, but he could only make out a +tunic well covered with foreign decorations. A moment later one of the +subalterns shifted his position, and Selwyn could see that the +much-decorated officer was wearing an enormous pair of spurs that would +have done admirably for a wicked baron in a pantomime. But his knees! +Superbly cut as were his breeches, they could not disguise those +expressive knees. + +Selwyn called a waitress over. 'Can you tell me,' he said, 'who that +officer is in the centre of the room--that Staff officer?' + +'Him? Oh, that's Colonel Johnston Smyth of the War Office.' + +'Colonel--Johnston Smyth!' Selwyn repeated the words mechanically. + +'That's him himself, sir. Will you have anything to drink?' + +'I think I had better,' said Selwyn. + +About ten minutes later, after perpetrating a jest which completely +convulsed his auditors, the War Office official rose to his feet, +endeavoured to adjust a monocle--with no success--smoothed his tunic, +winked long and expressively, and with an air of melancholy dignity +made for the door, with the admiring pack following close behind. + +'Good-day, colonel,' said Selwyn, crossing the room and just managing +to intercept the great man. + +The ex-artist inclined his head with that nice condescension of the +great who realise that they must be known by many whom it is impossible +for themselves to know, when he noticed the features of the American. +'My sainted uncle!' he exclaimed; 'if it isn't my old sparring-partner +from Old Glory!--Gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you the brains, +lungs, and liver of the American Army.' + +The subalterns acknowledged the introduction with the utmost +cordiality, suggesting that they should return to the lounge and +inundate the vitals of the American Army with liquid refreshment; but +Selwyn pleaded an excuse, and with many 'Cheerios' the happy-go-lucky +youngsters moved on, enjoying to the limit their hard-earned leave from +the front. + +'May I offer my congratulations?' said Selwyn. + +'Come outside,' said the colonel. + +They adjourned to the terrace, and Smyth placed his hand in the other's +arm. 'Do you know who I am?' he said. + +'Eh?' said Selwyn, rather bewildered by the mysterious nature of the +question. + +'I, my dear Americano, am A.D. Super-Camouflage Department, War +Office.' The colonel chuckled delightedly, but checking himself, +reared his neck with almost Roman hauteur. 'I have one major, two +captains, five subalterns, and eleven flappers, whose sole duty is to +keep people from seeing me.' + +'Why?' asked the American. + +'I don't know,' said the colonel; 'but it's a fine system.' + +'You have done wonderfully well.' + +'Moderately so,' said the A.D. Super-Camouflage Department. 'I have +been decorated by eleven foreign Governments and given an honorary +degree by an American university. I also drive the largest car in +London.' + +'You amaze me.' + +'As an opener,' said the colonel, forgetting his dignity in the recital +of his greatness, 'I am in enormous demand. I can open a ball, a +bottle, or a bazaar with any man in the country.' + +'But,' said Selwyn, 'how did it all come about?' + +'Ah!' exclaimed Smyth, glancing up and down the terrace after the +manner of a stage villain. 'Three years ago I was an officer's +servant. I polished my subaltern-fellow's buttons, cleaned his boots, +and mended his unmentionables. One day this young gentleman and myself +were billeted on an old French artist. When I saw those canvases, I +felt the old Adam in me thirsting for expression. Before all I am an +artist! I made a bargain with the old Parley-vous--a pair of my young +officer's boots for two canvases and the use of his paints. Agreed. +On the one I did a ploughman wending his weary thingumbob home--you +know. The following day happened to be my precious young officer's +birthday, and we celebrated it in style. I would not say he was an +expert with his Scotch, but he was very game--very game indeed. After +I had put him to bed, I determined to paint my second masterpiece, "St. +George to the Rescue!" I did it--and fell asleep where I sat. When I +woke next morning, imagine my astonishment! I had done both paintings +on the one canvas! The ploughman was toddling along to the left, and +St George was hoofing it to the right, but the effect one got was that +a milk-wagon was going straight up the centre. It gave me an idea. I +waited for my leave, and took the painting to the War Office. I told +them if they would give me enough paint I could so disguise the British +Army that it would all appear to be marching sideways. That tickled +the "brass hats." They could see my argument in a minute. They knew +that if you could only get a whole army going sideways the war was won. +I was put on the Staff and given a free hand, and in a very short time +was placed in complete charge of the super-camouflage policy of the +Allies. The testimonials, my dear chap, have been most gratifying. We +have undisputed evidence of an Australian offering a carrot to a +siege-gun under the impression it was a mule. There was a Staff car +which we painted so that it would appear to be going backwards, and the +only way that a certain Scottish general would ride in it was by +sitting the wrong way, with his knees over the back. In fact, my dear +sir, if the war only lasts another year, I shall reduce the whole thing +to a pastime, blending all the best points of "Blind Man's Buff" with +"Button, button, who's got the button?"' + +Having reached this satisfactory climax, the worthy colonel shifted his +cap to the extreme side of his head, and walked jauntily along with his +knees performing a variety of acrobatic wriggles. + +'I am most gratified,' said Selwyn, repressing a smile. 'I had no +idea, when I saw you and poor Dick Durwent marching away together, that +you would rise to such fame.' + +'Alas, poor Durwent!' cried Smyth, pulling his cap forward to a +dignified angle. 'I never knew who he was until we got to France. You +passed him along as Sherwood, you know. His people are frightfully cut +up about him.' + +'They heard of his death, of course?' + +'It isn't that, old son; it's the horrible disgrace. It only leaked +out a couple of weeks ago from one of his battalion, but it's common +property now. The old boy was absolutely done in--looked twenty years +older.' + +'What has leaked out?' said Selwyn, stopping in his walk. + +'Didn't you hear? Durwent was shot by court-martial--drunk, they say, +in the line.' + +Selwyn's hand gripped his arm. 'Where is Lord Durwent now?' he said +breathlessly. + +'In the country, I believe. But why so agitated, my Americano?' + +There was no answer. As fast as his weary limbs could take him, Selwyn +was making for the door. + + +II. + +It was nearly eight o'clock that night when Selwyn alighted from a +train at the village where he and Elise had heard the fateful +announcement of war. He walked through the quaint street, silent and +deserted in the November night. Except for two or three people at the +station, there was no one to be seen as his footsteps on the cobbled +road knocked with their echo against the casement windows of the +slumbering dwellings. Reaching the inn, he bargained for a conveyance, +and after taking a little food, and arranging for a room, he went +outside again, and climbed into a dogcart which had been made ready. + +After three or four futile attempts at conversation, the driver retired +behind his own thoughts, and left the American to the reverie forced on +him by every familiar thing looming out of the shadows. There was not +a turn of the road, not one rising slope, that did not mean some memory +of Elise. The very night itself, drowsy with the music of the breeze +and the heavy perfume of late autumn, was nature's frame encircling her +personality. He had dreaded going because of the longings which were +certain to be reawakened, but he had not known that in the secret +crevices of his soul there had been left such sleeping memories that +rustling bushes and silent meadows would make him want to cry aloud her +name. + +He told himself that she must be in London, and had forgotten him--and +that it was better so. But the night and the darkened road would not +be denied. They held the very essence of her being, and left him weak +with the ecstasy of his emotion. + +At the lodge gate they found a soldier, who allowed them to pass, and +they drove on towards the house. So vivid was the sense of her +presence that he almost thought he saw her and himself running +hand-in-hand together again down the road. By that oak he had picked +her up in his arms--and he wondered at the human mind which can find +torture and joy in the one recollection. + +Driving into the courtyard, he told the man to wait, and knocked at the +great central door. An orderly admitted him, and took him to a nurse, +who offered to lead him to the wing occupied by Lord and Lady Durwent. +With wondering eyes he glanced at the transformation of the rooms once +so familiar to him. There were beds even in the halls, and everywhere +soldiers in hospital-blue were combining in a cheerful noise which was +sufficient indication that their convalescence was progressing +favourably. In the music-room a local concert-party (including the +organist who had tried to teach Elise the piano) were giving an +entertainment, with the utmost satisfaction to themselves and the +patients. + +The nurse led him upstairs and knocked at a door. On receiving a +summons to enter she went in, and a moment later emerged again. + +'Will you please go in?' she said. + +Thanking her for her trouble, Selwyn stepped into the room, which was +lit only by the light from a log-fire, beside which Lord Durwent and +his wife were seated. Lady Durwent, who had just come from her nightly +grand-duchess parade of the patients, was busying herself with her +knitting, and was in obvious good spirits. Lord Durwent rose as Selwyn +entered, and the good lady dramatically dropped her knitting on the +floor. + +'Mister Selwyn!' she exclaimed. 'This is an unexpected pleasure!' + +The American bowed cordially over her proffered hand; but when he +turned to acknowledge the old nobleman's greeting he was struck silent. +No tree withered by a frost ever showed its hurt more clearly than did +Lord Durwent. Although he stood erect in body, and summoned the gentle +courtesy which was inseparable from his nature, his whole bearing was +as of one whom life has cut across the face with a knotted whip, +leaving an open cut. He had thought to live his days in the seclusion +of Roselawn, but destiny had spared him nothing. + +'Have you had dinner?' asked Lord Durwent. 'We are strictly rationed, +but I think the larder still holds something for a welcome guest.' + +'Isn't the war dreadful?' said Lady Durwent gustily. + +'I had something to eat at the inn,' said Selwyn, 'so I hope you won't +bother about me.' + +The older man was going to press his hospitality further, but as it was +obvious from the American's manner that he had come for a special +purpose, he merely indicated a chair near the fire. + +'You move stiffly,' he said. 'Have you been wounded?' + +'Yes,' said Selwyn, continuing to stand; 'but there are no permanent +ill effects, luckily. Lord Durwent, I came from London to-day to speak +about your son Dick.' + +At the sound of the name Lady Durwent checked a violent sob, which was +of double inspiration--grief for her son and pity for her own pride. +Her husband showed no sign that he had heard, but ran his hand slowly +down the arm of his chair. + +And, for the first time, Selwyn became conscious of her presence--Elise +had come noiselessly into the room, and was standing in the shadows. +She walked slowly towards him. + +'Is it necessary,' she said, with an imperious tilt of her head, 'to +talk of my brother? We all know what happened.' + +By the firelight he saw that, only less noticeably than in her father's +case, she too had been stricken. Her rich-hued beauty, which had +become so intense with her spiritual development, bore the marks of +silent agony. In her eyes there was pain. + +'Without wishing to appear discourteous,' said Lord Durwent, 'I think +my daughter is right. My family has been one that always put honour +first. My son Malcolm maintained that tradition to the end. My +younger son broke it. And it is perhaps as well that our title becomes +extinct with my death. If you don't mind, we would rather not speak of +the matter further.' + +'He was such a kind boy--they both were,' sobbed Lady Durwent in an +enveloping hysteria, 'and so devoted to their mother.' + +Putting Elise gently to one side, Selwyn faced her father. + +'Lord Durwent,' he said, 'I was with your son when he was killed. In +the long line of your family, sir, not one has died more gloriously.' + +Lord Durwent's hands gripped the arms of his chair, and Lady Durwent +looked wildly up through her tears. Elise stood pale and motionless. + +'It is true,' said Selwyn. 'I tell you'---- + +'There is nothing,' said the older man-- 'there can be nothing for you +to tell that would make our shame any the less. My son was shot'---- + +'Lord Durwent'---- + +'----shot for disgracing his uniform. That he was brave or fearless at +the end cannot alter that truth.' + +'Elise!' Selwyn turned from Lord Durwent, and his clenched hands were +stretched supplicatingly towards her. 'Your brother was not shot by +the British. He was killed as he went out alone and in the open +against the German machine-guns.' + +'What are you saying?' Lord Durwent half rose from his chair. 'Why do +you bring such rumours? What proof is there'---- + +'Would I come here at this time,' said Selwyn desperately, 'with +rumours? Do you think I have so little sympathy for what you must +feel? I saw your son killed, sir. It was in the early morning, and he +went to his death as you would have had him go. As you know he did go, +Elise.' + + +III. + +In a voice that shook with feeling he told of the fight for the bridge; +how Dick, and Mathews, who had saved him, reached the Americans; of the +desperate hand-to-hand fighting; how the groom had guarded his young +master; the impending disaster; and the death of Dick. + +'It meant more than just our lives,' he concluded, in a silence so +acute that the crackling of the logs startled the air like +pistol-shots, 'for as Dick fell we went forward and gained the +brushwood. Less than three hours afterwards the French arrived, and +largely by the use of that bridge a heavy counter-attack was launched. +We buried Dick where he fell--and, Lord Durwent, it is not often that +men weep. The French general, to whom the tank officer had made his +report, pinned this on your son's breast, and then gave it to me to +have it forwarded to you. He asked me to convey his message: "That the +soil of France was richer for having taken so brave a man to its +heart."' + +He handed a medal of the _Croix de Guerre_ to Lord Durwent, who held it +for several moments in the palm of his hand. From the distant parts of +the house came the noise of singing soldiers, and a gust of wind +rattled the windows as it blew about the great old mansion. Elise had +not moved, but through her tears an overwhelming triumph was shining. + +'And Mathews?' asked Lord Durwent slowly. + +'We found him after the attack,' the American answered. 'He must have +dragged himself several yards after he had been hit, and was lying +unconscious, with his hand stretched out to touch Dick's boot. Have +you heard nothing from him, sir?' + +'Nothing.' + +Again there was a silence fraught with such intensity that Selwyn +thought the very beating of his pulses could be heard. At last Lord +Durwent rose, and with an air of deepest respect placed the medal in +the hands of his wife. Her theatricalism was mute in a sorrow that was +free from shame. + +'Captain Selwyn,' said Lord Durwent, 'we shall never forget.' + +Feeling that his presence was making the situation only the more acute, +Selwyn pleaded the excuse of the waiting horse to hasten his departure. + +'But you will stay here for the night?' said Lady Durwent. + +'No--thank you very much. I have left my haversack at the inn; and, +besides, I must catch the 7.45 train to London in the morning to keep +an important appointment. Good-night, Lady Durwent.' + +Amidst subdued but earnest good wishes from the peer and his wife, he +wished them good-bye and turned to Elise. + +'Good-night,' he said, his face flaming suddenly red. + +'Good-night,' she answered, taking his proffered hand. + +'I shall go with you,' said Lord Durwent. + +The two men walked through the corridors, which were growing quieter as +the night advanced, and, with another exchange of farewells, Selwyn +went out into the dark. + +He was weak from the ordeal through which he had passed, and both his +mind and his body were bordering on exhaustion. He called to the +sleeping driver, who in turn roused the horse from a similar condition, +but just as the wheels grinding on the gravel were opposite him Selwyn +heard the door open and the rustle of skirts. + +'Austin!' cried Elise, running through the dark. + +He almost stumbled as he went towards her, and caught her arms in his +hands. + +'I didn't want you to go,' she said breathlessly, 'without saying +thanks. If Boy-blue had really been shot as they said, I--I'---- + +She did not finish the sentence, but clasping his hand, pressed it +twice to her burning lips. + +'Elise,' he cried brokenly--but she had freed herself and was making +for the door. + +No longer weary, but with every artery of his body on fire with +uncontrollable love for her, he intercepted the girl. 'Elise,' he +cried, 'I thought I could go from here and carry my heart-hunger with +me--but now I can't. I can't do it.' + +'You went away to America.' Her flashing eyes held his in a burning +reproach. 'You did not need me then--and you don't now.' + +'But--you didn't care? You never came back to the hospital, and I +wrote to you every day. Tell me, Elise, did you really care--a little?' + +'Yes, I did--more than I would admit to myself. But you didn't. All +you could think of was going back to America.' + +'But, my dearest'--his heart was throbbing with a tumultuous joy--'if I +had only known. There was so much work for me to do in America'---- + +'You will always have work to do. You don't need me. I shouldn't have +come out to-night. Please let me go.' + +'Then you don't care--now?' + +'No. You have your work to do still. You said yourself that we come +of different worlds'---- + +'Elise, my darling'--he caught her hands in his and forced her towards +him--'what does that matter--what can anything matter when we need each +other so much? I have nothing to offer you--not so much as when we +first met--but with your help, dear heart, I'll start again. We can do +so much together. Elise--I hardly know what I am saying--but you do +understand, don't you? I can't live without you. Tell me that you +still care a little. Tell me'---- + +Her hands were pressed against his coat, forcing him away from her, +when, with a strange little cry, she nestled into his arms and hid her +face against his breast. + +For a moment he doubted that it could be true, and then a feeling of +infinite tenderness swept everything else aside. It was not a time for +words or hot caresses to declare his passion. He stooped down and +pressed his lips against her hair in silent reverence. She was his. +This woman against his breast, this girl whose being held the mystery +and the charm of life, was his. The arms that held her to him pressed +more tightly, as if jealous of the years they had been robbed of her. + +'I must go in,' she whispered. + +He led her to the door, her hand in his, but though he longed to take +her in a passionate embrace, he knew instinctively that her surrender +was so spiritual a thing that he must accept it as the gift of an +unopened spirit-flower. + +'Good-night, dear.' She paused at the door, then raised her face to +his. + +Their lips met in the first kiss. + + +IV. + +The following Saturday Selwyn met Elise at Waterloo, and with her hand +on his arm they walked through London's happy streets. + +It was 9th November. + +News had come that the Germans had entered the French lines to receive +the armistice terms, and hard on that was the official report that the +German Emperor had abdicated. + +London--great London--whose bosom had sustained the shocks, the hopes, +the cruelties of war, was bathed in a noble sunlight. For all its +incongruities and jumbled architecture, it has great moments that no +other city knows; and as Selwyn and Elise made their way through the +crowds, there was an indefinable majesty that lay like a golden robe +over the whole metropolis. + +Above St. Paul's there floated shining gray airships, escorted by +encircling aeroplanes. Hope--dumb hope--was abroad. Not in an +abandonment of ecstasy, or of garish vulgarity which was soon to +follow, but in a spirit of proud sorrow, Londoners raised their eyes to +the skies. Passengers on omnibuses looked with new gratitude at the +plucky girls in charge who had carried on so long. People stood aside +to let wounded soldiers pass, and old men touched their hats to them. +The heart of London beat in unison with the great heart of humanity. + +From crowded streets, from domes and spires and open parks, there +soared to heaven a mighty _Gloria--gloria in excelsis_.' + +After a lunch, during which they were both shy and extraordinarily +happy, they took a taxi-cab and drove to a house in Bedford Square. + +Leaving Elise, Selwyn knocked at the door, and was admitted to a room +where a girl in an American nurse's outdoor costume waited for him. + +'I got your letter in answer to mine, Austin,' said she, giving him +both her hands, 'and I am all ready. Did you see him?' + +'I did--yesterday afternoon. But, Marjory, I told him nothing of you, +and if you want to withdraw there is yet time. Have you really thought +what this means to you?' + +Her only answer was a patient smile as she opened the door and led him +outside. + +'Elise,' said Selwyn, as they entered the cab, 'I want to introduce +Miss Marjory Shoreham of New York.' + +'Austin has told me all about you,' said Elise, 'and I think you are +wonderfully brave.' + +She took the nurse's hand and held it tightly in hers as the car drove +towards Waterloo. + +An hour later they reached a Sussex station, and hiring a conveyance, +drove to a charming country home which was owned by a Mr. Redwood, whom +Selwyn had met on board ship. A servant told them as they drove up to +the door that the master of the house had gone to the village, but that +they were to come in and make themselves at home. + +As he helped the girls to alight Selwyn heard the nurse catch her +breath with a spasm of pain. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a +man standing on the lawn facing the sun, which was reaching the west +with the passing of afternoon. + +'Please remain here,' said Selwyn, 'and I will motion you when to come.' + +He walked towards the solitary figure, who heard him, and turned a +little to greet him. + +'Is that you, Austin?' + +'Yes, Van,' answered Selwyn. 'How could you tell?' + +With his old kindly, tired smile the ex-diplomat put out his hand, +which Selwyn gripped heartily. + +'I suppose it is nature's compensation,' said Van Derwater calmly. +'Now that I cannot see, footsteps and voices seem to mean so much more. +I was just thinking before you came that, though I have seen it a +thousand times, I have never _felt_ the sun in the west before. +Look--I can feel it on my face from over there. Sir Redwood tells me +that the news from France is excellent.' + +'It is,' said Selwyn. 'I think the end is only a matter of hours.' + +'A matter of hours; and after that--peace. Austin, I haven't much to +live for. It was in my stars, I suppose, that I should walk alone; but +there is one fear which haunts me--that all this may be for +nothing--for nothing. If I thought that on my blindness and the +suffering of all these other men a structure could be built where +Britain and America and France would clasp the torch of humanity +together, I would welcome this darkness as few men ever welcomed the +light. But it is a terrible thought--that people may forget; that +civilisation might make no attempt to atone for her murdered dead.' + +He smiled again, and fumbling for Selwyn's shoulder, patted it, as if +to say he was not to be taken too seriously. + +'The world must have looked wonderful to-day in this sunlight,' he went +on. 'Do you know, I hardly dare think of the spring at all. I +sometimes feel that I could never look upon the green of a meadow +again, and live.' + +Selwyn had beckoned to the nurse, who was coming across the lawn +towards them. + +'Van,' he said, taking his friend's arm, 'don't be too surprised, will +you? But--but an old friend has come back to you.' + +'Who is it?' Van Derwater's form became rigid. 'I can hear a step, +Austin! Austin, where are you? What is this you're doing to me? +Speak, man--would you drive me mad?' + +Without a sound the girl had clutched his hand and had fallen on her +knees at his feet. + +'Marjory!' With a pitiful joy he felt her hair and face with his hand, +and in his weakness he almost fell. Vainly he protested that she must +go away, that he could not let her share his tragedy. Her only answer +was his name murmured over and over again. + +Creeping silently away, Selwyn rejoined Elise. Once they looked back. +The girl was in Van Derwater's arms, and his face was raised towards +the sun which he was nevermore to see. But on that face was written a +happiness that comes to few men in this world. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +A LIGHT ON THE WATER. + + +I. + +A sulky winter came hard upon November, and the war of armies was +succeeded by the war of diplomats. + +One day in January the same vehicle that had driven Selwyn to Roselawn +deposited another visitor there. He was a sturdy, well-set-up fellow, +but a thinness and a certain pallor in the cheeks conflicted with their +natural weather-beaten texture. + +The morose driver helped him to alight, and handed him his crutches, +which he took with a snort of disapproval. He made his way at a +dignified pace around the drive, pausing _en route_ to look at the +gables and wings of Roselawn as one who returns to familiar scenes +after a long absence. + +Without encountering any one he reached the stables, and opening a +door, mounted the stairs that led to the dwelling-quarters above. + +There was no one in the cosy dining-room, and sitting down, he hammered +the floor with his crutch. The homely sound of dishes being washed +ceased suddenly in the adjoining room, and Mrs. Mathews threw open the +door. + +'Who is it?' she cried. + +'Me,' said Mathews. + +Uttering a pious exclamation that reflected both doubt and confidence +in the all-wise workings of Providence, his wife fell heavily upon him, +with strong symptoms of hysteria. + +'Heavenly hope!' she cried, after her exuberance permitted of speech; +'so you've come home?' + +'I hev,' said her husband solemnly; 'and I'm werry pleased to observe +you so fit, m'dear. Is the offspring a-takin' his oats reg'lar?' + +'Lord!' said Mrs. Mathews irrelevantly, subsiding into a chair, 'I +thought you was dead. You never writ.' + +'That,' said Mathews, 'was conseckens of a understanding clear and +likewise to the point, atwixt me and Mas'r Dick. "Mum's the word," sez +he. "Mum's the word," sez I. And that there was as it should be, no +argifyin' provin' contrairiwise. But Milord he found me out, and sez +as how he knows it all, and would I come home?--which, bein' free from +horspital, I likewise does. Now, m' dear, if you will proceed with any +nooz I would be much obliged to draw up a little forrader, as it were.' + +'Did Milord tell you about Miss Elise?' said his wife, after much +thought. 'She's gone and got herself engaged.' + +'To who?' + +'Captain Selwyn. Him as was visiting here when the war begun.' + +'Now that there,' said Mathews, nodding his head slowly and admiringly, +'_is_ nooz. That there is what a feller likes to hear from his old +woman. You're a-doin' fine.' + +'The wedding,' went on his wife, her eyes sparkling with the universal +feminine excitement about such matters, 'is next week, and Wellington +is bespoke for to pump the organ. Ain't that wonderful grand?' + +'That,' said Mathews with great dignity, 'is werry gratifyin' to a +parent, that is. Pump the organ at a weddin'! I hopes he won't go for +to do nothing to give inconwenience to the parties concerned. Where is +he, old girl?' + +'Upstairs in bed, daddy, with the whooping-cough something horrid.' + +'Wot a infant!' commented the groom proudly. 'I never see such a +offspring for his age--never. Whoopin'-cough something horrid? Well, +well!' + +For a full minute he reflected with such apparent satisfaction on his +son and heir's vulnerability to human ailments that there is no telling +when he would have left off, if his reverie had not been broken by his +wife placing a pipe in his hands and a bowl on the table. + +'It was always waiting on you, daddy,' said the good woman. 'I sez to +Wellington, "That's his favourite, it is, and we'll always have it +ready for him when he comes home."' + +Without any display of emotion or undue haste, the old groom filled the +pipe, lit it, drew a long breath of smoke, and slowly blew it into the +air, regarding his good partner throughout with a look that clearly +showed the importance he attached to the experiment. + +He took a second puff, raised his eyes from hers to the ceiling, and +his broad face crinkled into a grin, the like of which his wife had +never seen before on his countenance. + +'Old girl,' he said, 'when I sees you first I sez, "There's the filly +for my money;" and so you was. And, by Criky! you and me hevn't +reached the last jump yet--no, sir. Give me a kiss. . . . +Thar--that's werry "bon," as them queer-spoke Frenchies would say. M' +dear, I hev some nooz for _you_ now.' + +He puffed tantalisingly at the pipe, and surveyed his wife's intense +curiosity with studied approbation. + +'When Milord come to see me last week,' he said, measuring the words +slowly, 'he tells me as how he won't go for to hev no more hosses, and +conseckens o' me bein' all bunged up by them sausage-eaters, he sez as +how would I like to be the landlord o' "The Hares and Fox" in the +village, him havin' bought the same, and would I go for to tell you as +a surprise, likewise and sim'lar?' + +'Heavenly hope!' cried the good woman, bursting into tears; 'if that +ain't marvellous grand!' + +'That,' said Mathews, beckoning for her to hand him his crutches, 'is +what Milord has done for you and me. And, missus, as long as there's a +drop in the cellar none o' the soldier-lads in the village will go for +to want a pint o' bitter nohow. Now, old girl, if you'll give a leg up +we'll go and see how the infant is lookin'.' + + +II. + +A few days later, in the chapel decked with flowers, the marriage of +Selwyn and Elise took place. + +In spite of her disappointment that Elise was not marrying a title, +Lady Durwent rose superbly to the occasion. She led the weeping and +the laughing with the utmost heartiness, and recalled her own wedding +so eloquently and vividly that those who didn't know about the +Ironmonger supposed she must have been the daughter of a marchioness at +least, and was probably related to royalty. + +Just before the ceremony itself the youthful Wellington, who had +confounded science by a remarkable recovery from his ailment, was +confronted with the offer of half-a-crown if he acquitted himself well, +and threatened with corporal punishment if he didn't. With this double +stimulus, he pumped without cessation and with such heartiness that the +rector's words were at times hardly audible above the sound of air +escaping from the bellows--necessitating a punitive expedition on the +part of the sexton, and engendering in Wellington a permanent mistrust +in the justice of human affairs. + +Late in the afternoon bride and groom left for London, on their way to +America. + +When the train came in and they had entered their compartment, Selwyn, +with feelings that left him dumb, looked out at the little group who +had come to say farewell. + +Lord Durwent stood with his unchangeable air of gentleness and +courtesy, but in his eyes there was the look of a man for whom life +holds only memories. Lady Durwent alternated dramatically between +advice and tears; and Mathews stood proudly beside his wife (whose hat +was of most marvellous size and colours), nodding his head sagaciously, +and uttering as much philosophy in five minutes as falls to the lot of +most men in a decade. + +And so, with his wife's hand trembling on his arm, Austin Selwyn leaned +from the window and waved good-bye to the little English village. + + +III. + +A year went by, and, with the passing of winter, Selwyn and Elise, in +their home at Long Island, watched the budding promise of another +spring. + +Their home was by the sea, and in the presence of that great majestic +force they had lived as man and wife, taking up the broken threads of +life, and knitting them together for the future. + +The task of resuming his literary work had been next to impossible for +Selwyn. He had tried to mould the destinies of nations--and they had +fallen back upon him, crushing him. His thoughts cried out for +utterance, but self-distrust robbed him of courage. Months went by, +and his chafing, restless longing for self-expression grew more intense +and more intolerable. + +And then the woman who was his wife lost her own yoke of self-restraint +in solicitude for him. Timidly, hesitatingly at first, she invaded the +precincts of his mind. With subtle persistence, yet never seeming to +force her way, she wove her personality about his like a web of silken +thread. Her purity of thought, her innate artistry, her depth of +feeling, played on his spirit like dew upon the parched earth. + +As the passing hours took their course, each nature unconsciously gave +to the other the freedom that comes only with surrender. His strength +and his care for her liberated her womanhood, and, like a flower that +has lived in shadow, her soul blossomed to fullness in that warmth. + +And his troubled mind, directionless, yet rebellious of inaction, found +again the meaning and the hidden truths of life, then gained the +courage to be life's interpreter. + +Once more Austin Selwyn wrote. + +One evening towards the summer Elise was sitting on the veranda, when +he came from his study and joined her. The first pale stars were +shining through a sheen of blue that rose from the horizon in an +encircling, shimmering mist. + +'Are you through with your writing?' she said. + +'Not yet,' he answered, sitting beside her; 'but I could not resist the +call of you and this wonderful night.' + +'Isn't it glorious?' she said softly, taking his hand in hers. 'I +think that blue over the sea must be like the Arabian desert at night +when the camel-trains rest on their way. Don't you love the sound of +the waves?' + +With a little sigh she leaned her head on his shoulder, and he held her +close to him. + +'Happy, Elise?' + +'So happy,' she whispered, 'that I am afraid some day I shall find it +isn't true.' + +He laughed gently, and for a few moments neither spoke, held by the +wonderful intimacy of the spirit that does not need words for +understanding. + +'Austin dear,' she said at length, 'before you came out I was counting +the stars--and playing with dreams. Don't think me silly, will you? +But I was planning, if we have a son, what I should like to call him.' + +'I think I know,' he said, pressing his lips against her hair. 'Dick?' + +'And Gerard for his second name. I should want him to be strong and +true like Gerard--but he must have Dick's eyes and Dick's smile. But, +then, I want so much for this dream-boy of ours--for, most of all, he +must be like my husband.' + +With a sudden shyness she hid her face against his breast, and he ran +his hand caressingly over her arm, which was like cool velvet to the +touch. + +The glimmering stars grew stronger, and a breeze from the sea crept +murmuringly over the spring-scented fields. + +'There are times,' he said, 'when I long for the power to reach out for +the great truths that lie hidden in space and in the silence of a night +like this--to put them in such simple language that every one could +read and understand. If I could only translate the wonder of you and +the spirit of the sea into words.' + +She looked up into his face, and something of the mystic blue of the +skies lay in the depths of her eyes. + + +IV. + +Late that night he resumed work in his study, but a thousand memories +and fancies came crowding to his mind. He tried to shake them off, but +they clung to him--memories of the war--memories of the times when the +world was drunk with passion. He heard, as if afar off, the whine and +shriek of shells, and he saw the dead--grotesque, silent, horrible. + +That was the great absurdity--_the dead_. + +It was hopeless to write. He was no longer pilot of his thoughts. + +He rose to his feet and threw open the door with an impatient desire +for fresh air. Though the cool breeze refreshed his temples, the +restlessness of his mind was only increased by the hush of nature's +nocturne, through which the sound of the sea came like a drone. + +Beneath the canopy of that same sky the dead were lying. Across the +seas a breeze of spring was stealing about the graves, as now it played +about his face. + +What was his part towards them--to mourn, and fill his life with +useless melancholy? To forget, and turn his face towards the future? + +Forget . . . ? + +'There are times'--he found himself repeating mechanically the words +which, a few hours before, he had spoken to Elise--'when I long for the +power to reach out for the great truths--hidden in space--and in the +silence of the night.' + +Suddenly his brow grew calm. The baffled, questioning look left his +eyes, and he smiled strangely. + +Closing the door, he turned back to his desk, and taking the pen, +looked for a full minute at the paper before him. + +'_To My Unborn Son_.' + +He gazed at what he had written as though the words had appeared of +their own volition. + +'_To My Unborn Son_.' + +With a far-away dreaminess in his eyes he dipped his pen in the ink and +commenced to write: + +'Somewhere beyond the borders of life you are waiting. I cannot speak +to you, nor look on your face, but the love of a father for his child +can penetrate the eternal mysteries of the unknown. To those who love +there is no death; and in the hearts of parents, children live long +before they are born. + +'My son, this letter that I write now to you will lie hidden and unseen +by other eyes until the time when you alone shall read it. I shall be +changed by then: like the world, I may forget; but you, my son, must +read these words, and know that they are truth--truth as unchangeable +as the tides of the sea, or the hours of dawn and sunset. + +'_Civilisation has murdered ten million men_. + +'The human mind cannot encompass that. It is beyond its comprehension, +so it is trying to forget. + +'Ten million men--murdered. + +'Read these words, my son, written in the hush of night, when men's +souls stand revealed. + +'Nearly six years ago there came the war. History will prove this or +that responsibility for it, but the civilisation that made war possible +is itself responsible. The nations sprang to arms; but soon, by that +strange destiny which seems to guide mankind, the issue was one not of +nations against nations, but of Humanity against Germany. Do not ask +me how the land of Goethe, Schiller, and Beethoven became so vile. I +only know that Germany was the champion of evil, and on Britain and +France men's hopes were rested. + +'America held aloof. When this is read by you, my son, you will have +known the noble thrill of patriotism, the pride of race and +citizenship. But it is because of that that you must read what I write +now about the country I love best. + +'Less than any other nation, America is to be blamed for the war. Her +life was separate from the older world, and the spoils of victory made +no appeal. Yet this great Republic, born of man's desire for freedom, +remained silent even when the whole world saw that the war was one of +Justice against Evil. Men, like myself, were blind, and fed the flames +of ignorance with ignorance. Others knew we were not ready, and called +upon us to prepare; and others made great fortunes while Youth went to +its Cross. + +'Month after month passed by, and Britain and her Allies fought +Humanity's fight; and the murder of men went on. + +'At last we came of age, and our young men stormed across the seas, not +to save America--for we had nothing to fear--but to rid the world of an +intolerable curse. Look fearlessly at the truth, but do not forget +that when we went it was for an ideal--just as years before, when North +and South fought the issue of preserving the Union, the impulse that +drove our fathers on to their deaths was their souls' demand of freedom +for the negro. By her delay was America defamed; by the spirit of her +coming was she great.' + +Selwyn put down his pen, and rested his head between his hands. Ten +minutes passed before he looked up and began to write again. + +'The war is over. _America is debtor to the world_. Read this, my +son, with both humility and pride--humility that it is so, pride that +we yet can pay. + +'Those awful years while we stood apart, the homes of Britain gave +their sons--the sons for whom their parents yearned, as I am yearning +now for you. Through Britain's broken hearts, and through the grief of +women throughout the world, the youth of America were saved. I know +that we have our thousands of stricken homes and ruined lives, but the +end of the war left America debtor to civilisation, even though she +gave the strength which brought the war to an end. + +'Faced with our indebtedness, what did we do? + +'Europe lay stricken. The spectres of ruin, starvation, anarchy, +hovered about her form. The world was through with war; men groped for +light; and from the peoples of the earth a universal cry went up that +these things must not be. + +'It was our chance. We still were strong. We held the charter of +mankind within our hands, and men looked to us. Over prostrate Europe +the conquering nations gathered, and men in all the distant corners of +the earth listened for the voice of him who would cry in the wilderness +that a new age was born. + +'Vital days went by. At last the man who spoke for us outlined his +plan that all the Powers of the world should join together in a +covenant that war should be no more. + +'Men waited, and still waited. The plan was argued, ridiculed, +applauded--and sucked of its inspiration by talk. Already the agony of +Man was hardening into the cynicism of despair. Nations that had bled +together grew wary and drew apart. + +'And still men waited, for they knew that only America's voice could +allay the clamour. Then we spoke. Angered by the methods of our +leader, angered by the spirit of revenge that was settling over Europe, +angered by delay, once more we failed to see the great truths written +across the face of the sun. + +'America--debtor to the world--America cried out that she alone of all +the nations would stand aloof. Let history gloss it over as it will, +we held back the hand of succour that Europe craved for. + +'From the land of scented mists came the Japanese; from Greece, that +once was first in all the arts; from South America and the countries of +Europe, men gathered to the League of Nations, hoping, groping for the +light--_and we were not there_. + +'As I write to you, my son, the League is an impotent, powerless thing, +at which the men who know only nationality and not humanity sneer and +make jest. The body is there--America alone could be the heart. + +'Bloodless, helpless, it is in semblance a living thing, but all men +know it has no life, and already the diplomats who have no other way +are using it as a shield for their methods that cannot bear the light. + +'My son, in the hush and loneliness of night, ponder over these words. +Because of those things, avoidable and unavoidable, that kept us +silent; because so many of us were false to the trusteeship that fell +on our generation; because we had not learned that America was greater +than Americans, but tried to imprison the spirit of the Republic within +the little confines of our souls--because of these things thousands of +men were foully done to death. How many Miltons, how many Lincolns, +were crucified in that army of the young? + +'_We must repay_. Our destiny is clear, and no people can thwart its +destiny without the gravest danger. Our duty is to restore. Whatever +our resources, in things material or of the spirit, this generation and +yours and the generation to follow must give unsparingly. Our minds +and hearts must turn to Europe, for only in service to mankind can +America fulfil that for which she was created. + +'Across the seas lies England. She has done much that is unworthy of +her in the past; she has much to teach and much to learn; but within +the heart of Old England there is majestic grandeur and great +mercifulness, and with that heart ours must beat in unison. The solemn +splendour of Britain's sacrifice must never be forgotten. + +'Believe in life, my son. Believe in men. Take on my charge and fight +the flames of Ignorance, not as I did, but with the power of Reason and +of Right. The universal mind is still alive. Trust in it as Wagner +when he wrote his music, as Shelley when he sang of beauty, as +Washington when he founded this great Republic. Men speak through +their nationalities, but in every country of the world there is an +aristocracy of thought; and if you have the power, I charge you work +towards the end when that great aristocracy will flood the earth with +splendour and Ignorance will be no more. + +'These words I leave with you, my son, on this silent night in May. +Perhaps you will never read them. Perhaps you will live only in our +two hearts. But on the borders of life we reach out for you, praying +that you may come to stay the hunger of our hearts, to be our living +son.' + +Selwyn dropped his pen and rose slowly from his chair. Passing his +hand across his brow, he went to the door, and opening it, looked out. + +From the thin crescent of a waning moon, a narrow path of light was +glimmering on the water. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARTS MEN PLAY*** + + +******* This file should be named 17481-8.txt or 17481-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/4/8/17481 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/17481-8.zip b/17481-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4202a06 --- /dev/null +++ b/17481-8.zip diff --git a/17481.txt b/17481.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..513eeaf --- /dev/null +++ b/17481.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12881 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Parts Men Play, by Arthur Beverley +Baxter, et al + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Parts Men Play + + +Author: Arthur Beverley Baxter + + + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [eBook #17481] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARTS MEN PLAY*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE PARTS MEN PLAY + +by + +ARTHUR BEVERLEY BAXTER + +Author of "The Blower of Bubbles" + +With Foreword by Lord Beaverbrook + + + + + + + +McClelland & Stewart +Publishers ======== Toronto +Copyright, Canada, 1920 +By McClelland & Stewart, Limited, Toronto + + + + + + THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED + + TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER + + JAMES BENNETT BAXTER + + WHO BELIEVED THOUGHT TO BE MORE IMPORTANT + THAN THINGS, AND WHO WENT THROUGH THIS + WORLD DISPENSING GENIAL PHILOSOPHY + AND KINDLY HUMOUR TO ALL + WHO CAME WITHIN + HIS CIRCLE + + + + +FOREWORD. + +Mr. Baxter is my countryman, and, as a Canadian, I commend _The Parts +Men Play_, not only for its literary vitality, but for the freshness of +outlook with which the author handles Anglo-American susceptibilities. + +A Canadian lives in a kind of half-way house between Britain and the +United States. He understands Canada by right of birth; he can +sympathise with the American spirit through the closest knowledge born +of contiguity; his history makes him understand Britain and the British +Empire. He is, therefore, a national interpreter between the two +sundered portions of the race. + +It is this role of interpreter that Mr. Baxter is destined to fill, a +role for which he is peculiarly suited, not only by temperament, but by +reason of his experiences gained from his entrance into the world of +London journalism and English literature. + +I do not know in what order the chapters of _The Parts Men Play_ were +written, but it seems to me that as Mr. Baxter gets to grip with the +realities of his theme, he begins to lose a certain looseness of touch +which marks his opening pages. If so, he is showing the power of +development, and to the artist this power is everything. The writer +who is without it is a mere static consciousness weaving words round +the creatures of his own imagination. The man who has it possesses a +future, because he is open to the teaching of experience. And among +the men with a future I number Mr. Baxter. + +Throughout the book his pictures of life are certainly arresting--taken +impartially both in Great Britain and America. What could be better +than some of his descriptions? + +The speech of the American diplomat at a private dinner is the truest +defence and explanation of America's delay in coming into the war that +I remember to have read. The scene is set in the high light of +excitement, and the rhetorical phrasing of the speech would do credit +to a famous orator. + +But I fear that I may be giving the impression that _The Parts Men +Play_ is merely a piece of propagandist fiction--something from which +the natural man shrinks back with suspicion. Nothing could be farther +from the truth. Mr. Baxter's strength lies in the rapid flow and sweep +of his narrative. His characterisation is clear and firm in outline, +but it is never pursued into those quicksands of minute analysis which +too often impede the stream of good story-telling. + +I am glad that a Canadian novelist should have given us a book which +supports the promise shown by the author in _The Blower of Bubbles_, +and marks him out for a distinguished future. + +If in the course of a novel of action he has something to teach his +British readers about the American temperament, and his American public +about British mentality, so much the better. + + +BEAVERBROOK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +CHAPTER + + I. LADY DURWENT DECIDES ON A DINNER + II. CONCERNING LADY DURWENT'S FAMILY + III. ABOUT A TOWN HOUSE + IV. PROLOGUE TO A DINNER-PARTY + V. THE OLYMPIANS THUNDER + VI. A MORNING IN NOVEMBER + VII. THE CAFE ROUGE + VIII. INTERMEZZO + IX. A HOUSE-PARTY AT ROSELAWN + X. GATHERING SHADOWS + XI. THE RENDING OF THE VEIL + XII. THE HONOURABLE MALCOLM DURWENT STARTS ON A JOURNEY + XIII. THE MAN OF SOLITUDE + XIV. STRANGE CRAFT + XV. DICK DURWENT + XVI. THE FEMININE TOUCH + XVII. MOONLIGHT + XVIII. ELISE + XIX. EN VOYAGE + XX. THE GREAT NEUTRAL + XXI. A NIGHT IN JANUARY + XXII. THE CHALLENGE + XXIII. THE SMUGGLER BREED + XXIV. THE SENTENCE + XXV. THE FIGHT FOR THE BRIDGE + XXVI. THE END OF THE ROAD + XXVII. A LIGHT ON THE WATER + + + + +THE PARTS MEN PLAY. + + +CHAPTER I. + +LADY DURWENT DECIDES ON A DINNER. + + +I. + +His Majesty's postmen were delivering mail. Through the gray grime of +a November morning that left a taste of rust in the throat, the +carriers of letters were bearing their cargo to all the corners of that +world which is called London. + +There were letters from hospitals asking for funds; there were appeals +from sick people seeking admission to hospital. There were long, legal +letters and little, scented letters lying wonderingly together in the +postman's bag. There were notes from tailors to gentlemen begging to +remind them; and there were answers from gentlemen to their tailors, in +envelopes bearing the crests of Pall Mail clubs, hinting of temporary +embarrassment, but mentioning certain prospects that would shortly +enable them to . . . . + +Fat, bulging envelopes, returning manuscripts with editors' regrets, +were on their way to poor devils of scribblers living in the altitude +of unrecognised genius and a garret. There were cringing, fawning +epistles, written with a smirk and sealed with a scowl; some there were +couched in a refinement of cruelty that cut like a knife. + +But, as unconcerned as tramps plying contraband between South America +and Mexico, His Majesty's postmen were delivering His Majesty's mail, +with never a thought of the play of human emotions lying behind the +sealed lips of an envelope. If His Majesty's subjects insisted upon +writing to one another, it was obvious that their letters, in some +mysterious way become the property of His Majesty, had to be delivered. + +Thus it happened, on a certain November morning in the year 1913, that +six dinner invitations, enclosed in small, square envelopes with a +noble crest on the back, and large, unwieldy writing on the front, were +being carried through His Majesty's fog to six addresses in the West +End of London. + +Lady Durwent had decided to give a dinner. + +An ordinary hostess merely writes a carelessly formal note stating that +she hopes the recipient will be able to dine with her on a certain +evening. The form of her invitations varies as little as the +conversation at her table. But Lady Durwent was _unusual_. For years +she had endeavoured to impress the fact on London, and by careful +attention to detail had at last succeeded in gaining that reputation. +She was that _rara avis_ among the women of to-day--the hostess who +knows her guests. She never asked any one to dine at her house without +some definite purpose in mind--and, for that matter, her guests never +dined with her except on the same terms. + +Therefore it came about that Lady Durwent's dinners were among the +pleasantest things in town, and, true to her character of the +_unusual_, she always worded her invitations with a nice discrimination +dictated by the exact motive that prompted the sending. + + +II. + +H. Stackton Dunckley looked up from his pillow as the man-servant who +valeted for the gentlemen of the Jermyn Street Chambers drew aside a +gray curtain and displayed the gray blanket of the atmosphere outside. + +'Good-morning, Watson,' said Mr. Dunckley in a voice which gave the +impression that he had smoked too many cigars the previous evening--an +impression considerably strengthened by the bilious appearance of his +face. + +'Good-morning, sir. Will you have the _Times_ or the _Morning Post_? +And here are your letters, sir.' + +The recumbent gentleman took the letters and waved them philosophically +at the valet. 'Leave me to my thoughts,' he said thickly, but with +considerable dignity. 'I am not interested in the squeaky jarring of +the world revolving on its rusty axis.' + +Being an author, he almost invariably tried out his command of language +in the morning, as a tenor essays two or three notes on rising, to make +sure that his voice has not left him during his slumber. + +Mr. Watson bowed and withdrew. H. Stackton Dunckley lit a cigarette, +opened the first letter, and read it. + + +'8 CHELMSFORD GARDENS. + +'MY DEAR STACKY,--Next Friday I am giving a little dinner-party--just a +few _unusual_ people--to meet an American author who has recently come +to England. Do come; but, you brilliant man, don't be too caustic, +will you? + +'Isn't it dreadful the way gossip is connecting our names? Supposing +Lord Durwent should hear about it!--Until Friday, + +'SYBIL DURWENT. + +'P.S.--How is _the_ play coming on? Dinner will be at 8.30.' + + +H. Stackton Dunckley put the letter down and sighed. He was an author +who had been writing other men's ideas all his life, but without +sufficient distinction to achieve either a success or a failure. He +had gained some notoriety by his wife suing him for divorce; but when +the Court granted her separation on the ground of desertion, it cleared +him of the charge of infidelity--and of the chance of advertisement at +the same moment. Later, by being a constant attendant on Lady Durwent, +he almost succeeded in creating a scandal; but, to the great +disappointment of them both, London flatly refused to believe there was +anything wrong. For one thing, she was the daughter of a commoner--and +the morality of the middle classes is a conviction solidly rooted in +English society. And then there were his writings. How could one +doubt the character of a man so dull? + +Undiscouraged, they still maintained their perfectly innocent +friendship, and, like kittens playing with a spool, invested it with +all the appearances of an intrigue. + +Dismissing his depressing thoughts, H. Stackton Dunckley noticed that +his cigarette was out, and closing his eyes, fell asleep once more. + + +III. + +Madame Carlotti, clothed in a kimono of emphatic shade, sat by the fire +in her rooms in Knightsbridge and read her mail while sipping coffee. +She was the wife of an Italian diplomat, a sort of wandering +plenipotentiary who did business in every part of the world but London, +and with every Government but that of Britain. It was the signora's +somewhat incomprehensible complaint that her husband's duties forced +her to live in that fog-bound metropolis, and having thus achieved the +pedestal of a martyr, she poured abuse on everything English from +climate to customs. Possessed of a certain social dexterity and the +ability to make the most ordinary conversation seem to concern a +forbidden topic, Madame Carlotti was in great demand as a guest, and +abused more English habits and attended more dinner-parties than any +other woman in London. + +From beneath seven tradesmen's letters she extracted one from Lady +Durwent. + + +'8 CHELMSFORD GARDENS, + +'DEAREST LUCIA,--I am counting on you for next Friday. A young +American author studying England--I suppose like that Count +Something-or-other in _Pickwick Papers_--is coming to dinner. I +understand he drinks very little, so I am relying on you to thaw him. + +'Stackton Dunckley _insists_ upon coming, though I tell him that it is +dangerous; and of course people are saying dreadful things, I know. He +is _so_ persistent. There will be just half-a-dozen _unusual_ people +there, my dear, so don't fail me. Dinner will be at 8.30.--So +sincerely, SYBIL DERWENT. + +'P.S.--Don't you think you could make Stackton interested in you? Your +husband is away so much.' + + +Madame Carlotti smiled with her teeth and drank some very strong coffee. + +'It ees deefficult,' she said, with that seductive formation of the +lips used by her countrywomen when speaking English, 'for a magnet to +attract putty. Still--there ees the American. At least I shall not be +altogether bored.' + + +IV. + +That noon, in a restaurant of Chelsea, the district of Pensioners and +Bohemians, two young gentlemen, considerably in need of renovation by +both tailor and barber, met at a table and nodded gloomily. One was +Johnston Smyth, an artist, who, finding himself possessed neither of a +technique nor of the industry to acquire one, had evolved a +super-futurist style that had made him famous in a night. He was +spoken of as 'a new force;' it was prophesied that English Art would +date from him. Unfortunately his friends neglected to buy his +paintings, and as his art was a vivid one, consisting of vast +quantities of colour splashed indiscriminately on the canvas, it took +more than his available funds to purchase the accessories of his +calling. He was tall, with expressive arms that were too long for his +sleeves, and a nose that would have done credit to a field-marshal. + +The other was Norton Pyford, the modernist composer, who had developed +the study of discord to such a point that his very features seemed to +lack proportion, and when he smiled his face presented a lop-sided +appearance. He had given a recital which set every one who is any one +in London talking. There was but one drawback--they talked so much +that he could persuade no one to listen, and he carried his discords +about with him, like a bad half-crown, unable to rid himself of them. +He was short, with a retreating forehead and an overhanging wealth of +black, thread-like hair, gamely covering the retreat as best it could. + +'Hello, Smyth!' drawled the composer, who affected a manner of speech +usually confined to footmen in the best families. 'Hah d' do?' + +'Topping, Pyford. How's things?' + +'Rotten.' + +'Same here.' + +'I say, you couldn't'---- + +'Just what I was going to ask you.' + +The composer sighed; the artist echoed the sigh. + +'Have you seen Shaw's show?' + +'Awful, isn't it?' + +'Putrid--but the English don't'---- + +'Ah! What a race!' + +'Just so. I say, are you going to Lady Durwent's on Friday?' + +'Yes, rather.' + +'Look here, old fellow--don't dress, eh?' + +'Right. Let's be natural--what? Just Bohemians.' + +'The very thing. By-the-by, you don't know a laundry that gives'---- + +'No, I can't say I do.' + +'Well, so long.' + +'Good-bye.' + +'See you Friday.' + +'Right.' + + +V. + +Mrs. Le Roy Jennings looked up from her task of drafting the new +Resolution to be presented to Parliament by the League of Equal Sex +Rights and Complete Emancipation for Women, as a diminutive, +half-starved servant brought in a letter on a tray. + +Mrs. Jennings took the missive, and frowning threateningly at the girl, +who withdrew to the dark recesses of the servants' quarters, opened it +by slitting its throat with a terrific paper-knife. + + +'8 CHELMSFORD GARDENS. + +'DEAR MRS LE ROY JENNINGS,--An American author is coming to dinner next +Friday. There will just be a few _unusual_ people, and I have asked +them for 8.30. I want him to meet one of England's intellectual women, +and I _know_ he will be interested to hear of your ideas on the New +Home. + +'My daughter joins with me in wishing you every success.--Until Friday, +dear, + +'SYBIL DURWENT.' + + +Mrs. Jennings, who had made a complete failure of her own home, and +consequently felt qualified to interfere with all others, scribbled a +hasty note of acceptance in a handwriting so forceful that on some +words the pen slid off the paper completely. + +Then, with a look of profundity, she resumed the Resolution. + + +VI. + +And so, by the medium of His Majesty's mail, a little group of actors +were warned for a performance at Lady Durwent's house, No. 8 Chelmsford +Gardens. + +Through the November fog the endless traffic of the streets was +cautiously feeling its way along the diverging channels of the +Metropolis--a snorting, sliding, impatient fleet of vehicles +perpetually on their way, yet never seeming to get there. Taxi-cabs +hugged the pavements, trying to penetrate the gloom with their meagre +lights; omnibuses fretted and bullied their way, avoiding collision by +inches, but struggling on and on as though their very existence +depended on their reaching some place immediately or being interned for +failure. Hansom-cabs, with ancient, glistening horses driven by +ancient, glistening cabbies, felt for elbow-space in the throng of +motor-vehicles. And on all sides the badinage of the streets, the +eternal wordy conflict of London's mariners of traffic, rose in +cheerful, insulting abundance. + +On the pavements pedestrians jostled each other--men with hands in +their pockets and arms tight to their sides, women with piqued noses +and hurrying steps; while sulky lamps offered half-hearted resistance +to the conquering fog that settled over palaces, parks, and motley +streets until it hugged the very Thames itself in unholy glee. + +And through the impenetrable mist of circumstance, the millions of +souls that make up the great city pursued their millions of destinies, +undeterred by biting cold and grisly fog. For it was a day in the life +of England's capital; and every day there is a great human drama that +must be played--a drama mingling tragedy and humour with no regard to +values or proportion; a drama that does not end with death, but renews +its plot with the breaking of every dawn; a drama knowing neither +intermezzo nor respite: and the name of it is--LONDON. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CONCERNING LADY DURWENT'S FAMILY. + + +I. + +Lady Durwent was rather a large woman, of middle age, with a high +forehead unruffled by thought, and a clear skin unmarred by wrinkles. +She had a cheerfulness that obtruded itself, like a creditor, at +unpropitious moments; and her voice, though not displeasing, gave the +impression that it might become volcanic at any moment. She also +possessed a considerable theatrical instinct, with which she would +frequently manoeuvre to the centre of the stage, to find, as often as +not, that she had neglected the trifling matter of learning any lines. + +She was the daughter of an ironmonger in the north of England, whose +father had been one of the last and most famous of a long line of +smugglers. It was perhaps the inherited love of adventure that +prompted the ironmonger, against his wife's violent protest, to invest +the savings of a lifetime in an obscure Canadian silver-mine. To the +surprise of every one (including its promoters), the mine produced +high-grade ore in such abundance that the ironmonger became a man of +means. Thereupon, at the instigation of his wife, they moved from +their little town into the city of York, where he purchased a large, +stuffily furnished house, sat on Boards, became a councillor, wore +evening-dress for dinner, and died a death of absolute respectability. + +Before the final event he had the satisfaction of seeing his only child +Sybil married to Arthur, Lord Durwent. (The evening-clothes for dinner +were a direct result.) Lord Durwent was a well-behaved young man of +unimpeachable character and family, and he was sincerely attracted by +the agreeable expanse of lively femininity found in the fair Sybil. +After a wedding that left her mother a triumphant wreck and appreciably +hastened her father's demise, she was duly installed as the mistress of +Roselawn, the Durwent family seat, and its tributary farms. The +tenants gave her an address of welcome; her husband's mother gracefully +retired to a villa in Sussex; the rector called and expressed +gratification; the county families left their cards and inquired after +her father, the ironmonger. + +Unfortunately the new Lady Durwent had the temperament neither of a +poet nor of a lady of the aristocracy. She failed to hear the tongues +in trees, and her dramatic sense was not satisfied with the little +stage of curtsying tenantry and of gentlefolk who abhorred the very +thought of anything theatrical in life. + +On the other hand, her husband was a man who was unhappy except on his +estate. He thought along orthodox lines, and read with caution. He +loved his lawns, his gardens, his horses, and his habits. He was a +pillar of the church, and always read a portion of Scripture from the +reading-desk on Sunday mornings. His wife he treated with simple +courtesy as the woman who would give him an heir. If his mind had been +a little more sensitive, Lord Durwent would have realised that he was +asking a hurricane to be satisfied with the task of a zephyr. + +They had a son. + +The tenants presented him with a silver bowl; Lord Durwent presented +them with a garden fete; and the parents presented the boy with the +name of Malcolm. + +Two years later there came a daughter. + +The tenants gave her a silver plate; Lord Durwent gave them a garden +fete; and he and his wife gave the girl the name of Elise. + +Three years later a second son appeared. + +There was a presentation, followed by a garden fete and a christening. +The name was Richard. + +In course of time the elder son grew to that mental stature when the +English parent feels the time is ripe to send him away to school. The +ironmonger's daughter had the idea that Malcolm, being her son, was +hers to mould. + +'My dear,' said Lord Durwent, exerting his authority almost for the +first time, 'the boy is eight years of age, and no time must be lost in +preparing him for Eton and inculcating into him those qualities which +mark'---- + +'But,' cried his wife with theatrical unrestraint, 'why send him to +Eton? Why not wait until you see what he wants to be in the world?' + +Lord Durwent's face bore a look of unperturbed calm. 'When he is old +enough, he must go to Eton, my dear, and acquire the qualities which +will enable him to take over Roselawn at my death'---- + +At this point Lady Durwent interrupted him with a tirade which, in +common with a good many domestic unpleasantries, was born of much that +was irrelevant, springing from sources not readily apparent. She +abused the public-school system of England, and sneered at the county +families which blessed the neighbourhood with their presence. She +reviled Lord Durwent's habits, principally because they _were_ habits, +and thought it was high time some Durwent grew up who wasn't just a +'sticky, stuffy, starched, and bored porpoise--yes, PORPOISE!' (shaking +her head as if to establish the metaphor against the whole of the +English aristocracy). In short, it was the spirit of the Ironmonger +castigating the Peerage, and at its conclusion Lady Durwent felt much +abused, and quite pleased with her own rhetoric. + +Lord Durwent glanced for courage at an ancestor who looked +magnificently down at him over a ruffle. He adjusted his own cravat +and spoke in nicely modulated accents: 'Sybil, nothing can change me on +this point. In spite of what you say, it is my intention to keep to +the tradition of the Durwents, and that is that the occupant of +Roselawn'---- + +'What! am not I his mother?' cried the good woman, her hysteria having +much the same effect on Lord Durwent's smoothly developing monologue as +a heavy pail dropped by a stage-hand during Hamlet's soliloquy. + +'Sybil,' said Lord Durwent sternly, 'it was arranged at Malcolm's birth +that he should go to Eton. I shall take him next Tuesday to a +preparatory school, and you must excuse me if I refuse to discuss the +matter further.' + +Lady Durwent rushed from the room and clasped her eldest child in her +arms. That young gentleman, not knowing what had caused his mother's +grief, sympathetically opened his throat and bellowed lustily, thereby +shedding tears for positively the last time in his life. + +When he returned for the holidays a few months later, he was an +excellent example of that precocity, the English schoolboy, who cloaks +a juvenile mind with the pose of sophistication, and by twelve years of +age achieves a code of thought and conduct that usually lasts him for +the rest of his life. In vain the mother strove for her place in the +sun; the rule of the masculine at Roselawn became adamant. + +Life in the Durwent _menage_ developed into a thing of laws and customs +dictated by the youthful despot, aided and abetted by his father. The +sacred rites of 'what isn't done' were established, and the mother +gradually found herself in the position of an outsider--a privileged +outsider, it is true, yet little more than the breeder of a +thoroughbred, admitted to the paddock to watch his horse run by its new +owner. + +She vented her feelings in two or three tearful scenes, but she felt +that they lacked spontaneity, and didn't really put her heart into them. + +During these struggles for her place in a Society that was probably +more completely masculine in domination than any in the world (with the +possible exception of that of the Turk), Lady Durwent was only dimly +aware that her daughter was developing a personality which presented a +much greater problem than that of the easily grooved Malcolm. + +The girl's hair was like burnished copper, and her cheeks were lit by +two bits of scarlet that could be seen at a distance before her +features were discernible. Her eyes were of a gray-blue that changed +in shade with her swiftly varying moods. Her lower lip was full and +red, the upper one firm and repressed with the dull crimson of a fading +rose-petal. Her shapely arms and legs were restless, seemingly +impatient to break into some quickly moving dance. She was +extraordinarily alive. Vitality flashed from her with every gesture, +and her mind, a thing of caprice and whim, knew no boundaries but those +of imagination itself. + +Puzzled and entirely unable to understand anything so instinctive, Lady +Durwent engaged a governess who was personally recommended by Lady +Chisworth, whose friend the Countess of Oxeter had told her that the +three daughters of the Duchess of Dulworth had all been entrusted to +her care. + +In spite of this almost unexampled set of references, the governess was +completely unable to cope with Elise Durwent. She taught her (among +other things) decorum and French. Her pupil was openly irreverent +about the first; and when the governess, after the time-honoured +method, produced an endless vista of exceptions to the rule in French +grammar, the girl balked. She was willing to compromise on _Avoir_, +but mutinied outright at the ramifications of _Etre_. + +Seeing that the child was making poor progress, and as it was out of +the question to dismiss a governess who had been entrusted with the +three daughters of the Duchess of Dulworth, Lady Durwent sent for +reinforcement in the person of the organist of their church, and bade +him teach Elise the art of the piano. With the dull lack of vision +belonging to men of his type, he failed to recognise the spirit of +music lying in her breast, merely waiting the call to spring into life. +He knew that her home was one where music was unheard, and his method +of unfolding to the girl the most spiritual and fundamental of all the +arts was to give her SCALES. He was a kindly, well-intentioned fellow, +and would not willingly have hurt a sparrow; but he took a nature +doomed to suffer for lack of self-expression, and succeeded in walling +up the great river of music which might have given her what she lacked. +He hid the edifice and offered her scaffolding--then wondered. + + +II. + +Elise was consistent in few things, but her love for Richard, the +youngest of the family, was of a depth and a mature tenderness that +never varied. Doomed to an insufficient will-power and an easy, +plastic nature that lent itself readily to the abbreviation 'Dick,' he +quickly succumbed to his fiery-tinted sister, and became a willing dupe +in all her escapades. + +At her order he turned the hose on the head-gardener; when told to put +mucilage on the rector's chair at dinner, he merely asked for the pot. +On six different occasions she offered him soap, telling him it was +toffy, and each time he bit of it generously and without suspicion. +Every one else in the house represented law and order to him--Elise was +the spirit of outlawry, and he her slave. She taught him a dance of +her own invention entitled 'The Devil and the Maiden' (with a certain +inconsistency casting him as the maiden and herself as the Devil), and +frequently, when ordered to go to bed, they would descend to the +servants' quarters and perform it to the great delight of the family +retainers. + +A favourite haunt of theirs was the stables, where they would persuade +the grooms to place them on their father's chargers; and they were +frequent visitors at feeding-time, taking a never-ending delight in the +gourmandism of the whinnying beasts, and finding particular joy in +acquiring the language and the mannerisms of the stablemen, which they +would reserve for, and solemnly use at, the next gathering of the +neighbouring gentry. + +When Elise was ten and Dick seven, she read him highwaymen's tales +until his large blue eyes almost escaped from their sockets. It was at +the finish of one of these narratives of derring-do that she whispered +temptation into his ear, with the result that they bided their +opportunity, and, when the one groom on duty was asleep, repaired to +the stables armed with a loaded shot-gun. After herculean efforts they +succeeded in harnessing Lord Durwent's famous hunter with the saddle +back to front, the curb-bit choking the horse's throat, the brow-band +tightly strapped around the poor beast's nostrils, the surcingle +trailing in the dust. + +With improvised masks over their faces, they mounted the steed and set +out for adventure, the horse seeming to comprehend its strange burden +and stepping as lightly as its tortures would permit, while the saddle +slid cheerfully about its back, threatening any moment to roll the +desperados on to the road. + +They had just emerged from the estate into the public highway, when a +passing butcher's cart stopped their progress. The younger Durwent, +who had been mastering the art of retaining his seat while his steed +was in motion, was unprepared for its cessation, and promptly +overbalanced over the horse's shoulder, reaching the road head first, +and discharging a couple of pellets from the shotgun into a fleshy part +of the butcher-boy's anatomy. + +The groom was dismissed; the butcher-boy received ten pounds; Richard +(when it was certain that concussion of the brain was not going to +materialise) was soundly whipped; and Elise was banished for +forty-eight hours to her room, issuing with a carefully concocted plan +to waylay the rector coming from church, steal the collection, and +purchase with the ill-gotten gains the sole proprietary interests in +the village sweet-shop. + +There is little doubt but that the _coup_ would have been attempted had +not Lord Durwent decided that the influence of his sister was not good +for Dick, and sent him to a preparatory school at Bexhill-on-Sea, there +to imbibe sea-air and some little learning, and await his entrance into +Eton. + +Robbed of her brother's stimulating loyalty, Elise relapsed into a +sulky obedience to her governess and her mother. To their puny vision +it seemed that her attitude towards them was one of haughty aloofness, +and everything possible was done to subdue her spirit. Being unable to +see that the child was lonely, and too proud to admit her craving for +sympathetic companionship, they tried to tame the thoroughbred as they +would a mule. + +Only when Dick returned for holidays would her petulant moods vanish, +and in his company her old vitality sparkled like the noonday sun upon +the ocean's surface. And if her affection for him knew no variation, +his was no less true. The friendships and the adventures of school +were forgotten in the comradeship of his sister as, over the fields of +Roselawn or on the tennis-court, they would renew their childhood's +hours. He taught her to throw a fly for trout, and she initiated him +into the mysteries of answering the calls of birds in the woods. +Mounted on a couple of ponies, they became familiar figures at the +tenants' cottages, and though the spirit of outlawry mellowed with +advancing years, Lady Durwent never saw them start away from the house +without the uneasy feeling that there was more than a chance they would +get into some mischief before they returned. + +In the meantime the elder son was bringing credit to his ancestors and +himself. His accent became a thing of perfection, nicely nuanced, and +entirely free of any emphasis or intensity that might rob it of its +placid suggestion of good-breeding. His attitude towards the servants +was one of pleasant dignity, and the tenantry all spoke of Master +Malcolm as a fine young gentleman who would make a worthy ruler of +Roselawn. + +Between him and Richard there was little love lost. The elder boy +disapproved of his hoydenish sister, and sought at all times to shame +her tempestuous nature by insistence on decorum in their relations. +Richard, who invariably brought home adverse reports from school, could +find no fault in his colourful sister, and blindly espoused her cause +at all times. + +On one occasion, when Malcolm had been more than usually censorious, +Dick challenged him to a fight. They adjourned to the seclusion of a +small plot of grass by a great oak, where the Etonian knocked Dick down +five times in succession, afterwards escorting him to the cook, who +placed raw beefsteak on his eyes. + +It was characteristic of the worthy Richard that he bore his brother no +malice whatever for the punishment. He had proposed the fight, +conscious of the fact that he would be soundly beaten, but he was a bit +of a Quixote--and a lady's name was involved. + +And no nurse ever tended a wounded hero more tenderly than the little +copper-haired creature of impulse who bathed the battered face of poor +Dick. Wilful and rebellious as she was, there was in Elise a deep well +of love for her brother that no other being could fathom. And it was +not his loyalty alone that had inspired it. Her solitary life had +quickened her perceptive powers, and intuitively she knew that, in the +years before him, her weak-willed, buoyant-natured brother would be +unable to meet the cross-currents of his destiny and maintain a steady +course. + +But he thought it was because of his swollen eyes that she cried. