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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/18430-8.txt b/18430-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01dcd37 --- /dev/null +++ b/18430-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5215 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Our Elizabeth, by Florence A. Kilpatrick, +Illustrated by Ernest Forbes + + +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: Our Elizabeth + A Humour Novel + + +Author: Florence A. Kilpatrick + + + +Release Date: May 22, 2006 [eBook #18430] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR ELIZABETH*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18430-h.htm or 18430-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/3/18430/18430-h/18430-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/3/18430/18430-h.zip) + + + + + +OUR ELIZABETH + +A Humour Novel + +by + +FLORENCE A. KILPATRICK + +Illustrated by Ernest Forbes + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: Elizabeth Renshaw.] + + + + +Thornton Butterworth Limited +62 St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C. 2 +Published November 1920 + + + + +TO CIS + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + +Elizabeth is not a type; she is an individuality. Signs and omens at +her birth no doubt determined her sense of the superstitious; but I +trace her evolution as a figure of fun to some sketches of mine in the +pages of Punch. These, however, were only impressions of Elizabeth on +a small scale, but I acknowledge the use of them here in the process of +developing her to full life-size. Elizabeth, as I say, is a +personality apart; there is only one Elizabeth. Here she is. + +F. A. K. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + + CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 11 + CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 12 + CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 13 + CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 14 + CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 15 + CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 16 + CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 17 + CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 18 + CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 19 + CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 20 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + Our Elizabeth . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ + + Henry and I looked at the Cookery Book + + The Kid + + A Bad Sign + + Marion dropped fifteen stitches + + Our Friend William + + 'Wot's 'orrible about it?' + + 'Oh, must I, Mama?' + + ''E was starin' at it wild-like.' + + 'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked. + + 'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly.' + + A slight lowering of the left eye-lid. + + Henry, being a Scotsman, likes argument. + + 'A fair razzle-dazzle.' + + She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth. + + 'Am I not a suitable wife for Henry?' + + 'Carn't you get rid of 'er?' + + 'Stop, William!' Marion said. + + 'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?' + + ''Ere's to us, all of us!' + + + + +OUR ELIZABETH + + +CHAPTER I + +If you ask Henry he will tell you that I cannot cook. In fact, he will +tell you even if you don't ask. To hold up my culinary failures to +ridicule is one of his newest forms of humour (new to Henry, I +mean--the actual jokes you will have learned already at your +grandmother's knee). + +I had begun to see that I must either get a servant soon or a judicial +separation from Henry. That was the stage at which I had arrived. +Things were getting beyond me. By 'things' I mean the whole loathsome +business of housework. My _métier_ is to write--not that I am a great +writer as yet, though I hope to be some day. What I never hope to be +is a culinary expert. Should you command your cook to turn out a short +story she could not suffer more in the agonies of composition than I do +in making a simple Yorkshire pudding. + +Henry does not like housework any more than I do; he says the +performance of menial duties crushes his spirit--but he makes such a +fuss about things. You might think, to hear him talk, that getting up +coal, lighting fires, chopping wood and cleaning flues, knives and +brasses were the entire work of a household instead of being mere +incidents in the daily routine. If he had had to tackle my +duties . . . but men never understand how much there is to do in a +house. + +Even when they do lend a hand my experience is that they invariably +manage to hurt themselves in some way. Henry seems incapable of +getting up coal without dropping the largest knob on his foot. If he +chops wood he gashes himself; he cannot go through the simple rite of +pouring boiling water out of a saucepan without getting scalded; and +when he mounts the steps to adjust the blinds I always keep the brandy +uncorked in readiness; you see, he declares that a chap needs something +to pull himself together after a fall from a step-ladder. + +Perhaps you trace in all this a certain bitterness, a veiled antagonism +on my part towards Henry; you may even imagine that we are a bickering +sort of couple, constantly trying to get the better of each other. If +so, you are mistaken. Up to six months before this story opens our +married life had been ideal--for which reason I didn't open the story +earlier. Ideal marriages (to any one except the contracting parties) +are uninteresting affairs. It is such a pity that the good, the +laudable, things in life generally are. + +One of the reasons why our union was ideal (up to six months before +this story opens) was that we shared identical tastes. Comradeship is +the true basis of--but perhaps you have read my articles on the subject +on the Woman's Page of the _Daily Trail_. I always advise girls to +marry men of their own temperament. As a matter of fact, I expect they +marry the men who are easiest to land, but you're not allowed to say +things like that (on the Woman's Page). We have pure and noble ideals, +we are tender, motherly and housewifely (on the Woman's Page). + +Henry and I were of the same temperament. For one thing, we were +equally incompetent at golf. Perhaps I foozled my drive rather worse +than Henry, but then he never took fewer than five strokes on the +green, whereas I have occasionally done it in four. Then we mutually +detested gramophones. But when we discovered that we could both play +'Caller Herrin'' on the piano with one finger (entirely by ear) we felt +that we were affinities, and got married shortly afterwards. + +Stevenson once said, 'Marriage is not a bed of roses; it is a field of +battle.' At the epoch of which I write Henry and I had not got to +turning machine-guns on each other. At the most we only had diplomatic +unpleasantnesses. The position, however, was getting strained. I +realized quite clearly that if we didn't obtain domestic help of some +sort very soon it might come to open hostilities. Isn't it surprising +how the petty annoyances of life can wear away the strong bulwarks of +trust and friendship formed by years of understanding? Our particular +bulwarks were becoming quite shaky through nothing else but having to +muddle through the dull sordid grind of cooking and housework by +ourselves. We were getting disillusioned with each other. No +'jaundiced eye that casts discolouration' could look more jaundiced +than Henry's when I asked him to dry up the dinner things. + +Having explained all this, you will now understand something of my +feelings when, on going to answer a knock at the door, I was confronted +by a solid female who said she had been sent from the Registry Office. +Oh, thrice blessed Registry Office that had answered my call. + +'Come in,' I said eagerly, and, leading the way into the dining-room, I +seated myself before her. With lowered eyes and modest mien I was, of +course, waiting for her to speak first. I did not wait long. Her +voice, concise and direct, rapped out: 'So you require a cook-general?' + +'Yes--er--please,' I murmured. Under her searching gaze my knees +trembled, my pulses throbbed, a slight perspiration broke out on my +forehead. My whole being seemed to centre itself in the mute inquiry: +'Shall I suit?' + +There was a pause while the applicant placed her heavy guns. Then she +opened fire immediately. 'I suppose you have outside daily help?' + +'Er--no,' I confessed. + +'Then you have a boy to do the windows, knives and boots?' + +'No.' + +'Do you send everything to the laundry?' + +'Well . . . no . . . not quite.' I wanted to explain, to modify, to +speak airily of woollens being 'just rubbed through,' but she hurried +me forward. + +'Have you a hot water circulator?' + +'No.' + +'A gas cooking-range?' + +'No.' + +It was terrible. I seemed to have nothing. I stood, as it were, naked +to the world, bereft of a single inducement to hold out to the girl. + +'Do you dine late?' + +At this point, when I longed to answer 'No,' I was compelled to say +'Yes.' That decided her. She rose at once and moved towards the door. +'I'm afraid your situation won't do for me,' she remarked. + +That was all she said. She was perfectly dignified about it. Much as +she obviously condemned me, there was no noisy recrimination, no +violent vituperative outburst on her part. I followed in her wake to +the door. Even at the eleventh hour I hoped for a respite. 'Couldn't +something be arranged?' I faltered as my gaze wandered hungrily over +her capable-looking form. 'We might get you a gas-cooker--and all +that.' + +Do not condemn me. Remember that my will had been weakened by +housework; six months of doing my own washing-up had brought me to my +knees. I was ready to agree to any terms that were offered me. The +applicant shook her head. There were too many obstacles in the way, +too many radical changes necessary before the place could be made +suitable for her. I realized finality in her answer, 'No, nothink,' +and closing the front door behind her, I returned to the study to +brood. I was still there, thinking bitterly, the shadows of the +evening creeping around me, when Henry came in. + +'Hallo,' he said gruffly. 'No signs of dinner yet? Do you know the +time?' + +And only six months ago (before this story opens) he would have +embraced me tenderly when he came in and said, 'How is the little +wifie-pifie to-night? I hope it hasn't been worrying its fluffy little +head with writing and making its hubby-wubby anxious?' + +Perhaps you prefer Henry in the former role. Frankly, I did not. 'You +needn't be so impatient,' I retorted. 'I expect you've gorged yourself +on a good lunch in town. Anyhow, it won't take long to get dinner, as +we're having tinned soup and eggs.' + +'Oh, damn eggs,' said Henry. 'I'm sick of the sight of 'em.' + +You can see for yourself how unrestrained we were getting. The thin +veneer of civilization (thinner than ever when Henry is hungry) was +fast wearing into holes. There was a pause, and then I coldly +remarked: 'You didn't kiss me when you came in.' + +It was a custom to which I was determined to cling with grim +resolution. If I allowed his treatment of me to become too casual we +might continue to drift apart even when we had some one to do the +washing-up. + +Henry came over to me and bestowed a labial salute. It is the only +adequate description I can give of the performance. Then I went to the +kitchen and got out the cookery-book. + +It is a remarkable thing that I am never able to cook anything without +the aid of the book. Even if I prepare the same dish seven times a +week I must have the printed instructions constantly before me, or I am +lost. This is especially strange, because I have a retentive memory +for other things. My mind is crammed with odd facts retained from +casual reading. If you asked me, the date of the Tai-ping Rebellion +(though you're not likely to) I could tell you at once that it +originated in 1850 and was not suppressed until 1864, for I remember +reading about it in a dentist's waiting-room when I was fifteen. Yet +although I prepared scrambled eggs one hundred times in six months +(Henry said it was much oftener than that) I had to pore over the +instructions as earnestly when doing my 'century' as on the first +occasion. + +The subsequent meal was taken in silence. The hay-fever from which I +am prone to suffer at all seasons of the year was particularly +persistent that evening. A rising irritability, engendered by leathery +eggs and fostered by Henry's expression, was taking possession of me. +Quite suddenly I discovered that the way he held his knife annoyed me. +Further, his manner of eating soup maddened me. But I restrained +myself. I merely remarked: 'You have finished your soup, I _hear_, +love.' We had not yet reached the stage of open rupture when I could +exclaim: 'For goodness' sake stop swilling down soup like a grampus!' +I have never heard a grampus take soup. But the expression seems +picturesque. + +Henry, too, had not quite lost his fortitude. My hay-fever was +obviously annoying him, but he only commented: 'Don't you think you +ought to go to a doctor--a really reliable man--with that distressing +nasal complaint of yours, my dear?' I knew, however, that he was +longing to bark out: 'Can't you do something to stop that everlasting +sniffing? It's driving me mad, woman.' + +How long would it be before we reached this stage of debacle? I +brooded. Then the front door bell rang. + +'You go,' I said to Henry. + +'No, you go,' he replied. 'It looks bad for a man if he is master of +the house to answer the door.' + +I do not know why it should look bad for a man to answer his own door +unless he is a bad man. But there are some things in our English +social system which will ever remain unquestioned. I rose and went to +open the front door. The light from the hall lamp fell dimly on a lank +female form which stood on the doorstep. Out of the dusk a voice spoke +to me. It said, 'I think you're wantin' a cook-general?' + +I cried out in a loud voice, saying, 'I am.' + +'Well, I'm Elizabeth Renshaw. You wrote to me. I got your letter sent +on from the Registry Office along with ninety others. But I liked +yours the best, so I thought there'd be no 'arm in coming to see----' + +'Come in, Elizabeth,' I said earnestly. 'I'm glad you liked my letter.' + +I began to wonder if I was not a great writer after all. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +I piloted Elizabeth in and bade her be seated. Strangely enough, my +usual hopeful expectations entirely deserted me at that moment. I felt +that the interview would be fruitless. They say hope springs eternal +in the human breast, but my breast didn't feel human just then. It was +throbbing with savage and sanguinary thoughts. Perhaps it was the +eggs. Many animals are rendered ferocious by an over-diet of meat. I +can testify (so can Henry) that an over-diet of eggs has exactly the +same effect on human beings. I think they stimulate the wrong kind of +phagocytes. They can make the mildest and most forgiving person wild +and vindictive. Henry always declares, when he reads of a man +murdering his wife under exceptionally brutal circumstances, that she +must have been giving him too many scrambled eggs. In fact, he wrote +articles about it, entitled 'The Psychology of Diet,' in the Sunday +papers, signed 'By a Physician.' + +Henry is not a physician. Neither is he 'An Eminent Surgeon,' 'A +Harley Street Expert,' an 'Ex-M.P.,' 'A Special Crime Investigator,' or +'A Well-known Bishop,' although he has written under all these +pseudonyms. Do not blame Henry. In private life he seeks the truth as +one who seeks the light, but by profession he is a journalist. Not +being an expert in anything, he can write about everything--which is +the true test of the born journalist. + +But to return to Elizabeth. With the remembrance of the similar +interview of only a few hours before still rankling in my mind, I +looked at her a little austerely. This time it was I who began the +causerie. + +'First of all I must tell you,' I said, 'that we have no hot water +circulator.' + +'Carn't abide them things,' commented Elizabeth; 'they bust sometimes +and blows folks up.' + +'We have no outside help,' I continued. + +'An' a good thing, too. One place I was in the char 'elped 'erself to +things an' it was me who was blamed fer it.' + +'We have no gas-cooker.' + +'Well, that's all right, then. Don't understand 'em. Give me a proper +kitchen range, that's all I ask.' + +I looked up hopefully. If all she asked for was a kitchen range I +should be glad enough to give her a little thing like that. But the +supreme test was yet to come. 'We don't send everything to the +laundry,' I began. + +'I 'ope you don't,' she broke in, 'leastways my clothes. The state +they send 'em back, 'arf torn to ribbons. A girl never 'as 'er 'and +out of 'er pocket buying new things. Besides, I like a bit o' +washin'--makes a change, I always say.' + +My heart began to beat so loudly with hope that I could hardly hear my +own voice as I asked, 'How . . . how soon can you come?' + +'To-morrow, if you like,' she answered casually. 'I've 'ad a row with +the friend I'm stayin' with and I can't abide living-in with folks I've +fallen out with.' + +I struggled to reconstruct this sentence and then, remembering what was +required of me, I remarked, 'And your references?' + +She gave me the address of her last place. + +'Are they on the 'phone?' I questioned eagerly. 'If so, I'll settle +the thing at once.' It seemed they were. I tottered to the telephone. +My call was answered by a woman with a thin, sharp voice. + +'I am sorry,' she said in answer to my query, 'I must refuse to answer +any questions concerning Elizabeth Renshaw.' + +'But you only need say "yes" or "no." Is she honest?' + +'I am not in a position to give you a reply.' + +'Am I to understand that she isn't sober?' + +'I cannot answer that question.' + +'Look here, she hasn't murdered any one, has she?' + +'I am not in a position----' + +'Oh, hang the woman,' I muttered, jerking up the receiver. But I felt +the situation was an awkward one. What sinister and turbid happenings +were connected with Elizabeth and her last place? I meditated. If she +were not sober it was, after all, no business of mine so long as she +got through her work. And if she didn't we should be no worse off than +we were at present. + +If she were dishonest it might be awkward, certainly, but then there +was nothing of very much value in the house, Henry and I merely being +writers by profession. Most of our friends are writers, too, so we +have not the usual array of massive silver wedding gifts about the +place, but quite a lot of autograph photos and books instead. The +value of these might not be apparent to the casual pilferer. My +meditations got no further. I decided to lock up my silk stockings and +best handkerchiefs and engage Elizabeth without delay. As a matter of +fact, I afterwards discovered that her career had been blameless, while +she had every foundation for her favourite declaration, 'I wouldn't +take a used postage stamp, no, nor a rusty nail that wasn't my own.' + +I do not condemn the woman I interviewed on the telephone, +reprehensible as was her conduct. Perhaps she, too, was living on eggs +and it had warped her better nature. + +'I suppose you can cook all right?' I asked Elizabeth as ten minutes +later, all arrangements made, I accompanied her to the door. + +'Me? I'm a rare 'and at cookin'. My friend's 'usband ses 'e's never +come across any one who can cook a steak like I can.' + +'A steak,' I murmured ecstatically, 'richly brown with softly swelling +curves----' + +'Rather underdone in the middle,' supplemented Elizabeth, 'just a +little bit o' fat, fairly crisp, a lump o' butter on the top, and I +always 'old that a dash o' fried onion improves the flavour.' + +'How beautiful,' I murmured again. It sounded like a poem. Swinburne +or de Musset have never stirred me so deeply as did that simple +recitation. + +Elizabeth, seeing that she had an attentive audience, continued, 'Take +roast pork, now. Well, I always say there's a lot in the cookin' o' +that, with crisp cracklin', apple sauce an' stuffin'-----' + +'Don't go on,' I, broke in, feeling in my weakened state, unable to +stand any more. Tears that men weep had risen to my eyes. 'Promise,' +I said, taking her toil-worn hand, 'that you will come to-morrow.' + +'Right-o,' said Elizabeth, and her lank form disappeared in the +darkness. I staggered into the dining-room. Henry was sitting at the +disordered dinner table jotting down notes. At any other time this +would have irritated me, because I knew it was a preliminary to his +remark that as he had an article to write which must be finished that +evening he would not be able to help me with the washing-up. A +hackneyed dodge of his. Oh, I could tell you a tale of the meanness of +men. + +'Henry, something has happened,' I began. + +Without looking round he remarked, 'Don't disturb me. I must write up +a brief biographical sketch of Courtenay Colville, the actor. He's +been taken seriously ill and may be dead just in time for the morning +papers.' In this way do journalists speak. To them life and death, +all the tremendous happenings of the world--wars, revolutions, or even +weddings of revue actresses--are just so much matter for printed and +pictorial display. Do you think, if a great and honoured statesman +dies, sub-editors care two pins about his public services? Not they. +All they worry about is whether he is worth double-column headings, a +long primer intro., and a line across the page. + +'I didn't know Courtenay Colville was so ill,' I commented mildly. +What I did know was that he was reported to have sprained his right toe +at golf, and only an hour previously I should have commented +caustically on Henry's description of this 'serious illness.' Now I +came up to him and put my arm about his neck. + +'I've just put on a clean collar--be careful,' he said, shaking off my +hand. + +'Henry, dear, I've landed a servant at last,' I breathed. + +He looked up and, for a moment, I felt that I ought not to have told +him so suddenly. But joy does not often kill. I went and knelt beside +him. 'Dearest,' I whispered, 'it seems as though all the bitterness +and misunderstanding between you and me is to be swept away at last. +She can cook steaks, dear--juicy steaks, pork with crackling----' + +'Sage and onion stuffing?' burst in a hoarse murmur from Henry. + +'Yes, and large mutton chops, rich in fat----' + +'Dearest, how splendid,' whispered Henry. Our lips met in ecstacy. + +That evening was one of the happiest we have ever spent. Henry and I +sat together on the divan and looked at the cookery-book. There was no +doubt about it. Henry said, that Mrs. Beeton was a wonderful woman. +We felt that she and Mr. Beeton must have been tremendously happy in +their married life. + +[Illustration: Henry and I looked at the Cookery Book.] + +The illustrations to the book delighted us, too, with their bold +outlines, vigorous colouring, and, attention to detail. Henry and I +rather favour the impressionist school in art, but when you're admiring +a picture of salmon mayonnaise it refreshes you to distinguish the +ingredients. + +Elizabeth arrived the next day, bringing with her a small--perplexingly +small--brown paper parcel. The rest of her luggage, she said, was on +the way. It remained on the way so long that I finally got uneasy and +began to question her about it. She did not seem so disturbed at the +prospect of its being lost as I did. At last, when I declared my +intention of writing Carter Paterson's about it on her behalf, she +confessed. Frankness is one of her distinguishing qualities. + +'My box is still at my friend's,' she explained. 'You see, when I goes +to a new place I never 'ave my luggage sent on until I feel I'm going +to settle. It saves a lot o' bother--if I don't stop.' + +'I hadn't thought of that,' I commented feebly. + +'I brought a clean cap and another pair o' stockings with me, so I'm +all right for a fortnight,' she went on. Her creed, like her change of +underclothing, was obviously simple. Mournfully I withdrew from the +kitchen to meditate. + +So we were on probation. It was a tremulous time. I bade Henry tread +softly and not to forget to rub his feet on the mat. I gave all my +orders to Elizabeth in a voice which blended deference with +supplication. I strove hard to live up to what I thought must be her +conception of the Perfect Mistress. And when, the fortnight expired, +Carter Paterson drove up and deposited a small corded box on the hall +mat, I felt it to be a personal triumph. But Henry said I had nothing +to do with it. To this day he declares that Elizabeth decided to stop +because she so earnestly desired to serve such a gentle master. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +No doubt you will have guessed that Henry is a better and sounder +writer than I. He has helped me a lot with his criticism and advice, +for he is fastidious regarding style. There used to be a time, before +he came along, when I walked in darkness, often beginning sentences +with conjunctions and ending them with adverbs; I have even split +infinitives and gone on my way rejoicing. I am now greatly improved, +though one of the incurable things I shall never eradicate from my +system is a weakness for beginning sentences with 'but.' But if you +observe it, I hope you will kindly pass it over without remark. + +Henry often talks to me about construction. 'If you are writing a +book,' he says, 'don't introduce all your characters in the first +chapter. Let them develop gradually.' + +Now that is sound advice. It was not, however, for the sake of +construction that I refrained from telling you about The Kid at the +very beginning. I was impelled to silence by the same reason which +kept me from mentioning The Kid to Elizabeth until her box had arrived +and she had settled down. I feel sure you do not want to hear about +The Kid any more than Elizabeth did. It is annoying to read about +children. If they are good they cloy, and if bad they irritate. The +Kid is neither. In any case, it is time she came home now, so she will +have to drop in here. During my servantless period she stayed with +friends--which was a good thing for her digestion and my nervous +system. Now there was no longer any excuse--I mean, it was now time +for her to return. + +[Illustration: The Kid.] + +She is what you would call a boisterous child, overflowing with +ebullition of spirits, _joie de vivre_, bonhomie, and all those +attributes which cause people possessing them to make a noise. When +she enters a room you always think of those lines, 'the mountains +skipped like rams, and the little hills like young sheep.' + +She descended on Henry and me just a year after our marriage. As we +have now been married ten years you will be able to calculate her age +if you are good at arithmetic. + +Elizabeth did not disapprove of The Kid. It might have been awkward if +she had. As a matter of fact, they became close companions at sight. +There were certain affinities between them. Elizabeth, for example, +although perhaps not so habitually sticky as The Kid, like her didn't +seem able to remain clean or tidy for longer than half an hour at a +time. Also, Elizabeth believing in Signs, The Kid revered her for her +mysticism--about the only person who ever did. She used to beg to be +allowed to study her Dream Book, and every evening before bedtime would +go into the kitchen and--sitting amid that wild disorder that is +necessary to Elizabeth before she can really feel at home--'look up' +her dream of the previous night. + +Try as she would, the poor child never seemed to have the sort of +vision that, in the words of the book, had 'excellent portent.' 'I +don't get the nice things,' I once heard her remark, 'like white +horses, you know, which, it says, portend honours, riches and rare +gifts. Did you ever dream of white horses, Elizabeth?' + +'That I did--wunst.' + +'And did you get the honours, and all those things, Elizabeth?' + +'Well, I got the rare gifts in a manner o' speaking. My gran'mother +died a month later an' left me a pair o' jet earrings and a jet +bracelet to match--one o' them stretchin' ones, on elastic, you know.' + +That incident established Elizabeth in The Kid's estimation as a +prophet. Old Moore himself couldn't have done better. + +I did not pay much attention to these things; and it was not until +Elizabeth had been with me for some time that I discovered her intense +fatalism. She ordered her life by Signs, in fact. You or I might drop +a tablespoon on the floor and think nothing of it, but she would tell +you at once it was a Sign that a tall dark lady was coming to the +house. If a knife fell you would hear her mutter '_That's_ a man.' +According to Elizabeth, success in life is in no wise due to personal +effort--it all depends on whether you are 'born lucky.' + +Unfortunately Elizabeth was 'born unlucky'--unfortunately for me as +well as her. Destiny, having now woven my life with hers, it made me +unlucky, too. For example, she would come to me and announce, 'I've +been unlucky an' broke the teapot this mornin'. That means I'll break +another two things afore the week's out. It always goes in threes.' + +'Then hadn't you better smash something that is of no value at once,' +was my obvious suggestion, 'and get it over?' + +But Elizabeth, entrenched in her convictions, would shake her head. +'That's no good. I've tried that afore an' it didn't work. You see, +it 'as to be done unexpected to break the spell.' So the spell had to +be broken also. Clearly, human intervention was no good at all. Fate +was against both of us. + +There is something positively uncanny in the way misfortune lies in +wait for that girl. You would think that after causing her to break +two full breakfast services it would leave her alone for a while. But +no; she was half-way through the third before her luck showed any signs +of changing. + +Spilling the salt accounted for three burnt saucepans and the collapse +of the plate rack (at the moment fully charged); while seeing the new +moon through glass caused her to overlook the fact that she had left a +can in the middle of the staircase. Afterwards (during the week that I +waited on her on account of her sprained ankle) she said she would +never go near a window again until the moon was at full and quite safe. + +Of course, I do my best to parry these mysterious blows of Fate. I +remember when she first undertook to clean the drawing-room I took away +everything that a mysterious agency might cause to 'come in two' in her +hands. I left her alone with the grand piano and scrubbing materials, +and went out to spend the afternoon with cheerful countenance. I +returned rather late, and directly Elizabeth opened the door to me I +saw that something was wrong. + +'I've been unlucky,' she began. + +'Unlucky!' I faltered. 'But what with? Don't say the piano came in +two in your hands?' + +'It wasn't my 'ands, it was my feet. The floor gave way an' I went +through.' + +'You went through the floor!' I marvelled. Then my face cleared. The +house was not mine, and, after all, the landlord has no right to escape +these unusual machinations of Fate. + +'I knew somethink would 'appen when I put the boots on the table by +accident this mornin',' she explained, 'It's always a Bad Sign.' + +You must not think, however, that Elizabeth ever allows her fatalism to +interfere with her judgment. I recall the occasion when she came to me +looking actually concerned and remarked: 'I'm sorry, 'm, but them two +varses that was on the mantelpiece in the pink bedroom----' + +I started up. 'Don't dare to say you've been unlucky with them!' + +'No'm, I wasn't unlucky. I was just careless when I broke those.' + +A low moan escaped my lips. They were the Sèvres vases that I loved +dearest of my possessions, and which, in the words of those who keep +shops, 'cannot be repeated.' I regarded Elizabeth angrily, no longer +able to control my wrath. I am at times (says Henry) a hasty woman. I +ought to have paused and put my love of Sèvres vases in the balance +with the diet of scrambled eggs and the prospect of unlimited +washing-up, and I know which side would have tipped up at once. +However, I did not pause, caring not that the bitter recriminations I +intended to hurl at her would bring forth the inevitable month's +notice; that, at the first hint of her leaving me, at least a dozen of +my neighbours would stretch out eager hands to snatch Elizabeth, a +dozen different vacant sinks were ready for her selection. I did not +care, I say; I had loved my vases and in that moment I hated Elizabeth. + +But she began to speak before I did. 'It isn't as if I'd been +unlucky--I couldn't ha' 'elped _that_. But I know when I'm in the +wrong'--she unfolded a parcel she had in her hand as she spoke--'so I +went out larst night and bought these to replace what I broke. Right's +right, I always say'; and she laid down before me a pair of vases on +which were emblazoned gigantic and strangely-hued flowers that could +belong to no earthly flora. + +'They're bigger'n the varses I broke,' she murmured, regarding her +purchase with satisfaction. + +Then I noted that she wore an expression of lofty pride, that she +glowed with the calm satisfaction of one who has made ample reparation. +Looking at Elizabeth just then you might almost have thought that she +had a soul. Really, it gave one an odd feeling. + +I picked up her offering and regarded it a moment in silence, while my +aesthetic nature shook to its foundations. Stifling the moan of horror +that had risen to my lips, I faced her with a smile. Balaclava heroes +could have done no more. + +'Thank you, Elizabeth,' I said humbly. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Marion often says that if Elizabeth hadn't . . . but I believe I +haven't told you about Marion yet. I'm afraid I shall never learn +construction, in spite of Henry. + +Well, Marion is Henry's sister. She is what you would call a really +nice girl. Everybody likes her and sends for her when in trouble or +needing advice. Women adore her and tell her all their secrets, and +get her to alter their dresses for them. Men seek her company in order +to pour out their worries and anxieties into her sympathetic ear. She +is always acting as intermediary in love affairs that are not running +smoothly and need the intervention or assistance of a third party. +But--and this is where the poignant touch comes in--she never had a +love affair of her own. I could not understand why. It isn't that +she's unattractive, being quite pretty in that feminine clinging way +which we generally connect with the Victorian era. + +There is a certain type of man who admires this type of woman. He +writes to the newspapers, clamouring loudly to be told where the 'nice' +girls are (the girls of modest mien who know only the gentle, +housewifely arts), and signs himself 'Old-Fashioned' or 'Early +Victorian,' or merely gives baffling initials, always being careful not +to disclose his identity. If he really wants these sort of girls why +doesn't he give a name and address to which they can be forwarded? + +It is my belief that men like these 'nice' homely women as mothers, but +do not seek for them as wives. But, I ask, how are they to be +mothers--and still remain 'nice'--if they are not first to be selected +as wives? If the position isn't faced they will soon die out +altogether and become as rare as the brontosaurus. We shall go to +museums and see exhibited, 'Fossilized remains of "Nice Girl": supposed +to exist in early part of twentieth century. Rare specimen.' + +Everybody said Marion ought to be married as she had those fine +qualities which belong to the ideal home-maker. Nearly every man who +knew her declared that she would make a perfect wife--and then went off +and married someone else. They said the chap would be lucky who got +her--which was true enough--but the idea of going in to win her didn't +seem to occur to any one of them. + +So here was Marion, sweet and lovable, who would make a delightful +mother of children and of a home a haven of refuge, languishing alone +for want of a suitable offer of marriage. + +I will frankly admit that I planned various matrimonial schemes for +Marion. Many eligible men did I invite to meet her; some fell on stony +ground, and others made excuses and stayed away. + +I remained undaunted, although I got no assistance from Henry, who +strongly disapproved of my manoeuvres. In any case, he would never +have been of much help in the matter, being quite unable to distinguish +between the Right and the Wrong kind of man. Also, nearly all his +friends are either married with grown-up children, or elderly widowers +with hearts so firmly embedded in the graves of their former wives that +it would be perfectly impossible to try to excavate them again. + +The annoying thing about Henry, too, is his lack of discernment +regarding men. I have known him speak glowingly, and with unabated +enthusiasm, of 'a most interesting chap' he has met at his club, +referring to him as 'altogether delightful,' 'a charming +conversationalist,' and so on, until I have felt impelled to ask Henry +to bring this treasure home to dinner. + +Then, after expending myself in the preparation of such things as _hors +d'oeuvres_ and iced cocktails and putting on my most becoming frock +Henry has walked in with a veritable monster of a man. You know the +kind I mean. Quite good and God-fearing and all that, but with one of +those dreadful clematis moustaches which cling half over the face, +beginning at the nostrils and curling under the chin, a form which +undulates in the region of the waistcoat, and a slow and pompous +conversation (mainly devoted to the discussion of politics in the +'fifties). + +I remember, shortly after one of these visitations, Henry ringing me up +on the 'phone and asking if it was convenient to bring a man home to +dinner that evening. + +'What is he like?' I inquired, still smarting under recent experiences, +'has he much moustache--I mean, is he nice?' + +Henry paused. 'Oh, all right. I don't know whether you'd care for +him. Perhaps I'd better not----' + +'Yes, bring him if you want to, dear,' I conceded. I am not one of +those fussy wives. I like Henry to feel that he can bring a friend +home whenever he likes; but on this occasion I did not make unusual +preparations. After bidding Elizabeth turn the cold meat into curry +and judiciously water the soup to make it enough for four instead of +three, I tidied my hair and descended into the hall to see Henry +helping a man off with his overcoat--and such a man! It was the +dashing, the handsome, the witty Harvey Trevor (political writer on the +_Morning Sun_). + +It was too late to back upstairs again and improvise upon my toilette, +for they both looked up and saw me at that moment. So there I stood, +like a stag at bay, with my nose unpowdered (Henry would say that a +stag doesn't powder its nose, but you will know what I mean) wearing my +dullest and most uninspired house-frock, and hurling silent anathemas +at my heartless husband. + +You will now understand how useless Henry was as an ally in my +matrimonial plans for Marion. But I was doggedly determined that she +should make some man happy. At last, indeed, it seemed as though my +efforts were to be crowned with success when George Harbinger appeared +on the scene. + +He took to her at once and said that she was just the sort of girl his +mother would like. He declared that Marion's oyster patties were +things of pure delight and ought to be eaten to slow music. (Yes, I +always got Marion to make some of her special pastry when the eligibles +came to dine.) He openly sought her society. They even played +draughts together and he always won. Everything was going splendidly. + +I was especially satisfied, for George Harbinger was an estimable man. +He was an assessor, and entirely reliable. Indeed, I believe it would +be difficult to find an assessor who is not. When you read the police +court cases you find all sorts of professions and followings +represented in the charge sheets, from actors down to editors, but have +you ever heard of an assessor who defaulted, who committed bigamy, +arson, larceny, murder, or neglected to pay his income tax? No, you +have not. Also, you seldom hear of an unmarried assessor. They are +known to be such steady, dependable men that they are always snapped up +at once. Thus you can understand how pleased I was to get hold of +George. + +One evening it seemed as though things were getting to a climax. +George had eaten four of Marion's oyster patties at dinner and, after +retaining her hand for an undue length of time at parting, asked if he +could see her alone if he called the following evening, as he had +something important to say to her. + +Marion was in a flutter. She admitted that she 'rather liked' George. +(Your nice girl never says outright that she's keen on a man.) 'And +what do you think,' she confessed, 'he said when we were playing +draughts to-night that I was just the sort of girl his mother would +like, and--and----' + +'Yes, go on,' I said tensely. + +'That he never believed in a man marrying a girl of whom his mother did +not approve. What do you think he meant by that, dear?' + +'Everything,' I said, and took a silent decision to leave no stone +unturned to bring the thing off all right. I planned to leave them +alone in the rose drawing-room with its pink-shaded lights--Marion +looks her best under pink-shaded lights. She was thirty-seven, but +only looked thirty when she had her hair waved and wore her grey +_charmeuse_. + +I, myself, prepared her for the interview. I dressed her hair +becomingly and clasped my matrix necklace around her throat. Then, +soon after George arrived, I excused myself on the plea of having an +article to write--which was perfect truth--and left them alone together. + +Doesn't it give you a feeling of contentment when you have done a good +action? You are permeated with a sort of glow which comes from within. +After closing the drawing-room door on Marion and George, I sat down to +work in an atmosphere of righteousness. I could almost imagine there +must be the beginnings of a faint luminous disc around my head. + +The subject of the article I now began to write was 'Should Women +Propose?' Treading carefully on the delicate ground of the Woman's +Page, I decided that they must do nothing that is so utterly +unfeminine. 'But there are many subtle little ways in which a woman +can convey to a man her preference for him,' I penned, 'without for a +moment overstepping the bounds of that maidenly reticence which is one +of the charms of----' + +The door opened and Elizabeth entered. Elizabeth has a way of entering +when I am most likely to lose the thread of my sentence. + +'I'm fair worried about Miss Marryun,' she began. + +I looked up with a start. 'What on earth do you mean?' + +'Well, you see, the Signs are against 'er. They've bin against 'er for +days. Yesterday I see 'er sneeze three times to the left, an' that's +bad. Then when she put her right shoe on 'er wrong foot by accident, I +felt somethin' was comin'. But after I found two triangles an' a mouse +in 'er cup to-day I knew----' + +[Illustration: A Bad Sign.] + +'A mouse in her cup!' I marvelled. + +'Fortune tellin' by tea-leaves, 'm. Well, a mouse is a Bad Sign. It's +my belief that she won't get no propogal this evenin'.' + +I looked at Elizabeth sternly. I do not wish to insinuate for one +moment that she is in the habit of listening at doors, but she +certainly gains an insight into our private lives that is nothing short +of uncanny. + +'I just been lookin' at the cards,' she continued, 'an' they say as +plain as can be that Mr. 'Arbinger isn't the one. 'E's the wrong +colour.' + +'And what colour do you expect him to be?' I demanded. + +''Im bein' fair takes King o' Dimonds. Well, Queen o' Clubs--that's +Miss Marryun--is seven cards removed from 'im and the three o' spades +comin' between spells disappointment. But, as I ses to 'er quite +recent, I ses, "If you want to see your true love aright go into the +garding by pale moonlight, walk in a circle, and say,-- + + "If I my true love now would see----"' + +'Elizabeth,' I broke in, 'don't forget to grill master's bloaters for +breakfast.' In this way do I recall her and remind her of her duty +when she ignores the chasms of caste and class distinction which yawn +between us. + +'Grilled, 'm? Right-o. Well, as I was sayin' about Miss Marryun. +She's gotta ring in 'er fortune and she _will_ get married, but it will +be to a dark man who'll cross water to meet her. She's like me. She +isn't fated to meet the right one yet.' + +This was a subtle reference to her own chaotic love affairs. Elizabeth +never has any lack of young men.' But they are like ships that pass in +the night (her night out as a rule), and one by one they drift off, +never stopping to cast anchor in her vicinity. You know what I mean. +Elizabeth can't keep her young men. They seem attracted to her at +first, but, as I say, after a very short time they drift. + +'We shall see wot we shall see,' went on Elizabeth, 'there aint no +knowin' an' there aint no tellin'. But wot I ses is, if this 'ere +propogal don't come orf this evenin', I gotta plan. Of course, one +marries accordin' to Fate, but sometimes it doesn't do no 'arm to give +Fate an 'elpin' 'and, like.' + +Nodding darkly, she melted out. I did not at the time attach any +significance to her final words. How was I to guess at those schemes +which were even then fermenting in her mind and ended by involving not +only Marion and Another, but the entire family? + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Marion gave me what the newspapers term 'a verbatim report' of the +interview which took place between her and George Harbinger. She +omitted no detail. As far as I understand, when I left them he was +standing with his right foot on the fender and the other on the rug, +and his elbow on the mantelpiece. She was sitting in the easy chair to +the left of the fireplace, in the full glow of the shaded lamp, +knitting a jumper. There was a pause and then he began, 'You never +seem idle for a minute. How nimble your fingers are!' + +Marion knitted a little harder. + +'I have always hoped,' he went on, 'that the woman I married would be +fond of her needle. There is something so restful in the idea of +coming home in the evening to see one's companion sitting at the +fireside engaged in such womanly tasks.' + +Marion said that, no doubt, after a hard day at assessing, such a sight +would be soothing to a man. + +He now came and sat beside her. 'I want to ask you something rather +important,' he said, 'but I wonder if I have known you long enough to +warrant it.' + +She paused in her knitting for a moment to remind him--very +earnestly--that real friendship and understanding is more a matter of +affinity than actual length of acquaintance. + +'You're right,' he said, pondering, 'and, of course, you're so . . . so +sensible.' + +Women hate to be told they are sensible by any one but their +mothers-in-law. But how could an assessor know that? He continued to +regard her earnestly. 'I feel sure, too, that you're so much older +than you look.' + +To this day Marion says she's not sure whether this was intended as a +compliment or a deadly insult. + +'Do you think,' he went on, 'that a man should ask a woman to marry him +only when she has reached maturity?' + +Marion, moving well into the glow of the pink-shaded lamp, said it +depended on the stage of maturity. Nowadays, when women so often look +younger than they really are, it is difficult to tell. + +He seemed relieved. 'That's exactly what I feel about it. But +supposing my mother shouldn't approve of my choice? I hate family +squabbles above everything. I have always maintained that I would only +marry the woman that my mother really liked.' + +'Isn't that rather a handicap for your future wife?' asked Marion +gently. 'But why not ask your mother's opinion of her?' + +'That's just what I want to speak to you about,' he put in eagerly. 'I +. . . I want to ask you if I can introduce you to my mother?' + +The knitting fell from Marion's nerveless fingers. She can show you +the uneven row on the jumper where she dropped fifteen stitches at that +moment. + +[Illustration: Marion dropped fifteen stitches.] + +'I shall be most happy to meet your mother,' she murmured. + +'This is really good of you,' he said eagerly. 'You see, you're the +very one she would take to in an instant. I knew it directly I met +you. I don't know any one else she would listen to so willingly, if +you will consent to intervene.' + +'Intervene!' echoed Marion. Somehow she did not like the word. Not at +that moment, I mean. + +'Yes, intervene,' he repeated. There was no mistaking it--what could +be clearer. Latin, _inter_, between; _venio_, I come. Marion may have +translated it differently, but she had served in the capacity of buffer +too often to misinterpret its meaning. + +'I am to understand that you wish for my aid in a love affair?' she +said. + +'That's just about it. You see, I always hoped I should fall in love +with a quiet, homely, staid sort of girl, but dash it all, you can't +govern these things, can you?' + +'Sometimes one has to,' said Marion, picking up dropped stitches. + +'So I've completely lost my heart to a girl who--well, she's an +actress. She's second from the left in the front row chorus of +"Whizz-Bang" at the Hilarity Theatre; I tell you she's wonderful.' + +'No doubt,' said Marion, bending lower over her knitting. + +'Lottie's quite a good little girl, you know, but she's so +young--barely twenty--and she can't cook or sew or housekeep or do any +of those things which my mother approves. But she dances wonderfully +and kicks higher than anyone else in the chorus----' + +'And you want me to make your mother appreciate the . . . the . . . +high kicks?' broke in Marion rather bitterly. + +'Well, not exactly, but you know what mothers are--about the stage, I +mean. So don't you understand that if some sensible little woman like +you were to speak to her about it, she might reconstruct her views----' + +He paused, staring in a puzzled way at Marion. Beneath her gentle +exterior she has a decided temper which she is apt to deplore and, she +affirms, must instantly be held in check. This, however, was an +occasion when she did not seem to think the check action need be +applied. She faced George with flashing eyes. + +'If you were anything of a man,' she declared, 'you would manage an +affair like that alone without asking help from your woman friends. +Good evening.' + +'Good evening,' responded George, not, I suppose, at the moment +thinking of anything more original to say. He departed in a pensive +mood. + +'And that,' said Marion, concluding the narrative, 'is all there is to +be told.' + +She sat before me with her eyes downcast, her lips quivering, and a +fierce anger rose within me against George Harbinger and mankind in +general who could be so blind to Marion's excellent qualities. As I +took her in my arms and comforted her, kissing her soft cheeks and +fluffy hair, I felt that if I were a man she would be the one woman +above all others that I would desire to have and to hold henceforth and +for evermore. 'Never mind,' I said tenderly, 'some day you'll meet +another who will----' + +'No, no, I never shall,' interposed Marion, now openly weeping on my +shoulder. 'I shall never interest any one; I know that now. You can't +understand, Netta, for men are attracted towards you. If Henry died +tomorrow, you'd have half a dozen offers of marriage at once.' + +I was rather startled at this suggestion, which somehow hinted +disregard for the unconscious Henry. + +'I think I must lack charm,' went on Marion in a choked voice. 'Who +was it described charm as a--a--sort of a bloom on a woman, and said if +she had that she didn't need anything else?' + +'It was Barrie,' I said, stroking her hair, 'but don't take any notice +of him, dear.' + +'It's just what a man would say. Oh, Netta, why is life so hard to a +woman? Why must she always be the one to stifle her feelings, repress +her natural instincts, wait for man to take the lead? Why can't she be +the leading spirit if she wishes, without being humiliated? Why +shouldn't women propose?' + +'That's just what I've been writing about,' I said involuntarily. + +She raised her head from my shoulder. 'And what did you say about it?' + +'I held that a woman can--er--oh, hang it all, never mind what I +_wrote_ about it. What I _say_ is that of course they ought to propose +if they want to. There should be perfect equality of the sexes.' + +'Well, if there was,' put in Marion, her practical common sense coming +to her aid, 'it wouldn't after all make a man want to marry me just +because it was I who put the question. It's no use, Netta. I'm a born +old maid. I've got to go through life heart-hungry, loving other +people's babies instead of my own, and stepping aside to let all the +fair things go past me.' + +Poor little Marion! She looked very wistful and pathetic at that +moment. A lump rose in my throat as I strove to dry her eyes and find +words of comfort. + +She sobbed on unrestrainedly, however, and nothing I could say would +soothe her. 'Marion, darling,' I whispered, my own eyes growing moist, +'don't cry any more. Isn't there anything I can say to cheer you up? +Can't I suggest anything----?' + +The door opened and Elizabeth entered. She carried a tray in her hand +on which were a bottle of stout and a glass. + +'I thort so,' she said, setting down the tray and looking at Marion's +drooping form. 'Ah, these men--'ounds, I call 'em. I came in to 'ave +a word with Miss Marryun and cheer 'er up, like. I bin through it +myself, so I knows.' + +She approached Marion and laid a damp red hand on her shoulder. 'I bin +lookin' at the cards for you, miss, an' I see a loverly future,' she +began in a coaxing voice. 'I see a tall dark man crossin' water for +you, with a present in 'is right 'and.' + +Marion, who was not without a sense of humour, smiled rather wanly. +Encouraged, Elizabeth continued: 'Wot's the use o' spoilin' your pretty +eyes cryin' for the moon--by which I mean Mr. 'Arbinger--when 'e isn't +your Fate? Why, bless you, I was once goin' to marry a plumber's mate, +and jest a week afore the weddin 'e went orf with some one else an' +owin' me arf-a-crown, too. I was cut up at the time, but I know now 'e +wasn't my Fate, 'avin been told since that I'm goin' to marry a man +wot'll work with 'is brain. So cheer up, Miss Marryun, and come an' +'ave this nice glarss o' stout I've brought in for you.' She unscrewed +the bottle as she spoke. 'I always find that when things are at their +worst, an' you're feelin' real pipped like, a glarss o' stout acts like +magic. Yes, it's the right stuff, is stout.' + +The situation was distinctly ludicrous. Yet neither Marion nor I +laughed. We watched Elizabeth solemnly pouring out the stout, after +which she handed it to Marion, who, though she 'never touches' anything +alcoholic as a rule, took it and drank it off 'like a lamb,' as +Elizabeth expressed it. + +There was a pause. Then the corners of Marion's mouth ceased to droop. +She smiled. I smiled. Elizabeth smiled. + +There was another pause. 'I think, Elizabeth,' I remarked, 'I'll have +a glass--just a small glass--of stout myself.' + +'You do right, 'm. I'll fetch you a glass.' + +'And Elizabeth, if you'd care to have some----' + +'Thank you very much 'm, I _did_ take the liberty of 'avin' a taste +already, but a little drop more wouldn't do me any 'arm, as the sayin' +is.' + +She went out. Marion set down her glass and put away her +pocket-handkerchief. 'How silly of me to worry about Mr. Harbinger,' +she said. 'After all, I suppose Fate never intended us for each other.' + +I recognized in a flash that Elizabeth had succeeded where I had +failed, and I was conscious of a certain admiration for her methods. +Yet at that moment no hint of subsequent events filtered into my mind; +I did not suspect--even dimly--the possibilities of Elizabeth. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Neither Elizabeth or Marion like William. Of the two, Elizabeth is +more tolerant towards him, merely commenting that 'she couldn't abide +his ways.' Marion, however, views him with an antipathy entirely +foreign to one of her gentle nature. I think, in the light of what +happened later, if she had only shown a little more forbearance towards +him it might have simplified matters. + +William is our friend. He drops in to see us when he likes, sits with +his feet on our mantelpiece, strews tobacco ash on the carpet, and +always tells me which of my hats are the most unbecoming, so you can +imagine what a close friend he is. Though he does not stick any closer +than a brother, he is equally as frank. He likes Henry and tolerates +me. For the rest of the women in the world he has a strong objection. +Not that he is a misogynist; but he always holds that a woman +interferes with a man's life. I often think that William would be all +the better for a little judicious feminine interference. He has, +however, now got beyond the stage of redemption. + +[Illustration: Our Friend William.] + +Home means nothing more to William than a comfortable ledge below the +mantelpiece where he can put his feet, a carpet which will not spoil +with tobacco ash, and a few tables and chairs scattered about just to +hold a good supply of old magazines and newspapers handy for lighting +his pipe. He wears those shaggy, unbrushed-looking clothes which all +good women abhor. Worst of all, he is constantly getting imbued with +new and fantastic ideas which cause him to live in a (quite +unnecessary) ferment of enthusiasm. + +A good wife, now, would nip these ideas in the bud and make existence +infinitely more restful to him. Henry and he once got up a notion of +inventing a new drink which was to make them both everlastingly famous +and superlatively rich. They talked about it for hours and had even +got to designing the labels and bottles when I stepped in and told +Henry not to be a silly ass, that he was making a fool of himself, and +a few other sensible wifely things like that which finally brought him +to reason. William, however, having no one to bring him to reason, +goes on day by day becoming more of a lunatic. I could never +understand why there is such a close bond between him and Henry, unless +it is because they enjoy arguing together. Henry, being a Scotsman, +likes argument; and William, being an Irishman, likes hearing his own +voice. Thus they seldom got bored with each other. + +The time we did get bored with William was when he turned inventor. It +came rather as a surprise to us; and when he began to be abstracted, +profoundly meditative, almost sullen, with an apparent desire to be +alone, we thought at first that it was the onset of hydrophobia. In +fact, we looked it up on the back of the dog-licence to make sure. + +William's remarks next became irrelevant. For example, after being +wrapped in silence for over half an hour, he suddenly flung out the +question, 'How many people do you know who possess a trousers-press? + +Faced with the problem, I confessed I could not connect a single +acquaintance with a trousers-press. 