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ABOUT A TOWN HOUSE. + + +I. + +It was perhaps not inconsistent with the character of Lady Durwent +that, although she had striven to secure the guiding of Malcolm's +development, she should find herself totally devoid of any plan for the +training of a daughter. + +Vaguely--and in this she mirrored thousands of other mothers--there was +a hope in her heart that Elise would grow up pretty, virtuous, amiable, +and would eventually marry well. It did not concern her that the girl +was permeated with individuality, that the temperament of an artist lay +behind the changing eyes in that restless, graceful figure. She could +not see that her daughter had a delicate, wilful personality, which +would rebel increasingly against the monotony of a social regime that +planned the careers of its sons before they were born, and offered its +daughters a mere incoherency of good intentions. + +Full of the swift imaginativeness which makes the feminine contribution +to life so much a thing of charm and colour, Elise pursued the paths +which Youth has for its own--those wonderful streets of fantasy that +end with adolescence in Society's ugly fields of sign-posts. + +Lacking the companionship of others of a similar age, she wove her own +conception of life, and dreamed of a world actuated by quick and +generous emotions. With every pulsing beat of the warm blood coursing +through her veins she demanded in her girl's mind that the world in +which her many-sided self had been placed should yield the wines to +satisfy the subtle shades of thirst produced by her insistent +individuality. + +And the world offered her sign-posts. This must you do and thus must +you talk; hither shall you go and here remain: these are the Arts with +which you may enjoy a very slight acquaintance, but do not aspire to +genuine accomplishment--leave that to common people; be lady-like, be +calm and reserved; behold your brothers, how they swank!--but they are +men, and this is England; desire nought but the protected privileges of +your class, and in good season some youth of the same social stratum as +yourself will marry you, and, lo! in place of being a daughter in a +landed gentleman's house, you will be a wife. + +Into this little world of a kind-hearted, chivalrous aristocracy (whose +greatest fault was their ignorance of the fact that the smallest +upheaval in humanitarianism, no matter what distance away, registers on +the seismograph of human destiny the world over) Elise Durwent found +her path laid. Increasingly resentful, she trod it until she was +fourteen years of age, when her mother, who had long been bored with +country life, made an important decision--and purchased a town house. + +Having done this, Lady Durwent sent her daughter to a convent, a move +which enabled her to get rid of the governess discreetly, and left her +without family cares at all, as both boys were now at school. +Unencumbered, therefore, she said _au revoir_ to Roselawn, and set her +compass for No. 8 Chelmsford Gardens, London. + + +II. + +Chelmsford Gardens is a row of dignified houses on Oxford Street--yet +not on Oxford Street. A miniature park, some forty feet in depth, acts +as a buffer-state between the street itself and the little group of +town houses. It is an oasis in the great plains of London's dingy +dwelling-places, a spot where the owners are rarely seen unless the +season is at its height, when gaily cloaked women and stiff-bosomed men +emerge at theatre-hour and are driven to the opera. Throughout the day +the Gardens (probably so styled on account of the complete absence of +horticultural embellishments) are as silent as the tomb; there is no +sign of life except in the mornings, when a solemn butler or a +uniformed parlour-maid appears for a moment at the door like some +creature of the sea coming up for air, then unobtrusively retires. + +No. 8 was exactly like its neighbours, consisting of an exterior +boasting a huge oak door, with cold, stone steps leading up to it, and +an interior composed of rooms with very high ceilings, an insufficient +and uncomfortable supply of furniture, large pictures and small grates, +terrific beds and meagre chairs, and a general air of so much marble +and bare floor that one could almost imagine that house-cleaning could +be accomplished by turning on the hose. + +After Lady Durwent had taken possession she sent for her husband, but +that gentleman reminded her that he was much happier at Roselawn, +though he would be glad if she would keep a room for him when business +at the 'House' or with his lawyers necessitated his presence in town. +Unhampered, therefore, by a husband, Lady Durwent prepared to invade +London Society, only to receive a shock at the very opening of the +campaign. + +The Ironmonger had preceded her! + +It is one of the tragedies of the _elite_ that even peers are not +equal. The law of class distinction, that amazing doctrine of +timidity, penetrated even the oak door of 8 Chelmsford Gardens. The +Ironmonger's daughter found that being the daughter of a man who had +made an honest living rendered her socially the unequal of the +daughters of men who, acting on a free translation of 'The earth is the +Lord's,' had done nothing but inherit unearned substance. + +Then there was her cheerfulness, and the menacing voice! + +Turning from the aloofness of the exclusive, Lady Durwent thought of +taking in famous performing Lions and feeding them. Unfortunately the +market was too brisk, and the only Lion she could get was an Italian +tenor from Covent Garden, who refused to roar, but left a poignant +memory of garlic. + +It was then that a brilliant idea entered her brain. Lady Durwent +decided to cultivate _unusual_ people. + +No longer would she batter at oak doors that refused to open; no more +would she dangle morsels of food in front of overfed Lions. She would +create a little Kingdom of remarkable people--not those acclaimed great +by the mealy mob, but those whose genius was of so rare and subtle a +growth that ordinary eyes could not detect it at all. Her only fear +was that she might be unable to discover a sufficient number to create +a really satisfactory _clientele_. + +But she reckoned without her London. + +For every composer in the Metropolis who is trying to translate the +music of the spheres, there are a dozen who can only voice the +discordant jumble of their minds or ask the world to listen to the +hollow echo of their creative vacuum. For every artist striving to +catch some beauty of nature that he may revisualise it on canvas, there +are a score whose eyes can only cling to the malformation of existence. +For every writer toiling in the quiet hours to touch some poor, dumb +heart-strings, or to open unseeing eyes to the joy of life, there are +many whose gaze is never lifted from the gutter, so that, when they +write, it is of the slime and the filth that they have smelt, crying to +the world that the blue of the skies and the beauty of a rose are +things engendered of sentimental minds unable to see the real, the +vital things of life. + +To this community of _poseurs_ Lady Durwent jingled her town house and +her title--and the response was instantaneous. She became the hostess +of a series of dinner-parties which gradually made her the subject of +paragraphs in the chatty columns of the press, and of whole chapters in +the gossip of London's refined circles. + +Her natural cheerfulness expanded like a sunflower, and when her son +Malcolm secured a commission in the --th Hussars, her triumph was +complete. Even the staggering news that Dick had been taken away from +Eton to avoid expulsion for drunkenness proved only a momentary cloud +on the broad horizon of her contentment. + +When she was nineteen years of age Elise came to live with her mother, +and as the fiery beauty of the child had mellowed into a sort of +smouldering charm that owed something to the mystic atmosphere of +convent life, Lady Durwent felt that an ally of importance had entered +the arena. + +Thus four years passed, and in 1913 (had peeresses been in the habit of +taking inventories) Lady Durwent could have issued a statement somewhat +as follows: + + + ASSETS. + + 1 Husband; a Peer. + 1 Son; aged twenty-five; decently popular with his regiment. + 1 Daughter; marriageable; aged twenty-three. + 1 Town House. + 1 Country Estate. + The goodwill of numerous _unusual_ people, and the envy of a + lot of minor Peeresses. + + + LIABILITIES. + + 1 Son; aged twenty; at Cambridge; in perpetual trouble, + and would have been rusticated ere now had he not been the + son of a lord. + 1 Ironmonger. + + + * * * * * * + +'My dear,' said Lady Durwent, glancing at her daughter, who was reading +a novel, 'hadn't you better go and dress?' + +'Is there a dinner-party to-night?' asked the girl without looking up. + +'Of course, Elise. Have you forgotten that Mr. Selwyn of New York will +be here?' + +'Is he as tedious as Stackton Dunckley?' + +Lady Durwent frowned with vexation. 'My dear,' she said, 'you are very +trying.' + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +PROLOGUE TO A DINNER-PARTY. + + +I. + +Even _unusual_ dinner-parties begin like ordinary ones. There is the +discomfiture of the guest who arrives first, subjected to his hostess's +reassurances that he is not really early. After what seems an +interminable length of time, during which a score of conversational +topics are broached, and both hostess and guest are reduced to a state +bordering on mutual animosity, the remainder of the party arrive _en +masse_, as if by collusion. The butler (who likes to chew the cud of +reflection between the announcements) is openly pained, while the +distracted hostess must manage the introductions, and, as friendships +are begun or enmities renewed, endeavour to initiate the new-comer into +the subject of conversation immediately preceding his or her entrance. +As the good woman's subconscious mind is in the kitchen, and as she is +constantly interrupted by the necessity of greeting new arrivals, she +usually succeeds in mystifying every one, and creating that atmosphere +of 'nerves' so familiar to denizens of the best sets. + +But we had almost forgotten--there is always one guest who is late. + +The fateful hour mentioned in the dinner invitation arrives, strikes, +and floats down the mists to the eerie catacombs of the Past. The +hostess knows that the cook, with arms akimbo, is breathing rebellion, +but tries to blot out the awful vision by an extra spurt of hollow +gaiety. + +Ten minutes pass. + +Conversation flags. The portly bachelor who lives at his club wonders +why he didn't have a chop before he came. His fellow-diners try to +refrain from the topic, but it is as hopeless as trying to talk to an +ex-convict without mentioning jails. Finally, in an abandon of +desperation, they all turn inquiringly to the hostess, who, affecting +an ease of manner, says pleasantly, 'Dear me! What _can_ have detained +Mr. So-and-so? I wonder if we had better go in without him?' + +And then he arrives--the jackass--and in a sublime good-humour! He +tells some cock-and-bull story about his taxi breaking down, and +actually seems to think he's done rather a smart thing in turning up at +all. In short, he brings in such an air of geniality and +self-appreciation that the guest who arrived first has more than a +notion to 'have him out' and send him to a region where dinner-parties +are popularly supposed to be unknown. + +No--the lot of a lady who gives dinners is not a happy one. + + +II. + +On this Friday night of November in the year 1918, Lady Durwent sat by +the fire in the drawing-room and discussed music with Norton Pyford. +Having sacrificed his watch on the altar of art, he had been compelled +to rely on appetite, with the result that he arrived just as eight was +striking. Lady Durwent did her best, but as she knew nothing of music, +nor he anything of anything else, the situation was becoming difficult, +when the entrance of Madame Carlotti brought welcome relief. + +That lady was wearing a yellow gown rather too tight for her, so that +her somewhat ample flesh slightly overran the confines of the garment, +giving the effect that she had grown up in the thing and was unable to +shed it. This impression was heightened by a mannerism, repeated +frequently during the evening, of grasping her very low bodice with her +hands, exhausting her breath, pulling the bodice up, and compressing +herself into it. It was an innocent enough performance, but invariably +left the feeling that she should retire upstairs to do it. + +She wore a yellow flower in her hair; her stockings were a rich yellow +with a superimposed pattern like strands of fine gold, and her dainty +feet were enclosed in a pair of bronzed shoes. As her lips were +heavily carmined and her eyes brilliantly dark, Madame Carlotti's was a +distinctly illuminating presence. + +But the sunniness of her entrance was dimmed by the lack of audience. +She had not expended her genius to throw it away on a strangely dressed +young man whose hair fell straight and black over a large collar that +had earned a holiday some days before, and whose velvet jacket was +minus two buttons, the threads of which could still be seen, +out-stretched, appealing for their owners' return. + +'Lucia, my dear,' said Lady Durwent, just like an ordinary hostess, +'you look' (_sotto voce_) 'simply wonderful! I think you have met Mr. +Norton Pyford, _the_ Norton Pyford, haven't you?' + +'Hah d' ye do?' said the Pyford. + +'Chairmed,' minced Madame Carlotti. + +'Lucia, take this chair by the fire. You must be frozen.' + +'Ah, _grazie_, Sybil. What a perfectly meeserable climate you have in +this London!' + +'Just what I tha-a-y,' bleated Mr. Pyford, sinking into his chair in an +apparently boneless heap. 'The other night, at a fella's +thupper-party, I'---- + +'MRS. LE ROY JENNINGS.' + +The resolutionist swept into the room clothed in black disorder, much +as if she had started to dress in a fit of temper and had been +overtaken by a gale. + +She knew Madame Carlotti.--She did _not_ know Mr. Norton Pyford, _the_ +Norton Pyford.--She was glad to know him. + +He muttered something inarticulate, and glancing at the ring of women +about him, shrank into his clothes until his collar almost hid his +lower lip. + +'We were discussing,' said Lady Durwent, vaguely relying on the last +sounds retained by her ear--'discussing--suppers.' + +'Don't believe in 'em,' said Mrs. Jennings sternly; 'three regular +meals--tea at eleven and four, and hot milk with a bit of ginger in it +before retiring--are sufficient for any one.' + +The Italian took in the forceful figure of the New Woman and smiled +with her teeth. + +'Madame Jennings,' she said, 'perhaps finds sufficient distraction in +just ordinary life--and _una tazza di te_. But we who are not +so--_comment dirai-je?_--so self-complete must rely on frivolous things +like _una buona cena_.' + +'Don't believe in 'em,' reiterated the resolutionist; 'three +regular'---- + +'_Ah, c'est mauvais_,' gesticulated Madame Carlotti, who alternated +between Italian and French phrases in London, and kept her best English +for the Continent. + +'Mr. Pyford,' put in Lady Durwent, descrying a storm on the yellow and +black horizon, 'has just written'---- + +'MR. H. STACKTON DUNCKLEY,' announced the butler, with an appropriate +note of _mysterioso_. Lady Durwent summoned a blush, and rose to meet +the ardent author, who was dressed in a characterless evening suit with +disconsolate legs, and whose chin was heavily powdered to conceal the +stubble of beard grown since morning. + +'You have come,' she said softly and dramatically. + +'I have,' said the writer, bowing low over her hand. + +'I rely on you to be discreet,' she murmured. + +'Eh?' + +'Discreet,' she coquetted. 'People will talk.' + +'Let them,' said Mr. Dunckley earnestly. + +'Madame Carlotti, I think you know Mr. Dunckley--H. Stackton +Dunckley--and you too, Mrs. Le Roy Jennings; you clever people ought to +be friends at once.--And I want you to meet Mr. Pyford, _the_'---- + +'Hah d'ye do?' + +'How are you?' + +'Ro--splendid, thanks.' + +'We were discussing,' said Lady Durwent--'discussing'---- + +'MR. AUSTIN SELWYN.' + +Every one turned to see the guest of the evening, as the hostess rose +to meet him. He was a young man on the right side of thirty, with +dark, closely brushed hair that thinned slightly at the temples. He +was clean-shaven, and his light-brown eyes lay in a smiling setting of +quizzical good-humour. He was of rather more than medium height, with +well-poised shoulders; and though a firmness of lips and jaw gave a +suggestion of hardness, the engaging youthfulness of his eyes and a +hearty smile that crinkled the bridge of his nose left a pleasant +impression of frankness, mingled with a certain _naivete_. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, 'I knew you would want to meet some of +London's--I should say some of England's--accomplished people.' + +'_Oime_! I am afraid that obleeterates me,' smiled Madame Carlotti, +whose social charm was rising fast at the sight of a good-looking +stranger. + +'No, indeed, Lucia,' effused the hostess. 'To be the personification +of Italy in dreary London is more than an accomplishment; it--it'---- + +'It is a boon,' said Dunckley, coming to the aid of his floundering +loved one. + +'Exactly,' said Lady Durwent with a sigh of relief. 'Madame Lucia +Carlotti--Mr. Selwyn of New York.' + +'_Buona sera, signora_.' + +'_Buona sera, signore_.' + +He stooped low and pressed a light kiss on the Neapolitan's hand, thus +taking the most direct route obtainable by an Anglo-Saxon to the good +graces of a woman of Italy. + +'How well you speak Italian!' cooed Madame Carlotti; 'so--like one of +us.' + +The American bowed. It was rarely he achieved a reputation with so +little effort. + +The remaining introductions were effected; the clock struck +eight-thirty; and there followed an awkward silence, born of an +absolute unanimity of thought. + +'Of course, you two authors,' said Lady Durwent, forcing a smile, 'knew +of each other, anyway. It's like asking H. G. Wells if he ever heard +of Mark Twain.' + +The smile in the American's eyes widened. 'Lady Durwent flatters me,' +he said. 'I am not widely known in my own country, and can hardly +expect that you should know of me on this side of the Atlantic.' + +'What,' said Mr. Dunckley--'what does New York think of "Precipitate +Thoughts"?' + +The American considered quickly. He wished that in conversation, as +well as in writing, people would use inverted commas. + +'Whose precipitate thoughts?' he ventured. + +'Mine,' said H. S. D., with ill-concealed importance. + +'Oh yes, of course,' said Selwyn, wondering how any one so stationary +as the other could project anything precipitate. 'New York was keenly +interested.' + +'Ah,' said the English author benignly, 'it is satisfactory to hear +that. Of course, the great difference between there and here is that +in New York one impresses: in London one is impressed.' + +An ominous silence followed this epigrammatic wisdom (which Dunckley +had just heard from the lips of a poet who had succeeded in writing +both an American and an English publishing house into bankruptcy) while +the various members of the group pursued their trains of thought along +the devious routes of their different mentalities. + +'Dear me!' said Lady Durwent anxiously, 'what _can_ have detained'---- + +'MR. JOHNSTON SMYTH.' + +With a jerky action of the knees, the futurist briskly entered the room +with all the easy confidence of a famous comedian following on the +heels of a chorus announcing his arrival. He looked particularly long +and cadaverous in an abrupt, sporting-artistic, blue jacket, with +sleeves so short that when he waved his arms (which he did with almost +every sentence) he reminded one of a juggler requesting his audience to +notice that he has absolutely nothing up his sleeves. + +'Lady Durwent,' he exclaimed, striking an attitude and looking over his +Cyrano-like nose with his right eye as if he were aligning the sights +of a musket, 'don't tell me I'm late. If you do, I shall never speak +to the Duke of Earldub again--never!' + +As he refused to move an inch until assured that he was not late, and +as Lady Durwent was anxious to proceed with the main business of the +evening (to say nothing of maintaining the friendship between Smyth and +the Duke of Earldub, whose part in his dilatory arrival was rather +vague), she granted the necessary pardon, whereupon he straightened his +legs and winked long and solemnly at Norton Pyford. + +'Good gracious!' cried Lady Durwent just as she was about to suggest an +exodus to the dining-room, 'I had forgotten all about Elise!' She +hurriedly rang the bell, which was answered by the butler. 'Send word +to Miss Elise that'---- + +'Milady,' said the servitor, addressing an arc-light just over the +door, 'she is descending the stairs this very minute.' + + +III. + +There are moments when women appear at their best--fleeting moments +that cannot be sustained. Sometimes it is a tremor of timidity that +lends a fawn-like gentleness to their movements, and a frightened +wistfulness to the eye, too subtle a thing of beauty to bear analysis +in words. A sudden triumph, noble or ignoble, the conquering of a +rival, the sound of a lover's voice, will flush the cheek and liberate +the whole radiancy of a woman's being. Such moments come in every +woman's life, when the quick impulse of emotion achieves an unconscious +beauty that defies the ordinary standards of critical appreciation. It +is that little instant that is the torch to light a lover's worship or +a poet's verses--to send strange yearnings into a young man's breast +and set an old man's memory philandering with the distant past. + +It was such a moment for Elise Durwent as she stood in the doorway, the +overhanging arc touching her hair and shoulders with the high lights of +some master's painting. Conversation ceased, and in every face there +was the universal homage paid to beauty, even though it be tendered +grudgingly. + +She was dressed in a gown of deep blue, that colour which renders its +ageless tribute to the fair women of the world, and from her shoulders +there hung a black net that subdued the colour of the gown and left the +graceful suggestion of a cape. + +'I am so sorry, mother,' she said. 'I was reading, and quite forgot +the time.' + +Austin Selwyn stroked the back of his head, then thrust both hands into +his pockets. There was something in the girl's appearance and the +contralto timbre of her voice that left him with the odd sensation that +she was out of place in the room--that her real sphere was in the +expanse of unbridled nature. He could see her wealth of copper-hued +hair blown by the western wind; he could picture her joining in +Spring's minuet of swaying rose-bushes. + +'My daughter Elise--Mr. Austin Selwyn.' + +He bowed as the words penetrated his thoughts; then, glancing up, he +felt a sudden contraction of disappointment. + +The girl's eyes had narrowed, and were no longer sparkling, but +steady--almost to the point of dullness; her lower lip was full, and +too scarlet for the upper one, which chided its sister for the wanton +admission of slumbering passion; and her voice was abrupt. He almost +cried out '_Legato, legato_,' to coax back the lilt which had caressed +his ear a moment before. + +He was dimly conscious that dinner was announced, and that amidst a +babel of tongues he was being led by, or was leading, Lady Durwent into +the dining-room. He heard the resolutionist and Dunckley both talking +at once, and felt the melancholy languor of Pyford floating like +incense through the air. He had an obscure recollection of sitting +down next to his hostess; that the table, like Arthur's, was a round +one; that Johnston Smyth was seated beside Miss Durwent and was ogling +one of Lady Durwent's maids. Then he remembered that he had heard some +voice in his ear for several minutes past, and, growing curious, took a +surreptitious glance, to find that it belonged to Madame Carlotti. + +'Meester Selwyn,' she said indignantly, 'you have not been listening to +me.' + +'That is true, signora,' he said; 'but I have been thinking of you.' + +'Yes?' she purred, leaning towards him. 'What did you thought?' + +He turned squarely to her in an impassioned counterfeit of frankness. +'Are all Italian women beautiful?' he murmured. + +'Hush-sh!' Her hand touched his beneath the table, reprovingly and +tenderly. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, 'you have not tasted your soup.' + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE OLYMPIANS THUNDER. + + +I. + +Lady Durwent was blessed in the possession of a cook whose artistry was +beyond question, if the same could not be said of the guests to whom +she so frequently ministered. She was a descendant of the French, that +race which makes everything tend towards development of the soul, and +consequently looks upon a meal as something of a sacrament. She +prepared a dinner with a balance of contrast and climax that a composer +might show in writing a tone poem. + +On this eventful evening, therefore, the dinner-party, stimulated by +her art and by potent wines (gazing with long-necked dignity at the +autocratic whisky-decanter), rapidly assumed a crescendo and an +accelerando--the two things for which a hostess listens. + +H. Stackton Dunckley had held the resolutionist in a duel of +language--a combat with broadswords--and honours were fairly even. The +short-sleeved Johnston Smyth had waged futurist warfare against the +modernist Pyford, while the Honourable Miss Durwent sat helplessly +between them, with as little chance of asserting her rights as the +Dormouse at the Mad Hatter's tea-party. The American had held his own +in badinage with the daughter of Italy on one side and his hostess on +the other, the latter, however, being too skilled in entertaining to do +more than murmur a few encouragements to the spontaneity that so +palpably existed. + +'Let me see,' said Lady Durwent as the meal came to a close and the +butler looked questioningly at her. 'Shall we'--she opened the caverns +of her throat, producing a volume that instantly silenced every +one--'SHALL WE HAVE COFFEE IN HERE OR IN THE DRAWING-ROOM? I suppose +you gentlemen, as usual, want to chat over your port and cigars alone.' + +H. Stackton Dunckley protested that absence from the ladies, even for +so short a time, would completely spoil his evening--receiving in +reward a languorous glance from Lady Durwent. Johnston Smyth, who had +done more than ample justice to the wines, offered to 'pink' at fifty +yards any man who would consider the proposition for a moment. Only +Norton Pyford, in a sort of befuddled gallantry, suggested that the +ladies might have sentimental confidences to exchange, and leered +amorously at Elise Durwent. + +'Well,' said Lady Durwent, 'I am sure we are all curious to hear what +Mr. Selwyn thinks of England, so I think we shall have coffee here. Is +it agreeable to every one?' + +Unanimous approval greeted the proposal, and, at a sign from the +hostess, cigarettes, cigars, and coffee made their appearance, with the +corresponding niceties of 'Just one, please,' 'Well, perhaps a +cigarette might be enjoyable,' 'I know men like a cigar,' 'After you, +old man,' and all those various utterances which tickle the ear, +creating in the speaker's breast the feeling of saying the right thing +and doing it rather well. + +Throughout the dinner the daughter of the house had sat practically +without a remark, and even when chorus effects were achieved by the +rest, remained with almost immobile features, merely glancing from one +to another, momentarily interested or openly bored. Several times the +American had looked furtively at the arresting face, marred by too +apparent mental resentment, but the barricade of Johnston Smyth's +angular personality had been too powerful for him to surmount with +anything but the most superficial persiflage. + +He had watched her take a cigarette, accepting a light from Smyth, who +surrounded the action with a ludicrous dignity, when she looked up and +met his eyes. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said, speaking with the same rapidity of phrasing +that had both held and exasperated him before, 'we are all waiting for +the verdict of the Man from America.' + +'Over there,' he smiled, 'it is customary to take evidence before +giving a verdict.' + +'Good,' boomed the resolutionist; 'very good!' + +'Then,' said Lady Durwent, 'we seven shall constitute a jury.' + +'Order!' Johnston Smyth rose to his feet and hammered the table with a +bottle. '_Oyez, oyez_, you hereby swear that you shall well and truly +try'---- + +'Can't,' said Norton Pyford, pulling himself up; 'I'm prejudiced.' + +'For or against?' + +'Against the culprit.' + +'My discordant friend,' said Smyth, producing a second bottle from an +unsuspected source and making it disappear mysteriously, 'means that he +is prejudiced against England. Am I right, sir?' + +'Not exactly,' drawled the composer. 'I don't mind England--but I +think the English are awful.' + +'That is a nice point,' said Lady Durwent. + +'Ah,' broke in Madame Carlotti, 'but, much as I detest the English, I +hate England more. _Nom de Dieu_! I--a daughter of the Mediterranean, +where the sun ees so rarely a stranger, and the sky and the water it +ees always blue. In Italy one lives because she ees alive--it ees +sufficient. Here it ees always gray, gray--always g-r-ray. When the +sun comes--_sacramento_! he sees his mistake and goes queek away. Ah, +Signor Selwyn, it ees _desolant_ that I am compelled to live here.' + +A roar of unfeeling laughter greeting her familiar plaint, Madame +Carlotti took a hitch in her gown and reimprisoned some of her person +which had escaped from custody. + +'Then,' said Johnston Smyth, 'if we are all of a mind, there is no need +to have a trial. You have all seen the accusation in Mr. Selwyn's eye, +you have considered the unbiassed evidence of the lovely Carlotti'---- + +'But jurors can't give evidence,' muttered Mr. Dunckley. + +'My dear sir, I know she can't, but she did,' said Smyth triumphantly. +'_Oyez, oyez_--all in favour'---- + +'But,' interrupted the American, 'are we not to hear any one for the +defence?' + +'No,' said Smyth, who was thoroughly happy as a self-constituted master +of ceremonies. 'No one would accept the brief.' + +'Then,' said Selwyn, 'I apply for the post of counsel for the defence, +for in the limited time I have been in your country I have seen much +that appeals to me.' + +'Of course, it is a well-known fact,' said Dunckley sententiously, +'that American humour relies on exaggeration.' + +'No, no,' said Johnston Smyth, hushing the voices with a _pianissimo_ +movement of his hands, 'it is not humour on Mr. Selwyn's part, but +gratitude. In return for Christopher Columbus discovering America, +this gentleman is going to repay the debt of the New World to the Old +by discovering England.' + +'SHALL WE HAVE SOME PORT?' said Lady Durwent, opening the sluice-gates +of her vocal production. + + +II. + +'Speaking of America,' said Mrs. Le Roy Jennings a few minutes later, +Johnston Smyth having sat down in order to do justice to the wine of +Portugal, 'she is in the very vanguard of progress. Women have +achieved an independence there unknown elsewhere in the world.' + +'That is true,' said Lady Durwent, who knew nothing whatever about it. + +'You are right,' said Madame Carlotti. + +'The other day in Paris I heard an American woman whistling. "Have you +lost your dog?" I asked. "No," she says; "my husband."' + +A chorus of approval greeted this malicious sally, followed by the +retailing of various anti-American anecdotes that made up in sting what +they lacked in delicacy. These showed no signs of abatement until, +slightly nettled, Selwyn put in an oar. + +'I had hoped,' he said, 'to find some illuminating points in the +conversation to-night. But it seems as if you treat not only your own +country in a spirit of caricature, but mine as well. We are a very +young race, and we have the faults of youth; but, then, youth always +has a future. It was a sort of post-graduate course to come to England +and Europe to absorb some of the lore--or isn't it one of your poets +who speaks of "The Spoils of Time"? Your past is so rich that +naturally we look to you and Europe for the fundamental things of +civilisation.' + +'And what have you found?' asked Elise Durwent. + +'Well,' said the American, 'much to admire--and much to deplore.' + +'In other words,' said Johnston Smyth, 'he has been to Edinburgh and to +London.' + +'That is so,' smiled Selwyn; 'but I don't'---- + +'All people,' said Smyth serenely, 'admire Edinburgh, but abuse London. +Over here a man will jest about his religion or even his grandfather, +but never about Edinburgh. On the other hand, as every one damns +London, and as an Englishman is never so happy as when he has something +on hand to grouse about, London's population has grown to some eight +millions.' + +'I think, Mr. Smyth,' said Lady Durwent, 'that you are as much a +philosopher as a painter.' + +'Lady Durwent,' said the futurist, 'all art is philosophy--even old +Pyford's here, though his amounts almost to theology.' + +For a few minutes the conversation drifted in inconsequential channels +until H. Stackton Dunckley becalmed everything with a laborious +dissertation on the lack of literary taste in both England and America. +Selwyn took the opportunity of studying the elusive beauty of Elise +Durwent, which seemed to provoke the eye to admiration, yet fade into +imperfection under a prolonged searching. Pyford grew sleepy, and even +Smyth appeared a little melancholy, when, on a signal from Lady +Durwent, brandy and liqueurs were served, checking Mr. Dunckley's +oratory and reviving every one's spirits noticeably. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Mrs. Le Roy Jennings in her best manner, 'after you +have subjected England to a microscopic examination for a sufficient +length of time, you will discover that we are a nation of parasites.' + +'I would rather you said that than I, Mrs. Jennings.' + +'Parasites,' reiterated the speaker, fixing an eye on some point on the +wall directly between Selwyn and the hostess. 'We sprawl over the +world--why? To develop resources? No! It is to reap the natural +growth of others' endeavours? Yes! The Englishman never creates. He +is the world's greatest brigand'---- + +'Too thoroughly masculine to be really cruel,' chimed in the +irrepressible Smyth. + +'Brigand,' repeated Mrs. Jennings, not deigning the artist so much as a +glance, 'skimming the earth of its surface riches, and rendering every +place the poorer for his being there.' + +There was an awesome silence, which no one seemed courageous enough to +break. + +'Yes,' said H. Stackton Dunckley finally, 'and in addition England is +decadent.' + +'But, Mr. Selwyn'--again the American heard the voice of Elise Durwent, +that quick intensity of speech that always left a moment of startled +silence in its wake--'you have discovered something admirable about +England. Won't you tell us what it is?' + +'Well,' he said, smiling, 'for one thing, no one can deny the beauty of +your women.' + +'All decadent nations,' said H. Stackton Dunckley, 'produce beautiful +women--it is one of the surest signs that they are going to pieces. +The Romans did at the last, and Rome and England are parallel cases. +As Mrs. Le Roy Jennings says, they are parasitic nations. What did the +Romans add to Greek art? The Greeks had this'--he made an elliptical +movement of his hands--'the Romans did that to it'--he described a +circle, then shrugged his shoulders, convinced that he had said +something crushing. + +'So you think English women beautiful, Mr. Selwyn?' said Lady Durwent, +trying to retrieve the conversation from the slough of her inamorato's +ponderosity. + +'Undoubtedly,' answered the American warmly. 'It is no doubt the +out-of-door life they lead, and I suppose the moist climate has +something to do with their wonderful complexions, but they are womanly +as well, and their voices are lovely.' + +'I smell a rat,' said Smyth, who had in his mouth an unlit cigarette, +which had fastened itself to his lip and bobbed up and down with his +speech, like a miniature baton. 'When a man says a woman's voice is +sweet, it means that she has bored him; that what she has to say +interests him so little that he turns to contemplation of her voice. +This American is a devilish cute fellow.' + +A babble of voices took up the charge and demanded immediate +explanation. + +'To a certain extent,' said Selwyn stoutly, 'there is much in what Mr. +Smyth says.' + +'List to the pigmy praising the oracle,' chanted the artist. + +'I do not think,' went on the American, 'that the English girls I have +met are as bright or as clever as the cultured young women of the +continent of America. In other words, with all her natural charm, the +English girl does not edit herself well.' + +'In that,' said H. Stackton Dunckley, 'she reflects the breed. The +Anglo-Saxon has an instinctive indifference to thought.' + +'As soon as an Englishman thinks,' minced Madame Carlotti, 'he leaves +England with its _cattivo_ climate and goes to the Colonies. _C'est +pourquoi_ the Empire ees so powerful--its brains are in the legs.' + +'Come, come,' laughed Selwyn, 'is there no one here but me who can +discover any merit in Old England?' + +'Yes,' said Pyford gloomily; 'London is only seven hours from Paris.' + +'Ah--_Parigi_!' ejaculated Madame Carlotti with the fervour born of the +feeling in all Latin women that Paris is their spiritual capital. + +'And yet,' said Selwyn, after a pause to see if Madame Carlotti's +exuberance was going to develop any further, 'in literature, which I +suppose is the natural art of the Anglo-Saxon temperament, we still +look to you for the outstanding figures. With all our ability for +writing short stories--and I think we are second only to the French in +that--England still produces the foremost novelists. In the sustained +effort required in the formation of a novel, England is yet first. Of +course, musically, I think England is very near the bottom.' + +'And yet,' said Johnston Smyth, 'we are the only people in the world +candid enough to have a monument to our lack of taste.' + +Every one looked at the artist, who stroked his left arm with the back +of his right hand, like a barber sharpening a razor. + +'In that part of London known as Kingsway,' he said, 'there is a +beautiful building called "The London Opera House"!' He thrust both +hands out, palms upwards, as if the building itself rested on them. +'It stands in a commanding position, with statues of the great +composers gazing from the roof at the passing proletariat emanating +from the Strand. Inside it is luxuriously equipped, as bents the home +of Opera.' + +'Yes,' said the American, as the speaker paused. + +Smyth produced a watch from nowhere in particular. 'It is just past +ten,' he said. 'I am not sure whether it is Charlie Chaplin or Mary +Pickford showing on the screen at this hour, at the London Opera House.' + +A murmur of applause acknowledged the artist's well-planned climax. He +looked about with a satisfied smile, then replaced the watch with the +air of pocketing both it and the subject. + +'But--you have opera?' said Selwyn wonderingly. + +'Of course,' said Smyth; 'and where? In a vegetable-market. In Covent +Garden. Yet England has been accused of hypocrisy! What other nation +is so candid?' + +By one of those unspoken understandings that are the rules of mobs and +dinner-parties, it was felt that the topic was ceasing to be exhaustive +and becoming exhausting. Lady Durwent glanced, interrogatively about +the table; Madame Carlotti took a hitch in her gown; Norton Pyford +emptied his glass and sat pensively staring at it as if it had hardly +done what he expected, but on the whole he felt inclined to forgive it; +Johnston Smyth made a belated attempt to be sentimental with the +Honourable Miss Durwent, whose lips, always at war with each other, +merely parted in a smile that utterly failed to bring any sympathy from +her eyes; Mrs. Le Roy Jennings took a last sip of coffee, and finding +it quite cold, put it down with a gesture of finality. + +'Lady Durwent,' said Austin Selwyn--and the quality of his voice was +lighter and more musical than it had been--'I suppose that a man who +deliberately goes to a country to gather impressions lays himself open +to the danger of being influenced by external things only. If I were +to base my knowledge of England on what her people say of her, I think +I should be justified in assuming that the century-old charge of her +decadence is terribly true. Yet I claim to have something of an +artist's sensitiveness to undercurrents, and it seems to me that there +is a strong instinct of race over here--perhaps I express myself +clumsily--but I think there is an England which has far more depth to +it than your artists and writers realise. For some reason you all seem +to want to deny that; and when, as to-night, it is my privilege to meet +some of this country's expressionists, it appears that none has any +intention of trying to reveal what is fine in your life as a +people--you seek only to satirise, caricature, or damn altogether. If +I believe my ears, there is nothing but stupidity and insularity in +England. If I listen to my senses, to my subconscious mind, I feel +that a great crisis would reveal that she is still the bed-rock of +civilisation.' + +Madame Carlotti raised her glass. + +'To America's next ambassador to England!' she cried. + + +III. + +The momentous evening was drawing to a close. + +Rain, in fitful gusts, had been besieging the windows, driven by an +ill-tempered wind that blustered around the streets, darting up dark +alleys, startling the sparks emerging from chimney-pots, roaring across +the parks, slamming doors, and venting itself, every now and then, in +an ill-natured howl. + +Inside the refuge of No. 8 Chelmsford Gardens a fire threw its merry +warmth over the large music-room, and did its best to offset the +tearful misery of the November night. + +Conversation had dwindled in energy with the closing hour of the +affair, and seizing an auspicious moment, Norton Pyford had reached the +piano, and for twenty minutes demonstrated the close relation of the +chord of C Minor to the colour brown. Modernist music, acting on +unusual souls as classical music on ordinary souls, stimulated the +flagging conversational powers of the guests, and he was soon +surrounded by a gesticulating group of dissenting or condoning critics. + +Selwyn noticed that Elise Durwent had not left her seat by the fire, +and absenting himself from the harmonic debate, he took a chair by hers. + +'You are pensive, Miss Durwent,' he said. + +She smiled, with a slight suggestion of weariness, though her eyes had +a softness he had not seen in them before. + +'I am very dull company to-night,' she said, 'but ever since I was a +child, rain beating against the windows has always made me dreamy. I +suppose I am old-fashioned, but it is sweeter music to me than Mr. +Pyford's new harmonies.' + +He laughed, and leaning towards the fire, rubbed his hands +meditatively. 'You must have found our talk wearisome at dinner,' he +said. + +'No,' she answered, 'it was not so bad as usual. You introduced a note +of sincerity that had all the effect of a novelty.' + +Her mannerism of swift and disjointed speech, which broke all her +sentences into rapidly uttered phrases, again annoyed him. Though her +voice was refined, it seemed to be acting at the behest of a whip-like +brain, and she spoke as if desirous rather of provoking a retort than +of establishing any sense of compatibility. Yet she was +feminine--gloriously, delicately feminine. The finely moulded arms and +the gracefulness of body, indicated rather than revealed beneath her +blue gown, intrigued the eye and the senses, just as the swiftly spoken +words challenged the brain and infused exasperation in the very midst +of admiration. The complicated elements of the girl offered a peculiar +fascination to the eternal instinct of study possessed by the young +American author. + +'Miss Durwent,' he said, 'if I was sincere to-night, it was because you +encouraged me to be so.' + +'But I said nothing.' + +'Nevertheless, you were the inspiration.' + +'I never knew a girl could accomplish so much by holding her tongue.' + +A crash of 'Bravos' broke from the group around the piano; Pyford had +just scored a point. + +'You know,' resumed Selwyn thoughtfully, 'a man doesn't go to a +dinner-party conscious of what he is going to say. It is the people he +meets that produce ideas in him, many of which he had never thought of +before.' + +She tapped the ground with her foot, and looked smilingly at his +serious face. 'It is the reverse with me,' she said. 'I go out to +dinner full of ideas, and the people I meet inspire a silence in me of +unsuspected depth.' + +'May I smoke?' asked Selwyn, calling a halt in the verbal duel. + +'Certainly; I'll join you. Don't smoke your own cigarettes--there are +some right in front of you.' + +He reached for a silver box, offered her a cigarette, and struck a +match. As he leaned over her she raised her face to the light, and the +blood mounted angrily to his head. + +Though a man accustomed to dissect rather than obey his passions, he +possessed that universal quality of man which demands the weakness of +the feminine nature in the woman who interests him. He will satirise +that failing; if he be a writer, it will serve as an endless theme for +light cynicism. He will deplore that a woman's brains are so submerged +by her emotions; but let him meet one reversely constituted, and he +steers his course in another direction with all possible speed. + +Selwyn had come to her with a comfortable, after-dinner desire for a +_tete-a-tete_. He expected flattering questions about his writings, +and would have enjoyed talking about them; instead of which this +English girl with the crimson colouring and the maddening eyes had +coolly kept him at a distance with her rapier brain. He felt a sudden +indignation at her sexlessness, and struck a match for his own +cigarette with such energy that it broke in two. + +'Miss Durwent,' he said suddenly, lighting another match, 'I want to +see you again--soon.' He paused, astonished at his own abruptness, and +an awkward smile expanded until it crinkled the very pinnacle of his +nose. + +'I like you when you look like that,' she said. 'It was just like my +brother Dick when he fell off a horse. By the way, do you ride?' + +'Yes,' he said, watching the cigarette-smoke curl towards the +fireplace, 'though I prefer an amiable beast to a spirited one.' + +'Good!' she said, so quickly that it seemed like the thrust of a sword +in tierce. 'You have the same taste in horses as in women. Most men +have.' + +'Miss Durwent'--his face flushed angrily and his jaw stiffened--'I'll +ride any horse you choose in England, and'---- + +'And break the heart of the most vixenish maiden in London! You are a +real American, after all. What is it you say over there? "Shake!"' + +She slapped her hand into his, and he held it in a strong grip. + +'But you _will_ let me see you again soon?' + +'Certainly.' She withdrew her hand from his with a firmness that had +neither censure nor coquetry in it, and the heightened colour of her +cheeks subsided with the sparkle of her eyes. + +'When?' he said. + +'To-morrow morning, if you like. I shall have horses here at eleven, +and we can ride in the Row, providing you will put up with anything so +quiet as our cattle.' + +'That is bully of you. I shall be here at eleven.' + +'I thought all Americans used slang,' she said. + +'You are the first English girl I have met,' he answered with +extraordinary venom in his voice, 'who has not said "ripping."' + + * * * * * * + +Twenty minutes later Austin Selwyn, unable to secure a taxi, tramped +along Oxford Street towards his hotel. He had just reached the Circus +when the malignant wind, hiding in ambush down Regent Street, rushed at +him unawares and sent his hat roistering into the doorway of a store. +With a frown, Selwyn stopped and stared at the truant. + +'Confound the wretched thing!' he said. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A MORNING IN NOVEMBER. + + +I. + +Austin Selwyn rose from his bed and looked at Berners Street glistening +in a sunlight that must have warmed the heart of Madame Carlotti +herself. With a lazy pleasure in the process, he recalled the picture +of Elise Durwent sitting in the dim shadows of the firelit room; he +felt again the fragrance of her person as he leaned over her with the +lighted match. On the canvas of his brain was thrown the rich +colouring of the English girl, with the copper-hued luxury of hair and +the eyes that seemed to steal some magic from the fire; and he saw +again those warring lips, the crimson upper one chiding the passionate +scarlet of its twin. + +Idly, while enjoying the unusual dissipation of a pre-breakfast +cigarette, he tried to imagine the course of incident and heredity that +had produced her strange personality. That there was a bitterness +somewhere in her disposition was obvious; but it certainly could not +have come from the mother, who was the soul of contentment. He found +himself speculating on the peculiar quality of personality, that +strange thing which makes an individual something apart from others of +his kind, that gift which singles out a girl of ordinary appearance and +leaves one of flawless beauty still wagging her pretty head in the +front row of the chorus. From that point he began to speculate on the +loneliness of personality, which so often robs its owner of the cheery +companionship of commonplace people. + +On the whole, he regretted that he was going to see her again so soon. +Her pertness, which had seemed fairly clever the previous night, would +probably descend to triteness in the morning; he could even see her +endeavouring to keep up the same exchange of short sentences. Bah! It +was like a duel with toothpicks. The stolid respectability of Berners +Street lent its aid to the conviction that the morning would hold +nothing but anti-climax. + +And he was poet enough to prefer an unfinished sonnet to one with an +inartistic ending. + + +II. + +Austin Selwyn was twenty-six--an age which has something in common with +almost every one of the seven celebrated by Shakespeare. Like most men +in their twenties, he had the character of a chameleon, and adapted +himself to his surroundings with almost uncanny facility. At college +he had been an ardent member of a dozen cliques, even falling under the +egotism of the men who dabbled in Spiritualism, but a clarity of +thought and a strain of Dutch ancestry kept his feet on the earth when +the rest of him showed signs of soaring. + +Some moderate wit had said of him at college that he was himself only +twice a day--when he got up in the morning and when he went to bed at +night. This Stevensonian theory was not quite true, for a chameleon +does not cease to be a chameleon because it changes its colour. + +It was perhaps his susceptibility to the many vintages of existence +that had impelled him to write, authors being more or less a natural +result of the economic law of intake and output. As is the habit of +most young writers, he wrote on various subjects, put enough material +for a two-volume novel into a short story, and generally revelled in +the prodigality of literary youth. He was prepared to be a social +satirist, a chronicler of the Smart Set, a champion of the down-trodden +masses, or a commercial essayist, according to the first public that +showed appreciation of his work. + +Although he had lived in Boston, that city which claims so close an +affinity to ancient Athens (as a matter of fact, has it not been said +that Athens is the Boston of Europe?), he was drawn to the great vortex +of New York, that mighty capital of modernism which sucks the best +brains of an entire continent. For some time he wrote beneath his own +standard and with considerable success. Following the example of +several successful New York authors, he plunged into a hectic portrayal +of 'high' society, a set of people that makes one wonder as to the +exact meaning of the adjective. For a short space he came under the +influence of the studied Bohemianism of 'Greenwich Village,' and wrote +deucedly clever things for the applause of the villagers, then sneered +at American taste because people in Arkansas did not like his work. +Still retaining his love of Greenwichery, he next succumbed to the +money lure of the motion-picture industry, which offered to buy the +picture-rights of his stories, provided he would introduce into them +the elements which go to make up successful American films. + +With the prospect of a bank president's income before him, he succeeded +in writing his share of that form of American literature which has a +certain love interest, almost obscured by a nasty sexual diagnosis, an +element of comedy relief, and, above all, a passionate adherence to the +craze of the moment--a work that fades from the mind with the closing +of the book, as the memory of the author's name vanishes almost before +the last sound of the earth dropped upon his coffin. + +He knew that there were sincere _literati_ writing of the abiding +things that do not die with the passing of a season, but the clamour of +commercialism drowned their voices. As though they were stocks upon an +exchange, he heard the cries: 'Brown's getting five thousand dollars a +month writing serials for Hitch's;' 'Smith sold two novels on synopsis +for thirty thousand dollars;' 'Green's signed up with Tagwicks for four +years at two thousand dollars a month writing problem novels.' Into +the maelstrom of 'Dollars, Dollars, Dollars,' the sensitive brains of +all America were drifting, throwing overboard ideals and aspirations in +order to keep afloat in the swirling foam. + +And then--the Fates stooped and touched his destiny with a star. + +A New York publisher (one of that little group which has for its motto, +'Art for Art's sake,' not 'Art, for God's sake!') noticed him, and +spoke of literature as an expression of the soul, a thing not of a +season or a decade, but as ageless as a painting. + +His ear caught the new song of attainment just as readily as it had +received the chorus of 'Dollars.' He wrote a novel of New England +life, full of faults, but vibrant with promise; and having gathered +together quite a nice sum of money, he went to England, at the advice +of the before-mentioned publisher, there and elsewhere in Europe to +absorb the less oxygenic atmosphere of older civilisations, which still +gives birth to the beginnings of things. + +Twice he had visited Paris. The first time, with the instinct of the +tourist, he had discovered the vileness of the place--a discovery +fairly easy of accomplishment. The second time he had ignored the +tourist-stimulated aspect of Paris life, and had allowed his senses to +absorb the soul of the Capital of all the Latins, the laboratory of +civilisation. And he who has done that is never the same man again. +Germany had ministered to his reason, and Italy to his emotions; but he +found his greatest interest in London, which offered to him an endless +inspiration of changing moods, of vagrant smells, and the effect of a +stupendous drama of humanity. + +Under the spell of Europe's ageless artistry and the rich-hued meadows +of England's literary past he had grown humble. The song of 'Dollars' +was less clamorous than the echo of the ocean in the heart of a +sea-shell. When he wrote, which was seldom, he approached his +paper-littered desk as an artist does his canvas. It was the medium by +which he might gain a modest niche in the Hall of the Immortals--or, +failing that, his soul at least would be enriched by the sincerity of +his endeavour. + +In that highly artistic frame of mind he suddenly secured the _entree_ +into London Society. For some reason, as unaccountable as the reverse, +a wave of popularity for Americans was breaking against the oak doors, +and he was carried in on the crest. The result was not ennobling. The +dormant instinct of satire leaped to life and the idealist became the +jester. + +But then he was twenty-six and most agreeably susceptible to hap-hazard +influence. Being a Bostonian, he acquitted himself with creditable +_savoir faire_; and being an American, his appreciation of the +ridiculous saved him from the quagmire of snobbery, though he made many +friends and dined regularly with august people, whose family trees were +so rich in growth that they lived in perpetual gloom from the foliage. + +Lady Durwent's dinner-party had been an expedition into the artistic +fakery of London, and he would have dismissed the whole affair as a +stimulating and amusing diversion from the ultra-aristocratic rut if +the personality of Elise Durwent had not remained with him like a +haunting melody. + +He looked at his watch. 'By Jove!' he muttered; 'it's nine o'clock;' +and hurriedly completing his ablutions, he dressed and descended to +breakfast. + + +III. + +Into the row of splendidly inert houses known as Chelmsford Gardens, +Austin Selwyn turned his course. A couple of saddle-horses were +standing outside No. 8, held by a groom of expressionless countenance. +From No. 3 a butler emerged, looked at the morning, and retired. +Elsewhere inaction reigned. + +Ringing the bell, Selwyn was admitted into the music-room of the +previous night's scene. The portrait of a famous Elizabethan beauty +looked at him with plump and saucy arrogance. In place of the +crackling fire a new one was laid, all orderly and proper, like a set +of new resolutions. The genial disorder of the chairs, moved at the +whim of the Olympians, had all been put straight, and the whole room +possessed an air of studied correctness, as though it were anxious to +forget the previous evening's laxity with the least possible delay. + +'Good-morning.' + +Elise Durwent swept into the room with an impression of boundless +vitality. She was dressed in a black riding-habit with a divided +skirt, from beneath which a pair of glistening riding-boots shone with +a Cossack touch. Her copper hair, which was arranged to lie rather low +at the back, was guarded by a sailor-hat that enhanced to the full the +finely formed features and arched eyebrows. There was an extraordinary +sense of youthfulness about her--not the youthfulness of immaturity, +but the stimulating quality of the spirit. + +'I came here this morning,' began Selwyn vaguely, 'expecting'---- + +'Expecting a frumpy, red-haired girl with a black derby hat down to her +nose.' + +He bowed solemnly. 'Instead of which, I find--a Russian princess.' + +'You are a dear. You can't imagine how much thought I expended on this +hat.' + +'It was worth it. You look absolutely'---- + +'Just a minute, Mr. Selwyn. You are not going to tell me I look +charming?' + +'That was my intention.' + +She sighed, with a pretty pretence at disappointment. 'That will cost +me half-a-crown,' she said. + +'I beg your'---- + +'Yes; I wagered myself two-and-six to a "bob" that you wouldn't use +that word.' + +'It is really your fault that I did,' he said seriously. + +She curtsied daintily. 'I make money on Englishmen and lose it on +Americans,' she said. 'I have a regular scale of bets. I give ten to +one that an Englishman will say in the first ten minutes that I look +"topping," five to one on "absolutely ripping" in the first thirty, and +even money on "stunning" in the first hour.' + +His face, which had been portraying an amusing mixture of perplexity +and admiration, broke into a smile which encompassed all his features. +'Do all bets cease at the end of the first hour?' he asked. + +'Yes, ra-_ther_. An Englishman never pays compliments then, because he +is used to you. Isn't it awful seeing people getting used to you?' + +'Do they ever?' + +'Umph'm. The only chance of bagging one of the nobility as a husband +is to limit interviews to half-an-hour and never wear the same clothes +twice. Startle him! Keep him startled! Save your most daring gown +for the night you're going to make him propose, then wear white until +the wedding. An Englishman will fall in love with a woman in scarlet, +but he likes to think he's marrying one who wears white. Costume, my +dear Americano--costume does it. Hence the close alliance between the +nobility and the chorus. But come along; we're snubbing the sunlight.' + +With something like intoxication in his blood, he followed his +imperious, high-spirited companion from the house. He hurried forward +to help her to mount, but she had her foot in the stirrup and had swung +herself into the saddle before he could reach her side. With less +ease, but with creditable horse-management, Selwyn mounted the chestnut +and drew alongside the bay, who was cavorting airily, as if to taunt +the larger horse with the superior charm of the creature that bestrode +him. + +'We'll be back, Smith, at twelve-thirty,' she called; and with the +tossing of the horses' heads, resentful of the restraining reins, and +the clattering of hoofs that struck sparks from the roadway, they made +for the Park. + + +IV. + +London is a stage that is always set. The youthful Dickens watching +the murky Thames found the setting for his moments of horror, just as +surely as cheery coach-houses, many of them but little changed to this +day, bespoke the entrance of Wellers senior and junior. London gave to +Wilde's exotic genius the scenes wherein his brilliantly futile +characters played their wordy dramas; then, turning on the author, +London's own vileness called to his. Thackeray the satirist needed no +further inspiration than the nicely drawn distinction between Belgravia +and Mayfair. Generous London refused nothing to the seeking mind. Nor +is it more sparing to-day than it was in the past; it yields its +inspiration to the gloom of Galsworthy, the pedagogic utterances of Mr. +Wells, the brilliant restlessness of Arnold Bennett, and the +ever-delightful humour of Punch. + +On this morning in November London was in a gracious mood, and Hyde +Park, coloured with autumn's pensive melancholy, sparkled in the +sunlight. Snowy bits of cloud raced across the sky, like sails against +the blue of the ocean. November leaves, lying thick upon the grass, +stirred into life, and for an hour imagined the fickle wind to be a +harbinger of spring. Children, with laughter that knew no other cause +than the exhilaration of the morning, played and romped, weaving dreams +into their lives and their lives into dreams. Invalids in chairs +leaned back upon their pillows and smiled. Something in the laughter +of the children or the spirit of the wind had recalled their own +careless moments of full-lived youth. + +Paris, despite your Bois de Boulogne; New York, for all the beauties of +your Central Park and Riverside Drive--what have you to compare with +London's parks on a sun-strewn morning in November? + +Reaching the tan-bark surface of Rotten Row, Selwyn and the English +girl eased the reins and let the horses into a canter. With the motion +of the strong-limbed chestnut the American felt a wave of exultation, +and chuckled from no better cause than sheer enjoyment in the morning's +mood of emancipation. He glanced at Elise Durwent, and saw that her +eyes were sparkling like diamonds, and that the self-conscious bay was +shaking his head and cantering so lightly that he seemed to be borne on +the wings of the wind. Selwyn wished that he were a sculptor that he +might make her image in bronze: he would call it 'Recalcitrant Autumn.' +He even felt that he could burst into poetry. He wished---- + +But then he was in the glorious twenties; and, after all, what has the +gorged millionaire, rolling along in his beflowered, bewarmed, +becushioned limousine, that can give one-tenth the pleasure of the grip +on the withers of a spirited horse? + +Sometimes they walked their beasts, and chatted on such subjects as +young people choose when spirits are high and care is on a vacation. +They were experiencing that keenest of pleasures--joy in the _present_. + +They watched London Society equestrianising for the admiration of the +less washed, who were gazing from chairs and benches, trying to tell +from their appearance which was a duke and which merely 'mister'--and +usually guessing quite wrongly. Ladies of title, some of them riding +so badly that their steeds were goaded into foam by the incessant pull +of the curb bit, trotted past young ladies and gentlemen with +note-books, who had been sent by an eager Press to record the +activities of the truly great. Handsome women rode in the Row with +their children mounted on wiry ponies (always a charming sight); and +middle-aged, angular females, wearing the customary riding-hat which +reduces beauty to plainness and plainness to caricature, rode +melancholy quadrupeds, determined to do that which is done by those who +are of consequence in the world. + +But pleasures born of the passing hour, unlike those of the past or of +anticipation, end with the striking of the clock. It seemed to Austin +Selwyn that they had been riding only for the space of minutes, when +Elise asked him the time. + +'It is twenty minutes to one,' he said. 'I had no idea time had passed +so quickly.' + +'Nor I,' she answered. 'Just one more canter, and then we'll go.' + +The eager horses chafed at their bits, and pleaded, after the manner of +their kind, to be allowed one mad gallop with heaving flanks and +snorting triumph at the end; but decorum forbade, and contenting +themselves with the agreeable counterfeit, Selwyn and the girl +reluctantly turned from the Park towards home. + +The expressionless Smith was waiting for them, and looked at the two +horses with that peculiar intolerance towards their riders which the +very best groom in the world cannot refrain from showing. + +'Won't you come in and take the chance of what there is for lunch?' she +said as Selwyn helped her to dismount. + +'N-no, thanks,' he said. + +She pouted, or pretended to. 'Now, why?' she said as Smith mounted the +chestnut, and touching his hat, walked the horses away. + +'There is no reason,' he said, smiling, 'except---- Look here; will +you come downtown and have dinner with me to-night?' + +'You Americans are refreshing,' she said, burrowing the toe of her +riding-boot with the point of the crop, 'As a matter of fact, I have to +go to dinner to-night at Lady Chisworth's.' + +'Then have a headache,' he persisted. + +'Please,' as her lips proceeded to form a negative. + +'Some one would see us, and Lady Chisworth would declare war.' + +'Then let us dine in some obscure restaurant in Soho.' + +'There's no such thing, old dear. Soho is always full of the best +people dining incog. Almost the only place where you are free from +your friends is Claridge's.' + +'Well'--his nose crinkled at her remark--'then let us go to Claridge's. +Miss Durwent, I know I'm too persistent, but it would be a wonderful +ending to a bully day. You know you'll be bored at Lady Chisworth's, +and I shall be if you don't come.' + +'Humph!' She stood on the first of the stone steps, her agile +gracefulness lending itself to the picture of healthy, roseate youth. + +'Where could we meet?' + +'Let me call for you.' + +'N-no. That wouldn't do.' + +'Would your mother object?' + +'Heavens, no!--but the servants would. You see, English morality is +largely living up to your servants--and we met only last night.' + +'But you will come?' He crossed his hands behind his back and swung +the crop against his boots. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said, 'your books should be very interesting.' + +'From now on they will be,' he said, 'if'---- + +'All right,' she interrupted him with something of the staccato +mannerism of the evening before. 'I'll motor down in my little car, +and we'll go to the Cafe Rouge.' + +'Good--wherever that may be.' + +'No one has discovered it yet but me,' she said. 'Then I shall have a +headache at four, and meet you outside Oxford Circus Tube at seven.' + +'You're a real sport, Miss Durwent.' + +'Ah, monsieur'--she smiled with a roguishness that completely unsettled +him for the remainder of the day--'have you no sympathy for my +headache?' + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE CAFE ROUGE. + + +I. + +Monsieur Anton Beauchamp was the proprietor of the Cafe Rouge in +London. Monsieur Anton Beauchamp was once proprietor of the Cafe Bleu +in Paris. + +For many years he had cast envious eyes on London. Did not always his +guests, those strange blonde people with the clothes like blankets, pay +his prices without question? Did they not drink bad wine and never add +the bill? _Pardi_! if he could have only English as patrons, madame +and himself could purchase that wine-shop in the Bou' Mich', and never +worry again. + +For years the thought of London haunted Anton; and then one day, in a +superb moment of decision, he announced his intention of journeying +thither. A large entourage followed him to the Gare du Nord, and, with +much the same feelings as those of an explorer leaving for the North +Pole, he bade a dramatic farewell, and almost missed his train by +running back to give a final embrace to Madame Beauchamp. + +With no undue mishap he reached London the same night, and next day he +lunched at a famous London restaurant. At night he dined at a +fashionable establishment in Shaftesbury Avenue. In both places he +received ordinary food served without distinction, reckoned up the +bill, and found that in each case _l'addition_ was correct--and rushed +madly back to Paris, where he sold the Cafe Bleu, packed up his +belongings, and explained matters to his wife, doing all three things +simultaneously. + +'The dinner,' he exclaimed in a fever of excitement, 'is served--so! +As a funeral. I order what I like, and the waiter he stands there +_comme un gendarme_, as if it is my name I give. "Any vegetables?" +demands he. _Mon Dieu_! As if vegetables they are no more to him than +so much--so much umbrellas. I say, "_Garcon, la carte des vins_!" and, +quite correct, he hands it me with so many wines he has not got, just +as in Paris, but--_que penses tu_?--he permits me to order what wine I +choose, so--by myself. _C'est terrible_! I give him three pennies and +say, "_Garcon_, for such stupidity you should pay the whole bill."' + +Monsieur Beauchamp was a man of shrewdness. He knew he could not +compete with the established solidity of the Trocadero, the Ritz, the +Piccadilly, or the garishness of Frascati's, so he purchased and +remodelled an unobtrusive building in an unobtrusive street between +Shaftesbury Avenue and Oxford Street, but clear of Soho and its +adherents. He decorated the place in a rich red, and arranged some +_cabinets particuliers_ upstairs, where, by the screening of a curtain, +Madame the Wife and Monsieur the Lover could dine without molestation +of vulgar eyes. + +Monsieur Beauchamp felt himself a benefactor, a missionary. He argued +that the only reason Londoners were not so flirtatious as Parisians was +lack of opportunity. He, the proprietor of the Cafe Rouge, would bring +light to the inhabitants of the foggy city. To assist in this +philanthropic work he brought with him an excellent cook, who had +killed a dyspeptic Cabinet Minister by tempting him with dishes +intended only for robust digestions, and three young and ambitious +waiters; while madame engaged what unskilled labour was required. + +Unobtrusively they opened for business, for he knew that publicity +would spoil his chance of success. (Once convince a Londoner that he +is one of a select few who know a restaurant, and he will stand an hour +waiting for a table.) The first customer to enter received such +attention that he brought his family the next night. Monsieur +Beauchamp issued orders that he should be snubbed. _Parbleu_! was the +Cafe Rouge for _families_? + +Gradually the justification of Monsieur Beauchamp's policy became +evident. Ladies of the Chorus brought their admirers there, and to the +former Monsieur Beauchamp paid particular courtesy. Long study of +feminine psychology had taught him that, whereas a woman may change her +lover, she will not change her favourite cafe. Therefore, though the +man may pay the bill, the woman is the one to please. Artists from +Chelsea would come as well to the Cafe Rouge, celebrating the sale of a +picture, and drinking plentifully to the confounding of all art +critics. Also, the _cabinets particuliers_ were the scene of some +exceedingly expensive and recherche dinners--and almost no one added +the bill. When any one did, Monsieur Beauchamp was mortified, and +invariably dismissed the same waiter on the spot--thereby gaining for +himself and France a reputation for sterling integrity. + +'_Ma foi_! London may be gray,' thought Monsieur Beauchamp, 'but she +pays well.' + + +II. + +One November evening Monsieur Anton Beauchamp's critical eye noted the +entrance of a dark-haired young man in well-fitting evening clothes, +and with him a young lady whose deep-green cloak and white fur round +the shoulders set off to perfection her radiant colouring and +well-poised figure. Monsieur Beauchamp did not hesitate. After all, +he was an artist, and subject to inspiration like other men of genius; +so, hurrying downstairs, he waved the waiter aside, and greeted them +with a bow which almost amounted to virtuosity. + +'_Bon soir, monsieur et madame_.' He cast an anxious glance about the +cafe, which was two-thirds filled. 'This tabil will do?--_Ah, mais +non_! He grew indignant at the very thought. '_Pardon, monsieur_, +that one is very nice--_par ici_--_Non, non_! Ah--perhaps you would +like a _cabinet particulier_?' + +The sirenic tone of voice and the gesture of his hands indicated the +seraphic pleasure to be obtained only in one of those secluded spots. + +The American turned inquiringly to the girl. + +'When I was here before,' she said, 'I was at a table just upstairs to +the right. Have you one there, Monsieur Beauchamp?' + +_Nom d'une pipe_! She knew him. And she was beautiful, this English +lady. As he personally escorted them upstairs, with the importance of +a Lord Chamberlain at a Court function, Monsieur Beauchamp speculated +on the flirtatious potentialities of the young woman. If she were only +clever enough to be fickle, what a source of profit she might be to the +Cafe Rouge! And was she not in appearance much like Mademoiselle +Valerie, for whom a member of the Chamber of Deputies had blown out the +brains of Monsieur P---- de l'Academie Francaise? + +With the assistance of a waiter, he ushered them to a table almost +hidden by a pillar, where a crimson-shaded light sent a soft glow that +was guaranteed to make the most of a woman's eyes. Monsieur Beauchamp +with his own hands brought them the menu card, while the waiter stood +expectantly, crouched for an immediate start as soon as he received the +signal. A small waitress appeared with the butter and rolls, and made +her way underneath the arms of the proprietor and the waiter like a tug +running round two ocean liners. Monsieur Beauchamp could recommend the +_Barquettes Norvegienne_--No? Madame did not so desire? Of course +not. He frowned terrifically at the waiter, who glared ferociously at +the diminutive waitress. _Morbleu_! What imbecile suggested +_Barquettes Norvegienne_? Monsieur Beauchamp mentioned other dishes as +an overture to the meal, waxing increasingly wrathy towards the waiter +on each veto. Ah! monsieur desired _Consomme Anton_. The proprietor's +face beamed and his arms were outstretched towards heaven. That this +gentleman should order _Consomme Anton_, the soup of which he alone +knew the secret, and which had been named after himself! Truly, the +life of a restaurateur was not without compensations. He turned on the +waiter--but that worthy had darted away to execute the order. + + +III. + +The soup appeared. Monsieur Beauchamp stood by with the attitude of an +artist watching the hanging of his first painting in the Academy. + +'You might let me see the wine list,' said Selwyn. + +Monsieur Beauchamp struck an attitude of horror. Had it come to this +in the Cafe Rouge, that a patron must _ask_ for the wine list? +Brandishing his arms, he rushed from the table, almost colliding with +the little waitress, flew downstairs to the very farthest table near +the door, seized a wine card, and puffing generously, arrived with the +trophy at the table, much as Rothschild's messenger must have reached +London with the news that the British were winning at Waterloo. Having +then succeeded in making the American order a red wine when he wanted +white, Monsieur Beauchamp withdrew in a state of histrionic +self-satisfaction. + +With a smile of relief Selwyn looked across the table at the girl. +Even in the soft glow of the lamp, which made for flattery, it seemed +to him that the vivacity of the morning had disappeared, and in its +place was the petulance of the previous evening. Her eyes, which +seemed when they were riding to have caught something of the alchemy of +the skies, were steady and lighter in shade. Again he noticed the +suggestion of discontent about the mouth, and the upper lip looked thin +and lacking in colour. + +'It is your turn to-night to be pensive,' she said. + +'I was thinking,' he answered, 'that it is hardly twenty-four hours +since we met, and yet I have as many impressions of you as an ordinary +woman would give in six months. For instance, last night when you +entered the room'---- + +'But, Mr. Selwyn, any girl knows enough to arrive late when there is no +woman within twenty years of her age in the room. The effect is +certain.' + +There was no humour in her voice, but just a tone of weary, world-wise +knowledge. A look of displeasure clouded his face. + +'Surely,' he said, 'with your qualities and appearance, you don't need +such an elaborate technique.' + +'In a world where there is so little that is genuine, why should I +debar myself from the pleasure of being a humbug?' + +'Come, come,' he said, smiling, 'you are not going to join the ranks of +England's detractors?' + +She shrugged her shoulders. 'I'm certainly not going to become a +professional critic like Stackton Dunckley, who hasn't even the excuse +that he's an Irishman; or Lucia Carlotti, who hardly ever leaves London +because her dinners cost her nothing. But I reserve the right of +personal resentment.' + + +IV. + +They were interrupted by a waiter, who removed the soup-plates with +studied dexterity, and substituted _Troncon de turbotin Duglere_; +_pommes vapeur_, the dish which had delivered the fatal blow against +the Cabinet Minister's digestive armour. + +'Perhaps I am too personal,' resumed Selwyn after the completion of +this task, 'but last night one of the impressions I took away with me +was your critical attitude towards your surroundings. Then this +morning you were so completely'---- + +'Charming?' + +'----bewitching,' he said, smiling, 'that I thought myself an idiot for +the previous night's opinion. But, then, this evening'---- + +'Mr. Selwyn, you are not going to tell me I'm disappointing, and we +just finished with the soup?' + +More than her words, the forced rapidity with which she spoke nettled +him. With bad taste perhaps, but still with well-meant sincerity, he +was trying to elucidate the personality which had gripped him; while +she, though seemingly having no objection to serving as a study for +analysis, was constantly thrusting her deflecting sentences in his +path. To him words were as clay to the sculptor. When he conversed he +liked to choose his theme, then, by adroit use of language, bring his +artistry to bear on the subject, accentuating a line here, introducing +a note of subtlety elsewhere, amplifying, smoothing, finishing with the +veneer of words the construction of his mind. Another quality in her +that troubled him was the apparent rigidity of her thoughts. Not once +did she give the impression that she was nursing an idea in the lap of +her mentality, but always that she had arrived at a conclusion by an +instantaneous process, which would not permit of retraction or +expansion. As though by suggestion he could reduce her phrasing to a +_tempo_ less quick, his own voice slowed to a drawl. + +'Miss Durwent,' he said, 'you are unique among the English girls I have +met. I should think that contentment, almost reduced to placidity, is +one of their outstanding characteristics.' + +'That is because you are a man, and with a stranger we have our company +manners on. England is full of bitter, resentful women, but they don't +cry about it. That's one result of our playing games like boys. We +learn not to whine.' + +'I suppose the activities of your suffragettes are a sign of this +unrest.' + +'Yes--though they don't know what is really the trouble. I do not +think women should run the country, but I do feel that we should have +something to say about our ordinary day-to-day lives. Man-made laws +are stupid enough, but a man-made society is intolerable. Just a very +little wine, please.' + +For a moment there was silence; then she continued: 'Oh, I suppose if +it were all sifted down I should find that it is largely egotism on my +part.' + +He waited, not wanting to alter her course by any injudicious comment. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said abruptly, 'do you feel that there is a Higher +Purpose working through life?' + +'Y-yes,' he said, rather startled, 'I think there is.' + +'Sometimes I do,' she went on; 'then, again, I think we're here on this +earth for no purpose at all. It often strikes me that Some One up +above started humanity with a great idea, but lost interest in us.' + +'I think,' he said slowly, 'that every man has an instinctive feeling +sometime in his life that he is a small part of a great plan that is +working somehow towards the light.' + +'Yes. It's a comfortable thought. It's what makes good Christians +enjoy their dinner without worrying too much about the poor.' + +He made no answer, though he was not one who often let an epigram go by +without a counter-thrust; but he could see that the girl was struggling +towards a sincerity of expression much as a frightened horse crosses a +bridge which spans a roaring waterfall, ready to bolt at the first +thing that affrights it. + +'Mr. Selwyn,' she said--and for the first time her words had something +of a lilt and less incision--'do you think women are living the life +intended for them?' + +'Why not?' he fenced. + +'Well, it seems to me that when any living creature is placed in the +world it is given certain powers to use. You saw this morning how our +horses wanted to race, and couldn't understand our holding them back. +A mosquito bites because that's apparently its job in the world, and it +doesn't know anything else. I was once told that if animals do not use +some faculty they possess, in time Nature takes it away from them.' + +'You are quite a student of natural history, Miss Durwent.' + +'No--but every now and then mother unearths a man who teaches us +something, like last night.' + +He acknowledged the compliment with a slight inclination of his head. +The waiter leant expectantly beside him. + +'To descend from the metaphysical to the purely physical,' he said, +glancing in some perplexity at the terrific nomenclature of Monsieur +Beauchamp's dishes, 'do you think we might take a chance on this +_Poulet reine aux primeurs; salade lorette_? I gather that it has +something to do with chicken.' + +'It's rather artful of Monsieur Beauchamp to word it so we poor English +can get that much, isn't it?' + +'Yes. He apparently acts on the principle that a little learning is a +common thing.' + + +V. + +As Selwyn gave the necessary order to the waiter, a noisy hubbub of +laughter from an adjoining _cabinet particulier_ almost drowned his +words. There was one woman's voice that was rasping and sustained with +an abandon of vulgarity released by the potency of champagne. + +Elise Durwent looked across the table at her companion. 'Are you bored +with all my talk?' she said. 'You Americans aren't nearly so candid +about such things as Englishmen.' + +'On the contrary, Miss Durwent, I am deeply interested. Only, I am a +little puzzled as to how you connect the usual functions of animals +with woman's place in the world.' + +With an air of abstraction she drew some pattern on the table-cloth +with the prongs of a fork. 'I don't know,' she said dreamily, 'that I +can apply the argument correctly, 'but--Mr. Selwyn, when I was a child +playing about with my little brother "Boy-blue"--that was a pet name I +had for him--I was just as happy to be a girl as he was to be a boy. I +think that is true of all children. But ask any woman which she would +rather be, a man or a woman, and unless she is trying to make you fall +in love with her she will say the former. That is not as it should be, +but it's true. Yet, if we are part of your great plan working towards +the light, we're entitled to the same share in life as you--more, if +anything, because we perpetuate life and have more in common with all +that it holds than men have. There, that is a long speech for me.' + +'Please don't stop.' + +There was a howl in a man's voice from the noisy _cabinet particulier_, +followed by a laugh from the same woman as before, which set the teeth +on edge. + +'That woman in there,' she went on, 'will partly show what I mean. In +the beginning we were both given certain qualities. She has lost her +modesty through disuse; I'm losing my womanliness and power of sympathy +for the same reason. She's more candid about it, that's all. When +Dick and I were youngsters I dreamed of life as Casim Baba's cave full +of undiscovered treasures that would be endless. Now I look back upon +those days as the only really happy ones I shall ever have.' + +'You are--how old?' + +'Twenty-three.' + +'You will grow less cynical as you grow older,' he said, from the +altitude of twenty-six. + +'I agree,' she said. 'As, unlike the Japanese, we haven't the moral +courage of suicide, I shall get used to the idea of being an +Englishman's wife; of living in a calm routine of sport, bridge, +week-ends, and small-talk--entertaining people who bore you, and in +turn helping to bore those who entertain you. In time I'll forget that +I was born, as most women are, with a fine perception of life's +subtleties, and settle down to living year in and year out with no +change except that each season you're less attractive and more petty. +After a while I shall even get to like the calm level of being an +Englishman's wife, and if I see any girl thinking as I do now, I'll +know what a little fool she is. That's what happens to us--we get used +to things. Those of us who don't, either get a divorce, or go to the +devil, or just live out our little farce. It is a real tragedy of +English life that women are losing through disuse the qualities that +were given them. That is why an American like you comes here and says +we do not edit ourselves cleverly.' + +The rapid succession of sentences came to an end, and the colour which +had mounted to her cheeks slowly subsided. + + +VI. + +'I feel,' he said, 'that I can only vaguely understand what you mean. +But is it not possible that you are looking at it too much from the +standpoint of an individualist?' + +'Women are all individualists,' she broke in; 'or they are until +society breaks their spirit. This lumping of people into generations +and tuning your son's brain to the same pitch as his medieval +ancestors' doesn't interest women--that's man's performance. The great +thing about a woman is her own life, isn't it? And the great event in +a woman's life is when she has a child--because it's _hers_. This +class and family stuff comes from men, because their names are +perpetuated, not ours. There is no snobbery equal to men's; it is more +noticeable with women, because it isn't instinctive with them, and they +have to talk to show it.' + +'Then,' said Selwyn, 'in addition to an Irish Rebellion, we may look +for one from English women?' + +'Yes. I don't know when, but it will come.' + +He produced a cigarette-case. 'Would you care for a cigarette now?' he +asked. + +'No, thanks. But you smoke.' + +'Poor England!' he said in pretended seriousness, tapping the table +with the end of the cigarette, 'with two revolutions on her hands, and +neither party knowing what it wants.' + +'We may not know what we want,' she said, 'but, as an Irishman said the +other day, "we won't be satisfied till we get it." If the rebellion of +our women doesn't come, I prophesy that in a couple of thousand years, +when the supermen inhabit the earth, they will find a sort of land +mermaid with an expressionless face, perpetually going through the +motion of dealing cards or drinking tea. Then some old fogy will spend +ten years in research, and pronounce her an excellent example of the +extinct race "_Femina Anglica_."' + +'As one of the tyrants who wishes you well,' said Selwyn, after a laugh +in which she joined, 'may I be permitted to know what women want--or +think they want?' + +'Mr. Selwyn, revolutions never come from people who think. That is why +they are so terrible. The unhappiness of so many Englishwomen comes +from the life which does not demand or permit the use of half the +powers they possess. Nor does it satisfy half their longings. Such a +condition produces either stagnation or revolution. Our ultimatum +is--give us a life which demands all our resources and permits women +unlimited opportunity for self-development. + +'And if the men cannot do this?' + +'The women will have to take charge.' + +'And when does the ultimatum expire?' + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +'When will the next great earthquake be?' + + +VII. + +The noise of the party in the _cabinet particulier_ had been growing +apace with the reinforcement of champagne-bottles. The strident +laughter of the women dominated the lower level of men's voices, and +there was a constant clinking of glasses, punctuated by the occasional +drawing of a cork, which always whipped the gaiety to a feverish pitch. +Monsieur Beauchamp rubbed his hands rather anxiously. He would have +preferred a little more intrigue and not quite so much noise. But, +then, was it not a testimony to his wine?--and certainly there would be +an excellent bill. + +One of the men in the party called on some one for a song. There was a +hammering on the table, a promise of a kiss in a girl's voice that +trailed off into a tipsy giggle, the sound of shuffling chairs and +accompanying hilarity as the singer was apparently hoisted on to the +table. There came a crash of breaking glass as his foot collided with +some dinner-things. + +Monsieur Beauchamp winced, but consoled himself with the reflection +that he could charge what he wished for the damage. The voices were +hushed at the order of the singer, who was trying to enunciate the +title of his song. + +'I shall shing,' he said, with considerable difficulty, '"Moon, Moon, +Boo--(hic)--Booful Moon," composhed by myself at the early age of +sheven months. It ish very pash--pashesh--it ish very shad, so, if ye +have tearsh, pre--(hic)--pare to shed 'em now.' + +There was loud applause, which the singer interrupted by commencing to +sing in a bass voice that broke into falsetto with such frequency that +it was difficult to tell which voice was the natural one. He started +off the verse very stoutly, but was growing rather maudlin, when, +reaching the chorus, he seemed to take on a new lease of vitality and +bellowed quite lustily: + + + 'Moon, Moon, boo-oo-oo-ooful Moon, + Shining reshplendantly, radiant an' tenderly; + Moon, Moon, boo-oo--(hic)--booful Moon-- + Tell her I shy for her, tell her I die for her, + Booful, BOO-OO-ooful Moon. + + +'Now then, fellow Athenians, chorush, chorush!' With an indescribable +medley of discordant howling the party broke into a series of 'Moon, +Moon, boo-oo-ooful Moon,' which came to an abrupt ending as the singer +fell back, apparently unconscious, in the arms of his friends. There +was a murmuring of voices, and a waiter was sent for some water to +revive the young man. + +Considerably disgusted at the ending to the incident, Selwyn, who had +turned to look towards the _cabinet particulier_, once more sought his +companion's eyes. + +Her face was white; there was not a vestige of colour in the cheeks. + +'Miss Durwent,' he gasped, 'you are not well.' + +'I am quite well,' she answered quickly, but her voice was weak and +quivering. 'I--I thought I recognised the singer's voice. That was +all.' + +The curtain of the _cabinet particulier_ was drawn aside, and two +youths in evening-dress emerged, supporting between them the +dishevelled singer, who was miserably drunk, and whose hat almost +completely obscured his right eye. They were followed by three girls +with untidy hair, whose flushed, rouged faces had been made grotesque +by clumsy dabs of powder. + +The singer's hat fell off, and Monsieur Beauchamp, who was hovering +about with the bill, had just stooped to recover it, when Selwyn heard, +a suppressed cry of pain from Elise Durwent. Thrusting her chair away +from her, she made for the emerging party, and halted them at the top +of the stairway. + +'Dick!' she said breathlessly. 'Dick!' + +The drunken youth raised his heavy eyelids and looked with bewildered +eyes at his sister. One of the girls tried to laugh, but there was +something in the insane lightness of his eyes and the agony of hers +that stifled the ribaldry in its birth. His face was as pale as hers, +a pallor that was accentuated by dark hair, matted impotently over his +forehead. But there was a careless, debonair charm about the fellow +that made him stand out apart from the other revellers. + +'Hello, sis!' he muttered, trying to pull himself together. 'My li'l +sister Elise--friends of mine here--forget their names, but jolly good +fellosh--and ladies too; nice li'l ladies'---- + +'Bravo, Durwent!' cried one of his friends, emitting a dismal howl of +encouragement. + +'Dick! Boy-blue!' The breathy intensity of her voice seemed to rouse +some latent manhood in her brother. He stiffened his shoulders and +threw off his two supporting friends--a manoeuvre which enabled +Monsieur Beauchamp to present his trifling bill to the more sober of +the two. 'Why aren't you at Cambridge?' + +'Advice of conshul,' he muttered. 'Refushe to answer.' He shook his +head solemnly from side to side. + +With a swift gesture she turned to the American. 'This is my brother,' +she said, 'and I know where his rooms are in town. If you will bring +my cloak, I'll get him to my car and take him home.' + +Selwyn nodded his understanding. He hardly knew what words he could +speak that might not hurt her. + +'Listen, Dick dear,' she said, stepping very close to him and taking +his hand in hers. 'Please don't say anything. Just come with me, and +I'll take you to your rooms.' + +Through the befuddled wits of the young fellow came the sound of the +voice that had dominated his childhood. He smelt the freshness of the +long grass in the Roselawn meadows; with his disordered imagination he +heard again the clattering of horses' hoofs on the country-road, and he +saw his sister with her copper-tinted hair flung to the breeze. With a +look of mixed wonder and pain in the yellowish blue of his eyes, he +allowed her to take his arm, and together they went slowly downstairs +and through the throng of diners craning their necks to see, while the +party he had left emitted snorts and howls of contempt. + +Selwyn reached the door in time to help the drunken youth into the car, +and then placed the cloak about Elise's shoulders. She put out her +hand. + +'Good-night,' she said. + +'But you will permit me to come?' he said. 'I could be of assistance.' + +'No--no,' she said tensely, 'please--I want to be alone with him. Have +no fear, Mr. Selwyn. Poor old Dick would do anything for me.' + +He held her hand in his. 'Miss Durwent,' he said, 'I cannot express +what I mean. But if this makes any difference at all, it is only that +I admire you infinitely more for'---- + +'No--please--please say nothing more,' she cried with a sound of pain +in her voice. + +'But may I come and see you again?' + +She withdrew her hand and pressed it against her brow. + +'Yes. I--I don't know. Good-night. Please don't say any more.' The +words ended in a choking, tearless sob. She stepped into the car, and +with no further sign to him threw in the clutch and started away. + +Huddled in the corner, his pale face glistening in the lamplight of the +street, the Honourable Richard Durwent lay in a drunken sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +INTERMEZZO. + +It was several months later--May 1914, to be precise--when Austin +Selwyn made the determination, common to most men, to remain in for an +evening and catch up in his correspondence. + +After the manner of his species, he produced a small army of letters +from various pockets, and spreading them in a heap on his desk, +proceeded to answer the more urgent, and postpone the less important to +a further occasion when conscience would again overcome indolence. For +an hour he wrote trivial politenesses to hostesses who had extended +hospitality or were going to do so; there was a reply to a literary +agent, one to a moving-picture concern, an answer to a critic, and a +note of thanks to an admirer. + +Having disposed of these sundry matters, he sat back in his chair and +read a long letter that had been enclosed in an envelope bearing the +postage-stamp of the United States of America. At its finish he +settled himself comfortably, lit a cigar, and, squaring his shoulders, +wrote a reply to the Reverend Edgerton Forbes, Rector of St. Giles' +Episcopal Church, Fifth Avenue, New York: + + +'LONDON, _May 12, 1914_. + +'MY DEAR EDGE,--I've been supplying your friend the Devil with all +sorts of cobblestones recently, but, my dear old boy, if I had written +you every time I intended to, you would have had no time to prepare +those knock-out sermons of yours. + +'In your letter you hint at possible heart entanglements for me. Has +it not been said that to a writer all women are "copy"? Even when he +falls in love, your author is so busy studying the symptoms that he +usually fails to inform the lady until she has eloped with some other +clown. + +'In fairness, however, I must admit that you were partly correct in +your surmise. I almost fell in love last November with a girl who +invariably angered me when I was with her, but clung to my mind next +day like an unfinished plot. I saw her quite frequently up to +February, when I went to the Continent, but have not called on her +since my return. + +'I met her first at her mother's town house, where there were several +people who admitted their greatness with an aplomb one was forced to +admire. This girl sort of sat there and said nothing, but her silence +had a good deal more in it than some of the talk. We had our first +chat that night by the fire, next morning went riding in Rotten Row, +and had dinner together the same night. Fast travelling, you say? On +paper, yes; but actually I don't know the girl any better now than the +night I met her. She's a strange creature--self-willed, fiery, sweet, +and sometimes as clever as your Ancient Adversary. But friendship with +her makes me think of the days when I was a kid. My great hobby was +building sky-scrapers with blocks, and very laboriously I would erect +the structure up to the point when "feeding-time" or "washing-time" or +"being shown to the minister" used always to intervene. When I +returned, the blocks had always fallen down. Well, friendship with +Elise (pretty name, isn't it?) is not unlike my experience with the +blocks. You can leave her, firmly convinced that at last you are on a +basis of real understanding; and two or three days later, when you meet +her again, you find all the blocks lying around in disorder. Instead +of a friend, one is an esteemed acquaintance. The only way to win her, +I suppose, would be to call at dawn and stay until midnight. It would +be a bit trying, but I get awfully "fed up" (as they say over here) +with being constantly recalled to the barrier. + +'Of course, you old humbug, I can see you pursing your lips and saying, +"Does Austin really love her? If he did, he would be unable to see her +faults." It's an exploded theory that love is blind. Good heavens! if +a man in love can see in a girl beauty which doesn't exist, is there +any reason to suppose he will be unable to see the faults that _do_? + +'But, candidly, I don't think I am in love with this young lady. I +might be if I were given half a chance; but, then, emotional icebergs +were always my specialty. I meet a dozen girls who treat me with a +tender cordiality that is touching; then there comes into my course one +who expresses a sort of friendly indifference, and there I stay +scorching my wings or freezing my toes--whichever figure of speech you +prefer. + +'She makes me think of a painting sometimes, one that changes in +appearance with the varying lights and shadows of the sky. But, Edge, +given the exact light that her beauty needs, she is a masterpiece. In +some strange way her personality has given me a new pleasure in Corot +and Diaz. It is difficult to explain, but it is so. I feel my powers +of description are inadequate really to picture Elise to you. She is +truly feminine, and yet when she is with other women her unique gift of +personality makes them _merely_ feminine. "Lordy, Lordy," as a nigger +of mine used to say, "dis am becomin' abtuse." + +'As a matter of fact, the girl is a result of conflicting elements of +heredity. I haven't met her father, but I gather that he is a good old +Tory of blameless respectability, and has a deep-seated disbelief in +evolution. On the other hand, the girl's mother is rather a buxom and +florid descendant of a vigorous North of England family, the former +members of which, with the exception of her father, were highly +esteemed smugglers. The lady's grandfather, Elise tells me, was known +as "Gentleman Joe," and was as adventurous a cut-throat as a small +boy's imagination could desire. + +'Well, Mr. Parson, you can imagine what happened when these conflicting +elements of heredity were brought together. In the language of +science, there was one negative result and two positive. The first +mentioned is a son Malcolm, whom I have not met. He has a commission +in the cavalry, is a devil at billiards, can't read a map, and rides +like a Centaur. + +'Of the positive results it seems to me I may have already mentioned +one--Elise. The other is Richard, the tragedy of the family. Poor +Dick was practically kicked out of Eton for drunkenness when he was +about sixteen. For the past year or so he has been at Cambridge, but +he got in with a bad set there, and after several warnings has been +"sent down"--or, in ordinary language, expelled. It appears that the +old combination of "booze" and women got the better of him, though +there's something oddly fine about the fellow too. He was hitting an +awful pace at Cambridge, and when he tried to pass off a fourth-rate +chorus-girl as the Duchess of Turveydrop, the axe descended. As the +masquerading duchess was rather noisy and very "elevated," you can see +that there must have been complications. + +'Of course, his governor was furious, and, settling a very small +allowance on the poor beggar, turned him out of the family home, and +forbade him to ever darken, &c., &c. (see, split infinitive and all, +any "best seller" of a few years back). + +'Does this seem at all incongruous to you? These so-called aristocrats +bring a son into existence, and, providing he's a decent-living, +rule-abiding chap, he is sheltered from the world and kept for the +enriching of their own hot-house of respectability. But--if one of +them upsets the ash-can and otherwise messes up the family escutcheon, +the father says, "You have disgraced our traditions. Get thee hence +into the cold, outside world. After this you belong to it." + +'Damned generous of paterfamilias, isn't it? Only, as one of the cold, +outside world, I can't help wondering why, if Milord is going to keep +his good apples for himself, we should have to accept the rotten ones. + +'Concerning Cambridge--I spent a weekend there recently with Doug +Watson of Boston, who is taking Engineering. Cambridge is quite a +little community, as separate from the rest of England as the Channel +Islands. On the Saturday evening I was there Watson took a punt, and +with considerable dexterity piloted me along the Cam, with its green +velvet banks and overhanging trees. The river is an exquisite thing, +and there was a sensuous drowsiness in the beauty of the hour before +dark. + +'The lawns from the backs of the colleges slope down to the river, and +as we passed along we noticed group after group of students drinking +coffee made in percolators in their possession. There was something +almost pastoral in the sight of those young Britishers in such complete +repose. Perhaps I should have enjoyed it all without question if it +had not been that, a week before, I had visited a poor little +Nonconformist preacher who labours on an empty stomach to a little +congregation in a chain-making district. Edge, the sights I saw there +were not good for any man to see and remain quiet. Women work at the +fires when pregnant, and fuddle themselves with beer at night; the men +are a shiftless lot, who spend their lives hand-in-hand with poverty +and think only of beer, "baccy," and loafing. You know I'm no +prohibitionist, but I hate to see beer the goal of men's ambitions. In +one school there was a class with forty "backward" children. That's +the kinder word, Edge, but the real one is "imbecile." Think of +it--forty human destinies that must be lived out to a finish! They +tell me that conditions are improving there. I hope so, in Heaven's +name. + +'It was that visit I had in mind when punting along the Cam. A man is +a fool to pit his little mind against so vast and wonderful an edifice +as a great university like Cambridge, but one thought which occurred +more than once to me was whether or not a man can be considered +educated if he be ignorant of human misery existing beyond the college +gates. In the Scottish universities the Professor of Latin is called +Professor of Humanity. I wonder, Edge, if the time is not ripe for a +chair of Humanity in a wider sense in all universities. + +'On Sunday we went to one of the churches, and, with eleven others, +managed to present a formidable congregation of thirteen. The +preacher's prayer, which he read, was a superb piece of work. He +started off with the King and the Royal Family, passed on to titled and +landed gentry, after them the higher orders of the clergy, leaders of +the navy, the army, and all those in more or less authority, then the +lower orders of the clergy, and after several categories I have +forgotten, he reached the commoners, and (in an appropriate tone of +voice) hoped we should live in peace, one with another. + +'Think of it, Edge, in this enlightened age! I wanted to go up to him +after the service and ask him why he had left out the minor poets, but +Doug stopped me--which is perhaps just as well. He might have added a +prayer for Americans after the commoners. + +'Sometimes I think that the English Church is losing its grip. I don't +mean that snobbery of the kind I have described is common, but in the +development of Church character it seems to me that the truth of +Christ's birth into a humble walk of life is drifting steadily farther +from the clerical consciousness. The timid snobbery which permeates so +much of English life, and reaches its wretched climax in the terms +"working class" and "lower classes," finds condonement in the ranks of +the clergy. Even in its humorous aspect, when Mrs. Retired Naval +Officer starts to swank it over Mrs. Retired Army Officer (senior +service, deah boy, y'know), and so on down the line, the local rector +too often takes an active part in seeing that the various grades are +punctiliously preserved. Of course, there are glorious exceptions to +all this, and they are the men who count. + +'I suppose at home we are just as bad, and that even so democratic a +preacher as yourself doesn't take supper on Sunday night with the +poorest parishioner. Perhaps living in a strange country makes a man +see many things he would not notice in his own. + +'To finish with Cambridge--we joined a party of two large punts on +Sunday afternoon, and with about twelve college chaps and local +(approved) girls we went for a picnic up the river. The girls were +fairly pretty and terrifically energetic, insisting upon doing an equal +share in the punting, and managing to look graceful while they +manoeuvred the punts, which were really fair-sized barges. And when we +reached the picnic-place, they made all the preparations, and waited on +us as if we were royal invalids. Bless their hearts! Edge, to restore +a man's natural vanity, commend me to life in England. Coming home we +played the gramophone, and, with appropriate flirtation, floated nearly +the whole way to the holding of hands and the hearing of music. + +'And, theologian as you are, if you deny the charm of that combination, +I renounce you utterly. + +'Just one more Cambridge thought. (This letter has as many false +endings as one of your sermons.) There were quite a number of native +students from India in attendance, and I noticed that these men, many +of them striking-looking fellows, were left pretty much to themselves. +The English answer when spoken to, and offer that well-bred tolerance +exerted by them so easily, but the Indian student must feel that he is +not admitted on a footing of equality. I'm not certain that the dark +races can be admitted as equals; but what effect on India will it have +if these fellows are educated, then sent back with resentment +fermenting their knowledge into sedition? It may be another case where +the Englishman is instinctively right in his racial psychology; or, +again, it may be a further example of his dislike to look facts +squarely in the face. + +'Of course, we have our own racial problem, and have hardly made such a +success of it that we can afford to offer advice. + +'Well, Edge, this letter has run on to too great a length to permit of +any European treatment. That will have to wait. Of course, I have +paid several visits to Paris, and understand as never before the +saying: "Every man loves two countries--his own and France." + +'Edge, why is it that people who travel always have the worst +characteristics of their nationality? On the Continent one sees +Englishmen wearing clothes that I swear are never to be seen in +England, and their women so often appear angular and semi-masculine, +whereas at home--but, then, you know what an admirer I am of English +women. And our own people are worse. Tell me: at home, when a +gentleman talks to you, does he keep his cigar in his mouth and merely +resonate through his nose? Or is that a mannerism acquired through +travelling? + +'But enough, old boy. This has covered too vast an acreage of thought +already. Oh yes--about my writing. I have been doing very little +recently, but can feel the tide rising to that point where it will of +necessity overflow the confines of my lethargy. I have had the honour +of meeting several of the foremost writers here, and there is no +question about it, they are doing excellent work. But I wish that I +could feel a little more idealism in their work. The whole country +here is parched for the lack of Heaven's moisture of idealism. People +must have an objective in their lives, and the Arts should combine with +the Church in creating it. + +'Of course, there is an amazing amount of drivel written over here, +most of which, I think, would never get past the office-boy of an +American publication. The English short story and the English +music-hall are things to be avoided. + +'Before I end, have you seen Gerard Van Derwater recently? I heard +that he joined the diplomatic service at Washington after leaving +college. I often think of him with his strange pallor, but suggestion +of brooding strength. Did it ever strike you that every one respected +him, and yet he really never had a close friend? It always seemed to +me that he carried about with him a sense of impending tragedy. Find +out what he is doing, and let me know. + +'Well, old boy, in another few months I shall pack up and return to +America, and once more woo the elusive editor. I am looking forward to +our sitting by your fireside and, through the cloud of tobacco-smoke, +weaving again our old romances. I am really proud of you, Edgerton, +and know that you must be a tremendous power for good. + +'A letter any time addressed c/o The Royal Automobile Club, Pall Mall, +will find me.--As ever, your old chum, + +'AUSTIN SELWYN.' + + + * * * * * * + +The writer addressed an envelope, inserted the letter, sealed and +stamped it, then yawned lazily. Gathering his outgoing correspondence +and the old letters, he took his hat and sauntered into the street, +conscious of having done his duty--also that he had unearthed some +thoughts the existence of which he had not suspected beneath the +surface shrubbery of everyday existence. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A HOUSE-PARTY AT ROSELAWN. + + +I. + +As is the habit of the year, June followed May, and in its turn gave +way to the yellow hours of July. Lady Durwent, wearying of London and +its triumphs, returned to Roselawn to share the solitary, rural reign +of her husband. + +As she drove in a sumptuous car through the village and into the wide +confines of the estate she purred with contentment. Men doffed their +caps, women curtsied, and the country-side mingled its smile with +theirs. It was not unlike the return of a conqueror from a campaign +abroad, and after the incognito forced by London on all but the most +journalised duchesses, it was distinctly pleasant to be acknowledged by +every one she passed. + +In this most amiable of moods she dined with her husband, and was so +vivacious that, looking at her over his glass of port, he thought how +little she had changed since, years before, she had first affected his +subnormal pulse. Together they wandered over the lawns, and he showed +the improvements wrought since her last visit. She gave the +head-gardener the benefit of her unrestricted smile, and shed among all +the retainers a bountiful largesse of good-humour. + +Still noting the beauties of Roselawn, they discussed their children. +She learned that Malcolm was on leave from the --th Hussars, and was +golfing in, and yachting off, Scotland with scions of the Scottish +nobility. The mention of Dick brought a pang to her heart, and a cloud +that marred the serenity of her husband's brow. Lord Durwent regretted +the necessity of his actions, but the boy had proved himself a 'waster' +and a 'rotter.' He had been given every chance, and had persistently +disgraced the family name. If he would go to Canada or Australia, he +could have money for the passage; otherwise---- + +After that imperialistic pronouncement, Lord Durwent turned to more +congenial topics, and spoke of additions to the stables and +improvements to the church. His wife answered mechanically, and it was +many minutes before the heart-hunger for the blue-eyed Dick was lulled. +She said nothing, for the development of her sons' lives had long since +passed from her to a system, but in the seclusion of their country home +the domestic tragedy made a deeper inroad on her feelings than it had +done in London. + +It was perhaps not unnatural that they barely spoke of Elise at all. +She was visiting a county family in the north, and would be home in a +couple of days. As there was no immediate suitor on the horizon, what +more was there to be said of the daughter of the house? + +Next morning Lady Durwent was still amiable, but rather dull. The +following day she was frankly bored. On Sunday, during the sermon, she +planned a house-party; and so, in due course, invitations were issued, +and accepted or regretfully declined. She possessed sufficient sense +of the fitness of things to refrain from transplanting any of her +_unusual_ varieties from their native soil, but asked only those +persons whose family connections ensured a proper tone to the affair. + +Perhaps it was just a kindly thought on her part to ask Austin Selwyn. +It may have been the desire of having an author to lend an exotic touch +to the gathering. Or, being a woman, she may have wanted an American +to see her at the head of the table in two widely different settings. + +Perhaps it was all three motives. + + +II. + +In preparation for the arrival of guests, 'a certain liveliness' +pervaded the tranquil atmosphere of Roselawn. The tennis-court was +rolled and marked; fishing-tackle was inspected and repaired; in view +of the possibility of dancing, the piano was tuned; bridge deficiencies +were made good at the local stationer's; and gardeners and gamekeepers +hurried about their tasks, while flapping game-birds signalled to +trembling trout that the enemy was mobilising for the yearly campaign. + +Roselawn differed little from the hundreds of English country-houses, +the seclusion and invulnerability of which have played so great a part +in forming the English character. A lodge at the entrance to the +estate supplied a medieval sense of challenge to the outside world, and +the beautifully kept hedges at the side of the mile-long carriage-drive +gave that feeling of retirement and emancipation from the world so much +desired by tranquil minds. + +It was the setting to produce a poet, or a race of Tories. Once within +the embracing solitude of Roselawn, the discordant jangling of common +people worrying about their long hours of work or the right to give +their offspring a decent chance in the world became a distant murmur, +no more unpleasant or menacing than the whang of a wasp outside the +window. + +Not that the inhabitants of Roselawn were any more callous or selfish +than others of their class, for the record of the Durwent family was by +no means devoid of kindly and knightly deeds. Tenantry lying ill were +always the recipients of studied thoughtfulness from the lord and lady +of the place, and servants who had served both long and faithfully +could look forward to a decent pension until death sent them to the +great equality of the next world. + +If one could trace the history of the Durwent family from the +beginning, it would be seen that among the victims of a hereditary +system there must be numbered many of the aristocracy themselves. +Caricaturists and satirists, who smear the many with the weaknesses of +the few, would have us believe that the son of a lord is no better than +the son of a fool; yet, if the vaults of some of the old families were +to unfold their century-hugged secrets, it would be seen that, as +Gray's country churchyard might hold some mute inglorious Milton, so +might these vaults hold the ashes of many a splendid brain ruined by +the genial absurdity of 'class' wherein it had been placed. A boy with +a title suspended over his head like the sword of Damocles may enter +life's arena armed with great aspirations and the power to bring a +depth of human understanding to earth's problems, but what chance has +he against the ring of antagonists who confront him? Flunkeyism, +'swank,' the timid worship of the peerage, the leprosy of social +hypocrisy, all sap his strength, as barnacles clinging to the keel of a +ship lessen her speed with each recurring voyage. + +It is not that the hereditary system injures directly; its crime lies +in what it engenders--the pestilence of snobbery, which poisons nearly +all who come into contact with it, titled and untitled, frocked and +unfrocked, washed and unwashed. The very servants create a comic-opera +set of rules for their below-stairs life, and the man who has butlered +for a lord, even if the latter be the greatest fool of his day, looks +with scorn upon the valet of some lesser fellow who, perchance, is +forced to make a living by his brains. + + +III. + +The house at Roselawn was large, and, with its ivy-covered exterior, +presented a spectacle of considerable beauty. The front was in the +form of a 'hollow square,' creating an imposing courtyard, and giving +the windows of the library and the drawing-room ample opportunity for +sunshine. From these windows there was a charming vista of well-kept +lawns, margined with gardens possessed of a hundred tones of exquisite +colour. At the back of the house the windows looked out on receding +meadows that melted into the solidarity of woods. + +The drawing-room (Lady Durwent tried to designate it 'the music-room,' +but the older name persisted) had all the conglomeration of contents +which is at once the charm and the drawback of English country homes. +Furniture of various periods indulged in mute and elegant warfare. +Scattered in graceful disorder about the room were relics procured by +an ancestor who had been to Japan; there was a Spanish bowl gathered by +Lord Dudley Durwent; there was an Italian tapestry, an Indian tomahawk, +a Chinese sword that had beheaded real Chinamen, all procured by Lord +Dingwall Durwent in the eighteenth century. There was a massive Louis +Seize table and a frail Louis Quinze chair; a slice of Chippendale +here, and a bit of Sheraton there; portraits of ancestors who fought at +Quebec, Waterloo, Sebastopol, and a very military-looking gentleman on +a terrific horse, who had done all his fighting in Pall Mall clubs. +There were 'oils' purchased by Durwents who liked to patronise the +arts, and 'waters' by Durwents who didn't like oils. + +And year after year, generation after generation, the ancient +drawing-room received its additional impedimenta without so much as a +creak of protest. + +In the impressive seclusion of Roselawn, therefore, the house-party +began to gather. They were an admirably assorted group of people who +never objected to being bored, providing it was accomplished in an +atmosphere of good breeding. The soothing balm of the Roselawn meadows +offered its potency of healing to fatigued minds or weary bodies, but, +like the fragrance of the unseen flower, it was wasted on the desert +air. Lady Durwent's guests had not been using either their brains or +their bodies to a point where honest fatigue would seek healing in the +perfume of clover. If a hundred gamins from Whitechapel's crowded +misery had been brought from London and let loose in summer's +sweet-scented prodigality, the incense of fields and flowers might have +brought sparkle to young eyes dull with the wretchedness of poverty, +and colour to pale, unnourished cheeks. But Lord and Lady Durwent, +denying themselves the luxury of such a treat, asked people who lived +in the country to come and enjoy the country. + +The pleasure of their guests was about as keen as would be that of a +party of bricklayers invited by a fellow-labourer to spend a Saturday +with him laying bricks. + + +IV. + +To the insatiable curiosity of Austin Selwyn the party presented an +infinite chance for study, as well as an unlooked-for opportunity to +meet Elise Durwent under circumstances which should either cement their +friendship or else demonstrate its utter impracticability. + +He listened to the chat of men who did the same things all the year +round with the same people, and he wondered a little at their +persistency in conversing at all. They rarely disagreed on anything, +partly because they were all of the same political faith, and it seemed +an understood thing that, so far as it was humanly possible, no one +would introduce any subject which would entail controversy. When +Selwyn, who was almost too thorough a believer in the productive powers +of fiction, used to drop conversational depth-bombs, they treated him +with easy tolerance as one who was entitled to his racial +peculiarities. Sometimes they would even put to sea clinging to the +raft of one of his ideas, but one by one would grow numb and drop off +into the waters of mental indifference. They had a nice sense of +satire, and it was a delight for the American to indulge in an easy, +inconsequential banter which was full of humour without being labelled +funny; but it used to fill him with sorrow to see many of his best +controversial subjects punctured by a lazily conceived play of words. +He felt that, coming from the New World, he was in a position to give +knowledge for knowledge, but his fellow-guests were impervious to his +geographical qualifications, and persisted in their pleasant task of +rolling vocabulary along the straight grooved channels of their +well-bred thoughts. + +The women were less of a type, but their little lives were so lacking +in horizon that they seemed to live in a perpetual atmosphere of +personalities. As pretty much the same topics of conversation did them +for a whole season, they were not unlike a travelling theatrical +company producing the one show wherever they went. One woman +occasioned some mirth to Selwyn by her familiarity with the obscure +royalties of Europe, whom she thrust forward on every possible +occasion. On dowager-duchesses and retired empresses she was without +parallel, and she went through life expressing perpetual regret that +she had not known you were going to Ruritania, because she would have +insisted upon your calling on her friend the Empress Lizajania. + +It was perhaps an unfortunate circumstance that had brought together a +group of women none of whom was artistically accomplished, although +they were by no means lacking in social charm. Music for them was not +a refreshing stream which ran by the road of everyday life, but +something which was to be heard at the Opera, and which enjoyed a close +alliance with sables and diamond tiaras. Pictures were of the Academy, +and, like all the best people, they invariably said, 'Have you seen +this year's show at Burlington House? My dear, it's frightful.' Nor +did they neglect literature in their curriculum. Though literature +lacks a yearly exhibition, such as is possessed by music and painting, +they made it a subject for gossip, and denounced H. G. Wells as a +'bounder.' 'I never read him, Mr. Selwyn,' said the obscure-royalist +person. 'My cousin the Duchess of Atwater met him, and says--well, +really, she says he's quite impossible.' + +With a mixture of wonder and amusement Selwyn watched the spectacle of +these people of more than average education and intelligence contenting +themselves with a perpetual routine of small-talk and genteel +insularity, and he wondered how it was that a race so gifted with the +blessed quality of humour could evolve a state of society offering such +a butt to the shafts of ridicule. + +He liked Lord Durwent, whose unfailing gentleness and courtesy would +have stamped him as a gentleman in any walk of life. Although his mind +was comparatively unimpressionable to new ideas, it was saturated with +the qualities of integrity and fairness, and in his attitude towards +every one of his guests there was an old-world dignity, born of the +respect in which he held both himself and them. The study of this man +moving contentedly about his daily tasks, never making any one's day +harder by reason of his passing that way, was the first jolt Selwyn had +received in his gathering arraignment against English social life. By +way of contrast he pictured certain successful gentlemen of his +acquaintance in America, and the vision was not flattering to his +national self-esteem. + +He also enjoyed the refreshing vitality of Lady Durwent, who never +quite lost her optimism no matter how tight was the grip of good form; +and he admired without stint the devotion of every one, regardless of +sex, to sport. Throughout the day there were constant expeditions that +necessitated long, invigorating hours in the open air; and it seemed to +the American that they were never so free from affectation, that the +comradeship between the men and the women was never so marked, as when +they were indulging their wise instinct for out-of-door sports. + +He had been at Roselawn a couple of days before he had a chance to do +more than observe Elise Durwent as one of the party. She had been his +partner at tennis and bridge, and a dozen times he had exchanged light +talk with her, but there was always about her the defensive shield of +impersonal cordiality. When he spoke to her it was almost in a drawl, +but no matter to what a lackadaisical level he reduced his voice, her +replies were always punctuated by a retort that had in it the sense of +sting, as Alfio in _Cavalleria Rusticana_ accompanies his song with the +crack of a driving-whip. + +He watched her with the men of the party, and wondered at their +good-natured endurance of her sharpness, as reckless as it was +disturbing; and he saw that her inclusion among the women made them +less at ease and disinclined to chatter. No matter what group she +joined, she was never of it; and even when it was obvious that she was +doing everything in her power to reduce her personality to the pitch of +the others, her individuality branded her as something apart. + +Studying her, partly subconsciously and partly with the keen +observation prompted by the attraction she held for him, Selwyn began +to feel the loneliness of the girl. Not once did he see the melting of +eyes which comes when one person finds close affinity in the +understanding of a friend. When she spoke at the table her suddenness +always left a silence in its wake. At bridge her moves were so +spasmodic that, when opposite dummy, she seemed to play the two cards +with a simultaneous movement. The same mannerisms were in her outdoor +games, a second service at tennis often following a faulty first so +rapidly that her opponent would sometimes be almost unaware that more +than one ball had been played. + +Selwyn's original feeling of exasperation mellowed to one of genuine +pity in contemplation of her solitary life--a life directed by a +restless energy that only grew in intensity with the deepening +realisation of her purposelessness. Yet she was so confident in her +bearing, and so capable of foiling with repartee any approach of his, +that he contented himself with a studied politeness that was no more +personal than the grief of an undertaker at a funeral. + + +V. + +One evening, after dressing for dinner, Selwyn found that he had +half-an-hour to fill in, and as the smell of grass was scenting the +air, he sauntered from the house and strolled across the lawn to a path +which led to the trout-stream. + +His mind was drowsy with a thousand half-formed ideas that lazily lay +in the pan of his brain waiting the reveille of thought. A skylark +twitted earth's creatures from its aerial height. A cow, munching in +endless meditation on its unfretful existence, emitted a philosophic +moo. + +Selwyn smiled, and let his mind wander listlessly through the fields of +his impressions. He thought of Britain, and wondered what there is in +the magic of that little island that fastens on one's heart-strings +even while the brain is pounding insistent criticism. For the first +time the insidious beauty of Roselawn's tranquillity was cloying the +energy of his mind--a mind that never gave him rest, but was always +questioning and seeking the truth in every phase of human endeavour. +The peacefulness of the twilight hour was lulling his mental faculties, +and the perfumes of summer's zenith were stirring his senses like music +of the Nile. + +As though he were picturing inhabitants of another world, he conjured +to his vision the feverish traffic of New York, deluged with human +beings belched from their million occupations into the glare of +lunch-hour. It gave him a strange sensation of being among the gods to +be able to look at the lowering sun and know that at the same moment it +held New York in the pitiless heat of midday. . . . And he wondered +dreamily why people lived such a mockery of existence as in its +towering streets. The pastoral atmosphere was so perfect, so +completely soothing in its cool fragrance of evening, that he thought +if he could only remain there, away from the conflict of the world, he +could write of such things as only poets dream and painters see. + +He had readied the stream, and was about to retrace his steps, when he +heard the rustle of a dress, and coming round a bend in the path he saw +Elise Durwent. She was in an evening gown that looked oddly exotic in +those surroundings, and, still in a haze of reverie, he stood in +perplexed silence until she stopped opposite him. + +'Have I interrupted the muse?' she said. + +'On the contrary, you have awakened it. I was just thinking how vivid +you looked with that setting of overhanging bushes and the background +of fields. I--I think it must have been your gown that gave such a +quaintly incongruous effect.' + +'And, of course, there is nothing incongruous in a dinner-jacket near a +trout-stream? If I were an artist I should paint you, and call the +picture "Despondency."' + +'Well,' he smiled, 'that would be an improvement on most Academy +titles. An ordinary artist would simply name it "Young Gentleman by +Trout-Stream." Haven't you often gone through a gallery picturing all +sorts of dramatic meanings in paintings, only to have your illusions +shattered by the catalogue?' + +She nodded. 'You have expressed no surprise at my coming,' she said +abruptly. 'Are women in the habit of tracking you in this way?' + +'I'm sorry,' he answered, lazily thrusting his hands into his pockets. +'As a matter of fact you are never very far from my thoughts. Perhaps +that is why I felt no surprise.' + +'How are you enjoying your visit?' + +'Tremendously.' + +'How do you like the guests?' + +'Is this a catechism, Miss Durwent?' + +She shrugged her shoulders and pulled a leaf from a bush. 'I was +wondering,' she said, 'whether they bored you as much as me.' + +'Why,' he said with a slight laugh, 'to be frank, people never bore me. +The moment they become tedious they are of interest to me as a study in +tediousness.' + +'Just the same,' she said quickly, 'as when a woman interests you she +becomes an object of analysis. I wish I could detach myself like that.' + +'And yet,' he said gently, wondering at the intensity of her eyes, 'I +should have thought you possessed the gift of detachment to a greater +degree than I. You always seem separate and distinct from your +associates.' + +She said nothing in reply, and as if by tacit agreement they started +back along the path. He did not break the silence, feeling that words +might be provocative of a retort that would dispel the growing feeling +of mutual confidence. + +'No,' she said, after a long pause, 'I do not possess the power of +detachment. It's just that I don't mix well. Have you read Robert +Service's poem about the men that don't fit in?' + +'Yes.' + +'Well, it's far worse for the women who don't. A man can go out and +try to find some place for himself. We have simply to stay and endure +things.' + +Half in compassion he watched her from the corner of his eye, but again +refrained from saying anything. He felt intuitively that she was +trying to break down the barrier of impersonality, but he knew that she +must do it in her own way of timid starts and quick withdrawals. + +Although her movements were more restricted by her gown than when she +wore ordinary walking-garments, her vitality and limitless energy lent +a lilt to her step, and even touched the shoulders with a suggestion of +restless virility. When she walked there was an imperious tilt to her +head; but no matter how carefully planned her toilette, or how cleverly +her coiffure might have been arranged by her maid, there was nearly +always some stray bit of colour or carelessly chosen flower that +combined with her nature in a suggestion of outlawry: the same instinct +of rebellion that had dominated her brother Dick during their +childhood. Inside the house she would sometimes look, in her quickly +changing moods, as if she were some creature of Nature imprisoned +within the walls. + +Selwyn wondered if heredity, in one of its strange jests, had recalled +the spirit of the smuggler ancestor and recast it into the soul of the +girl. + +They were nearing the house, when, emerging upon a clearing, they came +to a rustic bench looking across a short field lined with shrubbery. + +'Let us sit down a minute,' she said. 'We can hear the dinner-gong +from here.' + +He took his seat beside her, and dreamily watched the yellow rays of +the sun casting their receding tints along the bushes opposite them. +It was strangely quiet, and the hum of insects seemed like a soft +orchestral accompaniment to the crickets' song. + +'It is not very sporting of me, Mr. Selwyn,' she said softly, but with +her old staccato mannerism, 'to force my mood on you like this. I did +it once before--that dreadful night at the Cafe Rouge--and I know that +you must think it is just selfishness on my part that makes me so +unhappy. But--you know I never had a real friend--except little +Dick--and I felt to-night as if I had lost all my courage about life. +That's why I followed you. I knew you would be patient and kind.' + +'My dear girl,' said Selwyn gently, speaking almost listlessly for fear +the smouldering power of retort should be fanned into being, 'for +months I have been hoping that some day we should be able to talk like +this, as friends. Perhaps it was my fault, but there always seemed a +sort of third-person-singular attitude in our talk, as if we were +speaking at each other, which served to block our friendship from +becoming anything of value to each other. Naturally I have seen that +you are not happy, though there have been moments when you were the +very personification of light-hearted ness, and I have known for a long +time that the motif of your whole nature is resentment. Believe me, +Miss Durwent, if I could be a friend--and I mean that to the last +ditch--I should be deeply grateful for the privilege.' + +'Thanks,' she said simply, and placing her hand in his, let it remain +there. + +The hot blood of his impressionable nature mounted to his cheeks, and +his heart was aflame with a sudden intoxication of desire. But +chivalry told him how much it had cost this girl, whose whole being +rebelled at the thought of being physically conquered, to show such a +mark of confidence. And reason warned him that any triumph he might +obtain would be only for the moment. He watched the flight of a hawk +in the sky--and his lips were parched and hot. + +'For a long time,' she said, 'I have had a growing sensation of +suffocation in life. It's stifling me. When I look ahead and see +nothing but this kind of life--visiting, visiting, entertaining, +entertaining, listening to that endless talk in London--well, I think I +understand why some women go to the devil. At least there's something +genuine about sin.' + +A rabbit leaped from a bush opposite as though it bad seen something +terrifying, and scampered madly across the field to some burrowed +refuge by a great oak. Selwyn felt the hand in his tighten +convulsively. + +'Look!' she cried. 'Austin--look!' + +Her face blanched with sudden alarm. He sprang to his feet. + +'What is it?' he cried. + +'The bush--there--where the rabbit darted out.' + +He looked at the spot indicated by her trembling hand, but the +dwindling sunlight had just passed it, and he could see nothing but a +clump of shrubbery. + +'It was a man,' she said, her voice shaking querulously. 'I saw his +face. He was crouching there and watching us.' + +Selwyn frowned. 'Some poacher fellow,' he said, 'that's all. At any +rate, I'll make sure.' + +He started for the bush, when, with a tearful laugh, she stopped him, +her hands clinging to his arm. + +'No--no,' she said swiftly, 'it's nothing. It was just my nerves. +There is no one there. The rabbit startled me.' + +He hesitated momentarily, then, turning to her, gripped her arms with +his hands. A great feeling of pity for the high-strung girl welled up +in him, and he wished that it were possible to impart some of his own +strength to her. 'Elise,' he began hoarsely, his whole being in a +cloud of passion through which his brain slashed its lightning shafts +of warning--'Elise'---- + +The hall gong, growing in a clamant intensity, rang out on the quiet +air. With the lightness of a fawn she released herself from his grip, +and gathering her skirts in her hand, moved towards the path. 'Come +along,' she cried; 'we shall be late for dinner.' + +He followed her slowly, his hands in his pockets and his mind besieged +with countless thoughts. As he crossed the lawn he looked up. + +From a window in the tower of Roselawn there was shining an angry, +blood-red reflection of the sun's dying moments. + + +VI. + +It was a few minutes after midnight when the party at Roselawn retired +to their rooms. There had been an impromptu dance, following some +spirited bridge, and there was more than the usual chaffing and +laughter as the guests dispersed to the various wings of the house. + +Tired with the many events of the day, the American quickly undressed, +and soothed by the comfort of cool sheets, lay in that relaxation of +mind and body which prefaces the panacea of sleep. With half-closed +eyes and drowsy semi-consciousness he heard the sounds of life growing +less and less in the roomy passages of Roselawn, as his mind lingered +over the burning memory of Elise's proximity a few hours before. He +felt again the perfume of her hair and the radiant freshness of her +womanhood, with its inexplicable sense of spring-time. And memory, +with its power of exquisite torture, recalled to his mind the +questioning eyes and the trembling, beckoning lips. + +The soft chime of a clock downstairs sounded the passing of another +hour. Its murmuring echo died to a silence unbroken by any sound save +that of the summer breeze playing about the eaves and towers of the +house. + +Minutes passed. His thoughts blurred into the gathering shadows of +sleep. + +Of a sudden he was awake, his eyes staring into the dark, his whole +body nervously, acutely, on the alert. He had heard a cry--of a +nightjar--but so strange and eerie that it made him hold his breath. + +The call was repeated. An owl answered with a creepy cry of alarm. +Selwyn muttered impatiently at the trick played upon him by his nerves, +and turning over, was about to settle again to slumber, when he heard a +door softly opening. Light footsteps passed in the hall, stopping at +each creaking board as though suspicious that some one might hear; then +their sound was lost in the thick carpet of the stairway. + +For a minute there was complete silence. He heard from below the +cautious opening of the side-door leading to the lawn. + +Wondering what mischief was on foot, he rose from his bed, and peering +through the window, tried to penetrate the gloom. A sullen sky kept +the stars imprisoned behind deep banks of clouds, and only the trees, +by reason of their solid blackness, were discernible in the darkness of +the night. Slipping on a dressing-gown, he stealthily left his room, +and creeping downstairs, found the open door. Emerging on the lawn, he +looked quickly about. + +Beneath a near-by tree he saw a woman in white, and the figure of a man +pleading for something. Suddenly Selwyn saw the woman take some +article from around her neck and hand it to the man. The fellow took +it, and seemed to be turning away, when, with a suppressed sob, she +caught him in her arms, murmuring incoherent endearments through her +tears. + +The black scudding clouds left the sky-clear for a moment overhead--and +Selwyn felt a contraction of pain in his heart. + +The woman was Elise, and the man--her brother Dick. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +GATHERING SHADOWS. + + +I. + +Breakfast at Roselawn was a studiously inconsequential meal. Places +were set as usual by the servants, but the viands and the paraphernalia +necessary for their preparation were placed on a separate table in the +alcove by the great window overlooking the lawn. Having performed this +duty, the servants did nothing more; but one could not help feeling +that they were just outside the door, like a group of prompters, ready +to render instantaneous assistance should the amateurs falter. + +Lord Durwent made a kindly and efficient supervisor of the commissariat +table, and--there was no question of it--could boil an egg with any one +in the county. And the guests plying between the source of supply and +the breakfast-table proper created a vagabondish camping-out air of +geniality that did much to dispel the natural stiffness of the morning +intercourse. As the meal had no formal opening, every one arrived at +any time during the breakfast period, and though constant apologies +were offered for the frequent interruptions to Lord Durwent's own meal, +it could be seen that his enjoyment of buffet proprietorship was almost +a professional one. + +Lady Durwent's part in the function was to supervise the coffee, and +ask each guest how he or she had slept, expressing regret that the +night had not been cooler, warmer, calmer, or fresher, according to the +polite customs of social dialogue at breakfast. + +At nine-fifteen the papers used to arrive from the village, always +causing a flutter of excitement. The sense of solitude at Roselawn +made the outside world something so remote and apart that there was +genuine curiosity to discover what the deuce it had been doing with +itself during the house-party's retreat. + +Lord Durwent read the _Morning Post_ as a sort of 'prairie oyster' or +'bromo-seltzer.' It settled him. There was something about that +journal's editorial page and its dignified treatment of events that +made Roselawn seem the embodiment of British principle. Being a man +who prided himself on a catholicity of view-point, he also subscribed +to the _Daily Mail_--that frivolous young thing that has as many +editions as a _debutante_ has frocks, and by its super-delicate +apparatus at Carmelite House can detect a popular clamour before it is +louder than a kitten's miaow. + +As a concession to the ladies of the household, he took, in addition, +the _Daily Sketch_ and the _Daily Mirror_, those two energetic +illustrated papers, which, benefiting from the remarkable geographical +fact that every place of consequence in England is exactly two hours +from London, are able to offer photos of riders in Rotten How, bathers +at Brighton, rowers at Oxford, and foreign monarchs walking at Windsor, +the very morning after all these remarkable persons have astonished the +world by riding, bathing, rowing, or walking. + +But to Lord Durwent these papers and the _Daily Mail_ were but +interludes. The _Morning Post_ was the real business of life, and +after reading through its solid columns of type, he enjoyed the +sensation of somehow having done something for his country. + + +II. + +It was just before the arrival of the morning papers that Selwyn +descended to the dining-room. Helping himself to porridge, he answered +Lady Durwent's polite conventional questions. + +'And _how_ did you sleep?' asked his hostess, putting into the inquiry +that artistic personal touch which made it seem as if this were the +first time she had asked the question, and he the first guest to whom +it had been propounded. + +'Lady Durwent,' he answered, smiling, 'I haven't the faintest idea.' + +'Then,' said his hostess, triumphantly explaining the obvious, 'you +must have slept well.' + +Selwyn thought that when he answered Lady Durwent's query a quick look +of relief had passed across the face of Elise. It was for her peace of +mind he had lied, as into the hours of dawn he had lain awake, trying +to unravel the meaning of the nocturnal scene. He knew that her +prodigal brother had been forbidden the ancestral home, but it was +hardly necessary that he should lie in hiding like a negro slave +dreading the hounds upon his track. And yet, as he recalled the sudden +glimpse of Dick's face, Selwyn remembered that there had been a hunted +look in the dark-shadowed, luminous eyes. Vaguely he felt that this +new development would hinder the understanding reached by Elise and +himself during the evening. If only he could go to her and offer his +help or solace; or if she would come to him frankly and let him share +the unhappy secret, whatever it was, it might prove a bond of +comradeship instead of another element to deepen her consciousness of +aloofness. + +Still churning these various thoughts, he smiled his greetings to her, +and affecting an easy unconcern, took his part in the fashionable +agricultural conversation which marks the morning intercourse of +country-living gentle-folk. If it had not been that the pigs mentioned +were Lord Fitz-Guff's, and the cabbages Lady Dingworthy's--and the +accents of the speakers beyond question--Selwyn could have imagined +that he was sitting around Hank Myer's stove in Doanville, N.Y., +listening to the gossip of the local Doanvillians on earth's produce. + +'Ah,' said Lord Durwent, sighting a messenger from over the egg-timer, +'here are the papers.' + +Directly afterwards the butler entered with the four morning journals, +solemnly presented them to his master (with a little more dignity than +a Foreign Minister displays in handing the ambassador of an enemy +country his passports), then made his exit with his eyes sedately +raised, to avoid noting more than was necessary of the 'behind-stage' +aspect of his domain. + +'Hello!' said Lord Durwent, perusing the _Morning Post_; 'what's this? +Austria has delivered an ultimatum to Servia.' + +'What!' cried one of the ladies; 'over that unpronounceable +assassination?' + +'Dear me!' said the woman who kept record of retired royalties, 'that +will upset my dear friend Empress----' + +But her voice was lost in the clamour, as every one, deserting +breakfast, crowded about Lord Durwent, and half in jest demanded to +know what the ramshackle empire had to say for itself. + +In a voice that grew tremulous with anger, the host read the details, +point by point, and as the seriousness of the thing broke upon the +hearers, even the very lightest tongues were for the moment stilled. + +With a frown the nobleman looked up as he reached the end of the +ultimatum, in which one nation, for its pride, demanded that another +should hand over its honour, debased and shackled. + +'It is infamous,' said Lord Durwent. + +'I tell you what,' said a bland youth named Maynard, who was always in +high spirits at breakfast, bored at lunch, 'frightfully bucked' by a +cup of tea at four, and invariably sentimental after dinner; 'it would +do these nasty little Balkans a lot of good to hold 'em all under water +for about three minutes--what?' + +'But this is more than a Balkan quarrel,' said Lord Durwent. + +'Balkan quarrels always are,' said the youth amiably. + +In a chorus of quick questions and answers, in which surmise and +conjecture played ducks and drakes with fact, the party divided into +two camps, the majority taking the stand that it was a local affair and +would lead to nothing; the minority, led by a retired army captain +called Fensome, reading a dark augury for the future. In the midst of +all the chaffing Selwyn noticed, however, that the placidity of decorum +had been dropped, and both men and women were leaning forward in the +unaccustomed stimulus of their brains rallying to meet a new and +powerful situation. + +The men did not lose that note of easy banter which seemed the rule +when women were present, but in the faces of the little group who +contended that danger was ahead he could detect the stiffening of the +jaw and the steadying of the eye which come to those who see events +riding towards them with the threat of a prairie fire driven by a wind. + +'But, good heavens!' said Selwyn, in answer to some one's prophecy that +war would result, 'surely the big nations can stop it. Germany and you +and America--we three won't let Austria cut Servia's throat in full +daylight.' + +The retired army captain turned a monocle on him. 'You have been in +Germany, Mr. Selwyn?' + +'Yes, just recently.' + +'Did you ever hear them toasting _Der Tag_? My friend, it has +arrived.--Durwent, old boy, if you will excuse me, I think I shall go +to town at noon. If my old bones aren't lying, the thing which a few +of us fossils have been preaching to deaf ears has come to pass, and +there may be a job for a belivered old devil like me yet.' + +'But,' cried Lady Durwent, whose easily roused theatrical instinct gave +her the delightful sensation of presiding at a meeting of the Cabinet, +'what have we to do with Austria and Servia?' + +'Hear, hear,' said the bland youth. 'Let 'em hop aboard each other if +they like. I think it would be deucedly splendid for us to have +another war; we're all fed up--aren't we?--with just enjoying +ourselves. But I don't see how we can intrude into those blighters' +little show.' + +'Exactly,' said Selwyn; 'it's an isolated incident in European affairs. +In what possible way can it lead to a rupture between Britain and +Germany, as Captain Fensome here predicts?' + +The officer referred to shrugged his shoulders. 'It's fairly simple,' +he said. 'If, as I think, Germany is behind all this, Servia will +appeal to Russia; and remember that the Great Bear is mother to all the +Slavs. There will, of course, be jockeying for position, bluff, +bravado, and all the rest of it; but France is bound to act with +Russia, and with all that explosive hanging around it will be strange +if some spark doesn't fall among it.' + +'But what has that to do with England?' + +'Nothing and everything. The greatest hope of maintaining peace lies +with Great Britain. If we had the army we should have, I don't think +there would be a war; but, thanks to our ostrich temperament, we are +reduced to a handful of men and our action is robbed of everything but +merely moral strength.' + +'But that is a tremendous factor,' said Selwyn. + +'Yes,' admitted the other dryly; 'but I prefer guns.' + +'Then you don't think Britain powerful enough to steady the situation +if it comes?' + +'N-no. Not unless'---- The monocle dropped from the speaker's eye, +and with annoying coolness he paused to replace it. 'Do you think +America will swallow her doctrine and throw in her lot with us?' + +Selwyn bit his lip to keep himself from too impetuous an answer. For +the first time he felt an envy for the cool imperturbability of the +Island Race. + +'If you ask me,' he said, 'whether America will plunge into war at the +bidding of a group of diplomats who shuffle the nations like a pack of +cards, then I say no. If you older nations over here allow this thing +to come to a crisis with a rattling of swords and "_Hock der Kaiser!_" +and "Britannia Rules the Waves," count us out. But should the occasion +arise when palpable injustice is being done, and the soul of Britain +calls to the soul of America that Right must be maintained, then the +Republic that was born--if you will permit me to say so--born out of +its resentment against injustice will act instantly.' + +'Supposing,' said the other, 'that Germany invades Belgium?' + +'But--I understand that Germany has guaranteed Belgium's neutrality.' + +The ex-officer showed no signs of having heard him, but shook his head +impatiently as one does when annoyed by a fly. 'Supposing,' he +repeated, 'that Germany invades Belgium.' + +'In that case,' said Selwyn sternly, 'America will be the first to +protest.' + +'To protest?' + +'And fight,' said the American, swallowing a desire to hurl a plate at +the monocle. + +'You will pardon me,' said Lord Durwent, 'but I do not think we can +expect America to become mixed up in this thing. She has her own +problems of the New World, and it is too much to hope that she is going +to come over here and become embroiled in a European conflict.' + +'But, dad,' said Elise Durwent, speaking for the first time, 'if, as +Mr. Selwyn says, it is clear that a wrong is being committed, America +will insist upon acting.' + +'Oh, I don't know,' broke in the youth who was always lively at +breakfast, but who was beginning to be bored; 'it's one thing to get +waxy about your own corns, and quite another when they're on some other +blighter's foot--what? I mean, you chaps over there got awfully hot +under the collar when dear old Georgius Rex--Heaven rest his +soul!--tried to jump down your throat with both spurs on and gallop +your little tum-tums out. But the question is, does it hurt in the +same place if old Frankie-Joseph of Austria pinks Thingmabob of Servia +underneath the fifth rib--what, what?' + +'Is Britain great enough for such a situation?' asked Selwyn, +repressing a smile. 'Would she accept Belgium's crisis as her own?' + +'Oh, that's another thing,' said the young man a little uncomfortably. +'We've signed the bally thing, and of course we'll play the game, +and'---- + +'As Maynard says,' interrupted the former army man, 'it's a bigger +thing for America than for us. Mind you, I don't say we need America +to help us to make war, but we do need her help if war is to be +averted; and any move of such a nature on her part demands what you +author fellows would call "a high degree of altruism." How's that, +Durwent, for a chap who never reads anything but the _Pink Un_?' + +'Oh, well,' said Lady Durwent complacently, 'it's probably all a storm +in a teacup, anyway. Some Austrian diplomat has been jilted for a +Servian, I suppose. Isn't that the way wars always happen?' and she +sighed heavily, recalling to her mind the classic features of H. +Stackton Dunckley. + +'That's what I say,' said the bright youth of the morning splendour. +'Why make a horse cross a bridge if it won't drink? Here goes--heads, +a European war; tails, another thousand years of peace.--Ah, tough +luck, Fensome, old son; it's tails.' + +'Then let's begin the thousand years with some tennis,' cried Elise, +whose eyes were sparkling, 'immediately after breakfast.' + +'Shall us? Let's,' cried the talkative Maynard. 