'Henry hasn't got one,' I admitted. + +'Neither have I,' said William. (I didn't doubt that for an instant.) +He went on to remark that he knew many men in many walks of life, and +only two of them owned a trousers-press, and they shared it between +them. Yet the inventor of this apparently negligible article had made +a small fortune out of the idea. + +'If,' concluded William, 'you can make a small fortune out of a thing +that you can dispense with, how much more can you make out of something +that you can't do without?' + +This sentence I give as William composed it, and from its construction +you will understand the state of his mind, for he was as fastidious +regarding style as Henry himself. Of course there was some excuse for +him. You see, when you're an inventor you can't be anything else. It +takes all your time. Judging by William's procedure you must sit up +experimenting all night long; you lie down in your clothes and snatch a +little sleep at odd moments. When you walk abroad you stride along +muttering, waving your arms and bumping into people; you forget to eat; +your friends fall away from you. Let me advise parents who are +thinking of a career for their sons never to make inventors of them. +It's a dog's life. Far better to put them to something with regular +hours, say from 10.30 to 4 o'clock, which leaves them with the evenings +free. + +William wouldn't divulge what his invention was, because, he said, he +was afraid of the idea getting about before he took out the patent. He +merely told us it was a device which no man living could do without. +But he went so far as to show us the inner workings of his discovery +(hereinafter referred to as It), which, not knowing what they were for, +rather mystified us. I know there was a small suction valve which +involved the use of water, because William demonstrated to us one +Sunday afternoon in the drawing-room. He said afterwards that the +unexpected deluge that broke over the politely interested faces +gathered round him was merely due to a leakage in the valve, and he set +to work to repair it at once. + +At that time William always carried on his person a strange assortment +of screws, metal discs, springs, bits of rubber and the like. He +pulled them out in showers when he took out his handkerchief; they +dripped from him when he stood up. I think he kept them about him for +inspiration. + +William completed It in a frenzy of enthusiasm. He said that nothing +now stood between him and a vast fortune, and in a mood of reckless +generosity he promised us all shares, which certainly tended to deepen +our interest in the invention. Then he betook himself to the Patent +Office. + +I saw him the following day, and it occurred to me at once that all was +not well with William. For one thing he did not burst in unannounced +with hair dishevelled, which seems to be the usual way for an inventor +to come into a room; he entered slowly and sat down heavily. + +'Is anything wrong with the invention?' I asked. + +He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. A metal disc fell +out and rolled unheeded across the floor. + +'Nothing is wrong with it,' he answered dully. + +'You don't mean that some one else has thought of It before you?' + +'Most people seem to have thought of It.' He paused and absently +plucked off a stray piece of rubber from his coat sleeve. 'It seems to +have originated in America in 1880. Then a large colony of German +inventors applied for the patent; a body of Russians were imbued with +the idea; several Scandinavians had variations of it. It even seems to +have filtered into the brain of certain West African tribes; and in +1918 a Czecho-Slovak----' He paused, overcome with emotion. + +'But if It is a thing man can't do without, why haven't we heard of +it?' I demanded. + +'Men,' replied William sadly, seem determined to do without It. They +don't know what is good for them.' + +Suddenly he raised his head with the light of enthusiasm in his eyes. +'By the way, I was talking to a chap at the Patent Office who told me +that there's an enormous boom in inventing in this country just now. +Henry ought to get a good article out of it.' + +As a matter of fact it was the only thing that ever was got out of the +invention. + +William, being an Irishman, didn't let failure depress him in the +least. We were all glad to see him rational again--as rational as +could be expected from him, I mean. As Elizabeth was wont to express +it, ''E aint screwed up like other folk, so what can you expect.' But +as I have said, she did not approve of William. It was not so much +that she took exception to the trail of tobacco ash that followed in +his wake, or the unusual litter he created during his inventive period. +She resented the fact that he was unmarried, having, at all times, a +strong objection to celibacy. + +'When a man gets to the age o' that there Mr. Roarings' (William's +surname is Rawlings, so she didn't get so far out for her)--'an' isn't +married 'e's cheatin' some pore girl out of 'er rights, I ses,' she +declared. 'Selfishness! Spendin' all 'is money on 'isself. W'y isn't +'e married?' + +'I don't know, Elizabeth,' I replied, 'but if you like, I'll ask him.' + +'That'll do no good. 'E orter be thrown together with the right kind +o' young lady and kept up to the scratch. That's wot orter be done. +I'll look up the cards for 'im and see wot 'is Signs is. I'd like to +see 'im married and settled down.' + +'Perhaps you mean to marry him yourself, Elizabeth?' + +She gave a snort of indignation. 'Me! 'E's not my style. Give me a +young man who can set off a bright necktie an' a white waistcoat with a +nice watch an' albert 'ung on to it. But Mr. Roarings' now, 'e'd do +well for some one who 'ad settled down, like, with quiet sort o' +tastes. I got some one in my mind's eye for 'im already.' + +From the moment that Elizabeth took his destiny in hand William was no +longer safe, I felt sure. The Signs began to get to work upon him. + +'William,' I said to him one day, 'Elizabeth means to marry you.' + +'Why should I marry Elizabeth?' he asked placidly. + +'I don't mean that she herself is to be the blushing bride. She +prefers a man with a taste in waistcoats, a flowing auburn moustache, +and a tendency to bright neckties, none of which qualities or +quantities you possess. She means to get you married to some one else.' + +William slowly removed his pipe from his mouth and regarded me with +intense earnestness. He is not the sort of person who lets his +emotions ripple to the surface, so his serious mien surprised me. He +raised his hand in a prophetic attitude and began to speak. 'Dr. +Johnson has rightly said that the incommodities of a single life are +necessary and certain, but those of a conjugal state are avoidable. +Excellent philosophy. Sooner than get married, my dear madame, I would +walk in the wilderness, conversing with no man; I would fly to the +fastnesses of Tibet; I would make of myself a hermit in a cave that was +strongly barricaded. I would eschew tobacco. I would pay, to the +uttermost farthing, any bachelor tax imposed by the State.' + +'Do you so utterly abhor the idea of marriage?' I asked, profoundly +astonished. + +'I do,' said William. + +A strange sound broke on our ears. It seemed to come through the +keyhole, and resembled the contemptuous sniff with which Elizabeth +always expresses incredulity. But, of course, it couldn't have been +that. + +As I have said, Elizabeth never listens at doors. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +(William--although he has a great regard for Pepys--does not himself +keep a diary. From time to time, however, he 'chronicles the +outstanding events in his career,' as he puts it. The following is one +of William's 'chronicles,' which shows more knowledge than I have of +the happenings in this chapter.) + +_William's Story_: The more I think of it the more terrible the thing +becomes from every aspect. Who could have thought that I, only a few +days ago placidly drifting down the stream of life, should be jerked +into such a maelstrom of difficulties? I must, however, try to think +calmly. As Dr. Johnson has said, 'One of the principal themes of moral +instruction is the art of bearing calamities.' + +Let me try to narrate the events in their order--to trace, as far as +possible, how this particular calamity occurred. + +It began with Elizabeth. Or, I should say, she was the bearer of those +disastrous tidings which have robbed me of my peace of mind and given +me nights of sleepless horror. + +Elizabeth, I ought to explain, is employed at the house of my friends, +the Warringtons, as domestic worker. Up to the time of which I write I +had barely observed the girl, beyond remarking that she was exceedingly +lank as to form, and had a distressing habit of breathing very heavily +when serving at table, due, I thought, to asthmatic tendencies. + +I learned later that it only betokened anxiety lest she should drop the +various vessels she was handing round. + +The circumstances which brought her particularly under my notice were +singular. I had called at the Warringtons' one evening to have a smoke +and chat with Henry, as is my wont. Elizabeth, after showing me into +the study, told me that her master had gone out, but asked me to wait +as he was expected to return every minute. I settled myself down, +therefore, reached out for the tobacco jar, while my feet sought the +familiar ledge below the mantelpiece, when I observed that Elizabeth +was hovering in my vicinity. + +'Excuse me, sir,' she said, speaking with apparent hesitation, +'but--but--do you mind if I speak to you?' + +'Why shouldn't you speak to me if you want to?' I said, surprised and +rather puzzled. + +'Well, you see, sir, it's a bit 'ard to tell you. I dunno how to begin +exactly--makes me feel like a cat treadin' on 'ot plates.' I quote +exactly the rough vernacular of the lower classes in which she +habitually expresses herself. + +'There is no necessity for you to feel like a cat--or any other +animal--treading on plates hot or otherwise when unburdening yourself +to me,' I said kindly and benevolently, to put her at her ease. As a +matter of fact, I half surmised the cause of her embarrassment. No +doubt she had broken some object of value and wished me to act as +intermediary with her mistress in the matter. I have frequently heard +Mrs. Warrington complain of her ever-recurring breakages. + +'If I can assist you in any way,' I continued, 'and intervene----' + +'Inter-wot?' said Elizabeth. + +'Er--perhaps you desire me to put in a good word for you with your +mistress----' + +'Do I _not_,' she broke in. 'I can put in all the good words _I_ want +meself--yes, an' a few more, too.' + +I was pondering on the remarkable formation of this sentence which lent +itself neither to analysis nor parsing, when her next words arrested my +instant attention. + +'It's about Miss Marryun I wanted to speak to you,' she said. + +I stared. Why on earth should she speak to me about Miss Warrington, +Henry's sister? I have not noticed her closely, but she is a quiet +enough female, I believe, though possessed of an irritating habit of +constantly pressing quite unnecessary ash-trays on a man. + +To my surprise Elizabeth closed the door at this point and, coming up +to me, whispered in a strange husky voice: 'That's just where all the +trouble begins. It's what I overheerd 'er sayin' about you.' + +I must confess to feeling rather startled. Then I remembered Mrs. +Warrington had often commented on Elizabeth's curious proclivities for +'overhearing.' I looked at her coldly. I had not the slightest +intention of becoming her confidant. + +'Well, well, my good girl,' I retorted briskly, 'listeners never hear +any good of themselves--or of other people either, I suppose. So, if +you please, we will drop the subject.' I then picked up a book and +held it before me to signify that the parley was at an end. + +Elizabeth snorted. The term is vulgar, I know, but no other expression +is adequate. 'Oo was listenin', I'd like to know?' she asked. 'I sed +_overheerd_. The door was well on the jar and I was dustin' the 'all +when I 'ears Miss Marryun a-moanin' and a-sobbin' like. Missus was +talkin' to 'er and soothin' 'er. "Don't carry on so," she ses, "for I +tells you, it's no use." + +'"No use," ses Miss Marryun in a choked sort o' voice, "why is it no +use? I love 'im, I adore 'im. Oh, Willyum, Willyum, you'll break my +'art if you go on with this yeer cold indifference----"' + +'Stop,' I interposed sternly. At any other time I might have smiled at +the girl's quaint phraseology. But I did not smile just then. _Dulce +est desipere in loco_. Wild as the story sounded, it was making me +feel decidedly uncomfortable. A slight perspiration had broken out on +my forehead. But I threw a strong note of assurance into my voice as I +went on: 'Girl, this is a monstrous action on your part to +listen--er--overhear at doors and repeat conversations of a most +delicate nature to a third party.' + +'What-ho,' put in Elizabeth. + +'Now let me show you the mistake under which you are labouring. It is +true my name is William, but William is a common name. I have +remarked, indeed, that the world is pretty full of Williams. Miss +Warrington was in no way referring to me.' + +'I don't think,' commented Elizabeth. + +'Evidently you don't,' I said severely, 'or you would not make such +absurd statements.' + +'I ain't done yet,' went on this diabolical creature. 'You say it +wasn't meant fer you? Listen. When Miss Marryun goes on wringin' 'er +'ands an' sobbin', "I love my Willyum," missus ses, "But 'ow can you +love such a big ugly brute of a man wot's allus throwin' 'is tobacco +ash about the place, and scrapin' the fendy with 'is feet and never +wears a fancy westcoat even at evernin' parties. 'Ow can you love +him?" she arsks. + +'"I don't know myself," ses Miss Marryun, "but there it is. I'd rather +die than live without my Willyum."' + +'Silence,' I burst out fiercely, 'do you think I don't know that all +this is pure invention on your part--for what reason I, as yet, cannot +tell. How dare you concoct such tales?' + +'Wait till I've finished, please, sir. The missus, she ses, "But +Marryun, my pore dear, it's no use lovin' 'im. 'E ses to me 'is very +self the other day, 'e ses, 'Sooner than get married I'd go and dwell +in the wilderness, I'd go to Tibbet, be an 'ermit in a cave, give up +baccy, and give away every farthin' I 'ad in the world.'"' + +A feeling of acute horror swept over me. With a crash my favourite +pipe fell from my nerveless fingers and was smashed to atoms on the +fender. There was truth in the girl's fantastic story after all. I +recalled using such expressions as those when, a little time before, I +was discussing conjugal difficulties in a talk with Mrs. Warrington. +Obviously the girl could not have made the thing up. I passed my hand +wildly across my brow. 'But what have I done that she should fall in +love with me? What is there about me to attract any woman?' + +'Nothink, as I can see,' she retorted, 'but with a woman's heart +there's no knowin' an' there's no tellin'. P'raps you've managed to +throw dust in her eyes.' + +'I have thrown nothing--I mean, Miss Warrington and I are only slightly +acquainted with each other. I have, indeed, barely noticed her. And +now you tell me this horrible thing.' + +She bridled. 'Wot's 'orrible about it? You ought to be glad. Most +men would be proud to marry a young lady 'oo's got such a light 'and +for pastry, and can mend up an old pair o' pants to make 'em look like +new. She's just the sort of wife----' + +[Illustration: 'Wot's 'orrible about it?'] + +'"Wife,"' I interrupted, '"marry"? What do you mean by those words, +girl? Do you think for one instant if all the females in Christendom +were to fall in love with me I would _marry_ any one of them! No, a +thousand times, no. I repeat I will never, _never_ marry.' + +'I 'eard yer,' said Elizabeth, 'and do you sit there and mean to tell +me that you're going to break a gentle woman's 'eart deliberate?' + +The imputation caused me to shudder from head to foot. 'No, no, +Elizabeth. If I have unwittingly caused the lady pain I am deeply +remorseful. But she must, as soon as possible, be disillusioned.' + +'Dish-who?' said Elizabeth. In this peculiar and baffling way does +she express herself. It makes a sustained conversation extremely +difficult and, at times, almost impossible. + +'She must be brought to dislike me, I mean. In this matter I must ask +you to help me.' I took a ten-shilling note from my pocket. 'If, from +time to time, you will talk to Miss Warrington of my many faults--you +can invent what you like----' + +'Shan't need to invent much in the way o' faults,' put in the monstrous +girl. 'But it's my belief she likes you for 'em. Some women are made +like that. Anyway,' she handed me back the note which I had +endeavoured to press into her warm, moist palm. 'I'm not wantin' this. +I'm not goin' to take blood money to 'elp to break any woman's 'eart.' + +It sounded really terrible viewed in that light. 'There is no need for +you to put it in that coarse way,' I said, my temper rising. 'I only +ask you to help me to regain my peace of mind and secure Miss +Warrington's happiness.' + +'Well, if you put it like that o' course,' she said, her fingers +closing over the note, 'I'm not the one to refuse good money. I'm +willin' to do all I can to make you an' Miss Marryun happy.' With a +broad grin she sidled out of the room. + +As for me, I gathered up the fragments of my pipe and departed. I no +longer wished to talk to Henry just then. I wanted to be alone to +think, to consider my strategic position. I must go away to some +remote place, perhaps not Tibet, but at any rate a quiet spot in the +country fully twenty miles out of London. Before going, however, I +must in some way show Miss Warrington the utter folly of her illusions +regarding my unfortunate self. Nothing must be left undone to achieve +that object. + +Alas, what troubles, what unending anxiety a woman can cause a man! +After getting over this difficulty, I swear I will not even converse +with any one of them again. In the meantime I must invoke the aid of +this wretched girl Elizabeth. _Necessitas non habet legem_. Elizabeth +is that most irritating necessity. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Elizabeth often speaks of the time when she poisoned The Kid. She says +she never had such a 'turn' in all her life, and wouldn't go through +such an experience again for all the money in the world. Neither, +indeed, would I, or Henry, or Marion. Looking back on the matter, I +don't think The Kid cared for it either. + +It was a peaceful summer evening. The Kid had just gone to bed and +we--Henry, Marion and I--had foregathered in the study. Marion spends +most of her time with us, being one of those delightfully restful +persons who doesn't need to be 'entertained,' who doesn't talk to you +if you want to do a little writing at meal times, and is altogether a +desirable visitor. Thus, at the moment of which I write, we sat in +perfect amity and silence, Henry working, I working, while every time I +looked up my eyes fell on the gratifying vision of dear Marion making a +blouse for me. Suddenly the door opened and Elizabeth entered. + +'That there medicine you told me to give Miss Moira,' she said. 'I +just been looking at it and I see it's got your name on the bottle.' +She held it out to me as she spoke. + +'Why is The Kid taking medicine?' inquired Marion. + +'It's only a little tonic the doctor prescribed. But,' I stared at the +bottle Elizabeth had brought in, 'this is my medicine. The chemist +must have mixed up the prescriptions when I took them to him.' +Suddenly I sprang to my feet. 'Great Heavens! My tonic contains +strychnine!' + +'And as you've been taking it for some time, I expect the dose has been +increased,' said Marion excitedly. 'How much did you give her, +Elizabeth?' + +'A teaspoonful, miss, as usual.' + +I wrung my hands. 'I take only six drops at a time myself! What are +we to do?' + +'One place I was at,' put in Elizabeth, 'the master was rather fond of +a drop too much, an' 'e come 'ome very late one night an' drank spirits +o' salt thinkin' it was something else, so we give 'im stuff to bring +it up agen.' + +'Of course,' said Marion, 'that's the very thing.' Long ago, during +the war, she worked in a hospital, so she affects to know something of +medicines. 'Give The Kid an emetic at once. Ipecac. Dose 5 minims. +Repeat, if necessary. Or salt and water. I'll dash off to the +doctor's and ask him what's to be done.' And seizing the bottle she +hurried out. + +The Kid was sitting up in bed eating her supper when Elizabeth, Henry +and I burst breathlessly into her room. Her face was shining with +quiet contentment. + +'Look, Mama, dear,' she said, 'at the beautiful baked custard Elizabeth +has made for my supper. Wasn't it kind of her?' + +I snatched the custard away from her grasp. 'Don't eat another +mouthful,' I panted, 'you're going to have an emetic. You must be sick +at once.' + +Mutely questioning inexorable Fate, she raised large, contemplative +eyes to mine. '_Must_ I, Mama? Can't I finish my custard first?' + +There is about The Kid's character a stoic philosophy, blended, since +she has known Elizabeth, with a certain fatalism. Her habit of saying +'_Must_ I?' when faced with a disagreeable duty, indicates her outlook +on life. If those in authority declare she must, then there is no more +to be said about it. They represent Fate in action. She now yielded +up the custard with a sigh, but obediently drank the mixture I handed +her. There was a pause. + +'How are you feeling, dear?' I inquired. + +'Quite well, thank you, Mama, dear. May I have my custard now?' + +'You ought not to be feeling well,' I said, puzzled. 'You'd better +have some more drops.' + +'Oh, must I, Mama?' + +'Yes, dear. Drink this.' I now gave her a slightly larger dose. +There was a still longer pause, and Henry, Elizabeth and I waited for +her to speak, or express emotion of some sort. At last she opened her +lips and said, 'May I have----' + +'A basin?' inquired Elizabeth, darting forward. + +'----my custard, now, if you please, Elizabeth?' + +'No,' I said sternly. 'It's very strange that the ipecac, has had no +effect.' + +'Try salt and water. There's more about it, like,' remarked Elizabeth. +'I'll fetch some.' + +'And hurry,' Henry commanded, 'every moment's delay is making the thing +more serious.' + +'Now drink this salt and water, darling,' I urged The Kid when +Elizabeth reappeared. + +'Oh, _must_ I, Mama?' + +[Illustration: 'Oh, _must_ I, Mama?'] + +'Yes. Your life depends upon it.' + +She drank rather hastily at that. There was a long, long pause while +Elizabeth, Henry and I gazed into each other's eyes and--waited. + +'How do you feel now?' I asked at last with strained anxiety. + +'I'm feeling rather sick now, thank you, Mama, dear. But perhaps I +could manage a little of my cus----' + +'No,' I interrupted. 'Can't you be sick, child?' + +'I'm afraid I can't, Mama.' + +'Then why can't you?' Henry burst out. 'It's dreadful--most unnatural.' + +'She's got a stummick like an 'orse,' commented Elizabeth. + +'Prompt action is vital,' put in Henry firmly. 'There are other +emetics. Mustard and----' + +'I've always 'eard that soap and water's good for turnin' any one +over,' began Elizabeth. + +'Soap and water!' I echoed, 'yes, that sounds the worst--the best, I +mean. Get it at once, Elizabeth.' + +'Enough to make a good lather, should you think, 'm?' + +'Oh, _must_ I?' wailed the Kid, still questioning inexorable Fate. + +We all united in preparing the soap and water to avoid delay. +Elizabeth boiled the water. Henry cut the soap into small flakes, and +I beat it up into a lather. Then, now in a condition of feverish +anxiety, I handed The Kid the foaming mixture. + +'Drink,' I panted. + +'Oh, mus----' she began. + +'Don't say that again!' I exclaimed, overwrought by the intensity of my +emotions. 'Can't you see how serious it is, child? You might die any +minute.' + +She drank off the contents of the glass without further question. + +'Well, that ought to do it,' commented Henry, looking at a few +iridescent bubbles at the bottom of the glass. 'I made it strong.' + +There was a strained silence when I almost seemed to hear my own heart +beats. 'How--how--do you feel, now, darling?' I asked at last. + +'Dreadful, thank you, Mama, dear.' + +'That isn't enough,' I cried in anguish. 'Can't you----?' + +'No, I can't, Mama.' + +'This is terrible,' I broke out, fast becoming hysterical. 'What is to +be done! Can nothing save her?' + +'I suppose the doctor will bring along a stomach pump,' said Henry, +trying to soothe me. + +'Oh, must he?' moaned The Kid (ignored). + +'Get 'er to put 'er finger down 'er throat,' suggested Elizabeth +brightly; 'that'll work it.' + +It was the last straw. The Kid, though still dutiful, was utterly +outraged. 'No, no, I won't,' she cried in open rebellion. + +She looked unhappy. The soap and water had evidently met the allied +forces of ipecac. and salt, and a fierce battle was, no doubt, in +progress in her interior at the moment. 'I won't,' she repeated +desperately. + +'Do try, darling,' implored Henry, 'and I'll give you a whole shilling.' + +'No, no, _no_. I don't want any shillings.' Judging by her expression +the soap must have commenced an encircling movement, and the salt and +ipecac. were hurrying up reserves. 'I won't put my finger down my +throat.' + +'What are we to do?' I said, wringing my hands. 'I never knew her to +be so obstinate. Why, oh, why doesn't the doctor come? The child is +beginning to look so strange already.' + +'Well, wot I'd do if I was you,' suggested Elizabeth, 'is to begin the +doses all over again----' + +'Good,' said Henry. 'Firstly the ipecac.----' + +'Oh, must I?' interrupted The Kid. + +To my intense relief Marion dashed in at that moment. 'Have you given +her an emetic?' she demanded breathlessly. + +Elizabeth, Henry and I gathered round her with the necessary +information. + +'She has had several. Ipecac.----' + +'Twice.' + +'Salt and water----' + +'A cupful.' + +'Warm soap and water----' + +'One glass.' + +'And,' I concluded, now in tears, 'she won't be sick--simply _won't_!' + +'I do want to, _auntie_,' explained The Kid, her child's sense of +justice receiving mortal blows, 'but I can't _be_----' + +Marion stood and gazed at her in awe. 'It's wonderful,' she murmured, +'amazing! I think, perhaps, _The Lancet_ would be interested in a +letter on the subject.' + +'But what did the doctor say?' broke in Henry. 'Is he coming?' + +'No,' said Marion, 'he----' + +'Why not?' I asked feverishly. + +'Because he said it was all right directly he tasted the contents of +the bottle. But to make quite sure he 'phoned to your chemist, who, it +appears, put your name on the bottle instead of The Kid's. He was +awfully sorry and apologetic.' + +'Sorry!' I echoed, 'apologetic! Why, the man's a monster. To think of +all I've suffered through his carelessness.' I sank down on a chair. +'I'm quite overwrought.' + +'There's no harm done, thank goodness,' said Marion. + +'"All's well that ends well,"' quoted Henry. + +'I'm fair relieved to get that load orf my mind,' supplemented +Elizabeth. + +'Mama, dear,' put in The Kid, glad, no doubt, that at last she was able +to please, 'I think that now I really can _be_----' + +'It doesn't matter now, darling,' I explained. 'You'd better lie +perfectly still and let it pass off.' + +'Must I, Mama?' + +We all moved towards the door. The relief from the strain was apparent +in our joyous faces and lightened mien. We sang out 'Good-night' to +The Kid, and went out laughing and chatting. Half-way down the stairs +we heard her calling. + +'Mama, dear.' + +'What is it?' we all asked in chorus. + +'Please may I have my custard _now_?' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +_Being an extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington: Thursday_. +A most remarkable and perplexing thing has happened. Never, for a +moment, could I have dreamed of such an improbable and embarrassing +occurrence. + +It was Elizabeth who first brought it to my notice, and I can only wish +she had never made that strange discovery which is causing me so much +uneasiness. I was spending the day with Netta, and had gone into the +kitchen for a moment, when Elizabeth asked if she might speak to me in +confidence. This rather surprised me, because she does not, as a rule, +show such diffidence about speaking (in confidence or otherwise) to any +one. + +'Is it anything very important?' I inquired. + +She seemed to hesitate and then jerked out, 'Well, miss, it's about +that there Mr. Roarings.' + +I at once felt rather troubled on Netta's account. Perhaps Elizabeth +was on the verge of giving notice as a protest against the extra work +involved by having that monstrously untidy man about the place. Why +Netta tolerates him with his slovenly habits is beyond my comprehension. + +'What has he been doing now?' I asked. 'Surely he hasn't started +another invention?' I never before realized what a thoroughly untidy, +disordered business inventing could be until I saw him at it. + +'Oh, no, miss, nothin' like that, only--only--well, it was what I see +when 'e was standin' in the droring-room the other day, an' I was just +at the door----' + +'I quite understand, Elizabeth. He has burnt a hole in that beautiful +pile carpet.' + +'No, miss, he----' + +'Then he has scorched the rose silk tapestry on the couch!' It is my +opinion that he should not be allowed in the drawing-room at all. He +isn't safe with a pipe in his mouth or a box of matches in his pocket. +Henry ought to take out a special insurance against Mr. Rawlings. + +'No, it's nothin' like that, miss. As I was sayin', 'e was standin' in +the droring-room. The door was wide open. I was just goin' in to dust +an' then I sees that 'e's 'oldin' your photo in 'is 'ands, that big one +in the silver frame. 'E was starin' at it wild-like, and a-mutterin' +to 'isself. I 'eard 'im say, quite distinct, "Oh, Marryun, Marryun, my +beautiful darlin', 'ow I adore you," ses e. "I'm not 'arf mad about +you." An' then 'e starts kissin' the photo until I thinks 'e'll crack +the glarss of the frame with 'is passion and 'ot breath.' + +[Illustration: ''E was starin' at it wild-like.'] + +I stared at her, scarcely able to believe the evidence of my own ears. +Then, remembering that she is a girl greatly given to a maudlin kind of +sentiment, I was reassured. 'You have been mistaken,' I said with +quiet dignity. 'Mr. Rawlings is incapable of such a display as you +have just described. If, as you say, he was holding my photo in his +hand, it was, no doubt, for the purpose of using it as an ash-tray.' + +'Never seen 'im use an ash-tray,' commented Elizabeth. + +'Being in the drawing-room he might, for once, have had some qualms +about the carpet,' I explained. Under his rugged exterior he may have +a conscience. I rather doubt it myself, but one should never judge too +harshly. + +'Arter 'earing 'im say that,' went on Elizabeth, 'I didn't like to let +'im see I'd been in the room all the time, an' I was just goin' to +creep out quiet when 'e starts talkin' to the photo again. "Marryun," +'e ses, "if I carn't 'ave you I'll go away in the wilderness, or be an +'ermit in a cave, or go an' live in Tibbet, or give away every farthin' +I've got in the world." That's wot 'e sed, an' 'e looked so wild I was +fair scared, miss.' + +I stared at Elizabeth, quite unable to speak a word. The whole thing +sounded so wildly improbable and yet she was obviously speaking the +truth. She is, I should say, a girl of no imagination and, being +entirely artless, could not possibly have invented such a thing. At +last I found my voice, which sounded rather hollow. 'What a terrible +thing,' I said. + +'Why terrible?' she inquired. + +Poor, simple girl, with her primitive views of life, how little she +understood the delicate situation that had been created, or the +significance of the words she had just repeated to me. + +'I detest the idea of inflicting pain even on an animal,' I replied, +'and if, as you say, Mr. Rawlings appeared to be suffering on my +account----' + +''E was--agonies,' she put in. + +'Well, is not the whole position dreadful? Mr. Rawlings is the last, +the very last man, Elizabeth, in the whole world that I should think of +in the way you mention.' + +I could not repress a sigh as I spoke. How peculiar is the irony of +fate. Why should I deny (particularly in this, my diary, which +contains the outpourings of my soul) that I have often wished to win +the love of some good strong man who could protect me in the battle of +life and be willing, as it were, like the knights of old, to enter the +lists for my sake. This I could in no way imagine Mr. Rawlings doing. +My conception of the hero of my dreams may have varied from time to +time, but never has it included even the smallest of the +characteristics of William Rawlings. He reminds me of nothing so much +as the very shaggiest bear I have ever seen at the Zoo--not even a nice +white Polar bear, but one of those nondescript, snuff-coloured kinds +that are all ragged ends from top to toe. That a man with such a rough +exterior could be capable of such sickening sentimentality as Elizabeth +had just described quite nauseated me. It made me dislike him more, if +possible, than I had done before. + +'Remember, Elizabeth,' I said, looking at her steadily, 'you must not +repeat a word of this to any one. Mr. Rawlings must never know that he +has been discovered in this----' + +'Well, 'e knows that _I_ know,' she interrupted. + +I stared. 'What do you mean?' + +'You see, me bein' in the room when 'e was a-kissin' of your fotograft, +'e looks up an' sees me afore I could get away, quiet, like. "Good +lor', Elizabeth," 'e breaks out, "you don't mean to tell me that you +sor everything, that you 'eard my 'eart strings burstin' in a manner of +speakin'." + +'"I'm afraid I did, sir," ses I, "I was just comin' in to dust an' your +sighs bein' rather loud, I couldn't 'elp overhearing." + +'"Listen," 'e ses, goin' ashy pale, "you must never tell 'er. I will +win 'er in my own way," 'e ses. "In the meantime, 'ere is ten +shillings, my good girl. Will you put in a word for me with Miss +Worryington from time to time? She may not like me just yet, but I'll +make 'er mine or blow my brains out." + +'"I shouldn't do that, sir, if I was you," I ses, "leastways not yet +until you see 'ow things turns out, like." + +'"I'm goin' to lead a better life," 'e goes on, "an' stop puttin' baccy +ash in my pocket, an' dustin' my boots with my handkercher, an' all +those little things that a gentle woman might find careless."' + +'Elizabeth,' I put in weakly, 'this is terrible. I do not want Mr. +Rawlings to make any sacrifices for me. I do not want Mr. Rawlings. +Nothing in the world would make me consider his suit.' + +''Is suit's all right if it were well brushed an' pressed,' she said. +'An if 'e isn't quite a fancy style 'isself we can't all pick an' +choose in this world. Don't go despisin' of 'im too much, miss. If 'e +was properly done up, now, and sort o' dusted an' polished, like, 'e +mightn't be so bad.' + +I turned on her with burning indignation. 'How dare you openly assist +his plans after confessing to taking his money as a bribe? Don't +mention his name to me again, or I shall refuse to listen to you.' + +She actually had the impertinence to look indignant. 'It's shame I cry +on you, miss, for tryin' to break the pore man's 'eart. Then I s'pose +I can't give 'im that there fotograft of you?' + +'My photograph! Of all the unspeakable----' + +'It was with 'im sayin' that if 'e only 'ad it to look at it might 'elp +to parss all the dark 'ours 'e 'as to spend away from you. 'E sed 'e +wanted it to look at wen 'e was lyin' awake at night, thinkin' of you.' + +I strove to be reasonable. 'To let him have my photo, Elizabeth, would +only encourage his mad ideas. No, all this must be stopped +immediately. I shall take prompt measures. Once more, let me beg of +you never to mention this painful occurrence to any one.' I turned to +go out of the kitchen, but when I reached the door Elizabeth called to +me. 'I wanted to ask you a favour, miss, if it isn't troublin' you too +much,' she began. + +'What is it?' I inquired rather absently, for my mind was very much +disturbed just then. + +'You see, miss, it's this way. I gotta young man wot's very poetick, +like. 'E's always sendin' me portry copied from mottoes out o' +crackers. It's very 'ard to keep up with 'im.' + +'Then how do you want me to help you?' I asked, puzzled. + +'I wondered if you'd be so kind as to copy me a bit o' portry I sor in +one o' master's books. It sounds real pretty, but I can't get it down +right. My 'andwritin' is that bad.' She took a leather-bound volume +of Byron from the kitchen drawer. 'It's just this yere bit:-- + + "Yet, oh, yet thyself deceeve not, + Luv' may sink by slow decay; + But by suddint wrench beleeve not + 'Earts can thus be torn away."' + +'Have you had a quarrel with your young man?' I asked, perplexed at the +strange selection of verse. + +'No, miss, but 'e's 'overin' just now--you know what I mean. I want to +bring 'im up to the scratch, like.' + +I could not help thinking what blunt direct methods the lower classes +employ in affairs of the heart. In our walk in life the sending of +such lines to a gentleman who had not declared himself would be +considered almost indelicate. However, I wrote out the absurd lines +for the girl without comment, and rescued Henry's volume of Byron, +which I felt would not improve in appearance by contact with the meat +chopper, knife-board and other miscellaneous objects which she keeps in +the kitchen drawer. It is a pity Netta does not exercise stricter +supervision over Elizabeth. The girl seems to do what she likes. + +'You had better ask permission from Mrs. Warrington before taking books +into the kitchen,' I said with gentle reproof. 'They might get lost or +soiled.' + +'Right-o!' said Elizabeth. 'An' do you reely mean that you're not +a-goin' to give your fotograft to Mr. Roarings?' + +'Indeed not,' I said vehemently, 'don't dare to suggest the idea to me +again. If Mr. Rawlings ever speaks of it to you, you can tell him how +amazed and indignant I was.' + +'Right-o!' said Elizabeth, as I hurried out of the kitchen. + +On thinking the whole matter over I must admit I am greatly perturbed. +I am not like those women who glory in winning a man's love for the +mere gratification of their vanity. I know myself how much one can +suffer from unrequited affection, and I am steadily determined to cure +Mr. Rawlings of his love-madness by every means in my power. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +The study door burst open and one end of Elizabeth--the articulate +end--was jerked into view. + +'Wot will you 'ave for lunch, 'm?' she demanded breathlessly. 'Lamb or +'am?' + +Abruptly recalled from the realms of fiction writing I looked up a +little dazed. 'Lamb or 'am,' I repeated dully, 'lamorram? Er--ram, I +think, please, Elizabeth.' + +Having thus disposed of my domestic obligations for the day, I returned +to my writing. I was annoyed therefore to see the other end of +Elizabeth travel round the doorway and sidle into the room. Her +pretext for entering--that of dusting the roll-top desk with her +apron--was a little thin, for she has not the slightest objection to +dust. I rather think it cheers her up to see it about the place. +Obviously she had come in to make conversation. I laid down my pen +with a sigh. + +'I yeerd from my young man this morning,' she began. A chill +foreboding swept over me. (I will explain why in a minute.) + +'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked. + +[Illustration: 'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked.] + +''Im wot belongs to the Amalgamated Serciety of Boilermakers,' she +corrected with dignity. 'Well, they've moved 'is 'eadquarters from +London to Manchester.' + +There was a tense silence, broken only by Elizabeth's hard breathing on +a brass paper-weight ere she polished it with her sleeve. + +'If 'e goes to Manchester, there I goes,' she went on; 'I suppose I'd +quite easy get a situation there?' + +'Quite easy,' I acquiesced in a hollow voice. + +She went out leaving me chill and dejected. Not that I thought for a +moment that I was in imminent danger of losing her. I knew full well +that this was but a ruse on the part of the young man to disembarrass +himself of Elizabeth, and, if he had involved the entire Amalgamated +Society of Boilermakers in the plot, that only proved how desperate he +was. + +I have very earnest reasons for wishing that Elizabeth could have a +'settled' young man. You see, as I have previously explained, she +never retains the same one for many weeks at a time. It isn't her +fault, poor girl. She would be as true as steel if she had a chance; +she would cling to any one of them through thick and thin, following +him to the ends of the earth if necessary. + +It is they who are fickle, and the excuses they make to break away from +her are both varied and ingenious. During the War, of course, they +always had the pretext of being ordered to the Front at a moment's +notice, and were not, it appears, allowed to write home on account of +the Censor. Elizabeth used to blame Lloyd George for these defects of +organization. Even to this day she is extremely bitter against the +Government. + +In fact, she is bitter against every one when her love affairs are not +running smoothly. The entire household suffers in consequence. She is +sullen and obstinate; she is always on the verge of giving notice. And +the way she breaks things in her abstraction is awful. Elizabeth's +illusions and my crockery always get shattered together. My rose-bowl +of Venetian glass got broken when the butcher threw her over for the +housemaid next door. Half a dozen tumblers, a basin and several odd +plates came in two in her hands after the grocer's assistant went away +suddenly to join the silent Navy. And nearly the whole of a dinner +service was sacrificed when Lloyd George peremptorily ordered her young +man in the New Army to go to Mesopotamia and stay there for at least +three years without leave. + +Those brief periods when Elizabeth's young men are in the incipient +stages of paying her marked attention are agreeable to everybody. +Elizabeth, feeling no doubt in her rough untutored way that God's in +his Heaven and all's right with the world, sings at her work; she shows +extraordinary activity when going about her duties. She does unusual +things like remembering to polish the brasses every week--indeed, you +have only to step in the hall and glance at the stair rods to discover +the exact stage of her latest 'affair.' I remember once when one +ardent swain (who she declared was 'in the flying corpse') got to the +length of offering her marriage before he flew away, she cleaned the +entire house down in her enthusiasm--and had actually got to the +cellars before he vanished out of her life. + +You will now understand why I was dejected at the perfidy of the +follower belonging to the Boilermakers' Society. I saw a dreary period +of discomfort ahead of me. Worst of all I was expecting the Boscombes +to dinner that very week. They had not before visited us, and Henry +was anxious to impress Mr. Boscombe, he being a publisher. It is +surprising, when you come to think of it, how full the world is of +writers trying to make a good impression on publishers. Yet no one has +met the publisher who ever tries to make a good impression on any one. + +I will not elaborate the situation as it stood. All I can say is that +there is no earthly possibility of making a good impression on any +living thing if Elizabeth is in one of her bad moods. And it would be +no use explaining the case to Mrs. Boscombe, because she has no sense +of humour; or to Mr. Boscombe, because he likes a good dinner. + +Finally, the Domestic Bureau failed me. Hitherto they had always been +able to supply me with a temporary waitress on the occasion of dinner +parties. Now it appeared these commodities had become pearls of great +price which could no longer be cast before me and mine (at the modest +fee of ten shillings a night) without at least fourteen days' notice. + +The Bureau promised to do its best for me, of course, but reminded me +that women were scarce. I asked, with bitterness, what had become of +the surplus million we heard so much about. They replied with +politeness that, judging from the number of applications received, they +must be the million in search of domestics. + +Returning home from the Bureau, I found Elizabeth studying a time-table. + +'I see it's a 'undred and eighty-three miles to Manchester,' she +commented, 'an' the fare's 15s. 5 1/2d.' + +'That's an old time-table you've got,' I hastened to remark, 'it is now +L2 13s. 7 1/2d.--return fare.' + +'I shan't want no return ticket,' said Elizabeth grimly. + +Sickening outlook, wasn't it? + + * * * * * * + +The day of my dinner-party dawned fair and bright, but Elizabeth was +raging. Things got so bad, in fact, that about mid-day I decided I +must telephone to the Boscombes and tell them Henry had suddenly been +taken ill; and I was just looking up the doctor's book to find +something especially virulent and infectious for Henry, when Elizabeth +came in. Amazing to relate, her face was wreathed in smiles. + +'They've sent from the Domestic Boorow,' she began. + +'What!' I exclaimed, 'did they get me a waitress after all?' + +She smirked. 'They've sent a man this time. A footman 'e was before +the War, but 'e didn't take it up again arter 'e was demobbed. Just +now, bein' out of a job 'e's takin' tempory work and-----' + +'He seems to have told you quite a lot about himself already,' I +interposed. + +She smirked again. 'I 'adn't been talkin' to 'im ten minutes afore 'e +arsked me wot was my night out. 'E isn't arf a one.' + +'It seems he isn't,' I agreed. And I sent up a silent prayer of +thankfulness to Heaven and the Domestic Bureau. 'But what about the +Amalgamated boilermaker?' + +'Oh, 'im!' She tossed her head. ''E can go to--Manchester.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +'Have you observed William closely, recently, Netta?' Henry asked me. +'Something seems to have happened to him?' + +'Why should I observe William?' I demanded, puzzled, 'he is not the +sort of man a woman would observe, closely or otherwise.' + +'That is exactly one of the reasons why I like him--you leave him +alone,' remarked that horrid Henry. 'I can talk to him without your +distracting his attention by flirting with him.' + +I felt wounded. 'Henry, this is monstrous.' + +'You cannot deny, my dear, that I have brought men--fluent +conversationalists--round here for a pleasant evening's debate only to +see them become abstracted and monosyllabic directly you appear.' + +'You can't blame me for that, Henry.' + +'Yes, I do. You deliberately seek to interest them. I've seen you at +it. You spare no pains or powder to gain your object. Don't dare to +deny it.' + +Chastened, I replied meekly: 'Dear Henry, I love my +fellow-creatures--if they haven't beards,' I added hastily. 'After +all, doesn't the Scripture command it?' + +'But you don't love William.' + +'The Scripture says nothing at all about William,' I replied decidedly. +'I--er--tolerate him. What is this you tell me about something having +happened to him?' + +'He's growing peculiar.' + +'_More_ peculiar, I suppose you mean?' + +'His manner is erratic and changed. It isn't another invention, +because when he is inventing he is merely monosyllabic, with spasms of +muttering and an increased tendency to knock things over. Now he's +altogether different. It's the trend of his conversation that puzzles +me. He talks of love.' + +'Love and William,' I remarked, 'are as incompatible as acids and +alkalis. In what way does he touch on the subject? With bitterness or +curiosity? + +'Both, I should say. For one thing he is most 'anxious to know what +are the effects of unrequited affection, and if the results can be +serious. Seems strange, doesn't it?' + +'It's passing strange, Henry.' + +'You don't think he's fallen in love with you, Netta?' + +'What makes you suggest he's fallen in love with me?' + +'Because he comes in contact with no other woman beyond you and his +landlady, who, I understand, is over sixty and weighs fifteen stone--so +it must be you if it's anybody.' (This is a Scotsman's way of paying a +compliment; if you can follow the workings of his mind up to the source +of the idea you will see he means well.) + +'That William should fall in love seems incredible--and entirely +unnecessary,' I commented. 'There must be some other explanation of +his manner. As he's coming to dinner to-night, I'll watch and see if I +can find anything unusually strange about him.' + +When William made his appearance, therefore, I observed him intently. +Surely enough I was struck by the fact that he was changed in some +subtle way. He looked dejected. Of course it was impossible to see +much of his expression, owing to his face being almost entirely +obliterated with hair, but what was visible was extremely sad. + +Then a strange thing happened. As soon as we were alone he began to +exhibit signs of acute mental distress, and to my astonishment burst +out, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is something I wanted to--er--ask you. +You are a woman for whom I have a profound respect; though you are +inclined by character to be _un peu moqueuse_, you have, I feel, an +exceedingly tender heart.' + +I felt uneasy. 'Yes, William, it is tender--but not for everybody,' I +added warningly. Really, it was going to be very awkward if he, in his +elephantine way, had conceived an infatuation for me. My conscience +was perfectly clear--I had not encouraged him in any way, but +nevertheless I did not wish to see him suffer from unrequited +affection. It would be so awkward in many ways. William, even in his +sane moods, has a dreadful habit of knocking things over. If the +abstraction of the lover descended upon him, it was going to have a +dire effect on our household goods. + +'Because your heart is tender,' he pursued, 'you will be able to +realize the difficulty of my--er--you can better understand the +sufferings of others. Do you think an ill-placed affection can be +combated--that is, in time, be utterly stamped out?' + +'I do, William,' I said firmly, 'but it must be stamped effectively, +you understand. No half measures, you know.' + +'Yes, yes, I quite see that,' he said eagerly. 'Then do you think in +such a case it would help matters if a man--if one of the parties, I +mean--went right away. You know the adage, "Out of sight out of mind"?' + +I pondered. It would, I knew, be a great denial to William if he was +debarred from coming about our place--almost the only home he had ever +known. Henry, too, would be lost with no one to argue with. If you +want to manage a Scotsman properly see that he gets plenty of argument, +and he'll rarely develop any other vice. No, the pair must not be +separated. + +'There is another adage, William, which says, "Absence makes the heart +grow fonder,"' I said, 'so I think, after all, you--I mean he, had +better stay.' + +William looked relieved. 'You think that I--er--I mean one--ought to +face it?' + +'I am sure one should,' I acquiesced. + +William pressed my hand gratefully, and I sighed as I examined his +physiognomy in the hope of finding one attractive feature. I sighed +again as I finished my inspection. What a pity, I thought, that he had +not just a little dash about him, even the merest _soupçon_ of +fascination, in order to make the situation interesting. He was still +holding my hand as the door opened and Elizabeth shot into view with +the declaration, 'Dinner's in.' + +We have a massive and imposing looking gong erected in the hall for the +sole purpose of announcing when meals are ready, but nothing will +induce Elizabeth to make use of it. If we are upstairs she hails us +from below with such expressions as 'Come on, now, it's getting cold,' +or, 'I won't bring it in till you're all 'ere, so mind you 'urry.' + +If William had appeared strange, it struck me that Marion--who was also +dining with us that evening--was even stranger. For one thing, I +regret to say, she was exceedingly rude to William. She does not like +him, I know, but he was after all our guest, and she was not justified +in remarking, when he upset his wine on the tablecloth, and knocked +over an adjacent salt-cellar, 'If there's anything in the world I +loathe, it is a clumsy man.' + +'I must admit I _am_ extremely clumsy--like an elephant, in fact,' came +the soft answer from William. + +It did not turn away Marion's wrath. 'So I see,' she snapped. + +I kicked her gently under the table. 'Marion, _dear_,' I remonstrated. + +'Nothing in the world will ever improve me,' continued William. + +'I'm sure of it,' replied Marion, 'it's in your system.' + +She seemed in a most contrary mood that evening. For instance, William +had remarked quite nicely and affably that he considered smoking +pernicious for women. He said his mother had always declared it was, +and he thought they were better without it. Whereupon Marion, who +dislikes the weed as a general rule, immediately got up, took a +cigarette from the box on the table and asked William for a light. + +'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly,' she remarked to him. + +[Illustration: 'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly.'] + +'I don't think there's anything you could do that would shock me now,' +he replied. It was rather a peculiar retort, especially as he laid a +faint accent on the 'you.' Evidently he wished to have his revenge for +what she had said to him at dinner. + +'I smoke even in bed,' said Marion, regarding him steadily. I was at a +loss to understand why she told this deliberate falsehood. + +'So do I,' said William calmly. + +'I smoke in the bath,' continued Marion. + +'By Jove, so do I,' said William, looking at her with a new interest. +'But don't you find it rather awkward when you're washing your back?' + +Marion looked rather scandalized, as though she considered William's +remark in bad taste. But she had only herself to blame after all. She +was silent and rather moody after that, until the episode of the +photograph occurred. We were assembled in the drawing-room, and I +suddenly noticed that a photo of Marion which stands on the mantelpiece +had been removed from its frame. + +'Why, Marion, what has become of your photo?' I inquired. + +There was, after all, nothing unusual in its disappearance. It was one +that she did not like and she had often threatened to remove it. What +was my astonishment now to see her spring to her feet and, going white +with suppressed anger, exclaim, 'Who has dared to take it? It is a +piece of unwarrantable impertinence. Who has _dared_, I say?' + +I saw William looking at her in surprise--it was, indeed, something +even deeper than that. Fascinated horror seems a more apt expression. + +'I insist on its being recovered,' went on Marion. + +A strange exclamation from William made us all look at him. 'Women,' +he said, 'are beyond me--utterly beyond me, I repeat.' + +'I'm glad you admit it,' snapped Marion. + +'In guile,' he continued coldly. 'I suppose, now, you have never heard +of a woman thrusting her photograph where it is not wanted accompanied +by verse of an amorous character?' + +Marion looked contemptuously at him. 'What on earth are you raving +about?' she inquired. + +Henry and I intervened at this moment and changed the subject, feeling +that a quarrel between them was imminent. It was all very strange and +puzzling. But the strangest thing was yet to come. I had accompanied +Marion upstairs to put on her cloak before departure, and when we +descended William had vanished. Henry related that he was just +answering a call on the 'phone when he saw William dash past him into +the small lobby off the hall, possess himself of hat and coat, and, +after muttering some words of apology, go forth into the darkness. + +'How eccentric--and ill-behaved, too,' I commented. 'It looks almost +as if he wished to avoid accompanying Marion home.' + +We were standing in the drawing-room as I spoke. Suddenly I gave a +start as my eye drifted to the mantelpiece. 'What an extraordinary +coincidence!' I exclaimed. A strange eerie feeling came over me. +Marion's lost photo had been restored to its frame. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +_William resumes his story_: I am now aware that I should not have +invoked the aid of Elizabeth. A man should work out his own destiny. +Once a woman precipitates herself in an affair, complications are bound +to follow. Also Elizabeth is no ordinary woman. There are times when +I question whether she is human. Was it not her idea that I +should--but I must try to chronicle the events in their correct +sequence. + +The mistake I made primarily, was in not going away directly I first +heard from Elizabeth of Miss Warrington's unfortunate and misplaced +attachment for me. Things might then have adjusted themselves quite +naturally. The idea, however, of a sensitive woman suffering on my +account was exceedingly distasteful to me. If, I decided, I could +bring about her complete disillusionment my conscience would be at +rest. Also there would then be no necessity to cut myself off from the +Warringtons, and give up my pleasant discourses with Henry. Thus, I +felt, I was taking the most advisable course under the circumstances. + +As for Miss Warrington herself, her behaviour was so inexplicable I +wondered if her mind was not beginning to get unhinged. In the first +place it was, I thought, unmaidenly enough that she should, through the +medium of Elizabeth, thrust her photo on me; but that the photo should +be accompanied by some feeble selection from the ill-balanced +outpourings of Byron (who is my pet aversion) was, indeed, almost +revolting. + +Further, her attitude towards me in the presence of others was one of +open hostility. So well, indeed, did she act on one occasion when I +happened to be dining at her brother's house, that a new hope sprang up +within me. I began to think that her strange uncalled-for passion for +me had passed--in short, that her love had turned to hate. So +impressed was I with this idea that when I next called at the +Warringtons' I asked Elizabeth if I could speak to her alone for a few +moments. + +'About Miss Marryun, I'll bet,' she remarked. Looking at her I thought +she accompanied her words with a slight lowering of the left eyelid. I +trust I was mistaken. Free as the girl is in her speech I have never +given her any encouragement to embellish it by winking. + +[Illustration: A slight lowering of the left eyelid.] + +'Naturally, the subject has been preying on my mind,' I admitted. 'But +I am not so tortured with misgivings as before. Miss Warrington has +ceased to--er--interest herself in me. In fact she detests me.' + +'Oo ses that tom-my-rot?' asked the girl, turning on me almost fiercely. + +'Miss Warrington was so excessively rude and abrupt in her manner to me +the other evening,' I explained, 'that I am now convinced she has +suddenly grown to hate me.' + +'If you're not as blind as a bat!' commented Elizabeth. 'Can't you see +she's doin' that to 'ide 'er feelings--so that you'll never guess 'ow +'er 'eart is torn an' bleedin' like.' + +'Dear me, Elizabeth, do you mean this?' I asked in the utmost concern. + +'Sure of it. As a matter o' fact she's more gone on you than ever. +She's got to not eatin' now, so you can guess 'ow bad she is.' + +I wiped the gathering moisture from my brow. 'Elizabeth, this is +terrible--it must be stopped. I must discover some way to make Miss +Warrington actually dislike me. In this I hope for your assistance. +You know Miss Warrington much better than I do. You are, no doubt, +acquainted with her likes and prejudices?' + +'Not 'arf, I aint,' she said. + +Taking this as meaning an affirmative, I continued, 'Perhaps you are +able to tell me what it is about me that attracts her. I have a +plan--I shall do exactly the opposite of what she desires of me.' + +'To set her agen you, like,' remarked Elizabeth. + +'Exactly.' + +She stood for a few moments regarding me with her head on one side. +Had you known her to be capable of it you might almost have imagined +that she was thinking. Certainly she breathed much harder than usual. +At last, to my profound astonishment, she suddenly sat down, threw her +apron over her face and burst into unrestrained laughter. + +'Compose yourself, my good girl,' I said, anxious lest the family +should overhear, 'what is the matter?' + +'I got an idea,' she said as soon as she had recovered. 