'So lay on, +comrades--the victuals are waiting--and "damned be he that first cries, +'Hold, enough!"' + + +III. + +With an animated burst of chatter the house-party had given itself over +to a thorough enjoyment of the remainder of breakfast. Ultimatums and +the alarums of war vanished into thin air, like mists dispelled by the +sun. The serious face of the ex-officer and the unwonted air of +distraction on Lord Durwent's countenance were the only indications +that the morning was different from any other. Tongues and hearts were +light, and airy bubbles of badinage were blown into space for the +delectation of all who cared to look. + +It was during a fashionable monologue of the Court-Circular lady that +Maynard, the man of moods, who was sitting next to Selwyn, leaned over +and whispered, 'Get hold of the _Sketch_. It's on your right. Pretend +you're looking at the pictures. I've got the _Mirror_.' + +Wondering what asinine prank was in the young man's mind, but not +wanting to disturb the monologuist by untimely controversy, Selwyn +reached for the _Sketch_, and assumed a deep interest in the very +latest picture of London's very latest stage favourite who could +neither sing, dance, nor act, and was tremendously popular. + +'Excuse me, Lady Durwent,' said the gilded youth when a lull permitted +him to speak, 'but would you pass the _Daily Mail_, please?' + +'My dear Horace,' said Elise, 'you haven't taken to reading the _Mail_?' + +'No, dear one. Heaven forbid! I merely write for it.' + +'What!' There was an _ensemble_ of astonishment. + +'Ra-ther. I sent their contributed page a scholarly little thing from +my pen entitled "Should One Kiss in the Park?" If it's in I get three +guineas, and I'm going to start for Fiji to escape old Fensome's war.' + +'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, passing the journal along, 'you have a +rival.' + +With an air of considerable embarrassment the fair-haired contributor +to newspapers opened the pages of the _Daily Mail_, but protesting that +he was too bashful to endure the gaze of the curious, he begged +permission to retire to the library, there to search in privacy for his +literary child. + +'I say, Selwyn,' he said, 'you come along too if you're through +pecking. Nothing like having the opinion of an expert, even if he is +jealous.' + +With a promise to return immediately and read the effort aloud, the two +men left the table and adjourned to the adjoining room. With a frown +of impatience Selwyn was about to demand the reason for his inclusion +in the silly affair, when the other stopped him with a gesture and +closed the door. + +'Quick!' he said. 'Grab that knife--here's the _Sketch_. Look through +it for anything about Dick Durwent.' + +Seeing that the other was serious, Selwyn spread the paper before him +and hurriedly searched its columns. + +'Great Scott!' he cried. 'Here it'---- + +'Sh-sh! Hurry up and cut it out. Right. I'll fix up the _Mirror_ in +the same way. Now skim through the _Mail_. Got it? By Jove! damn +near a whole column. Here'--Maynard ran the knife down the side of the +column. 'Now then, old Fensome has promised to get the thing out of +the _Post_, and to tell Lord Durwent before he goes to town. But he +mustn't hear of it this way, and those women are not to know a word +about it while they're in the house.' + +Selwyn nodded and looked at the ragged clippings in his hand: + + + 'ATTEMPTED MURDER IN WEST END.' + 'WELL-KNOWN NOBLEMAN ATTACKED BY PEER'S SON.' + 'QUARREL OVER DEMI-MONDAINE.' + + +'Gad, those are juicy lines, aren't they?' said Maynard. 'Won't some +of our worthy citizens lick their chops over them, and point to the +depravity of the upper classes? Do you know Dick Durwent?' + +'I have seen him a couple of times.' + +'Awfully decent chap. Screw loose, you know, and punishes his Scotch +no end, but a topping fellow underneath. I don't know who the bit of +fluff is that they're fighting about, but you can wager a quid to a bob +that Dick thought he was doing her a good turn.' + +'I wonder who the nobleman is.' + +'Can't say, I'm sure. Probably he can't either just now, seeing what +Durwent did to him. Of course, it's a rotten thing to say, but if the +blighter's really going to die, I hope he's one of the seventeen who +stand between me and the Earldom of Forth.' + +There was a knock at the door, and an inquiry regarding the newly +discovered author. + +'Coming,' called Maynard, reaching for the _Daily Mail_. 'Shove those +clippings in your pocket, Selwyn, and for the love of Allah help me to +select something here that I can pretend to have written. Fortunately +I can play the blithering idiot without much trouble.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE RENDING OF THE VEIL. + + +I. + +The house-party at Roselawn had hurriedly broken up, and only Selwyn +remained. In view of the scandal about Dick Durwent, although it was not +spoken of by any one, he felt that it would have been more delicate to +leave with the other guests. But it seemed as if the Durwents dreaded to +be alone. His presence gave an impersonal shield behind which they could +seek shelter from each other, and they urged him so earnestly to remain +that it would have been ungracious to refuse. + +It was the evening of August 4th, and the family circle, reduced to four, +had just finished dinner. There had been only one topic of +conversation--there could be but one. Britain had given Germany until +midnight (Central European time) to guarantee withdrawal from Belgium. + +After dinner the family adjourned for coffee to the living-room, and, as +was his custom, Lord Durwent proffered his guest a cigar. + +'No, thanks,' said Selwyn. 'If you will excuse me, I think I will do +without a smoke just now.--Lady Durwent, do you mind if I go to my room +for half-an-hour? There are one or two matters I must attend to.' + +Half-way up the stairs he changed his mind, and went out on the lawn +instead. Darkness was setting in with swiftly gathering shadows, and he +found the cool evening air a slight solace to a brow that was weary with +conflicting thoughts. + +America had not acted. There towards the west his great country lay +wrapped in ocean's aloofness. The pointed doubts of the ex-army captain +had been confirmed--America had stood aside. Well, why shouldn't she! +It was all very well, he argued, for Britain to pose as a protector of +Belgium, but she could not afford to do otherwise. It was simply +European politics all over again, and the very existence of America +depended on her complete isolation from the Old World. + +Yet Germany had sworn to observe Belgium's neutrality, and at that very +moment her guns were battering the little nation to bits. Was that just +a European affair, or did it amount to a world issue? + +If only Roosevelt were in power! . . . Who was this man Wilson, anyway? +Could anything good come out of Princeton? . . . In spite of himself, +Selwyn laughed to find how much of the Harvard tradition remained. + +If America had only spoken. If she had at least recorded her protest. +Supposing Germany won. . . . + +Supposing---- + +He kicked at a twig that lay in his path, and recalled the wonderful +regiments that he had seen march past the Kaiser only three months ago. +Who was going to stop that mighty empire? Effeminate France? Insular, +ease-loving England? + +Passing the stables, he started nervously at hearing his name spoken. + +'Good-evening, Mr. Selwyn. It's pleasant out o' doors, sir.' + +It was Mathews, the head-groom of the Durwents. + +'Yes,' said the American, pausing, 'very pleasant.' + +'It looks sort of as if we was going to 'ave some ditherin's wi' Germany, +Mr. Selwyn.' + +'It does. I don't see how war can be averted now.' + +'It's funny Mister Malcolm ain't 'ome yet, sir. Has 'is moberlizin' +orders came?' + +'There's a War Office telegram in the house. I suppose his instructions +are in it.' + +The groom shook his head and swung philosophically on his heels. He was +a broad-faced man of nearly fifty, with an honest simplicity of +countenance and manner engendered of long service where master and man +live in a relation of mutual confidence. He sucked meditatively at a +corn-cob pipe, and Selwyn, changing his mind about a cigar, produced a +case from his pocket. + +'Have one, Mathews?' he asked. + +'No, thank 'ee, sir. I'm a man o' easy-goin' 'abits, and likes me old +pipe and me old woman likewise, both being sim'lar and the same.' + +With which profound thought he drew a long breath of smoke and sent it on +the air, to follow his philosophy to whatever place words go to. + +'If Germany and us puts on the gloves,' ruminated Mathews, 'I'll be real +sorry Mas'r Dick ain't 'ere. He's a rare lad, 'e is--one o' the right +breed, and no argifyin' can prove contrariwise. I always was fond o' +Mas'r Dick, I was, since 'e was so high, and used to come in 'ere and ask +me to learn 'im how to swear proper like a groom. Ah, a fine lad 'e was; +and--criky!--'e were a lovely sight on a hoss. Mister Malcolm 'e's a +fine rider hisself, but just a little stiff to my fancy, conseckens o' +sittin' up on parade with them there Hussars o' hisn. But Mas'r Dick--he +were part o' the hoss, he were, likewise and sim'lar.' + +Selwyn nodded and smoked in silence. He was rather glad to have run into +the garrulous groom. The steady stream of inelegant English helped to +ease the torture of his mind. + +'Has milord said anything about the hosses, Mr. Selwyn?' + +'No. What do you mean?' + +'Nothing much, sir, excep' that it's just what you can expeck from a +gen'l'man like him. He comes in 'ere this arternoon and says to me, +"Mathews," he says, "if this 'ere war comes about it'll be a long one, +and make no mistake, so I estermate we'd better give the Government our +hosses right away, in course keepin' old Ned for to drive." Never +twigged an eyelash, he didn't. No, sir. Just up and tells it to me like +I'm a-doin' to you. "Then," I says, "you won't be wanting me no longer, +milord?" And he says, "Mathews, as long as there's a home for me, +there's one for you," and he clapped me on my shoulder likewise as if him +and me were ekals. It kind o' done me in, it did, what with the prospick +o' losin' my hosses--them as I'd raised since they was runnin' around +arter their mothers like young galathumpians--and what with his speakin' +so fair and kindly like. Well--criky!--I could ha' swore; I felt so bad.' + +'It will be a great loss for Lord Durwent to lose his stable.' + +'Ah, that it will. But this arternoon, arter what I'm a-tellin' you, he +just goes through with me and says, "Nell's lookin' pretty fit," or +"How's Prince's bad knee?" just as if nothink had happened at all. I +says to myself, "Milord, you're a thoroughbred, you are," for he makes me +think o' Mister Malcolm's bull-terrier, he do. Breed? That there dog +has a ancestry as would do credit to a Egyptian mummy. I've seen Mister +Malcolm take a whip arter the dog had got among the chickens or took a +bite out o' the game-keeper's leg, him never liking the game-keeper, +conseckens o' his being bow-legged and having a contrary dispersition, +and do you think that there dog would let a whimper out o' him? No, sir. +He would just turn his eye on Mister Malcolm and sorter say, "All right, +thrash away. I may hev my little weaknesses, but, thank Gord! I come of +a distinkished fam'ly."' + +They smoked in silence for a few minutes. + +'No, sir,' resumed the groom, pushing his hat back in order to scratch +his head, 'he never whimpered, did milord; but I saw when he got opposite +Mas'r Dick's old mare Princess that he felt kind o' bad, and he didn't +say much for the better part o' a minute. Mr. Selwyn, I'm a bit creaky +in my jints and ain't as frisky as I were, but I'd be werry much obliged +to be sent over to this 'ere war and see if I couldn't put a bullet or +two in some o' them there sausage-eaters.' + +'Well,' said the American moodily, 'you may get your chance.' + +'Thank 'ee, sir. I hope so, sir.' + +'Good-night, Mathews.' + +'Good-night, sir. Thank 'ee, sir.' + +Selwyn moved off into the network of shadows. Looking back once, he saw +the weather-beaten groom with hands on his hips, tilting himself to and +fro in benicotined enjoyment of some odd strain of philosophy. Good +heavens! was that the way men went to war,--as if it were a hunt with an +equal chance of being the hound or the hare? 'Sausage-eaters'--what a +phrase to describe those eagle-helmeted supermen of Prussia's cavalry! +And this little island of pipe-smoking, country-side philosophers and +pampered, sport-loving youth--this was the country, heart of a crumbling +empire, that had ordered the gray torrent of Germany to alter its course +and flow back to its own confines. It was absurd. It was grotesque. It +was a sporting thing to do, but would it mean the collapse of the +sprawling, disjointed British Empire, linked together by a flimsy +tradition of loyalty to the Crown? + +Scotland would be faithful, not so much to England as to her own +instincts. Even if England were the heart of things, Scotland was the +brain, and more than any other part supplied the driving-power for the +wheels of empire. But what of rebellious Ireland and the distant +Dominions isolated by the seas? Would they seize this moment of +Britain's mad impetuosity and declare for their own independence? It was +the history of nations--and did not history repeat itself? + +Canada, of course, would be governed in her actions by the mighty +neighbouring Republic. That was inevitable when the young Dominion's +life was so dominated by that of the United States. But what of the +others? . . . + +Thus for half-an-hour queried the man from America. He was about to turn +into the house, when he glanced once more in the direction of the +stables. It was too dark to distinguish anything, but there was the glow +from Mathews's pipe as it faintly lit the surrounding darkness. + + +II. + +Eleven o'clock. + +'Austin.' + +He had been sitting in the library talking to Lord Durwent, but the +latter had just left the room to answer a phone-call from London. Elise, +who had been playing the gramophone in the music-room, shut the +instrument off and hurried to the American's side. + +'Yes, Elise?' He tried to rise, but she pressed him back and sat on the +arm of the huge chair, looking down at him with a face that was glowing +with excitement. Her eyes were like jewels of fate lit from within by +some magic flame, and a mutinous lock of hair fell on the side of her +face, almost touching the crimson lips. There was so much magnetism in +her beauty, such a heaven in the unconquered warmth of her impetuous +being, that Selwyn gripped the arms of his chair to help to restrain the +mad impulse to grasp her in his arms and smother those lips and the +flushed, satin cheeks in a tempest of kisses. + +'Yes, Elise?' he repeated, clearing his throat. + +'Listen, Austin. I can't stay inside any longer. I think my blood is on +fire. Will you come with me to the village?' + +'At eleven o'clock?' + +'Yes. The news from London will reach the village first, and I want to +be there when it comes. We shall have to hurry if we are to make it in +time.' + +'I'm at your service, Elise.' + +'Right-o. I'll let the mater know. I'll just run upstairs and put +something easy on, and I'll meet you at the front of the house. You had +better change too.' + +A few minutes later she joined him on the lawn. They had just reached +the road which led to the porter's lodge, when, without a word of +warning, she grasped his hand, and, half-running, half-dancing, pulled +him forward at a rapid pace. With a laugh he joined in her mood, and, +running side by side, they sped along the drive, while startled rabbits +leaped across their path, and melancholy owls hooted disapprobation. As +if the fumes of madness had mounted even to the skies, dark flecks of +cloud raced headlong across the starry heavens. + +They were mad. The world was mad. He wondered whether his brain might +be playing some prank, and this absurd thing of two young people laughing +and running to discover whether or not a nation was at war would prove a +pointless jest of unsound imagination. + +'Come along,' she cried. 'You're dragging.' + +Then it wasn't a dream. The sound of her voice whipped the wandering +fantasies of his brain into coherency. With a shout he jumped forward, +and ran as he had not done since that one great game when, as a 'scrub,' +he had his chance against Yale. + +'Oh-oh-oh,' she laughed, 'I'm--winded.' + +He caught her up in his arms as if her weight were no more than a +child's, and carried her forward a hundred paces. His strength was +limitless. He felt as if his body would never again know the lassitude +of fatigue. + +His pulses were throbbing with double fever: that of the world and his +own hot love for her. Yes, it was love. What a fool he had been ever to +doubt it! His last thoughts at night were of her; the last word +whispered was her name; the last picture shrouded by the approaching +mists of sleep was of her face. What was morning but a sunlit moment +that meant Elise? What was the day, what were the years, what was life, +but one great moment to be lived for Elise--Elise? + +'Put me down, Austin. There! you'll be tired.' + +'Tired!' + +But her feet had touched the ground, and she was away again by herself, +like a tantalising sprite of the woods. The errant lock had been joined +in its mutiny by a wealth of dark-hued, auburn hair, blowing free in the +reckless summer breeze. + +Out of the estate and along the highway, shadowed by tall bushes; past +cottages hiding in snug retreat of vines and flowers; past the +cross-roads, with their sign-post standing like a gibbet waiting its +prize; past the inn on the outskirts of the village, with its creaking +sign, and its neighing horses in the stable; past the church on the rise +of the hill, with its graveyard and its ivy-covered steeple--and then the +village. + +Gathered in the square they could see a group of people listening to a +man who was reading something aloud. + +'It's the rector,' said Elise. 'Let us wait a minute. Can you hear what +he is saying?' + +The voice had stopped, and the crowd broke into a cheer that echoed +strangely on the night-air. It had hardly died away when a quavering, +high-pitched voice started 'God Save the King,' and with a sturdy +indifference to pitch the rest followed, the octogenarian who had begun +it sounding clear above the others as he half-whistled and half-sang the +anthem through his two remaining teeth. + +'That's old Hills!' cried Elise, laughing hysterically. 'He was at +Sebastopol.' + +The crowd was coming away. + +Some were boisterous, others silent. A girl was laughing, but there was +a strange look in her eyes. Bounding ahead in high appreciation of the +village's nocturnal behaviour, a nondescript hound was preceding an +elderly widow who was weeping quietly as with faltering step she clung to +the arm of her son, who was carrying himself with a new erectness. + +Behind them walked Mathews the groom, corn-cob pipe and all, shaking his +head argumentatively and squaring his shoulders. + +An Empire had declared war. + + +III. + +Elise entered the post-office to telephone the news to Roselawn, and +Selwyn was left alone. It was only for a few minutes, but in that brief +space of time his whole being underwent a vital crisis, which was not +only to change the course of his own life, but was to affect thousands +who would never meet him. + +The creative mind is ever elusive and unexpected in its workings. In it +the masculine and feminine temperaments are fused. It leaps to +conclusions--erroneous maybe, but sustained by the feminine conviction +that what is instinctive must be true. Selwyn's was essentially a +creative mind, prone to emotionalism and to inspiration. With men of his +type logic is largely retrogressive: the conclusion is reached first; the +reasons follow. + +A few days before his imagination had been strangely stirred by the +swiftness of thought which at twilight in England could visualise New +York at noon. Simple though the scientific explanation might be, it had +left him with a sense of detachment, almost as if he were on Olympus and +the world spread out below for him to gaze upon. + +That feeling now returned with redoubled force. + +The group of villagers had parted into many human fragments. He could +hear the hearty invitation of the innkeeper for all boon spirits to join +him, free of expense--and regardless of the liquor laws--in a pint of +bitter, to drink confusion to the enemy. But to Selwyn they seemed +creatures of another planet--or, rather, that he was the visitor in a +world of strange inhabitants. + +All the resentfulness of an idealist whose ancestry was steeped in +liberty of action rose to a fury at this unwarrantable interference of +war with the lives of men--a fury maddened by his feeling of utter +impotence. Was it possible, he argued, that a group of men drunk with +pomp and lust of conquest could wreck the whole fabric of civilisation? +What of science and education? Had they risen only to be the playthings +of madmen? What kind of a world was it that allowed such things? + +Was it possible, however, that this war was different from any other? +Granted that Austria had willed the crushing of Servia, and that Germany +was instigator of the crime--had not the rest of the world proved false +to their creeds by allowing the war-hunger of the Central Powers to +achieve its aim? Supposing France, Britain, America, and Italy had +joined in an immediate warning to Germany and Austria that if they did +not desist from their malpractices the area of their countries would be +declared a plague-spot, commercial intercourse with the outside world +would be brought to an end, and their citizens treated as lepers. If +that had been done, men could have gone on leading the lives to which +they had been called, and by sheer cumulative effect could have exerted a +moral pressure on the war-lust of Germany that would have been +irresistible. + +Yet, like a bull that sees red, the nations had rushed madly at each +other, thirsting to gore each other's vitals with their horns. Men of +peaceful vocations were at that very moment slaughtering their +brother-men. It was wrong--hideously wrong! + +And the charge of responsibility could not be laid at the door of those +idiots of Emperors. Their crime was evil enough, but the responsibility +for war was with the people who allowed themselves to be led to murder by +a mad, jingoistic patriotism. Supposing that when Europe was mobilising, +the people of Great Britain had sent a message to the Germans: 'Brothers, +justice must be done and malefactors punished. Fearing nothing but the +universal conscience, we refuse to fight with you, but demand in +humanity's name that you join with us in establishing the permanent +supremacy of Right.' Some such message as that coming from a Power +steeped in a great past would have been ashes to smother the smouldering +flames of world-war. + +But there was no machinery for such a thing. There was no method by +which the great heart of one country could speak with that of another. +Our obsolete diplomatic envoys, the errand-boys of international +politics, were mere artifices, tending to cement rather than to dispel +the mutual distrust of nations. What, then, stood in the way of +world-understanding? What was the cause of the blindness which permitted +men to be led like dumb cattle to the slaughter? + +_Ignorance_. + +That was the answer to it all. It was ignorance that kept a nation +unaware of its own highest destiny; it was ignorance that fomented +trouble among the peoples of the earth. Suffering, sickness, crime, +tyranny, war, were all growths whose roots were buried in ignorance and +sucked its vile nourishment. + +An impetuous wave of loyalty towards his own country swept over Austin +Selwyn at the thought. Other peoples had declared war on each other: +America by her silence had declared war on Ignorance. He felt a sudden +shame for his previous doubts. He saw clearly that his great +continent-country was a rock to which the other baffled, despairing +nations might cling when disaster overtook them. + +And as he was joined by Elise Durwent, the American swore an eternal oath +of vengeance against Ignorance. + + +IV. + +With her arm in his, their subdued voices trembling with the repression +of emotion, they retraced their steps. Back past the church with its +white gravestones so curiously peaceful in the midst of it all; past the +inn, jovial with light and the clamour of village oracles; past the +forge, with its lifeless fires a presage of things to come; past the +cross-roads, where the sign-post, silhouetted against the sky, seemed no +longer a gibbet, but a crucifix; past cottages stirring with unaccustomed +life, unconscious of the unbidden guest that was soon to knock with +ghostly fingers at almost every door. + +Along the quiet English lane they walked, but though the closeness of the +girl beside him was ministering to the senses, his mind remained so +clutched in the grip of thought that his head throbbed with pain with +each step of his foot jarring upon the road. + +They had reached the entrance to the estate and were nearing the house, +when his reverie was broken by the sound of a quivering breath and a +trembling of the hand on his arm. Like a conflagration that is already +out of control, his brain flared into further revolt with the stimulus of +a new resentment--he had not thought of woman's part in the thing. + +'Elise,' he cried, 'this is monstrous. It is only the vile selfishness +of men that makes it possible. They are not giving a thought to the +women, yet you are the real sufferers. Now I know what you meant when +you said that women don't have their place in the world. If they did, +this never could have happened; for their hearts would never permit the +men that are born of women to slaughter each other like bestial savages. +Now is the time for you to speak. This is the hour for your rebellion. +Let the whole world of women rise in a body and denounce this inhuman, +insufferable wrong. If your rebellion is ever to come, let it come now.' + +The hand on his arm was wrenched free, and Elise stood facing him with +fury in her eyes. + +'Are you mad, Mr. Selwyn? Or is this your idea of a joke?' + +He stared at her, dumbfounded. Her eyes were glowing, and her lips were +parched with the fever of the breath passing through them. + +'A joke?' he said. 'Great heavens! Do you think I would jest on such a +subject?' + +'But---- You mean that we women should organise, rise up, to hinder our +men from going to war?' + +'Doesn't your heart tell you how infamous war is?' + +'What does that matter?' + +'But, Elise,' he pleaded desperately, 'some one must be great enough to +rise to the new citizenship of the world even if martyrdom be the +condition of enrolment. It is far, far harder than snatching a musket +and sweeping on with the mob, but it is for people like you and me to +have the courage to try to stem this flood of ignorance, to stop this +butchery of women's hearts.' + +'Women's hearts!' She laughed hysterically. 'And you believe that you +understand women! Do you think war appals us? Do you think because we +may shed tears that it is from self-pity? Rubbish! There are thousands +of us to-night who could almost shout for joy.' + +'Elise!' + +'I mean it. Don't you see that to-night our whole life has been changed? +Men are going to die--horribly, cruelly--but they're going to play the +parts of men. Don't you understand what that means to us? _We're part +of it all_. It was the women who gave them birth. It was the women who +reared them, then lost them in ordinary life--and now it's all justified. +They can't go to war without us. We're partners at last. Do you think +women are afraid of war? Why, the glory of it is in our very blood.' + +'But,' cried Selwyn, 'you can't think what you are saying.' + +'I don't want to. All I know is that I could sing and dance and go mad +for the wonder of it all.' + +He took a step forward and grasped both her wrists in his hands. + +'Listen to me,' he said, his jaw stiffening as he spoke; 'some of us have +got to keep our sanity in this crisis. You know better than I, for you +have described it to me, that this country has been darkened with +ignorance just as Germany and the rest have been. This is the climax of +it all--and you're going to help it on, instead of having the courage to +take your stand. Elise, to-night I pledged my whole life to a crusade +against the darkness that men are forced to endure. It is going to be a +long fight, and perhaps a hopeless one, although some day, somehow, the +cause must win. And I need your inspiration. Oh, my dear, my dear, you +must know how much I love you. Every minute that you're away I'm hungry +for you. When we were together that evening by the stream I longed so to +take you in my arms that my heart ached with the repression I forced on +myself. I have known that there were a thousand difficulties in the way, +and I was not going to speak, but the other night when you met your +brother by the oak'---- + +'Oh! you were spying.' + +'It was an accident. I said nothing to you about it, but I thought that +perhaps you needed me a little, that it might be my privilege to share +your sorrow. And to-night, dear, I know that together we could work and +live, and be a tremendous power for good.' + +Her face, which had gone strangely pale, was darkened by a return of the +crimson flush. + +'Do you think I'd marry you,' she exclaimed scornfully--'a man who +counsels treason?' + +'I counsel loyalty to the higher citizenship.' + +'H'mm!' Her shoulders contracted, and forcing her wrists free of his +hands, she looked haughtily into his burning eyes. 'You had better go +back to America and tell them there of this ignorant little island whose +men are so crude and stupid that when the King calls they go to war.' + +'Elise'---- + +'I would rather marry the poorest groom in our stables than you. He +would at least be a man.' + +'I have not deserved this, Elise. God knows I am no more a coward than +other men, but I feel that I have seen a great truth which demands my +loyalty.' + +'It is easier to be loyal to a truth than to a country.' + +'You know you are wrong when you say that. Come--we are both unnerved +to-night. Perhaps I was injudicious to speak at a time when I should +have known that you would be overwrought, but I could not keep back the +love which you must have read'---- + +'Please, Mr. Selwyn, you must never mention that again. I don't want to +marry you. I don't want to marry any one. I always said that a women's +rebellion would come, and I feel in my blood that it has started +to-night. I don't know how, or when, or where, but I am going to join it +and'---- + +'Then you agree with me?' he cried eagerly. 'You feel that the women of +this country should rise, and try to prevent this catastrophe?' + +'You fool,' she said, half in pity, but with a sneer; 'you poor blind +American! Yes, there's going to be a revolution against conventions, +Society, customs, morality, for all I know. They're all going overboard. +We've hoisted the black flag to-night, but with one, and only one, +object--to help Britain and the men of Britain to fight!' + + * * * * * * + +And the British Fleet, at the King's command, was steaming out into the +night. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE HONOURABLE MALCOLM DURWENT STARTS ON A JOURNEY. + + +I. + +An early morning mist hung over the fields of Roselawn. From his nest in +the branches of a tree, a bird chirruped dubiously, as though to assure +himself even against his better judgment that the rain was only a threat. +The woods which bordered the meadows were blurred into a foreboding, +formless black, like a fringe of mourning, and the distant hills stood +sentinels at the sepulchre of nature. + +Flowers, rearing their lovely necks for the first caress of the sun, +drooped disconsolately, their petals like the lips of a maid who has +waited in vain for the coming of her lover. Cattle in the fields moved +restlessly from one spot to another, finding the grass sour and +unpalatable. Through the damp-charged air the melancholy plaint of a +single cow sounded like the warning of rocks on a foggy coast. + +In the air which was unstirred by a breath of wind the very buildings of +Roselawn seemed strangely motionless, with their roofs glistening in +their covering of moisture. And through an archway of trees the distant +spire of the church on the hill rose above the mist as a symbol held +aloft by some smoke-shrouded martyr of the past. + +A hound with apologetic tail came stealthily from the house and made for +the cover of the stables. A horse rattled its headstall and pawed the +flooring with a restless hoof. + +With a feeling of chill in the air, Selwyn rose at seven, and dressing +himself quickly, left the house for a walk before breakfast. His body +was fatigued from the long vigil of the mind which had kept at bay all +but a short hour of sleep, but he felt the necessity of exercise, as +though in the striding of limbs his torturing thoughts might lessen their +thumbscrew grip. + +His feet grew heavy in the thick dew of the grass, as he plunged across +the fields to a path which led through the woods, where squirrels, +coquetting with the intruder, dared him to follow to the summit of the +oaks. + +Heedless of the morning's melancholy, yet unconsciously soothed by its +calm solace, he went briskly forward, and his blood, sluggish from +inaction, leaped through his veins and coloured the shadowed pallor of +his face with a glow of warmth. + +He had lost her. + +That was the dominant note of his thoughts. What a jest the Fates had +prepared for him that the very moment when the incoherencies of his life +were crystallised by a great flash of truth--the very moment when he had +felt the overwhelming impulse to consecrate his life in a crusade against +Ignorance--that same instant should witness the snapping of the silk +threads of his love! + +How scornful she had been--as if he were something unclean, too low a +thing for her to touch! This girl, whom he had pitied for her +loneliness--this woman who had ridiculed the life of England and declared +that it was stifling her--had said that the glory of war was in her +blood. She had called him a fool because he dared to say that carnage +was wrong. He had thought her an advanced thinker; she was a reactionary +of the most pronounced type. + +A feeling of fury whipped his pulses. Confound her and her unbridled +tongue! What a fool he had been to woo her! One might as well try to +coax a wild horse into submission. She would have to be conquered; she +should be brought into subjugation by the stronger will of a man, for +only through surrender would she achieve her own happiness. At present +she resented equally the conquering of herself physically and mentally. +For her own sake she must be taught the perversion of her outlook on life. + +And Austin Selwyn, the idealist, little thought that he was applying to +Elise Durwent the same philosophy as Prussia was applying to Europe. + +But of one thing he was certain--much as he loved her (and at the thought +his heart grew heavy with longing), his words on war had not been the +idle declaimings of a sophist. There was a higher citizenship; the world +was wrong to allow this war; and ignorance was the foe of mankind. + +He would not withdraw from that platform. Duty was not something from +which a man could step lightly aside. All his writings, all his +thoughts, all his half-worked-out philosophies had been but training for +this great moment. And now that it had come he would not prove renegade. + +He would write with the language of inspiration. The agony of Man would +be his spur, so that neither fatigue nor indifference could impede his +labours. With the tears of the world he would pen such works that people +everywhere would see the beacon-light of truth, and by it steer their +troubled course. + +Five miles he covered in little more than an hour, and with the returning +sense of strength his purpose grew in firmness. + +The call of the Universal Mind had penetrated through the labyrinth of +life as the sound of the hunting-horn through leafy woods. There must be +millions, he knew, who were of that great unison, kept from _ensemble_ by +the absence of co-ordination, by the lack of self-expression. It might +not be for him to do more than help to light the torch, but, once lit, it +would burst into flame, and the man to carry it would then come forward, +as he had always done since ages immemorial when a world-crisis called +for a world-man. + +A sudden weakness crept into his blood. He was nearing home, and in a +few minutes would see her again. If only he could have left the previous +night on some pretext--but now he would have to wait until the afternoon +at least. How strange it was to think of losing her! How wedded his +subconscious thoughts had been to living out the future with her as his +revelation of Heaven's poetry! Would he have the courage to maintain his +purpose, or, at the sight of her, would he throw himself at her feet, +and, admitting failure, plead for mercy to the vanquished? + +No. A thousand times no. Anything but that. + +Reaching the clearing in the woods, he paused as the ivy-covered towers +of Roselawn were presented to his gaze. With a characteristic working of +his shoulders he drew himself to his full height, and his jaws and lips +were set in implacable determination. + +The mist still clung to the earth, but over the north-east tower of +Roselawn he could see the sun, monstrous and red, looming with its sullen +threat of heat. + + +II. + +It was nearing the end of a breakfast that had been trying for every one. +Lord Durwent's usual kindly affability was overcast by a fresh worry--the +non-appearance of his son Malcolm. Four telegrams had been despatched to +Scotland, but no answer had come. Elise had been gay and talkative with +a forced vivacity; and Lady Durwent had been bordering on hysteria. Not +that the dear lady was of sufficient depth to be profoundly moved by the +world's tragedy, but her unsatisfied sense of the dramatic gave her a new +thrill every time she said, 'WE ARE AT WAR--THINK OF IT!' as if she were +afraid that without her reminder they might forget the fact. + +Selwyn sat in almost complete silence, merely acknowledging Lady +Durwent's proclamations of a state of war by appropriate acquiescence, +but his eyes remained fixed on the table. He could not trust them to +look at Elise for fear they should prove traitor and sue for an ignoble +peace. As for her, she met the situation with a smile, using woman's +instinct of protection to assume a cloak behind which her real feelings +were concealed. + +They had just risen from the table, when the sound of a motor-car was +heard in the courtyard, and Elise hurried to the window. + +'It's Malcolm, dad,' she said. + +More in hysteria than ever, Lady Durwent hurried from the room, followed +more slowly by her husband and her daughter, and greeting the Honourable +Malcolm at the door, smothered him in a melodramatic embrace. + +'My dear, brave Malcolm,' she cried. + +With as good grace as possible the young man submitted to the maternal +endearments, disengaging her arms as soon as he decently could. + +'Where's the governor?' he asked. 'Ah, there you are.--Hello, +Elise!--I'm frightfully sorry, pater,' he went on, shaking hands with +Lord Durwent and patting his sister on the shoulder, 'about those +telegrams of yours, but we were on M'Gregor's yacht miles from nowhere, +and didn't even know the dear old war was on until a fishing-johnny told +us. Are my orders here?' + +'Yes,' answered Lord Durwent; 'there are two telegrams for you. One came +last night, and one this morning. I will just go into the library and +fetch them.' + +'But, Malcolm,' said Lady Durwent, 'let me introduce our guest, Mr. +Selwyn of New York. + +The young Englishman smiled with rather an attractive air of +embarrassment. 'I'm frightfully sorry,' he said amiably, proffering his +hand, 'I didn't see you there. Have you had any kind of a time? It's +rather a bore being inland in the summer, don't you think?' + +'I have enjoyed myself very much,' said the American, 'in spite of the +tragic end to my visit.' + +'Eh,' said the Honourable Malcolm, startled by the seriousness of the +other's voice, 'what's that? Ah yes--you mean the war. Excuse me if I +look at these, won't you?--Thanks, pater.' + +'WE ARE AT WAR----THINK OF IT!' cried Lady Durwent in a gust of emotion, +assuming the duties of a Greek chorus while her son examined the +telegrams brought by her husband. + +'Well, well!' said the cavalry lieutenant, reading the first message, +which was signed by the adjutant of his regiment; 'dear old Agitato. How +he does love sending out those sweet little things: "Leave cancelled; +return at once"! Ah, my word! "Secret and Confidential"--good old War +Office. What a rag they'll have now running their pet little regiments +all over the world! Humph! By Jove! we're to move to-morrow. Good +work! Let me see, pater. What train can I catch to town? I must throw +a few things together'--he looked at his watch--'but I'll be in heaps of +time for the 11.50. The Agitato always has a late lunch and never drinks +less than three glasses of port, so I'll throw myself on his full stomach +and squeal for mercy for being late. I say, pater, do come up while I +toss a few unnecessaries into my case.--That's right, Brown; put my bag +in my room. And, Brown, you might put some vaseline on those golf-clubs. +I sha'n't be wanting them for some little time.--Come along, +pater.--Excuse me, Mr.--Mr.'---- + +'SELWYN,' cried Lady Durwent. + +'Mr. Selwyn, I'll see you later, eh?' + +'The old nobleman ascended the stairs with his son, and the agreeable +chatter of the younger man, with its references to 'topping sport' and +'absolutely ripping weather,' came to an end as they disappeared along +the western wing of the house. Lady Durwent, wiping her eyes, went into +the library, and Selwyn, who was not particularly enamoured of solitude +and its attending tyranny of thoughts, followed her. + +Elise, who had stood in mute contemplation of her brother, neither +addressing a remark nor being addressed, hesitated momentarily, then went +into the drawing-room by herself and closed the door. + +'Oh, Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, breathing heavily, 'you have no idea +what a mother's feelings are at a time like this.' + +'I can only sympathise most sincerely,' said the American gravely. + +'He has been such a good boy,' she said vaguely, 'and so devoted to his +mother.' + +'I can see that, Lady Durwent.' + +'I shall never forget,' she went on, her own words creating a deliciously +dramatic trembling in her bosom, 'how he wept when his father insisted +upon his leaving home for school. It was all I could do to console the +child; and when he came home for the holidays he was just my shadow.' + +At that satisfactory thought (though Selwyn was a little puzzled at the +picture of the diminutive Malcolm serving as a shadow for Lady Durwent's +bulk) she expanded into a smile, but immediately corrected the error with +a burst of unrestrained grief. + +'THINK OF IT, MR. SELWYN,' she cried, reversing the formula--'WE ARE AT +WAR!' + +He murmured assent. 'I am afraid, Lady Durwent,' he said, 'that I must +return to London this afternoon.' + +'Oh, Mr. Selwyn!' + +'Yes, I must. I have a great deal of work before me, and only the +cordiality of your welcome and the pleasure I have felt in being here +would have allowed me to stay so long. You have been wonderfully kind, +and perhaps the fact that I was here when war broke out will lend a +special significance to our friendship for the future.' + +'Oh, I shall never forget you,' murmured his hostess, whose emotions were +so near the surface that almost any remark was sufficient to tap them. +'You have been the truest of friends, and Elise is so fond of you.' + +'I am very fond of Elise,' blurted Selwyn, feeling his cheeks grow red. +'Her companionship and inspiration were something'---- + +'Ye-es.' An instinct of caution plugged the emotional channel. Lady +Durwent saw that she had been indiscreet. It was not in her plan of +things that her daughter should become enamoured of a commoner. Selwyn +was all very well for company, and no doubt his books were very good, but +Elise Durwent would have to marry in her own station of life. + +'You feel that you must go this afternoon?' said the Ironmonger's +daughter dismally, but with an inflection that made it more a reminder +than a question. + +'Yes, Lady Durwent,' he answered, with a cynical smile creeping into his +lips, which seemed thin and almost cruel. 'I shall catch the 3.50.' + +'Then you must come again and see us sometime, Mr. Selwyn,' she said, +with that vagueness of date used by polite persons when they don't mean a +thing. Lady Durwent rose with great dignity. 'Will you excuse me, Mr. +Selwyn? I always meet my housekeeper at ten to discuss domestic matters. +Elise is somewhere around. Is it too damp for tennis?' + +She paused at the door. She had to. It is one of the traditions of the +stage that a player must stop at the exit and utter one compelling, +terrific sentence. + +'WE ARE AT WAR,' she cried--'TH'---- + +'Think of it!' he said maliciously, bowing and closing the door after her. + + +III. + +Going to his room, Selwyn packed his own bags, dispensing with the +services of the valet, and with more than one sigh of regret glanced +about at the luxury which he was soon to quit. The great bed with its +snowy billows of comfort; the reading-lamp on the little table with the +motley collection of books borrowed from the library with the very best +intentions--books which had hardly been opened before sleep would +obliterate everything from his sight; that merry picture of the two +medieval enthusiasts playing chess, and those jolly Dickensian paintings +of huntsmen at luncheon with grinning waiters and ubiquitous dogs. What +a charm they all had! What a merry little spot England had been in those +good old days! + +A ray of sunshine stole through the curtains as if it were not quite sure +of its welcome, and shyly rested against the farthest wall of the room. +With an exclamation of pleasure Selwyn threw open the window and looked +out upon the lawns. + +The sun had won its battle, and the countryside was cleared of the +invading mist, which was ingloriously retreating to its own territory +behind the distant hills. There was a sparkle in the air, and the rich +colourings of the flowers vied with each other in Beauty's quarrel. The +birds flew from tree to tree, singing their paean of the sun's victory, +and a light summer breeze was scattering perfume over the earth. + +As a sick man emerging from a fever, Selwyn let the refreshing vigour of +the morning lave his temples with its potency. Looking towards the +stables, he saw Mathews, the groom, come out of his domain to cast an +approving glance on Nature's performance. Selwyn decided that he would +go and say good-bye to the fellow. There was something both sturdy and +picturesque about him, and the American presumed that even the head-groom +of the Durwents would not be averse to a ten-shilling gratuity. He +therefore left his room, and reaching the lawn, strolled over to the +stables. + +'Good-morning, Mr. Selwyn,' said the groom cheerily, touching his +forehead in a semi-nautical greeting. + +'Good-day, Mathews. How are all your family this morning?' + +'Meaning the hosses, sir, or opposite-like, my old mare and her colt? +Likewise and sim'lar, and no disrespeck meant, meaning my old woman and +little Wellington.' + +'Well,' Selwyn smiled at the worthy man's ramifications, 'I did mean the +horses, but I am even more anxious to know how Mrs. Mathews is.' + +'She's a-bloomin', Mr. Selwyn, she is. When I sees 'er t' other night +dancin' at the village, I says to myself, "Criky! If she hain't got a +action like a young filly!" Real proud I was of 'er, and 'er being no +two-year-old neither, but opposite-wise free of the rheumatiz, as is +getting into my withers like.' + +'And how is--did you say his name was Wellington?' + +'That's 'is 'andle, Mr. Selwyn, conseckens o' 'is being born with the +largest nose I ever sees on a hoffspring o' his age. He's only four year +and a little better, but--criky!--if 'e ain't the knowingest little colt +as ever I raised! When my old woman gives 'im 'is bath 'e goes "Hiss-ss, +hiss-ss," just like a proper groom rubbin' down a hoss. But 'e's a +hunfeeling wretch, 'e is, for when I goes 'ome arter feedin'-time o' +nights, and thinks I'll just smoke a quiet pipe, 'e ups and says, +"Lincoln Steeplechase, guv'nor, and I'm a-riding you." And there he has +everything around the room--'is little table and chairs and toy pianner, +and I've got to jump over 'em on my 'ands and knees with that there +wicious scoundrel a-sitting on my neck and yelling, "Come on, you d--d +old slow-coach! Wot did I give you them oats for?" Now I puts it to +you, Mr. Selwyn, if a himp as makes 'is fayther jump over a toy pianner +is the kind o' child as is like to be a comfort to a feller in 'is old +age.' + +With which harrowing query the groom slapped his pipe on his heel and +blew violently through it to try to disguise his gratification at the +paternal reminiscence. + +'I don't think I've seen all the horses,' said Selwyn. 'Can you spare a +few minutes to show them to me?' + +'Wi' all the pleasure in life, sir. Come in, sir. I know it ain't +becomin' o' me for to boast,' said the groom as they entered the +building, 'but if there's a better stable o' hosses than them there, then +my name ain't Mathews, nor is my Christian names William John neither. +There ain't many in England as knows a hoss quicker 'an me, Mr. Selwyn, +though I says it that shouldn't ought to, but I knows a hoss just as soon +as I sets eyes on 'im. Milord, 'e's just a small bit better, though +likewise and sim'lar we usually thinks exac'ly the same. Only once we +disergreed on a hoss. I says it were wicious, and 'e said as 'ow it +weren't. So we bought it.' + +'And who was right?' + +'Well, sir, I sort of estermate as 'ow 'e was, for just arter we got 'im +Mas'r Dick, who ain't afraid o' any beast as walks on four legs, took 'im +out for a airing. Well, sir, that hoss--powerful brute 'e were, with a +eye like Sin--goes along like as if 'e 'adn't a evil thought in 'is 'ead; +but all on a sudden 'e comes to a ditch, and sort o' rolls Mas'r Dick +into it, and bungs 'is 'ead against a stone.' + +'Then he was vicious, after all?' + +'No, sir--that's the extr'ord'nary part of it. He comes right back to +the stables to me and pulls up short. I goes up and looks into that +there sinful eye. "You hulk o' misery," I says; "you willainous son of a +abandoned sire!" You know, sir, I always likes to make a hoss feel real +bad by telling him what's what, for they got intelligence. Mr. Selwyn, I +should say, by Criky! a 'uman being ain't in the same stall as a hoss for +intelligence.' + +'I think you may be right,' said Selwyn decisively. + +'May be? There ain't no doubt about it nowise.' + +'And what happened to your horse?' + +'Ah yes, sir. Well, sir, I gets on 'im, and pullin' 'is face around by +'is ear, I give 'im another look in 'is sinful eye. "Where's Mas'r +Dick?" I says. And--criky!--off 'e goes, lickerty-split, like as if we +was entered for the Derby, and, sure enough, 'e stops right at the ditch +where Mas'r Dick was a-lying all peaceful and muddy like a stiff un. +Well, sir, I gets off and lifts 'im up, and then mounts be'ind 'im, and +that there hoss 'e never moved until I tells 'im, and then 'e goes home +so smooth-like that a old lady could 'ave rid 'im and done 'er knitting +sim'lar. And arter that 'e were as gentle as a lamb, 'e were--and there +'e is right afore your eyes, Mr. Selwyn. He's a old hoss now, and ain't +much to look on, but every morning when I comes in 'e takes a look with +that there bad eye o' hisn and says, just like I says to 'im that day, +"Where's Mas'r Dick?" I sometimes feels so sorry for the old feller that +I swears something horrible just to cheer 'im up.' + +With considerable interest, though with a certain doubt as to the strict +authenticity of the narrative, the American looked at the horse, which, +after a melancholy survey of the visitors, vented its grief in an attempt +to bite a large-sized slice from the neck of a neighbour. + +'Nah, then, you ---- ---- ----,' remarked Mathews unfeelingly, catching +the old beast a resounding thump on the rump with a stick he carried. +'That'll learn you, you old hulk o' misery.' + +'There's a beautiful mare, said the American, pausing at the stall of a +superb charger whose graceful limbs and shapely neck spoke of speed and +spirit. + +'Ah! Now that there is a beauty and no mistake. She's got the spirit of +a young pup, but is as amiable and sweet-tempered as a angel. She's +Mister Malcolm's hunter, she is, and 'is favourite in the whole stables. +He never rides anything but 'er to hounds; leastways, 'e never did but +once, and then Nell--that's 'er name--Nell was took so sick with frettin' +that she kicked a groom as 'ad come to feed 'er clean across the floor +agin' that there far wall. Never I see a feller so put out as that there +groom--never. Well, sir, she wouldn't let no one come nigh 'er, and just +as we was thinkin' as 'ow we'd 'ave to forcible-feed 'er, in comes Mister +Malcolm. She 'ears 'im, but don't make no sign, and just as 'e comes up +close she lets fling 'er 'eels at 'is 'ead. But 'e was watchin' for it, +and just says "Nellie" kind o' sorrowful and reproachful, sim'lar to the +prodigal son returnin' to 'is aged fayther. Well, sir, the mare she just +gives in at the knees and rubbed 'er nose agin' 'im, and says just as +plain as Scripter that she was real sorry, and 'oped 'e 'd forget it as +one gen'l'man to a lady.' + +With sundry anecdotes of a like nature, Mathews guided the visitor past +the long line of stalls, whose inhabitants kept their stately heads +turned to gratify the insatiable curiosity of the equine. To the weary +mind of the American there was an agreeable balm in the groom's fund of +anecdote, and even in the odoriferousness of the stable itself. + +Reaching the end of that line, Mathews proposed that before they went any +farther they should go to an adjoining shed and inspect a litter of +little hounds that were blinking in amazement at their second day's view +of the world. From a near-by kennel there was the discordant yelping of +a dozen hounds, and between the two places a kitten was performing its +toilet with arrogant indifference to the canine threat. + +They were just about to retrace their steps, when Selwyn felt Mathews's +hand on his arm. + +'Sh-sh!' the groom whispered. 'There's Mister Malcolm a-come to say +good-bye to Nellie. I knew 'e would, sir. She'd ha' fretted 'er heart +out if 'e hadn't.' + + +IV. + +Selwyn looked down the stable, and in the dull light he saw the Hussar +officer standing in the stall by the mare, crooning some endearing words, +while the beast, in her delight, rubbed her face against his clothes and +whinnied her plea to be taken for a gallop over the fields. + +Not wanting to disturb him, or give the impression that he had been +watching, Selwyn softly withdrew by a door near the dogs, and after +giving Mathews a half-sovereign, made a circuit of the lawns and +approached the house as if he were coming from the woods. As he did so +young Durwent emerged from the stables, followed by a collie-dog that +jumped and frolicked about him as he walked. Noticing the American, +Malcolm crossed over to where he stood, proffering a cigarette. + +'Have a gasper, Selwyn?' he asked. + +'Thanks very much. I suppose it will be some time before the British +Army will get into action?' + +'I don't know, I'm sure,' answered Durwent, holding a match for the +other, 'but three weeks at the outside ought to see us over there and +ready.' + +'The Germans have a tremendous start.' + +'Yes, haven't they? Damned plucky of Belgium to try to hold them up, +isn't it? Though, of course, you can't expect the Belgian johnnies to +keep them back more than a few days.' + +'You think, then, that she will be conquered?' + +'Ra-ther. That's a cert. But I don't think it will be for long.' + +'You mean that the British will drive the Germans back?' + +'Not all at once, but sooner or later. Of course, I'm an awful muff on +strategy--always was--but the general idea seems to be that we go over +now and stop the bounders, and then our dear old citizens gird up their +loins, train themselves as soldiers, and chase the Germans back to +Berlin.' + +'But--isn't it an open secret that your regular army is very small? Can +you seriously expect to stop that huge force once it sweeps through +Belgium?' + +The Englishman picked up a stone and sent it hurtling across the lawn for +the collie to chase. + +'Ever play "Rugger"?' he asked. + +'Rugby? Yes.' + +'Then you've often seen a little chap bring a big one an awful cropper.' + +'That is true, but the cases are hardly parallel.' + +'Perhaps not,' said the other, rather relieved at not having to maintain +the analogy any further; 'but, then, the beauty of being a junior officer +is that one doesn't have to worry. I wouldn't be in old man French's +shoes for a million quid, but for us subaltern johnnies it looks as if +we'll have some great sport.' + +As the two young men, almost of an age, stood on the rich carpet of the +lawn with their figures outlined against the open background of the +fields, they presented a strange contrast. The Englishman was dressed in +a rough, brown tweed, and though there was a looseness about his +shoulders that almost amounted to slouchiness, they gave a suggestion of +latent strength that could be instantly galvanised into great power. +When he moved, either to throw something for his dog or just to break the +monotony of standing, his movements were slow and deliberate, and he took +a long pace with a slight inclination towards the side, as is the habit +of cavalrymen and sailors. His eyes were a clear, unsubtle blue, and +though his skin was tanned from exposure to the elements, its texture was +unspoiled. His hair was light brown, and, while closely cropped, in +keeping with military tradition, was naturally of thick growth; in the +centre where it was parted there was more than a tendency towards curls. +From his lip a slight moustache was trained to point upwards at the ends, +and beneath the tan of his face could be seen the glow of health, token +of a decent mode of living and a life spent out of doors. + +There was a frankness of countenance, a certain humour which one felt +would rarely rise above banter, and the whole bearing was manly and +attractive. But search the features as he would, Selwyn could not +discover any lurking traces of undiscovered personality. Malcolm's very +frankness seemed to rob him of possession of any hidden, unexpected vein +of individuality. He was essentially a type, and of as clear Anglo-Saxon +origin as if he were living in the days before his breed was modified by +inter-association with other tribes. + +Selwyn recalled the words of Mathews: 'Milord, you're a thoroughbred, you +are.' This youth was of a race of thoroughbreds. Maternal heredity had +skipped him altogether; he was a Durwent of Durwents, and heir to all the +distinction and lack of distinction which marked the long line of that +family. + +And opposite him was an American whose two generations of Republican +ancestry led to the paths of Dutch and Irish parentage. Selwyn had never +tried to discover the cause why his paternal ancestor had left the Green +Island, or his maternal ancestor the land of dikes and windmills; it was +sufficient that, out of resentment against conditions either avoidable or +unavoidable, each had resolved to endure the ordeal of making his way in +a land of strangers. Austin Selwyn bore the marks of that inheritance no +less clearly than Malcolm Durwent bore the marks of his. In his features +there was a certain repose, as became the part-son of a race that had +produced the art of Rembrandt, but there was a roving Celtic strain as +well that hid itself by turn in his eyes, in his lips, in his smile, in +the lines of his frown. In contrast to the clear Saxon steadiness of +Malcolm Durwent, his own face was constantly touched by lights and +shadows of his mind, lit by the incessant prompting of his thoughts that +demanded their answer to the riddle of life. + +Although his build was fairly powerful, Selwyn's well-knit shoulders and +alert movements of body spoke of a physique that was always tuned to +pitch, but one missed the impression of limitless endurance which lay +behind the easy carelessness of Malcolm Durwent's pose. + +'I want to ask you, Durwent,' said the American, 'more from the +stand-point of a writer than anything else, if these men of yours who are +going out to fight are actuated by a great sense of patriotism, or a +feeling that the liberty of the world depends on them or--well, in other +words, I am trying to discover what it is that makes you men face death +as if it were a game.' + +'My dear chap,' said the Englishman, with a slightly embarrassed smile, +'there again we leave it to the fellows higher up. Naturally, if Britain +goes to war, it isn't up to her army to question it one way or another. +Of course, back in our heads we like to feel that she is in the +right--but, then, I don't think Britain would ever do the rotten thing; +do you?' + +'N--no, I suppose not.' + +'You see, a chap can't help looking at it a bit like a game, for there's +Belgium doing an absolutely sporting thing, and there isn't one of us +that isn't straining at the bit to get over and give them a hand.' + +With a slight blush at this admission of fervour, the Englishman grasped +his collie-dog by the forepaws and rolled him on his back. + +'But,' said Selwyn, unwilling to let the bone of discussion drop while +there was one shred of knowledge clinging to it, 'supposing that Britain +were in the wrong and you fellows knew it, yet you were ordered to +war--what then?' + +His companion laughed and thrust his hands in his pockets. + +'Oh, we'd fight anyway; and after we had knocked the other chap out we'd +tell him how sorry we were, then go back and hang the bounders who had +brought the thing on. But then, you see, you're riding the wrong horse, +because soldiering's my job, and I was always an awful muff when it came +to jawing on matters I don't know anything about. You had better get +hold of some of our politician johnnies; they've always got ideas on +things.' + + +V. + +A little later the Honourable Malcolm Durwent left Roselawn in a +motor-car. + +As it rounded the curve in the drive he turned and waved at the little +group who were standing in the courtyard, and then he was lost to sight. +And in the hearts of each of the three there was a poignant grief. Lord +Durwent's head was bowed with regret that at Britain's call he had been +able to give one only of his two sons. Dry-eyed, but with aching heart, +Elise stood with an overwhelming remorse that she had never really known +her elder brother. And Lady Durwent, free of all theatricalism, was dumb +with the mother's pain of losing her first-born. + +And as the heir to Roselawn went to war, so did the sons of every old +family in the Island Kingdom. In something of the spirit of sport, yet +carrying beneath their cheeriness the high purpose of ageless chivalry, +the blue-eyed youth of Britain went out with a smile upon their lips to +play their little parts in the great jest of the gods. + +Not with the cry of 'Liberty!' or 'Freedom!' but merely as heirs to +British traditions, they took the field. Of a race that acts more on +instinct than on reason, they were true to their vision of Britain, and +asking no better fate than to die in her service, they helped to stem the +Prussian flood while home after home, in its ivy-covered seclusion, +learned that the last son, like his brothers, had 'played the game' to a +finish. + +Let the men who cry for the remodelling of Britain--and progress must +have an unimpeded channel--let them try to bring to their minds the +Britain that men saw in August 1914, when catastrophe yawned in her path. +That picture holds the secret for the Great Britain of the future. + + +VI. + +It was almost the last day in August, when the little British Army was +fighting desperately against unthinkable odds, that a brigade of cavalry +made a brave but futile charge to try to break the German grip. The --th +Hussars was one of the regiments that took part, and only a remnant +returned. + +Staring with fixed, unseeing eyes at the blue of the sky, which was not +unlike the colour of his eyes, the Honourable Malcolm Durwent lay on the +field of battle, with a bullet through his heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE MAN OF SOLITUDE. + + +I. + +In a large room overlooking St. James's Square a man sat writing. In +the shaded light his face showed haggard, and his eyes gleamed with the +brilliancy of one whose blood is lit with a fever. + +The clocks had just struck nine when he paused in his work, and +crossing to the French windows, which opened on a little terrace, +looked out at the darkened square. The restless music of London's life +played on his tired pulses. He heard the purring of limousines gliding +into Pall Mall, and the vibrato of taxi-cabs whipped into action by the +piercing blast of club-porters' whistles. The noise of horses' hoofs +on the pavement echoed among the roof-tops of the houses, and beneath +those outstanding sounds was the quiet staccato of endless passing +feet, losing itself in the murmur of the November wind as it searched +among the dead leaves lying in the little park. + +He had remained there only a few minutes, when, as though he had lost +too much time already, the writer returned to the table and resumed his +pen. + +There was a knock at the door, and he looked up with a start. 'Come +in,' he said; and a man-servant entered. + +'Will you be wanting anything, Mr. Selwyn?' + +'No, Smith.' + +'You haven't been out to dinner, sir.' + +'I am not hungry.' + +'Better let me make you a cup of tea with some toast, and perhaps boil +an egg.' + +'N--no, thanks, Smith. Well, perhaps you might make some coffee, with +a little buttered toast, and just leave them here.' + +'Very good, sir.' + +Although less than a year had elapsed since Austin Selwyn had first +dined at Lady Durwent's home, experience, which is more cruel than +time, had marked him as a decade of ordinary life could not have done. +His mind had been subjected to a burning ordeal since summer, and his +drawn features and shadowed eyes showed the signs of inward conflict. + +As he had said of himself, all his previous experiences and education +were but a novitiate in preparation for the great moment when truth +challenged his consciousness and illuminated a path for him to follow. +From an intellectual dilettante, a connoisseur of the many fruits which +grace life's highway, he had become a single-purposed man aflame with +burning idealism. From the sources of heredity the spirit of the +Netherlands fighting against the yoke of Spain, and the instinct of +revolt which lies in every Celtic breast, flowed and mingled with his +own newly awakened passion for world-freedom. + +He had left Roselawn with a formal good-bye taken of the whole family +together. He had avoided the eyes of Elise, and she had made no +attempt to alter the impersonal nature of the parting. Reaching +London, he had been offered these rooms in St. James's Square by an +American, resident in London, whose business compelled him to go to New +York for an indefinite period. As Selwyn felt the need for absolute +aloofness, he had gladly accepted. + +Hardly waiting to unpack his 'grips,' he at once began his battle of +the written word, his crusade against the origin and the fruits of +Ignorance as shown by the war. + +Always a writer of sure technique and facile vocabulary, he let the +intensity of his spirit focus on the subject. He knew that to make his +voice heard above the clamour of war his language must have the +transcendent quality of inspiration. No composer searching for the +_motif_ of a great moving theme ever approached his instrument with +deeper emotional artistry than Selwyn brought to bear on the language +which was to ring out his message. + +He felt that words were potential jewels which, when once the rays of +his mind had played upon them, would be lit with the fire of magic. +Words of destiny like blood-hued rubies; words fraught with ominous +opal warning; words that glittered with the biting brilliance of +diamonds--they were his to link together with thought: he was their +master. The necromancy of language was his to conjure with. + +Day after day, and into the long hours of the night, he wrote, +destroying pages as he read them, refining, changing, rewriting, always +striving for results which would show no signs of construction, but +only breathe with life. When fatigue sounded its warnings he +disregarded them, and spurred himself on with the thought of the +thousands dying daily at the front. He saw no one. His former London +acquaintances were engrossed in affairs of war, and made no attempt to +seek him out. It was his custom to have breakfast and luncheon in his +rooms; at dinner-time he would traverse the streets until he found some +little-used restaurant, and then, selecting a deserted corner, would +eat his meal alone. The walk there and back to his rooms was the only +exercise he permitted himself, except occasionally, when, late at +night, cramped fingers and bloodshot eyes would no longer obey the +lashing of the will, and he would venture out for an hour's stroll +through night-shrouded London. + +Prowling about from square to square, through deserted alleys, and by +slumbering parks, he would feel the cumulative destinies of the +millions of sleeping souls bearing on his consciousness. Solitude in a +metropolis, unlike that of the country, which merely lulls or tends to +the purifying of thought, intensifies the moods of a man like strong +liquor. He who lives alone among millions courts all the mad fancies +that his brain is heir to. Insanity, perversion, incoherent idealism, +fanaticism--these are the offspring of unnatural detachment from one's +fellows, and in turn give birth to the black moods of revolt against +each and every thing that is. + +Living as he did in a sort of ecstasy by reason of his suddenly +realised world-citizenship, Selwyn's incipient feeling of godlikeness +developed still further under the spell of isolation. The fact that he +trod the realm of thought, while all around him men and women grappled +with the problems of war, only accentuated this condition of mind. + +He suffered--that was true. He missed the companionship of kindred +spirits, and sometimes his memory would play truant, recalling the +pleasant glitter of sterling silver and conversational electroplate +which accompanied his former London dinner-parties. He did not dare to +think of Elise at all. She was the intoxicating climax of his past +life. She was the blending of his life's melodies into a brief, tender +nocturne of love that his heart would never hear again. + +In place of all that, he had the spiritual vanity of martyrdom. Few +voyagers but have felt the exultation of mid-ocean: that desire of the +soul to leap the distance to the skies and claim its kinship to the +stars. It comes to men on the Canadian prairies; it throbs in one's +blood when the summit of a mountain is reached; it is borne on the +wings of the twilight harmonies in a lonely forest. + +Unknown to himself, perhaps, that was Selwyn's compensation. From his +hermit's seclusion in the great metropolis he felt the thrill of one +who challenges the gods. + + +II. + +His man-servant had hardly left the room when the bell in the front +hall rang, and Smith reappeared to announce a visitor. + +'Who is it?' asked Selwyn. + +'A Mr. Watson, sir.' + +'I wonder if it can be Doug Watson of Cambridge. Bring him right up.' + +A moment later a young man entered the cosily shaded room, and they met +with the hearty hand-clasp and the sincere good-feeling which come when +a man who is abroad meets a friend who is a fellow-countryman. The +new-comer was younger than Selwyn, and though of lighter complexion and +hair, was unmistakably American in appearance. Like the author, he was +clean-shaven, but there was more repose in the features. His face was +broad, and in the poise of his head and thick neck there was the clear +impression of great physical and mental driving-power. Although still +a student, the mark of the engineer was strongly stamped on him. He +was of the type that spans a great river with a bridge; that glories in +the overcoming of obstacles by sheer domination of will. + +'Well, Doug,' said Selwyn as they drew their chairs up to the fire, +'when did you leave Cambridge?' + +'Last week,' said the other. 'I couldn't stand it any longer with +every one gone. I don't think that one of the bunch I played around +with is there now.' + +'That was a bully week-end I had with you at the university.' + +'We sure had a good time, didn't we?' + +'But how did you know I was here?' + +'Jarvis sent me a note that he and his wife were running hack to New +York, and that you were taking his rooms. Damn fine place, isn't it? +There's a woman's touch all over here. But you're looking precious +seedy.' + +'I feel all right.' + +'You don't look it.' + +'I have been very busy, Doug.' + +'Glad to hear it. Putting over a killing in the literature game?' + +'The biggest thing yet,' said Selwyn, opening a drawer and searching +for the cigars. 'I am making a sincere attempt to write something +which will sway people. Have one of these?' + +'Thanks. I guess I'd better smoke one while I have the chance. It +might get the sergeant-major's goat if he found a buck private smoking +half-crown cigars.' + +'You haven't joined the army?' + +'Not yet; but I shall to-morrow. You can do it by graft, old boy. For +three weeks I've courted a colonel's daughter so as to get next to the +old man, and to-morrow I receive my reward. I am to become a +full-fledged Tommy Atkins.' + +'And the daughter?' + +The younger man grinned and cut off the end of his cigar with a +pocket-knife. 'Can you see the colonel's daughter "walking out" with a +Tommy? My dear Austin, patriotism excuses much, but the social code +must be maintained. I'd render that in Latin if I wasn't so rusty on +languages. What are the chances of your coming along with me tomorrow?' + +Selwyn reached for an ash-tray and matches. + +'America is neutral,' he said quietly. + +'America is not neutral,' replied Watson with a decisiveness that one +would hardly have suspected to lie beneath the calm exterior and the +veneer of good-breeding polished by Cambridge associations--a veneer +that made his occasional lapses into crudity of language seem oddly out +of place. 'The German-Americans, the Irish-Americans, the +Jewish-Americans, the God-knows-who-else-Americans may be neutral, but +the America of Washington and Lincoln, the America of Lee and Grant, +isn't neutral. Not by a long sight.' + +'Doug,' said Selwyn reproachfully, 'you are the last man I thought +would be caught by this flag-waving, drum-beating stuff.' + +The younger man's brows puckered as he looked through the haze of +tobacco-smoke at his host. 'Austin,' he said abruptly, 'you've +changed.' + +'Yes,' said Selwyn thoughtfully. He was going to say more, but, +changing his mind, remained silent. + +'I thought you looked different,' went on Watson. 'What's up?' + +Selwyn's eyes narrowed and his lips and jaw stiffened resolutely. 'I +am writing,' he said, enunciating each word distinctly, 'in the hope of +arousing the slumbering conscience of the world against this war.' + +'Canute the Second,' commented Watson dryly. + +'Doug,' said the other, frowning, 'I deserve better than sarcasm from +you.' + +'I'm sorry,' said Watson with a laugh, 'but I can't just get this new +Austin Selwyn right off the bat. Of course war is wrong--any boob +knows that--but what can you hope to do with writing about it?' + +Selwyn rose to his feet, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, strode +up and down the room. 'What can I hope to do?' he said. 'Remove the +scales from the eyes of the blind; recall to life the spirit of +universal brotherhood; destroy ignorance instead of destroying life.' + +'Some platform!' said Watson, making rings of tobacco-smoke. + +'Take yourself, for example,' said Selwyn vehemently, pausing in his +walk and pointing towards the younger man. 'You are a man of +international experience and university education. On the surface you +have the attributes of a man of thought. You are one that the world +has a right to expect will take the correct stand on great human +questions. Yet the moment the barriers are down and jingoism floods +the earth you give up without a struggle and join the great mass of the +world's driftwood.' + +'H'm,' mused Watson, 'so that's your tack, eh?' + +'I tell you, Doug, you have no right to fight in this war.' + +'Thanks.' + +'You should have the courage to keep out of it. Even assuming that +Germany is wholly in the wrong and Britain completely in the right, +can't you see that when the Kaiser and his advisers said, "Let there be +war," you and I and the millions of men in every country who believe in +justice and Christianity should have risen up and answered, "_You shall +not have war_"?' + +Watson rose to his feet, and crossing to the fireplace, flicked the ash +from his cigar, and leaned lazily against the stone shelf. 'You're a +member of the Royal Automobile Club, aren't you?' he drawled. + +Selwyn nodded and resumed his nervous walk. + +'Take my advice, Austin. Every time you feel that kind of dope +mounting to your head, trot across the road to the club and have a swim +in their tank. You'd be surprised how it would bring you down to +earth.' + +'You talk like a child,' said Selwyn angrily. + +'Well,' retorted the other, 'that's better than talking like an old +woman.' + +With an impatient movement of his shoulders the younger man left the +fireplace, and walking over to the piano, picked up a Hawaiian ukulele +which had been left there by Mrs. Jarvis. Getting the pitch from the +piano, while Selwyn continued his restless march up and down the room, +he studiously occupied himself with tuning the instrument, then +strummed a few chords with his fingers. + +'Sorry not to fit in with your peace-brother-peace stuff,' said Watson +amiably, strumming a recent rag-time melody with a certain amount of +dexterity, 'but I always played you for a real white man at college.' + +'Doug,' said Selwyn, stopping his walk and sitting on the arm of a big +easy-chair, 'if there is a coward in this room, it's you.' + +The haunting music of the ukulele was the only response. + +'Here you are at Cambridge--an American,' went on Selwyn. 'Just +because the set you know enlists with an accompaniment of +tub-thumping'---- + +'That isn't the way the English do things,' said Watson without pausing +in his playing. + +'My dear fellow,' said Selwyn, 'don't let the pose of modesty fool you +over here. They profess to hold up their hands in horror when we get +hold of megaphones and roar about "The Star-Spangled Banner," but what +of the phrases, "The Empire on which the sun never sets," "What we have +we'll hold," "Mistress of the Seas"? Is there so much difference +between the Kaiser's "_Ich und Gott_" and the Englishman's "God of our +far-flung battle-line"? Jingoism! We're amateurs in America compared +with the British--and you're caught by it all.' + +'Nothing of the sort,' said Watson, putting down the ukulele. 