'It aint 'arf +a bad one. You say you want to know wot it is Miss Marryun likes about +you?' + +'I do, indeed,' I said eagerly. + +'Well, I can tell you that right away. It's your towsled look, so to +speak. Only the other day she ses to me, she ses, "Wot I like about +Mr. Roarings is the rough kind o' suits 'e wears, them baggy trousis, +an' also 'is great clompin' boots. I like the free an' easy way 'e +throws 'is feet up to the ledge of the mantelpiece," she ses, "an' the +way 'e 'as of wearin' 'is 'air 'anging all about 'is ears, +shaggy-like."' + +'Incredible!' I exclaimed. + +'An' only yesterday she stood on this very spot where you are now and +ses to me, thoughtful like: "Don't you love a man with a heavy beard +an' moustarch--like Mr. Roarings, f'r instance?" she ses.' + +'"Well, miss, since you put the question to me," I ses plain out; "I'm +not parshul to either, though I've 'ad young men with 'em, singly and +both together. I prefers 'em entirely without, but beggars can't be +choosers, can they?" + +'Then Miss Marryun said thoughtful like: "I think I'm rather different +from other wimmin, Elizabeth. Very few would admire a man like Mr. +Roarings. But 'e's my style, so to speak, if I was pickin' an' +choosin'. But to show you 'ow strange I am," she goes on, "if 'e made +'isself spruce I should get to dislike 'im all at once."' + +I raised my head sharply, suffused by a glow of hope. 'Elizabeth, my +good girl,' I exclaimed, 'is it so easy to accomplish as all that?' + +'I'm not so sure about easy,' she commented, looking me over as if I'd +been an unlabelled exhibit in a Zoo. '"Rome wasn't built in a day," as +the sayin' is, but it's a long lane that 'as no turnin'. "If 'e," ses +Miss Marryun, meanin' you, "was got up real smart with a fancy +westcoat, a crease down the front of 'is trousis, shinin' button boots, +and wos to shave orf 'is beard and moustarch--" she said that bit very +earnest, too--"well, I should fair detest the sight of 'im."' + +I sank down in a seat with a groan of despair. Elizabeth was right. +Such a metamorphosis would not be easy. It would mean the overturning +of my most cherished convictions, an upheaval of the very routine of my +existence. Would life be worth living if one awoke in a morning to the +knowledge of the rites that every day would bring forth? A matutinal +shave, trousers to be taken from the press, collars and cuffs to be +changed, hair and nails to be trimmed, the two latter, if not every +day, at all events occurring with enough frequency to keep a simple man +in a constant state of unrest. + +'Elizabeth,' I said, shuddering, 'I cannot do all this.' + +'Oo's arskin' you to?' demanded the girl. 'I was only repeating wot +Miss Marryun ses to me with 'er own lips. "Yes, I should fair get to +detest 'im if 'e was spruce," was 'er very words.' + +I pondered. 'Are you quite sure she stipulated about the beard?' + +'She did that. She mentioned it pertickler three times.' + +I shook my head firmly. Whatever happened I did not mean to concede +that point. My beard is one of my best friends. By allowing it to +grow to a suitable length it conceals the fact when my ties have grown +shabby, and saves me any unnecessary changing of collars. No, I would +never be clean-shaven. I could not face the world stripped of my +natural facial coverings. + +'There may be something in what you say, and I will consider your +suggestion regarding the trousers, Elizabeth,' I conceded, 'but the +suggestion that I should shave is perfectly monstrous and I won't think +of it for a moment.' + +'Well, to my mind it's one of the first things wot ought to be done +with you,' she said in what seemed to me a disparaging sort of voice, +'wots the good o' puttin' a fancy westcoat an' a watch an' albert on a +chap when 'e's got an 'ead like a wild man o' the woods. There ort to +be no 'arf an' 'arf about it, I ses.' + +I looked at the girl sternly, feeling that her speech was becoming +unduly familiar. Nevertheless, I was conscious of a certain gratitude +for her suggestion, and after she had gone out, I began to consider it +from all points. There could be no harm in gradually making those +changes in my habits and apparel which would bring about Miss +Warrington's disillusionment, but it must be fairly gradual. Otherwise +it might attract undue attention, for there are times when I think I am +just a trifle careless about my appearance. + +I decided I had better begin operations with a new suit. This would +involve changing my regular tailor. The one who has had my custom for +the last quarter of a century is used to my way of putting my head +round his door once in three years and commanding, 'A tweed lounge +suit, the same as the last.' + +'Yes, sir,' he invariably concurs, 'any difference in measurements, +sir?' + +'I think not,' I reply, 'but make it quite loose and comfortable in +case I've added a few inches to the waist.' + +That is all. Occasionally, of course, I vary the order by making it an +overcoat, or an extra pair of slacks (when I burn holes in my usual +ones, which frequently happens), but the procedure is always the same. +It can easily be understood that I had not the courage to confront him +after all these years with a demand for the latest thing in the +season's suitings, and especial injunctions regarding style and cut. + +As I was dwelling on the annoyances and difficulties that were already +presenting themselves, Miss Warrington came in. I must confess that, +as I looked at the irritating female whose misplaced affections were +already harassing me, I felt slightly confused. Since I had first +learned of her insane infatuation I had studiously avoided being left +alone with her for one instant. At the moment, however, there was no +possibility of escape, as she stood between me and the door, thus +effectively barring my exit. I could only confront her uneasily, +trying to avoid her direct gaze and, as I did so, I could not help +remarking that she, too, was obviously embarrassed. + +Then, as if taking a resolution, she came up to me and looked me +squarely in the face. I moved away, a faint shiver of apprehension +going down my spine. + +'Mr. Rawlings,' she said slowly and impressively, 'there is one thing I +want to say regarding your conduct. When you are addressing +photographs, may I ask you to do it with lowered voice, or at all +events in a purely conversational tone?' Then she swept out of the +room, banging the door behind her. + +As for me, I was left dazed and struggling to grasp the strange import +of her mystic words. Why this constant reference to the photograph she +had so shamelessly thrust upon me, and which, as a direct hint to her +that I did not desire it, I had replaced in its frame at the first +opportunity? + +What had come over the woman? I began to be more than ever convinced +of my former suspicion that her fatal and erratic passion for myself +was beginning to unhinge her mind. I saw that I must lose no time in +bringing about her disillusionment. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +'Henry, do you think William has been looking particularly unhappy +lately?' I inquired. + +Henry grunted. Converted for the moment into 'A Well-known Actor,' he +was digging amongst his theatrical cuttings for reminiscent purposes, +and was, therefore, somewhat abstracted. + +I, too, was supposed to be working, but try as I would I could not help +thinking of William. I felt sorry for him--he looked so distrait. +When, as he vaguely hinted, he had conceived an attachment for me I did +not think it was likely to cause him any unhappiness. Indeed, I never +imagined him capable of feeling any emotions but those of a purely +physical character--such as the effects of cold, heat, hunger or bodily +pain. And here he was, sighing and looking so dejected it was +depressing even to see him about the place. I had just been re-reading +_Cyrano de Bergerac_, whose case seemed rather applicable to William. +Could it be possible that under his rough exterior the poor fellow had +all the sentiment and fiery imagination of Cyrano, and suffered the +same sensitive torment about his appearance. Did William, like Cyrano, +shudder when his eye rested even on his own shadow? Did he feel that +because of his physical failings the love of woman must be for ever +denied him? + +I must admit that William was a trifle more interesting to me now than +he had previously been. Every woman finds something rather gratifying +in being worshipped from afar, even if it is by an 'impossible.' Yet +the idea of making him unhappy was distasteful to me. I repeated my +question to Henry. + +'Never seen William unhappy yet,' replied Henry, looking up, 'he's one +of those few chaps who seem contented with life--only wish I was the +same.' + +Something in his tone made me promptly forget William and concentrate +on Henry. 'Aren't you contented?' I asked. + +He paused a moment before replying, and then rather wearily indicated +the article he was writing. 'It's this kind of thing, you know--where +does it all lead to? At times I think journalism is the most exacting +profession in the world.' + +'What do you mean?' I asked, puzzled at his tone. + +'It is exacting because it seems to lead to nothing,' he continued. +'For instance, just think of all the energy, brains and effort involved +in the bringing out of a newspaper. Yet it is only read casually, +skimmed over by most people, then tossed on one side and instantly +forgotten. It is conceived, born, and it dies all in one day. Do you +ever see any one reading a morning paper at, say, four o'clock in the +afternoon? It is hopelessly out of date by that time.' + +'I hadn't thought of it like that,' I pondered. 'Of course, journalism +isn't like a business that you can build up and constantly improve; but +you can at least establish a reputation amongst newspaper readers.' + +'You can't do that so well nowadays,' returned Henry, who seemed in +pessimistic vein, 'owing to the present demand for getting well-known +names attached to articles. We write them all the same, of course, but +it's the people with the well-known names that get the credit for +having a good literary style. Well, I always put the best of myself +into my work--I can't write anything in a hasty, slovenly manner--but +where does it lead to? Some day, perhaps, my ideas will give out and +then----' he made a little hopeless gesture. + +He was silent a moment, staring out of the window. 'Then there's +another thing,' he went on, 'this constant grind leaves me no time to +get on with my play. If I could only get it finished it might bring me +success--even fame. But how shall I ever get the leisure to complete +it?' + +A feeling of compunction swept over me. I went up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. 'Henry, dear old chap, I never thought you felt +like this about things.' Certainly he was writing a play, but as he +had been engaged on it now for over ten years (Henry is a conscientious +writer), my interest in it was not so keen as it had been when he first +told me of the idea a decade previously. + +'Couldn't you do a little of your play every evening after dinner?' I +suggested. + +'I'm too brain weary by that time--my ideas seem to have given out. +Sometimes I think I must renounce the notion of going on with it--and +it's been one of my greatest ambitions.' + +I smoothed his hair tenderly, noticing how heavily flecked it was with +grey and how it silvered at the temples. Poor Henry, he reminded me +just then of _L'homme à la cervelle d'or_, a fantastic story of +Daudet's, where he tells of a man possessed of a brain of gold which he +tore out, atom by atom, to buy gifts for the woman he loved until, in +the end (she being an extravagant type), he was left without a scrap of +brain to call his own and so expired. The man was, of course, supposed +to be a writer, and the brain of gold his ideas. It made me feel quite +uneasy to think that Henry, too, might be, metaphorically speaking, +steadily divesting himself of brain day by day in order to support The +Kid and me in comfort. + +'I ought not to grumble,' he said at last. 'Very few people can do +what they want to in this world. Take you, my dear, for instance. You +are not following your natural bent when you write those articles for +the Woman's Page.' + +'I should hope not--I loathe 'em,' I said viciously. + +'There's one thing about it,' he went on musingly, 'we'll see that The +Kid has every chance when she grows up.' + +We are looking forward very much to the time when The Kid will be grown +up. Henry says he pictures her moving silently about the house, tall, +graceful, helpful, smoothing his brow when he is wearied, keeping his +papers in order, correcting his proofs and doing all his typing for +him. I, too, for my part, have visions of her taking all household +cares off my shoulders, mending, cooking, making my blouses and her own +clothes, and playing Beethoven to us in the evenings when our work is +done. In her spare time we anticipate that she will write books and +plays that will make her famous. + +We have visions of these things, I repeat--generally when The Kid is in +bed asleep with her hands folded on her breast in a devotional +attitude, a cherubic smile on her lips. There are, however, other +times when I hope for nothing more exacting than the day to come when +she will keep herself clean. + +I often wonder where all the stickiness comes from that she manages to +communicate from her person to the handles of doors, backs of chairs +and other such places where you are most likely to set your hand +unconsciously. Henry has a theory about it oozing from the pores of +her skin, and says she conceals some inexhaustible sources of grime +which is constantly rising to the surface. In which case you can't +entirely blame The Kid. + +Under the circumstances, however, we feel that she ought to practise +more restraint. Always when she is most thickly coated in dirt and +varnished with the glutinous substance already referred to, does she +most strongly feel the calls of affection. Then is the moment when she +flings her arms about Henry and presses long kisses on his clean +collar, or gently caresses the entire surface of my new blouse. +Nothing, I have remarked, can stir her demonstrative nature so much as +the sight of Henry and me arrayed in all the glory of evening attire. +The merest glimpse of my georgette theatre gown, or the chaste folds of +Henry's tie, scintillating collar and shirt front send her flying to us +with hands that fondle and lips that cling. If we repel her and +compromise by kissing the middle of her head, she has a way of giving +us haunting looks that, after we have sallied forth to the halls of +pleasure, can make us feel uncomfortable for the entire evening. + +'Yes, when The Kid is grown up,' Henry went on, 'perhaps she'll have +the success that has been denied to us, old girl.' + +I was about to reply when my attention was arrested by a confused +murmur of voices in the hall. I distinguished Elizabeth's, and as the +other was a man's tones, I supposed she was having a little badinage at +the side door with one of the tradesmen, as is her wont. As in time it +did not die away, but began to get a little more heated (one voice +appearing to be raised in entreaty and the other, Elizabeth's, in +protest), I thought I had better saunter out and interrupt the +causerie. Elizabeth has occasionally to be reminded of her work in +this manner. She is too fond of gossiping. + +I opened the door ostentatiously and sallied out--just in time to see +Elizabeth playfully pulling William by the beard. 'You get them +whiskers orf--narsty, rarspin' things,' she was saying. + +It was an awful moment. Elizabeth had the grace to look ashamed of +herself for once, and drifted back to her sink without a word. As for +William, he appeared thoroughly unnerved. He tottered towards me. +'Let me explain,' he began. + +'William!' I said in stern tones. Then again, '_William!_' He wilted +under my gaze. 'I should never have thought such a thing of you,' I +continued. + +He pointed with a finger that trembled in the direction of the kitchen. +'That girl has no respect for any one or anything in the world. +Traditions, class distinctions are as nothing to her. She would put +out her tongue at Homer.' + +'Or pull the beard of William,' I added sarcastically. + +'Until I met her,' he went on fiercely, 'I was entirely a democrat. +But now I see that once power gets into the hands of the common people +we are damned!' + +'But what has all this to do with your flirting with Elizabeth?' I +demanded. + +He seemed so overcome at this very natural comment on my part that for +a moment I thought he was going to have a seizure of some sort. +'I--I--_flirt_, and with Elizabeth?' he repeated when he had slightly +recovered himself. 'Madame, what do you mean to insinuate?' + +He drew himself up to his full height of six feet three, and, looking +at him as he towered above me with his mane of disordered hair and +flowing beard, I could not help thinking he rather resembled Samson in +one of his peevish moods. The indignation that possessed him seemed +sincere enough, but the circumstances of the case utterly bewildered +me. I was gazing at him in perplexity when Henry came out of the study. + +'What's all this parleying in the hall, noise without, voices heard +"off," and so forth?' he demanded. + +William gave me such an agonized look of entreaty I decided I would say +nothing about what had just occurred. 'It is only I endeavouring to +get our friend William to rub his feet on the mat,' I retorted +cheerfully. 'But let us go into the consulting chamber.' + +[Illustration: Henry, being a Scotsman, likes argument.] + +William followed me into the study and took his usual seat at the +fireside in a dejected manner. Then went through a strange gymnastic. + +He had just started to swing his feet up to the mantelpiece when he +paused with them in mid-air and brought them down again. The arrested +action had a droll effect. + +'Have a smoke,' said Henry, pretending not to notice this peculiar +conduct and pushing the tobacco jar towards him. + +'No thanks, old man,' he replied. 'I'm giving up smoking--for a time.' + +It was now Henry's turn to look surprised. 'Giving up smoking,' he +ejaculated. 'What's wrong--is it your liver?' + +'No, no, my liver's all right.' + +'Your lungs, then?' + +'Of course, not.' + +'It surely can't be your heart?' + +William began to look annoyed. 'Look here, can't I go without a smoke +for once without my entire anatomy being held up for discussion?' He +then produced a cigarette and proceeded to light it. + +'I thought you'd given up smoking,' commented the puzzled Henry. + +'Do you call this smoking?' he replied in disgust. 'You might as well +give lemonade to a man who asks for a brandy and soda and tell him it's +just as good.' + +'Then why renounce your pipe at all?' asked Henry, still mystified. + +'I've decided to go through a sort of mental training,' replied +William, speaking rather quickly and avoiding my eye. 'I think a man +has no right to become the slave of habit. Directly he feels he is +dropping into a groove he ought to face about and go in exactly the +opposite direction.' + +'Is that what you're doing just now?' I asked, wondering if this was an +explanation of the Elizabeth episode. + +'Exactly. It is the only way to build up one's character. Now, some +people might think me a little careless regarding dress.' + +'The ultra-fastidious might consider you a trifle insouciant, William.' + +'That is one of the points in my character I intend to correct.' He +dived into his pocket as he spoke and produced a brown paper parcel. +William can carry any number of things in his pockets without making +his figure look any bulgier or more unsymmetrical than usual. He +boasts that he has at times gone on a three weeks' walking tour with +all the luggage he required for that period disposed about his person, +his damp sponge (concealed in the crown of his hat) keeping his head +delightfully cool in the heat of the day. + +'What have you got there, William?' I inquired as he unfolded the +parcel. + +'My first step in the evolution of character,' he replied solemnly, and +took out a pair of white spats, and some fawn-coloured gloves. + +'You don't mean you're going to wear those?' gasped Henry. + +'I am--abhorrent as they are to me,' rejoined William mournfully. + +'You may call it building up character if you like,' said Henry +shortly, 'but I call it a lot of damned rot.' He pulled hard at his +cigar, and then added, 'You're suffering from softening of the brain, +my boy, or something of the sort.' + +William looked at me in questioning despair, and in that moment my +heart softened towards him. In a flash I understood. He had so often +heard me urge Henry to wear white spats and light-coloured gloves, +though all my coercion and entreaty had been in vain. William had +thought by donning these things--which on him would have a grotesque +effect--he would win my favour. Poor fellow! I was quite touched by +his devotion, his absolutely hopeless passion. + +'These things wouldn't be in keeping with the rest of you,' I said +gently; 'they require to be accompanied by all the--er--appurtenances +of the smart man.' + +'Is--is--a beard an appurtenance?' he asked in a hollow voice. + +'Not an appurtenance, William--perhaps a detriment would be the better +word.' + +He emitted a sound that was half a groan. 'I knew it,' he said. +'Well, what must be, must be, I suppose.' + +'You're getting profound,' snorted Henry, who apparently objected to +William in his present mood; and he proceeded to distract his attention +by touching on a recent stirring debate in the House. William allowed +Henry to talk on unchecked--your man who indulges in argument abhors +that--and left unusually early for him. + +'That fellow is undoubtedly going off his head,' commented Henry after +his departure. 'I wonder what's wrong with him.' + +I smiled rather sadly, and mentally decided that I must cure William of +his infatuation for me without delay. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +It is not easy to write--even on such a simple topic as 'How to Retain +a Husband's Love'--if your attention is being distracted by a +conscientious rendering of Czerny's 101 Exercises in an adjoining room. +I could get no further with my article than the opening lines (they +like an introductory couplet on the Woman's Page):-- + + It is the little rift within the lute + That by and by will make the music mute! + +whereas The Kid, having disposed of all the major and minor scales and +a goodly slice of Czerny, had now started her 'piece,' 'The Blue Bells +of Scotland.' It was too much. I flung down my pencil and strode to +the door. 'Moira,' I shrieked, 'stop that practising instantly.' + +'Yes, Mama, dear.' + +'Don't you understand I'm writing and want to be quiet?' + +'Yes, Mama, dear. May I go on when you've finished writing?' + +'I suppose so; but when I've quite finished it will be about your +bedtime,' I said, trying not to feel exasperated. + +'Then, may I get up an hour earlier in the morning to practise, Mama, +dear?' + +There is something almost unnatural in the way that child fights her +way through all obstacles to the piano and the monotony of Czerny. All +the other parents in the world seem to be bewailing the fact that they +can't get their children to practise. I know I ought to be proud and +glad that The Kid is so bent upon a musical career, but even as the +lion and the lamb cannot lie down together, neither can a writer and an +incipient musician dwell in the same house in amity. + +Through almost illimitable difficulties (for when at work Henry can no +more stand piano practice than I can) The Kid has got to the Variations +of 'The Blue Bells of Scotland.' Nevertheless she is yearning for the +day when she will arrive at the part where she crosses hands (Var. +8)--a tremendous achievement in her eyes, but viewed with cold +aloofness by Henry and me. + +As I returned to my writing Henry entered the room. + +'Will you as a Scotsman tell me,' I inquired before he could speak, +'what English people have done that they should be so unduly annoyed by +the bells of Scotland, why those bells should be blue, and who was +responsible for bringing the said blue bells (with variations) across +the Border?' + +'I see The Kid's been annoying you again,' he commented. 'It's a pity +she gets no chance of practising.' + +I looked at him sternly. 'No chance! On the contrary, she never lets +a chance escape her. I think it's the fierce Northern strain she +inherits from you, Henry, that makes her so persistent. She reminds me +of Bannockburn----' + +'Bannockburn!' ejaculated Henry. + +'King Bruce and the Spider and all that, you know. Didn't he go on +trying and trying until he succeeded? That's what The Kid does with +her scales. I think I understand why in 1603 we put a Scotch King on +the English throne--you wouldn't have given us any peace if we hadn't.' + +'Well, don't blame me for it, my dear,' replied Henry. 'I dropped in +to tell you that William has just 'phoned up to say he accepts our +invitation to dinner this evening, but he is most anxious to know who +else is coming.' + +I stared. 'This is most unusual. What should it matter to him who is +coming?' + +'I told him, of course, that there was only Marion and ourselves, and +then he asked if he should get into evening dress. What do you think +of that?' We looked at each other in silent amazement. + +'William--in--evening--dress,' I echoed blankly. 'What can it mean?' + +'Frankly, I think the poor old chap's brain is getting a little +unhinged,' hazarded Henry. 'Do you remember the episode with the white +spats and gloves the other day? I think you ought to persuade him to +see a specialist, my dear.' + +Suddenly I remembered the apparent reason for poor William's altered +manner and smiled. 'I don't think we need call in medical aid just +yet,' I replied. + +Nevertheless, I felt that he must be cured of this foolishness as soon +as possible, for, as I had already hinted to him, any attempt at +embellishing his person would only make him appear more grotesque. How +little did I then dream of the amazing surprise that was in store for +me! + +I was sitting alone in the drawing-room that same evening awaiting my +two guests, Marion and William (Henry was upstairs dressing), when +Elizabeth burst into the room. + +'Oh, 'm, 'e's come!' she exclaimed, 'an' you never did see anything in +your life 'arf so funny. I've been larfin' fit to split my sides.' + +'Elizabeth,' I said coldly, 'what is wrong? Of whom are you speaking?' + +For answer she threw her apron over her head and went off into an +almost hysterical fit of laughing. + +''Oo'd have thort it,' she said when she had slightly recovered. 'That +there grizzly bear of a Mr. Roarings, too!' + +'So you are referring to one of my guests,' I interrupted sternly. +'I'm ashamed of you, Elizabeth.' + +'Well, you only ort ter see 'im now! Talk about grubs turnin' into +butterflies----' + +'I'm not talking about anything of the sort,' I interposed with extreme +asperity of manner. 'Am I to understand that Mr. Rawlings has arrived?' + +'Not 'arf, 'e 'asn't. Wait till you see Mamma's boy. 'E's a fair +razzle-dazzle from top to toe. Oh, my godmother!' And being seized +with another burst of hysterical laughter she dashed from the room. + +[Illustration: 'A fair razzle-dazzle.'] + +I sighed as I put aside the French novel I had been reading when I was +so rudely disturbed. I could not help wishing just then that Elizabeth +had a little less character and a little more deference, and I decided +that I must rebuke her for her familiarity. Then, remembering her +supreme art in grilling a steak, I decided that rebukes--practised on +domestics--are rather risky things in these days. + +'Good evening,' said the deep voice of William behind me. + +'Good evening,' I said casually, turning round and holding out my hand. +Then I started back, my hand falling limply to my side. It was William +who stood before me, because I recognized his voice--but that was all I +recognized at the moment. Not a shred of his former self seemed to +have remained. + +I think I have, from time to time, represented William as shabby, +bulky, shapeless, hairy, and altogether impossible as far as appearance +goes. Can any words depict my astonishment at seeing him so suddenly +transformed, glorified, redeemed and clean-shaven? His figure, which +once appeared so stodgy, now looked merely strong and athletic encased +in a well-fitting morning coat, a waistcoat of a discreet shade of +smoke grey, with a hint of starched piqué slip at the opening. His +irreproachable trousers were correctly creased--not too marked to be +ostentatious, but just a graceful fold emerging, as it were, out of the +texture, even as the faint line of dawn strikes across the darkened sky. + +But it was his head that attracted me most. There was no denying +it--shorn of his overgrowth of whiskers and put into a correct setting, +William was handsome; even more than that, he was interesting. He had +that firm, chiselled kind of mouth which women and artists find so +attractive, and a delightful cleft in his chin; his hair, which had +hitherto always struck me as being so unkempt and disordered, now that +it was brushed smoothly back from his brow and curled into the nape of +his neck gave him a distinguished appearance. I directed one long look +at him and then instinctively dived to the mirror. + +'Oh, William,' I gasped, 'is it possible?' + +'Is what possible?' he inquired. + +'Why just think of it,' I replied, groping in my pocket for my powder +puff. '_You're a man!_' + +'What else should I be?' he asked, apparently mystified. + +'You used to be--just William. But now,' I sidled up to him, 'you've +changed amazingly.' + +'Yes, I know that,' he growled with some of his former gruffness of +manner. 'Can you imagine what a tremendous amount of determination and +will power I required to get myself up like this?' + +'And a good tailor as well--don't forget that,' I added, running an +appraising eye over his form. 'I must get his address for Henry. Yes, +it was brave of you. What made you do it, William?' + +He avoided my eye and looked embarrassed. 'I had an object, of course. +Didn't I explain the other evening----' + +'I remember. You did say something about a man not getting into a +groove.' I smiled, feeling slightly self-conscious for a moment. 'And +how do you feel now you're entirely metamorphosed?' + +'Entirely metamorphosed, am I?' he said rather bitterly, 'Just on +account of a change of raiment. Yet Dr. Johnson said, "Fine clothes +are good only as they supply the want of other means of procuring +respect."' + +'Oh, I always respected you, William,' I put in hastily, 'And don't +quote Dr. Johnson now. It doesn't go with your tie.' + +He groaned. 'Must I change my expressions, my thoughts, my very mode +of living to match the garments I wear?' + +'I'm afraid you must. But tell me,' I added, looking earnestly into +his face, 'doesn't this outward change affect you inwardly as +well--just a little? You _must_ be feeling more--what shall I +say--sprightly than before?' + +He looked down at me as if puzzled, and then said in a half shame-faced +way, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is some truth in that remark of yours. +Some subtle, inexplicable change that I cannot account for has come +over me. Even as Samson's strength lay in his hair, do you think my +reason lay in my beard?' + +'It depends on the quality of the reason. Describe your present +symptoms to me, William.' + +He avoided my gaze. 'It is quite impossible to analyse them, I assure +you.' + +'Let me help. Look at me steadily,' I said impressively. 'Now try, as +far as possible, to describe me.' + +There was a pause. 'I'm afraid you'll be offended, Madame,' he began. + +'No, I won't. Go on,' I commanded. + +'Well, as a matter of fact, although I have known you for over nine +years, it has never before occurred to me to notice that you are +an--an--exceedingly pretty woman--but I am offending you?' + +'Not in the least, William. Go on.' + +'Before, I merely remarked you as Henry's wife--that was all. Why +should I so suddenly observe your facial aspect? As Dr. Johnson once +said----' + +'Cut out Dr. Johnson, and go on with that bit about the facial aspect,' +I put in gently. + +'It must, of course, be self-consciousness arising out of my unusual +adornment,' he went on, 'but despite myself I am compelled to notice +your attractive qualities. I must, however, overcome this deplorable +tendency--combat it----' + +'I shouldn't combat it too strongly at first,' I suggested. 'It's +always better to do things by degrees. What a nice mouth you have, +William.' + +'So have you,' he said, pondering on the discovery. + +I blushed. William suddenly started back and smote his brow with his +hand. 'Isn't Henry coming in? Where is he?' he demanded wildly. + +'Are you so anxious to see Henry at the moment?' + +'I am. Mrs. Warrington, I am ashamed to admit the preposterous idea +that came into my mind just now. You and Henry would never forgive +me--never countenance me again--it was intolerable, incredible----' He +paused and wiped his brow. 'Why doesn't Henry come in?' + +'What was the preposterous idea?' I asked, wondering. + +'Well, you'll hardly believe it--scarcely realize what you've +escaped . . . just now, had you been a foot closer to me I believe--I +believe, Mrs. Warrington, I should have kissed you!' + +I moved a step nearer to him. 'William, I should never have forgiven +you if you had,' I said, raising my face to his so that he could see +how intensely earnest I was. + +The door opened, and Henry and Marion came in together. + +'Netta!' exclaimed Marion, 'how could you!' + +'My dear,' remarked Henry, 'I am surprised. How is it I come in and +find a man kissing you?' + +'I don't know, Henry,' I replied meekly, 'unless it's because that door +opens so quietly!' + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +An exclamation from William made us all turn and look at him. + +'I must have been mad,' he groaned, sinking into a chair and covering +his face with his hands. + +'That's what I thought myself just now when I caught sight of your +waistcoat,' said Henry, staring at him. 'What is the meaning of all +this--why the flawless trousers, the immaculate morning coat?' + +'I--I--put on a morning coat because you said I wasn't to get into +evening dress,' he replied. 'I know it isn't the correct thing for +dinner, but you've only yourself to blame.' + +Henry continued to stare at him. 'I was quite right. Your brain is +unhinged, William. When I last saw you, you appeared fairly +normal--and now I come in and discover you arrayed like the lilies of +the field and kissing my wife.' + +William gave a cry like a wounded animal. 'Your indictment is only too +true. Henry, it is terrible. I can never even hope for your +forgiveness for such a heinous offence. The only reparation I can make +is to go forth from your house, shake from my feet the dust of your +hospitable roof----' + +'That metaphor's wrong, William,' I interposed. + +'--and pass out of your lives for ever.' + +'What on earth are you talking about, old chap?' inquired Henry. + +'Have I not betrayed the trust you always reposed in me?' + +'I wouldn't put it as strong as that,' replied Henry, eyeing him up and +down, 'though you certainly have made a bit of a guy of yourself. Who +created those trousers?' + +'I--I--was not referring to my change of apparel, Henry, but to that +most unfortunate aberration on my part, when I was impelled by some +strange uncontrollable impulse to bestow a labial salute on your wife. +Heaven only knows that I----' + +'As for that, I expect she egged you on,' calmly rejoined that horrid +Henry. 'I know her. You did flirt with him, didn't you, Netta?' + +Before I could reply William sprang to his feet and placed himself +before me. 'Stop, Henry!' he exclaimed, 'You have no right to suggest +such a thing. If I took a gentle unsuspecting woman unawares, then I +am willing to stand by the consequences of my rash act. Never for one +moment, I can assure you, did such a thought enter Mrs. Warrington's +head. She was wholly unprepared----' + +'I'm not so sure of that,' put in Marion, with a sniff. + +I began to feel somewhat of a martyr. 'Yes, it _was_ rather a +surprise,' I remarked. + +'Only a moment before,' continued William, 'Mrs. Warrington had said to +me, "If you do kiss me, I shall never forgive you!"' Oh, clumsy, +clumsy William! + +'Then you had been discussing it,' commented Marion, who seemed +unusually chilly about the innocent affair. + +'Well, I'm hungry, so let's have dinner now,' suggested Henry, 'and we +can settle the discussion afterwards.' + +But William strode to the door. 'No, no, Henry, I cannot break bread +in your house again after this distressing incident. I have imposed on +your kindness and good faith, disturbed your trust in me----' + +'Well, I forgive you this time if you promise never to bestow any of +those, what d'ye call 'em--labial salutes on Netta again. Now let's +have dinner.' + +'No, no, old man, you may forgive me, but I shall never forgive myself.' + +Henry began to look irritated. 'For Heaven's sake, Netta, tell him the +truth and admit it was your fault, or we shall never get anything to +eat to-night.' + +I sighed, and going up to William gently pulled back his retreating +form by the coat tails. 'You are young, Father William,' I said, 'and +innocent in the wiles of women. You've only been born a few hours as +far as they are concerned--I don't think it's quite safe for you to go +about without your beard just yet. I will tell you nothing but the +truth. I incited you to kiss me.' + +'I knew it!' snapped Marion. + +'Henry, as you see, has treated me under the First Offenders Act and +forgiven me. And now, William, I will kiss you once again (with +Henry's full consent) for your youth and innocence.' And I suited the +action to the word. 'So will Marion, won't you, dear?' + +At this William started as if shot. 'Never, never!' he +exclaimed, staring at Marion with a hunted look, 'it would be +preposterous--infamous.' + +The situation was decidedly awkward, especially as Marion, going +suddenly pale, gave a little hysterical sort of cry and ran out of the +room. + +The meal that followed was a silent one. Marion did not speak at all, +and when she was not casting furtive glances in William's direction, +kept her gaze fixed on her plate. William was monosyllabic, partly, I +gathered, on account of recent events, and partly because one of his +patent leather boots was obviously causing him anguish. I noticed that +he occasionally lifted his foot (as an animal raises a wounded paw) and +then set it down again with a sort of half moan. + +For one reason I was rather grateful that my guests were so abstracted. +That reason was Elizabeth. Her behaviour during dinner, to put it +mildly, was disturbing and abnormal. Every time she entered the room +to change the plates or hand round the dishes she went through +remarkable pantomimic gestures behind the unconscious William's back. +She drew my attention to him by nods, winks, and significant gestures. +Once or twice she was impelled to clap her hand over her mouth and dash +from the room in a spasm of uncontrollable mirth. It was most +unnerving; and what with William's gloomy looks, Marion's abstraction, +and my constant fear that Elizabeth would spill gravy, custard or +something of an equally clinging character, over William during her +contortions behind him, I was relieved when the meal was ended. + +[Illustration: She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth.] + +William at once retired to the study with Henry, presumably for a chat, +but chiefly, as I afterwards discovered, to remove his right boot for +an hour's respite. He left early, limping heavily. + +'It is really most curious about William,' I said to Marion as we sat +alone in the drawing-room--Henry having remained in the study to finish +some work. 'One can hardly conceive a reason strong enough to induce +him to renounce his aboriginal mode of living and become so highly +civilized almost in a day.' + +Marion lowered her head, and I thought she looked self-conscious. 'A +man might do a thing like that for--for love,' she murmured. + +I blushed slightly. 'I scarcely think it's more than a passing +infatuation.' + +'I feel convinced it's stronger than that,' she replied tensely. + +'I hope not,' I said in an alarmed tone. 'It would be horrid to see +the poor fellow in the throes of a hopeless passion.' + +'Perhaps after all it might not be quite hopeless,' rejoined Marion +softly. + +I raised my head sharply. 'I don't think you are justified in that +remark,' I said stiffly, 'what you saw between him and me was only a +little harmless fun. As if, indeed, there is any man living who could +make me forget dear old Henry for a minute----' + +'You!' exclaimed Marion with a start. 'I wasn't thinking of you, +Netta.' + +'Then who----?' + +'I--I--was referring to--myself.' She put down her knitting on her +knee and looked at me half defiantly, her cheeks flushed. + +'But, my dear Marion, when has he shown you the slightest attention?' I +was impelled to remark. 'You have always professed the profoundest +contempt for him.' + +'Not contempt, Netta. I have remarked that he was untidy.' + +'You said the other evening that you considered him to be the last man +on earth a woman could like.' + +'No doubt, dearest, but that was before I had discovered a woman +kissing him.' + +'Perhaps you regret it was not yourself in that enviable position, +darling?' + +'No, my love. I don't think the position of a married woman discovered +kissing a man other than her husband _is_ enviable; do you?' + +Marion's obtuse and unreasonable attitude puzzled me. I am quick +tempered, and was about to reply hotly, when the door opened and +Elizabeth entered. + +'Miss Marryun,' she said, nodding mysteriously in the direction of my +sister-in-law, 'I bin lookin' at the cards for you an' I see a warnin' +in 'em. You'll 'ave to keep an eye on 'im if you want to keep 'im.' + +Marion did not look so mystified as I expected at this unusual +outburst. 'Thank you for the warning, Elizabeth,' she said in an +affable tone. + +'You gotta rival for 'is affeckshuns,' continued Elizabeth. + +Marion raised an eyebrow in my direction. 'No doubt,' she commented. + +'What is all this nonsense?' I asked, a little testily. + +'Elizabeth is, as you know, a fatalist,' explained Marion. 'She places +her faith in cards, which, I am repeatedly telling her, is utter +nonsense.' + +'It aint nonsense,' expostulated Elizabeth in an injured tone. 'You +gotta fair rival acrost your parth----' + +'I'm glad I'm dark,' I murmured. + +'Fair an' false she is,' continued the soothsayer, 'the words of 'er +mouth are like 'oney an'----' + +'I tell you I consider all this rubbish,' interrupted Marion briskly. +'You would be far better not to believe in such foolish things, +Elizabeth. They do you no good.' + +Elizabeth retired in some indignation, muttering, 'Well, don't say you +wasn't told.' + +We sat in strained silence--for it was the first occasion there had +been any hint of a tiff between us--and after a time Marion rose to go. +When Henry had put on his overcoat to accompany her home she was +nowhere to be found. Hearing voices proceeding from the kitchen, I +went in that direction. It was then I heard Marion remark in a casual +tone--the casualness a little overdone: 'You might let me hear if he +says any more about it.' + +'Right-o, Miss.' + +'And, oh, by the way, Elizabeth, what was that you said about a +rival--are you quite sure that she is fair?' + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +I should like to begin this chapter by saying it's the unexpected that +always happens. As that, however, would be too trite a remark, I will +only say that William was the last person on earth I should have +suspected of falling in love with Gladys Harringay. + +She is, indeed, exceedingly pretty in a fluffy kind of way and most men +like to flirt with her, but they do not let their attentions develop +into anything serious. Perhaps you know the sort of girl she is. She +makes a dead set at every eligible man she meets and concentrates on +him to such an extent that he ends by losing interest in her +altogether--actually avoiding her, in fact. Man is like that, I've +observed. I suppose it's the primitive instinct of the hunter which +still lurks in him and makes him desire to stalk down his quarry +instead of its stalking him. Gladys didn't seem aware of this supreme +fact, and (though she affected the giddy airs of eighteen) she was +getting perilously near the age when the country considers a woman is +wise and staid enough to vote, yet she still remained unwed. + +Never for a moment did it occur to me, when I asked her to dine with us +one evening, that she would go for William. Still less did I think +that he would take even the faintest interest in such a vapid creature. +But, as I wanted to say before, it's the unexpected that always happens. + +William was looking unusually nice that evening. His eyes had a +far-away, rather haunted expression, due to his wearing sock-suspenders +for the first time, but, of course, Gladys didn't know that. He seemed +like one of the strong, silent heroes of fiction. I can testify that +he was silent--perhaps because Gladys did all the talking--and he +looked unusually strong. They sat together most of the evening, and +she only left his side to go to the piano to sing one of her 'stock' +French chansons. Even then she directed it entirely at William. + + '_Mamman, dîtes-moi, ce qu'on sent quand on aime + Est-ce plaisir, est-ce tourment?_' + +she warbled, rolling her r's and looking so fixedly at William that he +seemed quite uneasy--he might, indeed, have been more uneasy had his +French been equal to following the words of the song. Modern +languages, however, like modern writers, do not appeal to him. They +must be as dead as mutton before they can awaken his interest. If you +want to see him roused to a perfect frenzy of enthusiasm you should see +him arguing with Henry as to the comparative dramatic values of Homeric +hexameters and Ionian iambics. + +But to return to Gladys--or rather Gladys and William, for they +remained inseparable for the remainder of the evening. He even +accompanied her home, for I saw him dart forward (in his patent leather +boots, too, which demanded slow movement on his part), when she rose to +go, and hurry out to act as her escort. + +A few days later he called in to see us for the sole purpose of +inquiring about her. He pretended he wanted to borrow Ruskin's _Munera +Pulveris_, but as he went away without the volume we saw how feeble was +that pretext. + +'With regard to--er--Miss Harringay,' he began, almost as soon as he +arrived, 'I must say I consider her a remarkable young lady.' + +'She _is_,' I said grimly. + +'Would you believe it,' he went on, addressing himself to Henry, 'she +is actually a Dr. Johnson enthusiast.' + +'Nonsense!' ejaculated Henry. + +'It's a fact. Isn't it unusual in one so young and--er--tender and +timid that she recalls Keats' dissertation on woman, "she is like a +milk-white lamb that bleats for man's protection."' + +'Oh, so she's been bleating, has she?' I said cruelly. + +'It makes it all the more astonishing that she should have leanings +toward the study of serious literature.' + +'Who told you she had?' + +'She told me so herself.' + +'Do you mean to tell me you believe it?' + +He looked puzzled. 'Why should she say that if it isn't true? She +could have no object in making such a statement. As a matter of fact, +I found out quite by accident, when she unconsciously quoted a passage +from the great master.' + +I began to see light. So that was why Gladys had come up in such haste +the day following her introduction to William to borrow _Johnson's +Aphorisms_. Oh, hapless, artless William! + +'I see now that you were quite right when you once remarked that you +feared you had lost your reason with your beard,' I remarked severely. +'Do let things grow again before it is too late.' + +'Let what grow?' he asked. + +'Everything. Moustache, beard and general air of fuzziness. It's the +best protection you can have, my poor fellow.' + +He departed rather abruptly after that, seeming somewhat annoyed. I +could not understand what was making him so unusually touchy. + +'Surely,' I said to Henry, 'even William isn't so blind as to let +himself be taken in by that little noodle of a Gladys.' + +'Of course he isn't,' replied Henry vehemently, 'do you think a chap is +ever deceived by anything like that? He hates to be pounced on, so to +speak. Do you know, my dear, that one of the things that first +attracted you to me was your complete indifference to myself.' + +'Indeed, Henry?' I said, with lowered eyes and modest mien. + +'Yes. If you remember I was editing the _Gazette_ at the time I first +met you, and although you, as one of my contributors, often came up to +the office to see me, we remained for a long time on a purely business +footing.' + +It is true Henry was an unconscionable time in coming to the point. +'Entirely business-like,' I acquiesced. + +'When you called to see me to discuss a gross misstatement in one of +your articles (which you refused to acknowledge until I had sent for +you to put the matter clearly before you), you did not conduct yourself +like so many other girls who came to discuss their work with me. You +did not attempt to engage in a mild flirtation, make eyes, bend over me +as I glanced through the manuscript----' + +'Oh, bad, bad girls,' I murmured. 'Do women behave like that with you, +Henry?' + +'They _did_, my dear. I am speaking of the time before I was married.' + +I smiled. What a comfort it is to have a Scotsman for a husband! He +is so solid and reliable regarding the opposite sex. + +'You, however, employed none of these wiles,' he continued, 'and were +almost studiously cold and business-like. For a long time I thought I +should never interest you in myself--in fact, I know I took you very +much by surprise when I made you an offer, didn't I?' + +'I was rather surprised, Henry,' I said, smiling at his retreating form +as he went out of the room. Then I turned to Marion, who happened to +be present. 'Why, of course,' I commented, 'that makes it all the more +serious about William.' + +'What are you talking about?' she asked in a puzzled tone. + +'If Henry was deceived so easily----' + +'Deceived! Oh, Netta!' + +'Well, I mean, dear, I'd decided to marry Henry before the episode of +the misstatement in my article he just mentioned. I--I--put the +misstatement in on purpose to arouse a controversy between us.' + +'Netta, how terrible!' + +'Why terrible, Marion? I knew Henry would make an excellent husband. +Am I not a suitable wife for him?' + +[Illustration: 'Am I not a suitable wife for Henry?'] + +'You are just perfect, dear--but you might have been otherwise.' + +'That's exactly what I'm driving at, Marion. Gladys is an "otherwise." +If I deceived Henry, how much easier is it for her to deceive William? +No, she shan't marry him. He'd be wretched.' + +Marion smiled. 'You surely don't think there's anything like that +between them?' + +'He's drifting that way if some one doesn't stop him.' + +Again Marion smiled. 'I tell you it's impossible. He couldn't have +got over his passion for me so quickly.' + +'His passion for you,' I echoed. 'My dear, what do you mean?' + +Marion then laid down her sewing and began to speak. I listened +amazed, unable at first to credit what she was saying, though gradually +I began to understand many things which had hitherto been obscure. + +'It's wonderful to think of his having loved you secretly all this +time,' I marvelled; 'yet why should he take Elizabeth into his +confidence rather than myself? And why didn't you tell me all this +before--it would have made things so much simpler.' + +'At first, not being aware how handsome he could be made, I did not +care for him and----' + +'Do you mean, then, that you no longer dislike him, Marion?' + +'On the contrary, dear, I have begun to regard him with--with feelings +of warmth.' + +'Then all goes well, it seems. Now I shall go and speak to Elizabeth +about the affair.' + +I thought Elizabeth seemed a little uneasy under my questioning, but +she reiterated many times: 'I tell you 'e isn't 'arf gone on Miss +Marryun--fair mad about 'er 'e is, but 'e told me not to breathe a word +about it to a soul.' + +'Well, he's mad about some one else now,' I interposed. + +Elizabeth looked unduly startled. 'Oo with? Don't say it's that there +Miss 'Arringay 'oo wos a-settin' 'er cap so 'ard at 'im the other +night?' + +I was a little taken aback. 'Yes, that's about it,' I confessed. + +'Well, upon my soul, the sorcy baggage,' burst out Elizabeth with +unexpected wrath, 'such imperence after me workin' an' plannin' the way +I 'ave. But she shan't 'ave 'im. Look 'ere, 'm, Miss Marryun is just +the one fer 'im. Can't it be brought off like?' + +I pondered. 'I'll do my best, Elizabeth. If, as you say, he has +formed such a strong attachment to Miss Marion, I should like to see +them both happy. You say he was particularly anxious to have her +photograph?' + +I almost imagined at that moment Elizabeth avoided my eye. 'Very +pertickler,' she retorted in a muffled voice. + +'Very well, then. I, myself, will restore the photo he replaced. It +will be the first step to an understanding between them.' + +I left the kitchen smiling complacently, feeling that my latest +matrimonial scheme for Marion was going to be the easiest I had ever +attempted. + +Alas! I was reckoning, as the saying is, without my host. The host in +this case was Gladys. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Everything went wrong with my plans from the first. For instance, +Marion, the central figure in the plot, went away suddenly to nurse a +sick great-aunt. William now became so engrossed with Gladys that he +talked of very little else. Thus Henry and I would have avoided him at +this stage, if possible; it was not possible, however, to avoid him. +We saw more of him than ever. I will explain why. + +William was one of those lovers who are terrified of being over-bold or +too confident, lest by their presumption they might alarm the timid +object of their affections. He needn't have been afraid of wooing +Gladys. She flung herself at his head rather obviously, but he seemed +so obtuse she must have found him irritating at times. Thus, instead +of calling upon her or asking her to meet him by appointment, or +arranging an evening at the theatre and otherwise behaving in a +sensible manner, he hung about her house, endeavouring to come upon her +'by chance.' Further, having met her at our place he seemed to be +under the impression that she was one of my closest friends, and came +to see me every day, judging by the times he 'dropped in' in the +obvious anticipation of meeting her. Not finding his quarry, he talked +about her to Henry, though I must admit his audience was not always +sympathetic. + +'I don't believe in interfering in these things,' remarked Henry, one +evening, when we were alone, 'but, frankly, I should be really sorry to +see good old William throw himself away on that frivolous, stupid +little Gladys. They'd be desperately unhappy after being married a +week. Couldn't something be said to them, do you think--a hint thrown +out from time to time?' + +'Throwing hints--or anything else--wouldn't be of the slightest use, +Henry. Have you ever met a person in love who would listen to sound +advice of the sort? If you want to know how to get yourself intensely +unpopular--with two people at least--try intervening in what you +consider an unsuitable love match.' + +I spoke with feeling, for I had once been implored to use my influence +to part a couple who were, to all appearances, acutely incompatible. +The job was distasteful to me, and I only undertook it because there is +a strain of philanthropy in my nature (though that isn't what the +incompatibles called it). My intervention had no effect, of course. +They are now married--and quite happy--and neither of them will speak +to me any more. + +Henry continued to look disturbed. 'If he only knew Gladys,' he said, +'but as things are going at present I'm afraid he'll propose before his +eyes are opened.' + +I felt troubled. For a day or two I pondered on the distressing +affair, but I was resolutely determined not to intervene. Then it was +the idea occurred to me. To be frank, it was Elizabeth who actually +inspired it. I was giving orders for dinner and was suggesting apple +turnovers for a sweet, when she blandly remarked, 'Talkin' o' +turnovers, Mr. Roarings is dead gone on that there Miss 'Arringay now, +I 'ear.' + +'Your hearing does seem unusually good,' I said coldly. Certainly, I +had never mentioned the subject to any one but Henry. It was a +surprise to discover that I had, at the same time, been mentioning it +to Elizabeth as well. + +'Nice wife she'd make him,' continued the irrepressible Elizabeth, 'a +flipperty-flapperty piece o' goods like 'er.' + +'We will have cheese straws after the sweet, Elizabeth,' I said in +tones of chill rebuke. + +'Right-o, 'm. Well, wot are you goin' to _do_ about it?' + +'Do about what?' + +'Mr. Roarings an' Miss 'Arringay. 'E isn't 'er style as any one could +see with 'arf an eye, but 'e's fair blinded just now. Wot an +eye-opener it'd be if 'e got to know 'er proper--met 'er frequent, so +to speak.' + +'I'm afraid I don't quite understand.' + +'Well, 'ere's a case in point. My sister-in-law's brother--nice young +chap 'e was too--fell in with a girl that wasn't the right one fer +'im--no clarss like,--but 'e wouldn't 'ear a word agen 'er. So my +sister-in-law thinks of a plan. She arsks both 'er brother an' the +young woman 'e was courtin' to go and spend their 'olidays with 'er at +the seaside. Which they did an'--bless yer--wot with seein' 'er every +day an' gettin' to know 'er too well 'e soon got sick o' 'er. Why, +'e'd given 'er a black eye afore the week was out. Now if Mr. Roarings +and Miss 'Arringay met frequent like that----' + +'Elizabeth,' I interposed, 'mind your own business'; and I went out of +the kitchen with dignity. + +Nevertheless, I was compelled to admit that she had given me an +inspiration. That girl, under a rough and unpromising exterior, has +fecundity of ideas which astonishes me. Had she been in a higher class +in life--or even able to spell--she might have been a regular +contributor to the Sunday papers. + +'Henry,' I said, hurrying into the study. 'I have got a solution +regarding William's entanglement. I am going to invite Gladys to spend +a week here with us.' + +'How can that help? I don't quite see----' + +'My dear ass, the idea isn't a novel one, but in this case it's +excellent. I'll write her a note on the instant and ask her if she'll +come, giving as a pretext that I'm feeling lonely in Marion's absence.' + +'But why this hurry? Hadn't you better think it over first?' + +'If I pause to think it over, Henry, I know I shall decide that I can't +tolerate Gladys for an entire week. As it is, I expect she'll drive me +stark mad. No, no, let me write while I am in my present frenzy of +philanthropy?' + +'I suppose,' he reflected, 'William will practically spend the week +here, too, when he knows Gladys is coming.' + +'Exactly. What about it?' + +'I'm thinking of my work,' he grumbled. 'Two people being +disillusioned under one roof are sure to create interruptions.' + +'They shan't interrupt you. I intend to leave them together as much as +possible. How glad I am that Gladys isn't the least bit clever--a week +might not be long enough if she were.' + +'I'm not sanguine about the idea,' was Henry's comment. 'It might work +out all right in books and plays; but in real life its effect is +extremely doubtful.' + +'Not at all. Elizabeth knew a young man who was devoted to a girl +until they spent a holiday together. At the end of the first week he +gave her a black eye. What more do you want than that?' + +'Nothing,' replied Henry, 'if she was quite satisfied. Do you think +William's disillusionment will be as abrupt as all that?' + +'I'm hopeful. Now don't talk to me until I've finished my letter to +Gladys, which demands effort on my part. It must read as if I really +wanted her to come.' + +Evidently the letter was effective, for Gladys rang up directly she +received it and told me she'd be simply charmed to come and that it was +perfectly sweet of me to have her. (I rather thought it was myself.) + +She came the next day with an abnormal amount of luggage for such a +brief visit. But as I told Henry (who said it looked as though she +intended wintering in our abode), I had distinctly stipulated that the +invitation was for a week only. I was not at that time aware of the +barnacle-like qualities of Gladys. + +As I anticipated, William also descended on us when he knew we had +Gladys for a visitor. I left them alone together at every opportunity, +and for a day or two all went well. + +Things might have gone better (for Gladys) if she hadn't attempted to +be clever. As a matter of fact she over-reached herself. To this day +I believe she ascribes her failure to Dr. Johnson, though she was far +more to blame than that good old man. She talks very bitterly against +him even now. + +You see, knowing William's weakness, she played up to it, but not being +clever she hadn't got her subject properly in hand. I know the poor +girl worked hard at the _Aphorisms_, but she had exhausted what she +knew of those by the end of the first day. She did her best, I will +admit, and even took the _Lives of the English Poets_ to bed with her +and concentrated on them until midnight, while she dipped into _The +Vanity of Human Wishes_ before breakfast. But it was no use. William +discovered her deception rapidly, and it seemed to annoy him unduly. +His visits began to fall off, and after Gladys had artlessly remarked +to him one day, 'Who is that Mr. Boswell you're always talking +about--he must be a great friend of yours. I hope you'll introduce +me,' he ceased to come altogether. + +He had, in fact, arrived at the stage where Gladys irritated him. So +had we. But unlike William we could not get away from her. Her visit +had already extended two weeks and was melting into a third, and she +gave no hint of returning home. It wouldn't have been so bad if only +she had been quiet, but she is the most restless person I have ever +known. She was always running up and down stairs, banging doors, +playing fragments on the piano, and dashing into the study to talk to +Henry when he was writing. + +He is, on the whole, an equable man, but more than once I trembled for +the consequences when I saw her go up to him, lean over his shoulder +and, snatching at some loose pages of his MS., playfully remark, 'What +funny crabbed letters! And what is it all about--something you're +inventing to deceive us poor public, I'll be bound. I don't believe a +word of what you're writing, so there!' + +Henry used to say scorching things about Gladys when we retired at +night (the only chance we seemed to have now of being alone was in our +bedroom), and would ask me when I meant to tell her to go. I suggested +he should tell her himself, and he declared it was not the duty of the +host. I replied that it was the first time I'd ever heard it was the +duty of the hostess either. + +We planned to make little speeches in her presence based on the subject +of her departure, and fraught with deep and subtle allusion, but she +ignored them. We inquired if her mother did not miss her after such a +prolonged absence, and she said they rather liked her to be away from +home for a few months in the year, as a change was always good. No +doubt it was good for her people, but it was bad for Henry and me. + +Then one night Henry revolted. 'If she hasn't gone in another two +days,' he informed me, 'I'm going to get rooms at an hotel.' + +He spoke as if he meant it, and I was mournfully wondering what I ought +to do to get Gladys to go, short of being downright rude, when +Elizabeth drifted into the problem. + +'If Miss 'Arringay's goin' to stop much longer, I ain't,' she +announced. 'She makes too much extry work, an' the sight o' 'er about +the place fair riles me.' + +I looked wearily at Elizabeth. 'No doubt Miss Harringay will be going +soon,' I said with an utter lack of conviction. + +Elizabeth approached me, and bending down, said in a hoarse whisper, +'Wot is it--carn't you get rid of 'er?' + +[Illustration: 'Carn't you get rid of 'er?'] + +I did not reply, feeling it distasteful to discuss my guest with a +domestic, though I could not refrain from discussing her with Henry. + +'Tell you wot you orter do,' said the fertile Elizabeth, 'send for Miss +Marryun to come 'ere unexpected, an' then tell Miss 'Arringay you'll +want 'er room.' + +'But--but I've got another spare room. Miss Harringay knows that.' + +Elizabeth winked: I pretended not to see it, but there was no mistaking +the distinct muscular movement of her left eyelid. 'No you '_aven't_,' +she said stoutly. 'You 'avent got any proper bedding in the spare room +now, 'ave you?' + +'That's too thin,' I said decidedly. Yet even as I spoke I clutched at +the straw and, holding on to it, went at once and wrote to Marion. + +'You must come home at once,' I commanded, 'in spite of great-aunt +Jane's rheumatism. Is it not written that it is better to have one +rheumatic great-aunt than a brother, sister-in-law, and a niece in an +asylum!' + +For answer Marion wired the time of her return train, and I began to +grow hopeful. + +'An' when Miss Marryun comes,' remarked Elizabeth, 'if I wos you I +wouldn't say nothin' to 'er about the way Mr. Roarings went after Miss +'Arringay.' + +'Why not?' I asked involuntarily. + +'She mightn't trust 'im arter that. I never thort myself 'e'd turn as +quick as 'e did. But men is queer, as my pore mother often said when +father give 'er a black eye just to show 'ow fond 'e was of her like. +No, the best thing to do is to let Miss Marryun think that Mr. Roarings +is still taken up with 'er and only went after the other young lady to +make 'er jealous.' + +There was much wisdom in Elizabeth's words. Nevertheless, I did not +intend to mix myself up in any more matrimonial schemes. Much as I +desired to see Marion happy, I felt that arranging the destiny of +others did not leave me enough leisure to arrange my own, besides +interfering with my literary work. At the moment, too, the thought +uppermost in my mind was how to dispose of Gladys. + +I went to her with Marion's telegram in my hand and a falsely contrite +expression on my face. 'I'm so awfully sorry, Gladys, but a most +unforeseen thing has happened,' I said. 'Marion is coming to-day, and +she'll have to take your room. Isn't it an idiotic situation?' + +Gladys pondered. 'But you have another spare room, haven't you?' she +demanded brightly. + +'Yes, Gladys, we have. But we haven't got the bedding for that just +now. The mattress is being cleaned, and I suppose it won't be sent +back for another fortnight at least.' + +Undaunted, Gladys had another idea. 'Then do you think Marion would +mind sharing my room?' + +'She would indeed--you see she walks in her sleep,' I said glibly, +wondering how it was George Washington had found any difficulty in +dissembling, 'and she's very sensitive about any one getting to know +about it.' + +Gladys went after that. Henry and I have both decided that we're not +going to interfere with incompatibles in future. It's too much of a +strain on the nervous system. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +_Being a further extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington_. It +seemed particularly unfortunate that I should be called away so +hurriedly to the bedside of dear Aunt Jane at the very moment of the +blossoming of my first real love episode. Yes, I must admit my +feelings have undergone a change regarding Mr. Rawlings, whom I call my +silent lover. + +Evidently he has, all the time, been fated for me. Truly, as the poet +says, there's a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we +will. Divinity, so to speak, has shaped Mr. Rawlings' rough ends and +completely transformed him. After seeing him without his beard and, +above all, realizing what sacrifices he has made for my sake, I cannot +but be touched by such overwhelming devotion. + +There is something almost sublime in the way that man has thrown off +the habits of a lifetime for my sake! To think he has even donned +white spats to please me! Netta has been trying for ten years to get +Henry to wear them, but he remains as obdurate about it as ever. + +I was relieved when (the malady of Aunt Jane having somewhat abated) I +was able to go back to town after an urgent message from Netta asking +me to return at once. No doubt Mr. Rawlings inspired that message. He +is a timid lover, but unusually full of resource. Though, for example, +he seems afraid to approach me, he actually engaged in a mild +flirtation with Gladys Harringay to awaken my interest in him. His +intention was so obvious that I found it actually amusing. Any one +could see through it. Poor fellow, perhaps he thinks the idea of +evoking love by first arousing jealousy is a new one. He is an infant +in such matters. I intend him to remain so. + +_Thursday_: I have neglected my diary for nearly a fortnight, for I +have been too troubled about Mr. Rawlings to concentrate on anything +else. He is certainly a most remarkable man. Though obviously +suffering he shrinks from any declaration. Often we are alone for +hours (I have asked dear Netta to give him the necessary opportunity to +unburden himself) and he does nothing but stare at me in a fixed and +dreadful way, and remains mute. Of course I know that I am to blame on +account of my former indifference--even antagonism--to him. He is +afraid of rebuff. I have extended encouragement to him by all the +slight means in my power, and Netta has openly handed him my photo, +observing that she knew he would like to have it. I have even gone to +the length of asking Henry to convey to him that he has nothing to +fear; but Henry resolutely refuses to touch on the subject with him. I +cannot understand why, when the happiness of two people is at stake. + +_Sunday_: I don't know what impelled me to do it. Perhaps it was the +remembrance of an article of Netta's I once read entitled, 'Should +Women Propose?' where she cited the historic instance of Queen +Victoria, in whose case, on account of her rank, it was a necessity. I +had begun to realize that William was not likely to bring his courage +to the sticking point without a great deal of encouragement. +Distasteful as the idea was to me, I did not intend to shrink from what +I felt was to be my duty. If he, though languishing for love, was too +faint-hearted to propose, I saw that it would be necessary for me to +undertake that task. + +Last evening, therefore, when he called I received him in the +drawing-room and explained that Netta and Henry had gone out to the +theatre. He at once made for the door, saying in that case he would +not stop, but I intercepted him. Closing the door, I said gently, 'I +am going to ask you to keep me company for an hour--if,' I added +archly, 'it won't bore you.' + +In a confused sort of way he assured me it would not, and he sat down +and dropped into the silence that is becoming habitual when we are left +alone together. + +I knitted and he pulled hard at his cigarette. At last I said: 'Why +don't you smoke a pipe, Mr. Rawlings? I know you prefer it.' + +'No, no,' he said vehemently, 'I would much rather have a cigarette. +It's a cleaner habit than pipe-smoking, isn't it?' + +I smiled faintly and mentally decided that when we were married I would +not allow him to deprive himself of one of his greatest joys for my +sake. + +There was another long silence and then, feeling extremely nervous, I +murmured haltingly, 'I--I--wonder if you missed me when I was away +nursing my great sick aunt--I--I--mean my sick great-aunt. +Did--did--the time seem long?' + +'I--I'm not quite sure,' he stammered, obviously as ill at ease as +myself. 'You see, to be perfectly frank, Miss Warrington, I was at the +time in love as far as I believe, and it seems a confused period.' + +I waited for him to continue, my eyes discreetly lowered. As, however, +he did not go on, I raised them again. + +'Yes?' I said encouragingly. + +'That's all,' he replied. He looked so embarrassed and unhappy, and +wore such an imploring expression I realized that now or never I must +come to his relief. + +I laid down my knitting and leaned forward. 'Mr. Rawlings,' I said +impressively--'or, shall I say William--I have known of the state of +your feelings towards me for some time now.' + +He raised his head, and there was no disguising the look of hope in his +eye. 'Do you really mean that?' he asked eagerly. + +I nodded. 'I want to tell you not to be afraid. However harsh I once +seemed to you, the sight of your devotion and self-sacrifice has +touched me.' + +'Devotion--self-sacrifice,' he murmured in a wondering tone. + +'As such do I regard them, William. But they have reaped their reward. +I . . . how shall I tell you . . . it is so difficult . . .' + +I paused in some distress, wondering if Queen Victoria had felt as +uncomfortable about it as I did. + +'I want to tell you that . . . I love you, William,' I said at last, +very softly. + +There was an intense silence, broken only by his laboured breathing. +The intensity of his emotions was evidently too much for him. + +'And so,' I concluded, raising my eyes to his for a moment, 'I am going +to be your wife.' + +There! It was out at last. Having spoken I lowered my eyes again and +did not look at him until I heard him say in a strained kind of voice, +'But--but--this is too much honour. Believe me, Miss Warrington, I am +not worthy----' + +'I think you are,' I replied softly, 'and isn't that enough?' + +'It isn't enough--I assure you it isn't,' he replied. I noted that his +eyes had a rather staring look and slight beads of perspiration had +broken out on his forehead--he must be a man of strong emotions. 'It +would be a most unfair thing for a man like me, with all my +shortcomings, to inflict myself on any woman.' + +'Don't be too modest about yourself,' I put in encouragingly, and +somewhat timidly laying my hand on his, I added, 'I like you as you +are.' + +'Nothing would induce me to let you sacrifice yourself,' he exclaimed +hotly, 'it would be monstrous, intolerable!' He sprang to his feet as +he spoke. 'I must go at once,' he went on, 'we can never meet again, +never, never!' + +I rose also, going rather pale. In that moment a dreadful thought came +to me that perhaps I had made a mistake. Yet there could have been no +misconstruing what he had said to Elizabeth regarding his passion for +me. + +'Stop, William!' I cried as he retreated to the door, 'why are you so +obtuse? Don't you understand how difficult you are making everything +for me--as well as for yourself! What is all this talk of sacrifice +and your unworthiness. I don't think you are unworthy. I--I--love +you--isn't it enough when I say that?' + +[Illustration: 'Stop, William!' Marion cried.] + +Involuntarily I stretched out my hands to him as I spoke. He has told +me since that the sight of me standing there bathed in the light of the +rose-shaded lamp, my eyes and lips unusually soft and tender (so he +says), with my arms held out to him, forms a picture that he will never +forget. He looked at me for a moment in absolute silence, and appeared +to be thinking deeply. When at last he spoke he made an astonishing +remark. 'What does it matter about me, after all?' he murmured slowly, +as if speaking to himself. 'Good God, little woman, I was just about +to act the part of a consummate cad and coward!' + +He then strode up to me and continued in a serious tone: 'If you care +enough for me to take me with all my faults, I shall be proud to be +your husband.' + +After which he bent and kissed me very gravely on the forehead, and +surprised me by walking out of the room. It was the most remarkable +proposal. But then, in every way, my dear William is a most remarkable +man. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +There was something distinctly puzzling about Marion's engagement to +William. It was William who puzzled me. Instinctively I knew he was +not happy. Had I been instrumental in bringing about the match, I +should have felt disturbed, but as it happened, they pulled it off +without the slightest assistance from me. It is the best way. I am +steadily determined never to involve myself in matrimonial schemes for +any one in future. Even when The Kid gets old enough to have love +affairs, she will get my advice and sympathy, but no active +co-operation on my part. + +But to return to William. Though he seemed plunged in gloom, Marion +was radiant. She gaily prepared her trousseau, and took William on +long shopping expeditions from which he returned more overcast than +ever. Sometimes I wondered if he had really got over his infatuation +for Gladys, and if he had merely proposed to Marion out of pique. A +strange foreboding came over me that all was not going well. + +This was deepened when Marion came to me one day with her eyes red as +though she had been weeping. + +'Is anything wrong?' I inquired, an instinctive fear gripping at my +heart. 'You surely haven't quarrelled with William?' + +She shook her head. 'Can you imagine William quarrelling with any one?' + +I could not. He is one of those comfortable people with whom you can +be perfectly frank and outspoken without fear of giving the slightest +offence. If I say to him when he is deep in a learned discussion with +Henry, 'Do shut up, William, I can't think when you're talking,' he +does not snort, glare at me, breathe hard or show any other signs of +inward resentment. He at once relapses into silence--an affable +silence, not the strained kind when the offended party takes deep +respirations through the nose--and I am allowed to think without +interruption. It is one of the reasons why I have never minded Henry +having him about the place at any time. + +'Then if you and William haven't quarrelled, what is wrong?' I asked of +the drooping Marion. + +'It's--it's about our wedding, Netta. He wants to know if I'll put it +off for another six months.' + +I started. 'Why should he wish to do that now, with all arrangements +made?' + +'I don't know. There isn't the slightest reason for delay. It isn't a +case of money, for you know he has a good private income, and I have my +own little income as well. Then, we are both old enough to know our +own minds--yet he says he thinks we ought to have more time for +reflection. What can it mean, Netta?' + +I was silent for a moment, not liking to voice my uneasy thoughts. + +'It isn't that I mind the extra six months' delay,' she went on, 'but I +don't like the idea of postponing the wedding. There is something +unlucky about it.' + +'You're right--it is unlucky,' said the voice of Elizabeth, coming +unexpectedly into the discussion. + +'Elizabeth,' I said sternly, 'do you mean to tell me you were +listening?' + +She drew herself up with dignity. 'Me listenin'! I've too much to do +to go poking myself into other people's bizness. But I wos just comin' +in to ask wot you wanted for dinner----' + +'I have already given orders for dinner, Elizabeth.' + +'Well, I musta forgotten 'em. An' just as I was comin' in I 'eard Miss +Marryun talkin' about Mr. Roarings wantin' to put the weddin' orf. +Don't you let 'im do it, miss. I've 'eard o' young women puttin' off +their weddin's so long that in the end they've never took place at all. +I've 'ad it 'appen to myself, so I _know_.' + +'Elizabeth,' I interposed, 'we don't want your advice. Go away at +once.' + +'I ain't done yet. You'll be glad o' my advice in the end. Experience +'elps a lot. Some men wot's goin' to be married gets a sort o' funk at +the last minnit and, bless you, they'd wriggle out o' it, yes, even if +they was goin' to marry an angel out o' 'eaven. My friend's 'usband +was one o' them sort--wanted to stop the 'ole thing with the weddin' +cake ordered, an' lodgings taken at Margate for the 'oneymoon. But she +'eld 'im to it--stuck to 'im like grim death until' e'd gone through +with it. An' now 'e often ses 'e never regrets it for a minnit.' + +Marion looked up hopefully. 'Perhaps you're right, Elizabeth.' + +'O' course I'm right,' she asserted, throwing a triumphant glance at me +as she retired. + +'These tactics may be all very well for the lower classes,' I said to +Marion when we were alone, 'but I'm not quite sure whether they'd +answer in every case. No, Marion dear, if William wants to postpone +the wedding, it must be done.' + +Her face fell at once, and she looked so dejected I felt troubled. + +'If you like I will talk to William and try to discover the reason for +his change of plan,' I conceded reluctantly, 'but you must understand, +dear, that nothing will make me interfere with the natural course of +events.' + +Rather to my surprise, William touched on the subject the next time he +came to see me. We were sitting alone and I was mentally noting his +air of depression, when he suddenly burst out: 'Tell me, frankly, do +you think a man is justified in--er--postponing a great event in his +life--such as, say, his wedding, if he feels uncertain?' + +'Uncertain about what?' I asked gently. + +'About himself--and everything, you know. True, Johnson has said that +marriage is one of the means of happiness--a sentiment delivered, no +doubt, by the great master when he was in a light vein--but supposing a +man is not sure that he can make a woman happy----' + +'And supposing instead of the hypothetical man and woman you are +speaking of, we simply quote the case of you and Marion,' I interposed. +'Am I to understand that you do not wish to marry her?' + +He started. 'It isn't exactly that. But at the--er--time +I--er--offered myself to Marion I had not weighed all the +possibilities. To be perfectly frank with you, I am not quite certain +of my own affections. I decided that, with companionship, these might +develop after marriage. But supposing they do not, then I shall have +rendered her unhappy. Is not the risk too great?' + +He leaned forward and laid his hand on mine with an expression of great +earnestness. 'In this matter,' he said slowly, 'I intend to abide by +your decision. I have supreme faith in your judgment, and I do not +believe you would advise me wrongly. Tell me what I ought to do. Do +you think it is making for the happiness of two people if they are +united under these peculiar circumstances?' + +'I said I would never interfere,' I began weakly. + +'It isn't a question of interfering,' he broke in, 'but only a matter +of advising what you think is right or wrong.' + +I hesitated, feeling the responsibility keenly. It is true that I am +accustomed to giving advice on these delicate matters. In my capacity +of writer on the Woman's Page I often discuss affairs of the heart, +getting much correspondence on the subject and (if a stamped addressed +envelope is enclosed) giving unsparing help and assistance to perplexed +lovers. But this case seemed entirely different. It lacked any +element of the frivolous. I knew that Manor's whole happiness depended +on my answer. + +Supposing I suggested that the marriage should go on and afterwards the +couple turned out to be totally unsuited, what a serious situation I +should have created. As a matter of fact, I more than once suspected +that they were incompatibles, but hoped that they would ultimately +accommodate themselves to each other. If, however, they did not, I +should be confronted with the spectacle of two most excellent people +(apart) being thoroughly unhappy (together) for the remainder of their +lives. I shivered before the prospect, and was on the point of telling +William that I would never advise a union to take place unless there +was perfect understanding and sympathy between a couple, when he spoke +again. + +'It's just at the last minute all these doubts have assailed me,' he +explained. 'I didn't realize before how serious a thing marriage +is--how irrevocable.' + +In a flash Elizabeth's words came into my mind. I recalled her +references to men who get in a 'funk' and want to stop proceedings on +the eve of the wedding, and then I saw the whole thing. William was +that sort of man. I had an instinctive idea just then that no matter +who he was going to marry he would have come to me at the eleventh hour +with the same bewildered demand for advice. + +In that moment I decided to trust to Elizabeth. She seems to have a +rude knowledge of life which is almost uncanny at times, but entirely +convincing. She has, as it were, a way of going to the heart of things +and straightway extracting truth. I felt just then that I could depend +on her judgment. + +'William,' I said, looking at him steadily in the eye, 'you want my +candid opinion?' + +'I do,' he replied fervently. + +'Then I advise you to go on with the marriage. I have weighed it all +up, and I feel it is for the best.' + +He wrung my hand silently, and then he rose. 'Thank you,' he said, 'I +am sure you are always right.' I thought I detected a note of relief +in his voice. Man is a perplexing creature. + +The next day Marion came to me overjoyed. 'It's all right, dear,' she +announced. 'William wants to get married at once. Netta, you are +wonderful--how did you do it? What did you say to him?' + +'Never mind,' I said, trying to look enigmatical and rather enjoying +Marion's respectful admiration of my wondrous powers, 'all's well that +ends well . . . ask Elizabeth if it isn't,' I added as that worthy +lurched in with the tea-tray. + +'The wedding isn't going to be postponed after all, Elizabeth,' +announced Marion gleefully. + +'I knowed it wouldn't be, Miss Marryun, when I see a weddin' wreath in +your cup. I tell you the Signs is always right.' + +Marion shook her head. 'Not always. Didn't you once tell me that my +future husband would cross water to meet me? Mr. Rawlings, now, has +been here all the time.' + +Elizabeth paused in the act of arranging the tea-table, and stood in a +prophetic attitude with the teapot held aloft. + +'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?' she demanded. 'Isn't Mr. Roarings an +Irishman, an' was born in Dubling? Now I'd like to know 'ow any one +can get from Ireland to London without crossin' water, anyway!' + +[Illustration: 'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?'] + +Marion bowed her head, meekly acquiescent. 'I never thought of that, +Elizabeth. You always seem to be right.' + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +I had not seen Marion and William since their marriage as they had gone +on a six-months' tour of the Italian lakes, but I was haunted with the +foreboding that the match was not, after all, turning out a success. + +For one thing, Marion's silence regarding her marriage was unusual. +She wrote only brief notes that made no reference to William. As for +William, he did not write at all. + +Now Marion is what you would call an ardent correspondent, as well as +being a communicative person. If she were happy she would be likely to +write no less than eight pages three times a week breathing praise of +William--I mean that would be the general tone of her letters. But now +she devoted herself exclusively to descriptions of scenery and relating +episodes regarding the constant losing and regaining of their baggage +on their journeys, which though in its way instructive, struck me as +lacking vital interest. + +The affair troubled me, because I knew that I was, in a measure, +responsible for the match. William had left the decision in my hands, +and, on thinking it over, it struck me as a rather cowardly thing to +do. What right had he to put it on to me? I knew that if they were +not happy I should be haunted by remorse to the end of my days. It was +an annoying situation. + +When they arrived home and wired from an hotel in London that they were +coming up to see me the next day my trepidation increased. Supposing +they came to me with reproaches, even recriminations? I awaited their +visit in a subdued frame of mind. + +Not so Elizabeth. Her jubilant air, her triumphant expression when she +spoke of the newly wedded pair, ended by irritating me. + +'Getting married isn't the only thing in life; as you seem to think,' I +said rather severely, after a remark of hers that she was glad to think +Marion was so happily settled. + +'Maybe not, but it's the best,' she commented, 'an' as I always sed +about Miss Marryun----' + +'Mrs. Rawlings,' I corrected. + +'Lor', I'll never get used to the name. Mrs. Roarings, then, 'as only +got me to thank for the present 'appy state o' things.' + +'What do you mean?' I asked, only half interested. + +'Well, it's like this yeer,' answered Elizabeth, 'I see from the very +first that Mr. Roarings an' Miss Marryun were just suited to each +other. The trouble was they didn't see it theirselves, an' so I 'elped +to open their eyes like.' + +'Explain,' I commanded. + +Elizabeth did so. She unfolded a tale that, as she proceeded step by +step, left me speechless with horror. That she should have so basely +conspired to throw William and Marion at each other and, by +misrepresentations, lies and every kind of deception, brought about the +match, utterly appalled me. Everything suddenly became clear. William +had married through a misplaced sense of chivalry--offered himself up +as a sacrifice as it were. I understood then why Marion had written so +much about luggage and nothing about connubial bliss--the union was +bound to turn out a ghastly failure under such circumstances. Worst of +all, I, quite unconsciously, had aided and abetted the whole +disgraceful scheme. + +'Elizabeth!' I exclaimed at last in dismay, 'you shameless, intriguing +creature, I will never forgive you for this. You have ruined two +lives, and I am involved in it as well. The only thing to do is to +explain the whole situation to Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings when they come +to-day.' + +She changed colour. 'You'd never do that, 'm.' + +'I shall tell them everything. It will, at any rate, help them to +begin life on a different understanding.' + +'But what good will that do, 'm? It'll upset everything an' lead to +goodness knows wot.' + +'It may lead to a judicial separation, of course,' I replied, 'but my +duty in this case is perfectly clear. There is only one thing to be +done.' + +I have never seen the girl so genuinely distressed. 'I wouldn't do it, +if I wos you, I wouldn't indeed. If you must tell 'em, wait a year or +two, till they've settled down----' + +A loud knock on the door interrupted her. 'There they are now,' I +remarked. 'And no matter what you say I shall explain everything +before they leave to-day. They shall know how they've been hoodwinked.' + +'Orl right, then,' said Elizabeth, 'an' let the consingquences be on +your own head. You'll see 'ow they'll take it.' And darting defiant +looks, she went to open the door. + +The next moment Marion was enfolded in my arms. Then I turned to greet +William. As I did so the words of welcome died on my lips and I stood +staring at him in puzzled wonder. + +'Why, what has happened to you?' I asked. + +He grinned. 'Don't you like me as I am at present?' + +I did not, but thought it polite to refrain from saying so. He had +gone back to his former state of fuzziness, and looked more like Rip +van Winkle than ever. Indeed, his beard seemed even more fierce and +bristly than in the old days--probably shaving had tended to strengthen +the roots. + +'How do you do, William?' I said, extending my hand, deciding as I did +so that I would not give him any other kind of salute after all. Yet +it was with a tinge of regret I thought of that nice mouth of his +hidden under such a rank undergrowth of whisker. + +Marion looked on complacently as I greeted him. I remembered then that +she had rather seemed to resent the sisterly salute I thought necessary +to bestow on him after the wedding, and the brotherly salutes (repeated +four times in succession) he had given me in return. I decided at that +moment I would respect her objections and only shake hands with William +in future. I am sure she preferred it, and I should hate to displease +her. + +Besides, beards do rasp one so. + +Henry now emerged from the study full of hearty greeting and +_bonhomie_. He seemed less surprised at William's altered appearance +than I did, and was certainly more pleased about it. + +'What made you let him do it?' I said reproachfully to Marion when we +were alone, 'he was a really handsome man before, and now----' + +'That's just it,' she interrupted, 'he was too handsome, and it wasn't +safe for him.' + +'Not safe, Marion?' + +'Women wouldn't leave him alone--they all flirted with him. It would +have been all right if he'd been used to it before, but getting +good-looking so suddenly unbalanced him. From a kind of puzzled wonder +that he should thus attract the opposite sex, he began to develop an +interest in what he termed "their bewildering number of types." He +said he used to think they were all exactly alike. It was when he +declared his intention of writing a eulogy on woman that I stepped in +and insisted on his letting his beard grow again. Don't you think I +acted for the best?' + +'No doubt you did,' I said pensively, 'but he had such an attractive +mouth.' + +Marion regarded me severely. 'That's what all the other women seemed +to think. I feel I was justified in protecting him.' + +'No doubt you were, dear,' I murmured, with meekly lowered eyes. +'Don't you ever regret him as he was before?' + +She sighed a little. 'Sometimes--particularly when dear William was +just beginning to grow again--did I have my qualms of discouragement. +A beard in its incipient stages is an unbecoming, almost startling +affair, Netta. Then of course, I find solace by looking at this,' and +she held out a small locket containing a portrait of William in his +glorified state. 'Also I always keep his white spats and lavender +gloves as a remembrance.' + +There was a hint of sadness in the idea. It seemed almost as if +William was dead--one phase of him was, at all events. + +'Then you _do_ regret----' I began. + +'I regret nothing, Netta,' she broke in very decidedly. 'I am now +getting quite reconciled to dear William's present appearance, and I +know he's happier in his natural state.' + +This was obviously true. William, his feet once more installed on the +mantelpiece, pulling hard at his pipe (filled for him by Marion's +loving hands) was a picture of perfect contentment. + +But it was some time before I ventured to put the question to him that +was uppermost in my thoughts. + +'Are you happy, William?' I asked tensely when, for a moment, we were +alone. 'Was my advice for better or for worse?' + +He took my hand and wrung it warmly. 'My dear Netta!' he exclaimed, +'what a fool I was to hesitate even for a moment. Had it not been for +you--and, I think I ought to add, Elizabeth--I might never have won +such a treasure as my dear Marion. "Marriage," as Dr. Johnson has +said, "is the best state for man in general," and although he added +that it is more necessary to a man than a woman as he is less able to +supply himself with domestic comforts, I think in that case it is put +too crudely. I look upon it as something higher and nobler.' + +'That's all right, then,' I said, relieved. 'Dr. Johnson seems to have +as sound a philosophy as Elizabeth.' + +As I sat meditating before the fire that evening, after the departure +of the happy couple, Elizabeth entered. Her face betokened anxiety. +'You--you--didn't tell 'em anything, I 'ope?' she demanded. + +'Under the circumstances I did not, Elizabeth. They seemed quite happy +and so----' + +'"Let sleepin' dogs lie,"' she supplemented. + +'You seem able to lie a great deal more than sleeping dogs,' I said +severely. 'In future, remember to stick to the truth or you may get +yourself--and other people--into serious trouble.' + +'Right-o, 'm. But Mr. Roarings seemed satisfied enough. Look wot 'e +gave me to-day?'--she held out two crisp banknotes. ''E sed they were +for my own troosoo,' she added gleefully. + +'What, Elizabeth, are you going to be married next?' asked Henry, as he +strolled into the room at that moment. + +'Well, I ain't got a party in view as yet, sir. But as I always ses, +you never know wot a day may bring forth. The Signs 'ave been good for +me lately. Isn't there a sayin' somewhere about not knowing the day +nor the 'our when the young man may come along? Well, I always think +it's best to be prepared, like.' + +She went out, but returned a moment later bearing a tray in her hand. + +'What is this?' I inquired. + +'I thort p'raps you'd like to drink to the occashun of the 'appy +'ome-coming in a nice glarss o' stout,' she explained. + +I noted that there were three glasses. 'Elizabeth,' I said coldly, +'you are unduly familiar. I protest----' + +'Oh, hang it all, let's be democratic,' put in Henry, grinning. 'It's +only your _joie de vivre_ and natural _bonhomie_, isn't it, Elizabeth?' + +'Not 'arf,' replied Elizabeth. 'Well,' she added a moment later as she +raised her glass, ''ere's to us, all of us, an' may we never want +nothin', none of us--nor me neither.' + +[Illustration: 'Ere's to us, all of us!'] + +I saw that Henry was grappling with the construction of the sentence, +and it was a full minute and a half before he gave it up. Then he +lifted his glass. 'Thank you, Elizabeth,' he said, 'and the same to +you.' + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR ELIZABETH*** + + +******* This file should be named 18430-8.txt or 18430-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/3/18430 + + + +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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Kilpatrick</title> +<style type="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: medium; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + height: 5px; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover {color:#ff0000; + text-decoration: underline; } + pre {font-size: 75%; } + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 align="center">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Our Elizabeth, by Florence A. Kilpatrick, +Illustrated by Ernest Forbes</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Our Elizabeth</p> +<p> A Humour Novel</p> +<p>Author: Florence A. Kilpatrick</p> +<p>Release Date: May 22, 2006 [eBook #18430]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR ELIZABETH***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Al Haines</h3></center><br><br> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="Elizabeth Renshaw." BORDER="2" WIDTH="385" HEIGHT="613"> +<H4> +[Frontispiece: Elizabeth Renshaw.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +OUR ELIZABETH +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +A HUMOUR NOVEL +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +<BR><BR> +FLORENCE A. KILPATRICK +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATED BY ERNEST FORBES +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THORNTON BUTTERWORTH LIMITED +<BR><BR> +62 ST. MARTIN'S LANE, LONDON, W.C. 2 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Published November 1920 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +TO CIS +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR'S NOTE +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Elizabeth is not a type; she is an individuality. Signs and omens at +her birth no doubt determined her sense of the superstitious; but I +trace her evolution as a figure of fun to some sketches of mine in the +pages of Punch. These, however, were only impressions of Elizabeth on +a small scale, but I acknowledge the use of them here in the process of +developing her to full life-size. Elizabeth, as I say, is a +personality apart; there is only one Elizabeth. Here she is. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +F. A. K. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +TABLE OF CONTENTS<BR> +</H2> + +<CENTER> + +<TABLE WIDTH="60%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap01">CHAPTER 1</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap11">CHAPTER 11</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap02">CHAPTER 2</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap12">CHAPTER 12</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap03">CHAPTER 3</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap13">CHAPTER 13</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap04">CHAPTER 4</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap14">CHAPTER 14</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap05">CHAPTER 5</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap15">CHAPTER 15</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap06">CHAPTER 6</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap16">CHAPTER 16</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap07">CHAPTER 7</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap17">CHAPTER 17</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap08">CHAPTER 8</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap18">CHAPTER 18</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap09">CHAPTER 9</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap19">CHAPTER 19</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap10">CHAPTER 10</A></TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" WIDTH="50%"><A HREF="#chap20">CHAPTER 20</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +Our Elizabeth . . . . . . <I>Frontispiece</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-031"> +Henry and I looked at the Cookery Book +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-034"> +The Kid +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-050"> +A Bad Sign +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-055"> +Marion dropped fifteen stitches +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-064"> +Our Friend William +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-080"> +'Wot's 'orrible about it?' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-088"> +'Oh, must I, Mama?' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-096"> +''E was starin' at it wild-like.' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-105"> +'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-117"> +'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly.' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-123"> +A slight lowering of the left eye-lid. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-141"> +Henry, being a Scotsman, likes argument. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-151"> +'A fair razzle-dazzle.' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-162"> +She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-175"> +'Am I not a suitable wife for Henry?' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-188"> +'Carn't you get rid of 'er?' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-198"> +'Stop, William!' Marion said. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-209"> +'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?' +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-219"> +''Ere's to us, all of us!' +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +OUR ELIZABETH +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +If you ask Henry he will tell you that I cannot cook. In fact, he will +tell you even if you don't ask. To hold up my culinary failures to +ridicule is one of his newest forms of humour (new to Henry, I +mean—the actual jokes you will have learned already at your +grandmother's knee). +</P> + +<P> +I had begun to see that I must either get a servant soon or a judicial +separation from Henry. That was the stage at which I had arrived. +Things were getting beyond me. By 'things' I mean the whole loathsome +business of housework. My <I>métier</I> is to write—not that I am a great +writer as yet, though I hope to be some day. What I never hope to be +is a culinary expert. Should you command your cook to turn out a short +story she could not suffer more in the agonies of composition than I do +in making a simple Yorkshire pudding. +</P> + +<P> +Henry does not like housework any more than I do; he says the +performance of menial duties crushes his spirit—but he makes such a +fuss about things. You might think, to hear him talk, that getting up +coal, lighting fires, chopping wood and cleaning flues, knives and +brasses were the entire work of a household instead of being mere +incidents in the daily routine. If he had had to tackle my +duties … but men never understand how much there is to do in a +house. +</P> + +<P> +Even when they do lend a hand my experience is that they invariably +manage to hurt themselves in some way. Henry seems incapable of +getting up coal without dropping the largest knob on his foot. If he +chops wood he gashes himself; he cannot go through the simple rite of +pouring boiling water out of a saucepan without getting scalded; and +when he mounts the steps to adjust the blinds I always keep the brandy +uncorked in readiness; you see, he declares that a chap needs something +to pull himself together after a fall from a step-ladder. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps you trace in all this a certain bitterness, a veiled antagonism +on my part towards Henry; you may even imagine that we are a bickering +sort of couple, constantly trying to get the better of each other. If +so, you are mistaken. Up to six months before this story opens our +married life had been ideal—for which reason I didn't open the story +earlier. Ideal marriages (to any one except the contracting parties) +are uninteresting affairs. It is such a pity that the good, the +laudable, things in life generally are. +</P> + +<P> +One of the reasons why our union was ideal (up to six months before +this story opens) was that we shared identical tastes. Comradeship is +the true basis of—but perhaps you have read my articles on the subject +on the Woman's Page of the <I>Daily Trail</I>. I always advise girls to +marry men of their own temperament. As a matter of fact, I expect they +marry the men who are easiest to land, but you're not allowed to say +things like that (on the Woman's Page). We have pure and noble ideals, +we are tender, motherly and housewifely (on the Woman's Page). +</P> + +<P> +Henry and I were of the same temperament. For one thing, we were +equally incompetent at golf. Perhaps I foozled my drive rather worse +than Henry, but then he never took fewer than five strokes on the +green, whereas I have occasionally done it in four. Then we mutually +detested gramophones. But when we discovered that we could both play +'Caller Herrin'' on the piano with one finger (entirely by ear) we felt +that we were affinities, and got married shortly afterwards. +</P> + +<P> +Stevenson once said, 'Marriage is not a bed of roses; it is a field of +battle.' At the epoch of which I write Henry and I had not got to +turning machine-guns on each other. At the most we only had diplomatic +unpleasantnesses. The position, however, was getting strained. I +realized quite clearly that if we didn't obtain domestic help of some +sort very soon it might come to open hostilities. Isn't it surprising +how the petty annoyances of life can wear away the strong bulwarks of +trust and friendship formed by years of understanding? Our particular +bulwarks were becoming quite shaky through nothing else but having to +muddle through the dull sordid grind of cooking and housework by +ourselves. We were getting disillusioned with each other. No +'jaundiced eye that casts discolouration' could look more jaundiced +than Henry's when I asked him to dry up the dinner things. +</P> + +<P> +Having explained all this, you will now understand something of my +feelings when, on going to answer a knock at the door, I was confronted +by a solid female who said she had been sent from the Registry Office. +Oh, thrice blessed Registry Office that had answered my call. +</P> + +<P> +'Come in,' I said eagerly, and, leading the way into the dining-room, I +seated myself before her. With lowered eyes and modest mien I was, of +course, waiting for her to speak first. I did not wait long. Her +voice, concise and direct, rapped out: 'So you require a cook-general?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—er—please,' I murmured. Under her searching gaze my knees +trembled, my pulses throbbed, a slight perspiration broke out on my +forehead. My whole being seemed to centre itself in the mute inquiry: +'Shall I suit?' +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause while the applicant placed her heavy guns. Then she +opened fire immediately. 'I suppose you have outside daily help?' +</P> + +<P> +'Er—no,' I confessed. +</P> + +<P> +'Then you have a boy to do the windows, knives and boots?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you send everything to the laundry?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well … no … not quite.' I wanted to explain, to modify, to +speak airily of woollens being 'just rubbed through,' but she hurried +me forward. +</P> + +<P> +'Have you a hot water circulator?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'A gas cooking-range?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +It was terrible. I seemed to have nothing. I stood, as it were, naked +to the world, bereft of a single inducement to hold out to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you dine late?' +</P> + +<P> +At this point, when I longed to answer 'No,' I was compelled to say +'Yes.' That decided her. She rose at once and moved towards the door. +'I'm afraid your situation won't do for me,' she remarked. +</P> + +<P> +That was all she said. She was perfectly dignified about it. Much as +she obviously condemned me, there was no noisy recrimination, no +violent vituperative outburst on her part. I followed in her wake to +the door. Even at the eleventh hour I hoped for a respite. 'Couldn't +something be arranged?' I faltered as my gaze wandered hungrily over +her capable-looking form. 'We might get you a gas-cooker—and all +that.' +</P> + +<P> +Do not condemn me. Remember that my will had been weakened by +housework; six months of doing my own washing-up had brought me to my +knees. I was ready to agree to any terms that were offered me. The +applicant shook her head. There were too many obstacles in the way, +too many radical changes necessary before the place could be made +suitable for her. I realized finality in her answer, 'No, nothink,' +and closing the front door behind her, I returned to the study to +brood. I was still there, thinking bitterly, the shadows of the +evening creeping around me, when Henry came in. +</P> + +<P> +'Hallo,' he said gruffly. 'No signs of dinner yet? Do you know the +time?' +</P> + +<P> +And only six months ago (before this story opens) he would have +embraced me tenderly when he came in and said, 'How is the little +wifie-pifie to-night? I hope it hasn't been worrying its fluffy little +head with writing and making its hubby-wubby anxious?' +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps you prefer Henry in the former role. Frankly, I did not. 'You +needn't be so impatient,' I retorted. 'I expect you've gorged yourself +on a good lunch in town. Anyhow, it won't take long to get dinner, as +we're having tinned soup and eggs.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, damn eggs,' said Henry. 'I'm sick of the sight of 'em.' +</P> + +<P> +You can see for yourself how unrestrained we were getting. The thin +veneer of civilization (thinner than ever when Henry is hungry) was +fast wearing into holes. There was a pause, and then I coldly +remarked: 'You didn't kiss me when you came in.' +</P> + +<P> +It was a custom to which I was determined to cling with grim +resolution. If I allowed his treatment of me to become too casual we +might continue to drift apart even when we had some one to do the +washing-up. +</P> + +<P> +Henry came over to me and bestowed a labial salute. It is the only +adequate description I can give of the performance. Then I went to the +kitchen and got out the cookery-book. +</P> + +<P> +It is a remarkable thing that I am never able to cook anything without +the aid of the book. Even if I prepare the same dish seven times a +week I must have the printed instructions constantly before me, or I am +lost. This is especially strange, because I have a retentive memory +for other things. My mind is crammed with odd facts retained from +casual reading. If you asked me, the date of the Tai-ping Rebellion +(though you're not likely to) I could tell you at once that it +originated in 1850 and was not suppressed until 1864, for I remember +reading about it in a dentist's waiting-room when I was fifteen. Yet +although I prepared scrambled eggs one hundred times in six months +(Henry said it was much oftener than that) I had to pore over the +instructions as earnestly when doing my 'century' as on the first +occasion. +</P> + +<P> +The subsequent meal was taken in silence. The hay-fever from which I +am prone to suffer at all seasons of the year was particularly +persistent that evening. A rising irritability, engendered by leathery +eggs and fostered by Henry's expression, was taking possession of me. +Quite suddenly I discovered that the way he held his knife annoyed me. +Further, his manner of eating soup maddened me. But I restrained +myself. I merely remarked: 'You have finished your soup, I <I>hear</I>, +love.' We had not yet reached the stage of open rupture when I could +exclaim: 'For goodness' sake stop swilling down soup like a grampus!' +I have never heard a grampus take soup. But the expression seems +picturesque. +</P> + +<P> +Henry, too, had not quite lost his fortitude. My hay-fever was +obviously annoying him, but he only commented: 'Don't you think you +ought to go to a doctor—a really reliable man—with that distressing +nasal complaint of yours, my dear?' I knew, however, that he was +longing to bark out: 'Can't you do something to stop that everlasting +sniffing? It's driving me mad, woman.' +</P> + +<P> +How long would it be before we reached this stage of debacle? I +brooded. Then the front door bell rang. +</P> + +<P> +'You go,' I said to Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'No, you go,' he replied. 'It looks bad for a man if he is master of +the house to answer the door.' +</P> + +<P> +I do not know why it should look bad for a man to answer his own door +unless he is a bad man. But there are some things in our English +social system which will ever remain unquestioned. I rose and went to +open the front door. The light from the hall lamp fell dimly on a lank +female form which stood on the doorstep. Out of the dusk a voice spoke +to me. It said, 'I think you're wantin' a cook-general?' +</P> + +<P> +I cried out in a loud voice, saying, 'I am.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I'm Elizabeth Renshaw. You wrote to me. I got your letter sent +on from the Registry Office along with ninety others. But I liked +yours the best, so I thought there'd be no 'arm in coming to see——' +</P> + +<P> +'Come in, Elizabeth,' I said earnestly. 'I'm glad you liked my letter.' +</P> + +<P> +I began to wonder if I was not a great writer after all. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +I piloted Elizabeth in and bade her be seated. Strangely enough, my +usual hopeful expectations entirely deserted me at that moment. I felt +that the interview would be fruitless. They say hope springs eternal +in the human breast, but my breast didn't feel human just then. It was +throbbing with savage and sanguinary thoughts. Perhaps it was the +eggs. Many animals are rendered ferocious by an over-diet of meat. I +can testify (so can Henry) that an over-diet of eggs has exactly the +same effect on human beings. I think they stimulate the wrong kind of +phagocytes. They can make the mildest and most forgiving person wild +and vindictive. Henry always declares, when he reads of a man +murdering his wife under exceptionally brutal circumstances, that she +must have been giving him too many scrambled eggs. In fact, he wrote +articles about it, entitled 'The Psychology of Diet,' in the Sunday +papers, signed 'By a Physician.' +</P> + +<P> +Henry is not a physician. Neither is he 'An Eminent Surgeon,' 'A +Harley Street Expert,' an 'Ex-M.P.,' 'A Special Crime Investigator,' or +'A Well-known Bishop,' although he has written under all these +pseudonyms. Do not blame Henry. In private life he seeks the truth as +one who seeks the light, but by profession he is a journalist. Not +being an expert in anything, he can write about everything—which is +the true test of the born journalist. +</P> + +<P> +But to return to Elizabeth. With the remembrance of the similar +interview of only a few hours before still rankling in my mind, I +looked at her a little austerely. This time it was I who began the +causerie. +</P> + +<P> +'First of all I must tell you,' I said, 'that we have no hot water +circulator.' +</P> + +<P> +'Carn't abide them things,' commented Elizabeth; 'they bust sometimes +and blows folks up.' +</P> + +<P> +'We have no outside help,' I continued. +</P> + +<P> +'An' a good thing, too. One place I was in the char 'elped 'erself to +things an' it was me who was blamed fer it.' +</P> + +<P> +'We have no gas-cooker.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, that's all right, then. Don't understand 'em. Give me a proper +kitchen range, that's all I ask.' +</P> + +<P> +I looked up hopefully. If all she asked for was a kitchen range I +should be glad enough to give her a little thing like that. But the +supreme test was yet to come. 'We don't send everything to the +laundry,' I began. +</P> + +<P> +'I 'ope you don't,' she broke in, 'leastways my clothes. The state +they send 'em back, 'arf torn to ribbons. A girl never 'as 'er 'and +out of 'er pocket buying new things. Besides, I like a bit o' +washin'—makes a change, I always say.' +</P> + +<P> +My heart began to beat so loudly with hope that I could hardly hear my +own voice as I asked, 'How … how soon can you come?' +</P> + +<P> +'To-morrow, if you like,' she answered casually. 'I've 'ad a row with +the friend I'm stayin' with and I can't abide living-in with folks I've +fallen out with.' +</P> + +<P> +I struggled to reconstruct this sentence and then, remembering what was +required of me, I remarked, 'And your references?' +</P> + +<P> +She gave me the address of her last place. +</P> + +<P> +'Are they on the 'phone?' I questioned eagerly. 'If so, I'll settle +the thing at once.' It seemed they were. I tottered to the telephone. +My call was answered by a woman with a thin, sharp voice. +</P> + +<P> +'I am sorry,' she said in answer to my query, 'I must refuse to answer +any questions concerning Elizabeth Renshaw.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you only need say "yes" or "no." Is she honest?' +</P> + +<P> +'I am not in a position to give you a reply.' +</P> + +<P> +'Am I to understand that she isn't sober?' +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot answer that question.' +</P> + +<P> +'Look here, she hasn't murdered any one, has she?' +</P> + +<P> +'I am not in a position——' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, hang the woman,' I muttered, jerking up the receiver. But I felt +the situation was an awkward one. What sinister and turbid happenings +were connected with Elizabeth and her last place? I meditated. If she +were not sober it was, after all, no business of mine so long as she +got through her work. And if she didn't we should be no worse off than +we were at present. +</P> + +<P> +If she were dishonest it might be awkward, certainly, but then there +was nothing of very much value in the house, Henry and I merely being +writers by profession. Most of our friends are writers, too, so we +have not the usual array of massive silver wedding gifts about the +place, but quite a lot of autograph photos and books instead. The +value of these might not be apparent to the casual pilferer. My +meditations got no further. I decided to lock up my silk stockings and +best handkerchiefs and engage Elizabeth without delay. As a matter of +fact, I afterwards discovered that her career had been blameless, while +she had every foundation for her favourite declaration, 'I wouldn't +take a used postage stamp, no, nor a rusty nail that wasn't my own.' +</P> + +<P> +I do not condemn the woman I interviewed on the telephone, +reprehensible as was her conduct. Perhaps she, too, was living on eggs +and it had warped her better nature. +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose you can cook all right?' I asked Elizabeth as ten minutes +later, all arrangements made, I accompanied her to the door. +</P> + +<P> +'Me? I'm a rare 'and at cookin'. My friend's 'usband ses 'e's never +come across any one who can cook a steak like I can.' +</P> + +<P> +'A steak,' I murmured ecstatically, 'richly brown with softly swelling +curves——' +</P> + +<P> +'Rather underdone in the middle,' supplemented Elizabeth, 'just a +little bit o' fat, fairly crisp, a lump o' butter on the top, and I +always 'old that a dash o' fried onion improves the flavour.' +</P> + +<P> +'How beautiful,' I murmured again. It sounded like a poem. Swinburne +or de Musset have never stirred me so deeply as did that simple +recitation. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth, seeing that she had an attentive audience, continued, 'Take +roast pork, now. Well, I always say there's a lot in the cookin' o' +that, with crisp cracklin', apple sauce an' stuffin'——-' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't go on,' I, broke in, feeling in my weakened state, unable to +stand any more. Tears that men weep had risen to my eyes. 'Promise,' +I said, taking her toil-worn hand, 'that you will come to-morrow.' +</P> + +<P> +'Right-o,' said Elizabeth, and her lank form disappeared in the +darkness. I staggered into the dining-room. Henry was sitting at the +disordered dinner table jotting down notes. At any other time this +would have irritated me, because I knew it was a preliminary to his +remark that as he had an article to write which must be finished that +evening he would not be able to help me with the washing-up. A +hackneyed dodge of his. Oh, I could tell you a tale of the meanness of +men. +</P> + +<P> +'Henry, something has happened,' I began. +</P> + +<P> +Without looking round he remarked, 'Don't disturb me. I must write up +a brief biographical sketch of Courtenay Colville, the actor. He's +been taken seriously ill and may be dead just in time for the morning +papers.' In this way do journalists speak. To them life and death, +all the tremendous happenings of the world—wars, revolutions, or even +weddings of revue actresses—are just so much matter for printed and +pictorial display. Do you think, if a great and honoured statesman +dies, sub-editors care two pins about his public services? Not they. +All they worry about is whether he is worth double-column headings, a +long primer intro., and a line across the page. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't know Courtenay Colville was so ill,' I commented mildly. +What I did know was that he was reported to have sprained his right toe +at golf, and only an hour previously I should have commented +caustically on Henry's description of this 'serious illness.' Now I +came up to him and put my arm about his neck. +</P> + +<P> +'I've just put on a clean collar—be careful,' he said, shaking off my +hand. +</P> + +<P> +'Henry, dear, I've landed a servant at last,' I breathed. +</P> + +<P> +He looked up and, for a moment, I felt that I ought not to have told +him so suddenly. But joy does not often kill. I went and knelt beside +him. 'Dearest,' I whispered, 'it seems as though all the bitterness +and misunderstanding between you and me is to be swept away at last. +She can cook steaks, dear—juicy steaks, pork with crackling——' +</P> + +<P> +'Sage and onion stuffing?' burst in a hoarse murmur from Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, and large mutton chops, rich in fat——' +</P> + +<P> +'Dearest, how splendid,' whispered Henry. Our lips met in ecstacy. +</P> + +<P> +That evening was one of the happiest we have ever spent. Henry and I +sat together on the divan and looked at the cookery-book. There was no +doubt about it. Henry said, that Mrs. Beeton was a wonderful woman. +We felt that she and Mr. Beeton must have been tremendously happy in +their married life. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-031"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-031.jpg" ALT="Henry and I looked at the Cookery Book." BORDER="2" WIDTH="312" HEIGHT="242"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Henry and I looked at the Cookery Book.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +The illustrations to the book delighted us, too, with their bold +outlines, vigorous colouring, and, attention to detail. Henry and I +rather favour the impressionist school in art, but when you're admiring +a picture of salmon mayonnaise it refreshes you to distinguish the +ingredients. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth arrived the next day, bringing with her a small—perplexingly +small—brown paper parcel. The rest of her luggage, she said, was on +the way. It remained on the way so long that I finally got uneasy and +began to question her about it. She did not seem so disturbed at the +prospect of its being lost as I did. At last, when I declared my +intention of writing Carter Paterson's about it on her behalf, she +confessed. Frankness is one of her distinguishing qualities. +</P> + +<P> +'My box is still at my friend's,' she explained. 'You see, when I goes +to a new place I never 'ave my luggage sent on until I feel I'm going +to settle. It saves a lot o' bother—if I don't stop.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hadn't thought of that,' I commented feebly. +</P> + +<P> +'I brought a clean cap and another pair o' stockings with me, so I'm +all right for a fortnight,' she went on. Her creed, like her change of +underclothing, was obviously simple. Mournfully I withdrew from the +kitchen to meditate. +</P> + +<P> +So we were on probation. It was a tremulous time. I bade Henry tread +softly and not to forget to rub his feet on the mat. I gave all my +orders to Elizabeth in a voice which blended deference with +supplication. I strove hard to live up to what I thought must be her +conception of the Perfect Mistress. And when, the fortnight expired, +Carter Paterson drove up and deposited a small corded box on the hall +mat, I felt it to be a personal triumph. But Henry said I had nothing +to do with it. To this day he declares that Elizabeth decided to stop +because she so earnestly desired to serve such a gentle master. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +No doubt you will have guessed that Henry is a better and sounder +writer than I. He has helped me a lot with his criticism and advice, +for he is fastidious regarding style. There used to be a time, before +he came along, when I walked in darkness, often beginning sentences +with conjunctions and ending them with adverbs; I have even split +infinitives and gone on my way rejoicing. I am now greatly improved, +though one of the incurable things I shall never eradicate from my +system is a weakness for beginning sentences with 'but.' But if you +observe it, I hope you will kindly pass it over without remark. +</P> + +<P> +Henry often talks to me about construction. 'If you are writing a +book,' he says, 'don't introduce all your characters in the first +chapter. Let them develop gradually.' +</P> + +<P> +Now that is sound advice. It was not, however, for the sake of +construction that I refrained from telling you about The Kid at the +very beginning. I was impelled to silence by the same reason which +kept me from mentioning The Kid to Elizabeth until her box had arrived +and she had settled down. I feel sure you do not want to hear about +The Kid any more than Elizabeth did. It is annoying to read about +children. If they are good they cloy, and if bad they irritate. The +Kid is neither. In any case, it is time she came home now, so she will +have to drop in here. During my servantless period she stayed with +friends—which was a good thing for her digestion and my nervous +system. Now there was no longer any excuse—I mean, it was now time +for her to return. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-034"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-034.jpg" ALT="The Kid." BORDER="2" WIDTH="237" HEIGHT="382"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The Kid.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +She is what you would call a boisterous child, overflowing with +ebullition of spirits, <I>joie de vivre</I>, bonhomie, and all those +attributes which cause people possessing them to make a noise. When +she enters a room you always think of those lines, 'the mountains +skipped like rams, and the little hills like young sheep.' +</P> + +<P> +She descended on Henry and me just a year after our marriage. As we +have now been married ten years you will be able to calculate her age +if you are good at arithmetic. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth did not disapprove of The Kid. It might have been awkward if +she had. As a matter of fact, they became close companions at sight. +There were certain affinities between them. Elizabeth, for example, +although perhaps not so habitually sticky as The Kid, like her didn't +seem able to remain clean or tidy for longer than half an hour at a +time. Also, Elizabeth believing in Signs, The Kid revered her for her +mysticism—about the only person who ever did. She used to beg to be +allowed to study her Dream Book, and every evening before bedtime would +go into the kitchen and—sitting amid that wild disorder that is +necessary to Elizabeth before she can really feel at home—'look up' +her dream of the previous night. +</P> + +<P> +Try as she would, the poor child never seemed to have the sort of +vision that, in the words of the book, had 'excellent portent.' 'I +don't get the nice things,' I once heard her remark, 'like white +horses, you know, which, it says, portend honours, riches and rare +gifts. Did you ever dream of white horses, Elizabeth?' +</P> + +<P> +'That I did—wunst.' +</P> + +<P> +'And did you get the honours, and all those things, Elizabeth?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I got the rare gifts in a manner o' speaking. My gran'mother +died a month later an' left me a pair o' jet earrings and a jet +bracelet to match—one o' them stretchin' ones, on elastic, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +That incident established Elizabeth in The Kid's estimation as a +prophet. Old Moore himself couldn't have done better. +</P> + +<P> +I did not pay much attention to these things; and it was not until +Elizabeth had been with me for some time that I discovered her intense +fatalism. She ordered her life by Signs, in fact. You or I might drop +a tablespoon on the floor and think nothing of it, but she would tell +you at once it was a Sign that a tall dark lady was coming to the +house. If a knife fell you would hear her mutter '<I>That's</I> a man.' +According to Elizabeth, success in life is in no wise due to personal +effort—it all depends on whether you are 'born lucky.' +</P> + +<P> +Unfortunately Elizabeth was 'born unlucky'—unfortunately for me as +well as her. Destiny, having now woven my life with hers, it made me +unlucky, too. For example, she would come to me and announce, 'I've +been unlucky an' broke the teapot this mornin'. That means I'll break +another two things afore the week's out. It always goes in threes.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then hadn't you better smash something that is of no value at once,' +was my obvious suggestion, 'and get it over?' +</P> + +<P> +But Elizabeth, entrenched in her convictions, would shake her head. +'That's no good. I've tried that afore an' it didn't work. You see, +it 'as to be done unexpected to break the spell.' So the spell had to +be broken also. Clearly, human intervention was no good at all. Fate +was against both of us. +</P> + +<P> +There is something positively uncanny in the way misfortune lies in +wait for that girl. You would think that after causing her to break +two full breakfast services it would leave her alone for a while. But +no; she was half-way through the third before her luck showed any signs +of changing. +</P> + +<P> +Spilling the salt accounted for three burnt saucepans and the collapse +of the plate rack (at the moment fully charged); while seeing the new +moon through glass caused her to overlook the fact that she had left a +can in the middle of the staircase. Afterwards (during the week that I +waited on her on account of her sprained ankle) she said she would +never go near a window again until the moon was at full and quite safe. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, I do my best to parry these mysterious blows of Fate. I +remember when she first undertook to clean the drawing-room I took away +everything that a mysterious agency might cause to 'come in two' in her +hands. I left her alone with the grand piano and scrubbing materials, +and went out to spend the afternoon with cheerful countenance. I +returned rather late, and directly Elizabeth opened the door to me I +saw that something was wrong. +</P> + +<P> +'I've been unlucky,' she began. +</P> + +<P> +'Unlucky!' I faltered. 'But what with? Don't say the piano came in +two in your hands?' +</P> + +<P> +'It wasn't my 'ands, it was my feet. The floor gave way an' I went +through.' +</P> + +<P> +'You went through the floor!' I marvelled. Then my face cleared. The +house was not mine, and, after all, the landlord has no right to escape +these unusual machinations of Fate. +</P> + +<P> +'I knew somethink would 'appen when I put the boots on the table by +accident this mornin',' she explained, 'It's always a Bad Sign.' +</P> + +<P> +You must not think, however, that Elizabeth ever allows her fatalism to +interfere with her judgment. I recall the occasion when she came to me +looking actually concerned and remarked: 'I'm sorry, 'm, but them two +varses that was on the mantelpiece in the pink bedroom——' +</P> + +<P> +I started up. 'Don't dare to say you've been unlucky with them!' +</P> + +<P> +'No'm, I wasn't unlucky. I was just careless when I broke those.' +</P> + +<P> +A low moan escaped my lips. They were the Sèvres vases that I loved +dearest of my possessions, and which, in the words of those who keep +shops, 'cannot be repeated.' I regarded Elizabeth angrily, no longer +able to control my wrath. I am at times (says Henry) a hasty woman. I +ought to have paused and put my love of Sèvres vases in the balance +with the diet of scrambled eggs and the prospect of unlimited +washing-up, and I know which side would have tipped up at once. +However, I did not pause, caring not that the bitter recriminations I +intended to hurl at her would bring forth the inevitable month's +notice; that, at the first hint of her leaving me, at least a dozen of +my neighbours would stretch out eager hands to snatch Elizabeth, a +dozen different vacant sinks were ready for her selection. I did not +care, I say; I had loved my vases and in that moment I hated Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +But she began to speak before I did. 'It isn't as if I'd been +unlucky—I couldn't ha' 'elped <I>that</I>. But I know when I'm in the +wrong'—she unfolded a parcel she had in her hand as she spoke—'so I +went out larst night and bought these to replace what I broke. Right's +right, I always say'; and she laid down before me a pair of vases on +which were emblazoned gigantic and strangely-hued flowers that could +belong to no earthly flora. +</P> + +<P> +'They're bigger'n the varses I broke,' she murmured, regarding her +purchase with satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +Then I noted that she wore an expression of lofty pride, that she +glowed with the calm satisfaction of one who has made ample reparation. +Looking at Elizabeth just then you might almost have thought that she +had a soul. Really, it gave one an odd feeling. +</P> + +<P> +I picked up her offering and regarded it a moment in silence, while my +aesthetic nature shook to its foundations. Stifling the moan of horror +that had risen to my lips, I faced her with a smile. Balaclava heroes +could have done no more. +</P> + +<P> +'Thank you, Elizabeth,' I said humbly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +Marion often says that if Elizabeth hadn't … but I believe I +haven't told you about Marion yet. I'm afraid I shall never learn +construction, in spite of Henry. +</P> + +<P> +Well, Marion is Henry's sister. She is what you would call a really +nice girl. Everybody likes her and sends for her when in trouble or +needing advice. Women adore her and tell her all their secrets, and +get her to alter their dresses for them. Men seek her company in order +to pour out their worries and anxieties into her sympathetic ear. She +is always acting as intermediary in love affairs that are not running +smoothly and need the intervention or assistance of a third party. +But—and this is where the poignant touch comes in—she never had a +love affair of her own. I could not understand why. It isn't that +she's unattractive, being quite pretty in that feminine clinging way +which we generally connect with the Victorian era. +</P> + +<P> +There is a certain type of man who admires this type of woman. He +writes to the newspapers, clamouring loudly to be told where the 'nice' +girls are (the girls of modest mien who know only the gentle, +housewifely arts), and signs himself 'Old-Fashioned' or 'Early +Victorian,' or merely gives baffling initials, always being careful not +to disclose his identity. If he really wants these sort of girls why +doesn't he give a name and address to which they can be forwarded? +</P> + +<P> +It is my belief that men like these 'nice' homely women as mothers, but +do not seek for them as wives. But, I ask, how are they to be +mothers—and still remain 'nice'—if they are not first to be selected +as wives? If the position isn't faced they will soon die out +altogether and become as rare as the brontosaurus. We shall go to +museums and see exhibited, 'Fossilized remains of "Nice Girl": supposed +to exist in early part of twentieth century. Rare specimen.' +</P> + +<P> +Everybody said Marion ought to be married as she had those fine +qualities which belong to the ideal home-maker. Nearly every man who +knew her declared that she would make a perfect wife—and then went off +and married someone else. They said the chap would be lucky who got +her—which was true enough—but the idea of going in to win her didn't +seem to occur to any one of them. +</P> + +<P> +So here was Marion, sweet and lovable, who would make a delightful +mother of children and of a home a haven of refuge, languishing alone +for want of a suitable offer of marriage. +</P> + +<P> +I will frankly admit that I planned various matrimonial schemes for +Marion. Many eligible men did I invite to meet her; some fell on stony +ground, and others made excuses and stayed away. +</P> + +<P> +I remained undaunted, although I got no assistance from Henry, who +strongly disapproved of my manoeuvres. In any case, he would never +have been of much help in the matter, being quite unable to distinguish +between the Right and the Wrong kind of man. Also, nearly all his +friends are either married with grown-up children, or elderly widowers +with hearts so firmly embedded in the graves of their former wives that +it would be perfectly impossible to try to excavate them again. +</P> + +<P> +The annoying thing about Henry, too, is his lack of discernment +regarding men. I have known him speak glowingly, and with unabated +enthusiasm, of 'a most interesting chap' he has met at his club, +referring to him as 'altogether delightful,' 'a charming +conversationalist,' and so on, until I have felt impelled to ask Henry +to bring this treasure home to dinner. +</P> + +<P> +Then, after expending myself in the preparation of such things as <I>hors +d'oeuvres</I> and iced cocktails and putting on my most becoming frock +Henry has walked in with a veritable monster of a man. You know the +kind I mean. Quite good and God-fearing and all that, but with one of +those dreadful clematis moustaches which cling half over the face, +beginning at the nostrils and curling under the chin, a form which +undulates in the region of the waistcoat, and a slow and pompous +conversation (mainly devoted to the discussion of politics in the +'fifties). +</P> + +<P> +I remember, shortly after one of these visitations, Henry ringing me up +on the 'phone and asking if it was convenient to bring a man home to +dinner that evening. +</P> + +<P> +'What is he like?' I inquired, still smarting under recent experiences, +'has he much moustache—I mean, is he nice?' +</P> + +<P> +Henry paused. 'Oh, all right. I don't know whether you'd care for +him. Perhaps I'd better not——' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, bring him if you want to, dear,' I conceded. I am not one of +those fussy wives. I like Henry to feel that he can bring a friend +home whenever he likes; but on this occasion I did not make unusual +preparations. After bidding Elizabeth turn the cold meat into curry +and judiciously water the soup to make it enough for four instead of +three, I tidied my hair and descended into the hall to see Henry +helping a man off with his overcoat—and such a man! It was the +dashing, the handsome, the witty Harvey Trevor (political writer on the +<I>Morning Sun</I>). +</P> + +<P> +It was too late to back upstairs again and improvise upon my toilette, +for they both looked up and saw me at that moment. So there I stood, +like a stag at bay, with my nose unpowdered (Henry would say that a +stag doesn't powder its nose, but you will know what I mean) wearing my +dullest and most uninspired house-frock, and hurling silent anathemas +at my heartless husband. +</P> + +<P> +You will now understand how useless Henry was as an ally in my +matrimonial plans for Marion. But I was doggedly determined that she +should make some man happy. At last, indeed, it seemed as though my +efforts were to be crowned with success when George Harbinger appeared +on the scene. +</P> + +<P> +He took to her at once and said that she was just the sort of girl his +mother would like. He declared that Marion's oyster patties were +things of pure delight and ought to be eaten to slow music. (Yes, I +always got Marion to make some of her special pastry when the eligibles +came to dine.) He openly sought her society. They even played +draughts together and he always won. Everything was going splendidly. +</P> + +<P> +I was especially satisfied, for George Harbinger was an estimable man. +He was an assessor, and entirely reliable. Indeed, I believe it would +be difficult to find an assessor who is not. When you read the police +court cases you find all sorts of professions and followings +represented in the charge sheets, from actors down to editors, but have +you ever heard of an assessor who defaulted, who committed bigamy, +arson, larceny, murder, or neglected to pay his income tax? No, you +have not. Also, you seldom hear of an unmarried assessor. They are +known to be such steady, dependable men that they are always snapped up +at once. Thus you can understand how pleased I was to get hold of +George. +</P> + +<P> +One evening it seemed as though things were getting to a climax. +George had eaten four of Marion's oyster patties at dinner and, after +retaining her hand for an undue length of time at parting, asked if he +could see her alone if he called the following evening, as he had +something important to say to her. +</P> + +<P> +Marion was in a flutter. She admitted that she 'rather liked' George. +(Your nice girl never says outright that she's keen on a man.) 'And +what do you think,' she confessed, 'he said when we were playing +draughts to-night that I was just the sort of girl his mother would +like, and—and——' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, go on,' I said tensely. +</P> + +<P> +'That he never believed in a man marrying a girl of whom his mother did +not approve. What do you think he meant by that, dear?' +</P> + +<P> +'Everything,' I said, and took a silent decision to leave no stone +unturned to bring the thing off all right. I planned to leave them +alone in the rose drawing-room with its pink-shaded lights—Marion +looks her best under pink-shaded lights. She was thirty-seven, but +only looked thirty when she had her hair waved and wore her grey +<I>charmeuse</I>. +</P> + +<P> +I, myself, prepared her for the interview. I dressed her hair +becomingly and clasped my matrix necklace around her throat. Then, +soon after George arrived, I excused myself on the plea of having an +article to write—which was perfect truth—and left them alone together. +</P> + +<P> +Doesn't it give you a feeling of contentment when you have done a good +action? You are permeated with a sort of glow which comes from within. +After closing the drawing-room door on Marion and George, I sat down to +work in an atmosphere of righteousness. I could almost imagine there +must be the beginnings of a faint luminous disc around my head. +</P> + +<P> +The subject of the article I now began to write was 'Should Women +Propose?' Treading carefully on the delicate ground of the Woman's +Page, I decided that they must do nothing that is so utterly +unfeminine. 'But there are many subtle little ways in which a woman +can convey to a man her preference for him,' I penned, 'without for a +moment overstepping the bounds of that maidenly reticence which is one +of the charms of——' +</P> + +<P> +The door opened and Elizabeth entered. Elizabeth has a way of entering +when I am most likely to lose the thread of my sentence. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm fair worried about Miss Marryun,' she began. +</P> + +<P> +I looked up with a start. 'What on earth do you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, you see, the Signs are against 'er. They've bin against 'er for +days. Yesterday I see 'er sneeze three times to the left, an' that's +bad. Then when she put her right shoe on 'er wrong foot by accident, I +felt somethin' was comin'. But after I found two triangles an' a mouse +in 'er cup to-day I knew——' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-050"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-050.jpg" ALT="A Bad Sign." BORDER="2" WIDTH="385" HEIGHT="371"> +<H4> +[Illustration: A Bad Sign.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +'A mouse in her cup!' I marvelled. +</P> + +<P> +'Fortune tellin' by tea-leaves, 'm. Well, a mouse is a Bad Sign. It's +my belief that she won't get no propogal this evenin'.' +</P> + +<P> +I looked at Elizabeth sternly. I do not wish to insinuate for one +moment that she is in the habit of listening at doors, but she +certainly gains an insight into our private lives that is nothing short +of uncanny. +</P> + +<P> +'I just been lookin' at the cards,' she continued, 'an' they say as +plain as can be that Mr. 'Arbinger isn't the one. 'E's the wrong +colour.' +</P> + +<P> +'And what colour do you expect him to be?' I demanded. +</P> + +<P> +''Im bein' fair takes King o' Dimonds. Well, Queen o' Clubs—that's +Miss Marryun—is seven cards removed from 'im and the three o' spades +comin' between spells disappointment. But, as I ses to 'er quite +recent, I ses, "If you want to see your true love aright go into the +garding by pale moonlight, walk in a circle, and say,— +</P> + +<P> + "If I my true love now would see----"'<BR> +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth,' I broke in, 'don't forget to grill master's bloaters for +breakfast.' In this way do I recall her and remind her of her duty +when she ignores the chasms of caste and class distinction which yawn +between us. +</P> + +<P> +'Grilled, 'm? Right-o. Well, as I was sayin' about Miss Marryun. +She's gotta ring in 'er fortune and she <I>will</I> get married, but it will +be to a dark man who'll cross water to meet her. She's like me. She +isn't fated to meet the right one yet.' +</P> + +<P> +This was a subtle reference to her own chaotic love affairs. Elizabeth +never has any lack of young men.' But they are like ships that pass in +the night (her night out as a rule), and one by one they drift off, +never stopping to cast anchor in her vicinity. You know what I mean. +Elizabeth can't keep her young men. They seem attracted to her at +first, but, as I say, after a very short time they drift. +</P> + +<P> +'We shall see wot we shall see,' went on Elizabeth, 'there aint no +knowin' an' there aint no tellin'. But wot I ses is, if this 'ere +propogal don't come orf this evenin', I gotta plan. Of course, one +marries accordin' to Fate, but sometimes it doesn't do no 'arm to give +Fate an 'elpin' 'and, like.' +</P> + +<P> +Nodding darkly, she melted out. I did not at the time attach any +significance to her final words. How was I to guess at those schemes +which were even then fermenting in her mind and ended by involving not +only Marion and Another, but the entire family? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + + +<P> +Marion gave me what the newspapers term 'a verbatim report' of the +interview which took place between her and George Harbinger. She +omitted no detail. As far as I understand, when I left them he was +standing with his right foot on the fender and the other on the rug, +and his elbow on the mantelpiece. She was sitting in the easy chair to +the left of the fireplace, in the full glow of the shaded lamp, +knitting a jumper. There was a pause and then he began, 'You never +seem idle for a minute. How nimble your fingers are!' +</P> + +<P> +Marion knitted a little harder. +</P> + +<P> +'I have always hoped,' he went on, 'that the woman I married would be +fond of her needle. There is something so restful in the idea of +coming home in the evening to see one's companion sitting at the +fireside engaged in such womanly tasks.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion said that, no doubt, after a hard day at assessing, such a sight +would be soothing to a man. +</P> + +<P> +He now came and sat beside her. 'I want to ask you something rather +important,' he said, 'but I wonder if I have known you long enough to +warrant it.' +</P> + +<P> +She paused in her knitting for a moment to remind him—very +earnestly—that real friendship and understanding is more a matter of +affinity than actual length of acquaintance. +</P> + +<P> +'You're right,' he said, pondering, 'and, of course, you're so … so +sensible.' +</P> + +<P> +Women hate to be told they are sensible by any one but their +mothers-in-law. But how could an assessor know that? He continued to +regard her earnestly. 'I feel sure, too, that you're so much older +than you look.' +</P> + +<P> +To this day Marion says she's not sure whether this was intended as a +compliment or a deadly insult. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you think,' he went on, 'that a man should ask a woman to marry him +only when she has reached maturity?' +</P> + +<P> +Marion, moving well into the glow of the pink-shaded lamp, said it +depended on the stage of maturity. Nowadays, when women so often look +younger than they really are, it is difficult to tell. +</P> + +<P> +He seemed relieved. 'That's exactly what I feel about it. But +supposing my mother shouldn't approve of my choice? I hate family +squabbles above everything. I have always maintained that I would only +marry the woman that my mother really liked.' +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't that rather a handicap for your future wife?' asked Marion +gently. 'But why not ask your mother's opinion of her?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's just what I want to speak to you about,' he put in eagerly. 'I +. . . I want to ask you if I can introduce you to my mother?' +</P> + +<P> +The knitting fell from Marion's nerveless fingers. She can show you +the uneven row on the jumper where she dropped fifteen stitches at that +moment. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-055"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-055.jpg" ALT="Marion dropped fifteen stitches." BORDER="2" WIDTH="301" HEIGHT="274"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Marion dropped fifteen stitches.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +'I shall be most happy to meet your mother,' she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +'This is really good of you,' he said eagerly. 'You see, you're the +very one she would take to in an instant. I knew it directly I met +you. I don't know any one else she would listen to so willingly, if +you will consent to intervene.' +</P> + +<P> +'Intervene!' echoed Marion. Somehow she did not like the word. Not at +that moment, I mean. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, intervene,' he repeated. There was no mistaking it—what could +be clearer. Latin, <I>inter</I>, between; <I>venio</I>, I come. Marion may have +translated it differently, but she had served in the capacity of buffer +too often to misinterpret its meaning. +</P> + +<P> +'I am to understand that you wish for my aid in a love affair?' she +said. +</P> + +<P> +'That's just about it. You see, I always hoped I should fall in love +with a quiet, homely, staid sort of girl, but dash it all, you can't +govern these things, can you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Sometimes one has to,' said Marion, picking up dropped stitches. +</P> + +<P> +'So I've completely lost my heart to a girl who—well, she's an +actress. She's second from the left in the front row chorus of +"Whizz-Bang" at the Hilarity Theatre; I tell you she's wonderful.' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt,' said Marion, bending lower over her knitting. +</P> + +<P> +'Lottie's quite a good little girl, you know, but she's so +young—barely twenty—and she can't cook or sew or housekeep or do any +of those things which my mother approves. But she dances wonderfully +and kicks higher than anyone else in the chorus——' +</P> + +<P> +'And you want me to make your mother appreciate the … the … +high kicks?' broke in Marion rather bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, not exactly, but you know what mothers are—about the stage, I +mean. So don't you understand that if some sensible little woman like +you were to speak to her about it, she might reconstruct her views——' +</P> + +<P> +He paused, staring in a puzzled way at Marion. Beneath her gentle +exterior she has a decided temper which she is apt to deplore and, she +affirms, must instantly be held in check. This, however, was an +occasion when she did not seem to think the check action need be +applied. She faced George with flashing eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'If you were anything of a man,' she declared, 'you would manage an +affair like that alone without asking help from your woman friends. +Good evening.' +</P> + +<P> +'Good evening,' responded George, not, I suppose, at the moment +thinking of anything more original to say. He departed in a pensive +mood. +</P> + +<P> +'And that,' said Marion, concluding the narrative, 'is all there is to +be told.' +</P> + +<P> +She sat before me with her eyes downcast, her lips quivering, and a +fierce anger rose within me against George Harbinger and mankind in +general who could be so blind to Marion's excellent qualities. As I +took her in my arms and comforted her, kissing her soft cheeks and +fluffy hair, I felt that if I were a man she would be the one woman +above all others that I would desire to have and to hold henceforth and +for evermore. 'Never mind,' I said tenderly, 'some day you'll meet +another who will——' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no, I never shall,' interposed Marion, now openly weeping on my +shoulder. 'I shall never interest any one; I know that now. You can't +understand, Netta, for men are attracted towards you. If Henry died +tomorrow, you'd have half a dozen offers of marriage at once.' +</P> + +<P> +I was rather startled at this suggestion, which somehow hinted +disregard for the unconscious Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'I think I must lack charm,' went on Marion in a choked voice. 'Who +was it described charm as a—a—sort of a bloom on a woman, and said if +she had that she didn't need anything else?' +</P> + +<P> +'It was Barrie,' I said, stroking her hair, 'but don't take any notice +of him, dear.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's just what a man would say. Oh, Netta, why is life so hard to a +woman? Why must she always be the one to stifle her feelings, repress +her natural instincts, wait for man to take the lead? Why can't she be +the leading spirit if she wishes, without being humiliated? Why +shouldn't women propose?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's just what I've been writing about,' I said involuntarily. +</P> + +<P> +She raised her head from my shoulder. 'And what did you say about it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I held that a woman can—er—oh, hang it all, never mind what I +<I>wrote</I> about it. What I <I>say</I> is that of course they ought to propose +if they want to. There should be perfect equality of the sexes.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, if there was,' put in Marion, her practical common sense coming +to her aid, 'it wouldn't after all make a man want to marry me just +because it was I who put the question. It's no use, Netta. I'm a born +old maid. I've got to go through life heart-hungry, loving other +people's babies instead of my own, and stepping aside to let all the +fair things go past me.' +</P> + +<P> +Poor little Marion! She looked very wistful and pathetic at that +moment. A lump rose in my throat as I strove to dry her eyes and find +words of comfort. +</P> + +<P> +She sobbed on unrestrainedly, however, and nothing I could say would +soothe her. 'Marion, darling,' I whispered, my own eyes growing moist, +'don't cry any more. Isn't there anything I can say to cheer you up? +Can't I suggest anything——?' +</P> + +<P> +The door opened and Elizabeth entered. She carried a tray in her hand +on which were a bottle of stout and a glass. +</P> + +<P> +'I thort so,' she said, setting down the tray and looking at Marion's +drooping form. 'Ah, these men—'ounds, I call 'em. I came in to 'ave +a word with Miss Marryun and cheer 'er up, like. I bin through it +myself, so I knows.' +</P> + +<P> +She approached Marion and laid a damp red hand on her shoulder. 'I bin +lookin' at the cards for you, miss, an' I see a loverly future,' she +began in a coaxing voice. 'I see a tall dark man crossin' water for +you, with a present in 'is right 'and.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion, who was not without a sense of humour, smiled rather wanly. +Encouraged, Elizabeth continued: 'Wot's the use o' spoilin' your pretty +eyes cryin' for the moon—by which I mean Mr. 'Arbinger—when 'e isn't +your Fate? Why, bless you, I was once goin' to marry a plumber's mate, +and jest a week afore the weddin 'e went orf with some one else an' +owin' me arf-a-crown, too. I was cut up at the time, but I know now 'e +wasn't my Fate, 'avin been told since that I'm goin' to marry a man +wot'll work with 'is brain. So cheer up, Miss Marryun, and come an' +'ave this nice glarss o' stout I've brought in for you.' She unscrewed +the bottle as she spoke. 'I always find that when things are at their +worst, an' you're feelin' real pipped like, a glarss o' stout acts like +magic. Yes, it's the right stuff, is stout.' +</P> + +<P> +The situation was distinctly ludicrous. Yet neither Marion nor I +laughed. We watched Elizabeth solemnly pouring out the stout, after +which she handed it to Marion, who, though she 'never touches' anything +alcoholic as a rule, took it and drank it off 'like a lamb,' as +Elizabeth expressed it. +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause. Then the corners of Marion's mouth ceased to droop. +She smiled. I smiled. Elizabeth smiled. +</P> + +<P> +There was another pause. 'I think, Elizabeth,' I remarked, 'I'll have +a glass—just a small glass—of stout myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'You do right, 'm. I'll fetch you a glass.' +</P> + +<P> +'And Elizabeth, if you'd care to have some——' +</P> + +<P> +'Thank you very much 'm, I <I>did</I> take the liberty of 'avin' a taste +already, but a little drop more wouldn't do me any 'arm, as the sayin' +is.' +</P> + +<P> +She went out. Marion set down her glass and put away her +pocket-handkerchief. 'How silly of me to worry about Mr. Harbinger,' +she said. 'After all, I suppose Fate never intended us for each other.' +</P> + +<P> +I recognized in a flash that Elizabeth had succeeded where I had +failed, and I was conscious of a certain admiration for her methods. +Yet at that moment no hint of subsequent events filtered into my mind; +I did not suspect—even dimly—the possibilities of Elizabeth. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + + +<P> +Neither Elizabeth or Marion like William. Of the two, Elizabeth is +more tolerant towards him, merely commenting that 'she couldn't abide +his ways.' Marion, however, views him with an antipathy entirely +foreign to one of her gentle nature. I think, in the light of what +happened later, if she had only shown a little more forbearance towards +him it might have simplified matters. +</P> + +<P> +William is our friend. He drops in to see us when he likes, sits with +his feet on our mantelpiece, strews tobacco ash on the carpet, and +always tells me which of my hats are the most unbecoming, so you can +imagine what a close friend he is. Though he does not stick any closer +than a brother, he is equally as frank. He likes Henry and tolerates +me. For the rest of the women in the world he has a strong objection. +Not that he is a misogynist; but he always holds that a woman +interferes with a man's life. I often think that William would be all +the better for a little judicious feminine interference. He has, +however, now got beyond the stage of redemption. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-064"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-064.jpg" ALT="Our Friend William." BORDER="2" WIDTH="369" HEIGHT="301"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Our Friend William.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Home means nothing more to William than a comfortable ledge below the +mantelpiece where he can put his feet, a carpet which will not spoil +with tobacco ash, and a few tables and chairs scattered about just to +hold a good supply of old magazines and newspapers handy for lighting +his pipe. He wears those shaggy, unbrushed-looking clothes which all +good women abhor. Worst of all, he is constantly getting imbued with +new and fantastic ideas which cause him to live in a (quite +unnecessary) ferment of enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +A good wife, now, would nip these ideas in the bud and make existence +infinitely more restful to him. Henry and he once got up a notion of +inventing a new drink which was to make them both everlastingly famous +and superlatively rich. They talked about it for hours and had even +got to designing the labels and bottles when I stepped in and told +Henry not to be a silly ass, that he was making a fool of himself, and +a few other sensible wifely things like that which finally brought him +to reason. William, however, having no one to bring him to reason, +goes on day by day becoming more of a lunatic. I could never +understand why there is such a close bond between him and Henry, unless +it is because they enjoy arguing together. Henry, being a Scotsman, +likes argument; and William, being an Irishman, likes hearing his own +voice. Thus they seldom got bored with each other. +</P> + +<P> +The time we did get bored with William was when he turned inventor. It +came rather as a surprise to us; and when he began to be abstracted, +profoundly meditative, almost sullen, with an apparent desire to be +alone, we thought at first that it was the onset of hydrophobia. In +fact, we looked it up on the back of the dog-licence to make sure. +</P> + +<P> +William's remarks next became irrelevant. For example, after being +wrapped in silence for over half an hour, he suddenly flung out the +question, 'How many people do you know who possess a trousers-press? +</P> + +<P> +Faced with the problem, I confessed I could not connect a single +acquaintance with a trousers-press. 'Henry hasn't got one,' I admitted. +</P> + +<P> +'Neither have I,' said William. (I didn't doubt that for an instant.) +He went on to remark that he knew many men in many walks of life, and +only two of them owned a trousers-press, and they shared it between +them. Yet the inventor of this apparently negligible article had made +a small fortune out of the idea. +</P> + +<P> +'If,' concluded William, 'you can make a small fortune out of a thing +that you can dispense with, how much more can you make out of something +that you can't do without?' +</P> + +<P> +This sentence I give as William composed it, and from its construction +you will understand the state of his mind, for he was as fastidious +regarding style as Henry himself. Of course there was some excuse for +him. You see, when you're an inventor you can't be anything else. It +takes all your time. Judging by William's procedure you must sit up +experimenting all night long; you lie down in your clothes and snatch a +little sleep at odd moments. When you walk abroad you stride along +muttering, waving your arms and bumping into people; you forget to eat; +your friends fall away from you. Let me advise parents who are +thinking of a career for their sons never to make inventors of them. +It's a dog's life. Far better to put them to something with regular +hours, say from 10.30 to 4 o'clock, which leaves them with the evenings +free. +</P> + +<P> +William wouldn't divulge what his invention was, because, he said, he +was afraid of the idea getting about before he took out the patent. He +merely told us it was a device which no man living could do without. +But he went so far as to show us the inner workings of his discovery +(hereinafter referred to as It), which, not knowing what they were for, +rather mystified us. I know there was a small suction valve which +involved the use of water, because William demonstrated to us one +Sunday afternoon in the drawing-room. He said afterwards that the +unexpected deluge that broke over the politely interested faces +gathered round him was merely due to a leakage in the valve, and he set +to work to repair it at once. +</P> + +<P> +At that time William always carried on his person a strange assortment +of screws, metal discs, springs, bits of rubber and the like. He +pulled them out in showers when he took out his handkerchief; they +dripped from him when he stood up. I think he kept them about him for +inspiration. +</P> + +<P> +William completed It in a frenzy of enthusiasm. He said that nothing +now stood between him and a vast fortune, and in a mood of reckless +generosity he promised us all shares, which certainly tended to deepen +our interest in the invention. Then he betook himself to the Patent +Office. +</P> + +<P> +I saw him the following day, and it occurred to me at once that all was +not well with William. For one thing he did not burst in unannounced +with hair dishevelled, which seems to be the usual way for an inventor +to come into a room; he entered slowly and sat down heavily. +</P> + +<P> +'Is anything wrong with the invention?' I asked. +</P> + +<P> +He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. A metal disc fell +out and rolled unheeded across the floor. +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing is wrong with it,' he answered dully. +</P> + +<P> +'You don't mean that some one else has thought of It before you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Most people seem to have thought of It.' He paused and absently +plucked off a stray piece of rubber from his coat sleeve. 'It seems to +have originated in America in 1880. Then a large colony of German +inventors applied for the patent; a body of Russians were imbued with +the idea; several Scandinavians had variations of it. It even seems to +have filtered into the brain of certain West African tribes; and in +1918 a Czecho-Slovak——' He paused, overcome with emotion. +</P> + +<P> +'But if It is a thing man can't do without, why haven't we heard of +it?' I demanded. +</P> + +<P> +'Men,' replied William sadly, seem determined to do without It. They +don't know what is good for them.' +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he raised his head with the light of enthusiasm in his eyes. +'By the way, I was talking to a chap at the Patent Office who told me +that there's an enormous boom in inventing in this country just now. +Henry ought to get a good article out of it.' +</P> + +<P> +As a matter of fact it was the only thing that ever was got out of the +invention. +</P> + +<P> +William, being an Irishman, didn't let failure depress him in the +least. We were all glad to see him rational again—as rational as +could be expected from him, I mean. As Elizabeth was wont to express +it, ''E aint screwed up like other folk, so what can you expect.' But +as I have said, she did not approve of William. It was not so much +that she took exception to the trail of tobacco ash that followed in +his wake, or the unusual litter he created during his inventive period. +She resented the fact that he was unmarried, having, at all times, a +strong objection to celibacy. +</P> + +<P> +'When a man gets to the age o' that there Mr. Roarings' (William's +surname is Rawlings, so she didn't get so far out for her)—'an' isn't +married 'e's cheatin' some pore girl out of 'er rights, I ses,' she +declared. 'Selfishness! Spendin' all 'is money on 'isself. W'y isn't +'e married?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know, Elizabeth,' I replied, 'but if you like, I'll ask him.' +</P> + +<P> +'That'll do no good. 'E orter be thrown together with the right kind +o' young lady and kept up to the scratch. That's wot orter be done. +I'll look up the cards for 'im and see wot 'is Signs is. I'd like to +see 'im married and settled down.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps you mean to marry him yourself, Elizabeth?' +</P> + +<P> +She gave a snort of indignation. 'Me! 'E's not my style. Give me a +young man who can set off a bright necktie an' a white waistcoat with a +nice watch an' albert 'ung on to it. But Mr. Roarings' now, 'e'd do +well for some one who 'ad settled down, like, with quiet sort o' +tastes. I got some one in my mind's eye for 'im already.' +</P> + +<P> +From the moment that Elizabeth took his destiny in hand William was no +longer safe, I felt sure. The Signs began to get to work upon him. +</P> + +<P> +'William,' I said to him one day, 'Elizabeth means to marry you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why should I marry Elizabeth?' he asked placidly. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't mean that she herself is to be the blushing bride. She +prefers a man with a taste in waistcoats, a flowing auburn moustache, +and a tendency to bright neckties, none of which qualities or +quantities you possess. She means to get you married to some one else.' +</P> + +<P> +William slowly removed his pipe from his mouth and regarded me with +intense earnestness. He is not the sort of person who lets his +emotions ripple to the surface, so his serious mien surprised me. He +raised his hand in a prophetic attitude and began to speak. 'Dr. +Johnson has rightly said that the incommodities of a single life are +necessary and certain, but those of a conjugal state are avoidable. +Excellent philosophy. Sooner than get married, my dear madame, I would +walk in the wilderness, conversing with no man; I would fly to the +fastnesses of Tibet; I would make of myself a hermit in a cave that was +strongly barricaded. I would eschew tobacco. I would pay, to the +uttermost farthing, any bachelor tax imposed by the State.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you so utterly abhor the idea of marriage?' I asked, profoundly +astonished. +</P> + +<P> +'I do,' said William. +</P> + +<P> +A strange sound broke on our ears. It seemed to come through the +keyhole, and resembled the contemptuous sniff with which Elizabeth +always expresses incredulity. But, of course, it couldn't have been +that. +</P> + +<P> +As I have said, Elizabeth never listens at doors. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + + +<P> +(William—although he has a great regard for Pepys—does not himself +keep a diary. From time to time, however, he 'chronicles the +outstanding events in his career,' as he puts it. The following is one +of William's 'chronicles,' which shows more knowledge than I have of +the happenings in this chapter.) +</P> + +<P> +<I>William's Story</I>: The more I think of it the more terrible the thing +becomes from every aspect. Who could have thought that I, only a few +days ago placidly drifting down the stream of life, should be jerked +into such a maelstrom of difficulties? I must, however, try to think +calmly. As Dr. Johnson has said, 'One of the principal themes of moral +instruction is the art of bearing calamities.' +</P> + +<P> +Let me try to narrate the events in their order—to trace, as far as +possible, how this particular calamity occurred. +</P> + +<P> +It began with Elizabeth. Or, I should say, she was the bearer of those +disastrous tidings which have robbed me of my peace of mind and given +me nights of sleepless horror. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth, I ought to explain, is employed at the house of my friends, +the Warringtons, as domestic worker. Up to the time of which I write I +had barely observed the girl, beyond remarking that she was exceedingly +lank as to form, and had a distressing habit of breathing very heavily +when serving at table, due, I thought, to asthmatic tendencies. +</P> + +<P> +I learned later that it only betokened anxiety lest she should drop the +various vessels she was handing round. +</P> + +<P> +The circumstances which brought her particularly under my notice were +singular. I had called at the Warringtons' one evening to have a smoke +and chat with Henry, as is my wont. Elizabeth, after showing me into +the study, told me that her master had gone out, but asked me to wait +as he was expected to return every minute. I settled myself down, +therefore, reached out for the tobacco jar, while my feet sought the +familiar ledge below the mantelpiece, when I observed that Elizabeth +was hovering in my vicinity. +</P> + +<P> +'Excuse me, sir,' she said, speaking with apparent hesitation, +'but—but—do you mind if I speak to you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why shouldn't you speak to me if you want to?' I said, surprised and +rather puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, you see, sir, it's a bit 'ard to tell you. I dunno how to begin +exactly—makes me feel like a cat treadin' on 'ot plates.' I quote +exactly the rough vernacular of the lower classes in which she +habitually expresses herself. +</P> + +<P> +'There is no necessity for you to feel like a cat—or any other +animal—treading on plates hot or otherwise when unburdening yourself +to me,' I said kindly and benevolently, to put her at her ease. As a +matter of fact, I half surmised the cause of her embarrassment. No +doubt she had broken some object of value and wished me to act as +intermediary with her mistress in the matter. I have frequently heard +Mrs. Warrington complain of her ever-recurring breakages. +</P> + +<P> +'If I can assist you in any way,' I continued, 'and intervene——' +</P> + +<P> +'Inter-wot?' said Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Er—perhaps you desire me to put in a good word for you with your +mistress——' +</P> + +<P> +'Do I <I>not</I>,' she broke in. 'I can put in all the good words <I>I</I> want +meself—yes, an' a few more, too.' +</P> + +<P> +I was pondering on the remarkable formation of this sentence which lent +itself neither to analysis nor parsing, when her next words arrested my +instant attention. +</P> + +<P> +'It's about Miss Marryun I wanted to speak to you,' she said. +</P> + +<P> +I stared. Why on earth should she speak to me about Miss Warrington, +Henry's sister? I have not noticed her closely, but she is a quiet +enough female, I believe, though possessed of an irritating habit of +constantly pressing quite unnecessary ash-trays on a man. +</P> + +<P> +To my surprise Elizabeth closed the door at this point and, coming up +to me, whispered in a strange husky voice: 'That's just where all the +trouble begins. It's what I overheerd 'er sayin' about you.' +</P> + +<P> +I must confess to feeling rather startled. Then I remembered Mrs. +Warrington had often commented on Elizabeth's curious proclivities for +'overhearing.' I looked at her coldly. I had not the slightest +intention of becoming her confidant. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well, my good girl,' I retorted briskly, 'listeners never hear +any good of themselves—or of other people either, I suppose. So, if +you please, we will drop the subject.' I then picked up a book and +held it before me to signify that the parley was at an end. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth snorted. The term is vulgar, I know, but no other expression +is adequate. 'Oo was listenin', I'd like to know?' she asked. 'I sed +<I>overheerd</I>. The door was well on the jar and I was dustin' the 'all +when I 'ears Miss Marryun a-moanin' and a-sobbin' like. Missus was +talkin' to 'er and soothin' 'er. "Don't carry on so," she ses, "for I +tells you, it's no use." +</P> + +<P> +'"No use," ses Miss Marryun in a choked sort o' voice, "why is it no +use? I love 'im, I adore 'im. Oh, Willyum, Willyum, you'll break my +'art if you go on with this yeer cold indifference——"' +</P> + +<P> +'Stop,' I interposed sternly. At any other time I might have smiled at +the girl's quaint phraseology. But I did not smile just then. <I>Dulce +est desipere in loco</I>. Wild as the story sounded, it was making me +feel decidedly uncomfortable. A slight perspiration had broken out on +my forehead. But I threw a strong note of assurance into my voice as I +went on: 'Girl, this is a monstrous action on your part to +listen—er—overhear at doors and repeat conversations of a most +delicate nature to a third party.' +</P> + +<P> +'What-ho,' put in Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Now let me show you the mistake under which you are labouring. It is +true my name is William, but William is a common name. I have +remarked, indeed, that the world is pretty full of Williams. Miss +Warrington was in no way referring to me.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think,' commented Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Evidently you don't,' I said severely, 'or you would not make such +absurd statements.' +</P> + +<P> +'I ain't done yet,' went on this diabolical creature. 'You say it +wasn't meant fer you? Listen. When Miss Marryun goes on wringin' 'er +'ands an' sobbin', "I love my Willyum," missus ses, "But 'ow can you +love such a big ugly brute of a man wot's allus throwin' 'is tobacco +ash about the place, and scrapin' the fendy with 'is feet and never +wears a fancy westcoat even at evernin' parties. 'Ow can you love +him?" she arsks. +</P> + +<P> +'"I don't know myself," ses Miss Marryun, "but there it is. I'd rather +die than live without my Willyum."' +</P> + +<P> +'Silence,' I burst out fiercely, 'do you think I don't know that all +this is pure invention on your part—for what reason I, as yet, cannot +tell. How dare you concoct such tales?' +</P> + +<P> +'Wait till I've finished, please, sir. The missus, she ses, "But +Marryun, my pore dear, it's no use lovin' 'im. 'E ses to me 'is very +self the other day, 'e ses, 'Sooner than get married I'd go and dwell +in the wilderness, I'd go to Tibbet, be an 'ermit in a cave, give up +baccy, and give away every farthin' I 'ad in the world.'"' +</P> + +<P> +A feeling of acute horror swept over me. With a crash my favourite +pipe fell from my nerveless fingers and was smashed to atoms on the +fender. There was truth in the girl's fantastic story after all. I +recalled using such expressions as those when, a little time before, I +was discussing conjugal difficulties in a talk with Mrs. Warrington. +Obviously the girl could not have made the thing up. I passed my hand +wildly across my brow. 