'All I +know is that Germany runs amuck and gives a mighty good imitation of +hell let loose. I am not discounting the wonderful bravery of France +and Belgium, but you know that the hope of everything lies right in +this country here. Well, that's good enough for me. I'm a hundred per +cent. American, but right now I'm willing to throw over my citizenship +in the United States and join this Empire that's got the guts to go to +war.' + +'Listen, Doug,' said Selwyn, moving over to the younger man and placing +his hands on his shoulders; 'can't you see that Germany is not the +menace? She is only a symptom of it. War, not Germany, is the real +enemy. I admire your pluck: my regret is that you are so blind. The +whole world is turning murder loose; it is prostituting Christian +civilisation to the war-lust--and you imagine that by slaughter Right +may prevail. The tragic fallacy of the ages has been that men, instead +of destroying evil, have destroyed each other. If every criminal in +the world were executed, would crime end? Then, do you think the +annihilation of this or that army will abolish war?' + +'I haven't your gift of plausible argument,' said Watson, 'and I +suppose that theoretically you are sound in everything you say. Yet, +instinctively, I know that I am doing the right thing.' + +'A woman's reasoning, Doug.' Selwyn relit his cigar, which had gone +out. 'For a few days after the outbreak of war I will admit that I +doubted, myself, and wondered if, after all, there was a universal +heart-beat. Then came the news of the silent march of those thousands +of women down Fifth Avenue, marching to the beat of muffled drums as a +protest against war--not against Germany--higher than that. It was a +symbol that the cry of Rachel for her children still rings through the +centuries. It was the heart of America's women calling to the mothers +of France, Germany, and Britain against this butchery of their sons.' + +Selwyn sank into a chair, and a look of weariness succeeded the +momentary flush of excitement. + +'That ended my last doubt,' he went on quietly. 'I knew then that if I +could summon the necessary language to express the vision I saw, my +message would sound clear above the guns. I completed three +articles--"A Fool There Was," "When Hell Laughed," and "Gods of +Jingoism." I gave them to my London agent, but you would have thought +they held germs of disease. He brought them back to me, and said that +no one would dare to publish them in England. In other words, the +English couldn't stand the truth. I sent them on to New York. This is +my agent's reply.' + +He took a letter from a file on the table and handed it to his guest. +'Read it,' he said. + +With an inscrutable smile the Cambridge-American looked at the paper +and read: + + +'NEW YORK, _10th October 1914_. + +DEAR MR. SELWYN,--You will be pleased to know that I have succeeded in +placing your articles "When Hell Laughed," "A Fool There Was," and +"Gods of Jingoism" with a prominent newspaper syndicate. The price +paid was $800 each, and I herewith remit my cheque for $2160, having +deducted the usual commission. I have every reason to believe that any +further articles you send will meet with a ready market, especially if +they follow along the same lines of exposing the utter futility of war. +As a matter of fact, this syndicate is prepared to pay even a higher +price if these articles, which will be published all over the United +States, meet with the approval they confidently expect. + +'Assuring you of my desire to be of service to you, I remain, yours +very sincerely, + +'S. T. LYONS.' + + +'Very nice, too,' murmured Watson at the conclusion of the letter. +'Who says that high ideals don't pay?' + +'What do you mean?' said Selwyn sternly. The younger man got up from +his chair and looked at his watch. 'Don't get shirty,' he said. 'I +was only thinking that 800 per is a fairly healthy figure for that +dope.' + +'I don't give a damn for the money,' said Selwyn hotly, 'except that it +shows there is a demand in America for the truth. Britain has always +been afraid to face facts. Thank God, America isn't.' + +'Well,' said Watson with a slight yawn, 'it's quite obvious that we're +as far apart as the poles on that question, so I think I'll cut along.' + +'Stay and have a cup of coffee. There's some being made; it will be +here in a minute.' + +'No, thanks. To be brutally frank, Austin, the ozone around here is a +little too rarefied for me. I'm going out to a cab-stand somewhere to +have a sandwich and a cup of tea with any Cockney who hasn't joined the +Citizenship of the World.' + +With the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than before, but with +the unchanging look of determination, Selwyn helped the younger man on +with his coat, and handed him his hat and stick. 'I am sorry you won't +stay,' he said calmly, 'for your abuse and sarcasm are nothing to me. +When I took this step I foresaw the consequences, and, believe me, I +have suffered so much already that the loss of another friend means +very little.' + +The powerfully built young American twirled his hat uncomfortably +between his fingers. 'Look here, Austin,' he said vehemently, 'why in +blazes can't you get all that hot air out of your system? Come +on--meet me to-morrow, and we'll join up together. It'll be all kinds +of experience, you'll get wagon-loads of copy, and when it's all over +you'll feel like a man instead of a sissy.' + +With a tired, patient smile Selwyn put out his hand. 'Good-night, +Doug,' he said. 'I hope you come through all right.' + +When he heard the door close downstairs as Watson went out, Selwyn +re-entered the room. The light of the electric lamp glaring on his +manuscript pained his eyes, and he turned it out, leaving the room in +the dim light of the fire. The man-servant entered with a tray. + +'Will you have the light on, sir?' + +'No, thanks, Smith. Just leave the things on the table.' + +'Thank you, sir. Good-night, sir.' + +'Good-night, Smith.' + +The room was strangely, awesomely quiet. There was no sound from the +deserted square; only the windows shook a little in the breeze. He +reached for the ukulele, and staring dreamily into the fire, picked +softly at the strings until he found four notes that blended +harmoniously. + +The fire slowly faded from his gaze, and in its place, by memory's +alchemy, came the vision of _her_ face--a changing vision, one moment +mocking as when he first met her, turning to a look of pain as when she +spoke of Dick, and then resolving into the wistful tenderness that had +crept into her eyes that evening by the trout-stream--a tenderness that +vanished before the expression of scorn she had shown that fateful +August night. + +The night stole wearily on, but still Selwyn sat in the shadowy +darkness, occasionally strumming the one chord on the strings, like a +worshipper keeping vigil at some heathen shrine and offering the +incense of soft music. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +STRANGE CRAFT. + + +I. + +One slushy night in December Selwyn was returning from a solitary +dinner at a modest Holborn restaurant, when a damp sleet began to fall, +making the sickly street-lamps darker still, and defying the protection +of mufflers and heavy coats. With hat pulled over his eyes and hands +immersed in the pockets of his coat, he made his way through the +throng, while the raucous voices of news-venders cried out the latest +tidings from the front. + +To escape the proximity of the crowds and the nerve-shaking noises of +traffic, he turned down a wide thoroughfare, and eventually emerged on +Fleet Street. Again the seething discontent of rumbling omnibuses and +hurrying crowds irritated him, and crossing to Bouverie Street, where +Mr. Punch looks out on England with his genial satire, he followed its +quiet channel until he reached the Thames. + +In contrast to the throbbing arteries of Holborn and Fleet Street, the +river soothed his nerves and lent tranquillity to his mind. Following +the Embankment, which was shrouded in heavy darkness, he reached the +spot where Cleopatra's Needle, which once looked on the majesty of +ancient Egypt, stands, a sentinel of incongruity, on the edge of +London's river. Giving way to a momentary whim, Selwyn paused, and +finding a spot that was sheltered from the sleet, sat down and leaned +against the monument. + +In the masque of night he could just make out the sketchy forms of a +river-barge and two steamers anchored a few yards out. From their +masts he could see the dull glow of red where a meagre lamp was hung, +and he heard the hoarse voice of a man calling out to some one across +the river. As if in answer, the rattle of a chain came from the deck +of some unseen craft, like a lonely felon in a floating prison. + +The river's mood was so in keeping with his own that Selwyn's senses +experienced a numbing pleasure; the ghostly mariners of the night, the +motionless ships at their moorings, the eerie hissing of the sleet upon +the water, combined to form a drug that left his eyelids heavy with +drowsy contentment. + +How long he had remained there he could not have stated, when from the +steps beneath him, leading towards the water, he heard a man's slovenly +voice. + +'Are you going to stay the night here?' + +As apparently the remark was intended for him, Selwyn leaned forward +and peered in the direction from which the voice had come. At the foot +of the dripping steps he could just make out a huddled figure. + +'If you're putting up here,' went on the speaker, 'we had better pool +resources. I've got a cape, and if you have a coat we can make a +decent shift of it. Two sleep warmer than one on a night like this.' + +In spite of the sluggish manner of speech, Selwyn could detect a faint +intonation which bespoke a man of breeding. He tried to discern the +features, but they were completely hidden beneath the pall of night. + +'Well,' said the voice, 'are you deaf?' + +'I am not staying here for the night,' answered Selwyn. + +'Then why the devil didn't you say that before?' For a moment the +fellow's voice was energised by a touch of brusqueness, but before the +last words were finished it had lapsed into the dull heaviness of +physical lethargy. 'Tell me,' said the stranger, after a silence of +several minutes, 'how is the war going on?' + +'You probably know as much as I.' + +'Not likely. I've been beating back from China for three months in a +more or less derelict tramp. Chased into every blessed little port, +losing our way, and cruising for days without water--we were a fine +family of blackguards, and no mistake. Grog could be had for the +asking, and a scrap for less than that; but I'd as lief not ship on the +_Nancy Hawkins_ again.' + +Selwyn leaned back against the obelisk and speculated idly on the +strange personality hidden in the dark recess of the descending stairs. +It was not difficult to tell that, though he spoke of himself as a +sailor, sailoring was not his calling. There was a subtle cadence of +refinement in his voice, an arresting lilt on certain words, that +remained on the air after the words had ended. + +'Did the Germans get to Paris?' + +'No,' said Selwyn; 'though they were very near it.' + +'Good! How did our chaps do?' + +'I believe they fought very bravely, but were pretty well wiped out.' + +'I suppose so,' said the other quietly--'wiped out, eh? Tell me--did +the Colonies throw in their lot with us?' + +'All of them,' said Selwyn, 'even including South Africa.' + +'What about Canada?' + +'She has over thirty thousand men in England now, ready to cross.' + +'Splendid!' muttered the fellow. 'So they're British after all, in +spite of the Yankees beside them. . . . The cubs didn't leave the old +mother to fight alone, eh? Jove! but it's something to be an +Englishman today, isn't it?' + +Selwyn made no response, but his brow contracted with the thought that +even the flotsam, the dregs thrown up on the river's bank, were imbued +with the overwhelming instinct of jingoism. He glanced up from the +steps, and saw on either side of the obelisk a sphinx, woman-headed, +with the body of a lioness, monuments to the memory of Cleopatra. How +little had been accomplished by humanity since the first sphinx had +gazed upon the sands of Egypt! It had seen the treachery and the lust +of Antony, the slaughter of men by men led blindly to the +carnage. . . . Was not the smile, perhaps, its hoarded knowledge of +the futility of the ages? + +'Can you give me a match?' asked the man from the steps. 'Everything +on me is soaked. I'll come up if you have one, but I don't want to +shift otherwise.' + +'Don't bother,' said Selwyn, getting up and stamping his feet to +restore their warmth. 'I'll bring you one, and then I'll have to move +along.' + +He produced a silver match-box, and feeling his way carefully down the +slippery steps, handed it to the stranger. Acknowledging the action +with a murmur of thanks, the fellow took it, and making a protection +with his cape, struck a match to light his pipe. It flickered for a +moment and flared up, illuminating his features grotesquely. + +Selwyn uttered a sharp ejaculation of surprise and stepped back a pace. +'Durwent!' he cried. + +'Eh?' snapped the other, dropping the match on the wet stone, where it +went out with a faint splutter. 'What's your game?' + +'I could not see you before,' said the American quickly; 'but though I +heard your voice only once, there was something about it I remembered.' + +The Englishman struck a second match, and with a casual air of +indifference lit his pipe. + +'Thanks,' he said, handing the box to the American. Selwyn reached +forward to take it, when suddenly his wrists were caught in a grip of +steel. + +'Damn you!' said Dick Durwent hotly, springing to his feet. 'Are you +tracking me? I didn't come back to be caught like a rat. Are you a +detective? If you are, by George! I'll drown you in the river.' + +'Don't be a fool,' said Selwyn, writhing in pain with the other's +torture. + +'Who are you?' + +'My name is Selwyn. I am an American; a friend of your mother and your +sister.' + +'Where have you seen me before?' + +'At the Cafe Rouge--a year ago.' Beads of perspiration stood out on +Selwyn's head, and his body was faint with the pain of his twisted +wrists. + +'You're not lying?' said Dick Durwent, slowly relaxing his grip, and +peering into the American's eyes. 'No. I seem to remember you +somewhere with Elise. I'm sorry.' He released the clutch completely, +and resumed his seat on the steps. 'I hope I didn't hurt you.' + +'No,' said Selwyn, rubbing each wrist in turn to help to restore the +circulation. + +Durwent laughed grimly. 'It's a wonder I didn't break something,' he +said. 'Once more--I'm sorry. But you can understand the risk I am +running in returning here with the police wanting me. They're not +going to get me if I can help it.' + +'Why didn't you stay away?' + +'With the Old Country at war! Not likely. Do you think I should ever +have gone if I had known what was going to happen?' + +'What are your plans?' + +'Fight,' said the other briefly. 'Somewhere--somehow. I'll get into a +recruiting line about dawn to-morrow. . . . But--what can you tell me +about Elise?' + +'I have neither seen nor heard of her since August,' said Selwyn, +wondering at the calm level of his own voice in spite of tumultuous +heart-beats. + +'Too bad. Then you don't know anything about the rest?' + +'No. I'---- He paused awkwardly. 'I suppose you haven't heard about +your brother?' + +There was no response, but Selwyn could feel the Englishman's eyes +steeled on his face. 'He was killed,' he went on slowly, 'last August.' + +Still there was no sound from the younger son, now heir to his father's +title and estates. For the first time Selwyn caught the ripple of the +river's current eddying about the steps at the bottom. From the great +bridges spanning the river there was the distant thunder of lumbering +traffic. + +'I understand that he died very bravely,' said the American in an +attempt to ease the intensity of the silence. + +'Yes,' muttered Durwent dreamily, 'he would. . . . So old Malcolm is +dead. . . . Somehow, I always looked on his soldiering as a joke. I +never thought that those fellows in the Regulars would ever really go +to war. . . . Yet, when the time came, he was ready, and I was +skulking off to China like a thief in the night.' + +The Englishman's voice was so low that it seemed as if he were talking +more to himself than to his listener. + +'What happened to that swine?' he ejaculated suddenly. 'I mean the one +I almost killed. By any chance, did he die?' + +'I saw in a paragraph last week,' said Selwyn, 'that he was out on +crutches for the first time. The paper also commented on your complete +disappearance.' + +'I wish I had killed him,' said the young man grimly. 'If I ever get a +chance I'll tell you about him. I was drunk at the time--that's what +saved his life. If I had been sober I should have finished him. Well, +it's a damp night, my friend, and I won't keep you any longer from a +decent billet.' + +'Look here, Durwent,' said Selwyn; 'come along to my rooms. You're +soaked to the skin, and I could give you a change and a shakedown for +the night.' + +'Thanks very much; but I'm accustomed to this kind of thing.' + +'You won't be seen,' urged Selwyn. 'I have accepted so much from your +family that you would do me a kindness in coming.' + +'Well, I must say I'm not married to this place. If you don't mind +taking in a disreputable wharf-rat'---- + +'That's the idea,' said Selwyn, helping him to his feet. The +Englishman shivered slightly. + +'You haven't a flask, have you?' he queried. 'I didn't know how cold I +was.' + +'I haven't anything with me,' said the American; 'but I can give you a +whisky and something to eat at my rooms.' + +'Right! Thanks very much.' + +Tucking the cape under his arm, and shaking his waterproof cap to clear +it of water, Dick Durwent followed the American on to the Embankment, +where the two sphinxes of Egypt squatted, silent sentinels. + + +II. + +To avoid the crowds as much as possible, the two men followed the +Embankment, and had reached the Houses of Parliament, intending to make +a detour into St. James's Square, when Selwyn felt a hand upon his +shoulder. He turned quickly about, and Durwent moved off to one side +to be out of the light of a lamp. + +'Sweet son of liberty,' said the new-comer, 'how fares it?' + +It was Johnston Smyth, more airily shabby than ever. Over his head he +held an umbrella in such disrepair that the material hung from the ribs +in shreds. A profuse black tie hid any sign of shirt, and both the +legs of his trousers and the sleeves of his coat seemed to have shrunk +considerably with the damp. + +'How are you?' said Selwyn, shaking hands. + +'Temperamentally on tap; artistically beyond question; gastronomically +unsatisfied.' At this concise statement of his condition, Smyth took +off his hat, gazed at it as if he had been previously unaware of its +existence, and replaced it on the very back of his head. + +'Things are not going too well, then?' said Selwyn, glancing anxiously +towards Durwent, and wondering how he could get rid of the garrulous +artist. + +'Not going well?' Smyth straightened his right leg and relaxed the +left one. 'In the last three weeks a pair of pyjamas, my other coat, +two borrowed umbrellas, and a set of cuff-links have gone. If things +go much better I shall have to live in a tub like Diogenes. But--do +the honours, Selwyn.' + +'I beg your pardon,' said the American. 'Mr--Mr. Sherwood,' he went +on, taking the first name that came to his lips, 'allow me to introduce +Mr. Johnston Smyth.' + +'How are you?' said the artist, making an elaborate bow and seizing the +other's hand. + +'As you may have gathered from my costume and the ventilated condition +of my umbrella, I am not in that state of funds which lends +tranquillity to the mind and a glow of contentment to the bosom. Yet +you see before you a man--if I may be permitted a sporting +expression--who has set the pace to the artists of England. I am glad +to know you. Our mutual friend from Old Glory has done himself proud.' + +With which flourish Smyth left off shaking hands and closed his +umbrella, immediately opening it and putting it up again. Dick Durwent +replaced his hands in his pockets, and Selwyn heard his quivering +breath as he shivered with cold. + +'However,' went on the loquacious artist, 'though my art has been +heralded as a triumph, though it has filled columns of the press, +though my admirers can be found on every page of the directory, I can +only say, like our ancient enemy across the Channel after Austerlitz, +"Another such victory and I am ruined!" . . . Selwyn, shall we indulge +in the erstwhile drop?' + +'Have you a flask?' broke in Durwent, his dull eyes lighting greedily. + +'I think not,' said Smyth, handing the umbrella to Selwyn, and +carefully searching all his pockets. 'I am afraid my valet has +neglected that essential part of a gentleman's wardrobe. But what do +you say, gentlemen, to a short pilgrimage to Archibald's?' + +'No, Smyth,' said the American, putting his hand in Durwent's arm. +'For certain reasons, Mr. Sherwood'---- + +'Ha!' said Smyth, with a dramatic pose of his legs, 'Archibald is the +soul of discretion. Compared to him, an Egyptian mummy is a pithy +paragrapher. _Mes amis_, Archibald's is just across the bridge, and I +can assure you that the Twilight Tinkle, in which I have the honour to +have collaborated, is guaranteed to change the most elongated +countenance of glum into a globular surface of blithesome joy.' + +'No,' began Selwyn impatiently. + +'Let us try it,' said Durwent eagerly. 'I think this chill has got +into my blood. I'd give a lot for a shot of rum or brandy.' + +'We can have anything in my rooms,' protested the American. 'You want +to get your wet things off--and, besides, it's a risk going in there.' + +'No risk--no risk,' said Durwent, laughing foolishly and rubbing his +hands together.--'Where is this hole, Smyth?' + +'Gentlemen,' said the artist, 'after the custom of these military days, +I urge you "fall in."' + +Getting in the centre and adjusting his hat at a precipitate angle on +the extreme left of his head, Smyth took Dick Durwent's arm, and +extending the other to Selwyn, marched the pair across the bridge, +holding the absurd umbrella over each in turn as if it offered some +real resistance to the scurvy downpour. + + +III. + +'This way, gentlemen,' said Smyth, leading them up an alley, across a +court, and into a lane. 'Permit me to welcome you to Archibald's.' + +They entered a dimly lit tavern, where a dozen or so men sat about the +room at little tables. Instead of the usual pictures one sees in such +places, pictures of dancers with expressive legs, and race-horses with +expressive faces, the walls were hung with dusty signed portraits of +authors, artists, and actors, most of whom had attained distinction +during the previous half-century. Sir Henry Irving as Othello held the +place of honour over the bar, with Garrick as his _vis-a-vis_ on the +opposite wall. The divine Sarah cast the spell of her eternal youth on +all who gathered there; and Lewis Waller, with eyes intent on his +sword-handle, seemed oblivious to the close proximity of Lily Langtry +and Ellen Terry, those empresses of the dual realms of Beauty and +Intelligence. Without any companion portrait, the puffy sensuality of +Oscar Wilde held a prominent place. And between the spectacled face of +Rudyard Kipling on one side and the author of _Peter Pan_ on the other, +Forbes-Robertson in the garb of the Melancholy Dane looked out with his +fine nobility of countenance. The room was heavy with tobacco-smoke, +which seemed to have been accumulating for years, and to have darkened +the very beams of the ceiling. Over the floor a liberal coating of +sawdust was sprinkled. + +'Strange place, this,' whispered Johnston Smyth as they took a table in +an unfrequented corner. 'It's an understood thing that the habitues of +Archibald's are trailers in the race of life. If you have a fancy for +human nature, gentlemen, this is the shop to come to. We've got some +queer goods on the shelves--newspaper men with no newspapers to write +for; authors that think out new plots every night and forget 'em by +morning; playwrights that couldn't afford the pit in the Old Vic.--Do +you see that old chap over there?' + +'The little man,' said Selwyn, 'with the strange smile?' + +'That's right. He's been writing a play now for twenty years, but +hasn't had time to finish the last act. "There's no hurry," he says; +"true art will not permit of haste"--and the joke of it is that he has +a cough that'll give him his own curtain long before he ever writes it +on his play. There he goes now.' + +The old playwright had been seized with a paroxysm of coughing that +took his meagre storehouse of breath. Weakly striking at his breast, +he shook and quivered in the clutch of the thing, leaning back +exhausted when it had passed, but never once losing the odd, whimsical +smile. + +'What about something to drink?' broke in Dick Durwent hurriedly, his +eyes narrowing. + +'Directly,' said Smyth, beckoning to the proprietor, a small man, who, +in spite of his years and an oblong head undecorated by a single hair, +appeared strangely fresh and unworried, as if he had been sleeping for +fifty years in a cellar, and had just come up to view the attending +changes. + +'Archibald,' said Smyth, 'these are my friends the Duke of Arkansas and +Sir Plumtree Crabapple.' + +The extraordinary little man smiled toothlessly and fingered his tray. + +'Gentlemen,' said Smyth, 'name your brands.' + +'Give me a double brandy,' said Durwent, blowing on his chilled +fingers. 'Better make it two doubles in a large glass.' + +'Soda, sir?' queried the proprietor in a high-pitched, tranquil voice. + +'No,' said Durwent. 'You can bring a little water in a separate glass.' + +'What is your pleasure, your Grace?' said Smyth, addressing the +American. 'If you will do Archibald and myself the honour of trying +the Twilight Tinkle, it would be an event of importance to us both.' + +'Anything at all,' said Selwyn, sick at heart as he saw the nervous +interlocked fingers of Dick Durwent pressed together with such +intensity that they were left white and bloodless. + +'This is a little slice of London's life,' said Smyth after he had +given the order, crossing his left leg over the right, 'that you +visitors would never find. You hear about the chaps who succeed and +those who come a cropper, but these are the poor beggars who never had +a chance to do either. There's genius in this room, gentlemen, but +it's genius that started swimming up-stream with a millstone round its +neck.' + +With a profound shaking of the head, Smyth straightened his left leg, +and after carefully taking in its shape with partially closed eyes, he +replaced it on its fellow. + +'How do they live?' queried Selwyn. + +'Scavengers,' said Smyth laconically. 'Scavengers to success. Do you +see that fellow there with the poached eyes and a four-days' beard?' + +Selwyn looked to the spot indicated by Smyth, and saw a heavily built +man with a pale, dissipated face, who was fingering an empty glass and +leering cynically with some odd trend of thought. It was a face that +gripped the attention, for written on it was talent--immense talent. +It was a face that openly told its tale of massive, misdirected power +of mentality, fuddled but not destroyed by alcohol. + +'That's Laurence De Foe,' said Smyth; 'a queer case altogether. +Barnardo boy--doesn't know who his parents were, but claims direct +descent from Charlemagne. He's never really drunk, but no one ever saw +him sober. If he wanted to, he could write better than any man in +London. Last year, when the critics scored Welland's play _Salvage_ +for its rotten climax, the author himself came to De Foe. All night +they sat in his stuffy room, and when Welland went away he had a play +that made his name for ever. I could tell you of two of the heavy +artillery among the London leader-writers who always bring their big +stuff to De Foe before they fire it. Last July, when the war was +making its preliminary bow, and Hemphill was thundering those +editorials of his that warned the Old Lion he would have to wake up and +clean the jungle, Hemphill was simply the errand urchin. There's the +man who wrote "To Arms, England!" one day after the Austrian note to +Serbia. Hemphill got the credit and the money--but Laurence De Foe did +it.' + +Smyth's stream of narrative, which carried considerably less +impedimenta of caricature and persiflage than was usual with him, came +to an end with the arrival of two Twilight Tinkles and a generous-sized +tumbler, more than half-full of brandy. After an elaborate search of +his coat and trousers pockets to locate a five-pound note, Smyth was +forced to allow Selwyn to pay for the refreshment, promising to knock +him up before six next morning and repay him. + +'Well, gentlemen,' said the conscientious artist, 'here's success to +crime!' + +Not waiting to honour the misanthropic toast, Dick Durwent had reached +greedily for his glass, and poured its contents down his throat. With +a heavy sigh of gratification, he leaned back in his chair, and the +pallor of his cheeks showing beneath the weather-beaten surface of tan +was flecked with patches of colour. For an instant only his eyes went +yellow, as on the night at the Cafe Rouge; but the horrible glare died +out, and was succeeded by the calm, blue tranquillity that had reigned +before. + +'By St. George!' said Smyth admiringly, 'but we have no amateur with +us, Selwyn.' + +The solitary figure of De Foe, who had been watching them, left his +table, and lurching over to them, stood swaying unevenly. + +'_Bon soir_, gentlemen,' he said, speaking with the deep sonorousness +which comes of long saturation of the vocal cords with undiluted +spirits, 'I think one or two of these faces are new to Archibald's. Am +I right?' + +'Yes, sir,' said Smyth, rising. 'Permit me, Mr. De Foe, to +introduce'---- + +The writer stopped him with a slow, majestic movement of the hand. +'What care I who they are?' he said heavily. 'Names mean +nothing--pretty labels on empty vessels. By what right do these +gentlemen invade the sanctity of Archibald's?' He drew a chair near +them and sat down sullenly, hanging his arm over the back. 'Do I see +aright?' he queried thickly, opening his eyes with difficulty, and +revealing their lustreless shade. 'There are three of you? Humph! +The one I know--a clumsy dauber in a smudgy world.' + +Smyth nodded delightedly to his companions to indicate that the +compliment was intended for him. + +'Or your friends,' went on the heavy resonant voice, 'one has the face +of a dreamer. Come, sir, tell me of these dreams that are keeping you +awake of nights. I am descended from Joseph by the line of +Charlemagne, and I have it in my power to interpret them. Are you a +writer?' + +'I am,' said Selwyn calmly. + +'You are not English. You haven't the leathery composure of our race.' + +'I am an American.' + +'I thought as much. You show the smug complacency of your nation. How +dare you write, sir? What do you know of life?' + +'We have learned something on that subject,' said Selwyn with a slight +smile, 'even over there. You see, we have the mistakes of your older +countries by which we can profit.' + +'Bah!' said the other contemptuously. 'Cant--platitudes--words! Since +when have either nations or individuals learned from the mistakes of +others? Take you three. Which of you lies closest to life? Which of +you has drunk experience to the dregs? The dauber?--You, +author-dreamer, fired by the passion of a robin for a cherry?--No, +neither of you. . . . That boy there--that youngster with the blue +eyes of a girl; he is the one to teach--not you. He has the stamp of +failure on him. Welcome, sir--the Prince of Failures welcomes you to +Archibald's.' + +He lurched forward and extended an unsteady hand to Dick Durwent, who +rose slowly from his chair to take it. As Selwyn watched the two men +standing with clasped hands over the table, he felt his heart-strings +contract with pain. + +Although separated by more than thirty years, there was a cruel +similarity in the pair--in the half-bravado, half-timorous poise of the +head; in the droop of sensuous lips; in the dark hair of each, matted +over pallid foreheads. It was as if De Foe had summoned some black art +to show the future held in the lap of the gods for the youngest Durwent. + +'My boy,' said De Foe drunkenly, but with a moving tenderness, 'life +has refused me much, but it has left me the power to read a man's soul +in his eyes. The world brands you as a beaten man--and by men's +standards it is right. But Laurence De Foe can read beyond those +sea-blue eyes of yours; he it is who knows that behind them lies the +gallant soul of a gallant gentleman. End your days in a gutter or on +the gibbet--what matters it where the actor sleeps when the drama is +done?--but to-night you have done great honour to the Prince of +Failures by letting him grasp your hand.' + +He slowly released the young man's hand, and turned wearily away as +Durwent sank into his chair, his eyes staring into filmy space. Moving +clumsily across the room, De Foe reached the bar and ordered a drink. +When it had been poured out for him he turned about, and, leaning back +lazily, looked around the room, with his eyes almost hidden by the +close contraction of thick, black eyelashes. Such was the unique power +of his personality that the disjointed threads of conversation at the +various tables wound to a single end as if by a signal. + +'_Mes amis_,' said De Foe--and his voice was low and sonorous--'I see +before me many, like myself, who have left behind them futures where +other men left only pasts. I see before me many, like myself, who had +the gift of creating exquisite, soul-stirring works of art and +literature. But because we were not content to be mere mouthy clowns, +with pen or brush, jabbering about the play of life, we have paid the +penalty for thinking we could be both subject and painter, author and +actor. Because we chose to live, we have failed. The world goes on +applauding its successful charlatans, its puny-visioned authors pouring +their thoughts of sawdust in the reeking trough of popularity; while +we, who know the taste of every bitter herb in all experience--we are +thrust aside as failures. . . . But the gift of prophecy is on me +to-night. There is a youth here who has a soul capable of scaling +heights where none of us could follow--and a soul that could sink to +depths that few of us have known. He is one of us, and he has chosen +to fight for England. I can see the glory of his death written in his +eyes. Gentlemen--you who are adrift with uncharted destinies--drink to +the boy of the sea-blue eyes. May he die worthy of himself and of us.' + +Throughout the dimly lit room every one rose to his feet, incoherently +echoing the last words of the speaker. . . . Still with the filmy +wistfulness about his eyes and a tired, weary smile, Dick Durwent sat +in his chair beating a listless tattoo on the table with his hand. + +From across the room came the sound of the old playwright's hacking +cough. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +DICK DURWENT. + + +I. + +Late that night Selwyn lay in his bed and listened to the softened +tones of his two guests conversing in the living-room, Johnston Smyth +having conceived such an attachment to his newly found friend that it +was quite impossible to persuade him to leave. At his own request, +blankets had been spread for Durwent on the floor, and after a hot bath +he had rolled up for the night close to the fire. Johnston Smyth had +also disdained the offer of a bed and ensconced himself on the couch, +where he lay on his back and uttered vagrant philosophies on a vast +number of subjects. + +Wishing his strangely assorted guests a good night's repose, Selwyn had +retired to his own room shortly after midnight, but, tired as he was, +sleep refused to come. Like an etcher planning a series of scenes to +be depicted, his mind summoned the various incidents of the night in a +tedious cycle. The huddled figure at the foot of Cleopatra's steps; +the fantastic airiness of Smyth with his shredded umbrella; the smoky +atmosphere of Archibald's, with its strange gathering of derelicts; the +two chance acquaintances spending the night in the adjoining room--what +vivid, disjointed cameos they were! If there was such a thing as Fate, +what meaning could there be in their having met? Or was their meeting +as purposeless as that of which some poet had once written--two pieces +of plank-wood touching in mid-ocean and drifting eternally? + +It seemed that the low voices of the others had been going on for more +than an hour when the sense of absolute stillness told Selwyn that he +must have fallen asleep for an interval. He listened for their voices, +but nothing could be heard except the sleet driven against the windows, +and a far-away clock striking the hour of two. + +Wondering if his visitors were comfortable, he rose from his bed, and +creeping softly to the living-room door, opened it enough to look in. + +Smyth's heavy breathing, not made any lighter by his having his head +completely covered by bed-clothes, indicated that the futurist was in +the realm of Morpheus. Durwent was curled up cosily by the fire, the +blankets over him rising and subsiding slightly, conforming to his +deep, tranquil breaths. + +In the light of the fire, and with the warm glow of the skin caused by +its heat and the refreshing bath, the pallor of dissipation had left +the boy's face. In the musing curve of his full-blooded lips and in +the corners of his closed eyes there was just the suggestion of a +smile--the smile of a child tired from play. There was such refinement +in the delicate nostrils dilating almost imperceptibly with the intake +of each breath, and such spiritual smoothness in his brow contrasting +with the glowing tincture of his face, that to the man looking down on +him he seemed like a youth of some idyl, who could never have known the +invasion of one sordid thought. + +A feeling of infinite compassion came over Selwyn. He rebelled against +the cruelty of vice that could fasten its claws on anything so fine, +when there was so much human decay to feed upon. + +The eyelids parted a little, and Selwyn stepped back towards the door. + +'Hullo, Selwyn, old boy!' murmured Durwent dreamily. 'Is it time to +get up?' + +'No,' whispered Selwyn. 'I didn't mean to wake you.' + +Durwent smiled deprecatingly and reached sleepily for the other's hand. +'It's awfully decent of you to take me in like this,' he said. + +There was a simplicity in his gesture, a child-like sincerity in his +voice, that made Selwyn accept the hand-clasp, unable to utter the +words which came to his lips. + +'Selwyn,' said Dick, keeping his face turned towards the fire, 'are you +likely to see Elise soon?' + +'I hardly think so,' said the American, kneeling down and stirring the +coals with the poker. + +'If you do, please don't tell her I've come back. She thinks I'm in +the Orient somewhere, and if she knew I was joining up she would worry. +I suppose I shall always be "Boy-blue" to her, and never anything +older.' + +Selwyn replaced the poker and sat down on a cushion that was on the +floor. + +'It may be a rotten thing to say,' resumed the younger man, speaking +slowly, 'but she was more of a mother to me than my mother was. As far +back as I can remember she was the one person who believed in me. The +rest never did. When I was a kid at prep. school and brought home bad +reports, every one seemed to think me an outsider--that I wasn't +conforming--and I began to believe it. Only Elise never changed. She +was the one of the whole family who didn't want me to be somebody or +something else. You can hardly believe what that meant to me in those +days. It was a little world I lived in, but to my youngster's eyes it +looked as if everything and every person were on one side, doubting me, +and Elise was on the other, believing in me. . . . I'm not whining, +Selwyn, or saying that any one's to blame for my life except myself, +but I do believe that if Elise and I had been kept together I might not +have turned out such a rotter. Sometimes, too, I wonder if it wouldn't +have been better for her. She never made many friends--and looking +back, I think the poor little girl has had a lonely time of it.' + +He relapsed into silence and shifted his head wearily on the pillow. +Johnston Smyth murmured something muffled and unintelligible in his +sleep. Selwyn placed some new lumps of coal on the fire, the flames +licking them eagerly as the sharp crackle of escaping gases punctured +the sleep-laden air. + +'It does sound rather like whining to say it,' said Durwent without +opening his eyes, 'but after I was rusticated at Cambridge I tried to +travel straight. If I had gone then to the Colonies I might have made +a man of myself, but I hung around too long, and got mixed up with one +of the rottenest sets in London. I went awfully low, Selwyn, but booze +had me by the neck, and my conscience wasn't working very hard either. +And then another woman helped me. She was one of those who aren't +admitted among decent people. She came of poor family, and had made a +fairly good name for herself on the stage, and was absolutely straight +until she met that blackguard Moorewell about three years ago.' + +'The man you nearly killed?' + +'Yes. At any rate, she and I fell in love with each other. I know +it's all damned sordid, but we were both outcasts, and, as that chap +said to-night, it's the people who have failed who lie closest to life. +Once more a woman believed in me, and I believed in a woman. We +planned to get married. We were going away under another name, to make +a new world for ourselves. For weeks I never touched a drop, and it +seemed at last that I could see--just a little light ahead. You don't +know what that means, Selwyn, when a man is absolutely down.' + +The smile had died out in the speaker's face and given way to a cold, +gray mist of pain. + +'Moorewell heard about it,' went on Durwent, 'and though the blackguard +had discarded her, he grew jealous, and began his devilry again. She +did not tell me, but I know for a long time she was as true to me as I +was to her. Then they went to Paris--I believe he promised to marry +her there. A week later I got a letter from her, begging forgiveness. +He had left her, she said, and she was going away where I should never +find her again. My first impulse was to follow her--and then I started +to drink. God! what nights those were! I waited my time. I watched +Moorewell until one night I knew he was alone. I forced an entrance, +and caught him in his library. . . . As I said before, I was drunk; +and that's what saved his life. I thought at the time he was dead; and +having no money, I caught a late train, and hid all night and next day +in the woods at Roselawn. Three times I saw Elise, but she was never +alone; but that night I called her with a cry of the night-jar which +she had taught me. She came out, and I told her as much as I could; +and with her necklace I raised some money and got away.' + +Again the murmured words came to a close. Selwyn searched his mind for +some comment to make, but none would come. He could not offer sympathy +or condolence--Durwent wasn't seeking that. It was impossible to +condemn, or to suggest a new start in life, because the young fellow +was not trying to justify his actions. Yet it seemed such a tragedy to +look helplessly on without one effort to change the floating course of +the driftwood. + +'Durwent,' he said haltingly, 'it's not too late for you to start over +again. If you will go to America, I have friends there who would give +you every opening and'---- + +'You're an awfully decent chap,' said Durwent, once more touching +Selwyn's hand with his; 'but I shall not come back from the war. I +felt _that_ the moment I stepped on shore yesterday. I felt it again +when that fellow spoke to me in the tavern. It may come soon, or it +may be a long time, but this is the end.' + +'No, no,' said Selwyn earnestly; 'all that's the effect of your chill. +It has left you depressed.' + +'You don't understand,' said the lad, smiling with closed eyes, 'or you +wouldn't say that. I said before that it means a lot, when a man's +down, to be able to see a little light ahead. . . . I can see that now +again. . . . It doesn't matter what I've been or done--I can go out +there now, and die like a gentleman. War gives us poor devils that +chance. . . . You know what I mean. My life has been no damned use to +any one, Selwyn, but they won't care about that in France. To die in +the trenches--that's my last chance to do something . . . to do +something that counts.' + +Selwyn leaned over and patted the lad on his shoulder. 'Dick,' he +said, 'wait until the morning, and all these fancies will clear from +your mind. We'll discuss everything then together.' + +The musing smile lingered again about the boy's lips. + +'You're tired out, old man,' went on the American. 'I shouldn't have +waked you. Good-night.' + +The other stopped him from rising by catching his arm with his hand. +'Do you mind,' said Dick, his eyes opening wide, 'just staying here +until I go to sleep? . . . There are all sorts of wild things going +through my head to-night . . . waves pounding, pounding, pounding. It +never stops, Selwyn. . . . And I seem to hear shouts a long way +off--like smugglers landing their stuff in the dark. I'm an awful +idiot to talk like this, old boy, but I've lost my courage a bit.' + +And so for nearly half-an-hour the American remained watching by the +lad as sleep hovered about and gradually settled on him. + +As Selwyn quietly stole from the room the City's clocks were striking +three. + + +II. + +It was after nine o'clock when Selwyn woke from a deep, refreshing +sleep. Hurrying into the other room, he found no sign of his guests. + +'When did these gentlemen leave?' he asked of his servant, who had +answered his ring. + +'It must have been about six o'clock, sir. I heard the door open and +shut then.' + +'Why didn't you call me?' + +'I wasn't wanting to disturb you, sir. It's the first good sleep +you've had for a long time.' + +It was true. The sinking of himself into the personality of another +man had released the fetters of his intensive egotism. For a whole +night he had forgotten, or at least neglected, his world-mission in +simple solicitude for one who had fallen by the wayside. + +After the stimulus of a cold shower and a hearty breakfast, he resumed +his crusade against the entrenched forces of Ignorance, but in spite of +the utmost effort in concentration, the memory of the lonely figure by +the Thames intruded constantly on his mind. It was not only that Dick +was the brother of Elise--although Selwyn's longing for her had become +a dull pain that was never completely buried beneath his thoughts; nor +was it merely the unconscious charm possessed by the boy, a charm that +seized on the very heart-strings. To the American the real cruelty of +the thing lay in the existence of a Society that could first debase so +fine a creature, and then make no effort to retrieve or to atone for +its crime. + +Putting aside the day's work he had planned, he flung his mind into the +arena of England's social conditions. Exerting to the full his gift of +mental discipline, he rejected the promptings of prejudice and of +sentiment, and brought his sense of analysis to bear on his subject +with the cold, callous detachment of a scientist studying some cosmic +phenomenon. + +For more than an hour his brain skirmished for an opening, until, +spreading the blank sheets of paper before him, he wrote: 'THE ISLAND +OF DARKNESS.' Tilting his chair back, he surveyed the title critically. + +'Yes,' he said aloud, squaring his shoulders resolutely, 'I have +generalised long enough. Without malice, but without restraint, I will +trace the contribution of Britain towards the world's debacle.' + +With gathering rapidity and intensity he covered page after page with +finely worded paragraphs. He summoned the facts of history, and +churning them with his conceptions of humanity's duty to humanity, +poured out a flood of ideas, from which he chose the best. Infatuated +by the richness of the stream, he created such a powerful sequence of +facts that the British began to loom up as a reactionary tribe fighting +a rearguard action throughout the ages against the advancing hosts of +enlightenment. The Island of Britain, the 'Old Country,' as its people +called it, began to shape in his eyes like a hundred-taloned monster +sprawling over the whole earth. This was the nation which had forced +opium on China, ruled India by tyranny, blustered and bullied America +into rebellion, conquered South Africa at the behest of business +interests. . . . Those and endless others were the counts against +Britain in the open court of history. + +And if those had been her crimes in the international sphere, what +better record could she show in the management of human affairs at +home? She had clung to the feudal idea of class distinction, only +surrendering a few outposts reluctantly to the imperious onslaught of +time; she had maintained a system of public schools which produced +first-class snobs and third-rate scholars; she had ignored the rights +of women until in very desperation they had resorted to the crudities +of violence in order to achieve some outlet for the pent-up uselessness +and directionlessness of their sex; she had tolerated vile living +conditions for the poor, and had forced men and women to work under +conditions which were degrading and an insult to their Maker. . . . +One by one these dragons reared their heads and fell to the gleaming +Excalibur of the author. + +Selwyn made one vital error--he mistook facts for truth. He forgot +that a sequence of facts, each one absolutely accurate in itself, may, +when pieced together, create a fabric of falsehood. + +There were many contributing influences to Austin Selwyn's denunciation +of Britain that morning. Although he had ordered sentiment and +prejudice to leave his mind unclogged, these two passions cannot be +dismissed by mere will-power. + +He was keenly moved by the meeting with Dick Durwent, and, almost +unknown to himself, his love for Elise was a smouldering fever whose +fumes mounted to his head. Love is so overpowering that it overlaps +the confines of hate, and his hunger for her was mixed with an almost +savage desire to conquer her, force homage from her. And she was +English! + +In addition to these undercurrents affecting his thoughts, there was +the dislike towards England which lies dormant in so many American +breasts. Gloss it over as they will, no political _entente_ can do +away with the mutual dislike of Americans and Englishmen. It is a +thing which cannot be eradicated in a day, but will die the sooner for +exposure to the light, being an ugly growth of swampy prejudice and +evil-smelling provincialism that needs the darkness and the damp for +life. + +Mingling these subconscious elements with those of logic and reason, +Selwyn wrote for two days, almost without an hour's rest, and when it +was finished 'The Island of Darkness' was a powerful, vivid, passionate +arraignment of England, the heart of the British Empire. It was +clever, full of big thoughts, and glowed with the genius of a man who +had made language his slave. + +It lacked only one ingredient, a simple thing at best--_Truth_. + +But that is the tragedy of idealism, which studies the world as a +crystal-gazer reading the forces of destiny in a piece of glass. + + +III. + +A week later, in the early afternoon, Selwyn was going up Whitehall, +when he heard the sound of pipes, and turned with the crowd to gaze. +With rhythmic pomposity a pipe-major was twirling a staff, while a band +of pipes and drums blared out a Scottish battle-song on the frosty air. +Following them in formation of fours were five or six hundred men in +civilian clothes, attested recruits on their way to training-centres. + +With the intellectual appetite of the psychologist, Selwyn looked +searchingly at the faces of the strangely assorted crowd, and the +contrasts offered would have satisfied the most rapacious student of +human nature. + +His eyes seized on one well-built, well-groomed man of thirty odd years +whose slight stoop and cultured air of tolerance marked him a ''Varsity +man' as plainly as cap and gown could have done. Just behind him a +costermonger in a riot of buttons was indulging in philosophic quips of +a cheerfully vulgar nature. A few yards back a massive labourer with +clear untroubled eye and powerful muscles stood out like a superior +being to the three who were alongside. Half-way a poet marched. What +form his poesy took--whether he expressed beauty in words, or, catching +the music of the western wind, wove it into a melody, or whether he +just dreamed and never told of what he dreamed--it matters not; he was +a poet. His step, his dreamy eyes, the poise of his forehead raised +slightly towards the skies, were things which showed his personality as +clearly as the mighty forearm or the plethora of buttons bespoke the +labourer or the costermonger. + +With a great sense of pity the American watched them pass, while the +skirl of the bagpipes lessened in the distance. In spite of the +dissimilarity of type, there was a community of shyness that embraced +almost every one--a silent plea not to be mistaken for heroes. As they +passed the Horse Guards and saw the two sentries astride their horses +still as statues (their glorious trappings, breastplates, helmets, and +swords, the embodiment of spectacular militarism) an apologetic, +humorous smile was on the face of almost every recruit. The sight was +a familiar enough one to the large majority, but in the presence of +those grim, superb cavalrymen they felt the self-conscious +embarrassment of small boys about to enter a room full of their elders. + +In its own way it was Britain's mob saying to Britain's Regulars that +it was to be hoped no one would think they imagined themselves soldiers +in the real sense of the word. + +But to Selwyn the noise of their marching feet on the roadway had the +ominous sound of the roll of the tumbrils, bearing their victims to the +guillotine. + +The procession was nearly ended and he was about to turn away, when his +eye was attracted by a peculiar pair of knees encased in trousers that +were much too tight, working jerkily from side to side as their owner +marched. Although his face was almost hidden by reason of his vagabond +hat being completely on one side, it was not difficult to recognise the +futurist, Johnston Smyth. He appeared to be in rare form, as an +admiring group of fellow-recruits in his immediate vicinity were almost +doubled up with laughter, and even the grizzled Highland sergeant +marching sternly in the rear had such difficulty in suppressing a loud +guffaw that his face was a mottled purple. + +And marching beside the humorist, with a slouch-cap low over his eyes, +was the lad who was known as 'Boy-blue.' + + +IV. + +_As this tale of the parts men play unfolds itself a passing thought +comes._ + +_From the standpoint of fairness, economics, and efficiency, +conscription should have been Britain's first move. But nations, like +individuals, have great moments that reveal the inner character and +leave beacons blazing on the hills of history._ + +_In a war in which every nation was the loser, Britain can at least +reclaim from the wreckage the memory of that glorious hour when the +Angelus of patriotism rang over the Empire, and men of every creed, +pursuit, and condition dropped their tasks and sank themselves in the +great consecration of service._ + +_What is the paltry glory of a bloody victory or the passing sting of a +defeat?_ + +_War is base, senseless, and degrading--that was one truth that Selwyn +did recognise; but what he failed to see was that in the midst of all +the foulness there lay some glorious gems. When battles are forgotten +and war is remembered as a hideous anachronism of the past, our +children and their children will bow in reverence to that stone set +high in Britain's diadem_--THEY SERVED. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE FEMININE TOUCH. + + +I. + +In a small South Kensington flat a young woman was seated before a +mirror, adding to her beauty with those artifices which are supposed to +lure the male to helpless capitulation. Two candles gave a shadowy, +mysterious charm to the reflection--a quality somewhat lacking in the +original--and it was impossible for its owner to look on the picture of +pensive eyelashes, radiant eyes, and warm cheeks without a murmur of +admiration. She smiled once to estimate the exact amount of teeth that +should be shown; she leaned forward and looked yearningly, soulfully, +into the brown eyes in the glass. With a sigh of satisfaction she lit a +cigarette from one of the candles, and leaning back, watched the smoke +passing across the face of the reflection. + +'Hello, Elise!' said the beauty casually, as the door opened and Elise +Durwent entered, dressed in the uniform of an ambulance-driver. + +'You'll find the room standing on its head, but chuck those things +anywhere.' + +'Going out again?' asked the new-comer, stepping over several feminine +garments that had been thrown on the floor. + +'Just a dance up the street--in Jimmy Goodall's studio. Listen, old +thing; do put on some water. I'm croaking for a cup of tea.' + +Without any comment, Elise went into the adjoining room, used as a +kitchen, while the voluptuary dabbed clouds of powder over her neck and +shoulders. With a tired listlessness, Elise returned and sank into a +chair, from the back of which an underskirt was hanging disconsolately. + +'You didn't do the breakfast-dishes, Marian.' + +'Didn't I? Oh, well, they're not very dirty. Had a rotten day at the +garage?' + +'It was rather long.' + +'You're a chump for doing it. Working for your country's all very well, +but wait until after the war and see if the girl who's spoiled her hands +has a chance with the men. Why don't you wangle leave like I do? You +can pull old Huggin's leg any day in the week--and he likes it. All you +have to do is to lean on his shoulder and say you won't give up--you +simply _won't_. Aren't men a scream?' + +'I suppose so,' said Elise after a pause. 'Who is your cavalier +to-night?' + +'Horry.' + +'Horace Maynard?' + +'Absolutely. You know him, don't you, Elise?' + +'Yes. He was visiting at our place in the country when war broke out. +When is he going back to France?' + +'Monday.' + +'He's been dancing pretty constant attendance, hasn't he?' + +'Ra-_ther_. He says if I don't write him every day after he buzzes back, +he'll stick his head over the parapet and spoil a Hun bullet.' + +'Those things come easily to Horace.' + +'Oh, do they? I notice he doesn't go to you to say them.' + +'No,' said Elise with a smile, 'that is so. Think of the thrills I miss.' + +'Now don't get sarcastic. If Horry wants to make a fuss over me, that's +his business.' + +'What about your husband at the front?' + +'My husband and I understand each other perfectly,' said the girl, +glancing critically at the picture of two parted, carmined lips in the +mirror. 'He wouldn't want me to be lonely. He knows I have my boy +friends, and he's not such a fool as to be jealous. You want to wake up, +Elise--things have changed. A woman who sticks at home and meets her +darling hubby at night with half-a-dozen squalling kids and a pair of +carpet slippers--no thanks! The war has shown that women are going to +have just as much liberty as the men. We've taken it; and I tell you the +men like us all the better for it.' + +'You think that because every man you meet kisses you.' + +'Elise!' + +'Good heavens! Don't they?' + +'Well, I never! Anyhow, what if they do? Is there any harm in it?' + +Elise smiled and shook her head. 'None, my dear Marian,' she said. +'There is no possible harm in it. There's no harm in anything now. The +old idea that a woman's purity and modesty---- But what's the use of +saying that to you? Of course you're right. Who wants to stay at home +with a lot of little brats, if you can have a dozen men a week standing +you dinners, and mauling you like a bargee, and'---- + +'Elise!' + +'There's the water getting near the boil.' Elise rose with a strange +little laugh and looked at a yellow silk stocking which dangled over the +side of a wicker table. As if trying to solve a conundrum, she glanced +from it to the shapely form of the young woman at her toilet. 'When the +war's over,' she said ruminatingly, 'and our men find what kind of girls +they married when they were on leave'---- + +'There you go again. For Heaven's sake, Elise, if you can't attract men +yourself, don't nag a girl who does. You're positively sexless. The way +you talk'---- + +'There's the water. When Horace comes I don't want to see him.' + +'I guess he can live without it,' said the patriotic, leave-wangling +war-worker, with an angry glance at Elise as she disappeared into the +kitchen. Catching a glimpse of the frown in the mirror, she checked it, +and once more leaned towards the reflection as if she would kiss the +alluring lips that beckoned coaxingly in the glass. + + +II. + +Marian had gone, radiant, and exulting in her radiance; and Elise sat by +the meagre fire trying to take interest in a novel. Although she had +found it easy to be confident and self-assertive when the other girl was +there, the solitariness of the flat and the silence of the street +undermined her courage. The dragging minutes, the meaningless +pages. . . . She wished that even Marian were there in all her +complacent vulgarity. + +Although she had drawn many people to her, the passing of the years had +left Elise practically friendless. It was easy for her to attract with +her gift of intense personality; but the very quality that attracted was +the one that eventually repelled. The impossibility of forgetting +herself, of losing herself in the intimacies of friendship, made her own +personality a thing which was stifling her life. Since she was a child +she had craved for understanding and sympathy, but nature and her +upbringing had made it impossible for her to accept them when they were +offered. Lacking the power of self-expression, and consequently +self-forgetfulness, her own individuality oppressed her. It was like an +iron mask which she could not remove, and which no one could penetrate. + +Going to London soon after the outbreak of war, she had been taken on the +strength of a motor-ambulance garage; and to be near her work she had +leased a small flat in Park Walk, sharing it by turn with various +companion drivers. Although her desire to be of service was the prime +reason of her action, it was with unconcealed joy that she had thrown off +the restraints of home. Freedom of action, a respite from the petty +gossip of her mother's set, had loomed up as the portals to a new life. +The thought of sharing the discomforts and the privileges of patriotic +work with young women who had broken the shackles of convention was a +prospect that thrilled her. + +To her amazement, she discovered that the feminine nature alters little +with environment. It was true, her new companions had broken with all +the previous conceptions of decorum, but they had used their newly found +liberty to enslave themselves still further with the idea of +man-conquest. Officers--callow, heroic, squint-eyed, supercilious, +superb, of any and every Allied country--officers were the quarry, and +they the hunters. To love or not to love? Their talks, their thoughts, +their lives concerned little else. They fought for the attentions of men +like starving sparrows for crumbs. + +In such an environment, where she had hoped to lose the burden of +persistent self, Elise found emancipation farther away than ever. The +_abandon_ of the others first created a reversion to prudery in her +breast, and then developed a cynical indifference. The others treated +her with friendly insouciance. Had she been ill, or had she met with an +accident, there was probably not one who wouldn't have proved herself a +'ministering angel.' As it was, they largely ignored her, indulging the +instinct of inhumanity which so often is woman's attitude towards woman. + +So she sat alone, the Elise who had always been so resolute and +independent, feeling very small and pathetic, yearning for far-off +things--utterly lonesome, and a little inclined to cry. + +The words of the book grew dim, and her thoughts drifted towards Austin +Selwyn. He had been contemptible! A pacifist! His idealism was a pose +to try to ennoble utter cowardice. At a time when men's blood ran high +he had prated of brotherhood, and peace, and suggested that the infamous +Hun had a soul! How she hated him! . . . And when she had finished with +that thought her heart's yearning returned more cruelly than before. + +That evening by the trout-stream when she had seen Dick hiding in the +bush, Selwyn had caught her when she had almost swooned. He had gripped +her arms with his hands, and, quivering with emotion, had lent his +strength to her. At the memory the crimson of her cheeks deepened. They +had been so close to each other. His burning eyes, his lips trembling +with passion--what strange impulse in her heart had made her thrill with +a heavenly exhilaration? For that instant while his hands had gripped +her a glorious vista had appeared before her eyes--a world of dreams +where the tyranny of self could not enter. For that one instant her +whole soul had leaped in response to his strong tenderness. + +She tried to dismiss the recollection as an admission of cowardice +engendered of the night's mood. But she could not do away with the +memories which lingered obstinately. Not since the days when Dick had +offered his blind loyalty had any one tried to understand her as Austin +Selwyn had done. She was grateful for that. She might even have valued +his friendship if he had not been so despicable that awful night. To +insult her with his talk of pacifism, and then, heedless of her +intensity, to propose to her! She could not forgive him for that. She +was glad her words had stung him! + +Minutes passed. The fire would not answer to any attention, but sulkily +lived out its little hour. The evening seemed interminable. + +It was shortly after ten o'clock when there was a knock at the door, and +Elise hurried to open it, thinking there might be a message from the +garage. + +'It's only me, Elise,' said a familiar voice. + +'Oh!--Horace,' she laughed. 'What's the trouble? Did Marian leave +anything behind?' + +'No. I was just absolutely fed up; and when she told me you were here +alone, I thought I'd jolly well come down and talk to you.' + +'Good! Come in. You mustn't stay long, though. Please don't notice +this horrible mess.' + +In sheer pleasure at the breaking of the solitude, her vivacity made her +eyes sparkle with life. Her sentences were crisp and rapid, and as she +led the young officer to a seat by the fire it would have been difficult +for Elise herself to think that a few minutes before she had been +helplessly and lonesomely on the brink of tears. + +'How is the dance going on up the street?' she asked, as Maynard inserted +a cigarette between his lips without lighting it. + +'It's a poisonous affair.' + +'Poor boy!' + +'I'm fed up, Elise. I'm--I'm _gorged_. When I heard you were down here, +I said, "By George! I'll go and see her. I can talk to Elise. She's +got some sense."' + +'What a thing to say about a woman!' + +'Don't chaff me, Elise. I can't stand it. I'm frightfully +upset--really.' + +'What has Marian been doing to you?'' + +'Nothing, except making a blithering ass of me. You know, I was +fearfully keen on her, and I've passed up all sorts of fluff so as to do +the decent; but when that brute Heckles-Jennings advised me to-night to +be sure and sit out a dance with Marian because she was such hot stuff, +he said . . . Of course, he's an outsider and all that, and I told him +to go to hell--but you don't blame me for feeling cut up, do you, Elise?' + +'Didn't you know she was that kind?' + +'What kind?' + +'Oh--the--the universal kisser--the complete osculator--the'---- + +'I say'---- + +'But surely you don't think you are the only one she has made a fool of? +To begin with, there's her husband in France--a brother-officer, Horace.' + +Maynard wriggled uneasily, sliding down the chair in the movement until +his knees were very near his chin. + +'He's a rotter, Elise.' + +'Do you know him?' + +'N-no. But Marian says he absolutely neglects her. He's one of those +cold-blooded fish--doesn't understand her a bit. After all'--the extra +vehemence shifted him another few inches, so that he presented an +extraordinary figure, like the hump of a dromedary--'women must have +sympathy. They need it. They'---- + +'Oh, Horace!' Elise burst into a laugh. 'Are there really some of you +left? How refreshing! Why don't you put it on your card: "2nd Lt. +Horace Maynard, Grenadier Guards, soul-mate by appointment"?' + +'I wish you wouldn't laugh like that.' + +He was a picture of such utter dejection that, checking her mirth, Elise +laid her hand on his arm. 'Sorry, Horace. You know, if it hadn't been +for this war we might never have known how _nice_ our men are. I only +wonder how it is that the women have the heart to make such fools of you.' + +The unhappy warrior pulled himself up to a fairly upright posture and +tapped his cigarette against the palm of his hand. 'I'm glad,' he said +with a slight blush, 'that you don't quite put me down as a rotter. I +don't know what's come over us all. Before the war, when you met a +chap's wife--well, hang it all!--she was his wife, and that was all there +was about it. But nowadays'---- + +'I know, Horace, it's a miserable business altogether--partly war +hysteria, and partly the fact that women can't stand independence, I +suppose. Marian's a splendid type of the female war-shirker. You know +she's married; yet, because she lets you maul her'---- + +'I say, Elise!' + +'----and she murmurs pathetically that her husband in France neglects +her--at least, that's what she tells you. When she was dressing to-night +Marian said that she and her husband absolutely trusted each other.' + +'By Jove! You don't mean that?' + +'She also said that all men, including you, were a scream. Probably she +considers you a perfect shriek.' + +Trembling with indignation, Maynard suddenly collapsed like a punctured +balloon and relapsed dejectedly into his recumbent attitude. 'What an +ass I have been!' he lamented sorrowfully. 'What a sublime ass! And +Marian--the little devil!' + +'Rubbish!' + +'Eh? I suppose you think I am an idiot for---- Well, perhaps you're +right.' + +For a couple of minutes nothing was said, and the melancholy lover, with +his chin resting on his chest, ruminated over his unhappy affair. + +'Hang it all!' he said at last, hesitatingly, 'when a chap gets leave +from the front he's--he's sort of woman-hungry. You don't know what it +feels like, after getting away from all that mud and corruption, to hear +a girl's voice--one of our own. It goes to the head like bubbly. It's +a--a dream come true. There's just the two things in your life--eight or +nine months in the trenches; then a fortnight with the company of women +again. It's awfully soppy to talk like this'---- + +'No, it isn't, Horace. It's the biggest compliment ever paid our women. +I only wish we could try to be what you boys picture us. That's what +makes me feel like drowning Marian every few days. Horace, I'm proud of +you.' + +She patted his hand which was grasping the arm of the chair, and he +blushed a hearty red. + +'Elise!' He sat bolt-upright. 'By gad! I never knew it until this +minute. _You_ are the woman I ought to marry. You are far too good and +clever and all that; but, by Jove! I could do something in the world if I +had you to work for. Don't stop me, Elise. I am serious. I should have +known all along'---- + +'Horace, Horace!' Hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry, Elise put +her hand over his mouth and checked the amorous torrent. 'You're a +perfect dear,' she said, 'and I'm ever so grateful'---- + +'But'---- + +'But you mustn't be silly. This is only the reaction from Marian.' + +'It's nothing of the sort,' he blurted, putting aside her hand. 'I--I +really do--I love you. You're different from any other girl I ever met.' + +'My dear, you mustn't say such things. You know you don't love me as you +will the right girl when you meet her.' + +He got out of the chair by getting over its arm. 'I beg your pardon, +Elise,' he said, not without a certain shy dignity. 'I meant every word +I said--but I suppose there's some one else.' + +'Only a dream-man, Horace.' + +'What about that American?' + +'What--American?' Her agitation was something she could hardly have +explained. + +'That author-fellow at Roselawn. He was frightfully keen on you. I +remember half-a-dozen times when he would be talking to us, and if you +came in he'd go as mum as an oyster, and just follow you with his eyes. +Is _he_ the chap, Elise?' + +'Good gracious!'--she forced a laugh-- 'why, I don't even know where he +is.' + +'Don't you? He's in London; I can tell you that much. Last month in +France I ran across that Doosenberry-Jewdrop fellow---you know--the +futurist artist.' + +'Do you mean Johnston Smyth?' + +'That's the chap.' + +'I didn't know he was in France.' + +'Rather. I thought your brother would have told you.' + +'_My brother?_' There was not a vestige of colour in her cheeks. 'What +do you mean?' + +Maynard scratched the back of his head. 'Smyth told me,' he said, +wondering at the cause of her agitation, 'that Dick and he enlisted +together some months ago. By Jove! I remember now. He told me that +this American fellow put them up at his rooms in St. James's Square one +night. Smyth didn't know who Dick was until they got to France. He was +travelling under the name of Sherlock, or Shylock, or Sherwood'---- + +'I--I thought Dick was in China.' She wrung her hands nervously. 'You +didn't see him?' + +'No. That's all I know about him, except that he was transferred to some +other battalion than Dinglederry Smyth's.' + +She went over to a table and took a piece of notepaper from a drawer. +'Mr. Selwyn used to belong to the R.A.C.,' she said quickly. 'Would you +do me a favour, Horace dear?' + +He murmured his desire to be of service in any capacity. Hesitating a +moment, she wrote hurriedly: + + +'_4th March 1915_, 2lA PARK WALK. + +'DEAR MR. SELWYN,--Will you please come and see me as soon as you can? I +am not on night-duty this week.--Yours sincerely, ELISE DURWENT.' + + +She sealed the envelope and handed it to Maynard. 'Please find out from +the R.A.C. where he is, and ask them to send this note to him. I am +ever so grateful, Horace.' + +'I suppose,' he said, looking at the envelope, 'that this means the--the +finish of my chances?' + +She answered the question by wishing him good luck in France, but there +was a strange tremulousness in the softly spoken words. + +He put out his hand shyly. 'Good-night, old girl,' he said, smiling with +a sort of rueful boyishness. + +She took his proffered hand, and then, obeying an impulse, stooped and +pressed her burning cheek against it. 'Good-night, Horace,' she said +softly. 'I hope you'll come back safe to be a fine husband for some nice +girl.' + +When he had gone, and his footsteps died away, she returned to the table. +Burying her face in her hands, she fought back the tears which surged to +the surface. Her love for Dick, her own loneliness, a mad joy in the +thought of seeing Selwyn again, a motherly pity for Maynard, a fury +towards Marian, an incomprehensible yearning--she felt that her heart was +bursting, but could not have said herself whether it was with grief or +with joy. + + +III. + +From the time that Austin Selwyn received the note there was nothing else +in his mind--as in Elise's--but the coming meeting. As playwrights +planning a scene, each went through the encounter in prospect a dozen +times, reading into it the play of emotions which was almost certain to +dominate the affair. Although completely ignorant of her motive in +writing to him, Selwyn invented a hundred different reasons--only to +discard them all. Nor was Elise more able to satisfy herself as to the +outcome of the meeting. It was not his actions that were difficult to +forecast, but her own. Would her dislike of him be intensified? Would +she experience again the momentary rapture of that summer afternoon? + +It was fortunate that another lover had appeared for Marian, so that the +desertion of Maynard did not leave her moping untidily about the place. +She was one of those women who are so singularly lacking in +self-sufficiency that, except when in the company of men, they are as +fiat as champagne from which the sparkle has departed. + +It so happened, therefore, that Elise was again alone the following +evening, dreading Selwyn's arrival, yet impatient of delay. + +A few minutes after eight she heard him knock, and going to the street +door, opened it for him. The night was a vapourish, miserable one, +blurring his figure into indistinctness, and when he spoke his voice was +hoarse, as though the damp tendrils of the mist had penetrated to his +throat. + +Answering something to his greeting, she led him through the hall into +the sitting-room. He paused as he entered. Without looking back, she +crossed to the fireplace, and kneeling down, stirred the fire. + +'May I help?' + +'No, thanks. I prefer to do it.' + +Her answer had followed so swiftly on his question that he stopped in the +act of stepping forward. She looked over her shoulder with a swift, +searching glance. + +His face was a tired gray, and the silk scarf thrown about his neck +looked oddly vivid against the black evening-clothes and overcoat. But +if his face suggested weariness, his eyes were alive with dynamic force. +The intensity of the man's personality strangely moved Elise. She felt +the presence of a mind and a body vibrating with tremendous purpose--a +man who drew vitality from others, yet charged them in return with his +own greater store. + +To her he seemed to have divorced himself from type--he had lost even the +usual characteristics of race. With the thought, she wondered how far +his solitary life had effected the transition, if his idealism had +brought him loneliness. + +'Won't you sit down?' she said hesitatingly. + +He acquiesced, and took a seat in the chair from which Maynard had run +the emotional gamut the previous evening. + +'You look pale,' she said, drawing a chair near the fire. 'I hope you +have not been unwell.' + +'No--no; it is merely that I have been so little out of doors. I could +not gather from your note what kind of work you were engaged in. I see +you are an ambulance-driver. I congratulate you.' + +His voice conveyed nothing but polite interest in an obvious situation. +With over-sensitive apprehension she listened for any suggestion of +sarcasm that lay behind his words, but she could detect nothing beyond +mere impersonal courtesy--that, and a far-off weariness, as of one who +has passed the borders of fatigue. + +'I wrote to your mother,' he said, 'when I heard of your elder brother's +death. It must have been a great grief to you all.' + +She did not answer him. His manner was so cold that he might have been +deliberately disposing of a number of prepared comments rendered +imperative by the laws of polite intercourse. + +'Why didn't you let us know you had seen Dick?' she said abruptly. + +'Then--you have heard?' He raised his eyebrows in surprise. + +'Only last night, by the merest accident. He might have been killed in +France, and we should never have known about it.' Her words were +resentful and swift. 'Will you please tell me about him?' + +Omitting the incident of Archibald's tavern, Selwyn told of the chance +meeting with Dick, the encounter with Johnston Smyth, the night at the +rooms in St. James's Square, and the subsequent glimpse of them marching +through Whitehall. + +'Your brother asked me to say nothing,' he said calmly. 'That is one of +the reasons why I did not let you know.' + +'Had Dick changed at all?' she asked, trying to make her words as +listless as his. 'I wish that you would tell me something that he said. +You must know more about him than just'---- + +'I don't think he had changed,' said Selwyn; and for the first time his +voice was tinged with compassion. 'He spoke of you with a kind of +worship. I suppose you know how he idolises you.' + +His dark eyes looked at her through partially closed eyelashes, but only +the manner in which her fingers compressed the fold of her skirt betrayed +the turmoil of her feelings. + +'Is that all you can tell me?' + +'That is all.' He made no attempt to elaborate the conversation or to +introduce any new theme. The scene which had promised to be so dramatic +was actually dragging with uncomfortable silences. She waited long +enough for him to speak, but when he remained silent--it was a sardonic +silence to her--she rose from the chair with the manner of one who has +determined to bring an interview to a close. + +'Thank you for coming so promptly,' she said. 'I am most grateful for +your kindness to Dick--and I know enough of the law to realise that you +were taking a risk in hiding him.' + +'It was nothing at all,' he said. He looked at her for an indication +that her questions were at an end. + +'I hope you will be able to get a taxi,' she ventured helplessly. + +For the first time he smiled, and she reddened with mortification. He +had been so cool and unyielding, so bloodless, that he had forced her to +a disadvantage. She knew he could not be ignorant of the strain of the +affair on her, yet he had done nothing to ease it. If she could have +projected her mind into his, she would have seen that his conduct was as +inexplicable to himself as to her. He knew he was hurting her. Perhaps +it was because her warm lips and crimson cheeks were creating a torment +in his soul that he could not curb the impulse to wound her. It may have +been the subconscious knowledge that where one can hurt one can conquer +that dominated his actions. While she resented the invulnerability with +which he guarded his own feelings, it is probable that any different +attitude on his part would have brought forth a more active unkindness on +hers. When men and women love, strange paradoxes are found. + +They went to the door together, and in the brighter light of the hall +Elise saw for the first time that he was considerably thinner, and that +his brow was like marble. She felt a little stab of pity for him, +forgetting his own lack of sympathy towards herself; she caught a faint +realisation of what he must have endured for it to have marked him so +indelibly. + +'Don't you think,' she said, 'that you ought to go to the seaside for a +while? You are not looking at all well.' + +His lips grew firmer, but there was a curious look in his eyes as he +turned towards her. 'I have work to do here,' he said crisply. + +'I know--but surely'---- + +'In London,' he said--and there was a suggestion of the fanatic's ecstasy +in his voice--'it is impossible to forget life. I don't want my mind +soothed or lulled. You can always hear the challenge of the human +destiny in London. It cries out to you everywhere. It'---- He had held +his head erect, and had spoken louder than was his custom; but, checking +himself, he made a queer, dramatic gesture with his hands. + +The fire of his spirit swept over her. Once more she stood close to him, +as she had done so many times in her thoughts. She did not know whether +she loved or detested him. She was fascinated--trembling--longing for +him to force her to surrender in his arms--knowing that she would hate +him if he did. She gave a little cry as Selwyn, almost as if he read her +conflicting thoughts, took her arms with his hands once more. + +'If we had both been English,' he said, and his voice was so parched that +it seemed to have been scorched by his spirit, 'or if we had met in other +times than these, things might have been different. I know what you +think of me for the work I am doing, but it would be as impossible for me +to give it up as for you to think as I do. We come of two different +worlds, you and I. . . . I am sorry we have met to-night. For me, at +least, it has reopened old wounds. And it is all so useless.' + +She made no reply; but as his eyes were lowered to her face, and he saw +once more the trembling lips, her unsoiled womanliness, her whole vivid, +lonely, gripping charm, a look of suffering crossed his face. He +realised the hopelessness of it all, but the admission was like tearing +out a thread which had been woven into the whole scheme of his being. + +'We both have our work to do,' he said wearily, letting his arms drop to +his side. + +'Good-night.' + +She answered, but did not give him her hand. With a repetition of the +farewell he left her, and she walked musingly into the room again. She +felt a flush of anger at his daring to say their friendship was +impossible, when she had not even suggested that it could ever be +resumed. His vanity knew no bounds. She was furious at having let him +hold her as he did--even more furious with the knowledge that she would +not have resisted if he had kissed her. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +MOONLIGHT. + + +I. + +Two summers came and went, and the little park in St. James's Square +rested once more beneath its covering of autumn leaves. + +Selwyn, who was still occupying the rooms of the absent New Yorker, was +looking over his morning mail. The thinning of his hair at the temples +was more pronounced, and here and there was the warning of premature +gray. He had lost flesh, but his face had steadied into a set +grimness, and his mouth had the firmness of one who had fought a long +uphill fight. + +Looking through a heavy mail, he extracted a letter from his New York +agent: + + +'_Oct. 2nd, 1916_. + +'DEAR MR. SELWYN,--You will be interested to know that the +extraordinary sensation caused by your writings in America has resulted +in the sale of them to Mr. J. V. Schneider for foreign rights. They +have been translated, and will shortly appear in the press of Spain, +Norway, Holland, and the various states of South America. + +'It would be impossible for me to forward more than a small percentage +of the comments of our press on your work, but in my whole literary +experience I don't remember any writer who has caused such a storm of +comment on every appearance as you. As you can see by the selection I +have made, the papers are by no means entirely favourable. I feel that +you should know that you are openly accused of pro-Germanism, of being +a conscientious objector, &c., &c.--all of which, of course, means +excellent advertisement. + +'I have had many inquiries as to whether you would care to conduct a +lecture-tour. There is a Mr. C. B. Benjamin, who is financially +interested in Mr. Schneider's affairs, and who is willing to pay you +almost anything within reason, if you care to state your terms. + +'Of course, the most discussed article of all is "The Island of +Darkness," in which you accuse Britain of contributing so largely +towards bringing about the present war. The German-American +organisations and the strong Irish section here were especially +jubilant, and every one concedes that it has awakened a great deal of +resentment against Britain that had been forgotten since the beginning +of the war. Even your detractors admit that "The Island of Darkness" +will live as a literary classic. + +'Your first ten articles have been made into book form under the title +_America's War_, and are selling most satisfactorily. The first +edition has gone into 40,000 copies. The attached clipping from the +_New York Express_ is fairly typical of the reception given the book by +the pro-Entente press. + +'Your September statement will go forward to-morrow with cheque +covering foreign rights, royalties, &c.--I am, Mr. Selwyn, yours very +truly, + +S. T. LYONS.' + + +With hardly more than a merely casual interest, Selwyn glanced at the +clipping attached to the letter. It was from the editorial page of the +_Express_. + + +'THE MENACE OF SELWYN. + +'In 1912 Austin Selwyn was known as a younger member of New York's +writing fraternity. He had done one or two good things and several +mediocre ones, but promised to reach the doubtful altitude of +best-sellership without difficulty. To-day Selwyn is the mouthpiece of +neutrality. He has preached it in a language that will not permit of +indifference. He has succeeded in surrounding his doubtful idealism +with a vigour that commands attention, even if not respect. Right in +the heart of London he is turning out insidious propaganda which is +being seized upon by every neutral American who has his own reasons for +wanting us to keep out of war. It would be absurd to say that one +man's writing could in itself sway a great nation, but nevertheless it +is a vehicle which is being used to the limit by every pro-German +agency in this free land. + +'Truly we are a strange people. We have a President who deliberately +cuts his political throat with a phrase, "too proud to fight;" but +because we think Wilson is a greater man than he himself knows, we sew +up the cut and send him back for another term. In the same way, +although every red-blooded American has in his heart been at war with +Germany since the _Lusitania_, we permit this man Selwyn to go on +cocaining the conscience of our people until our flag, which we have +loved to honour, is beginning to be a thing of shame. He should be +brought back from England and interned here with a few "neutral" +German-Americans. He certainly can write, and perhaps from confinement +he might give us a second _De Profundis_. His book, _America's War_, +which is now on the market, is a series of arguments showing that +America is at war with the causes of the war. It is a nice conceit. +Our advice is to add the book to your library--but don't read it for +ten years. In that time it will be interesting to see the work of a +brilliant mind prostituted (and in this we are placing the most +charitable construction on Mr. Selwyn's motives) by intellectual +perversion.' + + +Without the expression of his face undergoing any change, Selwyn +carefully placed the letter on his file, and took from the envelope a +number of American press clippings. Choosing them at random, he +contented himself with reading the headings: + + +'Author of "The Island of Darkness" again hits out.' + +'"Britain has thrived on European medievalism," says Austin Selwyn.' + +'More hot air from the super-Selwyn.' + +'Selwyn is the spokesman for enlightened America.' + +'Masterful thinker, masterful writer, is the author of "The Island of +Darkness."' + +'What does Selwyn receive from Germany?' + +'The arch-hypocrite of American letters.' + + +With a shrug of his shoulders he threw them to one side. 'A pack of +hounds,' he muttered, 'howling at the moon!' + +He leaned back in his chair and pondered over the written word that +could leap such spaces and carry his message into countries which he +had never seen. It was with a deeper emotion than just the author's +pleasure at recognition that he visualised his ancestor leaving Holland +for the New World, and the strange trend of events which was resulting +in the emigrant's descendant sending back to the Netherlands his call +to higher and world citizenship. + +Still ruminating over the power that had become his, he noticed a +letter, on the envelope of which was written 'On Active Service,' and +breaking the seal, found that it was from Douglas Watson, written at a +British hospital in France. As Selwyn read it the impassiveness of his +face gave way to a look of trouble. For the first time in many months +there was the quick play of expression about his lips and his eyes that +had always differentiated him from those about him. + +At the conclusion of the letter he put it down, and crossing to the +French windows, leaned against them, while his fingers drummed +nervously on the glass. With a gesture of impatience, as though he +resented its having been written at all, he picked up the letter once +more, and turning the pages, quickly reached the part which had +affected him so: + + +'They tell me I'm going to lose my arm, and that I'm out of it; but +they're wrong. I'm going back to America just as soon as they will let +me, and I'm going to tell them at home what this war is about. And, +what's more, I'm going to tell them what war is. It isn't great armies +moving wonderfully forward "as if on parade," as some of these +newspaper fellows tell you. It's a putrid, rotten business. After +Loos dead men and horses rotted for days in the sun. War's not a thing +of glory; it's rats and vermin and filth and murder. Three weeks ago I +killed a German. He hadn't a chance to get his gun up before I stuck +him with my bayonet like a pig. As he fell his helmet rolled off; he +was about eighteen, with sort of golden hair, and light, light blue +eyes. I've been through some hell, Austin, but when I saw his face I +cried like a kid. To you that's another argument for our remaining +neutral. To me that poor little Fritzie is the very reason America +should have been in it from the first. Can't you see that this +Prussian outfit is not only murdering Frenchmen and Russians and +Britishers, but is murdering her own men as well? If America had been +in the war it would have been over now, and every day she holds back +means so many more of the best men in the world dead. + +'For the love of Mike, Austin, clear your brains. I have seen your +stuff in American papers sent over to me, and it's vile rot. Tomorrow +they're going to take my left arm from me, but'---- + + +Selwyn crumpled the letter in his hand and hurled it into the +fireplace. Plunging his hands into his pockets, he paced the room as +he had done that night when Watson had called to tell him he was going +to enlist. He was seized with an incoherent fury at it all--the +inhumanity of it--the degradation of the whole thing. But through the +formless cloud of his thoughts there gleamed the one incessant phrase +'about eighteen, with sort of golden hair, and light, light blue eyes.' +Why should that groove his consciousness so deeply? He had heard, +unmoved, of the death of Malcolm Durwent. A month ago he had read how +Captain Fensome, of Lady Durwent's house-party, had been killed trying +to rescue his servant in No Man's Land. The sight of Dick Durwent and +Johnston Smyth marching away had been only a spur to more intensive +writing. Then why should that haltingly worded sentence lie like ice +against his heart? + +A sharp pain shot through his head. + +Stopping his walk, he leaned once more against the windows, and rested +his hot face on the grateful coolness of the glass. + +What, he questioned, had he accomplished, after all? He had gained the +ears of millions, but the war was no nearer a close. America was +neutral--that was true. _But why was America neutral_? Had he falsely +idealised his own country? Was her aloofness from the world-war the +result of a passionate, overwhelming realisation of her God-deputed +destiny, as he had imagined? + +Hitherto he had paid no attention to the writings in the English press +chronicling the passing of the world's gold reserve from London to New +York. He had ignored the evidence of nation-wide prosperity from the +Atlantic coast to San Francisco. All such things he had dismissed as +unavoidable, unsought material results of America's spiritual +neutrality. + +Yet, while the wheels of prosperity were turning at such a pitch, there +was a boy lying dead--about eighteen. + +He beat his fist into the palm of his hand. Who was this Schneider who +had purchased the foreign rights of his articles? What sort of a man +was this Benjamin who wanted him to lecture? Were they, as he had +supposed, men of vision who wished to co-operate in achieving the great +unison of Right? . . . Or were they . . . ? + +The thought was hideous. Was it possible that those writings, born of +his mental torture, robbing him of every friend he valued---was it +thinkable that they had been used for gross purposes? + +His fingers again played rapidly against the windows as he wrestled +with the sudden ugly suspicion. At last, utterly exhausted, he sank +into a chair. + +'There is only one thing I can do,' he said decisively; 'return to +America at once. If, as I have thought, her neutrality is in tune with +the highest; if my fellow-countrymen are imbued with such a spirit of +infinite mercifulness that from them will flow the healing streams to +cure the wounds of bleeding Europe, then I have carried a lamp whose +light reflects the face of God. . . . But if . . .' + + +II. + +That night a glorious moonlight silvered the roof-tops of old London, +touching its jumbled architecture with fantastic beauty. + +Vagrant towers and angular church spires, uninspired statuary, and +weary, smoke-darkened trees shed their garments of commonplaceness and +shimmered like the mosques and turrets of an enchanted city. + +It was one of those nights that are sent to remind us that Beauty still +lives; a night to challenge our mad whirl of bargaining and barter, to +urge us to raise our eyes from the grubbing crawling of avarice; a +night to awaken old memories, and to stir the pent-up streams of poetry +lying asleep in every breast. + +It was a moonlight that descended on Old England's troubled heart as a +benediction. Her rivers were glimmering paths winding about the +country-side; her villages and her heavy-scented country lanes shared +its caress with open meadows and murky cities. The sea, binding the +little islands in its turbulent immensity, drew the night's beauty to +its bosom, and the spray of foam rising from the surf was a shower of +star-dust leaping towards the moon. + +As a weary traveller drinks thirstily at a pool, Selwyn wandered about +the streets trembling with emotion in the breathless ecstasy of the +night. All day the conjured picture of the German boy, guilty of no +crime save blind devotion to his Fatherland, had haunted him like the +eyes of a murdered man. It had robbed him of the power of constructive +thought, and stopped his writing with the decisiveness of a sword +descending on his wrist; it had made the food on his table tasteless, +and given him a dread of the solitude of his rooms. + +With nerves that contracted at every untoward sound, he had gone out at +dark, and gradually the peacefulness of the night had soothed and +calmed him as the dew of dusk cools the earth after the heat of a +summer's day. The familiar strains of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' +came to his mind, and as he walked he idly traced the different +movements of the music in the moods of the evening's witchery. + +His steps, like his thoughts, pursued a tangled course, and led him +into the prosaic brick-and-mortar monotony of Bayswater, but the moon +was lavish in her generosity, and strewed his path with glinting +strands of light. He paused in a quiet square to get his bearings. +There was the heavy smell of fallen leaves from the gardens on the +other side of the railing. + +His mind was still playing the slow minor theme of the sonata's opening +movement. + +Suddenly the air was shattered with the noise of warning guns. As if +released by a single switch, a dozen searchlights sprang into the sky, +crossing and blending in a swerving glare. There was the piercing +warning of bugles and the heavy booming of maroons. + +Dazed by the swiftness of it all, Selwyn leaned against the low iron +fence. A Boy Scout whirled past on a bicycle, his bugle hoarse and +discordant; an old woman went whimpering by, hatless, with a protesting +child in her arms; an ambulance, clanging its gong, rounded the corner +with reckless speed; a mightier searchlight than any of the rest swept +the sky in great circles. + +It seemed only a matter of seconds, though in reality much longer, when +the American heard a faint crunching sound in the distance, followed by +a deep, sullen thud. In rapid succession came three more, and the +defence guns of London burst into action, changing the night into +Bedlam. + +Still motionless, he listened, awe-struck, to the din of the weird +battle with an unseen foe, when the cough of exploding shells in the +air grew appreciably louder. Raising a whirlwind of dust, a motor-car +swerved dangerously into the square, and with a roar sped up the road, +carrying to their aerodrome three British airmen. As if driven by a +gale, the battle of the clouds drew nearer and nearer, the whine and +barking of the shells like a pack of dogs trying to repel some monster +of the jungle. + +There was a deafening crash. + +Selwyn was thrown against the fence, and almost buried beneath a shower +of bricks and earth. With the roar of a rushing waterfall in his ears, +and blood streaming from a wound in his forehead, he sank to his knees +and for a moment lost consciousness; but mastering his weakness, he +staggered to his feet and looked wildly about. On the other side of +the street, where there had been a house, there was a smoking chaos. A +little crowd had appeared seemingly from the bowels of the earth, and a +woman was shrieking horribly. + +Selwyn wiped his forehead with his hand and gazed stupidly at the blood +which covered it. The roar of the guns was louder than it had yet +been, and from a few streets away came the crunch of another bomb, +shaking the earth with the explosion which followed. Selwyn leaned +impotently against a post, and a quivering uncanny laugh broke from his +lips. It was all so grotesque, so absurd. _Human beings didn't do +such things_. It was a joke--a mad jest. He held his sides and +laughed with uncontrollable mirth. + +Then his whole form became rigid in a moment. A man had shouted +something. There had been a wail from the crowd. Was it true? Some +one buried alive--a little girl? + +With a blasphemous curse Selwyn staggered across the road, and roughly +elbowing his way through the crowd, found a solitary policeman, +hindered by willing undirected hands, digging in the wreckage as best +he could, while a couple of women sobbed hysterically and wrung their +hands. + +Those who watched hardly knew what had happened, but they saw a +hatless, bleeding figure appear, and, with the incision of snapping +hawsers, question the policeman and the weeping women. They heard his +quick commands to the men, and saw him jump into the centre of the +debris. With the instantaneous recognition of leadership his helpers +threw themselves to the work with a frenzy of determination. Lifting, +digging, pulling with torn hands and arms that ached with strain, they +struggled furiously towards the spot where it was known the girl was +buried. They were like starving wolves tearing at the carcass of an +animal. They yelled encouragement and fought through the chaos--and +still the stranger whipped them into madness with his cries. + +There in the smoke and the choking dust Austin Selwyn shook in the grip +of the greatest emotion he had ever known. A girl was buried--a +fraction of a minute might mean her life. With hot breath and pulses +on fire, he led his unknown men through the choking ruins to where one +small, insignificant life was imprisoned. + +An ambulance sounded its gong, and drew up by the crowd; the storm of +the guns continued to rage, but no one thought of anything but the +fight of those men for one little unknown life. + +At last. They had uncovered a great iron beam which had struck on a +stone foundation and left a zone of safety beneath. Eager hands +gripped it, dragging it aside, and there was hardly a sound as the +stranger lowered himself into the chasm. A minute later he reappeared, +and a shout broke from the on-lookers. He was carrying a little form +in his arms. + +But when they saw his face a hush fell on every one. She was dead. + +Wild-eyed, with the ghastliness of his pallor showing through the +coating of grime and blood, Austin Selwyn stood in the ruins of the +house, and the brown tresses of the child fell over his arm. + +Kind hands were stretched out to him, but he shook them off angrily. +He was talking to the thing in his arms--muttering, crooning something. + +Slowly he raised his face to the skies. In the glare of the +searchlights a gleaming, silvery, oblong-shaped form was turning and +twisting like an animal at bay. They heard him catch his breath; then +their blood was frozen by a choking, heart-rending cry of agony and +rage. + +It was the cry of the crystal-gazer who has had his crystal dashed from +his eyes, to find himself in the presence of murder. + +The crowd remained mute, helpless and frightened at the spectacle, when +they saw a young woman approach him, a woman dressed in the khaki +uniform of an ambulance-driver. + +'Austin,' they heard her say, 'please give me the little girl.' + +With a stupid smile he handed the child to her, and she laid it on a +stretcher. When it had been taken away, she took Selwyn's hand in hers +and led him, unresisting, to the ambulance. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +ELISE. + + +I. + +Early next morning, in a large military ward of a London hospital, Austin +Selwyn woke from a sleep that had been charged with black dreams, and +tried to recall the events leading to his present whereabouts. + +By slow, tortuous process he reconstructed the previous evening as far as +the moment when he had heard the warning guns. After that the incidents +grew dim, and faded into incoherency. He seemed to remember rushing +somewhere in a motor-vehicle. He distinctly recalled seeing a policeman +in Trafalgar Square. Yes, that was very clear--quite the most vivid +impression of the whole night, indeed. He would hang on to that +policeman. + +With the care of an Arctic explorer establishing his base before going +farther into _terra incognita_, he attached the threads of his wandering +mind to that limb of the law, and groped in all the directions of his +memory's compass. But it was of no avail. Tired out with the futile +efforts he had made, his bandaged head sank back in the pillows, and the +vivid policeman in Trafalgar Square was reluctantly surrendered as a +negligible means of solution. + +When he next awoke, it was to the sound of many voices. There were two +that were very close--one on either side of him, in fact. Affecting +sleep, Selwyn listened carefully. + +'Wot's that you say, Jock?' said a Cockney voice to his left. + +'I was obsairvin',' said the other, 'that Number Twenty-sax is occupied +this mornin'.' + +'Ow yus, so it is. I was 'oping as 'ow me pal the Duke of Mudturtle +would buy the plice next to mine. But he don't look a bad cove, wot you +can see under 'is farncy 'ead-dress.' + +'I dinna think he can be o' the airmy. His skin's as pale as a lassie in +love.' + +'In the army, Jock? Don't hinsult 'im. 'E's one of the 'eroes of the +'ome front--hindispensibles, they calls 'em.' + +'Weel, weel, noo,' expostulated the Scot, 'dinna tak' ower muckle for +granted. We canna a' gang tae the war, or wha wud bide at hame an' mak +the whusky?' + +'By Gar!' said a third patient opposite, sitting up suddenly and speaking +in the disjointed but strangely musical dialect of the French-Canadian, +'she is a wise feller, dis Scoachie.' + +'Bonn swoir, Frenchy,' said the Cockney graciously. ''Ow alley you +mantenongs?' + +'Verra good, Tommee. How is de godam bow bells?' + +'Well, the last toime I sees me old side-kick the Lord Mayor, 'e says as +'ow they was took by a Canadian for a soovenir.' + +'Na,' said the Scotsman reprovingly; 'I'm thinkin' yon's exaggerated.' + +'By Gar!' said the French-Canadian. 'See, the orderly come now with +water for shav'. Back in de bush or on de long portage I shav' once, +twice, perhaps tree time a month. Always before I meet my leetle girl I +shav'. But when I say good-bye and go to war--by gollies! de army make +me for do it every day. My officier, he say, "What for you no shav' dis +morning?" "Sair," I say, "I no kees de Boche--I keel him." He say +noding to dat excep', "Look at you. I shav' every day. Do you preten' I +doan' fight?" "Well," I say, "if de cap feets you, smoke it." And for +no reason he give me tree time extra for carry de godam ration.' + +At this stage the arrival of wash-basins interrupted further anecdote and +philosophy, and the entire ward became animated with soldiers performing +their ablutions, some sitting up in bed, others on the edge of their +beds, and a few so weak that they could just turn painfully on their side +and wait for other hands to help. + +A burst of hearty greetings told Selwyn that some one must have entered +the ward, and a few minutes later he felt the presence of a nurse beside +him. + +'Good-morning,' she said, gently touching him on the shoulder. 'How is +your head feeling?' + +He opened his eyes and looked into the face bending over his. 'I think +it's all right,' he said weakly. 'But, nurse, won't you tell me how I +got here?' + +She dipped a cloth into a basin and bathed his hands and face. + +'You were hit by a piece of shrapnel in last night's air-raid. I wasn't +on duty when you came in, but the night-sister said you were quite +delirious--though you seem ever so much better this morning, don't you? +I'll take your temperature, and after you've had some breakfast I'll put +a new dressing on your wound.' + +She was just going to insert the thermometer between his lips, when he +stopped her with his hand. 'Nurse,' he said, 'why was I brought +here--among soldiers?' + +'Because every hospital is filled to overflowing. The casualties are so +heavy just now.' Her voice was still kind, but there was a look of +resentment in her eyes at his question. + +'Please don't misunderstand me,' said Selwyn wearily. 'It is only the +feeling that I have no right here. This cot should be for a soldier, and +I'm a civilian. I'm an American, and--and if you only knew'---- + +'Just a minute, now, until we get this temperature, and then you can tell +me all about it.' + +With his lips silenced, but his doubts by no means so, he watched her +move down the ward in commencement of the countless duties of her day. +She was a woman of thirty-three or thirty-four years, still young, and +possessed of a womanliness that softened her whole appearance with a +tranquil restfulness. But beneath her eyes and in the texture of the +skin faint wrinkles were showing, thinly pencilled protests against +overwork, that no treatment could ever eradicate. On the red collar of +her uniform was a badge which told that she had gone to France with the +first little army of Regulars in 1914. + +Noting her calloused hands and the too rapid approach of life's +midsummer, Selwyn watched her, and wondered what recompense could be +offered for those things. In ordinary life, given the privileges and the +opportunities which she deserved, she would have been another of those +glorious English women whose beauty is nearest the rose. She would have +been a wife to grace any home, and as a mother her charm would have been +twofold. But for more than two years incessant toil and endless +suffering had been the companions of her days, and the not over-strong +body was giving to the ordeal. + +But as his heavy thoughts drifted slowly through this channel, he saw +grinning patients who were well enough get out of bed to help her. As if +she carried some magic gem of happiness, her soft voice and deft touch +brought smiles to eyes that had been scorched in the flames of hell. Men +looked up, and seeing her, believed once more in life; and hope crept +into their hearts. Men in the great shadowy valley murmured like a +child in its sleep when a ray of morning sunshine, stealing through the +curtains, plays upon its face. + +And of the many things which Selwyn learned that day, one was that those +ministering angels, those women of limitless spirit and sympathy, have +memories of mute, unspoken gratitude, beside which the proudest triumphs +of the greatest beauties are but the tawdry, tinsel glory of a pantomime +queen. + + +II. + +After the nurse had taken the thermometer from Selwyn and marked his +temperature on a chart which she placed beside him, breakfast was brought +in, and he was propped up with pillows. + +'Guid-mornin',' said the Highlander. 'I hope ye're nane the waur o' your +expeerience.' + +'Not 'im,' broke in the Cockney, eating his porridge with great relish. +'It done 'im good.' + +'I am very well,' said Selwyn haltingly. 'I hope my arrival did not +disturb any of you last night.' + +At the sound of his carefully nuanced Bostonian accent there was a +violent dumb-play of smoothing the hair and arranging the coats of +pyjamas, while one Tommy placed a penny in his eye in lieu of a monocle. + +'I was 'oping,' said the Cockney, with a solemn wink to the gathering, +'as 'ow Number 26 would be took by a toff, and, blime, if it ain't! It +were gettin' blinkin' lonesome for me with only Jock 'ere and Frenchy +opposite, who ain't bad blokes in their wy, but orful crude for my +likin'.' + +'Where did it hit ye?' asked the Scot encouragingly. + +'On the head,' said Selwyn, pointing to his bandage. + +'Mon, mon, that's apt to be dangerous.' + +'Nah then!' cried the Cockney, reaching for his temperature-chart, 'we'll +open the mornink proper with the 'Ymn of 'Ate. In cise you don't know +the piece, m'lud, you can read it off your temperacher-ticket. Steady +now--everybody got a full breath? Gow!' + +With great zest all the patients who were able to sit up broke into a +discordant jumble of scales as they followed the course of their +temperatures up and down the chart. Gradually, one by one, they fell out +and resumed their breakfast, until the Scotsman was the only one singing. + +'Ye ken,' he said, pausing temporarily and looking at Selwyn, 'yon should +be rendered wi' proper deegnity.' With which explanatory comment he +finished the last six notes, and solemnly replaced the chart on the ledge +behind him, as if it were a copy of Handel's _Messiah_. + +The last note had hardly died away when a violent controversy broke out +between a pair of Australian soldiers on one side and almost the entire +ward on the other. The thing had started by one of the Anzacs venturing +the modest opinion that if Britain had had a million Australian troops, +they, the present gathering, would be 'hoch, hoching' in Berlin +(apparently a delightful prospect) instead of being cooped up in a London +hospital. + +The little Cockney was just going to utter a crushing sarcasm, the +French-Canadian had taken in a perfectly stupendous breath, the +Highlander was calmly tasting the flavour of his own reply, when the +impending torrent was broken by the entrance of the chaplain, who wished +every one a somewhat sanctimonious 'Good-day.' + +'I shall read,' he said, putting on a pair of glasses, 'the latest +_communique_ from the front. We have done very well. The news is quite +good--quite good. "_This morning, on a front of three miles, after an +intense artillery preparation, the Australians_"'---- + +''OORAY!' roared the Cockney. + +The glasses popped off the chaplain's startled nose, and he just managed +by a brilliant bit of juggling to rescue them before they reached the +floor. + +'I--I,' he ventured, smiling blandly, 'am delighted at your enthusiasm, +but you did not let me finish. "_This morning_"--um, um, ah--"_three +miles_"--um, um, yes--"_three miles, after an intense artillery +preparation, the Australians_"'---- + +''OORAY!' It was a deafening roar from the whole crowd. + +'"_The Australians_"'---- + +'OORAY!' + +'"_The_"'---- + +'Oo'---- + +Really, men, you must control yourselves. We are all glad and sustained +by any victory, however slight, but you must not give way to unmeaning +boisterousness. "_This morning, on a front of three miles, after an +intense artillery preparation, the Australians_"'---- + +There was a medley of submerged, prolonged snores. The chaplain looked +up indignantly. With the exception of Selwyn and the two Australians, +every one had followed the lead of the Cockney and disappeared underneath +the bed-clothes. + +'This,' said the good man--'this frivolity at such a harrowing moment in +our country's destiny is neither seemly nor respectful. Cheerfulness is +admirable, until it descends to horseplay.' + +With which parting salvo the worthy chaplain, who had never been to +France, and who was doing the best he could according to his clerical +upbringing, left his unruly flock, taking the _communique_ with him. + +A little later the doctor made his rounds, pronouncing Selwyn's wound as +not dangerous, but assuring him he was lucky to be alive. Another inch +either way and---- Passing on to the Scotsman, he stayed a considerable +length of time; but as the screen was set for the examination, the +American had no way of knowing its nature. + +And so, with constant badinage, seldom brilliant, but never unkind, the +morning wore on. It was nearly noon when Selwyn saw a wheeled stretcher +brought into the ward and the Highlander lifted on to it. + +'Jock,' said the little Cockney, 'I 'opes as 'ow everythink will come out +orlright.' + +'By Gar, Scoachie!' cried the French-Canadian, 'I am sorree. You are one +dam fine feller, Scoachie.' + +'Dinna worry yersel's,' said the man from the North. 'I'm rare an' lucky +that it's to be ma richt leg an' no the left, for that richt shank o' +mine was aye a wee thing crookit at the knee, and didna dae credit tae +the airchitecture o' tither ane.' + +Thus, amid the rough encouragement of his fellows, and by no means +unconscious of the dignity of his position, the Highland soldier was +taken away to the operating-room. + +The French-Canadian made a remark to Selwyn, but it was not until the +second repetition that he heard him. + + +III. + +About three o'clock that afternoon a little stream of visitors began to +arrive, and Thomas Atkins, with his extraordinary adaptability, gravely, +if somewhat inaccurately, answered the catechism of well-meaning old +ladies, and flirted heartily and openly with giggling 'flappers.' + +To the visitors, however, Austin Selwyn paid no heed. He was enduring +the lassitude which follows a fever. He knew that the crisis had come, +the hour when he must face fairly the crash and ruin of his work; but he +put it off as something to which his brain was unequal. Like slow +drifting wisps of cloud, different phrases and incidents floated across +his mind, shadows of things that had left a clear imprint upon his +senses. With the odd vagrancy of an undirected mind, he found himself +recalling a few of Hamlet's lines, and smiled wanly to think how, after +all those years, the immortal Shakespeare could still give words to his +own thoughts: 'This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile +promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, . . . this brave +overhanging firmament--this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, +why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent +congregation of vapours.' + +The wings of memory bore him back to Harvard, where once in a scene from +_Hamlet_ he had mouthed those very words, little dreaming that in a few +short years he would lose the sense of euphony in the cruel realisation +of their meaning. + +Then, before he saw her or heard her step, he knew that SHE had come. +His heart quickened, and his breathing was tremulous with mingled +emotions. + +'Well,' she said, coming to his bedside and offering her hand, 'how is +the invalid?' + +'Elise,' he said, 'it is wonderful of you to come.' He looked at her +khaki uniform, at the driver's cap which imprisoned her hair. 'Now,' he +went on dreamily, 'it all comes back to me. It was you who brought me +here.' + +'Had you forgotten that already?' she said, bringing a chair to the +bedside. + +'I couldn't remember,' he answered weakly. 'All I know is that I was +walking alone--and there came a blank. When I woke up I was here with a +head that didn't feel quite like my own. But I knew, somehow, that you +had been with me.' + +'What does the doctor say about your wound?' + +'It is not serious.' + +'You have heard since what happened?' + +'Yes.' + +'It was absolutely topping the way you fought for that child's life.' + +He made a deprecatory gesture, and for a moment conversation ceased. He +was wondering at her voice. A subtle change had come over it. Her words +were just as uncomfortably rapid as in the first days of their +friendship, but there was a hidden quality caught by his ear which he +could not analyse. Looking at her with eyes that had waited so long for +her coming, he felt once more the affinity she held with things of +nature. Her presence obliterated everything else. They were alone--the +two of them. The hospital, London, the world, were dimmed to a distant +background. + +'After such a night,' he said, 'it is very kind of you to make this +effort.' + +'Not at all. We're cousins, you know.' + +'I--I don't'---- + +'The Americans and the English, I mean. Relatives always go to each +others' funerals, so I thought I might stretch a point and take in the +hospital.' + +'Oh! That was all?' + +'Goodness, no! You automatically became a protege of mine when I picked +you up last night. Isn't that a horrid expression?--but frightfully +fashionable these unmoral days.' + +'You must excuse me,' he said slowly, 'but I was foolish enough to think +you came here because--well, because you wanted to.' + +'So I did. An air-raid casualty is ever so much more romantic than a +wounded soldier. If he lives through it, he always proposes the very +next day either to the nurse or to the ambulance-driver, whereas a Tommy, +after his third wound, becomes so _blase_.' + +'You shouldn't torture me,' he said, wincing noticeably under the +incision of her words. + +Just for a fleeting instant her eyes were softened with a tender look of +self-reproach. His heart warmed at the sight, but before he could +convince himself that it was not a creation of his own fancy, it had +passed, and once more she was holding him at bay with her impersonal +abruptness. + +'Will you tell me about yourself?' he urged. 'Please.' + +'What do you want to know?' + +'Everything--everything!' he blurted out, impetuously leaning forward. +'My heavens! Don't you know how I've longed and waited for this moment +ever since that night at your flat? I want to hear all about you--what +you've done, where you've been, and--and in what mysterious way you've +changed.' + +'Have I changed?' + +'Of course you have. You're trying to appear just as you were when we +first met, but you can't do it. Even if I hadn't noticed the difference +in you, I should have known that no one could live through these times +and remain the same.' + +'Why not? Haven't you?' + +He laughed grimly, and his head sank back on the pillows. 'I want to +know all about you, Elise,' he repeated dully. + +'Very well.' She smoothed her skirt with her hands, and folded them +Quakeress-fashion. + +'As you know, I once had a flat in Park Walk--which I shared with various +and variegated female patriots, also engaged in guiding the destinies of +motor-cars. Edna was the first one to follow Marian, after she and I +quarrelled; but Edna couldn't break herself of the habit of wandering +into the Ritz for luncheon every second day with only a shilling in her +pocket.' + +'But I don't see how'---- + +'You poor innocent! Some one always paid--don't worry. So we parted +company on that issue, and I asked Mabel to take Edna's place. Mabel was +frightfully nice, but took to opium cigarettes, and then to heroin. She +disappeared one night, and never came back. Poor girl! Her going made +room for Lily, who read the very nicest modern novels, and always cried +through the love scenes. I wish you could have seen her sitting up in +bed reading a book, eating chocolates, and sobbing like a crocodile. +Lily had only one weakness--marrying Flying Corps officers. It was +really the army's fault giving two of her husbands leave at the same +time.' + +Selwyn frowned, 'What a dreadful experience!' he said. + +'Oh, I don't know.' She gave a little shrug of her shoulders, but the +spirit of badinage had vanished both from her face and from her voice. +'It didn't take long to lose most of one's illusions. It is one thing to +meet people as Lord Durwent's daughter, and quite another as a free-lance +ambulance-driver. I've seen what people really are since I've been on my +own, and I'm sick of the whole thing.' + +'You don't mean that, Elise?' + +'I do. Men are rotten, and women are cats.' + +He smiled quizzically, but she kept her eyes averted from his. It almost +appeared as if she were determined to retain her pose of callousness at +any effort, but his sense of psychology told him that his first +conjecture was correct. The girl who had endured was trying to hide +herself behind the personality of her old self. + +'My dear girl,' he said slowly, 'it is an old trick of women to talk for +the purpose of convincing themselves. I don't care what you have +seen--you could not have passed through the ordeal of these long months +and believe in your innermost soul that either men or women are rotten. +In many ways I feel as if what little knowledge I possess dates from last +night; and I have learned things about men right here in this ward to-day +that have made me humble. These chaps that we call ignorant, the lower +classes--why, they are superb, wonderful. I tell you they have greatness +in them. I wish you could have seen them'---- + +'Haven't I seen them,' she cried, with a little catch in her throat, +'hundreds and hundreds of times? Almost every day, and at all hours of +the night, I've gone to meet the Red Cross trains. I have seen men die +while being lifted out of the ambulance--men who would try to smile their +thanks to us just before the end came. I have'---- She caught her hands +in a tight grip, and her eyes welled with tears. 'But they're just +jingoes, I suppose,' she said, blending a scornfulness with her repressed +grief. + +'I have deserved this,' said Selwyn, his face drawn. 'Nothing that you +can say is half so bitter as my thoughts.' + +'I didn't mean to hurt you,' she said. + +'If ever a man was sincere, I was, Elise. Since I left you at Roselawn I +have followed the one path, thinking there was a great light ahead. Now +I am afraid that, perhaps, it was only a mirage.' + +'No, it wasn't,' she replied vehemently. 'I hated you for thinking +English women would not aid their men to fight, and I wanted never to see +you again. But do you remember when I said that the glory of war was in +women's blood? There was a certain amount of truth in it at the +beginning; for when I first saw the wounded arrive I was madly excited. +I wanted to shout and cheer. But as the months have gone on, and I have +seen our soldiers maimed and bleeding and suffering, while thousands of +their women at home have simply broken loose and lost all sense of +decency or self-respect--oh, what's the use?' + +'But you mustn't forget the women who have done such great things for the +country.' + +'I know--but what's it all for? Since this battle of the Somme our +casualties have been frightful, and every day means so many of our real +men killed, and so many more shirkers and rotters in proportion to carry +on the life of England. We've had our women's revolution all right. +There are not many of the old barriers left; but what a mess we have made +of our freedom! When I think of all that, and then recall what you said +about war, I know that you were right, and we were wrong.' + +'You are wonderfully brave,' said Selwyn, 'not only for having done so +much, but in telling me that.' + +'No,' she said, lowering her eyes to the gloves which she held in her +hand; 'I have lost all my courage. Every night I feel as if another day +of meeting the wounded will kill me. . . . If it could only end! +Anything would be better than these awful casualty lists.' + +'Elise'--he raised himself on his elbow and leaned towards her--'you +prove yourself a woman when you say that; but you're wrong. I can't give +my reasons yet, but since last night I have been seeing clearer and +clearer that Britain not only must not lose, but must _win_. I know +other men have said it ten thousand times, but only to-day have I begun +to see that, in its own strange, unidealistic manner, this Empire is +fighting for civilisation.' + +'Then'--her eyes were lit with sudden, glistening radiancy--'then you +don't think our men have died uselessly?' + +'I could not believe in God,' he answered, wondering at the calm +certainty of his voice uttering things which would have infuriated him a +few hours before, 'if I thought that this war's dead had fallen for +nothing.' His hand, which had been raised in gesture, fell limply on the +bed. 'Up to yesterday,' he went on slowly, 'I reasoned truth; to-day--I +feel truth. I wonder if it is not always so, that higher knowledge +begins with the end of reasoning.' + +For a couple of minutes neither spoke, and his head was throbbing with +anvil-beats. Twice she started to speak, but stopped each time as though +distrustful of her own words. + +'I am going back to America, Elise.' His dreamy eyes were gazing beyond +her into the distance, or he might have noted that the colour in her +cheeks fluctuated suddenly and the fingers on her gloves tightened. + +'Why?' There was nothing in her voice to indicate anything but casual +interest. + +'I must go back,' he said, leaning towards her--'back to my own country. +You don't understand. . . . There comes a moment when every fibre of a +man's being craves for his own people, for the very air that he breathed +as a boy. All these wasted months and last night's climax of damnable +murder have left me dazed. I am floundering hopelessly--but at home I +shall be able to clear my mind of its mists and see this whole thing as +it really is.' + +A wall of pain pressed against his head, and his face went gray with +agony. In an instant she was standing over him arranging his pillows, +and soothing his temples with the gentle pressure of her hands. + +For the first time in many months he knew the help and compassion of a +woman--and the woman was Elise. He was weak from loss of blood, weary +from the long travail of the mind, and her presence, with its indefinable +fragrance of clover and morning flowers, was as exquisite music to his +senses. + +'If you only knew,' he murmured, 'how I have longed for this moment. It +has been very lonely for me--and I have wanted you so much, Elise. God! +I've wanted you until I had to struggle to keep from crying out your name +in the very streets. Forgive me talking like this.' He groped for her +hand and held it tightly in his. 'I never had any right to tell you what +you meant to me--and less now than before--but when I come back'---- + +'You will never come back.' She laughed with a strange tremulousness, +but in her eyes there was something of the scorn she had shown towards +him at Roselawn. + +'You are wrong,' he said; 'I must'---- + +'You are an American,' she answered quickly, 'and that comes first with +you. Your country has nothing to do with this war, and you are going +back to it. You will stay there. I know you will.' + +With his old decisive mannerism he sat up, and his eyes flashed with +vigour. + +'I will come back,' he said firmly. 'Life has separated us--it has not +been your fault or mine--but some day, Elise, when I get my grip on +things again, I shall come to you, and you will have to listen. We need +each other, and nothing on the earth can alter that'---- + +'Except America!' She laughed again, and withdrew her hand from his. + +'Elise!' he cried, reaching towards her, 'listen to me'---- + +The Cockney patient leaned over with a bag in his hand. ''Ave a gripe?' +he said genially. + +'No, th'---- began Selwyn. + +'Thanks so much,' said Elise, taking the bag and picking a small cluster +for the American, afterwards handing the bag back to the Tommy. + +''Ave a few yourself, won't yer?' said the warrior. + +'May I?' + +''Ere,' said the Cockney, with mock brusqueness. 'Tike a bunch.' + +Perhaps from the very intensity of their previous talk, the threads +snapped, and her quickly uttered sentences, with the accompanying sparkle +in her eyes, showed him that he could hope for little more than badinage +for the rest of her visit. Almost as if she desired to eradicate the +memory of her emotional admission, she gave her vivacity full play. For +a few minutes he tried to bring back the close intimacy of their souls, +but she fenced him off, and met his heart-hungry glances with the gayest +of smiles. + +Roselawn, she told him, had been transformed into a convalescent home, +and Lord and Lady Durwent were living in one of the wings. Practically +all the servants had enlisted or gone into war-work; and even Mathews, +the groom, after perjuring himself before a whole regiment of army +doctors, had been accepted (with grave official doubts) for military +service. + +Interspersed with these details she recounted incidents of her London +life as an ambulance-driver, and it was all her listener could do to +follow the swift irrelevance of her course. Only once did she pause +when, in answer to his question, she told him she had heard nothing of +Dick. + + +IV. + +A few minutes later she rose to go. + +'I have stayed much too long,' she said. 'I do hope you'll get better +quickly.' + +He took her hand in his, but made no attempt to translate the meaning of +the moment into language. He had worked against her country; while she +plied her rounds of mercy, he had written on the debasement and the +fallacy of it all. Lying in the wreck of his idealism, in the grip of +physical pain, dreading the torture of his own thoughts, could he express +what her coming had meant? He wanted to tell her of his heart-hunger, of +his loneliness, his gratitude, understanding, reverence, and, above all, +of his love. There was so much that it made him silent. + +'Good-bye, Elise,' he said. + +'Good-bye,' she answered. + +That was the end. Of such paltry substance are words. + +'By Gar!' said the French-Canadian, looking after her as she disappeared +down the ward, 'she mak me tink of my leetle girl Marie; only Marie, +mebbe, is only so high, _comme ca_, and got de black hair, so! I am +homeseek. Yes. It mak me verra homeseek. _Godam_!' + + +V. + +She did not come again. Every morning his heart quickened with hope, and +each afternoon grew heavy with discouragement as the hours passed by +without the step he listened for. The arrival of the mail was an instant +of mad expectancy and mute resignation. But every day carried its cargo +of renewed hope, and he grudged the very hours of sleep that separated +him from it. + +He wrote to her three times--pleaded with her to come again. He begged +forgiveness for omitted or committed things which might have hurt her, +but no reply came. He thought of writing to Roselawn, fancying she might +have gone there, but he was certain that before the letter could reach +her she would have come again, and they would only laugh at the idea of +any misunderstanding. + +He blamed himself for a hundred imaginary crimes. He had not asked her +if she would return. Perhaps he had carelessly uttered words that +wounded her. He knew her pride; knew that after their parting at the +flat it must have been hard for her to make the first move towards +reconciliation--and she might have mistaken his joy for petty personal +triumph. + +Or--had he been an utter fool? Was this her punishment of him? With the +consummate artistry of her sex, had she simulated sympathy and +forbearance to make his torture all the more exquisite? He dismissed the +suggestion as something vile, but, feeding on his doubts and longings, it +grew stronger and more insistent with every hour's passing. A hundred +times a day he closed his eyes and lived the sweet memory of her visit; +but with the gathering arraignments of his doubts, he wondered if it had +all been the studied act of the English girl's reprisal on the American +who had dared to challenge her nation. + +Weary, weary hours--the inactivity of the body lending fuel to the flames +of his mind. He determined to dismiss her from his thoughts, and with +his power of mental discipline he reduced his mood to one of mute +resignation. + +Then the thought of America came to him, and he was seized with an +impetuous craving for his own country, his own land, where men's natures +were broad and mountainous, like America itself. He pictured New York +towering into the skies, the charming homes of Boston, where so many +happy hours had been spent in genial, cultured controversy. He smelt the +ozone of the West, where sandy plains melted into the horizon; where men +lived in the open, and a man was your friend for no better reason than +that he was following the same trail as yourself. + +America. . . . He was impatient now of every day that kept him in +England. He felt that his emotions, his brain, his convictions would all +be rudderless until he breathed once more the air of the New World, with +its vassal oceans bringing tribute to both Eastern and Western coasts. + +He would not call himself a failure or a success until he looked on his +handiwork in the light of the great Republic. As his ancestors leaving +the shores of Holland and Ireland, as millions of men and women had done +with the Old World dwindling away in the distance, he looked towards +America for the answer to existence. + +Ten days after his admission he was allowed to leave the hospital for his +rooms in St. James's Square. + +He took his leave of the little group who had been his companions +for the time--the little Cockney with his incessant exuberance; the +French-Canadian, picturesque of language and imagination; the one +remaining Australian, vigorous of thought and forceful of temperament; +the nurse, carrying Florence Nightingale's lamp through the +blackness of war. He tried to say a little of what was bursting for +utterance, but they only laughed and fenced it off. They wished him +'Cheerio--good-bye--good luck;' and he wondered if the whole realm of +lived or written drama held any farewell more sublimely expressive of a +great people enduring to the uttermost. + +His servant had a taxi-cab waiting for him. Driving first to a +florist's, he purchased roses for the nurse; then, stopping at a +tobacconist's, he left a generous order for all the occupants of the +ward. After that he went directly to the American Consul's office and +made arrangements for his return to New York. + + +VI. + +It was late in December when, driving to Waterloo to catch the boat-train +to Southampton, Selwyn was held up in the Strand by the crush of people +welcoming the arrival of Red Cross trains from the front. + +Leaning out of the window, he watched the motor-cars and ambulances +coming out from the station courtyard, while London's people, as they had +done from the beginning, welcomed the unknown wounded with waving +handkerchiefs and flowers, with hearts that wept and faces that bravely +smiled. + +With a suppressed cry, Selwyn opened the door and leaped into the crowd. +He had seen her driving one of the ambulances, and he fought his way +furiously through the human mass to the open roadway. But it was +useless. The ambulance had disappeared. + +Struggling back to the taxi, he re-entered it, and turning round, made +for Waterloo Bridge by way of the Embankment. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +EN VOYAGE. + +From a sheltered position on the hurricane-deck, Austin Selwyn watched +the curtain of night descending on England's coast. Portsmouth, with +its thousand naval activities, was already lost to view off the ship's +stern; and the Isle of Wight was but a dark margin on the water's edge. + +Not a light was to be seen on shore. Like an uninhabited island, +England lay in the mingled menace and protection of the sea, while +unseen eyes kept their endless vigil. + +The vibration from the ship's engines told him she was gathering speed. +Impatient of the six days that must elapse before harbour could be +reached, he walked to the front of the deck and watched the officers on +the bridge peering into the darkness ahead. + +When he retraced his steps he could no longer distinguish land. Two +searchlights playing on the surface of the water revealed a cruiser +steaming silently out to sea. + +A feeble star appeared in the sky. + + * * * * * * + +Mid-ocean. + +A clear winter sunlight touching the green, swirling water with strands +of yellow gold; a wind sweeping the ship's decks, blowing boisterously +down companion-ways and along the corridors; a few shimmering +snowflakes from an almost cloudless sky; everywhere the vastness of +ocean. And the ship buffeting its way towards the New World. + +Mid-ocean. + + * * * * * * + +The City of New York. + +Anchored down the bay just after sunset, Selwyn watched the great +metropolis as her form was vitalised with a million lights. From the +ship's side, it seemed to the eyes watching the birth of New York's +night that the buildings had come to the very water's edge to gaze into +its depths, and see their own reflection. + +Here and there in the outline of great buildings a mammoth structure +raised its head above all others, losing itself in the foam of light +that floated mist-like over the city's towering majesty. + +For more than two hours Selwyn remained motionless in the thrill of +patriotism. The burst of light challenging the reign of darkness was a +symbol to him. The Old World was crouching in darkness, fingering and +fearing the assassin's knife. . . . But America was the Spirit of +Light. + +How many times, he thought, emigrants must have looked on just as he +was doing! How many times that sight must have brought hope to weary, +discouraged souls that never thought to hope again! + +To the idealist returning to his own country, New York was not a +citadel guarding the entrance to a Nation, but a gateway opening to the +Continent of Opportunity. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE GREAT NEUTRAL. + + +I. + +One afternoon a tall, heavily built young man entered his house on +128th Street, New York, and after divesting himself of his coat and +hat, rubbed his hands in genial appreciation of his own hearth and the +exclusion of the raw outside air. He was dressed in a gray lounge +suit, a clerical collar alone denoting his vocation. + +'There's a gentleman in your room, Mr. Forbes,' said his housekeeper, +appearing from the kitchen. 'He said he was an old friend, and would +wait.' + +'What's his name?' + +'Mr. Selwyn, sir.' + +'Austin Selwyn? By George!' Taking the stairs three at a time, the +energetic clergyman burst into the library and advanced with both hands +outstretched. 'For the love of Pete!' he ejaculated most unclerically. +'How are you, my boy? Let me have a look at you. Still the same old +Sel, eh? A little thinner, I think, and not quite so much hair--humph! +Sit down; have that easy-chair; tell me all about yourself. Well, +well! this is an unexpected treat.' + +The Rev. Edgerton Forbes, who had been looking Selwyn over after the +custom of tailors about to offer sartorial advice, ceased his +inspection, and shook hands all over again. + +'Edge,' said Selwyn, speaking for the first time, 'you can't imagine +what your welcome means to me.' + +'My dear boy, you never doubted its warmth?' + +'Yes I did, old man--after what I've been writing.' + +The athletic clergyman laughed uproariously. 'I suppose you're a +dyed-in-the-wool Englishman now, and want your cup of tea. Well, I'll +join you.--Mrs. Perkins.' Going to the door, he gave the necessary +orders, and returned rubbing his hands, and venting his surplus energy +in a variety of hearty noises expressive of pleasure at seeing his old +friend. + +'Now, start at the beginning,' he said, 'and give me everything. The +semaphore's up, and there's a clear track ahead.' + +'But I want to know about things here first.' + +'After you, my son. Put it over now. By the way, that's a nasty scar +on your head. How did you get it?' + +In a few words Selwyn traced the course of events which had led to his +crusade against Ignorance, a crusade which had in an inexplicable way +turned particularly against England. He spoke of Doug Watson's letter +with its description of the slaughtered German boy, and he told of the +air-raid in the moonlight, the climax to his long orgy of idealism. He +touched lightly and humorously on his hospital experience, but not once +did he mention the inner secret of his heart. To the whole recital +Forbes listened with a genuineness and a bigness of sympathy which +seemed to belong to his body as well as his mind. + +'That is pretty well everything,' said Selwyn. 'I have come back here, +humble and perplexed, to try to get my bearings. There have been two +men financing my stuff, and they must account to me for the uses to +which they have put it. Edge, I was sincere. Not one word was written +but I put my very life-blood into it.' + +The arrival of tea put a temporary stop to the author's +self-revelation, and his host busied himself with his hospitable duties. + +Selwyn passed his hand querulously over his face. The clergyman looked +at him with a feeling of pervading compassion. + +'I was going to ask about Gerard Van Derwater,' said Selwyn, 'How is +he?' + +'Van's very well. He is in the Intelligence Division right here in New +York.' + +'I heard he was engaged to Marjory Shoreham.' + +'Yes--he was. They broke it off a few weeks ago; or, rather, she did.' + +'I am sorry to hear that,' said Selwyn earnestly. 'I always liked her +immensely, and I was glad that poor old Van had been the lucky suitor. +You remember how I used to say that he always carried a certain +atmosphere of impending tragedy, although he was never gloomy or moody +about it.' + +'Well, Austin, I think the tragedy has come.' + +'I must see him,' said Selwyn. 'In coming back here, you and he were +the two I wanted most to meet. I knew that neither of you would +withdraw your friendship without good reason; but also I knew you would +tell me bluntly where I stood. Why did Marjory break off with Van?' + +The clergyman told what he knew, and at the conclusion of the story +Selwyn rose to his feet. + +'I must see Van at once,' he said. 'There's more in this than appears +on the surface. If you will give me his number, I'll find out when we +can get together.' + +Receiving the necessary information, Selwyn went downstairs to the +telephone, returning in a couple of minutes to the den. + +'I just caught him,' he said to his host, 'and I am going to his rooms +at nine tonight.' + +'Good work. Now sit down and tell me about the English. You'll find +me the most attentive audience you ever had.' + + +II. + +It was theatre-time when Selwyn left his hotel and walked over to +Broadway. That diagonal, much-advertised avenue of Gotham was ablaze +with light. From shop windows, from illuminated signs, from office +buildings, street-cars, and motors, the carnival of theatre-hour was +lit with glaring brilliancy. Women, in all the semi-barbaric +costliness with which their sex loves to adorn itself of a night, +stepped from limousines with their tiny silvery feet twinkling beneath +the load of gorgeous furs and vivid opera-cloaks; while well-groomed +men, in the smart insignificance of their evening clothes, guided the +perilous passage of their fair consorts from the motor's step to the +pavement. + +Momentarily reduced to the democracy of pedestrianism, they would lose +themselves in the surging mob of passers-by--shop-girls on their way to +a cinema; rural visitors shocked and thrilled with everything; +keen-faced, black-haired Jews speculating on life's profits; +sallow-faced, lustrous-eyed girls hungry for romance, imagining every +begowned woman to be an adventuress, and every man a Prince Charming; +here and there an Irish policeman, proving that his people can control +any country but their own. Of such threads is woven the pattern of New +York's theatre-hour on Broadway. + +From sheer inability to stem the traffic, Selwyn stepped into a +doorway. On the opposite side of the street a theatrical sign +announced that 'Lulu' was 'the biggest, most stupendous, comedy of the +season.' He wondered what constituted largeness in a comedy. Surely +not the author's wit! Before he could formulate a solution of the +mystery, a great overhead sign suddenly ignited with the searching +question-- + + DO YOU CHEW SWORDSAFE'S GUM? + + +Hastily detaching his mind from the biggest, most stupendous, comedy of +the season, he stared at the interrogation of the gum company. It +suddenly disappeared, however, and then he saw that, like the goblins +who chased the small boy who was lost, the business interests of New +York had assumed a violent interest in his personal habits. What +underwear did he buy? Did he know that Hot-door's shaving-soap was +used by 76 per cent. of the entire manhood of America? There was only +one place humanly conceivable where lingerie could be purchased; to +prove it, the illuminated signboard promptly showed a lady in a costume +usually confined to boudoirs. To equalise the immodesty of the sexes, +a near male neighbour, at a height of two hundred odd feet, did an +electrified turn by putting on and taking off a pair of +trousers-suspenders. + + + DO YOU CHEW SWORDSAFE'S GUM? + +That was the question. What importance could a mere war have in +comparison with that? Blinking in the glare, Selwyn left the doorway +and made for Madison Avenue, where Van Derwater's rooms were. + +The clocks were just striking nine when he reached the number he +wanted, and a negro servant led him upstairs. As Selwyn entered Van +Derwater rose from his chair and greeted him with a restrained +courtliness that was gentlemanly to a degree, but had an instantly +chilling effect on the visitor. It was the room the owner used for +lounging or reading, and the only light was the shaded one on the table. + +Van Derwater had just passed thirty, but the premature thinness of his +hair in front, the listless droop of his heavy shoulders, and the +bluish pallor about his firm jaw contrived to make him appear older +than he was. There was a kindliness in the wrinkles about his eyes, +and his mouth, though solid, was not lacking in indications of +intuitive understanding. It was perhaps the formality of his bearing, +the stiffness of his body from the hips, that gave him the air of one +who belonged by right to a past and more ceremonious age. + +Although Van Derwater encouraged his guest, after the exchange of +greetings, to talk of his voyage and its attendant experiences, Selwyn +was aware that he was placing a cold impersonal wall between them. His +old friend was interested, courteous, intellectually even cordial, but +Selwyn knew he was being kept at a distance. He forced the talk to old +intimacies--recalled the game when, together, they had crossed Yale's +line in the closing moments of the great Rugby match--brought back a +host of joint experiences, trivial in themselves, but hallowed by time. + +Van Derwater remembered them all. For each one he had the slight smile +of his mouth and the quizzical weariness of his eyes; but when the +conversation would droop after each outburst of reminiscence, he would +not make the least attempt to lift it up again. Finally, being +convinced that nothing could come of so bloodless a meeting, Selwyn +dropped the impersonal mask. + +'I was mighty sorry,' he said, 'to hear that you and Marjory have +broken off your engagement.' + +'It was her wish: not mine.' Van Derwater's voice was deep and rich, +but almost monotonous in its lack of inflection. + +'I was talking to Forbes to-day,' went on Selwyn tenaciously. 'He had +been to see Marjory.' + +'Yes?' + +'Marjory told him that you didn't care enough for her to go overseas. +I should think she would realise that such a matter concerns you only.' + +'Not a bit of it.' For the first time the other's manner showed signs +of vitality. 'It means everything to her. She wants to feel that the +man she marries is big enough to go and help France. I admire her for +it. I wish there were more women with her character.' + +Selwyn shifted his chair uneasily. 'But--I don't understand,' he +stammered. 'You told her you wouldn't go.' + +'Well, what of it?' + +'Look here, Van,' said Selwyn vehemently; 'we have been friends for +many years. I came to you to-night because my whole career is at a +standstill. I want to tell you everything--I must do it--but I can't +as long as you withhold your confidence. It isn't curiosity on my +part--you know that. I want to bring back the old sense of +understanding we once had.' + +'You haven't changed,' said Van Derwater, an inscrutable smile playing +about his mouth. 'You always had a habit of piercing people's moods, +no matter what defence they put up. But if you want candour, I'll tell +you frankly I am sorry you came here this evening. I knew that it +would be difficult to keep from hurting you, and for old-times' sake I +didn't want to do that. As you know, I have never made friends. You +and Forbes were the nearest thing to it, and I suppose you two meant +more than I would ever care to admit. You might ring the bell over +your head. The fire needs more coal.' + +As the negro obeyed his master's instructions and stoked the fire into +vigour, the two friends sat without speaking. Selwyn was mute with +apprehension of what he was to hear; the older man was dreading the +words he had to utter. To certain strong natures it is more painful to +inflict than to receive a wound. + +'If you want my story,' resumed the host, after the servant had left +the room, 'and as you are concerned you have a right to hear it, this +is how it goes. I went into the diplomatic service. Then I met +Marjory. I needn't say what that meant to me. For the first time, I +think, I knew what living was. Shortly after came the war. At first I +thought that if America remained neutral as a country, it was not up to +individuals to quarrel with that attitude. Then came the _Lusitania_. +I wanted to go over at once, but hated to suggest it to Marjory. One +night, though, to my delight, the plucky little girl mentioned it +herself. I hurried back to Washington and offered my resignation, but +the chief urged me to remain three months longer, saying that I was +absolutely necessary in the reorganisation of a certain branch of the +Intelligence Division in New York. To cut the story short, months and +months went on, and they refused to release me. As a matter of fact I +was directing an investigation into German foreign diplomacy that was +of so delicate a nature I dared not mention it to Marjory. At its +conclusion I went to Washington and demanded that they let me go--I +gave my exact reason. The chief said he would give me a reply in a +week; but I told him that, no matter what he wrote, I would go at the +expiration of that time. It was while I was waiting for the answer +that Marjory said it rested with me whether or not the engagement was +to be broken. I told her that I should be able to state my position in +a couple of days. Well, the letter came. Perhaps you had better see +it. You can read it to yourself.' + +He went to his desk, and searching among the papers, produced a +correspondence-form bearing an official stamp. He handed it to Selwyn. + + +'WASHINGTON, November 2, 1916. + +'_Personal and Confidential_. + +'MY DEAR VAN DERWATER,--As a boyhood friend of your father's I have +been most anxious to accede to your request for release from your +present duties. I may say that in my desire to do the fairest thing by +you, I went so far as to place the facts of the matter before the +President himself. He agreed with me that your services entitled you +to every possible consideration; but he also pointed out that the +intimate knowledge of our secret diplomacy which you have gained marks +you as too valuable a man to let go lightly. I finally secured his +consent, but an hour later he sent for me again. It was to talk over a +new enemy that has arisen in this fight of the present administration +to weld the conflicting elements of our nation into a single-thinking +whole. I refer to the ultra-pacifist section which has grown so large +recently. + +'You told me once that you knew this fellow, Austin Selwyn. I am sorry +to set friend against friend, but his influence over the cultured and +pacifist elements has to be met sternly and at once. We cannot take +personal action against him, because he is within his rights as a +citizen of a neutral country; but nevertheless his writings are proving +a strong disrupting force--stronger, in fact, than many of the clumsier +methods employed by subjects of belligerent nations. + +'Word has reached us that in all probability this nation will be faced +shortly with the most momentous decision of the war. Therefore I must +insist that you take charge of the anti-disruptionist propaganda. I +shall be in New York next Wednesday, and will discuss with you the +methods by which we can stem the tide of disloyal pacificism as +exemplified by this man Selwyn. + +'We have no hold over you, my boy; but in the name of this great +Republic which is struggling against such odds for unification of her +national life, I bid you remain at your post. I know that the son of +my old friend Colonel Van Derwater will not question an order.--Yours +faithfully, + +A. WALTER GALLEY.' + + +As Selwyn finished the letter, a flush swept into his cheeks and his +jaw stiffened with his old fighting mannerism. + +'This is infamous!' he cried hotly. 'Do you accuse me of disloyalty to +my own country?' + +'I do,' said Van Derwater calmly. + +Selwyn's fists clenched with fury. 'Van,' he said, his voice quivering +with suppressed passion, 'I may have been blind--I can see where I have +injured you and many others--but when you or Galley say that I have +been trying to disrupt America, you lie. There is no one more +passionately devoted to his country than I.' + +'Which is your country?' said Van Derwater. + +Through the dim light of the room the eyes of the two men met. +Selwyn's were blazing like hot coals; Van Derwater's were cold and +steely. + +'What have I done,' said Selwyn, twice checking himself before he could +trust his voice, 'but tried to show that war is wrong--that men without +quarrel are killing each other now--that every nation has contributed +to this terrible thing by its ignorance? What is there in that which +merits the name of traitor?' + +Van Derwater shrugged his shoulders, and taking a book from the table, +idly studied its cover. 'Since the war began,' he said, his tones calm +and low, 'the United States has been trying to speak with one voice, +the voice of a united people. It was the plain duty of every American +to aid the Administration in that. Instead, what have we found? +Pro-Germans plotting outrage, and pro-Britishers casting slurs; +conspiracy, political blackmailing, financial pressure--everywhere she +has looked, this country has found within her borders the factors of +disruption. We have fought them all. We have refused to be bullied or +cajoled into choosing a false national destiny. At the moment that we +seem to have accomplished something--with Europe looking to us for the +final decision that must come--you, and others of your kind, contrive +to poison the great educated, decent-thinking class that we always +thought secure. Your cry of "Peace--peace--at any price let us have +peace," has done its work. Consciously or unconsciously, Austin, you +have been a traitor.' + +Selwyn rose furiously to his feet. 'This is the end of our +friendship,' he said, with his voice almost choking, and his shoulders +chafing under the passion which possessed him. 