'But what have I done that she should fall in +love with me? What is there about me to attract any woman?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nothink, as I can see,' she retorted, 'but with a woman's heart +there's no knowin' an' there's no tellin'. P'raps you've managed to +throw dust in her eyes.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have thrown nothing—I mean, Miss Warrington and I are only slightly +acquainted with each other. I have, indeed, barely noticed her. And +now you tell me this horrible thing.' +</P> + +<P> +She bridled. 'Wot's 'orrible about it? You ought to be glad. Most +men would be proud to marry a young lady 'oo's got such a light 'and +for pastry, and can mend up an old pair o' pants to make 'em look like +new. She's just the sort of wife——' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-080"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-080.jpg" ALT="'Wot's 'orrible about it?'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="369" HEIGHT="385"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Wot's 'orrible about it?'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +'"Wife,"' I interrupted, '"marry"? What do you mean by those words, +girl? Do you think for one instant if all the females in Christendom +were to fall in love with me I would <I>marry</I> any one of them! No, a +thousand times, no. I repeat I will never, <I>never</I> marry.' +</P> + +<P> +'I 'eard yer,' said Elizabeth, 'and do you sit there and mean to tell +me that you're going to break a gentle woman's 'eart deliberate?' +</P> + +<P> +The imputation caused me to shudder from head to foot. 'No, no, +Elizabeth. If I have unwittingly caused the lady pain I am deeply +remorseful. But she must, as soon as possible, be disillusioned.' +</P> + +<P> +'Dish-who?' said Elizabeth. In this peculiar and baffling way does +she express herself. It makes a sustained conversation extremely +difficult and, at times, almost impossible. +</P> + +<P> +'She must be brought to dislike me, I mean. In this matter I must ask +you to help me.' I took a ten-shilling note from my pocket. 'If, from +time to time, you will talk to Miss Warrington of my many faults—you +can invent what you like——' +</P> + +<P> +'Shan't need to invent much in the way o' faults,' put in the monstrous +girl. 'But it's my belief she likes you for 'em. Some women are made +like that. Anyway,' she handed me back the note which I had +endeavoured to press into her warm, moist palm. 'I'm not wantin' this. +I'm not goin' to take blood money to 'elp to break any woman's 'eart.' +</P> + +<P> +It sounded really terrible viewed in that light. 'There is no need for +you to put it in that coarse way,' I said, my temper rising. 'I only +ask you to help me to regain my peace of mind and secure Miss +Warrington's happiness.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, if you put it like that o' course,' she said, her fingers +closing over the note, 'I'm not the one to refuse good money. I'm +willin' to do all I can to make you an' Miss Marryun happy.' With a +broad grin she sidled out of the room. +</P> + +<P> +As for me, I gathered up the fragments of my pipe and departed. I no +longer wished to talk to Henry just then. I wanted to be alone to +think, to consider my strategic position. I must go away to some +remote place, perhaps not Tibet, but at any rate a quiet spot in the +country fully twenty miles out of London. Before going, however, I +must in some way show Miss Warrington the utter folly of her illusions +regarding my unfortunate self. Nothing must be left undone to achieve +that object. +</P> + +<P> +Alas, what troubles, what unending anxiety a woman can cause a man! +After getting over this difficulty, I swear I will not even converse +with any one of them again. In the meantime I must invoke the aid of +this wretched girl Elizabeth. <I>Necessitas non habet legem</I>. Elizabeth +is that most irritating necessity. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + + +<P> +Elizabeth often speaks of the time when she poisoned The Kid. She says +she never had such a 'turn' in all her life, and wouldn't go through +such an experience again for all the money in the world. Neither, +indeed, would I, or Henry, or Marion. Looking back on the matter, I +don't think The Kid cared for it either. +</P> + +<P> +It was a peaceful summer evening. The Kid had just gone to bed and +we—Henry, Marion and I—had foregathered in the study. Marion spends +most of her time with us, being one of those delightfully restful +persons who doesn't need to be 'entertained,' who doesn't talk to you +if you want to do a little writing at meal times, and is altogether a +desirable visitor. Thus, at the moment of which I write, we sat in +perfect amity and silence, Henry working, I working, while every time I +looked up my eyes fell on the gratifying vision of dear Marion making a +blouse for me. Suddenly the door opened and Elizabeth entered. +</P> + +<P> +'That there medicine you told me to give Miss Moira,' she said. 'I +just been looking at it and I see it's got your name on the bottle.' +She held it out to me as she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +'Why is The Kid taking medicine?' inquired Marion. +</P> + +<P> +'It's only a little tonic the doctor prescribed. But,' I stared at the +bottle Elizabeth had brought in, 'this is my medicine. The chemist +must have mixed up the prescriptions when I took them to him.' +Suddenly I sprang to my feet. 'Great Heavens! My tonic contains +strychnine!' +</P> + +<P> +'And as you've been taking it for some time, I expect the dose has been +increased,' said Marion excitedly. 'How much did you give her, +Elizabeth?' +</P> + +<P> +'A teaspoonful, miss, as usual.' +</P> + +<P> +I wrung my hands. 'I take only six drops at a time myself! What are +we to do?' +</P> + +<P> +'One place I was at,' put in Elizabeth, 'the master was rather fond of +a drop too much, an' 'e come 'ome very late one night an' drank spirits +o' salt thinkin' it was something else, so we give 'im stuff to bring +it up agen.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course,' said Marion, 'that's the very thing.' Long ago, during +the war, she worked in a hospital, so she affects to know something of +medicines. 'Give The Kid an emetic at once. Ipecac. Dose 5 minims. +Repeat, if necessary. Or salt and water. I'll dash off to the +doctor's and ask him what's to be done.' And seizing the bottle she +hurried out. +</P> + +<P> +The Kid was sitting up in bed eating her supper when Elizabeth, Henry +and I burst breathlessly into her room. Her face was shining with +quiet contentment. +</P> + +<P> +'Look, Mama, dear,' she said, 'at the beautiful baked custard Elizabeth +has made for my supper. Wasn't it kind of her?' +</P> + +<P> +I snatched the custard away from her grasp. 'Don't eat another +mouthful,' I panted, 'you're going to have an emetic. You must be sick +at once.' +</P> + +<P> +Mutely questioning inexorable Fate, she raised large, contemplative +eyes to mine. '<I>Must</I> I, Mama? Can't I finish my custard first?' +</P> + +<P> +There is about The Kid's character a stoic philosophy, blended, since +she has known Elizabeth, with a certain fatalism. Her habit of saying +'<I>Must</I> I?' when faced with a disagreeable duty, indicates her outlook +on life. If those in authority declare she must, then there is no more +to be said about it. They represent Fate in action. She now yielded +up the custard with a sigh, but obediently drank the mixture I handed +her. There was a pause. +</P> + +<P> +'How are you feeling, dear?' I inquired. +</P> + +<P> +'Quite well, thank you, Mama, dear. May I have my custard now?' +</P> + +<P> +'You ought not to be feeling well,' I said, puzzled. 'You'd better +have some more drops.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, must I, Mama?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, dear. Drink this.' I now gave her a slightly larger dose. +There was a still longer pause, and Henry, Elizabeth and I waited for +her to speak, or express emotion of some sort. At last she opened her +lips and said, 'May I have——' +</P> + +<P> +'A basin?' inquired Elizabeth, darting forward. +</P> + +<P> +'——my custard, now, if you please, Elizabeth?' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' I said sternly. 'It's very strange that the ipecac, has had no +effect.' +</P> + +<P> +'Try salt and water. There's more about it, like,' remarked Elizabeth. +'I'll fetch some.' +</P> + +<P> +'And hurry,' Henry commanded, 'every moment's delay is making the thing +more serious.' +</P> + +<P> +'Now drink this salt and water, darling,' I urged The Kid when +Elizabeth reappeared. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, <I>must</I> I, Mama?' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-088"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-088.jpg" ALT="'Oh, must I, Mama?'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="369" HEIGHT="245"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Oh, must I, Mama?'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +'Yes. Your life depends upon it.' +</P> + +<P> +She drank rather hastily at that. There was a long, long pause while +Elizabeth, Henry and I gazed into each other's eyes and—waited. +</P> + +<P> +'How do you feel now?' I asked at last with strained anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm feeling rather sick now, thank you, Mama, dear. But perhaps I +could manage a little of my cus——' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' I interrupted. 'Can't you be sick, child?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid I can't, Mama.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then why can't you?' Henry burst out. 'It's dreadful—most unnatural.' +</P> + +<P> +'She's got a stummick like an 'orse,' commented Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Prompt action is vital,' put in Henry firmly. 'There are other +emetics. Mustard and——' +</P> + +<P> +'I've always 'eard that soap and water's good for turnin' any one +over,' began Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Soap and water!' I echoed, 'yes, that sounds the worst—the best, I +mean. Get it at once, Elizabeth.' +</P> + +<P> +'Enough to make a good lather, should you think, 'm?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, <I>must</I> I?' wailed the Kid, still questioning inexorable Fate. +</P> + +<P> +We all united in preparing the soap and water to avoid delay. +Elizabeth boiled the water. Henry cut the soap into small flakes, and +I beat it up into a lather. Then, now in a condition of feverish +anxiety, I handed The Kid the foaming mixture. +</P> + +<P> +'Drink,' I panted. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, mus——' she began. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't say that again!' I exclaimed, overwrought by the intensity of my +emotions. 'Can't you see how serious it is, child? You might die any +minute.' +</P> + +<P> +She drank off the contents of the glass without further question. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, that ought to do it,' commented Henry, looking at a few +iridescent bubbles at the bottom of the glass. 'I made it strong.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a strained silence when I almost seemed to hear my own heart +beats. 'How—how—do you feel, now, darling?' I asked at last. +</P> + +<P> +'Dreadful, thank you, Mama, dear.' +</P> + +<P> +'That isn't enough,' I cried in anguish. 'Can't you——?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, I can't, Mama.' +</P> + +<P> +'This is terrible,' I broke out, fast becoming hysterical. 'What is to +be done! Can nothing save her?' +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose the doctor will bring along a stomach pump,' said Henry, +trying to soothe me. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, must he?' moaned The Kid (ignored). +</P> + +<P> +'Get 'er to put 'er finger down 'er throat,' suggested Elizabeth +brightly; 'that'll work it.' +</P> + +<P> +It was the last straw. The Kid, though still dutiful, was utterly +outraged. 'No, no, I won't,' she cried in open rebellion. +</P> + +<P> +She looked unhappy. The soap and water had evidently met the allied +forces of ipecac. and salt, and a fierce battle was, no doubt, in +progress in her interior at the moment. 'I won't,' she repeated +desperately. +</P> + +<P> +'Do try, darling,' implored Henry, 'and I'll give you a whole shilling.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no, <I>no</I>. I don't want any shillings.' Judging by her expression +the soap must have commenced an encircling movement, and the salt and +ipecac. were hurrying up reserves. 'I won't put my finger down my +throat.' +</P> + +<P> +'What are we to do?' I said, wringing my hands. 'I never knew her to +be so obstinate. Why, oh, why doesn't the doctor come? The child is +beginning to look so strange already.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, wot I'd do if I was you,' suggested Elizabeth, 'is to begin the +doses all over again——' +</P> + +<P> +'Good,' said Henry. 'Firstly the ipecac.——' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, must I?' interrupted The Kid. +</P> + +<P> +To my intense relief Marion dashed in at that moment. 'Have you given +her an emetic?' she demanded breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth, Henry and I gathered round her with the necessary +information. +</P> + +<P> +'She has had several. Ipecac.——' +</P> + +<P> +'Twice.' +</P> + +<P> +'Salt and water——' +</P> + +<P> +'A cupful.' +</P> + +<P> +'Warm soap and water——' +</P> + +<P> +'One glass.' +</P> + +<P> +'And,' I concluded, now in tears, 'she won't be sick—simply <I>won't</I>!' +</P> + +<P> +'I do want to, <I>auntie</I>,' explained The Kid, her child's sense of +justice receiving mortal blows, 'but I can't <I>be</I>——' +</P> + +<P> +Marion stood and gazed at her in awe. 'It's wonderful,' she murmured, +'amazing! I think, perhaps, <I>The Lancet</I> would be interested in a +letter on the subject.' +</P> + +<P> +'But what did the doctor say?' broke in Henry. 'Is he coming?' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' said Marion, 'he——' +</P> + +<P> +'Why not?' I asked feverishly. +</P> + +<P> +'Because he said it was all right directly he tasted the contents of +the bottle. But to make quite sure he 'phoned to your chemist, who, it +appears, put your name on the bottle instead of The Kid's. He was +awfully sorry and apologetic.' +</P> + +<P> +'Sorry!' I echoed, 'apologetic! Why, the man's a monster. To think of +all I've suffered through his carelessness.' I sank down on a chair. +'I'm quite overwrought.' +</P> + +<P> +'There's no harm done, thank goodness,' said Marion. +</P> + +<P> +'"All's well that ends well,"' quoted Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm fair relieved to get that load orf my mind,' supplemented +Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Mama, dear,' put in The Kid, glad, no doubt, that at last she was able +to please, 'I think that now I really can <I>be</I>——' +</P> + +<P> +'It doesn't matter now, darling,' I explained. 'You'd better lie +perfectly still and let it pass off.' +</P> + +<P> +'Must I, Mama?' +</P> + +<P> +We all moved towards the door. The relief from the strain was apparent +in our joyous faces and lightened mien. We sang out 'Good-night' to +The Kid, and went out laughing and chatting. Half-way down the stairs +we heard her calling. +</P> + +<P> +'Mama, dear.' +</P> + +<P> +'What is it?' we all asked in chorus. +</P> + +<P> +'Please may I have my custard <I>now</I>?' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + + +<P> +<I>Being an extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington: Thursday</I>. +A most remarkable and perplexing thing has happened. Never, for a +moment, could I have dreamed of such an improbable and embarrassing +occurrence. +</P> + +<P> +It was Elizabeth who first brought it to my notice, and I can only wish +she had never made that strange discovery which is causing me so much +uneasiness. I was spending the day with Netta, and had gone into the +kitchen for a moment, when Elizabeth asked if she might speak to me in +confidence. This rather surprised me, because she does not, as a rule, +show such diffidence about speaking (in confidence or otherwise) to any +one. +</P> + +<P> +'Is it anything very important?' I inquired. +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to hesitate and then jerked out, 'Well, miss, it's about +that there Mr. Roarings.' +</P> + +<P> +I at once felt rather troubled on Netta's account. Perhaps Elizabeth +was on the verge of giving notice as a protest against the extra work +involved by having that monstrously untidy man about the place. Why +Netta tolerates him with his slovenly habits is beyond my comprehension. +</P> + +<P> +'What has he been doing now?' I asked. 'Surely he hasn't started +another invention?' I never before realized what a thoroughly untidy, +disordered business inventing could be until I saw him at it. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, no, miss, nothin' like that, only—only—well, it was what I see +when 'e was standin' in the droring-room the other day, an' I was just +at the door——' +</P> + +<P> +'I quite understand, Elizabeth. He has burnt a hole in that beautiful +pile carpet.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, miss, he——' +</P> + +<P> +'Then he has scorched the rose silk tapestry on the couch!' It is my +opinion that he should not be allowed in the drawing-room at all. He +isn't safe with a pipe in his mouth or a box of matches in his pocket. +Henry ought to take out a special insurance against Mr. Rawlings. +</P> + +<P> +'No, it's nothin' like that, miss. As I was sayin', 'e was standin' in +the droring-room. The door was wide open. I was just goin' in to dust +an' then I sees that 'e's 'oldin' your photo in 'is 'ands, that big one +in the silver frame. 'E was starin' at it wild-like, and a-mutterin' +to 'isself. I 'eard 'im say, quite distinct, "Oh, Marryun, Marryun, my +beautiful darlin', 'ow I adore you," ses e. "I'm not 'arf mad about +you." An' then 'e starts kissin' the photo until I thinks 'e'll crack +the glarss of the frame with 'is passion and 'ot breath.' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-096"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-096.jpg" ALT="''E was starin' at it wild-like.'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="264" HEIGHT="352"> +<H4> +[Illustration: ''E was starin' at it wild-like.'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +I stared at her, scarcely able to believe the evidence of my own ears. +Then, remembering that she is a girl greatly given to a maudlin kind of +sentiment, I was reassured. 'You have been mistaken,' I said with +quiet dignity. 'Mr. Rawlings is incapable of such a display as you +have just described. If, as you say, he was holding my photo in his +hand, it was, no doubt, for the purpose of using it as an ash-tray.' +</P> + +<P> +'Never seen 'im use an ash-tray,' commented Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Being in the drawing-room he might, for once, have had some qualms +about the carpet,' I explained. Under his rugged exterior he may have +a conscience. I rather doubt it myself, but one should never judge too +harshly. +</P> + +<P> +'Arter 'earing 'im say that,' went on Elizabeth, 'I didn't like to let +'im see I'd been in the room all the time, an' I was just goin' to +creep out quiet when 'e starts talkin' to the photo again. "Marryun," +'e ses, "if I carn't 'ave you I'll go away in the wilderness, or be an +'ermit in a cave, or go an' live in Tibbet, or give away every farthin' +I've got in the world." That's wot 'e sed, an' 'e looked so wild I was +fair scared, miss.' +</P> + +<P> +I stared at Elizabeth, quite unable to speak a word. The whole thing +sounded so wildly improbable and yet she was obviously speaking the +truth. She is, I should say, a girl of no imagination and, being +entirely artless, could not possibly have invented such a thing. At +last I found my voice, which sounded rather hollow. 'What a terrible +thing,' I said. +</P> + +<P> +'Why terrible?' she inquired. +</P> + +<P> +Poor, simple girl, with her primitive views of life, how little she +understood the delicate situation that had been created, or the +significance of the words she had just repeated to me. +</P> + +<P> +'I detest the idea of inflicting pain even on an animal,' I replied, +'and if, as you say, Mr. Rawlings appeared to be suffering on my +account——' +</P> + +<P> +''E was—agonies,' she put in. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, is not the whole position dreadful? Mr. Rawlings is the last, +the very last man, Elizabeth, in the whole world that I should think of +in the way you mention.' +</P> + +<P> +I could not repress a sigh as I spoke. How peculiar is the irony of +fate. Why should I deny (particularly in this, my diary, which +contains the outpourings of my soul) that I have often wished to win +the love of some good strong man who could protect me in the battle of +life and be willing, as it were, like the knights of old, to enter the +lists for my sake. This I could in no way imagine Mr. Rawlings doing. +My conception of the hero of my dreams may have varied from time to +time, but never has it included even the smallest of the +characteristics of William Rawlings. He reminds me of nothing so much +as the very shaggiest bear I have ever seen at the Zoo—not even a nice +white Polar bear, but one of those nondescript, snuff-coloured kinds +that are all ragged ends from top to toe. That a man with such a rough +exterior could be capable of such sickening sentimentality as Elizabeth +had just described quite nauseated me. It made me dislike him more, if +possible, than I had done before. +</P> + +<P> +'Remember, Elizabeth,' I said, looking at her steadily, 'you must not +repeat a word of this to any one. Mr. Rawlings must never know that he +has been discovered in this——' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, 'e knows that <I>I</I> know,' she interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +I stared. 'What do you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +'You see, me bein' in the room when 'e was a-kissin' of your fotograft, +'e looks up an' sees me afore I could get away, quiet, like. "Good +lor', Elizabeth," 'e breaks out, "you don't mean to tell me that you +sor everything, that you 'eard my 'eart strings burstin' in a manner of +speakin'." +</P> + +<P> +'"I'm afraid I did, sir," ses I, "I was just comin' in to dust an' your +sighs bein' rather loud, I couldn't 'elp overhearing." +</P> + +<P> +'"Listen," 'e ses, goin' ashy pale, "you must never tell 'er. I will +win 'er in my own way," 'e ses. "In the meantime, 'ere is ten +shillings, my good girl. Will you put in a word for me with Miss +Worryington from time to time? She may not like me just yet, but I'll +make 'er mine or blow my brains out." +</P> + +<P> +'"I shouldn't do that, sir, if I was you," I ses, "leastways not yet +until you see 'ow things turns out, like." +</P> + +<P> +'"I'm goin' to lead a better life," 'e goes on, "an' stop puttin' baccy +ash in my pocket, an' dustin' my boots with my handkercher, an' all +those little things that a gentle woman might find careless."' +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth,' I put in weakly, 'this is terrible. I do not want Mr. +Rawlings to make any sacrifices for me. I do not want Mr. Rawlings. +Nothing in the world would make me consider his suit.' +</P> + +<P> +''Is suit's all right if it were well brushed an' pressed,' she said. +'An if 'e isn't quite a fancy style 'isself we can't all pick an' +choose in this world. Don't go despisin' of 'im too much, miss. If 'e +was properly done up, now, and sort o' dusted an' polished, like, 'e +mightn't be so bad.' +</P> + +<P> +I turned on her with burning indignation. 'How dare you openly assist +his plans after confessing to taking his money as a bribe? Don't +mention his name to me again, or I shall refuse to listen to you.' +</P> + +<P> +She actually had the impertinence to look indignant. 'It's shame I cry +on you, miss, for tryin' to break the pore man's 'eart. Then I s'pose +I can't give 'im that there fotograft of you?' +</P> + +<P> +'My photograph! Of all the unspeakable——' +</P> + +<P> +'It was with 'im sayin' that if 'e only 'ad it to look at it might 'elp +to parss all the dark 'ours 'e 'as to spend away from you. 'E sed 'e +wanted it to look at wen 'e was lyin' awake at night, thinkin' of you.' +</P> + +<P> +I strove to be reasonable. 'To let him have my photo, Elizabeth, would +only encourage his mad ideas. No, all this must be stopped +immediately. I shall take prompt measures. Once more, let me beg of +you never to mention this painful occurrence to any one.' I turned to +go out of the kitchen, but when I reached the door Elizabeth called to +me. 'I wanted to ask you a favour, miss, if it isn't troublin' you too +much,' she began. +</P> + +<P> +'What is it?' I inquired rather absently, for my mind was very much +disturbed just then. +</P> + +<P> +'You see, miss, it's this way. I gotta young man wot's very poetick, +like. 'E's always sendin' me portry copied from mottoes out o' +crackers. It's very 'ard to keep up with 'im.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then how do you want me to help you?' I asked, puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +'I wondered if you'd be so kind as to copy me a bit o' portry I sor in +one o' master's books. It sounds real pretty, but I can't get it down +right. My 'andwritin' is that bad.' She took a leather-bound volume +of Byron from the kitchen drawer. 'It's just this yere bit:— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Yet, oh, yet thyself deceeve not,<BR> +Luv' may sink by slow decay;<BR> +But by suddint wrench beleeve not<BR> +'Earts can thus be torn away."'<BR> +</P> + +<P> +'Have you had a quarrel with your young man?' I asked, perplexed at the +strange selection of verse. +</P> + +<P> +'No, miss, but 'e's 'overin' just now—you know what I mean. I want to +bring 'im up to the scratch, like.' +</P> + +<P> +I could not help thinking what blunt direct methods the lower classes +employ in affairs of the heart. In our walk in life the sending of +such lines to a gentleman who had not declared himself would be +considered almost indelicate. However, I wrote out the absurd lines +for the girl without comment, and rescued Henry's volume of Byron, +which I felt would not improve in appearance by contact with the meat +chopper, knife-board and other miscellaneous objects which she keeps in +the kitchen drawer. It is a pity Netta does not exercise stricter +supervision over Elizabeth. The girl seems to do what she likes. +</P> + +<P> +'You had better ask permission from Mrs. Warrington before taking books +into the kitchen,' I said with gentle reproof. 'They might get lost or +soiled.' +</P> + +<P> +'Right-o!' said Elizabeth. 'An' do you reely mean that you're not +a-goin' to give your fotograft to Mr. Roarings?' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed not,' I said vehemently, 'don't dare to suggest the idea to me +again. If Mr. Rawlings ever speaks of it to you, you can tell him how +amazed and indignant I was.' +</P> + +<P> +'Right-o!' said Elizabeth, as I hurried out of the kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +On thinking the whole matter over I must admit I am greatly perturbed. +I am not like those women who glory in winning a man's love for the +mere gratification of their vanity. I know myself how much one can +suffer from unrequited affection, and I am steadily determined to cure +Mr. Rawlings of his love-madness by every means in my power. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + + +<P> +The study door burst open and one end of Elizabeth—the articulate +end—was jerked into view. +</P> + +<P> +'Wot will you 'ave for lunch, 'm?' she demanded breathlessly. 'Lamb or +'am?' +</P> + +<P> +Abruptly recalled from the realms of fiction writing I looked up a +little dazed. 'Lamb or 'am,' I repeated dully, 'lamorram? Er—ram, I +think, please, Elizabeth.' +</P> + +<P> +Having thus disposed of my domestic obligations for the day, I returned +to my writing. I was annoyed therefore to see the other end of +Elizabeth travel round the doorway and sidle into the room. Her +pretext for entering—that of dusting the roll-top desk with her +apron—was a little thin, for she has not the slightest objection to +dust. I rather think it cheers her up to see it about the place. +Obviously she had come in to make conversation. I laid down my pen +with a sigh. +</P> + +<P> +'I yeerd from my young man this morning,' she began. A chill +foreboding swept over me. (I will explain why in a minute.) +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-105"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-105.jpg" ALT="'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked." BORDER="2" WIDTH="223" HEIGHT="231"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +''Im wot belongs to the Amalgamated Serciety of Boilermakers,' she +corrected with dignity. 'Well, they've moved 'is 'eadquarters from +London to Manchester.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a tense silence, broken only by Elizabeth's hard breathing on +a brass paper-weight ere she polished it with her sleeve. +</P> + +<P> +'If 'e goes to Manchester, there I goes,' she went on; 'I suppose I'd +quite easy get a situation there?' +</P> + +<P> +'Quite easy,' I acquiesced in a hollow voice. +</P> + +<P> +She went out leaving me chill and dejected. Not that I thought for a +moment that I was in imminent danger of losing her. I knew full well +that this was but a ruse on the part of the young man to disembarrass +himself of Elizabeth, and, if he had involved the entire Amalgamated +Society of Boilermakers in the plot, that only proved how desperate he +was. +</P> + +<P> +I have very earnest reasons for wishing that Elizabeth could have a +'settled' young man. You see, as I have previously explained, she +never retains the same one for many weeks at a time. It isn't her +fault, poor girl. She would be as true as steel if she had a chance; +she would cling to any one of them through thick and thin, following +him to the ends of the earth if necessary. +</P> + +<P> +It is they who are fickle, and the excuses they make to break away from +her are both varied and ingenious. During the War, of course, they +always had the pretext of being ordered to the Front at a moment's +notice, and were not, it appears, allowed to write home on account of +the Censor. Elizabeth used to blame Lloyd George for these defects of +organization. Even to this day she is extremely bitter against the +Government. +</P> + +<P> +In fact, she is bitter against every one when her love affairs are not +running smoothly. The entire household suffers in consequence. She is +sullen and obstinate; she is always on the verge of giving notice. And +the way she breaks things in her abstraction is awful. Elizabeth's +illusions and my crockery always get shattered together. My rose-bowl +of Venetian glass got broken when the butcher threw her over for the +housemaid next door. Half a dozen tumblers, a basin and several odd +plates came in two in her hands after the grocer's assistant went away +suddenly to join the silent Navy. And nearly the whole of a dinner +service was sacrificed when Lloyd George peremptorily ordered her young +man in the New Army to go to Mesopotamia and stay there for at least +three years without leave. +</P> + +<P> +Those brief periods when Elizabeth's young men are in the incipient +stages of paying her marked attention are agreeable to everybody. +Elizabeth, feeling no doubt in her rough untutored way that God's in +his Heaven and all's right with the world, sings at her work; she shows +extraordinary activity when going about her duties. She does unusual +things like remembering to polish the brasses every week—indeed, you +have only to step in the hall and glance at the stair rods to discover +the exact stage of her latest 'affair.' I remember once when one +ardent swain (who she declared was 'in the flying corpse') got to the +length of offering her marriage before he flew away, she cleaned the +entire house down in her enthusiasm—and had actually got to the +cellars before he vanished out of her life. +</P> + +<P> +You will now understand why I was dejected at the perfidy of the +follower belonging to the Boilermakers' Society. I saw a dreary period +of discomfort ahead of me. Worst of all I was expecting the Boscombes +to dinner that very week. They had not before visited us, and Henry +was anxious to impress Mr. Boscombe, he being a publisher. It is +surprising, when you come to think of it, how full the world is of +writers trying to make a good impression on publishers. Yet no one has +met the publisher who ever tries to make a good impression on any one. +</P> + +<P> +I will not elaborate the situation as it stood. All I can say is that +there is no earthly possibility of making a good impression on any +living thing if Elizabeth is in one of her bad moods. And it would be +no use explaining the case to Mrs. Boscombe, because she has no sense +of humour; or to Mr. Boscombe, because he likes a good dinner. +</P> + +<P> +Finally, the Domestic Bureau failed me. Hitherto they had always been +able to supply me with a temporary waitress on the occasion of dinner +parties. Now it appeared these commodities had become pearls of great +price which could no longer be cast before me and mine (at the modest +fee of ten shillings a night) without at least fourteen days' notice. +</P> + +<P> +The Bureau promised to do its best for me, of course, but reminded me +that women were scarce. I asked, with bitterness, what had become of +the surplus million we heard so much about. They replied with +politeness that, judging from the number of applications received, they +must be the million in search of domestics. +</P> + +<P> +Returning home from the Bureau, I found Elizabeth studying a time-table. +</P> + +<P> +'I see it's a 'undred and eighty-three miles to Manchester,' she +commented, 'an' the fare's 15s. 5 1/2d.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's an old time-table you've got,' I hastened to remark, 'it is now +L2 13s. 7 1/2d.—return fare.' +</P> + +<P> +'I shan't want no return ticket,' said Elizabeth grimly. +</P> + +<P> +Sickening outlook, wasn't it? +</P> + +<BR> +<HR WIDTH="60%" ALIGN="center"> +<BR> + +<P> +The day of my dinner-party dawned fair and bright, but Elizabeth was +raging. Things got so bad, in fact, that about mid-day I decided I +must telephone to the Boscombes and tell them Henry had suddenly been +taken ill; and I was just looking up the doctor's book to find +something especially virulent and infectious for Henry, when Elizabeth +came in. Amazing to relate, her face was wreathed in smiles. +</P> + +<P> +'They've sent from the Domestic Boorow,' she began. +</P> + +<P> +'What!' I exclaimed, 'did they get me a waitress after all?' +</P> + +<P> +She smirked. 'They've sent a man this time. A footman 'e was before +the War, but 'e didn't take it up again arter 'e was demobbed. Just +now, bein' out of a job 'e's takin' tempory work and——-' +</P> + +<P> +'He seems to have told you quite a lot about himself already,' I +interposed. +</P> + +<P> +She smirked again. 'I 'adn't been talkin' to 'im ten minutes afore 'e +arsked me wot was my night out. 'E isn't arf a one.' +</P> + +<P> +'It seems he isn't,' I agreed. And I sent up a silent prayer of +thankfulness to Heaven and the Domestic Bureau. 'But what about the +Amalgamated boilermaker?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, 'im!' She tossed her head. ''E can go to—Manchester.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + + +<P> +'Have you observed William closely, recently, Netta?' Henry asked me. +'Something seems to have happened to him?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why should I observe William?' I demanded, puzzled, 'he is not the +sort of man a woman would observe, closely or otherwise.' +</P> + +<P> +'That is exactly one of the reasons why I like him—you leave him +alone,' remarked that horrid Henry. 'I can talk to him without your +distracting his attention by flirting with him.' +</P> + +<P> +I felt wounded. 'Henry, this is monstrous.' +</P> + +<P> +'You cannot deny, my dear, that I have brought men—fluent +conversationalists—round here for a pleasant evening's debate only to +see them become abstracted and monosyllabic directly you appear.' +</P> + +<P> +'You can't blame me for that, Henry.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I do. You deliberately seek to interest them. I've seen you at +it. You spare no pains or powder to gain your object. Don't dare to +deny it.' +</P> + +<P> +Chastened, I replied meekly: 'Dear Henry, I love my +fellow-creatures—if they haven't beards,' I added hastily. 'After +all, doesn't the Scripture command it?' +</P> + +<P> +'But you don't love William.' +</P> + +<P> +'The Scripture says nothing at all about William,' I replied decidedly. +'I—er—tolerate him. What is this you tell me about something having +happened to him?' +</P> + +<P> +'He's growing peculiar.' +</P> + +<P> +'<I>More</I> peculiar, I suppose you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +'His manner is erratic and changed. It isn't another invention, +because when he is inventing he is merely monosyllabic, with spasms of +muttering and an increased tendency to knock things over. Now he's +altogether different. It's the trend of his conversation that puzzles +me. He talks of love.' +</P> + +<P> +'Love and William,' I remarked, 'are as incompatible as acids and +alkalis. In what way does he touch on the subject? With bitterness or +curiosity? +</P> + +<P> +'Both, I should say. For one thing he is most 'anxious to know what +are the effects of unrequited affection, and if the results can be +serious. Seems strange, doesn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +'It's passing strange, Henry.' +</P> + +<P> +'You don't think he's fallen in love with you, Netta?' +</P> + +<P> +'What makes you suggest he's fallen in love with me?' +</P> + +<P> +'Because he comes in contact with no other woman beyond you and his +landlady, who, I understand, is over sixty and weighs fifteen stone—so +it must be you if it's anybody.' (This is a Scotsman's way of paying a +compliment; if you can follow the workings of his mind up to the source +of the idea you will see he means well.) +</P> + +<P> +'That William should fall in love seems incredible—and entirely +unnecessary,' I commented. 'There must be some other explanation of +his manner. As he's coming to dinner to-night, I'll watch and see if I +can find anything unusually strange about him.' +</P> + +<P> +When William made his appearance, therefore, I observed him intently. +Surely enough I was struck by the fact that he was changed in some +subtle way. He looked dejected. Of course it was impossible to see +much of his expression, owing to his face being almost entirely +obliterated with hair, but what was visible was extremely sad. +</P> + +<P> +Then a strange thing happened. As soon as we were alone he began to +exhibit signs of acute mental distress, and to my astonishment burst +out, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is something I wanted to—er—ask you. +You are a woman for whom I have a profound respect; though you are +inclined by character to be <I>un peu moqueuse</I>, you have, I feel, an +exceedingly tender heart.' +</P> + +<P> +I felt uneasy. 'Yes, William, it is tender—but not for everybody,' I +added warningly. Really, it was going to be very awkward if he, in his +elephantine way, had conceived an infatuation for me. My conscience +was perfectly clear—I had not encouraged him in any way, but +nevertheless I did not wish to see him suffer from unrequited +affection. It would be so awkward in many ways. William, even in his +sane moods, has a dreadful habit of knocking things over. If the +abstraction of the lover descended upon him, it was going to have a +dire effect on our household goods. +</P> + +<P> +'Because your heart is tender,' he pursued, 'you will be able to +realize the difficulty of my—er—you can better understand the +sufferings of others. Do you think an ill-placed affection can be +combated—that is, in time, be utterly stamped out?' +</P> + +<P> +'I do, William,' I said firmly, 'but it must be stamped effectively, +you understand. No half measures, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, yes, I quite see that,' he said eagerly. 'Then do you think in +such a case it would help matters if a man—if one of the parties, I +mean—went right away. You know the adage, "Out of sight out of mind"?' +</P> + +<P> +I pondered. It would, I knew, be a great denial to William if he was +debarred from coming about our place—almost the only home he had ever +known. Henry, too, would be lost with no one to argue with. If you +want to manage a Scotsman properly see that he gets plenty of argument, +and he'll rarely develop any other vice. No, the pair must not be +separated. +</P> + +<P> +'There is another adage, William, which says, "Absence makes the heart +grow fonder,"' I said, 'so I think, after all, you—I mean he, had +better stay.' +</P> + +<P> +William looked relieved. 'You think that I—er—I mean one—ought to +face it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I am sure one should,' I acquiesced. +</P> + +<P> +William pressed my hand gratefully, and I sighed as I examined his +physiognomy in the hope of finding one attractive feature. I sighed +again as I finished my inspection. What a pity, I thought, that he had +not just a little dash about him, even the merest <I>soupçon</I> of +fascination, in order to make the situation interesting. He was still +holding my hand as the door opened and Elizabeth shot into view with +the declaration, 'Dinner's in.' +</P> + +<P> +We have a massive and imposing looking gong erected in the hall for the +sole purpose of announcing when meals are ready, but nothing will +induce Elizabeth to make use of it. If we are upstairs she hails us +from below with such expressions as 'Come on, now, it's getting cold,' +or, 'I won't bring it in till you're all 'ere, so mind you 'urry.' +</P> + +<P> +If William had appeared strange, it struck me that Marion—who was also +dining with us that evening—was even stranger. For one thing, I +regret to say, she was exceedingly rude to William. She does not like +him, I know, but he was after all our guest, and she was not justified +in remarking, when he upset his wine on the tablecloth, and knocked +over an adjacent salt-cellar, 'If there's anything in the world I +loathe, it is a clumsy man.' +</P> + +<P> +'I must admit I <I>am</I> extremely clumsy—like an elephant, in fact,' came +the soft answer from William. +</P> + +<P> +It did not turn away Marion's wrath. 'So I see,' she snapped. +</P> + +<P> +I kicked her gently under the table. 'Marion, <I>dear</I>,' I remonstrated. +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing in the world will ever improve me,' continued William. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure of it,' replied Marion, 'it's in your system.' +</P> + +<P> +She seemed in a most contrary mood that evening. For instance, William +had remarked quite nicely and affably that he considered smoking +pernicious for women. He said his mother had always declared it was, +and he thought they were better without it. Whereupon Marion, who +dislikes the weed as a general rule, immediately got up, took a +cigarette from the box on the table and asked William for a light. +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly,' she remarked to him. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-117"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-117.jpg" ALT="'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly.'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="371" HEIGHT="285"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly.'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +'I don't think there's anything you could do that would shock me now,' +he replied. It was rather a peculiar retort, especially as he laid a +faint accent on the 'you.' Evidently he wished to have his revenge for +what she had said to him at dinner. +</P> + +<P> +'I smoke even in bed,' said Marion, regarding him steadily. I was at a +loss to understand why she told this deliberate falsehood. +</P> + +<P> +'So do I,' said William calmly. +</P> + +<P> +'I smoke in the bath,' continued Marion. +</P> + +<P> +'By Jove, so do I,' said William, looking at her with a new interest. +'But don't you find it rather awkward when you're washing your back?' +</P> + +<P> +Marion looked rather scandalized, as though she considered William's +remark in bad taste. But she had only herself to blame after all. She +was silent and rather moody after that, until the episode of the +photograph occurred. We were assembled in the drawing-room, and I +suddenly noticed that a photo of Marion which stands on the mantelpiece +had been removed from its frame. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, Marion, what has become of your photo?' I inquired. +</P> + +<P> +There was, after all, nothing unusual in its disappearance. It was one +that she did not like and she had often threatened to remove it. What +was my astonishment now to see her spring to her feet and, going white +with suppressed anger, exclaim, 'Who has dared to take it? It is a +piece of unwarrantable impertinence. Who has <I>dared</I>, I say?' +</P> + +<P> +I saw William looking at her in surprise—it was, indeed, something +even deeper than that. Fascinated horror seems a more apt expression. +</P> + +<P> +'I insist on its being recovered,' went on Marion. +</P> + +<P> +A strange exclamation from William made us all look at him. 'Women,' +he said, 'are beyond me—utterly beyond me, I repeat.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad you admit it,' snapped Marion. +</P> + +<P> +'In guile,' he continued coldly. 'I suppose, now, you have never heard +of a woman thrusting her photograph where it is not wanted accompanied +by verse of an amorous character?' +</P> + +<P> +Marion looked contemptuously at him. 'What on earth are you raving +about?' she inquired. +</P> + +<P> +Henry and I intervened at this moment and changed the subject, feeling +that a quarrel between them was imminent. It was all very strange and +puzzling. But the strangest thing was yet to come. I had accompanied +Marion upstairs to put on her cloak before departure, and when we +descended William had vanished. Henry related that he was just +answering a call on the 'phone when he saw William dash past him into +the small lobby off the hall, possess himself of hat and coat, and, +after muttering some words of apology, go forth into the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +'How eccentric—and ill-behaved, too,' I commented. 'It looks almost +as if he wished to avoid accompanying Marion home.' +</P> + +<P> +We were standing in the drawing-room as I spoke. Suddenly I gave a +start as my eye drifted to the mantelpiece. 'What an extraordinary +coincidence!' I exclaimed. A strange eerie feeling came over me. +Marion's lost photo had been restored to its frame. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + + +<P> +<I>William resumes his story</I>: I am now aware that I should not have +invoked the aid of Elizabeth. A man should work out his own destiny. +Once a woman precipitates herself in an affair, complications are bound +to follow. Also Elizabeth is no ordinary woman. There are times when +I question whether she is human. Was it not her idea that I +should—but I must try to chronicle the events in their correct +sequence. +</P> + +<P> +The mistake I made primarily, was in not going away directly I first +heard from Elizabeth of Miss Warrington's unfortunate and misplaced +attachment for me. Things might then have adjusted themselves quite +naturally. The idea, however, of a sensitive woman suffering on my +account was exceedingly distasteful to me. If, I decided, I could +bring about her complete disillusionment my conscience would be at +rest. Also there would then be no necessity to cut myself off from the +Warringtons, and give up my pleasant discourses with Henry. Thus, I +felt, I was taking the most advisable course under the circumstances. +</P> + +<P> +As for Miss Warrington herself, her behaviour was so inexplicable I +wondered if her mind was not beginning to get unhinged. In the first +place it was, I thought, unmaidenly enough that she should, through the +medium of Elizabeth, thrust her photo on me; but that the photo should +be accompanied by some feeble selection from the ill-balanced +outpourings of Byron (who is my pet aversion) was, indeed, almost +revolting. +</P> + +<P> +Further, her attitude towards me in the presence of others was one of +open hostility. So well, indeed, did she act on one occasion when I +happened to be dining at her brother's house, that a new hope sprang up +within me. I began to think that her strange uncalled-for passion for +me had passed—in short, that her love had turned to hate. So +impressed was I with this idea that when I next called at the +Warringtons' I asked Elizabeth if I could speak to her alone for a few +moments. +</P> + +<P> +'About Miss Marryun, I'll bet,' she remarked. Looking at her I thought +she accompanied her words with a slight lowering of the left eyelid. I +trust I was mistaken. Free as the girl is in her speech I have never +given her any encouragement to embellish it by winking. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-123"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-123.jpg" ALT="A slight lowering of the left eyelid." BORDER="2" WIDTH="234" HEIGHT="452"> +<H4> +[Illustration: A slight lowering of the left eyelid.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +'Naturally, the subject has been preying on my mind,' I admitted. 'But +I am not so tortured with misgivings as before. Miss Warrington has +ceased to—er—interest herself in me. In fact she detests me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oo ses that tom-my-rot?' asked the girl, turning on me almost fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +'Miss Warrington was so excessively rude and abrupt in her manner to me +the other evening,' I explained, 'that I am now convinced she has +suddenly grown to hate me.' +</P> + +<P> +'If you're not as blind as a bat!' commented Elizabeth. 'Can't you see +she's doin' that to 'ide 'er feelings—so that you'll never guess 'ow +'er 'eart is torn an' bleedin' like.' +</P> + +<P> +'Dear me, Elizabeth, do you mean this?' I asked in the utmost concern. +</P> + +<P> +'Sure of it. As a matter o' fact she's more gone on you than ever. +She's got to not eatin' now, so you can guess 'ow bad she is.' +</P> + +<P> +I wiped the gathering moisture from my brow. 'Elizabeth, this is +terrible—it must be stopped. I must discover some way to make Miss +Warrington actually dislike me. In this I hope for your assistance. +You know Miss Warrington much better than I do. You are, no doubt, +acquainted with her likes and prejudices?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not 'arf, I aint,' she said. +</P> + +<P> +Taking this as meaning an affirmative, I continued, 'Perhaps you are +able to tell me what it is about me that attracts her. I have a +plan—I shall do exactly the opposite of what she desires of me.' +</P> + +<P> +'To set her agen you, like,' remarked Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +'Exactly.' +</P> + +<P> +She stood for a few moments regarding me with her head on one side. +Had you known her to be capable of it you might almost have imagined +that she was thinking. Certainly she breathed much harder than usual. +At last, to my profound astonishment, she suddenly sat down, threw her +apron over her face and burst into unrestrained laughter. +</P> + +<P> +'Compose yourself, my good girl,' I said, anxious lest the family +should overhear, 'what is the matter?' +</P> + +<P> +'I got an idea,' she said as soon as she had recovered. 'It aint 'arf +a bad one. You say you want to know wot it is Miss Marryun likes about +you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I do, indeed,' I said eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I can tell you that right away. It's your towsled look, so to +speak. Only the other day she ses to me, she ses, "Wot I like about +Mr. Roarings is the rough kind o' suits 'e wears, them baggy trousis, +an' also 'is great clompin' boots. I like the free an' easy way 'e +throws 'is feet up to the ledge of the mantelpiece," she ses, "an' the +way 'e 'as of wearin' 'is 'air 'anging all about 'is ears, +shaggy-like."' +</P> + +<P> +'Incredible!' I exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +'An' only yesterday she stood on this very spot where you are now and +ses to me, thoughtful like: "Don't you love a man with a heavy beard +an' moustarch—like Mr. Roarings, f'r instance?" she ses.' +</P> + +<P> +'"Well, miss, since you put the question to me," I ses plain out; "I'm +not parshul to either, though I've 'ad young men with 'em, singly and +both together. I prefers 'em entirely without, but beggars can't be +choosers, can they?" +</P> + +<P> +'Then Miss Marryun said thoughtful like: "I think I'm rather different +from other wimmin, Elizabeth. Very few would admire a man like Mr. +Roarings. But 'e's my style, so to speak, if I was pickin' an' +choosin'. But to show you 'ow strange I am," she goes on, "if 'e made +'isself spruce I should get to dislike 'im all at once."' +</P> + +<P> +I raised my head sharply, suffused by a glow of hope. 'Elizabeth, my +good girl,' I exclaimed, 'is it so easy to accomplish as all that?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not so sure about easy,' she commented, looking me over as if I'd +been an unlabelled exhibit in a Zoo. '"Rome wasn't built in a day," as +the sayin' is, but it's a long lane that 'as no turnin'. "If 'e," ses +Miss Marryun, meanin' you, "was got up real smart with a fancy +westcoat, a crease down the front of 'is trousis, shinin' button boots, +and wos to shave orf 'is beard and moustarch—" she said that bit very +earnest, too—"well, I should fair detest the sight of 'im."' +</P> + +<P> +I sank down in a seat with a groan of despair. Elizabeth was right. +Such a metamorphosis would not be easy. It would mean the overturning +of my most cherished convictions, an upheaval of the very routine of my +existence. Would life be worth living if one awoke in a morning to the +knowledge of the rites that every day would bring forth? A matutinal +shave, trousers to be taken from the press, collars and cuffs to be +changed, hair and nails to be trimmed, the two latter, if not every +day, at all events occurring with enough frequency to keep a simple man +in a constant state of unrest. +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth,' I said, shuddering, 'I cannot do all this.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oo's arskin' you to?' demanded the girl. 'I was only repeating wot +Miss Marryun ses to me with 'er own lips. "Yes, I should fair get to +detest 'im if 'e was spruce," was 'er very words.' +</P> + +<P> +I pondered. 'Are you quite sure she stipulated about the beard?' +</P> + +<P> +'She did that. She mentioned it pertickler three times.' +</P> + +<P> +I shook my head firmly. Whatever happened I did not mean to concede +that point. My beard is one of my best friends. By allowing it to +grow to a suitable length it conceals the fact when my ties have grown +shabby, and saves me any unnecessary changing of collars. No, I would +never be clean-shaven. I could not face the world stripped of my +natural facial coverings. +</P> + +<P> +'There may be something in what you say, and I will consider your +suggestion regarding the trousers, Elizabeth,' I conceded, 'but the +suggestion that I should shave is perfectly monstrous and I won't think +of it for a moment.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, to my mind it's one of the first things wot ought to be done +with you,' she said in what seemed to me a disparaging sort of voice, +'wots the good o' puttin' a fancy westcoat an' a watch an' albert on a +chap when 'e's got an 'ead like a wild man o' the woods. There ort to +be no 'arf an' 'arf about it, I ses.' +</P> + +<P> +I looked at the girl sternly, feeling that her speech was becoming +unduly familiar. Nevertheless, I was conscious of a certain gratitude +for her suggestion, and after she had gone out, I began to consider it +from all points. There could be no harm in gradually making those +changes in my habits and apparel which would bring about Miss +Warrington's disillusionment, but it must be fairly gradual. Otherwise +it might attract undue attention, for there are times when I think I am +just a trifle careless about my appearance. +</P> + +<P> +I decided I had better begin operations with a new suit. This would +involve changing my regular tailor. The one who has had my custom for +the last quarter of a century is used to my way of putting my head +round his door once in three years and commanding, 'A tweed lounge +suit, the same as the last.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, sir,' he invariably concurs, 'any difference in measurements, +sir?' +</P> + +<P> +'I think not,' I reply, 'but make it quite loose and comfortable in +case I've added a few inches to the waist.' +</P> + +<P> +That is all. Occasionally, of course, I vary the order by making it an +overcoat, or an extra pair of slacks (when I burn holes in my usual +ones, which frequently happens), but the procedure is always the same. +It can easily be understood that I had not the courage to confront him +after all these years with a demand for the latest thing in the +season's suitings, and especial injunctions regarding style and cut. +</P> + +<P> +As I was dwelling on the annoyances and difficulties that were already +presenting themselves, Miss Warrington came in. I must confess that, +as I looked at the irritating female whose misplaced affections were +already harassing me, I felt slightly confused. Since I had first +learned of her insane infatuation I had studiously avoided being left +alone with her for one instant. At the moment, however, there was no +possibility of escape, as she stood between me and the door, thus +effectively barring my exit. I could only confront her uneasily, +trying to avoid her direct gaze and, as I did so, I could not help +remarking that she, too, was obviously embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +Then, as if taking a resolution, she came up to me and looked me +squarely in the face. I moved away, a faint shiver of apprehension +going down my spine. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Rawlings,' she said slowly and impressively, 'there is one thing I +want to say regarding your conduct. When you are addressing +photographs, may I ask you to do it with lowered voice, or at all +events in a purely conversational tone?' Then she swept out of the +room, banging the door behind her. +</P> + +<P> +As for me, I was left dazed and struggling to grasp the strange import +of her mystic words. Why this constant reference to the photograph she +had so shamelessly thrust upon me, and which, as a direct hint to her +that I did not desire it, I had replaced in its frame at the first +opportunity? +</P> + +<P> +What had come over the woman? I began to be more than ever convinced +of my former suspicion that her fatal and erratic passion for myself +was beginning to unhinge her mind. I saw that I must lose no time in +bringing about her disillusionment. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + + +<P> +'Henry, do you think William has been looking particularly unhappy +lately?' I inquired. +</P> + +<P> +Henry grunted. Converted for the moment into 'A Well-known Actor,' he +was digging amongst his theatrical cuttings for reminiscent purposes, +and was, therefore, somewhat abstracted. +</P> + +<P> +I, too, was supposed to be working, but try as I would I could not help +thinking of William. I felt sorry for him—he looked so distrait. +When, as he vaguely hinted, he had conceived an attachment for me I did +not think it was likely to cause him any unhappiness. Indeed, I never +imagined him capable of feeling any emotions but those of a purely +physical character—such as the effects of cold, heat, hunger or bodily +pain. And here he was, sighing and looking so dejected it was +depressing even to see him about the place. I had just been re-reading +<I>Cyrano de Bergerac</I>, whose case seemed rather applicable to William. +Could it be possible that under his rough exterior the poor fellow had +all the sentiment and fiery imagination of Cyrano, and suffered the +same sensitive torment about his appearance. Did William, like Cyrano, +shudder when his eye rested even on his own shadow? Did he feel that +because of his physical failings the love of woman must be for ever +denied him? +</P> + +<P> +I must admit that William was a trifle more interesting to me now than +he had previously been. Every woman finds something rather gratifying +in being worshipped from afar, even if it is by an 'impossible.' Yet +the idea of making him unhappy was distasteful to me. I repeated my +question to Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'Never seen William unhappy yet,' replied Henry, looking up, 'he's one +of those few chaps who seem contented with life—only wish I was the +same.' +</P> + +<P> +Something in his tone made me promptly forget William and concentrate +on Henry. 'Aren't you contented?' I asked. +</P> + +<P> +He paused a moment before replying, and then rather wearily indicated +the article he was writing. 'It's this kind of thing, you know—where +does it all lead to? At times I think journalism is the most exacting +profession in the world.' +</P> + +<P> +'What do you mean?' I asked, puzzled at his tone. +</P> + +<P> +'It is exacting because it seems to lead to nothing,' he continued. +'For instance, just think of all the energy, brains and effort involved +in the bringing out of a newspaper. Yet it is only read casually, +skimmed over by most people, then tossed on one side and instantly +forgotten. It is conceived, born, and it dies all in one day. Do you +ever see any one reading a morning paper at, say, four o'clock in the +afternoon? It is hopelessly out of date by that time.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hadn't thought of it like that,' I pondered. 'Of course, journalism +isn't like a business that you can build up and constantly improve; but +you can at least establish a reputation amongst newspaper readers.' +</P> + +<P> +'You can't do that so well nowadays,' returned Henry, who seemed in +pessimistic vein, 'owing to the present demand for getting well-known +names attached to articles. We write them all the same, of course, but +it's the people with the well-known names that get the credit for +having a good literary style. Well, I always put the best of myself +into my work—I can't write anything in a hasty, slovenly manner—but +where does it lead to? Some day, perhaps, my ideas will give out and +then——' he made a little hopeless gesture. +</P> + +<P> +He was silent a moment, staring out of the window. 'Then there's +another thing,' he went on, 'this constant grind leaves me no time to +get on with my play. If I could only get it finished it might bring me +success—even fame. But how shall I ever get the leisure to complete +it?' +</P> + +<P> +A feeling of compunction swept over me. I went up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. 'Henry, dear old chap, I never thought you felt +like this about things.' Certainly he was writing a play, but as he +had been engaged on it now for over ten years (Henry is a conscientious +writer), my interest in it was not so keen as it had been when he first +told me of the idea a decade previously. +</P> + +<P> +'Couldn't you do a little of your play every evening after dinner?' I +suggested. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm too brain weary by that time—my ideas seem to have given out. +Sometimes I think I must renounce the notion of going on with it—and +it's been one of my greatest ambitions.' +</P> + +<P> +I smoothed his hair tenderly, noticing how heavily flecked it was with +grey and how it silvered at the temples. Poor Henry, he reminded me +just then of <I>L'homme à la cervelle d'or</I>, a fantastic story of +Daudet's, where he tells of a man possessed of a brain of gold which he +tore out, atom by atom, to buy gifts for the woman he loved until, in +the end (she being an extravagant type), he was left without a scrap of +brain to call his own and so expired. The man was, of course, supposed +to be a writer, and the brain of gold his ideas. It made me feel quite +uneasy to think that Henry, too, might be, metaphorically speaking, +steadily divesting himself of brain day by day in order to support The +Kid and me in comfort. +</P> + +<P> +'I ought not to grumble,' he said at last. 'Very few people can do +what they want to in this world. Take you, my dear, for instance. You +are not following your natural bent when you write those articles for +the Woman's Page.' +</P> + +<P> +'I should hope not—I loathe 'em,' I said viciously. +</P> + +<P> +'There's one thing about it,' he went on musingly, 'we'll see that The +Kid has every chance when she grows up.' +</P> + +<P> +We are looking forward very much to the time when The Kid will be grown +up. Henry says he pictures her moving silently about the house, tall, +graceful, helpful, smoothing his brow when he is wearied, keeping his +papers in order, correcting his proofs and doing all his typing for +him. I, too, for my part, have visions of her taking all household +cares off my shoulders, mending, cooking, making my blouses and her own +clothes, and playing Beethoven to us in the evenings when our work is +done. In her spare time we anticipate that she will write books and +plays that will make her famous. +</P> + +<P> +We have visions of these things, I repeat—generally when The Kid is in +bed asleep with her hands folded on her breast in a devotional +attitude, a cherubic smile on her lips. There are, however, other +times when I hope for nothing more exacting than the day to come when +she will keep herself clean. +</P> + +<P> +I often wonder where all the stickiness comes from that she manages to +communicate from her person to the handles of doors, backs of chairs +and other such places where you are most likely to set your hand +unconsciously. Henry has a theory about it oozing from the pores of +her skin, and says she conceals some inexhaustible sources of grime +which is constantly rising to the surface. In which case you can't +entirely blame The Kid. +</P> + +<P> +Under the circumstances, however, we feel that she ought to practise +more restraint. Always when she is most thickly coated in dirt and +varnished with the glutinous substance already referred to, does she +most strongly feel the calls of affection. Then is the moment when she +flings her arms about Henry and presses long kisses on his clean +collar, or gently caresses the entire surface of my new blouse. +Nothing, I have remarked, can stir her demonstrative nature so much as +the sight of Henry and me arrayed in all the glory of evening attire. +The merest glimpse of my georgette theatre gown, or the chaste folds of +Henry's tie, scintillating collar and shirt front send her flying to us +with hands that fondle and lips that cling. If we repel her and +compromise by kissing the middle of her head, she has a way of giving +us haunting looks that, after we have sallied forth to the halls of +pleasure, can make us feel uncomfortable for the entire evening. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, when The Kid is grown up,' Henry went on, 'perhaps she'll have +the success that has been denied to us, old girl.' +</P> + +<P> +I was about to reply when my attention was arrested by a confused +murmur of voices in the hall. I distinguished Elizabeth's, and as the +other was a man's tones, I supposed she was having a little badinage at +the side door with one of the tradesmen, as is her wont. As in time it +did not die away, but began to get a little more heated (one voice +appearing to be raised in entreaty and the other, Elizabeth's, in +protest), I thought I had better saunter out and interrupt the +causerie. Elizabeth has occasionally to be reminded of her work in +this manner. She is too fond of gossiping. +</P> + +<P> +I opened the door ostentatiously and sallied out—just in time to see +Elizabeth playfully pulling William by the beard. 'You get them +whiskers orf—narsty, rarspin' things,' she was saying. +</P> + +<P> +It was an awful moment. Elizabeth had the grace to look ashamed of +herself for once, and drifted back to her sink without a word. As for +William, he appeared thoroughly unnerved. He tottered towards me. +'Let me explain,' he began. +</P> + +<P> +'William!' I said in stern tones. Then again, '<I>William!</I>' He wilted +under my gaze. 'I should never have thought such a thing of you,' I +continued. +</P> + +<P> +He pointed with a finger that trembled in the direction of the kitchen. +'That girl has no respect for any one or anything in the world. +Traditions, class distinctions are as nothing to her. She would put +out her tongue at Homer.' +</P> + +<P> +'Or pull the beard of William,' I added sarcastically. +</P> + +<P> +'Until I met her,' he went on fiercely, 'I was entirely a democrat. +But now I see that once power gets into the hands of the common people +we are damned!' +</P> + +<P> +'But what has all this to do with your flirting with Elizabeth?' I +demanded. +</P> + +<P> +He seemed so overcome at this very natural comment on my part that for +a moment I thought he was going to have a seizure of some sort. +'I—I—<I>flirt</I>, and with Elizabeth?' he repeated when he had slightly +recovered himself. 'Madame, what do you mean to insinuate?' +</P> + +<P> +He drew himself up to his full height of six feet three, and, looking +at him as he towered above me with his mane of disordered hair and +flowing beard, I could not help thinking he rather resembled Samson in +one of his peevish moods. The indignation that possessed him seemed +sincere enough, but the circumstances of the case utterly bewildered +me. I was gazing at him in perplexity when Henry came out of the study. +</P> + +<P> +'What's all this parleying in the hall, noise without, voices heard +"off," and so forth?' he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +William gave me such an agonized look of entreaty I decided I would say +nothing about what had just occurred. 'It is only I endeavouring to +get our friend William to rub his feet on the mat,' I retorted +cheerfully. 'But let us go into the consulting chamber.' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-141"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-141.jpg" ALT="Henry, being a Scotsman, likes argument." BORDER="2" WIDTH="256" HEIGHT="293"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Henry, being a Scotsman, likes argument.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +William followed me into the study and took his usual seat at the +fireside in a dejected manner. Then went through a strange gymnastic. +</P> + +<P> +He had just started to swing his feet up to the mantelpiece when he +paused with them in mid-air and brought them down again. The arrested +action had a droll effect. +</P> + +<P> +'Have a smoke,' said Henry, pretending not to notice this peculiar +conduct and pushing the tobacco jar towards him. +</P> + +<P> +'No thanks, old man,' he replied. 'I'm giving up smoking—for a time.' +</P> + +<P> +It was now Henry's turn to look surprised. 'Giving up smoking,' he +ejaculated. 'What's wrong—is it your liver?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no, my liver's all right.' +</P> + +<P> +'Your lungs, then?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, not.' +</P> + +<P> +'It surely can't be your heart?' +</P> + +<P> +William began to look annoyed. 'Look here, can't I go without a smoke +for once without my entire anatomy being held up for discussion?' He +then produced a cigarette and proceeded to light it. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought you'd given up smoking,' commented the puzzled Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you call this smoking?' he replied in disgust. 'You might as well +give lemonade to a man who asks for a brandy and soda and tell him it's +just as good.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then why renounce your pipe at all?' asked Henry, still mystified. +</P> + +<P> +'I've decided to go through a sort of mental training,' replied +William, speaking rather quickly and avoiding my eye. 'I think a man +has no right to become the slave of habit. Directly he feels he is +dropping into a groove he ought to face about and go in exactly the +opposite direction.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is that what you're doing just now?' I asked, wondering if this was an +explanation of the Elizabeth episode. +</P> + +<P> +'Exactly. It is the only way to build up one's character. Now, some +people might think me a little careless regarding dress.' +</P> + +<P> +'The ultra-fastidious might consider you a trifle insouciant, William.' +</P> + +<P> +'That is one of the points in my character I intend to correct.' He +dived into his pocket as he spoke and produced a brown paper parcel. +William can carry any number of things in his pockets without making +his figure look any bulgier or more unsymmetrical than usual. He +boasts that he has at times gone on a three weeks' walking tour with +all the luggage he required for that period disposed about his person, +his damp sponge (concealed in the crown of his hat) keeping his head +delightfully cool in the heat of the day. +</P> + +<P> +'What have you got there, William?' I inquired as he unfolded the +parcel. +</P> + +<P> +'My first step in the evolution of character,' he replied solemnly, and +took out a pair of white spats, and some fawn-coloured gloves. +</P> + +<P> +'You don't mean you're going to wear those?' gasped Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'I am—abhorrent as they are to me,' rejoined William mournfully. +</P> + +<P> +'You may call it building up character if you like,' said Henry +shortly, 'but I call it a lot of damned rot.' He pulled hard at his +cigar, and then added, 'You're suffering from softening of the brain, +my boy, or something of the sort.' +</P> + +<P> +William looked at me in questioning despair, and in that moment my +heart softened towards him. In a flash I understood. He had so often +heard me urge Henry to wear white spats and light-coloured gloves, +though all my coercion and entreaty had been in vain. William had +thought by donning these things—which on him would have a grotesque +effect—he would win my favour. Poor fellow! I was quite touched by +his devotion, his absolutely hopeless passion. +</P> + +<P> +'These things wouldn't be in keeping with the rest of you,' I said +gently; 'they require to be accompanied by all the—er—appurtenances +of the smart man.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is—is—a beard an appurtenance?' he asked in a hollow voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Not an appurtenance, William—perhaps a detriment would be the better +word.' +</P> + +<P> +He emitted a sound that was half a groan. 'I knew it,' he said. +'Well, what must be, must be, I suppose.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're getting profound,' snorted Henry, who apparently objected to +William in his present mood; and he proceeded to distract his attention +by touching on a recent stirring debate in the House. William allowed +Henry to talk on unchecked—your man who indulges in argument abhors +that—and left unusually early for him. +</P> + +<P> +'That fellow is undoubtedly going off his head,' commented Henry after +his departure. 'I wonder what's wrong with him.' +</P> + +<P> +I smiled rather sadly, and mentally decided that I must cure William of +his infatuation for me without delay. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + + +<P> +It is not easy to write—even on such a simple topic as 'How to Retain +a Husband's Love'—if your attention is being distracted by a +conscientious rendering of Czerny's 101 Exercises in an adjoining room. +I could get no further with my article than the opening lines (they +like an introductory couplet on the Woman's Page):— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It is the little rift within the lute<BR> +That by and by will make the music mute!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +whereas The Kid, having disposed of all the major and minor scales and +a goodly slice of Czerny, had now started her 'piece,' 'The Blue Bells +of Scotland.' It was too much. I flung down my pencil and strode to +the door. 'Moira,' I shrieked, 'stop that practising instantly.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, Mama, dear.' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't you understand I'm writing and want to be quiet?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, Mama, dear. May I go on when you've finished writing?' +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose so; but when I've quite finished it will be about your +bedtime,' I said, trying not to feel exasperated. +</P> + +<P> +'Then, may I get up an hour earlier in the morning to practise, Mama, +dear?' +</P> + +<P> +There is something almost unnatural in the way that child fights her +way through all obstacles to the piano and the monotony of Czerny. All +the other parents in the world seem to be bewailing the fact that they +can't get their children to practise. I know I ought to be proud and +glad that The Kid is so bent upon a musical career, but even as the +lion and the lamb cannot lie down together, neither can a writer and an +incipient musician dwell in the same house in amity. +</P> + +<P> +Through almost illimitable difficulties (for when at work Henry can no +more stand piano practice than I can) The Kid has got to the Variations +of 'The Blue Bells of Scotland.' Nevertheless she is yearning for the +day when she will arrive at the part where she crosses hands (Var. +8)—a tremendous achievement in her eyes, but viewed with cold +aloofness by Henry and me. +</P> + +<P> +As I returned to my writing Henry entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +'Will you as a Scotsman tell me,' I inquired before he could speak, +'what English people have done that they should be so unduly annoyed by +the bells of Scotland, why those bells should be blue, and who was +responsible for bringing the said blue bells (with variations) across +the Border?' +</P> + +<P> +'I see The Kid's been annoying you again,' he commented. 'It's a pity +she gets no chance of practising.' +</P> + +<P> +I looked at him sternly. 'No chance! On the contrary, she never lets +a chance escape her. I think it's the fierce Northern strain she +inherits from you, Henry, that makes her so persistent. She reminds me +of Bannockburn——' +</P> + +<P> +'Bannockburn!' ejaculated Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'King Bruce and the Spider and all that, you know. Didn't he go on +trying and trying until he succeeded? That's what The Kid does with +her scales. I think I understand why in 1603 we put a Scotch King on +the English throne—you wouldn't have given us any peace if we hadn't.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, don't blame me for it, my dear,' replied Henry. 'I dropped in +to tell you that William has just 'phoned up to say he accepts our +invitation to dinner this evening, but he is most anxious to know who +else is coming.' +</P> + +<P> +I stared. 'This is most unusual. What should it matter to him who is +coming?' +</P> + +<P> +'I told him, of course, that there was only Marion and ourselves, and +then he asked if he should get into evening dress. What do you think +of that?' We looked at each other in silent amazement. +</P> + +<P> +'William—in—evening—dress,' I echoed blankly. 'What can it mean?' +</P> + +<P> +'Frankly, I think the poor old chap's brain is getting a little +unhinged,' hazarded Henry. 'Do you remember the episode with the white +spats and gloves the other day? I think you ought to persuade him to +see a specialist, my dear.' +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly I remembered the apparent reason for poor William's altered +manner and smiled. 'I don't think we need call in medical aid just +yet,' I replied. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, I felt that he must be cured of this foolishness as soon +as possible, for, as I had already hinted to him, any attempt at +embellishing his person would only make him appear more grotesque. How +little did I then dream of the amazing surprise that was in store for +me! +</P> + +<P> +I was sitting alone in the drawing-room that same evening awaiting my +two guests, Marion and William (Henry was upstairs dressing), when +Elizabeth burst into the room. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, 'm, 'e's come!' she exclaimed, 'an' you never did see anything in +your life 'arf so funny. I've been larfin' fit to split my sides.' +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth,' I said coldly, 'what is wrong? Of whom are you speaking?' +</P> + +<P> +For answer she threw her apron over her head and went off into an +almost hysterical fit of laughing. +</P> + +<P> +''Oo'd have thort it,' she said when she had slightly recovered. 'That +there grizzly bear of a Mr. Roarings, too!' +</P> + +<P> +'So you are referring to one of my guests,' I interrupted sternly. +'I'm ashamed of you, Elizabeth.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, you only ort ter see 'im now! Talk about grubs turnin' into +butterflies——' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not talking about anything of the sort,' I interposed with extreme +asperity of manner. 'Am I to understand that Mr. Rawlings has arrived?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not 'arf, 'e 'asn't. Wait till you see Mamma's boy. 'E's a fair +razzle-dazzle from top to toe. Oh, my godmother!' And being seized +with another burst of hysterical laughter she dashed from the room. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-151"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-151.jpg" ALT="'A fair razzle-dazzle.'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="226" HEIGHT="358"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'A fair razzle-dazzle.'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +I sighed as I put aside the French novel I had been reading when I was +so rudely disturbed. I could not help wishing just then that Elizabeth +had a little less character and a little more deference, and I decided +that I must rebuke her for her familiarity. Then, remembering her +supreme art in grilling a steak, I decided that rebukes—practised on +domestics—are rather risky things in these days. +</P> + +<P> +'Good evening,' said the deep voice of William behind me. +</P> + +<P> +'Good evening,' I said casually, turning round and holding out my hand. +Then I started back, my hand falling limply to my side. It was William +who stood before me, because I recognized his voice—but that was all I +recognized at the moment. Not a shred of his former self seemed to +have remained. +</P> + +<P> +I think I have, from time to time, represented William as shabby, +bulky, shapeless, hairy, and altogether impossible as far as appearance +goes. Can any words depict my astonishment at seeing him so suddenly +transformed, glorified, redeemed and clean-shaven? His figure, which +once appeared so stodgy, now looked merely strong and athletic encased +in a well-fitting morning coat, a waistcoat of a discreet shade of +smoke grey, with a hint of starched piqué slip at the opening. His +irreproachable trousers were correctly creased—not too marked to be +ostentatious, but just a graceful fold emerging, as it were, out of the +texture, even as the faint line of dawn strikes across the darkened sky. +</P> + +<P> +But it was his head that attracted me most. There was no denying +it—shorn of his overgrowth of whiskers and put into a correct setting, +William was handsome; even more than that, he was interesting. He had +that firm, chiselled kind of mouth which women and artists find so +attractive, and a delightful cleft in his chin; his hair, which had +hitherto always struck me as being so unkempt and disordered, now that +it was brushed smoothly back from his brow and curled into the nape of +his neck gave him a distinguished appearance. I directed one long look +at him and then instinctively dived to the mirror. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, William,' I gasped, 'is it possible?' +</P> + +<P> +'Is what possible?' he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +'Why just think of it,' I replied, groping in my pocket for my powder +puff. '<I>You're a man!</I>' +</P> + +<P> +'What else should I be?' he asked, apparently mystified. +</P> + +<P> +'You used to be—just William. But now,' I sidled up to him, 'you've +changed amazingly.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I know that,' he growled with some of his former gruffness of +manner. 'Can you imagine what a tremendous amount of determination and +will power I required to get myself up like this?' +</P> + +<P> +'And a good tailor as well—don't forget that,' I added, running an +appraising eye over his form. 'I must get his address for Henry. Yes, +it was brave of you. What made you do it, William?' +</P> + +<P> +He avoided my eye and looked embarrassed. 'I had an object, of course. +Didn't I explain the other evening——' +</P> + +<P> +'I remember. You did say something about a man not getting into a +groove.' I smiled, feeling slightly self-conscious for a moment. 'And +how do you feel now you're entirely metamorphosed?' +</P> + +<P> +'Entirely metamorphosed, am I?' he said rather bitterly, 'Just on +account of a change of raiment. Yet Dr. Johnson said, "Fine clothes +are good only as they supply the want of other means of procuring +respect."' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I always respected you, William,' I put in hastily, 'And don't +quote Dr. Johnson now. It doesn't go with your tie.' +</P> + +<P> +He groaned. 'Must I change my expressions, my thoughts, my very mode +of living to match the garments I wear?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid you must. But tell me,' I added, looking earnestly into +his face, 'doesn't this outward change affect you inwardly as +well—just a little? You <I>must</I> be feeling more—what shall I +say—sprightly than before?' +</P> + +<P> +He looked down at me as if puzzled, and then said in a half shame-faced +way, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is some truth in that remark of yours. +Some subtle, inexplicable change that I cannot account for has come +over me. Even as Samson's strength lay in his hair, do you think my +reason lay in my beard?' +</P> + +<P> +'It depends on the quality of the reason. Describe your present +symptoms to me, William.' +</P> + +<P> +He avoided my gaze. 'It is quite impossible to analyse them, I assure +you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Let me help. Look at me steadily,' I said impressively. 'Now try, as +far as possible, to describe me.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause. 'I'm afraid you'll be offended, Madame,' he began. +</P> + +<P> +'No, I won't. Go on,' I commanded. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, as a matter of fact, although I have known you for over nine +years, it has never before occurred to me to notice that you are +an—an—exceedingly pretty woman—but I am offending you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not in the least, William. Go on.' +</P> + +<P> +'Before, I merely remarked you as Henry's wife—that was all. Why +should I so suddenly observe your facial aspect? As Dr. Johnson once +said——' +</P> + +<P> +'Cut out Dr. Johnson, and go on with that bit about the facial aspect,' +I put in gently. +</P> + +<P> +'It must, of course, be self-consciousness arising out of my unusual +adornment,' he went on, 'but despite myself I am compelled to notice +your attractive qualities. I must, however, overcome this deplorable +tendency—combat it——' +</P> + +<P> +'I shouldn't combat it too strongly at first,' I suggested. 'It's +always better to do things by degrees. What a nice mouth you have, +William.' +</P> + +<P> +'So have you,' he said, pondering on the discovery. +</P> + +<P> +I blushed. William suddenly started back and smote his brow with his +hand. 'Isn't Henry coming in? Where is he?' he demanded wildly. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you so anxious to see Henry at the moment?' +</P> + +<P> +'I am. Mrs. Warrington, I am ashamed to admit the preposterous idea +that came into my mind just now. You and Henry would never forgive +me—never countenance me again—it was intolerable, incredible——' He +paused and wiped his brow. 'Why doesn't Henry come in?' +</P> + +<P> +'What was the preposterous idea?' I asked, wondering. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, you'll hardly believe it—scarcely realize what you've +escaped … just now, had you been a foot closer to me I believe—I +believe, Mrs. Warrington, I should have kissed you!' +</P> + +<P> +I moved a step nearer to him. 'William, I should never have forgiven +you if you had,' I said, raising my face to his so that he could see +how intensely earnest I was. +</P> + +<P> +The door opened, and Henry and Marion came in together. +</P> + +<P> +'Netta!' exclaimed Marion, 'how could you!' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear,' remarked Henry, 'I am surprised. How is it I come in and +find a man kissing you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know, Henry,' I replied meekly, 'unless it's because that door +opens so quietly!' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + + +<P> +An exclamation from William made us all turn and look at him. +</P> + +<P> +'I must have been mad,' he groaned, sinking into a chair and covering +his face with his hands. +</P> + +<P> +'That's what I thought myself just now when I caught sight of your +waistcoat,' said Henry, staring at him. 'What is the meaning of all +this—why the flawless trousers, the immaculate morning coat?' +</P> + +<P> +'I—I—put on a morning coat because you said I wasn't to get into +evening dress,' he replied. 'I know it isn't the correct thing for +dinner, but you've only yourself to blame.' +</P> + +<P> +Henry continued to stare at him. 'I was quite right. Your brain is +unhinged, William. When I last saw you, you appeared fairly +normal—and now I come in and discover you arrayed like the lilies of +the field and kissing my wife.' +</P> + +<P> +William gave a cry like a wounded animal. 'Your indictment is only too +true. Henry, it is terrible. I can never even hope for your +forgiveness for such a heinous offence. The only reparation I can make +is to go forth from your house, shake from my feet the dust of your +hospitable roof——' +</P> + +<P> +'That metaphor's wrong, William,' I interposed. +</P> + +<P> +'—and pass out of your lives for ever.' +</P> + +<P> +'What on earth are you talking about, old chap?' inquired Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'Have I not betrayed the trust you always reposed in me?' +</P> + +<P> +'I wouldn't put it as strong as that,' replied Henry, eyeing him up and +down, 'though you certainly have made a bit of a guy of yourself. Who +created those trousers?' +</P> + +<P> +'I—I—was not referring to my change of apparel, Henry, but to that +most unfortunate aberration on my part, when I was impelled by some +strange uncontrollable impulse to bestow a labial salute on your wife. +Heaven only knows that I——' +</P> + +<P> +'As for that, I expect she egged you on,' calmly rejoined that horrid +Henry. 'I know her. You did flirt with him, didn't you, Netta?' +</P> + +<P> +Before I could reply William sprang to his feet and placed himself +before me. 'Stop, Henry!' he exclaimed, 'You have no right to suggest +such a thing. If I took a gentle unsuspecting woman unawares, then I +am willing to stand by the consequences of my rash act. Never for one +moment, I can assure you, did such a thought enter Mrs. Warrington's +head. She was wholly unprepared——' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not so sure of that,' put in Marion, with a sniff. +</P> + +<P> +I began to feel somewhat of a martyr. 'Yes, it <I>was</I> rather a +surprise,' I remarked. +</P> + +<P> +'Only a moment before,' continued William, 'Mrs. Warrington had said to +me, "If you do kiss me, I shall never forgive you!"' Oh, clumsy, +clumsy William! +</P> + +<P> +'Then you had been discussing it,' commented Marion, who seemed +unusually chilly about the innocent affair. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I'm hungry, so let's have dinner now,' suggested Henry, 'and we +can settle the discussion afterwards.' +</P> + +<P> +But William strode to the door. 'No, no, Henry, I cannot break bread +in your house again after this distressing incident. I have imposed on +your kindness and good faith, disturbed your trust in me——' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I forgive you this time if you promise never to bestow any of +those, what d'ye call 'em—labial salutes on Netta again. Now let's +have dinner.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no, old man, you may forgive me, but I shall never forgive myself.' +</P> + +<P> +Henry began to look irritated. 'For Heaven's sake, Netta, tell him the +truth and admit it was your fault, or we shall never get anything to +eat to-night.' +</P> + +<P> +I sighed, and going up to William gently pulled back his retreating +form by the coat tails. 'You are young, Father William,' I said, 'and +innocent in the wiles of women. You've only been born a few hours as +far as they are concerned—I don't think it's quite safe for you to go +about without your beard just yet. I will tell you nothing but the +truth. I incited you to kiss me.' +</P> + +<P> +'I knew it!' snapped Marion. +</P> + +<P> +'Henry, as you see, has treated me under the First Offenders Act and +forgiven me. And now, William, I will kiss you once again (with +Henry's full consent) for your youth and innocence.' And I suited the +action to the word. 'So will Marion, won't you, dear?' +</P> + +<P> +At this William started as if shot. 'Never, never!' he exclaimed, +staring at Marion with a hunted look, 'it would be +preposterous—infamous.' +</P> + +<P> +The situation was decidedly awkward, especially as Marion, going +suddenly pale, gave a little hysterical sort of cry and ran out of the +room. +</P> + +<P> +The meal that followed was a silent one. Marion did not speak at all, +and when she was not casting furtive glances in William's direction, +kept her gaze fixed on her plate. William was monosyllabic, partly, I +gathered, on account of recent events, and partly because one of his +patent leather boots was obviously causing him anguish. I noticed that +he occasionally lifted his foot (as an animal raises a wounded paw) and +then set it down again with a sort of half moan. +</P> + +<P> +For one reason I was rather grateful that my guests were so abstracted. +That reason was Elizabeth. Her behaviour during dinner, to put it +mildly, was disturbing and abnormal. Every time she entered the room +to change the plates or hand round the dishes she went through +remarkable pantomimic gestures behind the unconscious William's back. +She drew my attention to him by nods, winks, and significant gestures. +Once or twice she was impelled to clap her hand over her mouth and dash +from the room in a spasm of uncontrollable mirth. It was most +unnerving; and what with William's gloomy looks, Marion's abstraction, +and my constant fear that Elizabeth would spill gravy, custard or +something of an equally clinging character, over William during her +contortions behind him, I was relieved when the meal was ended. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-162"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-162.jpg" ALT="She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth." BORDER="2" WIDTH="315" HEIGHT="342"> +<H4> +[Illustration: She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +William at once retired to the study with Henry, presumably for a chat, +but chiefly, as I afterwards discovered, to remove his right boot for +an hour's respite. He left early, limping heavily. +</P> + +<P> +'It is really most curious about William,' I said to Marion as we sat +alone in the drawing-room—Henry having remained in the study to finish +some work. 'One can hardly conceive a reason strong enough to induce +him to renounce his aboriginal mode of living and become so highly +civilized almost in a day.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion lowered her head, and I thought she looked self-conscious. 'A +man might do a thing like that for—for love,' she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +I blushed slightly. 'I scarcely think it's more than a passing +infatuation.' +</P> + +<P> +'I feel convinced it's stronger than that,' she replied tensely. +</P> + +<P> +'I hope not,' I said in an alarmed tone. 'It would be horrid to see +the poor fellow in the throes of a hopeless passion.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps after all it might not be quite hopeless,' rejoined Marion +softly. +</P> + +<P> +I raised my head sharply. 'I don't think you are justified in that +remark,' I said stiffly, 'what you saw between him and me was only a +little harmless fun. As if, indeed, there is any man living who could +make me forget dear old Henry for a minute——' +</P> + +<P> +'You!' exclaimed Marion with a start. 'I wasn't thinking of you, +Netta.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then who——?' +</P> + +<P> +'I—I—was referring to—myself.' She put down her knitting on her +knee and looked at me half defiantly, her cheeks flushed. +</P> + +<P> +'But, my dear Marion, when has he shown you the slightest attention?' I +was impelled to remark. 'You have always professed the profoundest +contempt for him.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not contempt, Netta. I have remarked that he was untidy.' +</P> + +<P> +'You said the other evening that you considered him to be the last man +on earth a woman could like.' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt, dearest, but that was before I had discovered a woman +kissing him.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps you regret it was not yourself in that enviable position, +darling?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, my love. I don't think the position of a married woman discovered +kissing a man other than her husband <I>is</I> enviable; do you?' +</P> + +<P> +Marion's obtuse and unreasonable attitude puzzled me. I am quick +tempered, and was about to reply hotly, when the door opened and +Elizabeth entered. +</P> + +<P> +'Miss Marryun,' she said, nodding mysteriously in the direction of my +sister-in-law, 'I bin lookin' at the cards for you an' I see a warnin' +in 'em. You'll 'ave to keep an eye on 'im if you want to keep 'im.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion did not look so mystified as I expected at this unusual +outburst. 'Thank you for the warning, Elizabeth,' she said in an +affable tone. +</P> + +<P> +'You gotta rival for 'is affeckshuns,' continued Elizabeth. +</P> + +<P> +Marion raised an eyebrow in my direction. 'No doubt,' she commented. +</P> + +<P> +'What is all this nonsense?' I asked, a little testily. +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth is, as you know, a fatalist,' explained Marion. 'She places +her faith in cards, which, I am repeatedly telling her, is utter +nonsense.' +</P> + +<P> +'It aint nonsense,' expostulated Elizabeth in an injured tone. 'You +gotta fair rival acrost your parth——' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad I'm dark,' I murmured. +</P> + +<P> +'Fair an' false she is,' continued the soothsayer, 'the words of 'er +mouth are like 'oney an'——' +</P> + +<P> +'I tell you I consider all this rubbish,' interrupted Marion briskly. +'You would be far better not to believe in such foolish things, +Elizabeth. They do you no good.' +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth retired in some indignation, muttering, 'Well, don't say you +wasn't told.' +</P> + +<P> +We sat in strained silence—for it was the first occasion there had +been any hint of a tiff between us—and after a time Marion rose to go. +When Henry had put on his overcoat to accompany her home she was +nowhere to be found. Hearing voices proceeding from the kitchen, I +went in that direction. It was then I heard Marion remark in a casual +tone—the casualness a little overdone: 'You might let me hear if he +says any more about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Right-o, Miss.' +</P> + +<P> +'And, oh, by the way, Elizabeth, what was that you said about a +rival—are you quite sure that she is fair?' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + + +<P> +I should like to begin this chapter by saying it's the unexpected that +always happens. As that, however, would be too trite a remark, I will +only say that William was the last person on earth I should have +suspected of falling in love with Gladys Harringay. +</P> + +<P> +She is, indeed, exceedingly pretty in a fluffy kind of way and most men +like to flirt with her, but they do not let their attentions develop +into anything serious. Perhaps you know the sort of girl she is. She +makes a dead set at every eligible man she meets and concentrates on +him to such an extent that he ends by losing interest in her +altogether—actually avoiding her, in fact. Man is like that, I've +observed. I suppose it's the primitive instinct of the hunter which +still lurks in him and makes him desire to stalk down his quarry +instead of its stalking him. Gladys didn't seem aware of this supreme +fact, and (though she affected the giddy airs of eighteen) she was +getting perilously near the age when the country considers a woman is +wise and staid enough to vote, yet she still remained unwed. +</P> + +<P> +Never for a moment did it occur to me, when I asked her to dine with us +one evening, that she would go for William. Still less did I think +that he would take even the faintest interest in such a vapid creature. +But, as I wanted to say before, it's the unexpected that always happens. +</P> + +<P> +William was looking unusually nice that evening. His eyes had a +far-away, rather haunted expression, due to his wearing sock-suspenders +for the first time, but, of course, Gladys didn't know that. He seemed +like one of the strong, silent heroes of fiction. I can testify that +he was silent—perhaps because Gladys did all the talking—and he +looked unusually strong. They sat together most of the evening, and +she only left his side to go to the piano to sing one of her 'stock' +French chansons. Even then she directed it entirely at William. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +'<I>Mamman, dîtes-moi, ce qu'on sent quand on aime<BR> +Est-ce plaisir, est-ce tourment?</I>'<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +she warbled, rolling her r's and looking so fixedly at William that he +seemed quite uneasy—he might, indeed, have been more uneasy had his +French been equal to following the words of the song. Modern +languages, however, like modern writers, do not appeal to him. They +must be as dead as mutton before they can awaken his interest. If you +want to see him roused to a perfect frenzy of enthusiasm you should see +him arguing with Henry as to the comparative dramatic values of Homeric +hexameters and Ionian iambics. +</P> + +<P> +But to return to Gladys—or rather Gladys and William, for they +remained inseparable for the remainder of the evening. He even +accompanied her home, for I saw him dart forward (in his patent leather +boots, too, which demanded slow movement on his part), when she rose to +go, and hurry out to act as her escort. +</P> + +<P> +A few days later he called in to see us for the sole purpose of +inquiring about her. He pretended he wanted to borrow Ruskin's <I>Munera +Pulveris</I>, but as he went away without the volume we saw how feeble was +that pretext. +</P> + +<P> +'With regard to—er—Miss Harringay,' he began, almost as soon as he +arrived, 'I must say I consider her a remarkable young lady.' +</P> + +<P> +'She <I>is</I>,' I said grimly. +</P> + +<P> +'Would you believe it,' he went on, addressing himself to Henry, 'she +is actually a Dr. Johnson enthusiast.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nonsense!' ejaculated Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a fact. Isn't it unusual in one so young and—er—tender and +timid that she recalls Keats' dissertation on woman, "she is like a +milk-white lamb that bleats for man's protection."' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, so she's been bleating, has she?' I said cruelly. +</P> + +<P> +'It makes it all the more astonishing that she should have leanings +toward the study of serious literature.' +</P> + +<P> +'Who told you she had?' +</P> + +<P> +'She told me so herself.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean to tell me you believe it?' +</P> + +<P> +He looked puzzled. 'Why should she say that if it isn't true? She +could have no object in making such a statement. As a matter of fact, +I found out quite by accident, when she unconsciously quoted a passage +from the great master.' +</P> + +<P> +I began to see light. So that was why Gladys had come up in such haste +the day following her introduction to William to borrow <I>Johnson's +Aphorisms</I>. Oh, hapless, artless William! +</P> + +<P> +'I see now that you were quite right when you once remarked that you +feared you had lost your reason with your beard,' I remarked severely. +'Do let things grow again before it is too late.' +</P> + +<P> +'Let what grow?' he asked. +</P> + +<P> +'Everything. Moustache, beard and general air of fuzziness. It's the +best protection you can have, my poor fellow.' +</P> + +<P> +He departed rather abruptly after that, seeming somewhat annoyed. I +could not understand what was making him so unusually touchy. +</P> + +<P> +'Surely,' I said to Henry, 'even William isn't so blind as to let +himself be taken in by that little noodle of a Gladys.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course he isn't,' replied Henry vehemently, 'do you think a chap is +ever deceived by anything like that? He hates to be pounced on, so to +speak. Do you know, my dear, that one of the things that first +attracted you to me was your complete indifference to myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed, Henry?' I said, with lowered eyes and modest mien. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. If you remember I was editing the <I>Gazette</I> at the time I first +met you, and although you, as one of my contributors, often came up to +the office to see me, we remained for a long time on a purely business +footing.' +</P> + +<P> +It is true Henry was an unconscionable time in coming to the point. +'Entirely business-like,' I acquiesced. +</P> + +<P> +'When you called to see me to discuss a gross misstatement in one of +your articles (which you refused to acknowledge until I had sent for +you to put the matter clearly before you), you did not conduct yourself +like so many other girls who came to discuss their work with me. You +did not attempt to engage in a mild flirtation, make eyes, bend over me +as I glanced through the manuscript——' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, bad, bad girls,' I murmured. 'Do women behave like that with you, +Henry?' +</P> + +<P> +'They <I>did</I>, my dear. I am speaking of the time before I was married.' +</P> + +<P> +I smiled. What a comfort it is to have a Scotsman for a husband! He +is so solid and reliable regarding the opposite sex. +</P> + +<P> +'You, however, employed none of these wiles,' he continued, 'and were +almost studiously cold and business-like. For a long time I thought I +should never interest you in myself—in fact, I know I took you very +much by surprise when I made you an offer, didn't I?' +</P> + +<P> +'I was rather surprised, Henry,' I said, smiling at his retreating form +as he went out of the room. Then I turned to Marion, who happened to +be present. 'Why, of course,' I commented, 'that makes it all the more +serious about William.' +</P> + +<P> +'What are you talking about?' she asked in a puzzled tone. +</P> + +<P> +'If Henry was deceived so easily——' +</P> + +<P> +'Deceived! Oh, Netta!' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I mean, dear, I'd decided to marry Henry before the episode of +the misstatement in my article he just mentioned. I—I—put the +misstatement in on purpose to arouse a controversy between us.' +</P> + +<P> +'Netta, how terrible!' +</P> + +<P> +'Why terrible, Marion? I knew Henry would make an excellent husband. +Am I not a suitable wife for him?' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-175"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-175.jpg" ALT="'Am I not a suitable wife for Henry?'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="248" HEIGHT="430"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Am I not a suitable wife for Henry?'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +'You are just perfect, dear—but you might have been otherwise.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's exactly what I'm driving at, Marion. Gladys is an "otherwise." +If I deceived Henry, how much easier is it for her to deceive William? +No, she shan't marry him. He'd be wretched.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion smiled. 'You surely don't think there's anything like that +between them?' +</P> + +<P> +'He's drifting that way if some one doesn't stop him.' +</P> + +<P> +Again Marion smiled. 'I tell you it's impossible. He couldn't have +got over his passion for me so quickly.' +</P> + +<P> +'His passion for you,' I echoed. 'My dear, what do you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +Marion then laid down her sewing and began to speak. I listened +amazed, unable at first to credit what she was saying, though gradually +I began to understand many things which had hitherto been obscure. +</P> + +<P> +'It's wonderful to think of his having loved you secretly all this +time,' I marvelled; 'yet why should he take Elizabeth into his +confidence rather than myself? And why didn't you tell me all this +before—it would have made things so much simpler.' +</P> + +<P> +'At first, not being aware how handsome he could be made, I did not +care for him and——' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean, then, that you no longer dislike him, Marion?' +</P> + +<P> +'On the contrary, dear, I have begun to regard him with—with feelings +of warmth.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then all goes well, it seems. Now I shall go and speak to Elizabeth +about the affair.' +</P> + +<P> +I thought Elizabeth seemed a little uneasy under my questioning, but +she reiterated many times: 'I tell you 'e isn't 'arf gone on Miss +Marryun—fair mad about 'er 'e is, but 'e told me not to breathe a word +about it to a soul.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, he's mad about some one else now,' I interposed. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth looked unduly startled. 'Oo with? Don't say it's that there +Miss 'Arringay 'oo wos a-settin' 'er cap so 'ard at 'im the other +night?' +</P> + +<P> +I was a little taken aback. 'Yes, that's about it,' I confessed. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, upon my soul, the sorcy baggage,' burst out Elizabeth with +unexpected wrath, 'such imperence after me workin' an' plannin' the way +I 'ave. But she shan't 'ave 'im. Look 'ere, 'm, Miss Marryun is just +the one fer 'im. Can't it be brought off like?' +</P> + +<P> +I pondered. 'I'll do my best, Elizabeth. If, as you say, he has +formed such a strong attachment to Miss Marion, I should like to see +them both happy. You say he was particularly anxious to have her +photograph?' +</P> + +<P> +I almost imagined at that moment Elizabeth avoided my eye. 'Very +pertickler,' she retorted in a muffled voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Very well, then. I, myself, will restore the photo he replaced. It +will be the first step to an understanding between them.' +</P> + +<P> +I left the kitchen smiling complacently, feeling that my latest +matrimonial scheme for Marion was going to be the easiest I had ever +attempted. +</P> + +<P> +Alas! I was reckoning, as the saying is, without my host. The host in +this case was Gladys. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + + +<P> +Everything went wrong with my plans from the first. For instance, +Marion, the central figure in the plot, went away suddenly to nurse a +sick great-aunt. William now became so engrossed with Gladys that he +talked of very little else. Thus Henry and I would have avoided him at +this stage, if possible; it was not possible, however, to avoid him. +We saw more of him than ever. I will explain why. +</P> + +<P> +William was one of those lovers who are terrified of being over-bold or +too confident, lest by their presumption they might alarm the timid +object of their affections. He needn't have been afraid of wooing +Gladys. She flung herself at his head rather obviously, but he seemed +so obtuse she must have found him irritating at times. Thus, instead +of calling upon her or asking her to meet him by appointment, or +arranging an evening at the theatre and otherwise behaving in a +sensible manner, he hung about her house, endeavouring to come upon her +'by chance.' Further, having met her at our place he seemed to be +under the impression that she was one of my closest friends, and came +to see me every day, judging by the times he 'dropped in' in the +obvious anticipation of meeting her. Not finding his quarry, he talked +about her to Henry, though I must admit his audience was not always +sympathetic. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't believe in interfering in these things,' remarked Henry, one +evening, when we were alone, 'but, frankly, I should be really sorry to +see good old William throw himself away on that frivolous, stupid +little Gladys. They'd be desperately unhappy after being married a +week. Couldn't something be said to them, do you think—a hint thrown +out from time to time?' +</P> + +<P> +'Throwing hints—or anything else—wouldn't be of the slightest use, +Henry. Have you ever met a person in love who would listen to sound +advice of the sort? If you want to know how to get yourself intensely +unpopular—with two people at least—try intervening in what you +consider an unsuitable love match.' +</P> + +<P> +I spoke with feeling, for I had once been implored to use my influence +to part a couple who were, to all appearances, acutely incompatible. +The job was distasteful to me, and I only undertook it because there is +a strain of philanthropy in my nature (though that isn't what the +incompatibles called it). My intervention had no effect, of course. +They are now married—and quite happy—and neither of them will speak +to me any more. +</P> + +<P> +Henry continued to look disturbed. 'If he only knew Gladys,' he said, +'but as things are going at present I'm afraid he'll propose before his +eyes are opened.' +</P> + +<P> +I felt troubled. For a day or two I pondered on the distressing +affair, but I was resolutely determined not to intervene. Then it was +the idea occurred to me. To be frank, it was Elizabeth who actually +inspired it. I was giving orders for dinner and was suggesting apple +turnovers for a sweet, when she blandly remarked, 'Talkin' o' +turnovers, Mr. Roarings is dead gone on that there Miss 'Arringay now, +I 'ear.' +</P> + +<P> +'Your hearing does seem unusually good,' I said coldly. Certainly, I +had never mentioned the subject to any one but Henry. It was a +surprise to discover that I had, at the same time, been mentioning it +to Elizabeth as well. +</P> + +<P> +'Nice wife she'd make him,' continued the irrepressible Elizabeth, 'a +flipperty-flapperty piece o' goods like 'er.' +</P> + +<P> +'We will have cheese straws after the sweet, Elizabeth,' I said in +tones of chill rebuke. +</P> + +<P> +'Right-o, 'm. Well, wot are you goin' to <I>do</I> about it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Do about what?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Roarings an' Miss 'Arringay. 'E isn't 'er style as any one could +see with 'arf an eye, but 'e's fair blinded just now. Wot an +eye-opener it'd be if 'e got to know 'er proper—met 'er frequent, so +to speak.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid I don't quite understand.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, 'ere's a case in point. My sister-in-law's brother—nice young +chap 'e was too—fell in with a girl that wasn't the right one fer +'im—no clarss like,—but 'e wouldn't 'ear a word agen 'er. So my +sister-in-law thinks of a plan. She arsks both 'er brother an' the +young woman 'e was courtin' to go and spend their 'olidays with 'er at +the seaside. Which they did an'—bless yer—wot with seein' 'er every +day an' gettin' to know 'er too well 'e soon got sick o' 'er. Why, +'e'd given 'er a black eye afore the week was out. Now if Mr. Roarings +and Miss 'Arringay met frequent like that——' +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth,' I interposed, 'mind your own business'; and I went out of +the kitchen with dignity. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, I was compelled to admit that she had given me an +inspiration. That girl, under a rough and unpromising exterior, has +fecundity of ideas which astonishes me. Had she been in a higher class +in life—or even able to spell—she might have been a regular +contributor to the Sunday papers. +</P> + +<P> +'Henry,' I said, hurrying into the study. 'I have got a solution +regarding William's entanglement. I am going to invite Gladys to spend +a week here with us.' +</P> + +<P> +'How can that help? I don't quite see——' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear ass, the idea isn't a novel one, but in this case it's +excellent. I'll write her a note on the instant and ask her if she'll +come, giving as a pretext that I'm feeling lonely in Marion's absence.' +</P> + +<P> +'But why this hurry? Hadn't you better think it over first?' +</P> + +<P> +'If I pause to think it over, Henry, I know I shall decide that I can't +tolerate Gladys for an entire week. As it is, I expect she'll drive me +stark mad. No, no, let me write while I am in my present frenzy of +philanthropy?' +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose,' he reflected, 'William will practically spend the week +here, too, when he knows Gladys is coming.' +</P> + +<P> +'Exactly. What about it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm thinking of my work,' he grumbled. 'Two people being +disillusioned under one roof are sure to create interruptions.' +</P> + +<P> +'They shan't interrupt you. I intend to leave them together as much as +possible. How glad I am that Gladys isn't the least bit clever—a week +might not be long enough if she were.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not sanguine about the idea,' was Henry's comment. 'It might work +out all right in books and plays; but in real life its effect is +extremely doubtful.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not at all. Elizabeth knew a young man who was devoted to a girl +until they spent a holiday together. At the end of the first week he +gave her a black eye. What more do you want than that?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing,' replied Henry, 'if she was quite satisfied. Do you think +William's disillusionment will be as abrupt as all that?