'Your chief has chosen +to name me as a reason for keeping you in America, and so it is I who +have come between you and Marjory. For that I am sorry. But when you +question my loyalty to America--that is the finish.' + +Van Derwater had also risen to his feet and with the utmost courtesy +listened to Selwyn's outburst. More than ever there was a mystic +atmosphere of the Past in his bearing. He might have been a diplomat +of the sixteenth century bidding adieu to a thwarted enemy +plenipotentiary. + +'Austin,' he said, with the merest inclination of his head, and his +arms hanging wearily by his sides, 'we live in difficult times.' + +With an angry gesture, Selwyn left the room, and taking his coat and +hat from the negro, went again into the street. + +Closing his study door, Van Derwater moved slowly to his chair, and +lifting his book, opened it. For a long time he gazed at the open page +without reading a line. 'Difficult times,' he murmured. + + +III. + +Still in the grip of uncontrollable fury, Selwyn stamped his way +through the streets. Colliding heavily with a passer-by, he turned and +cursed him for his clumsiness. He cherished a mad desire to return to +Van Derwater's rooms and force an apology by violence. He had expected +criticism, reproach, even abuse; but that any man should brand him +treasonous! . . . + +He spat into the gutter, and a sound that was almost a snarl escaped +from his throat. He stopped, irresolute, and the wound in his head +burst into a violent pain. He leaned against a post until the agony +had passed, and once more he made for Broadway. At the sight of his +face glowing-red with passion, girls tittered and men drew aside. + +Crossing the road, he stood to let a street-car pass, its covered +wheels giving an odd resemblance to an armoured car, when an extra +burst of light made him look up. + +It was the gum advertisement again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A NIGHT IN JANUARY. + + +I. + +Next morning, when Selwyn left his hotel, a few desultory snowflakes +were falling through the air, and moistly expiring on the asphalt +pavements. It lacked a few minutes of nine, and the thousands who man +the machinery of New York's business were hurrying to their appointed +places. People who had to catch trains were hurrying to stations; and +people who had nowhere to go were hurrying still faster. Taxi-cabs +were rushing people across the city; and other taxi-cabs were rushing +them back again. The overhead railway was rattling and roaring its +noisy way; the surface cars were clattering and clanging through the +traffic; and every half-minute the subways were belching up cargoes of +toilers into the open air. + +New York was in a hurry. + +All night the great engine of a million parts had lain idle, but +morning was the signal that every wheel must leap into action again, +driven by the inexhaustible army of human souls. Hurry, noise, +clamour, greed, fever, progress. . . . Another day had dawned! + +Crossing Broadway to reach Fourth Avenue, Selwyn could not repress a +smile at the stricken glory of the great Midway. The illuminated signs +that had searched the secret crevices of the mind, and had aided the +iridescent foam seen from the harbour, looked tawdry and vulgar, like a +circus on a rainy morning. Even the theatres, with their sign-borne +superlatives, were garish and illusion-shattering. There was almost an +apologetic air about the bill-boards proclaiming their nightly offering +to be the 'biggest ever.' + +Selwyn began to resent that word 'biggest.' One of the sad things +about America is that she started out to make language her slave--only +to find that it is becoming her master. + +Entering a great office-building, he consulted the directory-board, and +was swooped up to the twenty-fourth floor in a non-stop elevator. +Finding the room of his literary agent, he went in, but a young lady +told him Mr. Lyons was in Chicago. + +'It doesn't matter,' said Selwyn. 'I shall see him when he returns. +But I want a couple of addresses. Have you the file of letters to me? +Austin Selwyn is my name.' + +The young lady was gratifyingly flustered at the announcement, and by +her haste to produce the required letters indicated the esteem in which +her employer held the author. + +'It was early last September,' said he. 'Mr. Lyons mentioned two +names: a Mr. Schneider, who purchased the foreign rights of my stuff; +and some one who wanted me to lecture--yes, that is the letter. Could +you give me the addresses of these gentlemen?' + +She wrote them on a card and gave it to him. 'Mr. J. V. Schneider,' +she said, 'is in the Standard Exchange Building, just one block below +here; and Mr. C. B. Benjamin is on 28th Street, in the United +Manufacturing Corporation.' + +Thanking her for her courtesy, Selwyn left the office, and going +directly to Mr. Schneider's place of business, sent in his card. He +was ushered through a large room where a dozen typewriters were +clicking noisily, and reaching the private office of Mr. Schneider, +found himself in the presence of a small, crafty-faced man, whose oily +smile and air of deference did not harmonise with his eyes, which were +as shifty and gleaming as those of a rat. He shook hands with his +visitor, and then clawed at the papers on his desk with moist fingers +that were abnormally long. + +'Vell, Mister Selvyn,' said Mr. Schneider gutturally, 'to vot do I +attribute dis honour? Have a cigar--sit down.' + +'May I break the rule of your office?' said the author, indicating a +sign on the wall which read: 'NIX ON THE WAR.' 'If you will be so +kind, I want to speak of matters not far removed from that subject.' + +Mr. Schneider shifted his cigar to the corner of his mouth, and laughed +immoderately. + +'Ha, ha, ha!' he roared, leaning forward, and thrusting a long, dirty +finger into Selwyn's chest. 'That is vot I call mine adjustable creed. +For most peoples vot gom' here--Nix. But for fine fellers like you'---- + +With a greasy chuckle, he mounted his chair and turned the sign about. +On the reverse side there was a coat-of-arms, and the words: +'DEUTSCHLAND UeBER ALLES.' + +'Vot you tink?' grinned Mr. Schneider, speaking from the altitude of +the chair. 'Goot, ugh?' He turned the thing about and stepped down +again, wringing his hands in huge enjoyment of the whole thing. 'You +can spik blainly, Mister Selvyn,' he went on amiably. 'Ve unnerstan' +each odder, hein? Von't you smoke one of dem cigars?' + +'No,' said Selwyn. He looked at the little man for about ten seconds, +then, crossing to the wall, wrenched the sign away, nail and all. + +'Here, here,' protested Mr. Schneider, backing warily to the door, 'vot +for you do dis? Vot you mean, you great big fourflusher?' + +The young man eyed the sign and then the German's head, apparently with +the idea of bringing them together. Mr. Schneider further developed +his plan of retreat by taking a grasp of the door-handle. + +'That's for people who say "Nix on the War,"' said Selwyn, breaking the +sign in his hands as if it were made of matchwood. 'And this is for +your damned Deutschland!' + +He broke the remainder over his knee, and threw the pieces on the flat +desk, upsetting an ink-bottle, the contents of which dripped juicily to +the floor. + +'But ain't you,' said Mr. Schneider, in a voice that was almost a +squeal--'don't you got no resbect for Chermany? Only yesterday der +ambassador, he tole me that after the var, for all you wrote to help +der Faderland, der Kaiser, himself, vill on you bestow'---- + +Before the speaker could acquaint the author with the exact nature of +the honour in store for him, Selwyn had seized him by the coat-lapels, +and was shaking him so violently that Mr. Schneider's natural talent +for double-facedness was developed to a pitch where an observant +looker-on might have counted at least five of him vibrating at once. + +'You dirty little hound,' said Selwyn, without relaxing in the least +the shaking process, 'if you ever use my name again, or send out +anything written, or supposed to be written, by me, I'll'---- + +For once words failed him, and lifting the little man almost off the +floor, he deposited him violently on his own desk, in the midst of the +pool formed by the ink. + +'Nix on the war!' snorted Selwyn defiantly, putting on his hat. He was +going to add a few more crushing remarks, but, altering his mind, went +out, slamming the door so violently that all the typewriters engaged in +sending out German propaganda were startled into an instant of silence. + +As for Mr. Schneider, he sat still amidst the wreck of his desk, +pondering over a famous definition of war given by an American general +named Sherman. + + +II. + +Without waiting to catch the driver's eye, the impetuous idealist +overtook an empty taxi-cab, and jumped into it. + +'United Manufacturing, 28th Street,' he called. 'Make it fast.' + +On arrival at his destination he found that Mr. C. B. Benjamin was the +president of the United Manufacturing Corporation, which--so a large +calendar stated--was the biggest business of its kind in the universe. +It had more branches, more output, more character, more push than any +other three enterprises in America. + +Mr. Benjamin was in, but could be seen only by appointment, so said a +sleek-haired young man of immaculate dress. + +'Give him that card, and tell him I want to see him _at once_,' said +Selwyn, with a forcefulness that caused a look of pain to cross the +young man's countenance. + +'Please sit down,' he said, 'and I'll see what I can do.' + +As a result of his efforts, Selwyn received a summons to go right +in--which he did, going past a number of people who had various big +propositions to put before the big man when they could gain his ear. + +'Good-morning, Mr. Selwyn,' said the president, a smartly dressed Jew, +with a shrewd face and an unquestionable dignity of manner. 'You have +returned to America, I see.' + +'Yes, Mr. Benjamin. Do you mind if I come right down to business?' + +'Mind? How else could I have built up the United Manufacturing +Corporation? Have a cigar?' + +'No, thanks. Mr. Benjamin, you wrote my agent that you wanted me to +lecture on the fallacy of war.' + +'Sure,' said the president. + +'May I ask why?' + +Mr. Benjamin removed his spectacles and wiped them carefully. Putting +them on, he surveyed his visitor through them. After that he took them +off again, and winked confidentially. 'Mr. Selwyn,' he chuckled, 'you +ain't a child, and I see that I can't put over any sob stuff with you. +I told your agent I would pay him real money for you to lecture. Well, +take it from me, when the president of the United Manufacturing +Corporation pays out any of his greenbacks he don't expect nothing for +something, eh?' + +'I don't understand you--yet,' said Selwyn quietly. + +Mr. Benjamin leaned back in his swivel-chair and cut the end of a cigar +with a little silver knife. 'Business,' he said, 'is business, eh?' + +'Agreed,' was the terse response. 'I am still waiting to know why you +offered your money to me.' + +Mr. Benjamin leaned forward, and taking up his glasses, waved them +hypnotically at the young man. 'Simply business,' he said. 'Same with +you--same with me. You write all this dope against war--why? Because +you know there's big money in it. I pay you to lecture because you can +help to keep America out of the war. In 1913 I was worth two hundred +thousand dollars. To-day I have ten million. We are wise men, Mr. +Selwyn, both of us. While all the rest of the peoples fight, you and I +make money.' + +As if his bones were aching with fatigue, Austin Selwyn rose wearily to +his feet, and, without comment, walked slowly out of the office. But +the clerks noticed that his face was ashy-pale, like that of a prisoner +who has received the maximum sentence of the law. + + +III. + +The days that followed were the bitterest Austin Selwyn had ever known. + +It is not in the plan of the Great Dramatist that men shall look on +life and not play a part. It is true that there are a few who escape +the call-boy's summons, and gaze on human existence much as a passing +pageant, but even for them is the knowledge that there is a moment +called Death when every man must take the stage. + +For years Austin Selwyn had stood apart, mingling with those who were +enduring the sword-thrusts of fate, as an author chats with the players +on the stage between the acts. Even the great tragedy of war had +served only to enrich the processes of his mind. It is true he had +known compassion, sorrow, and anger through it, but they were only +counterfeit emotions, born of the grip of war on his imagination. + +But at last life had reached out its talons and grasped him. Every +human experience he had avoided, he was now to know, multiplied. +Stripped of his last hope of justifying his idealism, he saw remorse, +discouragement, a sense of utter futility, the scorn of friends, the +applause of traitors--he saw them all as shadows closing into blackness +ahead of him. + +He tried to return to England, but passport difficulties were made +insurmountable. He went to Boston, only to find that those he valued +turned against him, and those he detested welcomed him as comrade. He +returned to New York, but every avenue of activity was closed to him, +save the one he had chosen for himself--that of world-pacificism. + +He had always been a man of strong, underlying passions, and in his +veins there was the hot undissipated blood of youth; but his brain had +been the controlling force in every action of his life. Hitherto he +had never questioned its complete mastery; but as he pondered over his +fall he knew that it was his brain that had ridden him to it. He no +longer trusted its workings. It had proved rebel and brought him to +disaster. + +And with that inner challenge came the supreme ordeal of his life. + +As rivers, held imprisoned by winter, will burst their confines in the +spring and overrun the land, all the passions which had been cooled and +tempered by his intellectual discipline swarmed through his arteries in +revolt. No longer was the brain dominating the body; instead, he was +on fire with a hundred mad flames of desire, springing from sources he +knew nothing of. They clung to him by day and haunted him at night. +They sang to him that vice had its own heaven, as well as hell--that +licentiousness held forgetfulness. He heard whispers in the air that +there were drugs which opened perfumed caves of delight, and secret +places where sin was made beautiful with mystic music and incense of +flowers. + +When conscience--or whatever it is in us that combats desire--urged him +to close his ears to the voices, he cursed it for a meddlesome thing. +Since Life had thrown down the gauntlet, he would take it up! If he +had to travel the chambers of disgrace and discouragement, he would go +on to the halls of sensual abandonment. Life had torn aside the +curtain--it was for him to search the recesses of experience. + + +IV. + +One night towards the end of January Selwyn had tried to sleep, but the +furies of desire called to him in the dark. He got up and dressed. He +did not know where he was going, but he knew that his steps would be +guided to adventure, to oblivion. + +There was a drizzling rain falling, and, with his coat buttoned close +about his throat, he walked from street to street, his breath +quickening with the ecstasy of sensual surrender which had at last come +to him. Men spoke to him from dark corners; women called at him as he +passed; he caught faint glimmers down murky alleys, where opium was +opening the gates to bliss and perdition; but, with a step that was +agile and graceful, he went on, his arteries tingling in anticipation +of the senses' gratification. Once a mongrel slunk out of a lane, and +he called to it. It crawled up to him, and he stooped down to stroke +its head, when, with a yelp of terror, it leaped out of his reach and +ran back into the lane. As if it was the best of jests, he laughed +aloud, and picking up a stone, sent it hurtling after the cur. Then he +was suddenly afraid. The loneliness of the spot--the horrors lurking +in the dark--the dog's howl and his own meaningless laughter. He felt +a fear of night--of himself. He hurried on, but it was not until he +reached a lighted street of shops that his courage returned, and with +the courage his fever of desire, greater than before. + +An extra burst of rain warned him to seek shelter, and hurrying down +the street, he paused under the canopy of a shabby theatre. There was +one other person there--a woman. She came over to speak to him; but +when she saw the mad gleam of his eyes she drew back, and, with a +frightened exclamation, pressed her hand against her breast. + +He made an ironic bow, then, with a smile, looked up at her, and she +heard him utter an ejaculation of amazement. + +For a moment he had fancied that it might be true. The likeness was +uncanny! The burnished-copper hair, the silk-fringed eyes, the poise +of her head, the tapering fingers--even in the scarlet of her rouged +cheeks, there was a similarity to the high colouring of the English +girl. What a jest of the Fates--that they should cast this poor +creature of New York's streets in the same mould with her who was the +very spirit of chastity! + +'What a mockery!' he muttered aloud. 'What a hideous mockery!' + +He was touched with sudden pity. Perhaps this woman had been born with +the same spirit of rebellion as Elise. Perhaps her poor mind had never +been developed, and so she had succumbed to the current of +circumstance. She might have been the plaything of environment. The +wound in his head was hurting again, and he covered the scar with his +moist hand. Horrible as it seemed, this creature had brought Elise to +him once more--Elise, and everything she meant. He wanted to cry out +her name. His hands were stretched forward as if they could bridge the +sea between them. + +Like a man emerging from a trance, he looked dreamily about him--at the +street running with streams of water--at the silent theatre--at the +woman. A weakness came over him, and his pulses were fluttering and +unsteady. + +A peddler of umbrellas passed, and Selwyn purchased one for a dollar. + +'Won't you take this?' he asked, stepping over to the woman, who +cringed nervously. 'It is raining hard, and you will need it.' + +She took the thing, and looked up at him wonderingly, like a child that +has received a caress where it expected a blow. + +'Say,' she said, in a queer nasal whine, 'I thought you was a devil +when I seen you a minute ago. Honest--you frightened me.' + +He said nothing. + +'Why'--there was a weak quaver in her whine, and she caught his wrist +with her hand--'why, you're kind--and I thought you was a devil. Gee! +ain't it funny?' + +With a shrill laugh that set his teeth on edge, she put up the umbrella +and walked out into the rain. And only a passing policeman saw, by the +light of a lamp, that her eyes were glistening. + +Selwyn remained where he was, blinking stupidly into the rain-soaked +night, as one who has been walking in his sleep and has waked at the +edge of an abyss. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE CHALLENGE. + + +I. + +It was nearly noon next day before Selwyn woke from a heavy, dreamless +sleep. Both in mind and in body there was the listlessness which follows +the passing of a crisis, but for the first time in many days he felt the +impulse to face life again, to accept its bludgeonings, unflinching. + +He was almost fully dressed, when a messenger arrived with a letter. It +was from Edgerton Forbes. + + +'MY DEAR AUSTIN,--I have been trying to get hold of you for the past +week, but you are as elusive as a hundred-dollar bill. Douglas Watson +has returned from the front, minus an arm, and he has asked as many +ex-Harvard men as possible to meet him at the University Club. We are +having dinner there to-night in one of the smaller rooms, and I want you +to come with me. I'll pick you up at your hotel at seven, and we can +walk over. If it is all right, send word by the messenger.--As ever, +FORBES.' + + +Selwyn's first instinct was to refuse. He had no desire to meet Watson +again just yet, nor did he want to face men with whom he had lived at +Harvard. But the thought of another lonely night arose--night, with its +germs of madness. + +'Tell Mr. Forbes,' he said, 'that I shall expect him at seven.' + +A few minutes before the time arranged the clergyman called, and they +started for the club. The air was raw and chilling, and people were +hurrying through the streets, taking no heed of the illuminated shop +windows, tempting the eye of woman and the purse of man. In almost every +towering building the lights of offices were gleaming, as tired, +routine-chained staffs worked on into the night tabulating and recording +the ever-increasing prosperity of the times. + +The times! + +Ordinary forms of greeting had changed to mutual congratulations on +affluence. Anecdotes of business men were no longer of struggle and +privation, but of record outputs and maximum prices. Theatres, cafes, +cinema palaces, churches, hotels--they had never seen such times. +Success was in the very dampness of the air as thousands of people looked +at it from the cosy interior of limousines, people who had never aspired +higher than an occasional taxi-cab. The times! Dollars multiplied and +begat great families of dollars--and Broadway glittered as never before. + +It is difficult to state what trend of thought made conversation between +the friends difficult, but after two or three desultory attempts they +walked on without speaking. As they were entering the majestic portals +of the club, Selwyn was reminded of a question he had intended all day to +ask. + +'Edge,' he said, 'have you heard anything of Marjory Shoreham?' + +'She sailed two weeks ago for France,' answered the clergyman. + +They were directed to an upper floor, where they found a hundred or so +guests who claimed Harvard as their _alma mater_. Although most of his +old acquaintances were quite cordial, Selwyn felt oddly self-conscious. +He caught sight of Gerard Van Derwater with his impassive courtliness +dominating a group of active but less impressive men; and behind them he +saw Douglas Watson of Cambridge surrounded by a dozen guests; but he +pleaded a headache to Forbes, and sought a secluded corner, where he +remained until dinner was announced. + +Like all affairs where men are alone and the charming artifices of +femininity are missing, there was a severity and a formality which did +not disappear until the ministrations of wine and food had engendered a +glow which did away with shyness. The table was arranged in the form of +the letter U, with Watson beside the chairman at the head. + +Towards the end of the dinner conversation and hilarity were growing +apace. Men were forgetting the scramble of existence in the recollection +of old college days, when their blood was like wine and the world a thing +of adventure. Mellowed by retrospect, they laughed over incidents that +had caused heart-burnings at the time; and as they laughed more than one +felt a swelling of the throat. It was, perhaps, just an odd streak of +sentiment (and the man who is without such is a sorry spectacle); or it +may have been the memory of ideals, aspirations, dreams--left behind the +college gates. + +'Gentlemen.' The chairman had risen to his feet. Cigars were lit; and +he was greeted with the usual applause. 'Gentlemen, we have gathered +here at short notice to welcome an old boy of Harvard--Douglas Watson. +He has a message which he wants to deliver to us, and not only because he +is one with us in tradition would we listen, but his empty sleeve is a +mute testimony that he has fought in a cause which--though not our +own--is one which I know has the sympathy of every man in this room. I +shall not detain you, gentlemen, but ask your most attentive hearing for +Mr. Watson.' + +As the guest of the evening rose to speak he was greeted with prolonged +applause, which broke into 'For he's a jolly good fellow,' and ended in a +college football yell. During it Selwyn sat motionless, his alert mind +trying to decipher the difference between Watson's face and the others. +It was not only that they were, almost without exception, clean-shaven, +and that Watson wore a small military moustache; the dissimilarity went +beyond that. Although he was obviously nervous, Watson's eyes looked +steadily ahead as those of a man who has faced death and looked on things +that never were intended for human vision. It had left him aged--not +aged as with years, but by an experience which made all the keen-faced +men about him seem clever precocities whose mentalities had outstripped +the growth of their souls. + +And studying this phenomenon, Selwyn became conscious of the American +business face. + +Although differing in colouring and shape, practically every face showed +lips thin and straight, eyes narrowing and restlessly on the _qui vive_, +the nervous, muscular tension from the battle for supremacy in feverish +competition, the dull, leaden complexion of those who disregard the +sunshine--these combined in a clear impression of extraordinary abilities +and capacities with which to meet the affairs of the day. What one +missed in all their faces was a sense of the centuries. + +No--not in all. At the table opposite to Selwyn was Gerard Van Derwater, +whose self-composure and air of formal courtliness made him, as always, a +man of distinctive, almost lonely, personality. + +'Thank you very much,' said Watson, as the applause and singing died +away. His fingers pressed nervously on the table, and his first words +were uneven and jerky. 'I needn't tell you I am not a speaker. I have a +great message for you chaps, but I may not be able to express it. That +was my reason for asking to speak to ex-Harvard men. I did it because I +knew I should have men who thought as I did--men who looked on things in +the same way as myself. I knew you would be patient with me, and I was +certain you would give an answer to the question which I bring from +France.' + +He paused momentarily, and shifted his position, but his face had gained +in determination. A few of his listeners encouraged him audibly, but the +remainder waited to see what lay behind the intensity of his manner. + +'I don't want pity for my wound,' he resumed. 'The soldier who comes out +of this war with only the loss of an arm is lucky. Put that aside. I +want you to listen to me as an American who loves his country just as you +do, and who once was proud to be an American.' + +He raised his head defiantly, and when he spoke again, the indecision and +the faltering had vanished. + +'Gentlemen, the question I bring is from France to America. It is more +than a question; it is a challenge. It is not sent from one Government +to another Government, but from the heart of France to the conscience of +America. They don't understand. Month after month the women there are +seeing their sons and husbands killed, their homes destroyed, and no end +in sight. And every day they are asking, "Will America never come?" My +God! I've seen that question on a thousand faces of women who have lost +everything but their hope in this country. I used to tell them to +wait--it would come. I said it had to come. When the Hun sank the +_Lusitania_ I was glad, for at last, I told them, America would act. Do +you know what the British Tommies were saying about you as we took our +turn in the line and read in the papers how Wilson was _conversing_ with +Germany about that outrage? I could have killed some of them for what +they said, for I was still proud of my nationality; but time went on and +the French people asked "When?" and the British Tommy laughed. + +'If I'm hurting any of you chaps, think of what I felt. One night behind +the lines a soldiers' concert-party gave a show. Two of the comedians +were gagging, and one asked the other if he knew what the French flag +stood for, and he said, "Yes--liberty." His companion then asked him if +he knew what the British flag stood for, and he replied, "Yes--freedom." +"Then," said the first comedian, "what does the American flag stand for?" +"I can't just say," said the other one, "but I know that it has stood a +hell of a lot for two years." The crowd roared--officers and men alike. +I wanted to get up and fight the whole outfit; but what could I have said +in defence of this nation? America--our country here--has become a +vulgar joke in men's mouths.' + +He stopped abruptly, and poured himself out a glass of water. No one +made a sound. There was hot resentment on nearly every face, but they +would hear him out without interruption. + +'The educated classes of England,' he went on, 'are different in their +methods, but they mean the same thing. They say it is America's business +to decide for herself, but the Englishman conveys what he means in his +voice, not in his words. When I was hit, I swore I would come back here +and find out what had changed the nation I knew in the old days into a +thing too yellow to hit hack. Mr. Chairman, you said I had fought in a +cause that is not yours. I beg to differ. There are hundreds of +Americans fighting to-night in France. They're with the +Canadians--they're with the French--they're with the British. Ask them +if this cause isn't ours. I lay beside a Princeton grad. in hospital. +He had been hit, serving with the Durhams. "I'm never going back to +America," he said. "I couldn't stand it." As a matter of fact, he +died--but I don't think you like that picture any more than I do.' + +Bringing his fist down on the table with a crash, Watson leaned forward, +and with flashing eyes poured out a stream of words in which reproach, +taunts, accusations, and pleading were weirdly mixed. He told them they +should remove the statue of Liberty and substitute one of Pontius Pilate. +In a voice choking with emotion, he asked what they had done with the +soul left them by the Fathers of the Republic. He pictured the British +troops holding on with nothing but their indomitable cheeriness, and +dying as if it were the greatest of jokes. In one sentence he visualised +Arras with refugees fleeing from it, and New York glittering with +prosperity. With no relevancy other than that born of his tempestuous +sincerity, he thrust his words at them with a ring and an incision as +though he were in the midst of an engagement. + +'That is all,' he said when he had spoken for twenty minutes. 'In the +name of those Americans who have died with the Allies, in the name of the +_Lusitania's_ murdered, in the name of civilisation, I ask, _What have +you done with America's soul?_' + +He sat down amidst a strained silence. Everywhere men's faces were +twitching with repressed fury. Some were livid, and others bit their +lips to keep back the hot words that clamoured for utterance. The +chairman made no attempt to rise, but by a subconscious unanimity of +thought every eye was turned to the one man whose appearance had +undergone no change. As if he had been listening to the legal +presentation of an impersonal case, Gerard Van Derwater leaned back in +his chair with the same courtly detachment he had shown from the +beginning of the affair. + + +II. + +'Mr. Van Derwater,' said the chairman hoarsely; and a murmur indicated +that he had voiced the wish of the gathering. + +Slowly, almost ponderously, the diplomat rose, bowing to the chairman and +then to Watson, who was looking straight ahead, his face flushed crimson. + +'Mr. Chairman--Mr. Watson--Gentlemen,' said Van Derwater. He stroked his +chin meditatively, and looked calmly about as though leisurely recalling +a titbit of anecdote or quotation. 'Our friend from overseas has not +erred on the side of subterfuge. He has been frank--excellently frank. +He has told us that this Republic has become a jest, and that we are +responsible. I assume from several of your faces that you are not +pleased with the truth. Surely you did not need Mr. Watson to tell you +what they are saying in England and France. That has been +obvious--unpleasantly obvious--and, I suppose, obviously unpleasant.' + +He smiled with a little touch of irony, and leaning forward, flicked the +ash from his cigar on to a plate. + +'Mr. Watson,' he resumed, 'has asked what we have done with America's +soul. That is a telling phrase, and I should like to meet it with an +equally telling one; but this is not a matter of phraseology, but of the +deepest thought. Gentlemen, if you will, look back with me over the +brief history of this Republic. There are great truths hidden in the +Past. + +'In 1778 Monsieur Turgot wrote that America was the hope of the human +race--that the earth could see consolation in the thought of the asylum +at last open to the down-trodden of all nations. Three years later the +Abbe Taynals, writing of the American Revolution, said: "At the sound of +the snapping chains our own fetters seem to grow lighter, and we imagine +for a moment that the air we breathe grows purer at the news that the +universe counts some tyrants the less." Ten years after that the editor +Prudhomme declared: "Philosophy and America have brought about the French +Revolution." + +'I will not weary you, gentlemen, with further extracts, but I ask you to +note--_and this is something which many of our public men have forgotten +to-day_--that at the very commencement of our career we were inextricably +involved with European affairs. Entangling alliances--no! But +segregation--impossible!' + +For an instant his cold, academic manner was galvanised into emphasis. +His listeners, who were still smarting under Watson's words, and had been +restless at the unimpassioned tone of Van Derwater's reply, began to feel +the grip of his slowly developing logic. + +'Thus,' the speaker went on, 'at the commencement, our national destiny +became a thing dominated by the philosophy of humanitarianism. When we +had shed our swaddling-clothes and taken form as a people, the issue of +the North and the South began to rise. Because of his realisation of the +part America had to play in human affairs, Lincoln, the great-hearted +Lincoln, said we must have war. Against the counsel of his Cabinet, +loathing everything that had to do with bloodshed, this man of the people +declared that there could be no North or South, but only America. And to +secure that he plunged this country into a four years' war--four years of +untold suffering and terrible bravery. When, during the struggle, +Lincoln was informed that peace could be had by dropping the question of +the slaves' emancipation, his answer was the proclamation that all men +were free. With his great heart bleeding, he said, "The war must go on." +Philosophy and America brought on the French Revolution. Philosophy and +humanitarianism brought on the war of North and South. + +'The psychology of America, which had been hidden beneath the physical +side of our rebellion, took definite form as a result. The gates of the +country were open to the entire world. The down-trodden, the persecuted, +the discouraged, the helpless, no matter of what creed or nationality, +saw the rainbow of hope. By hundreds of thousands they poured into this +country. Slav and Teuton, Galician, Italian, Belgian, Jew, in an endless +stream they came to America, and, true to Washington and Lincoln, she +received them with the words, "Welcome--free men." And so we shouldered +the burdens of the Past, and men who had been slaves--white as well as +black--drank of freedom.' + +There was no applause, but men were leaning forward, afraid they might +miss a single word. Van Derwater's depth of human understanding, his +lack of passion, his solitariness that had been likened to an air of +impending tragedy, held his listeners with a magic no one could have +explained. He might have come as a spirit of times that had passed, so +charged with the ages was his strange, powerful personality. + +'From an open sky,' he continued, 'came the present war. The older +nations, knit by tradition and startled by its imminence, flew to arms at +a word from their leaders. France, who had been our friend, looked to +us; but what was our position? In fifty tongues our citizens cried out +that it was to escape war that they had come to America. Could we tell +the Jew that Russia, which had persecuted him to the point of madness, +was on the side of mercy? Could we convince the Teuton that his +Fatherland had become suddenly peopled with savages? Could we say to the +Irishman, bitterly antagonistic to England, that Britain was fighting for +the liberation of small nations? Could we ask the Greek, the Pole, the +Galician, to go back to the continent from which they had come, and give +their blood that the old order of things might go on? + +'But, you ask, what of the real American, descended from the men who +fought in the War of Independence and the Civil War. Yes--what of him? +From earliest boyhood he has been taught that Britain is our traditional +enemy. To secure existence we had to fight her. To maintain existence +we fought her again in 1812. When we were locked in a death-struggle +with the rebellious South, she tried to hurt our cause--although history +will show that the real heart of Britain was solidly with the North. In +our short life as a people we find that, always, the enemy is Britain. +In one day could we change the teaching of a lifetime? The soul of +America was not dead, but it was buried beneath the conflicting elements +in which lay her ultimate strength, but her present weakness. + +'What, then, was the situation? Events had outridden our national +development. Whether it could have been avoided or not I do not know. +Whether our education was at fault, or whether materialism had made us +blind--these things I cannot tell you. I only know that this war found +us potentially a nation, but actually a babel of tongues. Without +philosophy and humanitarianism this nation could not go to war--and in +those two things we were not ready. + +'I do not belittle the many gallant men who have left these shores to +fight with the Allies, but I say that in a world-crisis the voices of +individuals cannot be heard unless they speak through the medium of their +nationality. The question from France is not "Will Americans never +come?" but "Will America never come?" When the war found the +Americanisation of our people unfinished, it became the duty of every +loyal man in the Republic to give his very life-blood to achieve +solidarity. Do you think we could not see that the Allies were fighting +our battle? It was impossible for this nation that had shouldered the +problems of the Old World not to see it; so we began the education of all +our people. We could have hurled this nation into war at almost any hour +by an appeal to national dignity, but our destiny was imperative in its +demands. Not in heat, which would be bound to cool; not in revenge, +which would soon be forgotten; but by philosophy and humanitarianism +alone could this great Republic go to war. + +'Yet, when this Administration looked for help, what did it find? The +two races that come to this country and never help its Americanisation +are the Germans and the English. They remain true to their former +citizenship, and they die true to them. Gentlemen, that must not be +again. America will always be open to the world, but he who passes +within these gates to live must accept responsibilities as well as +privileges. + +'I am almost finished. For two years and a half we have fought against +the disintegrating forces within our country. We have endured the sneers +of belligerents, the insults of Germany, and the tolerance of +Britain--and still we have fought on. Literally we were struggling, as +did our forefathers, for nationhood. But let me ask Mr. Watson if our +psychological unpreparedness was entirely our fault. When Britain allied +herself with Russia, did she give a thought to the effect it would have +on the American mind? To us, Russia was the last stronghold of barbaric +despotism, and yet Britain made that alliance, identifying herself with +the forces of reaction. I do not say that we would have entered into a +similar or any agreement with Britain, but there are alliances of the +spirit far more binding than the most solemn treaties. I accuse Britain +of failing to make the advances toward a spiritual covenant with the +United States, in which lay--and still lies--the hope of this world.' + +A messenger had entered the room and handed a note to the chairman. It +was passed along to Van Derwater's place and left in front of him. He +took it up without opening it, and fingered it idly as he spoke. + +'A nation does not need to be at war,' he went on, 'to find that traitors +are in her midst. The struggle of this Administration for unity of +thought has been thwarted right and left by men of no vision, men drunk +with greed, men blinded with education and so-called idealism. Mr. +Watson, you ask what we have done with America's soul. I will tell you +what we have done _for_ it. There are many of us in this room who have +given everything we have--our time, our friends, and things which we +valued more than life--because we have respected the trust imposed on us +of maintaining America's destiny. I am sorry for your empty sleeve. But +let me assure you that we, also, have known suffering. Because we +believe in America--_first, last, and always in America_--we have stayed +here, enduring sneers and contumely, in order that when America speaks it +will be like the sound of a rushing cataract--one voice, one heart, but +the voice and heart of Humanity. In no other way can America go to war. +. . . And until that moment arrives I shall wear this garb of neutrality +as proudly as any soldier his uniform of honour.' + +He sat down, and in an instant the whole crowd was on its feet. Men +cheered and shouted, and, unashamed, tears ran down many faces. With his +heart pounding and his eyes blinded with emotion, Selwyn did not make a +move. He could only watch, through the mist, the figure of Gerard Van +Derwater with its cloak of loneliness. He saw him look down at the +message and break the seal of the envelope. He saw a flush of colour +sweep into the pallid cheeks and then recede again. Still with the air +of calmness and self-control, Van Derwater rose again to his feet. +'Gentlemen,' he said. The room was hushed instantly and every face was +turned towards him. 'Gentlemen, I have received a message from my +headquarters. Germany has announced the resumption of unrestricted +submarine warfare.' + +For a moment the room swam before Selwyn's eyes. The shouts and +exclamations of the others seemed to come from a distance. And suddenly +he found that he was on his feet. His eyes were like brilliants and his +voice rang out above all the other sounds. + +'Van!' he cried, 'does this mean war--at last?' + +With steady, unchanging demeanour his former friend looked at him. +'Yes,' he said. 'At last.' + +And as they watched they saw Van Derwater's hands contract, and for a +moment that passed as quickly as it came his whole being shook in a +convulsive tremor of feeling. Then, in a silence that was poignant, he +sank slowly into his chair, his shoulders drooping, listless and weary. +With eyes that were seeing into some secret world of their own he gazed +dreamily across the room, and a smile crept into his face--a smile of one +who sees the dawn after a long, bitter night. + +'Thank God,' he said, with lips that trembled oddly. 'Thank God.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE SMUGGLER BREED. + + +I. + +On an April evening, fifteen months later, a certain liveliness could +have been noted in the vicinity of Drury Lane Theatre. The occasion +was another season of opera in English, and as the offering for the +night was _Madam Butterfly_, the usual heterogeneous fraternity of +Puccini-worshippers were gathering in large numbers. + +Although the splendour of Covent Garden (which had been closed for the +war) was missing, the boxes held their modicum of brilliantly dressed +women; and through the audience there was a considerable sprinkling of +soldiers, mostly from the British Dominions and America, grasping +hungrily at one of the few war-time London theatrical productions that +did not engender a deep and lasting melancholy--to say nothing of a +deep and lasting doubt of English humour and English delicacy. + +In one of the upper boxes Lady Erskin had a small unescorted party. +Lady Erskin herself was a plump little miniature who was rather +exercised over the dilemma of whether to display a huge feathery fan +and obliterate herself, or to sacrifice the fan to the glory of being +stared at by common people. With her was her sister, the wife of a +country rector, who assumed such an elaborate air of _ennui_ that any +one could have told it was her first time in a box. Between them was +Lady Erskin's rather pretty daughter, and behind her, with all her +vivid personality made glorious in its setting of velvety cloak and +creamy gown, was Elise Durwent, enjoying a three days' respite from her +long tour of duty. + +The lights went out, and with the rising of the curtain the little +drama of tenderness and cruelty held the stage. From the distance, +Butterfly could be heard approaching, her voice coming nearer as the +typical Puccini progressions followed her ascent. There was the +marriage, the cursing of Butterfly by the Bonze, and the exquisite love +duet, so full of passionate _abandon_, and yet shaded with such +delicacy. At the conclusion of the act, where the orchestra adds its +overpowering _tour de force_ to the singers', the audience burst into +applause that lasted for several minutes. It was the spontaneous +gratitude of hundreds of war-tired souls whose bonds had been relaxed +for an hour by the magic touch of music. + +'Do you think the tenor is good-looking?' asked Lady Erskin of no one +in particular. + +'Who is that in the opposite box, with the leopard's skin on her +shoulders?' queried the rector's wife. + +'I think Butterfly is topping,' said Lady Erskin's daughter. 'I always +weep buckets in the second act.' + +'I should like to die to music like that,' said Elise, almost to +herself. + + +II. + +Close by a communication-trench, Dick Durwent stood shivering in the +cool night-air. He was waiting to go forward on sentry-duty, the +remainder of the relief having gathered at the other end of the +reserve-trench in which he was standing; but though it was spring, +there was a chill and a dampness in the air that seemed to breathe from +the pores of the mutilated earth. A desultory shelling was going on, +but for a week past a comparative calm had succeeded the hideous +nightmare of March and early April, when Germany had so nearly swept +the board clean of stakes. + +He heard the voices of a carrying-party coming up, and suddenly he +crouched low. There was a horrible whine, growing to a shriek--and a +shell burst a few yards away. Shaken and almost deafened, Durwent +remained where he was until he saw an object roll nearly to his feet. +It was a jar of rum that was being brought up for issue. He lifted the +thing up, and again he shivered in the raw air like one sickening of +the ague. Quick as the thought itself, he put the jar down, and +seizing his water-bottle, emptied its contents on the ground. Kneeling +down, he filled it with rum, and leaving the jar lying at such an angle +that it would appear to have spilled a certain amount, he hurriedly +joined the rest of the relief warned for duty. + +Dick had been on guard in the front line for an hour, when he received +word that a patrol was going out. A moment later they passed him, an +officer and two men, and he saw them quietly climb over the parapet +which had been hastily improvised when the battalion took over the +position. They had been gone only a couple of minutes when +pistol-shots rang out, and the flares thrown up revealed a shadowy +fight between two patrols that had met in the dark. The firing +stopped, and Durwent's eyes, staring into the blackness, saw two men +crouching low and dragging something after them. He challenged, to +find that it was the patrol returning, and that the one they were +bringing back was the officer, killed. + +The trench was so narrow that they could not carry him back, and they +left the body lying on the parapet until a stretcher could be fetched. + +Dulled as he had become to terrible sights, the horror of that silent, +grotesque figure began to freeze Dick Durwent's blood. A few minutes +before it had been a thing of life. It had loved and hated and +laughed; its veins had coursed with the warm blood of youth; and there +it sprawled, a ghastly jumble of arms and legs--motionless, silent, +_dead_. He tried to keep his eyes turned away, but it haunted him. +When he stared straight ahead into the dark it beckoned to him--he +could see the fingers twitching! And not till he crept near could he +be satisfied that, after all, it had not moved. + +'Sherwood!' He heard a quivering voice to his right. It was the +nearest sentry, an eighteen-year-old boy, who had called him by the +name given him by Austin Selwyn, the name under which he had enlisted. + +'What's the matter?' called Durwent. + +Without his rifle, the little chap stumbled towards him, and, dark as +it was, Dick could see that his face was livid and his eyes were wide +with terror. + +'Sherwood,' whimpered the boy, 'I can't stand it--I've lost my +nerve. . . . That thing there--there. . . . It moves. It's dead, and +it moves. . . . Look, it's grinning at me now! I'm going back. I +can't stay here--I can't.' + +'Steady, steady,' said Durwent, gripping the boy by the shoulder and +shaking him roughly. 'Pull yourself together. Don't be a kid. You've +seen far worse than this and never turned a hair.' + +'I can't help it,' whined the boy. 'There's dead men walking out there +all over. Can't you see them? They whisper in the dark--I can hear +them all the time. I'm going back.' + +'You can't, you little idiot. They'll shoot you.' + +'I don't care. Let them shoot.' + +'Where's your rifle? Get back to your post. If you're caught like +this, there'll be a firing-party at daybreak for you.' + +'I don't care,' cried the lad hysterically. 'They can't keep me here. +I'm going'---- + +'Here'---- Throwing the young fellow against the parapet and holding +him there by leaning heavily against him, Durwent felt for his +water-bottle and withdrew the stopper. 'Drink this,' he said, forcing +the mouth of the flask between the boy's lips. 'Take a shot of rum. +It will put the guts back into you.' + +The young soldier choked with the burning liquid, and tears oozed from +his eyes, but the chill of the body passed, and with it the chill of +cowardice. With a half-whimper, half-laugh, he forced a silly, coarse +jest from his lips. 'Where did you get it, Sherwood?' + +'Never mind,' said Dick. 'Come on now. Back you go--and stick it out.' + + +III. + +The second act of _Madam Butterfly_ was in progress. + +With the sure touch of high artistry, both composer and librettist had +delineated the result of Pinkerton's faithlessness--a faithlessness +that was obvious to every one but Cho-cho-san, who still believed that +her husband would return with the roses. Firm in her trust, she +pictured to Sazuki the day when he would come, 'a little speck in the +distance, climbing the hillock'--how she would wait 'a bit to tease him +and a bit so as not to die at our first meeting'--ending with the +triumphant assurance (born of her woman's intuition, which, alas! +proves so frequently unreliable) that it would all come to pass as she +told. She _knew_ it. + +And so to the visit of the American consul, who tries to tell her that +her husband has written that he has tired of her--she, poor soul, +reading in his words the message that he still loves her. Then the +final tableau of the act with Butterfly, her baby and Sazuki standing +at the Shosi facing the distant harbour where his ship has just been +signalled. Softly the humming of the priests at worship ceases, and +the curtain descends on what must always remain a masterpiece of +delicate pathos--a story that will never lose its appeal while woman's +trust in man lends its charm to drab existence. + +'The tenor didn't come in at all in that act,' said Lady Erskin. + +'Really,' said the rector's wife, fixing her lorgnette on the opposite +box, 'that person with the leopard's skin looks absolutely like a +cannibal.' + +'I'm just swimming in tears,' was the comment of Lady Erskin's daughter. + +Elise said nothing; nor did she hear them speak. Her heart was +fluttering wildly, and her hands were clasped tightly together. She +had heard a far-away cry--and the voice was Dick's. + + +IV. + +The raw air of the night, the dread of that loathsome, silent thing, +the haunting terror of the boy's eyes a few minutes before, the whine +of shells, all bored their way into Dick Durwent's brain. He began to +tremble. With every bit of will-power he fought it off, but he felt +the fumes of madness coming over him. + +For days on end he had had no rest. In the Fifth Army _debacle_ of +March his battalion had been one of the first to break, although +remnants had fought as few men had ever fought before; and when they +had been reorganised they were moved back into the line, undermanned, +ill-equipped, and branded with disgrace. It was the culmination of +three years' service at the front, and his nerves were at the +breaking-point. Mounds of earth ahead of him, and gnarled, dismembered +trees, began to take the ghostly shapes that the frightened boy had +told of. + +Mumbling meaningless things, he reached for his water-bottle and poured +a mouthful of rum down his throat. It set his heart beating more +firmly, and his blood was no longer like ice in a sluggish river. He +replaced the stopper and resumed his watch, but every fibre of his body +was craving for more of the alcohol. With set teeth he struggled for +self-control, but every instinct was fighting against him. He took +another sip, then a long draught of the scorching liquid, and leaned +against the parapet. He pressed his hot face against the damp earth, +and burrowed his fingers into it in a frenzied effort for self-mastery. +Again he drank, and his mouth burned with the stuff. His head was +swimming, and he could hear surf breaking on a rocky coast. The dead +man was grinning at him, but death no longer held any terrors for him. +He raised the bottle in a mock toast and drank greedily of the rum +again. + +The pounding of the waves puzzled him. He could not remember that they +were near any water. But more and more distinctly he could hear the +roll of surf dashed into spray against the shore. . . . It was +strange. . . . Once more he pressed the bottle to his lips, and it set +his very arteries on fire. Yes. Over to the left he could see the +glimmer of the ocean. There was a light; some one was beside it. It +was Elise! She was giving a signal. That was it--the smugglers were +landing their contraband, and she was signalling that all was clear. + +He looked over to the dead man. The corpse was rising to its feet. It +had all been a hoax on its part--it was an excise officer. His eyes +were fixed on the light, too. His men would be near, and they would +capture Elise--and afterwards the smugglers, led by their +great-grandfather. He would have to warn her. He couldn't shout, for +that would give everything away. He would crawl near to her first. + +He finished the rum, draining the bottle to the last drop, and started +to creep along the trench, his heavy, powerless limbs carrying him only +inches where his imagination made it yards. He looked back once. The +dead man was following him. It had become a race between himself and a +corpse. He kept his eye on the light. He could see Elise quite +plainly. She was looking out towards the sea. + +Feeling his muscles growing weaker, and fearful that the dead man would +overtake him, he struggled to his feet and clapped his hands to his +mouth. + +'_Elise_!' he yelled. '_Elise_!' + +And with the roar of surf in his ears, he sank to the ground in a +drunken stupor. + + +V. + +The last act of _Madam Butterfly_ was ending. The cruel little +story wound to a close with the return of Pinkerton and his +sympathy-uninspiring American wife, and then the suicide of +Butterfly--the logical, but comparatively unmoving, finale to the opera. + +But Elise neither saw the actors nor heard the music. With her hands +covering her eyes, she had been listening for the voice of Dick. She +could hear it, distant and faint, growing nearer, as if he were coming +towards her through a forest. There was in it a despair she had never +heard before. He was in danger--where or how she could not fathom--but +over the surging music of the orchestra she could hear the voice of +Boy-blue crying through the infinity of space. + +The opera was over, and there was a storm of applause that developed +into an ovation. + +'The tenor isn't really handsome, after all,' said Lady Erskin. + +'I think the women of to-day are shameless,' said the rector's wife, +casting a last indignant glance at the box across the theatre. + +'I feel a perfect rag,' said Lady Erskin's daughter. 'Good heavens! +Elise, what's the matter?' + +'Nothing. I--I don't know,' Elise answered, looking up with +terror-stricken eyes. 'I'm just overwrought. That's all.' + +'You poor dear!' said Lady Erskin. 'You shouldn't take the opera so +seriously. After all, it didn't really happen--and I have no doubt in +real life the tenor is quite a model husband, with at least ten +children.' + + +VI. + +'Drunk,' said the company commander, stooping over the prostrate body +of Dick Durwent. 'He was all right when he took over. Where did he +get the stuff?' + +'Smell that, sir,' said the subaltern of the night, handing him a +water-bottle. + +'Humph! This looks bad. Have him carried to the rear and placed under +arrest.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE SENTENCE. + + +I. + +On the outskirts of a village near the junction of the British and +French armies, two guards with loaded rifles kept watch at the doors of +a hut. The warm sunlight of May was bathing the fields in gold, where +here and there a peasant woman could be seen sprinkling seed into the +furrows. Across a field, cutting its way through a farmyard, a light +railway carried its occasional wobbling, narrow-gauged traffic; and +outside half-a-dozen huts soldiers were lolling in the warmth of early +afternoon, polishing accoutrements and exchanging the lazy philosophy +of men resting after herculean tasks. Elsewhere there was no sign of +war. Cattle browsed about the meadows, and the villagers, long since +grown used to the presence of foreign soldiers, pursued their endless +duties. + +A sergeant walked briskly from a cottage in the village and went +directly to the field where lay the hut guarded by the sentries. 'Fall +in outside!' he said sharply, opening the door. + +Bareheaded, and with his dark hair seeming to cast the shadows that had +gathered beneath his eyes, Dick Durwent emerged and took his place +between the guards. + +'To receive the sentence of the court,' said the sergeant in answer to +his questioning glance. 'Escort and prisoner--'shun! Right turn! +Quick march!' + +Past the lounging soldiers to the road, and on to the village, they +marched. Women glanced up, curious as to the meaning of the little +procession, but with a shrug of their shoulders resumed their work, and +soon forgot all about it. The escort halted outside the cottage from +which the sergeant had come, and he entered it alone. A minute later +he reappeared, and marched prisoner and guards into the room where the +court-martial had been held that morning. The three officers were +sitting in the same places--a lieutenant-colonel, whose set, sun-tanned +face told nothing; a captain, whose firmness of jaw and steadiness of +eye could not hide his twitching lip; and a subaltern, pale as Dick +Durwent himself. + +As president of the court, the senior officer handed a sealed envelope +to the prisoner. Not a word was spoken on either side. The sergeant's +command rang out, and the noise of metalled heels upon the floor was +startlingly loud. + +Still without a word, carrying the unread sentence in his hand, Durwent +was marched back to the hut. Again the women cast curious glances, and +a little urchin in a cocked-hat stood at the salute as they passed. + +When he was alone once more, Dick broke the seal of the envelope, and +without his face altering, except that the shadows grew darker beneath +his eyes, he read the finding of the court. + +He was to be shot. + +He read it twice. With a long, quivering intake of the breath, he tore +the thing slowly into a dozen pieces and threw them into a corner. + +Walking to the end of the hut, he leaned against the ledge of a little +window, and looked out towards the horizon where the great blue of the +sky stooped to earth. There was the laughter of soldiers, and from an +adjoining meadow came the neighing of a restive horse. The sunlight +deepened, and from a hundred branches birds were trilling welcome to +the promise of another summer. + +Two hours passed. The warmth of early afternoon was giving way to the +cool mood of twilight--but the solitary figure had not moved. + + +II. + +Nine days had passed when a motor-lorry drew up on the road, and the +same sergeant ordered Dick Durwent to take his place outside the hut +with his escort. The prisoner asked as to his destination, and was +told that the sentence, having been confirmed, was to be promulgated +before his unit. + +They had been travelling for half-an-hour when they reached a field in +which Durwent saw two companies of his battalion drawn up in the form +of a hollow square. Faint with shame, staggering under the hideous +cruelty of the whole thing, he was marched into the centre and ordered +to take a pace forward, while the commanding officer read the sentence +of court-martial to the men: that Private Sherwood, being found guilty +of drunkenness while on guard--it being further proved that he had +obtained unlawful possession of the liquor--was to be shot at dawn, and +that the sentence would be carried out the following morning. + +Although his senses reeled with the shock and ignominy of it all, the +prisoner's bearing showed no sign of it. With his head erect, he +looked into the faces of the men whom he had lived and slept and fought +beside; men with whom he had shared privation and danger; men who had +been his comrades through it all. But as he searched their faces he +felt an overpowering loneliness. In the eyes of every one there was +horror; To be killed in battle--what was that? But to be shot like a +cur in the grizzly morning! Yet their horror, their anger, was against +the military law, and was born of a fear that the same thing might come +to them. It was that which cut him to the quick. It was not that _he_ +was to be shot the next day, but that _they_ might meet a similar fate. +That was the fear which drove the blood from their cheeks and left +their lips parted in awe. + +And then he saw a face which almost broke down his manhood, and sent +scalding tears to the very brink. It was the face of the lad he had +saved from deserting that terrible night. The boy's agony was for him +alone; it was pleading for understanding; it was trying to tell him +that he would never forget--that the condemned man would not go to his +death unmourned by one human heart. + + +III. + +It was his last night. All evening the chaplain had been with him, +offering the solace of divine mercy and forgiveness; but though he was +grateful for the good man's ministrations, Durwent felt that he wanted +to be alone. He hardly knew why; but there were many things to think +of, things which would be remembered more easily if he were by himself. +Towards eleven o'clock he made the request of the chaplain, who left +him, promising to return shortly after midnight; and, with his hands +clasped behind his back, Dick walked slowly up and down the hut. + +His mind journeyed to Roselawn--and Elise. At least--and at the +thought he struck his hands together with joy--she would never know. +She would think he had died in China. For several minutes he walked +without his thoughts taking any other form than that, but gradually the +realisation of his surroundings began to leave him. He was roaming +through the woods with Elise; they were climbing a great tree for +birds' eggs; they were casting flies for trout in the stream that ran +through their estate; they were riding across country on ponies that +whinnied with pleasure at the feel of the soft turf. But wherever his +hungry imagination painted her, there was in her face the womanly +tenderness that had always been hers in their companionship. + +He stopped in his walk and pressed his clenched fingers against his +lips. She had always believed in him. Through all the hell in which +the Fates had cast his destiny, she had been one star towards which he +could grope. But now--a drunkard--a renegade soldier of a renegade +battalion--to be shot. He had killed her trust! The horrors of the +night closed on him like hounds on a dying stag. + +Uttering a dull cry of agony, he staggered across the hut with +outstretched hands--and in the darkness his poor disordered fancy saw +once more the vision of his sister's face. It was as he had seen her +when, as a boy bruised by life, he had gone to her for solace. She had +not changed. She could not change. Her eyes, her lips, were saying +that in the morning she would stand beside him, holding his hand in +hers, until the levelled rifles severed his soul and his body for +eternity. + +He sank to his knees, and for the first time in many years he prayed. +It was a prayer to an unknown God, in words that were meaningless, +disjointed things. It was a soul crying out to its source, a soul +struggling towards the throne of Eternal Justice, through a darkness +lit only by a sister's love and the gratitude of an eighteen-year-old +boy saved from shameful death. + +The commands of the sergeant of the guard could be heard as sentries +were changed. Durwent rose to his feet and tried to look from the +window, but the night was as black as the grave which had already been +dug for him. Once more there was no sound but the wind moaning about +the deserted fields. + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +Dick's body grew rigid. Was it a prank of his mind, or had he really +heard the words? + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +The door had opened an inch. His heart beat wildly, and he crouched +close to the crevice. + +'Mathews!' he gasped. + +'Sh-sh.' An admonishing hand touched him. 'Come close, sir. This is +a dirty business, Mas'r Dick. If you hear me cough noticeable, get +back and pretend like you're asleep.' + +'But--but, in God's name, what are you doing there?' + +'I'm a-guardin' you, sir. Sh-sh.' + +The old groom moved a couple of paces away from the door, humming a +song about a coachman who loved a turnkey's daughter. Almost mad with +excitement, Dick stood in the darkness of the hut with his outstretched +arms shaking and quivering. He was afraid he would shout, and bit his +finger-nails to help to repress the wild desire. + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +In an instant he was crouching again by the door. + +'There'll be a orficer's inspection,' whispered the sentry, 'a minute +or two arter midnight. When that there little ceremony has took place, +you and me is goin' for a walk.' + +'Where?' + +'Anywheres, Mas'r Dick.' + +'You mean--to escape?' + +'Precisely so, sir.' + +For a moment his pulses beat furiously with hope; but the realisation +of what it meant for the old groom killed it like a sudden frost. 'No, +Mathews,' he whispered. 'It isn't fair to you. I am not going to try +to escape. Give me your hand; I want to say good-bye.' + +For answer, the imperturbable Mathews moved off again, and, in a soft +but most unmusical bass, sang the second verse about the amorous +coachman and the susceptible turnkey's daughter. Dick listened, +hanging greedily on every little sound with its atmosphere of Roselawn. + +'Mas'r Dick.' Mathews had returned. 'No argifyin' won't get you +nowhere. If I have to knock you atwixt the ears and drag you out by +the 'eels, you're comin' out o' that there stall to-night. I ain't +goin' for to see a Durwent made a target of. No, sir; not if I have to +blow the whole army up, and them frog-eaters along with 'em. Close +that door, Mas'r Dick. I've got a contrary temper, and can't stand no +argifyin' like. Close that door, sir.' + +Almost crazed with excitement, Dick strode about the hut. Even if he +were to get away, the chances of capture were overwhelming. But--to be +shot in an open fight for freedom! That would be a thousand times +better than death by an open grave. Freedom! The word was +intoxication. To breathe the air of heaven once again--to feel the +canopy of the stars--to smell the musk of flowers and new grass! If +only for an hour; yet, what an hour! + +And then the chance, remote, but still within the realm of possibility, +of reaching the front line, where men died like men. Of all the +desires he had ever known, none had gripped him like the longing for +battle, where death and honour were inseparable. + +But once more the thought of Mathews chilled his purpose. It would +mean penal servitude or worse for the old groom, and he was not going +to be the means of ruining him for his faithfulness. He could not +stoop so low as that. + +These and a hundred similar thoughts flashed through his mind, and he +was no nearer their solution when the door was opened and a sergeant +shouted a command. He started. For a second he thought that dawn +might be breaking, and that his hour had arrived; but an officer came +up the steps, and he saw with a quiver of relief that it was the +nightly inspection. + +'Everything all right?' + +'Yes, sir,' he answered. + +'Where's the chaplain?' + +'He'll be back directly, sir.' + +'Food all right--everything possible being done for you?' + +'I have no complaints, sir.' + +In the light of the lamp held by the sergeant the two men looked at +each other. Without saying anything more, the officer glanced about +the hut. 'That will do, sergeant.--Good-night.' + +'Good-night, sir,' answered Durwent. + +The officer had hardly reached the door, where the sergeant had +preceded him with the light, when he turned back impulsively and put +out his hand. 'I suppose this sort of thing is necessary,' he said +hoarsely; 'but it's a damned rotten affair altogether.' + +They clasped hands; and turning on his heel, the officer left the hut. + +'Take every precaution, sergeant,' Dick heard him say; 'and send a +runner to the chaplain with my compliments. Tell him he must not leave +the prisoner.' + +'Very good, sir.' + +Silence again--and the crunching of the sentries' heels on the sparsely +sprinkled gravel. The ordeal was becoming unbearable. Dick feared the +passing of the minutes which would bring back the chaplain, and yet +every minute seemed an eternity. The conflict ravaged his very soul. +Was he to take the chance offered him by the strangest trick of +Destiny, or remain and die like a rat caught in a trap? + +'Mas'r Dick.' + +The door was quietly opened. The old groom's hand fell on his arm and +drew him firmly outwards. He tried to pull back, but with unexpected +strength the older man exerted pressure, until Dick found himself +outside. + +It was so dark that he could not see a yard ahead of him as Mathews, +retaining his grip on his companion's arm, led him towards the road. +They were nearly clear of the field, when the groom stopped abruptly, +and they lay flat on the ground. It was the orderly officer and the +sergeant returning from the inspection of a hut some distance off. + +'Sentry.' The officer had paused opposite the hut where the prisoner +had been. + +'Yes, sir,' came the answer from the soldier still on guard at the +other door. + +'Has the chaplain returned?' + +'Not yet, sir.' + +With an impatient exclamation, the officer went on towards the village; +and gaining their feet, the two men reached the road. + +'There's a path alongside, sir,' whispered Mathews, 'and you and me is +goin' to put as much terry-firmy atwixt this village and us as our four +legs can do. Now, sir, we're off!' + +With lowered heads, they broke into a run. Stumbling over unseen +stones, lacerating their hands and faces against bushes which over-hung +the path, they ran on into the dark. Once a staff car passed them, and +they huddled in a ditch; but it was only for a few seconds, and they +were up again. Unless they were unfortunate enough to run right into +the arms of the military police, the night was offering every chance of +success. A barking dog warned them that they had come to the outskirts +of another village. Leaving the road, they circled the place by +tortuously making their way through uneven fields, until they thought +it safe once more to take the path. On they ran--past silent +fields--by streams--by murky swamps. + +Towards dawn Dick was faint with fatigue. The ordeal of the last month +had cruelly sapped his vitality, and as he ran he found himself +stumbling to his knees. + +'Hold hard, sir,' said the groom, who was leading. 'Another mile or +so, and you and me, sir, will breathe ourselves proper.' + +Only another mile--but a mile of utter anguish. Twice Dick fell, and +the second time he could not rise without assistance. + +'Mas'r Dick,' pleaded the groom, 'look 'ee, sir. Up yonder hill +somewheres about I knows there is a cornfield, for I have noted it many +a time. 'We can't hide here, sir, in this stubble. Lean on me, Mas'r +Dick--that's the way. Now, sir, for England, 'ome, and beauty.' + +Struggling to retain his consciousness, Dick limped beside the old +servitor, until, gaining the hill, they saw an abandoned cornfield. +There was a roll of guns as they made their way into the field, and +through the dense blackness of the night a few streaks of gray could be +seen towards the east. + +Without a sound, Dick sank to the ground in complete exhaustion. The +groom unstrapped his own greatcoat, which had been carried rolled, and +covered the lad with it. Taking a thermos bottle from his haversack, +he poured some hot tea between Dick's lips, and saw a little glow of +warmth creep into the cheeks. + +'Now, sir,' he said, 'take a bit 'o' this sandwich. 'Ave another swig +o' the tea. Bless my heart, sir, won't them fellers be surprised when +they finds as how they ain't got no corpse for their funeral? That's +better, sir. I will say about army tea that even if it ain't what my +old woman would make, it's rare an' strong, Mas'r Dick--rare an' strong +an' powerful, likewise and sim'lar.' + +'Mathews,' said Dick weakly, 'how was it--you were on guard--last +night? Was it just an accident?' + +'Yes, sir. Just a accident. Well, not precisely a accident neither, +sir. I be what the War Office calls "a headquarter troop," and do odd +jobs behind the lines. Sometimes I dig graves, and other times I be a +officer's servant, and likewise do a turn o' sentry-go. Well, sir, +when I heard that you was a prisoner and was goin' for to be shot, I +persuades the corp'l to put me on guard, exchangin' a diggin' job with +a bloke by the name o' Griggs, so as not to incormode the records o' +the War Office. That's all, sir. There I were, and here we be; and +arter you've had a sleep, you and me will have a jaw on our immed'ate +future. 'Ave a good snooze, Mas'r Dick, and I'll keep an eye trimmed +on the road.' + +With the same boyishness he had shown that night in Selwyn's rooms, +Dick put out his hand and pressed the old groom's arm. With a paternal +air, Mathews patted the hand with his own and reached for his pipe, +explaining that he would steal a smoke before daylight. But the lad +did not hear him. He was lost in a deep, dreamless sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE FIGHT FOR THE BRIDGE. + + +I. + +It was nearly noon when the tired youth awoke. He looked wonderingly +about, and there was a haunting fear in his light eyes, like those of a +stag that dreads the hunters. From the north there came the sound of +drum-fire, a weird, almost tedious, rhythm of guns working at a feverish +pace; and the near-by road was a mass of jumbled traffic. Ambulances, +supply-wagons, field-artillery, lorries, with jingling harness or +snorting engines--streams of vehicles moved slowly up and down their +channel. At a reckless speed motorcyclists, carrying urgent messages, +swerved through it all; and in the ditches that ran alongside, refugees +were stumbling on, fleeing from the new terror, their crouching, +misshapen figures like players from a grotesque drama of the Macabre. + +'The sausage-eaters,' said Mathews philosophically, 'must be feelin' +their oats, sir.' + +At the sound of the familiar voice the fear passed from Dick's face. +Memory had returned, and he smiled, though his body trembled as if with a +chill. 'I'm starved,' he said, 'and I have nothing with me. How long +did I sleep, Mathews?' + +'Pretty near seven hours, Mas'r Dick. Here you are, sir--feedin'-time, +and the bugle's went.' + +He handed Durwent a sandwich, which the young man devoured ravenously, +washing it down with some cold tea. Mathews also munched at a sandwich, +and through the cornstalks they watched the two currents of war-traffic +eddying past each other. There was a roar of engines behind them, and, +flying low, a formation of sixteen British aeroplanes made in a straight +line for the battle area. + +With a map which the groom had thoughtfully borrowed from an officer the +previous day, Dick managed to gain fairly accurate information as to +their position. By calculation he figured out that they had travelled +seventeen or eighteen miles during the night, and identifying the main +road on which they had come, he saw that after two or three miles it +would take a rectangular turn to the right, running parallel to the line +of battle. Four miles to the south-east of the turning-point there was a +river, and this the fugitives decided to reach that night. + +'If we can locate that,' said Dick eagerly, 'it is bound to lead us into +the French lines.' + +'Werry good, sir,' said the groom, with an air of resignation. His +contempt for maps and their unintelligibility was deep-rooted, but if his +young master thought he could locate a river with one, he would keep an +open mind on the subject until it had, at least, been given a fair trial. + +'You see,' said Durwent, 'a great many of these troops on the road are +French, so when we follow that route we must get into French territory.' + +'Yezzir,' said Mathews profoundly. 'I won't go for to say as 'ow you +mayn't be right. All the same, Mas'r Dick, when it comes to enterin' the +ring wi' them sausage-eaters I'd raither 'ave a dozen Lancashire or Devon +lads about me than all the Frenchies you could put in Hyde Park. It +ain't that these here spec'mens don't 'ave a good sound heart as far as +standin' up and takin' knocks is concerned, but they be too frisky and +skittish for my likin'. I see 'em all wavin' their arms like as if a +carriage and pair has run away, and talkin' all at once and together, +likewise and sim'lar. Wot's more, they does it in a lingo that no one +can't go for to make out, not even a Frenchy hisself, because I never see +one Frog listenin' to another--did you, sir? Wot's more, sir, they gets +all of a lather over things which is only fit for women-folk to worry +on--such as w'ether a hen has laid its egg reg'lar; or the coffee, was it +black enough? From wot I see as puts a Frog in a dither, I sez to myself +that if you was to take him to a real hoss-race, he'd never see the +finish. No, sir; he'd be dead o' heart-failure afore the hosses was off.' + +Dick smiled at the tremendous seriousness of the old groom, and lay back +wearily on the ground. 'We had better both turn in for another nap,' he +said. 'We'll need all our strength to-night, and if we stay awake we're +sure to get hungry.' + +'Werry sound advice, Mas'r Dick,' said Mathews. 'But would I be +presumin', sir, to ask you a favour? I got a letter yesterday from my +old woman, and wot with her writin' and me bein' nought o' a scholar, I +was wonderin', Mas'r Dick, if you would just acquaint me with any fac's +that you might think the old girl would like me for to know.' + +'Willingly,' said Dick, taking a sealed letter from the groom, who +squatted solemnly on the ground, assuming an air of deep contemplation, +as one who has to give an opinion on a hitherto unread masterpiece. + +'It begins,' said Dick, with some difficulty making out the writing, +which was extremely small in some words and very large in others, and +punctuated mainly with blots--'"Dear Daddy"'---- + +'That,' said Mathews, 'is conseckens o' me bein' sire to little +Wellington.' + +'Oh yes,' said Dick. '"Dear Daddy, ther ain't nothing to tell you +Wellington has took the mumps and the cat had some more kittens"'---- + +'That's a werry remark'ble cat,' observed Mathews. 'I never see a animal +so ambitious. Wot does the old girl say Wellington has took?' + +'Mumps.' + +'By Criky! I hope it don't go for to make his nose no bigger. Wot a +infant he is! Mumps! Go on, Mas'r Dick--the old girl's doin' fine.' + +'"The day,"' resumed Dick--'"the day afor Tuesday come last week"'---- + +'Don't pull up, sir,' said Mathews as Dick paused to re-read the puzzling +words. 'You has to take my old woman at a good clip to get her +meanin'--but you'll find it hid somewere, Mas'r Dick. I never see the +old girl come a cropper yet.' + +With this to guide him, the reader found his place again with the aid of +a blot, a half-inch square, which surrounded the first word. '"The day +afor Tuesday,"' he went on, '"come last week Wellington and the rector's +boy Charlie fit."' + +'Werry good,' said Mathews approvingly. + +'"Wellington's nose were badly done in and he looks awful bad but the +rector's boy"'---- + +'Wot does she say about him?' asked Mathews, staring into space. + +'"The rector's boy could not see out of neither eye for 3 days."' + +Repressing a chuckle by a great effort, Mathews hastily fumbled for his +corncob pipe, and placing it unlit in his mouth, continued to look into +space with a face that was almost purple from smothered exuberance. + +'"Milord and Lady,"' resumed Dick, '"is just the same and Milord always +asks how you was and will I remember him to you."' + +'A thoroughbred--that's wot he is,' said Mathews, apparently addressing +the distant refugees. + +'"Miss Elise was heer last week and is that sweet grown that all the +woonded tommies fit with pillos to see who wud propos to her. There +ain't no news. Bertha the skullery maid marrid a hyland soldier and they +are going for to keep a sweet-shop after the war. Wellington sprayned +his ankil yesterday by clyming out of the windo where I had locked him in +as he has the mumps."' + +'Wot a infant!' commented Mathews admiringly. + +'"I am sending you a parsil and a picter of me and Wellington. We are +very lonesum, daddy, and I'll be reel glad when the war is over and you +come back. It is awful lonesum and Wellington is to. This morning he +cut his hand trying to carv our best chair into the shape of a horse. I +am feeling fine and hope the reumatiz don't worry you no more. With +heeps of love from me and Wellington, your wife, Maggie."' + +It was a strange contrast in faces as the young man folded the letter and +handed it back. In the countenance of the groom there was a sturdy pride +in the epistolary achievement of his wife--a pride which he made a +violent but unsuccessful effort to conceal. In the pale, handsome face +of the young aristocrat there was a whimsical pathos. By the picture +conjured up in the crudely written letter he had seen his parents, his +sister, the humble cottage of the groom, and the wife's faithfulness and +cheeriness. He had seen them, not as separate things, but hallowed and +unified by a common sacrifice for England. + +For the first time since his escape Dick Durwent regretted it. He could +see no safety ahead for Mathews, no matter how long they evaded arrest. +Although a cool, fretful wind was blowing over the fields, the warm noon +sun made his eyelids heavy. + +Against the wish of the groom, he insisted upon spreading the greatcoat +over them both, and in a few minutes master and man were resting side by +side as comrades. + +'Mathews,' said Dick quietly. + +'Yezzir?' + +'Give me your word that if you ever reach England you will never tell my +family about this. They don't know I am in France, and'---- + +'Mum as a oyster, sir--that's the ticket. Werry good, Mas'r Dick. A +oyster it is.' + +Ten minutes had passed without either of them speaking, when Mathews +partially raised himself on one elbow. 'If women,' he said ruminatingly, +'was to have votes, my old girl would run for Parlyment, sure as +skittles. I wonder, Mas'r Dick, if a feller who courted a girl in good +faith, and arter a few years found she were Prime Minister of +England--would that constitoot grounds for divorce?' + +But Dick was asleep, and dreaming of days when happiness was in the air +one breathed; when brother and sister had revelled in nature's carnival +of seasons. After several minutes' contemplation of the uncertainty of +married life, the old groom followed him into a slumber which was +unattended by dreams, but did not lack a sonorous serenade. + + +II. + +The night was streaked with tragedy as the fugitives stole to the road. +The drum-fire of the guns had grown to a roar, through which there came +the blast and the crash of siege artillery, shaking the earth to its very +foundations, as if the gases of hell had ignited and were bursting +through. As though by lightning striking low, the night was lit with +flashes illuminating the fields and the roads about; and shells were +screaming and whining through the air, winged, blood-sucking monsters +crying for their prey. Across a yellow moon broken clouds were driven on +a gale that whipped the dust of the roads into moaning whirlpools. + +Dense traffic moved sullenly on, the ghostly figures of drivers astride +horses that whinnied in terror of the night. Not a light was shown. +There were only the glimpses of the sickly moonlight and the flame-red +flashes of the guns; and, unnoticed, Durwent and the groom followed +beside a lorry. + +Once, as they strode forward in the roar and horror of the dark, they +heard the explosion of a shell that, by a trick of ill-luck, had found +the road. There followed the shriek of wounded horses, quick commands +penetrating the darkness. Corpses of men, dead horses, and shattered +vehicles were drawn aside, and the long line that had been halted for +four minutes closed the gap and moved on. + +When they reached the turn in the road, they left the shadowy procession +and made for the river by following a soft wagon-path that cut across the +fields. For two hours they hurried on through the night's madness. More +than once they were almost thrown to the ground by the terrific explosion +of heavy guns that had taken up positions by the path; and by the flashes +in the fields they could see the weird figures of the gunners toiling at +their work of death. + +As they neared the river they caught a glimpse of coloured flares not far +ahead, and there came a momentary lull in the confused bombardment. + +'Listen!' cried Dick. + +From somewhere on the banks of the river there was the sound of +rifle-fire, and the rat-tat-tat-tat of machine-guns, like the rattle of +riveters at work on a steel structure. + +Following a tow-path which ran by the river, they appeared to be entering +a zone of comparative quiet. Although the sound of rifle-fire grew more +clear, the noise of the guns came from behind them, but to the right and +the left. For an hour they ran rapidly forward, and it seemed that the +tide of battle had swept to the north, leaving this area denuded of +troops. They saw neither guns nor infantry, although a renewed burst of +machine-gun fire told them they were nearing their unknown destination. + +They had not started from their hiding-place until nearly midnight, and +as they reached a slight rise of the ground they could see that the +darkness was slowly lifting with day's approach. + +'See, sir,' said the groom, pointing ahead, 'yonder side o' the river to +the right.' + +'I can't see anything,' + +'Look 'ee, Mas'r Dick. Follow the river. I think that that there gray +streak is a bridge.' + +It was not until they had gone ahead a considerable distance that Durwent +could make out a heavy bridge spanning the river, which ran with a swift +current, and was more than two hundred feet in width. A blurring red was +tinting the black clouds in the east as they crept along the path, when +they heard a sharp challenge. + +'Friends,' cried Dick, and halted. + +'Stand still until I give you the once over.' An American corporal, who +had apparently been running and was out of breath, came up to them, +carrying a revolver, and looked closely into their faces. + +'What are you doing here?' he asked. + +'Stragglers,' answered Durwent, 'separated from our unit.' + +'Where in Samhill is the rest of your army?' + +'There are no troops back here for ten miles,' answered Dick. + +The American took off his helmet and wiped his brow. + +'Jumping Jehosophat!' he exclaimed ruefully, 'do I have to marathon ten +miles and back? They sure are generous with exercise in the army. Say, +you guys--if you're on the level about being stragglers, and want a real +honest-to-God showdown scrap, you hike over that bridge. Do you see that +big tree over in the bush? Can you make it out? Well, when you get +across the river, just line your lamps on that tree, and after half a +mile or so you'll come to a sunken road. Report to Major Van Derwater, +and tell him you're the only army M'Goorty--that's me--has found so far. +And tell him I'll discover the French admiral who is supposed to be +bringing up reinforcements, if I have to search this whole one-horse +country for him. You'd better get a move on before the light comes up, +for, believe me, Lizzie, those Boches can shoot, and if ever they see you +coming across that bridge you may as well kiss yourselves good-bye.' + +Having delivered himself of this expressive monologue, the corporal +replaced the revolver in its holster and took a seaman's hitch in his +breeches. Again the machine-guns spat out, the sound seeming to be borne +on the wind as the bullets traversed the air. + +'Gosh!' said the corporal, 'but I'd give a year's tips to see that scrap +out. They had the bulge on us by about three to one, and we had to back +up to keep the line straight, but now we're holding them great. +Say--we've got a bunch of bowhunks there who could shoot the wart off a +snail. Some scrap, believe me. Well, so long.' + +He had just started off at a run, when he stopped and turned round. 'If +you ever come to New York, look me up at the Belmont. I'm a waiter +there, and I can put you wise to a lot of things. Chin, Chin!' + +'Cheerio,' answered Dick, as the energetic corporal disappeared. + +'I'm gettin' 'ard o' 'earin',' said the old groom. 'Leastways I ain't +sure I 'eerd 'im correct. Wot did 'e say?' + +'Mathews!'--Dick turned to his servant, and his voice shook with +excitement--'there's a battle going on the other side of the river, and +we're to report to Major Van Derwater. By heavens, Mathews! I feel +half-mad with joy. They didn't get us after all, did they? We sha'n't +be shot like curs, at any rate. Think of it, old man--we've won out! +They can't stop us now'---- His words stopped suddenly. 'Mathews,' he +said, 'you must not come. Stay here, and join the reinforcements when +they turn up. You have to consider your wife and little Wellington.' + +For answer the groom started along the path towards the bridge, and +Durwent was forced to break into a run before he could head him off. + +'Mathews,' he said sternly. + +'Mas'r Dick,' replied the groom, snorting violently, 'you shouldn't go +for to insult me. Beggin' your pardon and meanin' no disrespeck, this +here war is as much mine as yourn. Orders or no orders, I'm agoin' to +have a howd'ee with them sausage-eaters, and, as that there free-spoke +young gen'l'man observed, the bridge ain't exactly a chancery in the +daylight. Come along, sir; argifyin' don't get nowhere.' + +Realising that further expostulation was useless, Dick followed the groom +to the bridge. As they crossed it he noted that it was strongly built of +steel, with supports that would bear the heaviest of weights. Gaining +the opposite side, they waited as Dick took his bearings by the tree; and +crossing a hard, chalky field, they stole towards the sunken road. They +could hear the occasional crack of a rifle, and there was the _ping_ of a +bullet passing over their heads as they pressed on through the lightening +gloom. + +'Halt!' + +A voice rang out, and they were questioned as to their identity. On +being ordered to advance, they jumped down into a sunken road which +constituted an admirable trench, and were at once surrounded by American +soldiers. + +'I was ordered to report to Major Van Derwater,' said Durwent. + +They were asked various questions, and were then escorted a few yards to +the right, where an officer was looking over the bank which hid the road. + +'British stragglers, sir,' said the sergeant who had taken charge of them. + +'What unit are you from?' asked the officer. + +His voice was calm and deep, but gave no indication as to how he felt +disposed towards the two fugitives. In answer to his question Dick gave +the name of his battalion, and Mathews did the same. + +'How did you know my name?' + +'We met your corporal, sir,' said Durwent. + +'Where are your rifles?' + +'Lost them, sir.' + +'In what engagement were you cut off from your units?' + +Dick tried to reply, but not only was he ignorant of the locality through +which he had travelled, but his soul burned with resentment at being +forced into lying. Mathews said nothing, and seemed quite untroubled. +He was prepared to accept his young master's choice of engagements for +his own, no matter where or when it might have taken place. + +'I don't like this,' said the officer. 'These men are a long way from +the British lines, and are either deserters or worse. Guard them +closely, and if things get hot, tie their arms together so they will give +no trouble.' + +'Very good, sir,' answered the sergeant, preparing to lead them away; but +Durwent, whose blood, had run cold with dismay at the officer's words, +struggled forward. + +'Sir,' he cried, 'if you think I'm not to be trusted, give me a dirty +job--anything. A bombing-raid, or a patrol--I'll do anything at all, +sir, if you'll only give me a chance.' + +'Well spoke, Mas'r Dick,' said Mathews proudly. 'Werry well spoke +indeed.' + +The officer, who had been about to issue a peremptory order, stopped at +the sturdy honesty of the groom's voice. 'Send for Captain Selwyn,' he +said. 'You will find him at the creek.' + + +III. + +By a creek that trickled across the road, Captain Austin Selwyn was +watching the brushwood which concealed the enemy. Beside him, lining the +bank, every available man was on the alert, waiting the developments +which would follow the raising of night's curtain. In the misty gray of +dawn they looked fabulous in size, and indistinct. + +The night in January at the University Club in New York had marked a +reconciliation between Selwyn and Van Derwater. With the issue between +America and Germany so clearly defined, they had both lent their voices +to the insistent demand for war. At first people had been incredulous, +and hazarded the guess that the young author was endeavouring to cover +his own tracks; but when he enlisted in the ranks at the outbreak of +hostilities, they made a popular hero of him. They spoke of him as the +Spirit of the Cause; but he paid little attention to the clamour. His +joy in the prospect of action, and the release from all his mental +tortures, had produced in him a kind of frenzy, that crystallised into an +intense hatred of Germany. + +The pendulum had swung to its extreme. Once a man animated with a +passionate humanitarianism, in whom the spirit of universal brotherhood +burned with an inextinguishable force, he had become a creature drunk +with lust for revenge. Patriotism, Justice, Freedom--they were all +catch-words to hide the brutal, primeval instinct to kill. + +In the little thought which he permitted himself, Selwyn argued that the +ignorance of many nations had made war possible, but only Germany had +been vile enough to try to exploit it for the achievement of world-power. +For that reason alone she was a thing of detestation. + +His enthusiasm and quickly acquired knowledge of army routine marked him +for promotion. He was given a commission, and at the request of Van +Derwater was attached to the same regiment as himself. Together they had +crossed to France, and were among the first American troops in action. + +In the months that followed, Selwyn had revelled in the carnage and the +excitement of war. He was reckless to the point of bravado, and his keen +dramatic instinct drove him into unnecessary escapades where his senses +could enjoy a thrill not far removed from insanity. Only when out of the +line, when the mockery and the hideousness of the whole thing demanded +his mind's solution, would the mood of despondency return. But in the +trenches he knew neither pity nor fear. Men fought for the privilege of +serving under him, and with their instinct for euphony and love of the +bizarre gave him the name of 'Hell-fire.' He gloried in the physical +ascendancy of it all--in the dangers--in the discomforts. He was an +instrument of revenge, a weapon without feeling. + +On the other hand, Van Derwater had undergone no appreciable change. He +carried himself with the same dignity and formality as in his days at +Washington--except when emergency would scatter the wits of his +fellow-officers, and he would suddenly become a dynamic force, vigorous +in conception and swift of action. Yet success or failure left him +unmoved, once a crisis had passed. His men respected but did not +understand him. They wove a legend about his name. They said he had +come to France wanting to be killed, but that no bullet could touch him. +And even those who scoffed, when they saw him, unruffled and strangely +solitary, moving about with almost ironic contempt of danger, wondered if +there might not be some truth in the story. + +'Major Van Derwater would like to speak to you right away, sir.' + +Telling a non-commissioned officer to take his place, Selwyn followed the +messenger along the road until they came to the spot which Van Derwater +had chosen for his headquarters. Daylight was emerging from its retreat, +and there was the promise of a warm day in the glowing east. + +'You sent for me, sir?' he said. + +'Yes. You might question these two British stragglers. Their story is +not straight, but they seem decent enough fellows. If you are not +satisfied'---- + +He was interrupted by an exclamation of astonishment from Selwyn, who had +noticed the Englishmen for the first time. + +'Great Scott!' gasped Selwyn. 'Dick Durwent!' + +Dick looked up, and at the sight of the American's face he uttered a cry +of relief. 'Is that really you, Selwyn? What luck! You remember +Mathews at Roselawn, don't you? You can say'---- + +'Good-mornin', sir,' said the unperturbed groom. 'This is a werry +pleasant surprise, to be sure. How are you, sir?' + +'Van,' said Selwyn, after shaking hands with them both, 'this is Lord +Durwent's son, and the other is his groom, Mathews. I will vouch for +them absolutely.' + +'Good!' Van Derwater slightly inclined his head as an indication that he +was satisfied. 'We need every man. You had better take them in your +section and equip them with rifles from casualties.' + + +IV. + +A few minutes later, after he had procured food for the two men, who were +growing faint with hunger, Selwyn resumed his post. The heavy grass +fringing the bank made it possible to keep watch without being directly +exposed as a target; but beyond a desultory rifle-fire about a mile on +their right, there was no indication of enemy activity. + +When Durwent had been equipped with a steel helmet and a rifle, Selwyn +called him over to his side, and as concisely as possible explained the +military situation. In the German attack against the French forces (with +which the Americans were brigaded) the line had been swept back. Deep +salients had been driven in on both their flanks, but orders had been +received to hold the bridge at all costs, as, if a counter-attack could +be launched, it would be an enfilading one made by troops brought across +the river. Relying on their machine-gun and rifle fire to overcome the +Americans' resistance, the enemy's artillery had been drawn into the +deepening salients; but in spite of all-day fighting the straggling line +had held. + +After a few questions from Durwent they relapsed into silence, gazing at +the undulating expanse of country revealed by the ascending sun. + +'Selwyn.' Dick cleared his throat nervously. 'I must tell you the +truth. You were decent enough to stand sponsor for Mathews and me, and I +want you to know everything. The major was right. We're not +stragglers--we're deserters.' + +Selwyn made no comment, and both men stared fixedly through the long +grass that drooped with heavy dew. + +'Yesterday morning,' said Durwent dully, 'I was to have been shot. I was +drunk in the line, and deserved it. It's no use trying to excuse myself. +I fancy my nerves were a bit gone after what we'd been through the last +few months, but---- Well, I suppose I am simply a failure, as that chap +said in London--there isn't much more to it than that. By a queer deal +of the cards, Mathews was on guard, and helped me to escape. It was +rotten of me to let him take the chance; but it's been that way all +through. Even at the end of everything--after being a waster and a +rotter since I was a kid--I have to drag this poor chap down with me. +Promise, Selwyn, if you come out of this alive, that you'll fight his +case for him.' + +Selwyn murmured assent, but he was trying to shake off a haunting feeling +that was enveloping him like a mist--a feeling that everything the young +Englishman was saying he had heard before. It left him dazed, and made +Durwent's voice sound far away. He tried to dismiss it as an illogical +prank of the mind, but the thing was relentless. He could not rid +himself of the thought that sometime in the past--months, years, perhaps +centuries ago--this pitiful scene had been enacted before. + +It chilled his soul with its presage of disaster. He saw the hand of +destiny, and everything in him rebelled against the inexorable cruelty of +it all. It was infamous that any life should be dominated by a whim of +the Fates; that any creature should enter this world with a silken cord +about his throat. Destiny. Does it mould our lives; or do our lives, +inundated with the forces of heredity, mould our destinies? He tried to +grapple with the thought; but through the pain and confusion of his mind +he could only feel the presence of unseen fingers spelling out the words +written in a hidden past. + +'I wonder,' said Durwent, after a pause of several minutes, during which +neither had spoken, 'what happens when this is finished.' + +'Do you mean--after death?' said Selwyn, forcing his mind clear of its +clouds. + +Durwent nodded and leaned wearily with his arms on the bank. 'I tried to +think it out the night before I was to be shot,' he said. 'I can't just +say what I did think--but I know there's something after this world. +Selwyn, is there a God? I wonder if there will be another chance for the +men who have made a mess of things here.' + +The American turned towards the young fellow, whose pale face looked +singularly boyish, and had a wistfulness that touched him to his very +heart. Durwent was gazing over the grass into the distance, oblivious of +everything about him, and in the blue of his eyes, which borrowed lustre +from the morning, there was the mysticism of one who is searching for the +land which lies beyond this life's horizon. + +'I wonder,' repeated Durwent dreamily. + +Selwyn tried to frame words for a reply, but skilled as he was in the +interpretation of thought, he was dumb in confession of his faith. He +longed to speak the things which might have brought comfort to the lad's +harassed soul, but everything which came to him, echoing from his former +years, was so inadequate, so tinctured with smug complacency. Was there +a God? + +The question left him mute. + +'There are times,' went on Durwent, almost to himself, 'when my head is +full of strange fancies--when I'm listening to music--or at dawn like +this. While I was under arrest, a little French girl who had heard I was +to die brought some flowers she had picked for me. When I think of that +girl, and her flowers, and Elise, and the faithfulness of old Mathews, I +do believe there is some kind of a God. . . . Selwyn'--unconsciously his +hands stretched forward supplicatingly--'surely these things can't +die? . . . There's been so much that's ugly and lonely in my life. . . . +Don't you believe that we fellows who have failed will be able to have a +little of the things we've missed down here?' + +'Dick,' said Selwyn hoarsely, 'I believe'---- + +The words faltered on his lips, and in silence the two men stood together +in the presence of the day's birth. There was a strange calm in the air. +The dew on the grass caught a faint sparkle from a ray of sunlight that +penetrated the eastern skies. + + +V. + +'_The Boches, sir! They're coming!_' + +The sergeant's warning rang out, and in an instant the air was shattered +with battle. Protected by the fire from a nest of machine-guns, the +Germans launched a converging attack towards the bridge. Waiting until +the advancing troops were too close to permit the aid of their own +machine-gun fire, the Americans poured a deadly hail of bullets into +their ranks. The attack broke, but fresh troops were thrown in, and the +line was penetrated at several points. + +Van Derwater rallied his men, directed the defence, and time after time +organised or led counter-attacks which restored their position. His +voice rose sonorously above everything. Hearing it, and seeing his +powerful figure oblivious to the bullets which stung the air all about +him, his men yelled that they could never be beaten so long as he led +them. + +Half-mad with excitement, Selwyn repelled the attacks on his sector, +though his casualties were heavy and ammunition was running low. +Durwent's mood of reverie had passed, and he fought with limitless +energy. Once, when the Huns had penetrated the road, one of their +officers levelled a revolver on him, but discharged the bullet into the +ground as the butt of Mathews's rifle was brought smashing on his wrist. +The old groom followed his master with eyes that saw only the danger +hanging over him. For his own safety he gave no care, but wherever Dick +stepped or turned, the groom was by his side, with his large, rough face +set in a look that was like that of a mastiff protecting its young. + +As waves breaking against a rock, the Huns retreated, rallied, and +attacked again and again, and each time the resistance was less +formidable as the heroic little band grew smaller and the ugly story +passed that ammunition was giving out. + +They had just thrown back an assault, and Van Derwater had sent for his +section commanders to advise an attack on the enemy in preference to +waiting to be wiped out with no chance of successful resistance, when he +heard a shout, and bullets spat over their heads. Turning swiftly about, +they saw a tank lurching across the bridge. Amidst wild shouting from +the Americans, the clumsy landship stumbled towards them, with bullets +glancing harmlessly off its metal carcass. Lumbering on to the road, the +tank stopped astride it. + +In almost complete forgetfulness of the impending enemy attack, the +jubilant Americans crowded about the machine and cheered its occupants to +the echo, as a small door was opened and two French faces could be seen. +In a few words Van Derwater explained the situation, receiving the +discouraging information that no troops were anywhere near the vicinity. +The tank had been discovered by the ex-Belmont waiter and sent on to the +bridge. + +'Pass word along,' said Van Derwater crisply, 'to prepare for an attack. +The tank will go first, and when it is astride their machine-gun position +we will go forward and drive them out of the brushwood into the +open.--Messieurs, the machine-guns are gathered there--straight across, +about forty yards from the great tree.' + +The Frenchmen tried to locate the spot indicated, but were obviously +puzzled and too excited to listen attentively. Van Derwater was about to +repeat his instructions, when Dick Durwent shouldered his way into the +group. Men's voices were hushed at the sight of his blazing eyes. + +In a bound he was on the bank, and stood exposed to the enemy's fire. +With something that was like a laugh and yet had an unearthly quality +about it, he threw his helmet off and stood bareheaded in the golden +sunlight. '_En avant, messieurs_!' he cried. '_Suivez-moi_!' + +There was a grinding of the gears and a roar of machinery as the tank +reared its head and lunged after him. + +'Stop that man, Selwyn!' + +Van Derwater's voice rang out just in time. The old groom had scrambled +to the bank to follow his master, but four hands grasped him and pulled +him back. With a moan he clung to the bank, following Dick with his +eyes. And his face was the colour of ashes. + +With their voices almost rising to a scream, the chafing Americans +watched the Englishman walk towards the enemy lines. Bullets bit the +ground near his feet, but, untouched, he went on, with the metal monster +following behind. Once he fell, and a hush came over the watchers; but +he rose and limped on. His face pale and grim, Van Derwater moved among +his men, urging them to wait; but they cursed and yelled at the delay. + +Again Dick fell, and with difficulty stumbled to his feet. For a moment +he swayed as if a heavy gale were blowing against him, and as his face +turned towards his comrades they could see his lips parted in a strange +smile. Raising his arm like one who is invoking vengeance, he staggered +on, and by some miracle reached the very edge of the enemy's position. +There he collapsed, but rising once more, pointed ahead, and lurched +forward on his face. + +With a roar the American torrent burst its bounds and swept towards the +enemy. Selwyn leaped in advance of his men, his voice uttering a long, +pulsating cry, like a bloodhound that has found its trail. + +He did not see, over towards the centre, that Van Derwater had stopped +half-way and had fallen to his knees, both hands covering his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE END OF THE ROAD. + + +I. + +One noonday in the November of 1918 a taxi-cab drew up at the +Washington Inn, a hostelry erected in St. James's Square for American +officers. An officer emerged, and walking with the aid of a stout +Malacca cane, followed his kit into the place. + +It was Austin Selwyn, who a few days before had come from France, where +he had hovered for a long time in the borderland between life and +death. Although he had been severely wounded, it was the nervous +strain of the previous four years that told most heavily against him. +Week after week he lay, listless and almost unconscious; but gradually +youth had reasserted itself, and the lassitude began to disappear with +the return of strength. The horrors through which he had passed were +softened by the merciful effect of time, and as the reawakened streams +of vitality flowed through his veins, his eyes were kindled once more +with the magic of alert expression. + +Having secured a cubicle and indulged in a light luncheon, he went for +a stroll into the street. Looking up, he saw the windows of the rooms +where he had spent such lonely, bitter hours crusading against the +world's ignorance. It was all so distant, so far in the past, that it +was like returning to a boyhood's haunt after the lapse of many years. + +Going into Pall Mall, he felt a curiosity to see the Royal Automobile +Club again. He entered its busy doors, and passing through to the +lounge, took a seat in a corner. The place was full of officers, most +of them Canadians on leave; but here and there in the huge room he +caught a glimpse of sturdy old civilian members, well past the sixty +mark, fighting Foch's amazing victories anew over their port and cigars. + +Inciting his eyes roam about the place, Selwyn noticed a group of six +or seven subalterns surrounding a Staff officer, the whole party +indulging in explosive merriment apparently over the quips of the +betabbed gentleman in the centre. Selwyn shifted his chair to get a +better view of the official humorist, but he could only make out a +tunic well covered with foreign decorations. A moment later one of the +subalterns shifted his position, and Selwyn could see that the +much-decorated officer was wearing an enormous pair of spurs that would +have done admirably for a wicked baron in a pantomime. But his knees! +Superbly cut as were his breeches, they could not disguise those +expressive knees. + +Selwyn called a waitress over. 'Can you tell me,' he said, 'who that +officer is in the centre of the room--that Staff officer?' + +'Him? Oh, that's Colonel Johnston Smyth of the War Office.' + +'Colonel--Johnston Smyth!' Selwyn repeated the words mechanically. + +'That's him himself, sir. Will you have anything to drink?' + +'I think I had better,' said Selwyn. + +About ten minutes later, after perpetrating a jest which completely +convulsed his auditors, the War Office official rose to his feet, +endeavoured to adjust a monocle--with no success--smoothed his tunic, +winked long and expressively, and with an air of melancholy dignity +made for the door, with the admiring pack following close behind. + +'Good-day, colonel,' said Selwyn, crossing the room and just managing +to intercept the great man. + +The ex-artist inclined his head with that nice condescension of the +great who realise that they must be known by many whom it is impossible +for themselves to know, when he noticed the features of the American. +'My sainted uncle!' he exclaimed; 'if it isn't my old sparring-partner +from Old Glory!--Gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you the brains, +lungs, and liver of the American Army.' + +The subalterns acknowledged the introduction with the utmost +cordiality, suggesting that they should return to the lounge and +inundate the vitals of the American Army with liquid refreshment; but +Selwyn pleaded an excuse, and with many 'Cheerios' the happy-go-lucky +youngsters moved on, enjoying to the limit their hard-earned leave from +the front. + +'May I offer my congratulations?' said Selwyn. + +'Come outside,' said the colonel. + +They adjourned to the terrace, and Smyth placed his hand in the other's +arm. 'Do you know who I am?' he said. + +'Eh?' said Selwyn, rather bewildered by the mysterious nature of the +question. + +'I, my dear Americano, am A.D. Super-Camouflage Department, War +Office.' The colonel chuckled delightedly, but checking himself, +reared his neck with almost Roman hauteur. 'I have one major, two +captains, five subalterns, and eleven flappers, whose sole duty is to +keep people from seeing me.' + +'Why?' asked the American. + +'I don't know,' said the colonel; 'but it's a fine system.' + +'You have done wonderfully well.' + +'Moderately so,' said the A.D. Super-Camouflage Department. 'I have +been decorated by eleven foreign Governments and given an honorary +degree by an American university. I also drive the largest car in +London.' + +'You amaze me.' + +'As an opener,' said the colonel, forgetting his dignity in the recital +of his greatness, 'I am in enormous demand. I can open a ball, a +bottle, or a bazaar with any man in the country.' + +'But,' said Selwyn, 'how did it all come about?' + +'Ah!' exclaimed Smyth, glancing up and down the terrace after the +manner of a stage villain. 'Three years ago I was an officer's +servant. I polished my subaltern-fellow's buttons, cleaned his boots, +and mended his unmentionables. One day this young gentleman and myself +were billeted on an old French artist. When I saw those canvases, I +felt the old Adam in me thirsting for expression. Before all I am an +artist! I made a bargain with the old Parley-vous--a pair of my young +officer's boots for two canvases and the use of his paints. Agreed. +On the one I did a ploughman wending his weary thingumbob home--you +know. The following day happened to be my precious young officer's +birthday, and we celebrated it in style. I would not say he was an +expert with his Scotch, but he was very game--very game indeed. After +I had put him to bed, I determined to paint my second masterpiece, "St. +George to the Rescue!" I did it--and fell asleep where I sat. When I +woke next morning, imagine my astonishment! I had done both paintings +on the one canvas! The ploughman was toddling along to the left, and +St George was hoofing it to the right, but the effect one got was that +a milk-wagon was going straight up the centre. It gave me an idea. I +waited for my leave, and took the painting to the War Office. I told +them if they would give me enough paint I could so disguise the British +Army that it would all appear to be marching sideways. That tickled +the "brass hats." They could see my argument in a minute. They knew +that if you could only get a whole army going sideways the war was won. +I was put on the Staff and given a free hand, and in a very short time +was placed in complete charge of the super-camouflage policy of the +Allies. The testimonials, my dear chap, have been most gratifying. We +have undisputed evidence of an Australian offering a carrot to a +siege-gun under the impression it was a mule. There was a Staff car +which we painted so that it would appear to be going backwards, and the +only way that a certain Scottish general would ride in it was by +sitting the wrong way, with his knees over the back. In fact, my dear +sir, if the war only lasts another year, I shall reduce the whole thing +to a pastime, blending all the best points of "Blind Man's Buff" with +"Button, button, who's got the button?"' + +Having reached this satisfactory climax, the worthy colonel shifted his +cap to the extreme side of his head, and walked jauntily along with his +knees performing a variety of acrobatic wriggles. + +'I am most gratified,' said Selwyn, repressing a smile. 'I had no +idea, when I saw you and poor Dick Durwent marching away together, that +you would rise to such fame.' + +'Alas, poor Durwent!' cried Smyth, pulling his cap forward to a +dignified angle. 'I never knew who he was until we got to France. You +passed him along as Sherwood, you know. His people are frightfully cut +up about him.' + +'They heard of his death, of course?' + +'It isn't that, old son; it's the horrible disgrace. It only leaked +out a couple of weeks ago from one of his battalion, but it's common +property now. The old boy was absolutely done in--looked twenty years +older.' + +'What has leaked out?' said Selwyn, stopping in his walk. + +'Didn't you hear? Durwent was shot by court-martial--drunk, they say, +in the line.' + +Selwyn's hand gripped his arm. 'Where is Lord Durwent now?' he said +breathlessly. + +'In the country, I believe. But why so agitated, my Americano?' + +There was no answer. As fast as his weary limbs could take him, Selwyn +was making for the door. + + +II. + +It was nearly eight o'clock that night when Selwyn alighted from a +train at the village where he and Elise had heard the fateful +announcement of war. He walked through the quaint street, silent and +deserted in the November night. Except for two or three people at the +station, there was no one to be seen as his footsteps on the cobbled +road knocked with their echo against the casement windows of the +slumbering dwellings. Reaching the inn, he bargained for a conveyance, +and after taking a little food, and arranging for a room, he went +outside again, and climbed into a dogcart which had been made ready. + +After three or four futile attempts at conversation, the driver retired +behind his own thoughts, and left the American to the reverie forced on +him by every familiar thing looming out of the shadows. There was not +a turn of the road, not one rising slope, that did not mean some memory +of Elise. The very night itself, drowsy with the music of the breeze +and the heavy perfume of late autumn, was nature's frame encircling her +personality. He had dreaded going because of the longings which were +certain to be reawakened, but he had not known that in the secret +crevices of his soul there had been left such sleeping memories that +rustling bushes and silent meadows would make him want to cry aloud her +name. + +He told himself that she must be in London, and had forgotten him--and +that it was better so. But the night and the darkened road would not +be denied. They held the very essence of her being, and left him weak +with the ecstasy of his emotion. + +At the lodge gate they found a soldier, who allowed them to pass, and +they drove on towards the house. So vivid was the sense of her +presence that he almost thought he saw her and himself running +hand-in-hand together again down the road. By that oak he had picked +her up in his arms--and he wondered at the human mind which can find +torture and joy in the one recollection. + +Driving into the courtyard, he told the man to wait, and knocked at the +great central door. An orderly admitted him, and took him to a nurse, +who offered to lead him to the wing occupied by Lord and Lady Durwent. +With wondering eyes he glanced at the transformation of the rooms once +so familiar to him. There were beds even in the halls, and everywhere +soldiers in hospital-blue were combining in a cheerful noise which was +sufficient indication that their convalescence was progressing +favourably. In the music-room a local concert-party (including the +organist who had tried to teach Elise the piano) were giving an +entertainment, with the utmost satisfaction to themselves and the +patients. + +The nurse led him upstairs and knocked at a door. On receiving a +summons to enter she went in, and a moment later emerged again. + +'Will you please go in?' she said. + +Thanking her for her trouble, Selwyn stepped into the room, which was +lit only by the light from a log-fire, beside which Lord Durwent and +his wife were seated. Lady Durwent, who had just come from her nightly +grand-duchess parade of the patients, was busying herself with her +knitting, and was in obvious good spirits. Lord Durwent rose as Selwyn +entered, and the good lady dramatically dropped her knitting on the +floor. + +'Mister Selwyn!' she exclaimed. 'This is an unexpected pleasure!' + +The American bowed cordially over her proffered hand; but when he +turned to acknowledge the old nobleman's greeting he was struck silent. +No tree withered by a frost ever showed its hurt more clearly than did +Lord Durwent. Although he stood erect in body, and summoned the gentle +courtesy which was inseparable from his nature, his whole bearing was +as of one whom life has cut across the face with a knotted whip, +leaving an open cut. He had thought to live his days in the seclusion +of Roselawn, but destiny had spared him nothing. + +'Have you had dinner?' asked Lord Durwent. 'We are strictly rationed, +but I think the larder still holds something for a welcome guest.' + +'Isn't the war dreadful?' said Lady Durwent gustily. + +'I had something to eat at the inn,' said Selwyn, 'so I hope you won't +bother about me.' + +The older man was going to press his hospitality further, but as it was +obvious from the American's manner that he had come for a special +purpose, he merely indicated a chair near the fire. + +'You move stiffly,' he said. 'Have you been wounded?' + +'Yes,' said Selwyn, continuing to stand; 'but there are no permanent +ill effects, luckily. Lord Durwent, I came from London to-day to speak +about your son Dick.' + +At the sound of the name Lady Durwent checked a violent sob, which was +of double inspiration--grief for her son and pity for her own pride. +Her husband showed no sign that he had heard, but ran his hand slowly +down the arm of his chair. + +And, for the first time, Selwyn became conscious of her presence--Elise +had come noiselessly into the room, and was standing in the shadows. +She walked slowly towards him. + +'Is it necessary,' she said, with an imperious tilt of her head, 'to +talk of my brother? We all know what happened.' + +By the firelight he saw that, only less noticeably than in her father's +case, she too had been stricken. Her rich-hued beauty, which had +become so intense with her spiritual development, bore the marks of +silent agony. In her eyes there was pain. + +'Without wishing to appear discourteous,' said Lord Durwent, 'I think +my daughter is right. My family has been one that always put honour +first. My son Malcolm maintained that tradition to the end. My +younger son broke it. And it is perhaps as well that our title becomes +extinct with my death. If you don't mind, we would rather not speak of +the matter further.' + +'He was such a kind boy--they both were,' sobbed Lady Durwent in an +enveloping hysteria, 'and so devoted to their mother.' + +Putting Elise gently to one side, Selwyn faced her father. + +'Lord Durwent,' he said, 'I was with your son when he was killed. In +the long line of your family, sir, not one has died more gloriously.' + +Lord Durwent's hands gripped the arms of his chair, and Lady Durwent +looked wildly up through her tears. Elise stood pale and motionless. + +'It is true,' said Selwyn. 'I tell you'---- + +'There is nothing,' said the older man-- 'there can be nothing for you +to tell that would make our shame any the less. My son was shot'---- + +'Lord Durwent'---- + +'----shot for disgracing his uniform. That he was brave or fearless at +the end cannot alter that truth.' + +'Elise!' Selwyn turned from Lord Durwent, and his clenched hands were +stretched supplicatingly towards her. 'Your brother was not shot by +the British. He was killed as he went out alone and in the open +against the German machine-guns.' + +'What are you saying?' Lord Durwent half rose from his chair. 'Why do +you bring such rumours? What proof is there'---- + +'Would I come here at this time,' said Selwyn desperately, 'with +rumours? Do you think I have so little sympathy for what you must +feel? I saw your son killed, sir. It was in the early morning, and he +went to his death as you would have had him go. As you know he did go, +Elise.' + + +III. + +In a voice that shook with feeling he told of the fight for the bridge; +how Dick, and Mathews, who had saved him, reached the Americans; of the +desperate hand-to-hand fighting; how the groom had guarded his young +master; the impending disaster; and the death of Dick. + +'It meant more than just our lives,' he concluded, in a silence so +acute that the crackling of the logs startled the air like +pistol-shots, 'for as Dick fell we went forward and gained the +brushwood. Less than three hours afterwards the French arrived, and +largely by the use of that bridge a heavy counter-attack was launched. +We buried Dick where he fell--and, Lord Durwent, it is not often that +men weep. The French general, to whom the tank officer had made his +report, pinned this on your son's breast, and then gave it to me to +have it forwarded to you. He asked me to convey his message: "That the +soil of France was richer for having taken so brave a man to its +heart."' + +He handed a medal of the _Croix de Guerre_ to Lord Durwent, who held it +for several moments in the palm of his hand. From the distant parts of +the house came the noise of singing soldiers, and a gust of wind +rattled the windows as it blew about the great old mansion. Elise had +not moved, but through her tears an overwhelming triumph was shining. + +'And Mathews?' asked Lord Durwent slowly. + +'We found him after the attack,' the American answered. 'He must have +dragged himself several yards after he had been hit, and was lying +unconscious, with his hand stretched out to touch Dick's boot. Have +you heard nothing from him, sir?' + +'Nothing.' + +Again there was a silence fraught with such intensity that Selwyn +thought the very beating of his pulses could be heard. At last Lord +Durwent rose, and with an air of deepest respect placed the medal in +the hands of his wife. Her theatricalism was mute in a sorrow that was +free from shame. + +'Captain Selwyn,' said Lord Durwent, 'we shall never forget.' + +Feeling that his presence was making the situation only the more acute, +Selwyn pleaded the excuse of the waiting horse to hasten his departure. + +'But you will stay here for the night?' said Lady Durwent. + +'No--thank you very much. I have left my haversack at the inn; and, +besides, I must catch the 7.45 train to London in the morning to keep +an important appointment. Good-night, Lady Durwent.' + +Amidst subdued but earnest good wishes from the peer and his wife, he +wished them good-bye and turned to Elise. + +'Good-night,' he said, his face flaming suddenly red. + +'Good-night,' she answered, taking his proffered hand. + +'I shall go with you,' said Lord Durwent. + +The two men walked through the corridors, which were growing quieter as +the night advanced, and, with another exchange of farewells, Selwyn +went out into the dark. + +He was weak from the ordeal through which he had passed, and both his +mind and his body were bordering on exhaustion. He called to the +sleeping driver, who in turn roused the horse from a similar condition, +but just as the wheels grinding on the gravel were opposite him Selwyn +heard the door open and the rustle of skirts. + +'Austin!' cried Elise, running through the dark. + +He almost stumbled as he went towards her, and caught her arms in his +hands. + +'I didn't want you to go,' she said breathlessly, 'without saying +thanks. If Boy-blue had really been shot as they said, I--I'---- + +She did not finish the sentence, but clasping his hand, pressed it +twice to her burning lips. + +'Elise,' he cried brokenly--but she had freed herself and was making +for the door. + +No longer weary, but with every artery of his body on fire with +uncontrollable love for her, he intercepted the girl. 'Elise,' he +cried, 'I thought I could go from here and carry my heart-hunger with +me--but now I can't. I can't do it.' + +'You went away to America.' Her flashing eyes held his in a burning +reproach. 'You did not need me then--and you don't now.' + +'But--you didn't care? You never came back to the hospital, and I +wrote to you every day. Tell me, Elise, did you really care--a little?' + +'Yes, I did--more than I would admit to myself. But you didn't. All +you could think of was going back to America.' + +'But, my dearest'--his heart was throbbing with a tumultuous joy--'if I +had only known. There was so much work for me to do in America'---- + +'You will always have work to do. You don't need me. I shouldn't have +come out to-night. Please let me go.' + +'Then you don't care--now?' + +'No. You have your work to do still. You said yourself that we come +of different worlds'---- + +'Elise, my darling'--he caught her hands in his and forced her towards +him--'what does that matter--what can anything matter when we need each +other so much? I have nothing to offer you--not so much as when we +first met--but with your help, dear heart, I'll start again. We can do +so much together. Elise--I hardly know what I am saying--but you do +understand, don't you? I can't live without you. Tell me that you +still care a little. Tell me'---- + +Her hands were pressed against his coat, forcing him away from her, +when, with a strange little cry, she nestled into his arms and hid her +face against his breast. + +For a moment he doubted that it could be true, and then a feeling of +infinite tenderness swept everything else aside. It was not a time for +words or hot caresses to declare his passion. He stooped down and +pressed his lips against her hair in silent reverence. She was his. +This woman against his breast, this girl whose being held the mystery +and the charm of life, was his. The arms that held her to him pressed +more tightly, as if jealous of the years they had been robbed of her. + +'I must go in,' she whispered. + +He led her to the door, her hand in his, but though he longed to take +her in a passionate embrace, he knew instinctively that her surrender +was so spiritual a thing that he must accept it as the gift of an +unopened spirit-flower. + +'Good-night, dear.' She paused at the door, then raised her face to +his. + +Their lips met in the first kiss. + + +IV. + +The following Saturday Selwyn met Elise at Waterloo, and with her hand +on his arm they walked through London's happy streets. + +It was 9th November. + +News had come that the Germans had entered the French lines to receive +the armistice terms, and hard on that was the official report that the +German Emperor had abdicated. + +London--great London--whose bosom had sustained the shocks, the hopes, +the cruelties of war, was bathed in a noble sunlight. For all its +incongruities and jumbled architecture, it has great moments that no +other city knows; and as Selwyn and Elise made their way through the +crowds, there was an indefinable majesty that lay like a golden robe +over the whole metropolis. + +Above St. Paul's there floated shining gray airships, escorted by +encircling aeroplanes. Hope--dumb hope--was abroad. Not in an +abandonment of ecstasy, or of garish vulgarity which was soon to +follow, but in a spirit of proud sorrow, Londoners raised their eyes to +the skies. Passengers on omnibuses looked with new gratitude at the +plucky girls in charge who had carried on so long. People stood aside +to let wounded soldiers pass, and old men touched their hats to them. +The heart of London beat in unison with the great heart of humanity. + +From crowded streets, from domes and spires and open parks, there +soared to heaven a mighty _Gloria--gloria in excelsis_.' + +After a lunch, during which they were both shy and extraordinarily +happy, they took a taxi-cab and drove to a house in Bedford Square. + +Leaving Elise, Selwyn knocked at the door, and was admitted to a room +where a girl in an American nurse's outdoor costume waited for him. + +'I got your letter in answer to mine, Austin,' said she, giving him +both her hands, 'and I am all ready. Did you see him?' + +'I did--yesterday afternoon. But, Marjory, I told him nothing of you, +and if you want to withdraw there is yet time. Have you really thought +what this means to you?' + +Her only answer was a patient smile as she opened the door and led him +outside. + +'Elise,' said Selwyn, as they entered the cab, 'I want to introduce +Miss Marjory Shoreham of New York.' + +'Austin has told me all about you,' said Elise, 'and I think you are +wonderfully brave.' + +She took the nurse's hand and held it tightly in hers as the car drove +towards Waterloo. + +An hour later they reached a Sussex station, and hiring a conveyance, +drove to a charming country home which was owned by a Mr. Redwood, whom +Selwyn had met on board ship. A servant told them as they drove up to +the door that the master of the house had gone to the village, but that +they were to come in and make themselves at home. + +As he helped the girls to alight Selwyn heard the nurse catch her +breath with a spasm of pain. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a +man standing on the lawn facing the sun, which was reaching the west +with the passing of afternoon. + +'Please remain here,' said Selwyn, 'and I will motion you when to come.' + +He walked towards the solitary figure, who heard him, and turned a +little to greet him. + +'Is that you, Austin?' + +'Yes, Van,' answered Selwyn. 'How could you tell?' + +With his old kindly, tired smile the ex-diplomat put out his hand, +which Selwyn gripped heartily. + +'I suppose it is nature's compensation,' said Van Derwater calmly. +'Now that I cannot see, footsteps and voices seem to mean so much more. +I was just thinking before you came that, though I have seen it a +thousand times, I have never _felt_ the sun in the west before. +Look--I can feel it on my face from over there. Sir Redwood tells me +that the news from France is excellent.' + +'It is,' said Selwyn. 'I think the end is only a matter of hours.' + +'A matter of hours; and after that--peace. Austin, I haven't much to +live for. It was in my stars, I suppose, that I should walk alone; but +there is one fear which haunts me--that all this may be for +nothing--for nothing. If I thought that on my blindness and the +suffering of all these other men a structure could be built where +Britain and America and France would clasp the torch of humanity +together, I would welcome this darkness as few men ever welcomed the +light. But it is a terrible thought--that people may forget; that +civilisation might make no attempt to atone for her murdered dead.' + +He smiled again, and fumbling for Selwyn's shoulder, patted it, as if +to say he was not to be taken too seriously. + +'The world must have looked wonderful to-day in this sunlight,' he went +on. 'Do you know, I hardly dare think of the spring at all. I +sometimes feel that I could never look upon the green of a meadow +again, and live.' + +Selwyn had beckoned to the nurse, who was coming across the lawn +towards them. + +'Van,' he said, taking his friend's arm, 'don't be too surprised, will +you? But--but an old friend has come back to you.' + +'Who is it?' Van Derwater's form became rigid. 'I can hear a step, +Austin! Austin, where are you? What is this you're doing to me? +Speak, man--would you drive me mad?' + +Without a sound the girl had clutched his hand and had fallen on her +knees at his feet. + +'Marjory!' With a pitiful joy he felt her hair and face with his hand, +and in his weakness he almost fell. Vainly he protested that she must +go away, that he could not let her share his tragedy. Her only answer +was his name murmured over and over again. + +Creeping silently away, Selwyn rejoined Elise. Once they looked back. +The girl was in Van Derwater's arms, and his face was raised towards +the sun which he was nevermore to see. But on that face was written a +happiness that comes to few men in this world. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +A LIGHT ON THE WATER. + + +I. + +A sulky winter came hard upon November, and the war of armies was +succeeded by the war of diplomats. + +One day in January the same vehicle that had driven Selwyn to Roselawn +deposited another visitor there. He was a sturdy, well-set-up fellow, +but a thinness and a certain pallor in the cheeks conflicted with their +natural weather-beaten texture. + +The morose driver helped him to alight, and handed him his crutches, +which he took with a snort of disapproval. He made his way at a +dignified pace around the drive, pausing _en route_ to look at the +gables and wings of Roselawn as one who returns to familiar scenes +after a long absence. + +Without encountering any one he reached the stables, and opening a +door, mounted the stairs that led to the dwelling-quarters above. + +There was no one in the cosy dining-room, and sitting down, he hammered +the floor with his crutch. The homely sound of dishes being washed +ceased suddenly in the adjoining room, and Mrs. Mathews threw open the +door. + +'Who is it?' she cried. + +'Me,' said Mathews. + +Uttering a pious exclamation that reflected both doubt and confidence +in the all-wise workings of Providence, his wife fell heavily upon him, +with strong symptoms of hysteria. + +'Heavenly hope!' she cried, after her exuberance permitted of speech; +'so you've come home?' + +'I hev,' said her husband solemnly; 'and I'm werry pleased to observe +you so fit, m'dear. Is the offspring a-takin' his oats reg'lar?' + +'Lord!' said Mrs. Mathews irrelevantly, subsiding into a chair, 'I +thought you was dead. You never writ.' + +'That,' said Mathews, 'was conseckens of a understanding clear and +likewise to the point, atwixt me and Mas'r Dick. "Mum's the word," sez +he. "Mum's the word," sez I. And that there was as it should be, no +argifyin' provin' contrairiwise. But Milord he found me out, and sez +as how he knows it all, and would I come home?--which, bein' free from +horspital, I likewise does. Now, m' dear, if you will proceed with any +nooz I would be much obliged to draw up a little forrader, as it were.' + +'Did Milord tell you about Miss Elise?' said his wife, after much +thought. 'She's gone and got herself engaged.' + +'To who?' + +'Captain Selwyn. Him as was visiting here when the war begun.' + +'Now that there,' said Mathews, nodding his head slowly and admiringly, +'_is_ nooz. That there is what a feller likes to hear from his old +woman. You're a-doin' fine.' + +'The wedding,' went on his wife, her eyes sparkling with the universal +feminine excitement about such matters, 'is next week, and Wellington +is bespoke for to pump the organ. Ain't that wonderful grand?' + +'That,' said Mathews with great dignity, 'is werry gratifyin' to a +parent, that is. Pump the organ at a weddin'! I hopes he won't go for +to do nothing to give inconwenience to the parties concerned. Where is +he, old girl?' + +'Upstairs in bed, daddy, with the whooping-cough something horrid.' + +'Wot a infant!' commented the groom proudly. 'I never see such a +offspring for his age--never. Whoopin'-cough something horrid? Well, +well!' + +For a full minute he reflected with such apparent satisfaction on his +son and heir's vulnerability to human ailments that there is no telling +when he would have left off, if his reverie had not been broken by his +wife placing a pipe in his hands and a bowl on the table. + +'It was always waiting on you, daddy,' said the good woman. 'I sez to +Wellington, "That's his favourite, it is, and we'll always have it +ready for him when he comes home."' + +Without any display of emotion or undue haste, the old groom filled the +pipe, lit it, drew a long breath of smoke, and slowly blew it into the +air, regarding his good partner throughout with a look that clearly +showed the importance he attached to the experiment. + +He took a second puff, raised his eyes from hers to the ceiling, and +his broad face crinkled into a grin, the like of which his wife had +never seen before on his countenance. + +'Old girl,' he said, 'when I sees you first I sez, "There's the filly +for my money;" and so you was. And, by Criky! you and me hevn't +reached the last jump yet--no, sir. Give me a kiss. . . . +Thar--that's werry "bon," as them queer-spoke Frenchies would say. M' +dear, I hev some nooz for _you_ now.' + +He puffed tantalisingly at the pipe, and surveyed his wife's intense +curiosity with studied approbation. + +'When Milord come to see me last week,' he said, measuring the words +slowly, 'he tells me as how he won't go for to hev no more hosses, and +conseckens o' me bein' all bunged up by them sausage-eaters, he sez as +how would I like to be the landlord o' "The Hares and Fox" in the +village, him havin' bought the same, and would I go for to tell you as +a surprise, likewise and sim'lar?' + +'Heavenly hope!' cried the good woman, bursting into tears; 'if that +ain't marvellous grand!' + +'That,' said Mathews, beckoning for her to hand him his crutches, 'is +what Milord has done for you and me. And, missus, as long as there's a +drop in the cellar none o' the soldier-lads in the village will go for +to want a pint o' bitter nohow. Now, old girl, if you'll give a leg up +we'll go and see how the infant is lookin'.' + + +II. + +A few days later, in the chapel decked with flowers, the marriage of +Selwyn and Elise took place. + +In spite of her disappointment that Elise was not marrying a title, +Lady Durwent rose superbly to the occasion. She led the weeping and +the laughing with the utmost heartiness, and recalled her own wedding +so eloquently and vividly that those who didn't know about the +Ironmonger supposed she must have been the daughter of a marchioness at +least, and was probably related to royalty. + +Just before the ceremony itself the youthful Wellington, who had +confounded science by a remarkable recovery from his ailment, was +confronted with the offer of half-a-crown if he acquitted himself well, +and threatened with corporal punishment if he didn't. With this double +stimulus, he pumped without cessation and with such heartiness that the +rector's words were at times hardly audible above the sound of air +escaping from the bellows--necessitating a punitive expedition on the +part of the sexton, and engendering in Wellington a permanent mistrust +in the justice of human affairs. + +Late in the afternoon bride and groom left for London, on their way to +America. + +When the train came in and they had entered their compartment, Selwyn, +with feelings that left him dumb, looked out at the little group who +had come to say farewell. + +Lord Durwent stood with his unchangeable air of gentleness and +courtesy, but in his eyes there was the look of a man for whom life +holds only memories. Lady Durwent alternated dramatically between +advice and tears; and Mathews stood proudly beside his wife (whose hat +was of most marvellous size and colours), nodding his head sagaciously, +and uttering as much philosophy in five minutes as falls to the lot of +most men in a decade. + +And so, with his wife's hand trembling on his arm, Austin Selwyn leaned +from the window and waved good-bye to the little English village. + + +III. + +A year went by, and, with the passing of winter, Selwyn and Elise, in +their home at Long Island, watched the budding promise of another +spring. + +Their home was by the sea, and in the presence of that great majestic +force they had lived as man and wife, taking up the broken threads of +life, and knitting them together for the future. + +The task of resuming his literary work had been next to impossible for +Selwyn. He had tried to mould the destinies of nations--and they had +fallen back upon him, crushing him. His thoughts cried out for +utterance, but self-distrust robbed him of courage. Months went by, +and his chafing, restless longing for self-expression grew more intense +and more intolerable. + +And then the woman who was his wife lost her own yoke of self-restraint +in solicitude for him. Timidly, hesitatingly at first, she invaded the +precincts of his mind. With subtle persistence, yet never seeming to +force her way, she wove her personality about his like a web of silken +thread. Her purity of thought, her innate artistry, her depth of +feeling, played on his spirit like dew upon the parched earth. + +As the passing hours took their course, each nature unconsciously gave +to the other the freedom that comes only with surrender. His strength +and his care for her liberated her womanhood, and, like a flower that +has lived in shadow, her soul blossomed to fullness in that warmth. + +And his troubled mind, directionless, yet rebellious of inaction, found +again the meaning and the hidden truths of life, then gained the +courage to be life's interpreter. + +Once more Austin Selwyn wrote. + +One evening towards the summer Elise was sitting on the veranda, when +he came from his study and joined her. The first pale stars were +shining through a sheen of blue that rose from the horizon in an +encircling, shimmering mist. + +'Are you through with your writing?' she said. + +'Not yet,' he answered, sitting beside her; 'but I could not resist the +call of you and this wonderful night.' + +'Isn't it glorious?' she said softly, taking his hand in hers. 'I +think that blue over the sea must be like the Arabian desert at night +when the camel-trains rest on their way. Don't you love the sound of +the waves?' + +With a little sigh she leaned her head on his shoulder, and he held her +close to him. + +'Happy, Elise?' + +'So happy,' she whispered, 'that I am afraid some day I shall find it +isn't true.' + +He laughed gently, and for a few moments neither spoke, held by the +wonderful intimacy of the spirit that does not need words for +understanding. + +'Austin dear,' she said at length, 'before you came out I was counting +the stars--and playing with dreams. Don't think me silly, will you? +But I was planning, if we have a son, what I should like to call him.' + +'I think I know,' he said, pressing his lips against her hair. 'Dick?' + +'And Gerard for his second name. I should want him to be strong and +true like Gerard--but he must have Dick's eyes and Dick's smile. But, +then, I want so much for this dream-boy of ours--for, most of all, he +must be like my husband.' + +With a sudden shyness she hid her face against his breast, and he ran +his hand caressingly over her arm, which was like cool velvet to the +touch. + +The glimmering stars grew stronger, and a breeze from the sea crept +murmuringly over the spring-scented fields. + +'There are times,' he said, 'when I long for the power to reach out for +the great truths that lie hidden in space and in the silence of a night +like this--to put them in such simple language that every one could +read and understand. If I could only translate the wonder of you and +the spirit of the sea into words.' + +She looked up into his face, and something of the mystic blue of the +skies lay in the depths of her eyes. + + +IV. + +Late that night he resumed work in his study, but a thousand memories +and fancies came crowding to his mind. He tried to shake them off, but +they clung to him--memories of the war--memories of the times when the +world was drunk with passion. He heard, as if afar off, the whine and +shriek of shells, and he saw the dead--grotesque, silent, horrible. + +That was the great absurdity--_the dead_. + +It was hopeless to write. He was no longer pilot of his thoughts. + +He rose to his feet and threw open the door with an impatient desire +for fresh air. Though the cool breeze refreshed his temples, the +restlessness of his mind was only increased by the hush of nature's +nocturne, through which the sound of the sea came like a drone. + +Beneath the canopy of that same sky the dead were lying. Across the +seas a breeze of spring was stealing about the graves, as now it played +about his face. + +What was his part towards them--to mourn, and fill his life with +useless melancholy? To forget, and turn his face towards the future? + +Forget . . . ? + +'There are times'--he found himself repeating mechanically the words +which, a few hours before, he had spoken to Elise--'when I long for the +power to reach out for the great truths--hidden in space--and in the +silence of the night.' + +Suddenly his brow grew calm. The baffled, questioning look left his +eyes, and he smiled strangely. + +Closing the door, he turned back to his desk, and taking the pen, +looked for a full minute at the paper before him. + +'_To My Unborn Son_.' + +He gazed at what he had written as though the words had appeared of +their own volition. + +'_To My Unborn Son_.' + +With a far-away dreaminess in his eyes he dipped his pen in the ink and +commenced to write: + +'Somewhere beyond the borders of life you are waiting. I cannot speak +to you, nor look on your face, but the love of a father for his child +can penetrate the eternal mysteries of the unknown. To those who love +there is no death; and in the hearts of parents, children live long +before they are born. + +'My son, this letter that I write now to you will lie hidden and unseen +by other eyes until the time when you alone shall read it. I shall be +changed by then: like the world, I may forget; but you, my son, must +read these words, and know that they are truth--truth as unchangeable +as the tides of the sea, or the hours of dawn and sunset. + +'_Civilisation has murdered ten million men_. + +'The human mind cannot encompass that. It is beyond its comprehension, +so it is trying to forget. + +'Ten million men--murdered. + +'Read these words, my son, written in the hush of night, when men's +souls stand revealed. + +'Nearly six years ago there came the war. History will prove this or +that responsibility for it, but the civilisation that made war possible +is itself responsible. The nations sprang to arms; but soon, by that +strange destiny which seems to guide mankind, the issue was one not of +nations against nations, but of Humanity against Germany. Do not ask +me how the land of Goethe, Schiller, and Beethoven became so vile. I +only know that Germany was the champion of evil, and on Britain and +France men's hopes were rested. + +'America held aloof. When this is read by you, my son, you will have +known the noble thrill of patriotism, the pride of race and +citizenship. But it is because of that that you must read what I write +now about the country I love best. + +'Less than any other nation, America is to be blamed for the war. Her +life was separate from the older world, and the spoils of victory made +no appeal. Yet this great Republic, born of man's desire for freedom, +remained silent even when the whole world saw that the war was one of +Justice against Evil. Men, like myself, were blind, and fed the flames +of ignorance with ignorance. Others knew we were not ready, and called +upon us to prepare; and others made great fortunes while Youth went to +its Cross. + +'Month after month passed by, and Britain and her Allies fought +Humanity's fight; and the murder of men went on. + +'At last we came of age, and our young men stormed across the seas, not +to save America--for we had nothing to fear--but to rid the world of an +intolerable curse. Look fearlessly at the truth, but do not forget +that when we went it was for an ideal--just as years before, when North +and South fought the issue of preserving the Union, the impulse that +drove our fathers on to their deaths was their souls' demand of freedom +for the negro. By her delay was America defamed; by the spirit of her +coming was she great.' + +Selwyn put down his pen, and rested his head between his hands. Ten +minutes passed before he looked up and began to write again. + +'The war is over. _America is debtor to the world_. Read this, my +son, with both humility and pride--humility that it is so, pride that +we yet can pay. + +'Those awful years while we stood apart, the homes of Britain gave +their sons--the sons for whom their parents yearned, as I am yearning +now for you. Through Britain's broken hearts, and through the grief of +women throughout the world, the youth of America were saved. I know +that we have our thousands of stricken homes and ruined lives, but the +end of the war left America debtor to civilisation, even though she +gave the strength which brought the war to an end. + +'Faced with our indebtedness, what did we do? + +'Europe lay stricken. The spectres of ruin, starvation, anarchy, +hovered about her form. The world was through with war; men groped for +light; and from the peoples of the earth a universal cry went up that +these things must not be. + +'It was our chance. We still were strong. We held the charter of +mankind within our hands, and men looked to us. Over prostrate Europe +the conquering nations gathered, and men in all the distant corners of +the earth listened for the voice of him who would cry in the wilderness +that a new age was born. + +'Vital days went by. At last the man who spoke for us outlined his +plan that all the Powers of the world should join together in a +covenant that war should be no more. + +'Men waited, and still waited. The plan was argued, ridiculed, +applauded--and sucked of its inspiration by talk. Already the agony of +Man was hardening into the cynicism of despair. Nations that had bled +together grew wary and drew apart. + +'And still men waited, for they knew that only America's voice could +allay the clamour. Then we spoke. Angered by the methods of our +leader, angered by the spirit of revenge that was settling over Europe, +angered by delay, once more we failed to see the great truths written +across the face of the sun. + +'America--debtor to the world--America cried out that she alone of all +the nations would stand aloof. Let history gloss it over as it will, +we held back the hand of succour that Europe craved for. + +'From the land of scented mists came the Japanese; from Greece, that +once was first in all the arts; from South America and the countries of +Europe, men gathered to the League of Nations, hoping, groping for the +light--_and we were not there_. + +'As I write to you, my son, the League is an impotent, powerless thing, +at which the men who know only nationality and not humanity sneer and +make jest. The body is there--America alone could be the heart. + +'Bloodless, helpless, it is in semblance a living thing, but all men +know it has no life, and already the diplomats who have no other way +are using it as a shield for their methods that cannot bear the light. + +'My son, in the hush and loneliness of night, ponder over these words. +Because of those things, avoidable and unavoidable, that kept us +silent; because so many of us were false to the trusteeship that fell +on our generation; because we had not learned that America was greater +than Americans, but tried to imprison the spirit of the Republic within +the little confines of our souls--because of these things thousands of +men were foully done to death. How many Miltons, how many Lincolns, +were crucified in that army of the young? + +'_We must repay_. Our destiny is clear, and no people can thwart its +destiny without the gravest danger. Our duty is to restore. Whatever +our resources, in things material or of the spirit, this generation and +yours and the generation to follow must give unsparingly. Our minds +and hearts must turn to Europe, for only in service to mankind can +America fulfil that for which she was created. + +'Across the seas lies England. She has done much that is unworthy of +her in the past; she has much to teach and much to learn; but within +the heart of Old England there is majestic grandeur and great +mercifulness, and with that heart ours must beat in unison. The solemn +splendour of Britain's sacrifice must never be forgotten. + +'Believe in life, my son. Believe in men. Take on my charge and fight +the flames of Ignorance, not as I did, but with the power of Reason and +of Right. The universal mind is still alive. Trust in it as Wagner +when he wrote his music, as Shelley when he sang of beauty, as +Washington when he founded this great Republic. Men speak through +their nationalities, but in every country of the world there is an +aristocracy of thought; and if you have the power, I charge you work +towards the end when that great aristocracy will flood the earth with +splendour and Ignorance will be no more. + +'These words I leave with you, my son, on this silent night in May. +Perhaps you will never read them. Perhaps you will live only in our +two hearts. But on the borders of life we reach out for you, praying +that you may come to stay the hunger of our hearts, to be our living +son.' + +Selwyn dropped his pen and rose slowly from his chair. Passing his +hand across his brow, he went to the door, and opening it, looked out. + +From the thin crescent of a waning moon, a narrow path of light was +glimmering on the water. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARTS MEN PLAY*** + + +******* This file should be named 17481.txt or 17481.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/4/8/17481 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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