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm hopeful. Now don't talk to me until I've finished my letter to +Gladys, which demands effort on my part. It must read as if I really +wanted her to come.' +</P> + +<P> +Evidently the letter was effective, for Gladys rang up directly she +received it and told me she'd be simply charmed to come and that it was +perfectly sweet of me to have her. (I rather thought it was myself.) +</P> + +<P> +She came the next day with an abnormal amount of luggage for such a +brief visit. But as I told Henry (who said it looked as though she +intended wintering in our abode), I had distinctly stipulated that the +invitation was for a week only. I was not at that time aware of the +barnacle-like qualities of Gladys. +</P> + +<P> +As I anticipated, William also descended on us when he knew we had +Gladys for a visitor. I left them alone together at every opportunity, +and for a day or two all went well. +</P> + +<P> +Things might have gone better (for Gladys) if she hadn't attempted to +be clever. As a matter of fact she over-reached herself. To this day +I believe she ascribes her failure to Dr. Johnson, though she was far +more to blame than that good old man. She talks very bitterly against +him even now. +</P> + +<P> +You see, knowing William's weakness, she played up to it, but not being +clever she hadn't got her subject properly in hand. I know the poor +girl worked hard at the <I>Aphorisms</I>, but she had exhausted what she +knew of those by the end of the first day. She did her best, I will +admit, and even took the <I>Lives of the English Poets</I> to bed with her +and concentrated on them until midnight, while she dipped into <I>The +Vanity of Human Wishes</I> before breakfast. But it was no use. William +discovered her deception rapidly, and it seemed to annoy him unduly. +His visits began to fall off, and after Gladys had artlessly remarked +to him one day, 'Who is that Mr. Boswell you're always talking +about—he must be a great friend of yours. I hope you'll introduce +me,' he ceased to come altogether. +</P> + +<P> +He had, in fact, arrived at the stage where Gladys irritated him. So +had we. But unlike William we could not get away from her. Her visit +had already extended two weeks and was melting into a third, and she +gave no hint of returning home. It wouldn't have been so bad if only +she had been quiet, but she is the most restless person I have ever +known. She was always running up and down stairs, banging doors, +playing fragments on the piano, and dashing into the study to talk to +Henry when he was writing. +</P> + +<P> +He is, on the whole, an equable man, but more than once I trembled for +the consequences when I saw her go up to him, lean over his shoulder +and, snatching at some loose pages of his MS., playfully remark, 'What +funny crabbed letters! And what is it all about—something you're +inventing to deceive us poor public, I'll be bound. I don't believe a +word of what you're writing, so there!' +</P> + +<P> +Henry used to say scorching things about Gladys when we retired at +night (the only chance we seemed to have now of being alone was in our +bedroom), and would ask me when I meant to tell her to go. I suggested +he should tell her himself, and he declared it was not the duty of the +host. I replied that it was the first time I'd ever heard it was the +duty of the hostess either. +</P> + +<P> +We planned to make little speeches in her presence based on the subject +of her departure, and fraught with deep and subtle allusion, but she +ignored them. We inquired if her mother did not miss her after such a +prolonged absence, and she said they rather liked her to be away from +home for a few months in the year, as a change was always good. No +doubt it was good for her people, but it was bad for Henry and me. +</P> + +<P> +Then one night Henry revolted. 'If she hasn't gone in another two +days,' he informed me, 'I'm going to get rooms at an hotel.' +</P> + +<P> +He spoke as if he meant it, and I was mournfully wondering what I ought +to do to get Gladys to go, short of being downright rude, when +Elizabeth drifted into the problem. +</P> + +<P> +'If Miss 'Arringay's goin' to stop much longer, I ain't,' she +announced. 'She makes too much extry work, an' the sight o' 'er about +the place fair riles me.' +</P> + +<P> +I looked wearily at Elizabeth. 'No doubt Miss Harringay will be going +soon,' I said with an utter lack of conviction. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth approached me, and bending down, said in a hoarse whisper, +'Wot is it—carn't you get rid of 'er?' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-188"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-188.jpg" ALT="'Carn't you get rid of 'er?'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="355" HEIGHT="369"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Carn't you get rid of 'er?'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +I did not reply, feeling it distasteful to discuss my guest with a +domestic, though I could not refrain from discussing her with Henry. +</P> + +<P> +'Tell you wot you orter do,' said the fertile Elizabeth, 'send for Miss +Marryun to come 'ere unexpected, an' then tell Miss 'Arringay you'll +want 'er room.' +</P> + +<P> +'But—but I've got another spare room. Miss Harringay knows that.' +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth winked: I pretended not to see it, but there was no mistaking +the distinct muscular movement of her left eyelid. 'No you '<I>aven't</I>,' +she said stoutly. 'You 'avent got any proper bedding in the spare room +now, 'ave you?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's too thin,' I said decidedly. Yet even as I spoke I clutched at +the straw and, holding on to it, went at once and wrote to Marion. +</P> + +<P> +'You must come home at once,' I commanded, 'in spite of great-aunt +Jane's rheumatism. Is it not written that it is better to have one +rheumatic great-aunt than a brother, sister-in-law, and a niece in an +asylum!' +</P> + +<P> +For answer Marion wired the time of her return train, and I began to +grow hopeful. +</P> + +<P> +'An' when Miss Marryun comes,' remarked Elizabeth, 'if I wos you I +wouldn't say nothin' to 'er about the way Mr. Roarings went after Miss +'Arringay.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why not?' I asked involuntarily. +</P> + +<P> +'She mightn't trust 'im arter that. I never thort myself 'e'd turn as +quick as 'e did. But men is queer, as my pore mother often said when +father give 'er a black eye just to show 'ow fond 'e was of her like. +No, the best thing to do is to let Miss Marryun think that Mr. Roarings +is still taken up with 'er and only went after the other young lady to +make 'er jealous.' +</P> + +<P> +There was much wisdom in Elizabeth's words. Nevertheless, I did not +intend to mix myself up in any more matrimonial schemes. Much as I +desired to see Marion happy, I felt that arranging the destiny of +others did not leave me enough leisure to arrange my own, besides +interfering with my literary work. At the moment, too, the thought +uppermost in my mind was how to dispose of Gladys. +</P> + +<P> +I went to her with Marion's telegram in my hand and a falsely contrite +expression on my face. 'I'm so awfully sorry, Gladys, but a most +unforeseen thing has happened,' I said. 'Marion is coming to-day, and +she'll have to take your room. Isn't it an idiotic situation?' +</P> + +<P> +Gladys pondered. 'But you have another spare room, haven't you?' she +demanded brightly. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, Gladys, we have. But we haven't got the bedding for that just +now. The mattress is being cleaned, and I suppose it won't be sent +back for another fortnight at least.' +</P> + +<P> +Undaunted, Gladys had another idea. 'Then do you think Marion would +mind sharing my room?' +</P> + +<P> +'She would indeed—you see she walks in her sleep,' I said glibly, +wondering how it was George Washington had found any difficulty in +dissembling, 'and she's very sensitive about any one getting to know +about it.' +</P> + +<P> +Gladys went after that. Henry and I have both decided that we're not +going to interfere with incompatibles in future. It's too much of a +strain on the nervous system. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + + +<P> +<I>Being a further extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington</I>. It +seemed particularly unfortunate that I should be called away so +hurriedly to the bedside of dear Aunt Jane at the very moment of the +blossoming of my first real love episode. Yes, I must admit my +feelings have undergone a change regarding Mr. Rawlings, whom I call my +silent lover. +</P> + +<P> +Evidently he has, all the time, been fated for me. Truly, as the poet +says, there's a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we +will. Divinity, so to speak, has shaped Mr. Rawlings' rough ends and +completely transformed him. After seeing him without his beard and, +above all, realizing what sacrifices he has made for my sake, I cannot +but be touched by such overwhelming devotion. +</P> + +<P> +There is something almost sublime in the way that man has thrown off +the habits of a lifetime for my sake! To think he has even donned +white spats to please me! Netta has been trying for ten years to get +Henry to wear them, but he remains as obdurate about it as ever. +</P> + +<P> +I was relieved when (the malady of Aunt Jane having somewhat abated) I +was able to go back to town after an urgent message from Netta asking +me to return at once. No doubt Mr. Rawlings inspired that message. He +is a timid lover, but unusually full of resource. Though, for example, +he seems afraid to approach me, he actually engaged in a mild +flirtation with Gladys Harringay to awaken my interest in him. His +intention was so obvious that I found it actually amusing. Any one +could see through it. Poor fellow, perhaps he thinks the idea of +evoking love by first arousing jealousy is a new one. He is an infant +in such matters. I intend him to remain so. +</P> + +<P> +<I>Thursday</I>: I have neglected my diary for nearly a fortnight, for I +have been too troubled about Mr. Rawlings to concentrate on anything +else. He is certainly a most remarkable man. Though obviously +suffering he shrinks from any declaration. Often we are alone for +hours (I have asked dear Netta to give him the necessary opportunity to +unburden himself) and he does nothing but stare at me in a fixed and +dreadful way, and remains mute. Of course I know that I am to blame on +account of my former indifference—even antagonism—to him. He is +afraid of rebuff. I have extended encouragement to him by all the +slight means in my power, and Netta has openly handed him my photo, +observing that she knew he would like to have it. I have even gone to +the length of asking Henry to convey to him that he has nothing to +fear; but Henry resolutely refuses to touch on the subject with him. I +cannot understand why, when the happiness of two people is at stake. +</P> + +<P> +<I>Sunday</I>: I don't know what impelled me to do it. Perhaps it was the +remembrance of an article of Netta's I once read entitled, 'Should +Women Propose?' where she cited the historic instance of Queen +Victoria, in whose case, on account of her rank, it was a necessity. I +had begun to realize that William was not likely to bring his courage +to the sticking point without a great deal of encouragement. +Distasteful as the idea was to me, I did not intend to shrink from what +I felt was to be my duty. If he, though languishing for love, was too +faint-hearted to propose, I saw that it would be necessary for me to +undertake that task. +</P> + +<P> +Last evening, therefore, when he called I received him in the +drawing-room and explained that Netta and Henry had gone out to the +theatre. He at once made for the door, saying in that case he would +not stop, but I intercepted him. Closing the door, I said gently, 'I +am going to ask you to keep me company for an hour—if,' I added +archly, 'it won't bore you.' +</P> + +<P> +In a confused sort of way he assured me it would not, and he sat down +and dropped into the silence that is becoming habitual when we are left +alone together. +</P> + +<P> +I knitted and he pulled hard at his cigarette. At last I said: 'Why +don't you smoke a pipe, Mr. Rawlings? I know you prefer it.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no,' he said vehemently, 'I would much rather have a cigarette. +It's a cleaner habit than pipe-smoking, isn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +I smiled faintly and mentally decided that when we were married I would +not allow him to deprive himself of one of his greatest joys for my +sake. +</P> + +<P> +There was another long silence and then, feeling extremely nervous, I +murmured haltingly, 'I—I—wonder if you missed me when I was away +nursing my great sick aunt—I—I—mean my sick great-aunt. +Did—did—the time seem long?' +</P> + +<P> +'I—I'm not quite sure,' he stammered, obviously as ill at ease as +myself. 'You see, to be perfectly frank, Miss Warrington, I was at the +time in love as far as I believe, and it seems a confused period.' +</P> + +<P> +I waited for him to continue, my eyes discreetly lowered. As, however, +he did not go on, I raised them again. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes?' I said encouragingly. +</P> + +<P> +'That's all,' he replied. He looked so embarrassed and unhappy, and +wore such an imploring expression I realized that now or never I must +come to his relief. +</P> + +<P> +I laid down my knitting and leaned forward. 'Mr. Rawlings,' I said +impressively—'or, shall I say William—I have known of the state of +your feelings towards me for some time now.' +</P> + +<P> +He raised his head, and there was no disguising the look of hope in his +eye. 'Do you really mean that?' he asked eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +I nodded. 'I want to tell you not to be afraid. However harsh I once +seemed to you, the sight of your devotion and self-sacrifice has +touched me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Devotion—self-sacrifice,' he murmured in a wondering tone. +</P> + +<P> +'As such do I regard them, William. But they have reaped their reward. +I … how shall I tell you … it is so difficult …' +</P> + +<P> +I paused in some distress, wondering if Queen Victoria had felt as +uncomfortable about it as I did. +</P> + +<P> +'I want to tell you that … I love you, William,' I said at last, +very softly. +</P> + +<P> +There was an intense silence, broken only by his laboured breathing. +The intensity of his emotions was evidently too much for him. +</P> + +<P> +'And so,' I concluded, raising my eyes to his for a moment, 'I am going +to be your wife.' +</P> + +<P> +There! It was out at last. Having spoken I lowered my eyes again and +did not look at him until I heard him say in a strained kind of voice, +'But—but—this is too much honour. Believe me, Miss Warrington, I am +not worthy——' +</P> + +<P> +'I think you are,' I replied softly, 'and isn't that enough?' +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't enough—I assure you it isn't,' he replied. I noted that his +eyes had a rather staring look and slight beads of perspiration had +broken out on his forehead—he must be a man of strong emotions. 'It +would be a most unfair thing for a man like me, with all my +shortcomings, to inflict myself on any woman.' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't be too modest about yourself,' I put in encouragingly, and +somewhat timidly laying my hand on his, I added, 'I like you as you +are.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing would induce me to let you sacrifice yourself,' he exclaimed +hotly, 'it would be monstrous, intolerable!' He sprang to his feet as +he spoke. 'I must go at once,' he went on, 'we can never meet again, +never, never!' +</P> + +<P> +I rose also, going rather pale. In that moment a dreadful thought came +to me that perhaps I had made a mistake. Yet there could have been no +misconstruing what he had said to Elizabeth regarding his passion for +me. +</P> + +<P> +'Stop, William!' I cried as he retreated to the door, 'why are you so +obtuse? Don't you understand how difficult you are making everything +for me—as well as for yourself! What is all this talk of sacrifice +and your unworthiness. I don't think you are unworthy. I—I—love +you—isn't it enough when I say that?' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-198"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-198.jpg" ALT="'Stop, William!' Marion cried." BORDER="2" WIDTH="412" HEIGHT="476"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Stop, William!' Marion cried.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Involuntarily I stretched out my hands to him as I spoke. He has told +me since that the sight of me standing there bathed in the light of the +rose-shaded lamp, my eyes and lips unusually soft and tender (so he +says), with my arms held out to him, forms a picture that he will never +forget. He looked at me for a moment in absolute silence, and appeared +to be thinking deeply. When at last he spoke he made an astonishing +remark. 'What does it matter about me, after all?' he murmured slowly, +as if speaking to himself. 'Good God, little woman, I was just about +to act the part of a consummate cad and coward!' +</P> + +<P> +He then strode up to me and continued in a serious tone: 'If you care +enough for me to take me with all my faults, I shall be proud to be +your husband.' +</P> + +<P> +After which he bent and kissed me very gravely on the forehead, and +surprised me by walking out of the room. It was the most remarkable +proposal. But then, in every way, my dear William is a most remarkable +man. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + + +<P> +There was something distinctly puzzling about Marion's engagement to +William. It was William who puzzled me. Instinctively I knew he was +not happy. Had I been instrumental in bringing about the match, I +should have felt disturbed, but as it happened, they pulled it off +without the slightest assistance from me. It is the best way. I am +steadily determined never to involve myself in matrimonial schemes for +any one in future. Even when The Kid gets old enough to have love +affairs, she will get my advice and sympathy, but no active +co-operation on my part. +</P> + +<P> +But to return to William. Though he seemed plunged in gloom, Marion +was radiant. She gaily prepared her trousseau, and took William on +long shopping expeditions from which he returned more overcast than +ever. Sometimes I wondered if he had really got over his infatuation +for Gladys, and if he had merely proposed to Marion out of pique. A +strange foreboding came over me that all was not going well. +</P> + +<P> +This was deepened when Marion came to me one day with her eyes red as +though she had been weeping. +</P> + +<P> +'Is anything wrong?' I inquired, an instinctive fear gripping at my +heart. 'You surely haven't quarrelled with William?' +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. 'Can you imagine William quarrelling with any one?' +</P> + +<P> +I could not. He is one of those comfortable people with whom you can +be perfectly frank and outspoken without fear of giving the slightest +offence. If I say to him when he is deep in a learned discussion with +Henry, 'Do shut up, William, I can't think when you're talking,' he +does not snort, glare at me, breathe hard or show any other signs of +inward resentment. He at once relapses into silence—an affable +silence, not the strained kind when the offended party takes deep +respirations through the nose—and I am allowed to think without +interruption. It is one of the reasons why I have never minded Henry +having him about the place at any time. +</P> + +<P> +'Then if you and William haven't quarrelled, what is wrong?' I asked of +the drooping Marion. +</P> + +<P> +'It's—it's about our wedding, Netta. He wants to know if I'll put it +off for another six months.' +</P> + +<P> +I started. 'Why should he wish to do that now, with all arrangements +made?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know. There isn't the slightest reason for delay. It isn't a +case of money, for you know he has a good private income, and I have my +own little income as well. Then, we are both old enough to know our +own minds—yet he says he thinks we ought to have more time for +reflection. What can it mean, Netta?' +</P> + +<P> +I was silent for a moment, not liking to voice my uneasy thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't that I mind the extra six months' delay,' she went on, 'but I +don't like the idea of postponing the wedding. There is something +unlucky about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're right—it is unlucky,' said the voice of Elizabeth, coming +unexpectedly into the discussion. +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth,' I said sternly, 'do you mean to tell me you were +listening?' +</P> + +<P> +She drew herself up with dignity. 'Me listenin'! I've too much to do +to go poking myself into other people's bizness. But I wos just comin' +in to ask wot you wanted for dinner——' +</P> + +<P> +'I have already given orders for dinner, Elizabeth.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I musta forgotten 'em. An' just as I was comin' in I 'eard Miss +Marryun talkin' about Mr. Roarings wantin' to put the weddin' orf. +Don't you let 'im do it, miss. I've 'eard o' young women puttin' off +their weddin's so long that in the end they've never took place at all. +I've 'ad it 'appen to myself, so I <I>know</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth,' I interposed, 'we don't want your advice. Go away at +once.' +</P> + +<P> +'I ain't done yet. You'll be glad o' my advice in the end. Experience +'elps a lot. Some men wot's goin' to be married gets a sort o' funk at +the last minnit and, bless you, they'd wriggle out o' it, yes, even if +they was goin' to marry an angel out o' 'eaven. My friend's 'usband +was one o' them sort—wanted to stop the 'ole thing with the weddin' +cake ordered, an' lodgings taken at Margate for the 'oneymoon. But she +'eld 'im to it—stuck to 'im like grim death until' e'd gone through +with it. An' now 'e often ses 'e never regrets it for a minnit.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion looked up hopefully. 'Perhaps you're right, Elizabeth.' +</P> + +<P> +'O' course I'm right,' she asserted, throwing a triumphant glance at me +as she retired. +</P> + +<P> +'These tactics may be all very well for the lower classes,' I said to +Marion when we were alone, 'but I'm not quite sure whether they'd +answer in every case. No, Marion dear, if William wants to postpone +the wedding, it must be done.' +</P> + +<P> +Her face fell at once, and she looked so dejected I felt troubled. +</P> + +<P> +'If you like I will talk to William and try to discover the reason for +his change of plan,' I conceded reluctantly, 'but you must understand, +dear, that nothing will make me interfere with the natural course of +events.' +</P> + +<P> +Rather to my surprise, William touched on the subject the next time he +came to see me. We were sitting alone and I was mentally noting his +air of depression, when he suddenly burst out: 'Tell me, frankly, do +you think a man is justified in—er—postponing a great event in his +life—such as, say, his wedding, if he feels uncertain?' +</P> + +<P> +'Uncertain about what?' I asked gently. +</P> + +<P> +'About himself—and everything, you know. True, Johnson has said that +marriage is one of the means of happiness—a sentiment delivered, no +doubt, by the great master when he was in a light vein—but supposing a +man is not sure that he can make a woman happy——' +</P> + +<P> +'And supposing instead of the hypothetical man and woman you are +speaking of, we simply quote the case of you and Marion,' I interposed. +'Am I to understand that you do not wish to marry her?' +</P> + +<P> +He started. 'It isn't exactly that. But at the—er—time +I—er—offered myself to Marion I had not weighed all the +possibilities. To be perfectly frank with you, I am not quite certain +of my own affections. I decided that, with companionship, these might +develop after marriage. But supposing they do not, then I shall have +rendered her unhappy. Is not the risk too great?' +</P> + +<P> +He leaned forward and laid his hand on mine with an expression of great +earnestness. 'In this matter,' he said slowly, 'I intend to abide by +your decision. I have supreme faith in your judgment, and I do not +believe you would advise me wrongly. Tell me what I ought to do. Do +you think it is making for the happiness of two people if they are +united under these peculiar circumstances?' +</P> + +<P> +'I said I would never interfere,' I began weakly. +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't a question of interfering,' he broke in, 'but only a matter +of advising what you think is right or wrong.' +</P> + +<P> +I hesitated, feeling the responsibility keenly. It is true that I am +accustomed to giving advice on these delicate matters. In my capacity +of writer on the Woman's Page I often discuss affairs of the heart, +getting much correspondence on the subject and (if a stamped addressed +envelope is enclosed) giving unsparing help and assistance to perplexed +lovers. But this case seemed entirely different. It lacked any +element of the frivolous. I knew that Manor's whole happiness depended +on my answer. +</P> + +<P> +Supposing I suggested that the marriage should go on and afterwards the +couple turned out to be totally unsuited, what a serious situation I +should have created. As a matter of fact, I more than once suspected +that they were incompatibles, but hoped that they would ultimately +accommodate themselves to each other. If, however, they did not, I +should be confronted with the spectacle of two most excellent people +(apart) being thoroughly unhappy (together) for the remainder of their +lives. I shivered before the prospect, and was on the point of telling +William that I would never advise a union to take place unless there +was perfect understanding and sympathy between a couple, when he spoke +again. +</P> + +<P> +'It's just at the last minute all these doubts have assailed me,' he +explained. 'I didn't realize before how serious a thing marriage +is—how irrevocable.' +</P> + +<P> +In a flash Elizabeth's words came into my mind. I recalled her +references to men who get in a 'funk' and want to stop proceedings on +the eve of the wedding, and then I saw the whole thing. William was +that sort of man. I had an instinctive idea just then that no matter +who he was going to marry he would have come to me at the eleventh hour +with the same bewildered demand for advice. +</P> + +<P> +In that moment I decided to trust to Elizabeth. She seems to have a +rude knowledge of life which is almost uncanny at times, but entirely +convincing. She has, as it were, a way of going to the heart of things +and straightway extracting truth. I felt just then that I could depend +on her judgment. +</P> + +<P> +'William,' I said, looking at him steadily in the eye, 'you want my +candid opinion?' +</P> + +<P> +'I do,' he replied fervently. +</P> + +<P> +'Then I advise you to go on with the marriage. I have weighed it all +up, and I feel it is for the best.' +</P> + +<P> +He wrung my hand silently, and then he rose. 'Thank you,' he said, 'I +am sure you are always right.' I thought I detected a note of relief +in his voice. Man is a perplexing creature. +</P> + +<P> +The next day Marion came to me overjoyed. 'It's all right, dear,' she +announced. 'William wants to get married at once. Netta, you are +wonderful—how did you do it? What did you say to him?' +</P> + +<P> +'Never mind,' I said, trying to look enigmatical and rather enjoying +Marion's respectful admiration of my wondrous powers, 'all's well that +ends well … ask Elizabeth if it isn't,' I added as that worthy +lurched in with the tea-tray. +</P> + +<P> +'The wedding isn't going to be postponed after all, Elizabeth,' +announced Marion gleefully. +</P> + +<P> +'I knowed it wouldn't be, Miss Marryun, when I see a weddin' wreath in +your cup. I tell you the Signs is always right.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion shook her head. 'Not always. Didn't you once tell me that my +future husband would cross water to meet me? Mr. Rawlings, now, has +been here all the time.' +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth paused in the act of arranging the tea-table, and stood in a +prophetic attitude with the teapot held aloft. +</P> + +<P> +'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?' she demanded. 'Isn't Mr. Roarings an +Irishman, an' was born in Dubling? Now I'd like to know 'ow any one +can get from Ireland to London without crossin' water, anyway!' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-209"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-209.jpg" ALT="'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="288" HEIGHT="414"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Marion bowed her head, meekly acquiescent. 'I never thought of that, +Elizabeth. You always seem to be right.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + + +<P> +I had not seen Marion and William since their marriage as they had gone +on a six-months' tour of the Italian lakes, but I was haunted with the +foreboding that the match was not, after all, turning out a success. +</P> + +<P> +For one thing, Marion's silence regarding her marriage was unusual. +She wrote only brief notes that made no reference to William. As for +William, he did not write at all. +</P> + +<P> +Now Marion is what you would call an ardent correspondent, as well as +being a communicative person. If she were happy she would be likely to +write no less than eight pages three times a week breathing praise of +William—I mean that would be the general tone of her letters. But now +she devoted herself exclusively to descriptions of scenery and relating +episodes regarding the constant losing and regaining of their baggage +on their journeys, which though in its way instructive, struck me as +lacking vital interest. +</P> + +<P> +The affair troubled me, because I knew that I was, in a measure, +responsible for the match. William had left the decision in my hands, +and, on thinking it over, it struck me as a rather cowardly thing to +do. What right had he to put it on to me? I knew that if they were +not happy I should be haunted by remorse to the end of my days. It was +an annoying situation. +</P> + +<P> +When they arrived home and wired from an hotel in London that they were +coming up to see me the next day my trepidation increased. Supposing +they came to me with reproaches, even recriminations? I awaited their +visit in a subdued frame of mind. +</P> + +<P> +Not so Elizabeth. Her jubilant air, her triumphant expression when she +spoke of the newly wedded pair, ended by irritating me. +</P> + +<P> +'Getting married isn't the only thing in life; as you seem to think,' I +said rather severely, after a remark of hers that she was glad to think +Marion was so happily settled. +</P> + +<P> +'Maybe not, but it's the best,' she commented, 'an' as I always sed +about Miss Marryun——' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Rawlings,' I corrected. +</P> + +<P> +'Lor', I'll never get used to the name. Mrs. Roarings, then, 'as only +got me to thank for the present 'appy state o' things.' +</P> + +<P> +'What do you mean?' I asked, only half interested. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, it's like this yeer,' answered Elizabeth, 'I see from the very +first that Mr. Roarings an' Miss Marryun were just suited to each +other. The trouble was they didn't see it theirselves, an' so I 'elped +to open their eyes like.' +</P> + +<P> +'Explain,' I commanded. +</P> + +<P> +Elizabeth did so. She unfolded a tale that, as she proceeded step by +step, left me speechless with horror. That she should have so basely +conspired to throw William and Marion at each other and, by +misrepresentations, lies and every kind of deception, brought about the +match, utterly appalled me. Everything suddenly became clear. William +had married through a misplaced sense of chivalry—offered himself up +as a sacrifice as it were. I understood then why Marion had written so +much about luggage and nothing about connubial bliss—the union was +bound to turn out a ghastly failure under such circumstances. Worst of +all, I, quite unconsciously, had aided and abetted the whole +disgraceful scheme. +</P> + +<P> +'Elizabeth!' I exclaimed at last in dismay, 'you shameless, intriguing +creature, I will never forgive you for this. You have ruined two +lives, and I am involved in it as well. The only thing to do is to +explain the whole situation to Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings when they come +to-day.' +</P> + +<P> +She changed colour. 'You'd never do that, 'm.' +</P> + +<P> +'I shall tell them everything. It will, at any rate, help them to +begin life on a different understanding.' +</P> + +<P> +'But what good will that do, 'm? It'll upset everything an' lead to +goodness knows wot.' +</P> + +<P> +'It may lead to a judicial separation, of course,' I replied, 'but my +duty in this case is perfectly clear. There is only one thing to be +done.' +</P> + +<P> +I have never seen the girl so genuinely distressed. 'I wouldn't do it, +if I wos you, I wouldn't indeed. If you must tell 'em, wait a year or +two, till they've settled down——' +</P> + +<P> +A loud knock on the door interrupted her. 'There they are now,' I +remarked. 'And no matter what you say I shall explain everything +before they leave to-day. They shall know how they've been hoodwinked.' +</P> + +<P> +'Orl right, then,' said Elizabeth, 'an' let the consingquences be on +your own head. You'll see 'ow they'll take it.' And darting defiant +looks, she went to open the door. +</P> + +<P> +The next moment Marion was enfolded in my arms. Then I turned to greet +William. As I did so the words of welcome died on my lips and I stood +staring at him in puzzled wonder. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, what has happened to you?' I asked. +</P> + +<P> +He grinned. 'Don't you like me as I am at present?' +</P> + +<P> +I did not, but thought it polite to refrain from saying so. He had +gone back to his former state of fuzziness, and looked more like Rip +van Winkle than ever. Indeed, his beard seemed even more fierce and +bristly than in the old days—probably shaving had tended to strengthen +the roots. +</P> + +<P> +'How do you do, William?' I said, extending my hand, deciding as I did +so that I would not give him any other kind of salute after all. Yet +it was with a tinge of regret I thought of that nice mouth of his +hidden under such a rank undergrowth of whisker. +</P> + +<P> +Marion looked on complacently as I greeted him. I remembered then that +she had rather seemed to resent the sisterly salute I thought necessary +to bestow on him after the wedding, and the brotherly salutes (repeated +four times in succession) he had given me in return. I decided at that +moment I would respect her objections and only shake hands with William +in future. I am sure she preferred it, and I should hate to displease +her. +</P> + +<P> +Besides, beards do rasp one so. +</P> + +<P> +Henry now emerged from the study full of hearty greeting and +<I>bonhomie</I>. He seemed less surprised at William's altered appearance +than I did, and was certainly more pleased about it. +</P> + +<P> +'What made you let him do it?' I said reproachfully to Marion when we +were alone, 'he was a really handsome man before, and now——' +</P> + +<P> +'That's just it,' she interrupted, 'he was too handsome, and it wasn't +safe for him.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not safe, Marion?' +</P> + +<P> +'Women wouldn't leave him alone—they all flirted with him. It would +have been all right if he'd been used to it before, but getting +good-looking so suddenly unbalanced him. From a kind of puzzled wonder +that he should thus attract the opposite sex, he began to develop an +interest in what he termed "their bewildering number of types." He +said he used to think they were all exactly alike. It was when he +declared his intention of writing a eulogy on woman that I stepped in +and insisted on his letting his beard grow again. Don't you think I +acted for the best?' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt you did,' I said pensively, 'but he had such an attractive +mouth.' +</P> + +<P> +Marion regarded me severely. 'That's what all the other women seemed +to think. I feel I was justified in protecting him.' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt you were, dear,' I murmured, with meekly lowered eyes. +'Don't you ever regret him as he was before?' +</P> + +<P> +She sighed a little. 'Sometimes—particularly when dear William was +just beginning to grow again—did I have my qualms of discouragement. +A beard in its incipient stages is an unbecoming, almost startling +affair, Netta. Then of course, I find solace by looking at this,' and +she held out a small locket containing a portrait of William in his +glorified state. 'Also I always keep his white spats and lavender +gloves as a remembrance.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a hint of sadness in the idea. It seemed almost as if +William was dead—one phase of him was, at all events. +</P> + +<P> +'Then you <I>do</I> regret——' I began. +</P> + +<P> +'I regret nothing, Netta,' she broke in very decidedly. 'I am now +getting quite reconciled to dear William's present appearance, and I +know he's happier in his natural state.' +</P> + +<P> +This was obviously true. William, his feet once more installed on the +mantelpiece, pulling hard at his pipe (filled for him by Marion's +loving hands) was a picture of perfect contentment. +</P> + +<P> +But it was some time before I ventured to put the question to him that +was uppermost in my thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you happy, William?' I asked tensely when, for a moment, we were +alone. 'Was my advice for better or for worse?' +</P> + +<P> +He took my hand and wrung it warmly. 'My dear Netta!' he exclaimed, +'what a fool I was to hesitate even for a moment. Had it not been for +you—and, I think I ought to add, Elizabeth—I might never have won +such a treasure as my dear Marion. "Marriage," as Dr. Johnson has +said, "is the best state for man in general," and although he added +that it is more necessary to a man than a woman as he is less able to +supply himself with domestic comforts, I think in that case it is put +too crudely. I look upon it as something higher and nobler.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's all right, then,' I said, relieved. 'Dr. Johnson seems to have +as sound a philosophy as Elizabeth.' +</P> + +<P> +As I sat meditating before the fire that evening, after the departure +of the happy couple, Elizabeth entered. Her face betokened anxiety. +'You—you—didn't tell 'em anything, I 'ope?' she demanded. +</P> + +<P> +'Under the circumstances I did not, Elizabeth. They seemed quite happy +and so——' +</P> + +<P> +'"Let sleepin' dogs lie,"' she supplemented. +</P> + +<P> +'You seem able to lie a great deal more than sleeping dogs,' I said +severely. 'In future, remember to stick to the truth or you may get +yourself—and other people—into serious trouble.' +</P> + +<P> +'Right-o, 'm. But Mr. Roarings seemed satisfied enough. Look wot 'e +gave me to-day?'—she held out two crisp banknotes. ''E sed they were +for my own troosoo,' she added gleefully. +</P> + +<P> +'What, Elizabeth, are you going to be married next?' asked Henry, as he +strolled into the room at that moment. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I ain't got a party in view as yet, sir. But as I always ses, +you never know wot a day may bring forth. The Signs 'ave been good for +me lately. Isn't there a sayin' somewhere about not knowing the day +nor the 'our when the young man may come along? Well, I always think +it's best to be prepared, like.' +</P> + +<P> +She went out, but returned a moment later bearing a tray in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +'What is this?' I inquired. +</P> + +<P> +'I thort p'raps you'd like to drink to the occashun of the 'appy +'ome-coming in a nice glarss o' stout,' she explained. +</P> + +<P> +I noted that there were three glasses. 'Elizabeth,' I said coldly, +'you are unduly familiar. I protest——' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, hang it all, let's be democratic,' put in Henry, grinning. 'It's +only your <I>joie de vivre</I> and natural <I>bonhomie</I>, isn't it, Elizabeth?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not 'arf,' replied Elizabeth. 'Well,' she added a moment later as she +raised her glass, ''ere's to us, all of us, an' may we never want +nothin', none of us—nor me neither.' +</P> + +<A NAME="img-219"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-219.jpg" ALT="'Ere's to us, all of us!'" BORDER="2" WIDTH="202" HEIGHT="414"> +<H4> +[Illustration: 'Ere's to us, all of us!'] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +I saw that Henry was grappling with the construction of the sentence, +and it was a full minute and a half before he gave it up. Then he +lifted his glass. 'Thank you, Elizabeth,' he said, 'and the same to +you.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> +<hr class="full" noshade> + +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR ELIZABETH***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 18430-h.txt or 18430-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/3/18430">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/3/18430</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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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Kilpatrick, +Illustrated by Ernest Forbes + + +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: Our Elizabeth + A Humour Novel + + +Author: Florence A. Kilpatrick + + + +Release Date: May 22, 2006 [eBook #18430] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR ELIZABETH*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18430-h.htm or 18430-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/3/18430/18430-h/18430-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/3/18430/18430-h.zip) + + + + + +OUR ELIZABETH + +A Humour Novel + +by + +FLORENCE A. KILPATRICK + +Illustrated by Ernest Forbes + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: Elizabeth Renshaw.] + + + + +Thornton Butterworth Limited +62 St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C. 2 +Published November 1920 + + + + +TO CIS + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + +Elizabeth is not a type; she is an individuality. Signs and omens at +her birth no doubt determined her sense of the superstitious; but I +trace her evolution as a figure of fun to some sketches of mine in the +pages of Punch. These, however, were only impressions of Elizabeth on +a small scale, but I acknowledge the use of them here in the process of +developing her to full life-size. Elizabeth, as I say, is a +personality apart; there is only one Elizabeth. Here she is. + +F. A. K. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + + CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 11 + CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 12 + CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 13 + CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 14 + CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 15 + CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 16 + CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 17 + CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 18 + CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 19 + CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 20 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + Our Elizabeth . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ + + Henry and I looked at the Cookery Book + + The Kid + + A Bad Sign + + Marion dropped fifteen stitches + + Our Friend William + + 'Wot's 'orrible about it?' + + 'Oh, must I, Mama?' + + ''E was starin' at it wild-like.' + + 'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked. + + 'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly.' + + A slight lowering of the left eye-lid. + + Henry, being a Scotsman, likes argument. + + 'A fair razzle-dazzle.' + + She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth. + + 'Am I not a suitable wife for Henry?' + + 'Carn't you get rid of 'er?' + + 'Stop, William!' Marion said. + + 'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?' + + ''Ere's to us, all of us!' + + + + +OUR ELIZABETH + + +CHAPTER I + +If you ask Henry he will tell you that I cannot cook. In fact, he will +tell you even if you don't ask. To hold up my culinary failures to +ridicule is one of his newest forms of humour (new to Henry, I +mean--the actual jokes you will have learned already at your +grandmother's knee). + +I had begun to see that I must either get a servant soon or a judicial +separation from Henry. That was the stage at which I had arrived. +Things were getting beyond me. By 'things' I mean the whole loathsome +business of housework. My _metier_ is to write--not that I am a great +writer as yet, though I hope to be some day. What I never hope to be +is a culinary expert. Should you command your cook to turn out a short +story she could not suffer more in the agonies of composition than I do +in making a simple Yorkshire pudding. + +Henry does not like housework any more than I do; he says the +performance of menial duties crushes his spirit--but he makes such a +fuss about things. You might think, to hear him talk, that getting up +coal, lighting fires, chopping wood and cleaning flues, knives and +brasses were the entire work of a household instead of being mere +incidents in the daily routine. If he had had to tackle my +duties . . . but men never understand how much there is to do in a +house. + +Even when they do lend a hand my experience is that they invariably +manage to hurt themselves in some way. Henry seems incapable of +getting up coal without dropping the largest knob on his foot. If he +chops wood he gashes himself; he cannot go through the simple rite of +pouring boiling water out of a saucepan without getting scalded; and +when he mounts the steps to adjust the blinds I always keep the brandy +uncorked in readiness; you see, he declares that a chap needs something +to pull himself together after a fall from a step-ladder. + +Perhaps you trace in all this a certain bitterness, a veiled antagonism +on my part towards Henry; you may even imagine that we are a bickering +sort of couple, constantly trying to get the better of each other. If +so, you are mistaken. Up to six months before this story opens our +married life had been ideal--for which reason I didn't open the story +earlier. Ideal marriages (to any one except the contracting parties) +are uninteresting affairs. It is such a pity that the good, the +laudable, things in life generally are. + +One of the reasons why our union was ideal (up to six months before +this story opens) was that we shared identical tastes. Comradeship is +the true basis of--but perhaps you have read my articles on the subject +on the Woman's Page of the _Daily Trail_. I always advise girls to +marry men of their own temperament. As a matter of fact, I expect they +marry the men who are easiest to land, but you're not allowed to say +things like that (on the Woman's Page). We have pure and noble ideals, +we are tender, motherly and housewifely (on the Woman's Page). + +Henry and I were of the same temperament. For one thing, we were +equally incompetent at golf. Perhaps I foozled my drive rather worse +than Henry, but then he never took fewer than five strokes on the +green, whereas I have occasionally done it in four. Then we mutually +detested gramophones. But when we discovered that we could both play +'Caller Herrin'' on the piano with one finger (entirely by ear) we felt +that we were affinities, and got married shortly afterwards. + +Stevenson once said, 'Marriage is not a bed of roses; it is a field of +battle.' At the epoch of which I write Henry and I had not got to +turning machine-guns on each other. At the most we only had diplomatic +unpleasantnesses. The position, however, was getting strained. I +realized quite clearly that if we didn't obtain domestic help of some +sort very soon it might come to open hostilities. Isn't it surprising +how the petty annoyances of life can wear away the strong bulwarks of +trust and friendship formed by years of understanding? Our particular +bulwarks were becoming quite shaky through nothing else but having to +muddle through the dull sordid grind of cooking and housework by +ourselves. We were getting disillusioned with each other. No +'jaundiced eye that casts discolouration' could look more jaundiced +than Henry's when I asked him to dry up the dinner things. + +Having explained all this, you will now understand something of my +feelings when, on going to answer a knock at the door, I was confronted +by a solid female who said she had been sent from the Registry Office. +Oh, thrice blessed Registry Office that had answered my call. + +'Come in,' I said eagerly, and, leading the way into the dining-room, I +seated myself before her. With lowered eyes and modest mien I was, of +course, waiting for her to speak first. I did not wait long. Her +voice, concise and direct, rapped out: 'So you require a cook-general?' + +'Yes--er--please,' I murmured. Under her searching gaze my knees +trembled, my pulses throbbed, a slight perspiration broke out on my +forehead. My whole being seemed to centre itself in the mute inquiry: +'Shall I suit?' + +There was a pause while the applicant placed her heavy guns. Then she +opened fire immediately. 'I suppose you have outside daily help?' + +'Er--no,' I confessed. + +'Then you have a boy to do the windows, knives and boots?' + +'No.' + +'Do you send everything to the laundry?' + +'Well . . . no . . . not quite.' I wanted to explain, to modify, to +speak airily of woollens being 'just rubbed through,' but she hurried +me forward. + +'Have you a hot water circulator?' + +'No.' + +'A gas cooking-range?' + +'No.' + +It was terrible. I seemed to have nothing. I stood, as it were, naked +to the world, bereft of a single inducement to hold out to the girl. + +'Do you dine late?' + +At this point, when I longed to answer 'No,' I was compelled to say +'Yes.' That decided her. She rose at once and moved towards the door. +'I'm afraid your situation won't do for me,' she remarked. + +That was all she said. She was perfectly dignified about it. Much as +she obviously condemned me, there was no noisy recrimination, no +violent vituperative outburst on her part. I followed in her wake to +the door. Even at the eleventh hour I hoped for a respite. 'Couldn't +something be arranged?' I faltered as my gaze wandered hungrily over +her capable-looking form. 'We might get you a gas-cooker--and all +that.' + +Do not condemn me. Remember that my will had been weakened by +housework; six months of doing my own washing-up had brought me to my +knees. I was ready to agree to any terms that were offered me. The +applicant shook her head. There were too many obstacles in the way, +too many radical changes necessary before the place could be made +suitable for her. I realized finality in her answer, 'No, nothink,' +and closing the front door behind her, I returned to the study to +brood. I was still there, thinking bitterly, the shadows of the +evening creeping around me, when Henry came in. + +'Hallo,' he said gruffly. 'No signs of dinner yet? Do you know the +time?' + +And only six months ago (before this story opens) he would have +embraced me tenderly when he came in and said, 'How is the little +wifie-pifie to-night? I hope it hasn't been worrying its fluffy little +head with writing and making its hubby-wubby anxious?' + +Perhaps you prefer Henry in the former role. Frankly, I did not. 'You +needn't be so impatient,' I retorted. 'I expect you've gorged yourself +on a good lunch in town. Anyhow, it won't take long to get dinner, as +we're having tinned soup and eggs.' + +'Oh, damn eggs,' said Henry. 'I'm sick of the sight of 'em.' + +You can see for yourself how unrestrained we were getting. The thin +veneer of civilization (thinner than ever when Henry is hungry) was +fast wearing into holes. There was a pause, and then I coldly +remarked: 'You didn't kiss me when you came in.' + +It was a custom to which I was determined to cling with grim +resolution. If I allowed his treatment of me to become too casual we +might continue to drift apart even when we had some one to do the +washing-up. + +Henry came over to me and bestowed a labial salute. It is the only +adequate description I can give of the performance. Then I went to the +kitchen and got out the cookery-book. + +It is a remarkable thing that I am never able to cook anything without +the aid of the book. Even if I prepare the same dish seven times a +week I must have the printed instructions constantly before me, or I am +lost. This is especially strange, because I have a retentive memory +for other things. My mind is crammed with odd facts retained from +casual reading. If you asked me, the date of the Tai-ping Rebellion +(though you're not likely to) I could tell you at once that it +originated in 1850 and was not suppressed until 1864, for I remember +reading about it in a dentist's waiting-room when I was fifteen. Yet +although I prepared scrambled eggs one hundred times in six months +(Henry said it was much oftener than that) I had to pore over the +instructions as earnestly when doing my 'century' as on the first +occasion. + +The subsequent meal was taken in silence. The hay-fever from which I +am prone to suffer at all seasons of the year was particularly +persistent that evening. A rising irritability, engendered by leathery +eggs and fostered by Henry's expression, was taking possession of me. +Quite suddenly I discovered that the way he held his knife annoyed me. +Further, his manner of eating soup maddened me. But I restrained +myself. I merely remarked: 'You have finished your soup, I _hear_, +love.' We had not yet reached the stage of open rupture when I could +exclaim: 'For goodness' sake stop swilling down soup like a grampus!' +I have never heard a grampus take soup. But the expression seems +picturesque. + +Henry, too, had not quite lost his fortitude. My hay-fever was +obviously annoying him, but he only commented: 'Don't you think you +ought to go to a doctor--a really reliable man--with that distressing +nasal complaint of yours, my dear?' I knew, however, that he was +longing to bark out: 'Can't you do something to stop that everlasting +sniffing? It's driving me mad, woman.' + +How long would it be before we reached this stage of debacle? I +brooded. Then the front door bell rang. + +'You go,' I said to Henry. + +'No, you go,' he replied. 'It looks bad for a man if he is master of +the house to answer the door.' + +I do not know why it should look bad for a man to answer his own door +unless he is a bad man. But there are some things in our English +social system which will ever remain unquestioned. I rose and went to +open the front door. The light from the hall lamp fell dimly on a lank +female form which stood on the doorstep. Out of the dusk a voice spoke +to me. It said, 'I think you're wantin' a cook-general?' + +I cried out in a loud voice, saying, 'I am.' + +'Well, I'm Elizabeth Renshaw. You wrote to me. I got your letter sent +on from the Registry Office along with ninety others. But I liked +yours the best, so I thought there'd be no 'arm in coming to see----' + +'Come in, Elizabeth,' I said earnestly. 'I'm glad you liked my letter.' + +I began to wonder if I was not a great writer after all. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +I piloted Elizabeth in and bade her be seated. Strangely enough, my +usual hopeful expectations entirely deserted me at that moment. I felt +that the interview would be fruitless. They say hope springs eternal +in the human breast, but my breast didn't feel human just then. It was +throbbing with savage and sanguinary thoughts. Perhaps it was the +eggs. Many animals are rendered ferocious by an over-diet of meat. I +can testify (so can Henry) that an over-diet of eggs has exactly the +same effect on human beings. I think they stimulate the wrong kind of +phagocytes. They can make the mildest and most forgiving person wild +and vindictive. Henry always declares, when he reads of a man +murdering his wife under exceptionally brutal circumstances, that she +must have been giving him too many scrambled eggs. In fact, he wrote +articles about it, entitled 'The Psychology of Diet,' in the Sunday +papers, signed 'By a Physician.' + +Henry is not a physician. Neither is he 'An Eminent Surgeon,' 'A +Harley Street Expert,' an 'Ex-M.P.,' 'A Special Crime Investigator,' or +'A Well-known Bishop,' although he has written under all these +pseudonyms. Do not blame Henry. In private life he seeks the truth as +one who seeks the light, but by profession he is a journalist. Not +being an expert in anything, he can write about everything--which is +the true test of the born journalist. + +But to return to Elizabeth. With the remembrance of the similar +interview of only a few hours before still rankling in my mind, I +looked at her a little austerely. This time it was I who began the +causerie. + +'First of all I must tell you,' I said, 'that we have no hot water +circulator.' + +'Carn't abide them things,' commented Elizabeth; 'they bust sometimes +and blows folks up.' + +'We have no outside help,' I continued. + +'An' a good thing, too. One place I was in the char 'elped 'erself to +things an' it was me who was blamed fer it.' + +'We have no gas-cooker.' + +'Well, that's all right, then. Don't understand 'em. Give me a proper +kitchen range, that's all I ask.' + +I looked up hopefully. If all she asked for was a kitchen range I +should be glad enough to give her a little thing like that. But the +supreme test was yet to come. 'We don't send everything to the +laundry,' I began. + +'I 'ope you don't,' she broke in, 'leastways my clothes. The state +they send 'em back, 'arf torn to ribbons. A girl never 'as 'er 'and +out of 'er pocket buying new things. Besides, I like a bit o' +washin'--makes a change, I always say.' + +My heart began to beat so loudly with hope that I could hardly hear my +own voice as I asked, 'How . . . how soon can you come?' + +'To-morrow, if you like,' she answered casually. 'I've 'ad a row with +the friend I'm stayin' with and I can't abide living-in with folks I've +fallen out with.' + +I struggled to reconstruct this sentence and then, remembering what was +required of me, I remarked, 'And your references?' + +She gave me the address of her last place. + +'Are they on the 'phone?' I questioned eagerly. 'If so, I'll settle +the thing at once.' It seemed they were. I tottered to the telephone. +My call was answered by a woman with a thin, sharp voice. + +'I am sorry,' she said in answer to my query, 'I must refuse to answer +any questions concerning Elizabeth Renshaw.' + +'But you only need say "yes" or "no." Is she honest?' + +'I am not in a position to give you a reply.' + +'Am I to understand that she isn't sober?' + +'I cannot answer that question.' + +'Look here, she hasn't murdered any one, has she?' + +'I am not in a position----' + +'Oh, hang the woman,' I muttered, jerking up the receiver. But I felt +the situation was an awkward one. What sinister and turbid happenings +were connected with Elizabeth and her last place? I meditated. If she +were not sober it was, after all, no business of mine so long as she +got through her work. And if she didn't we should be no worse off than +we were at present. + +If she were dishonest it might be awkward, certainly, but then there +was nothing of very much value in the house, Henry and I merely being +writers by profession. Most of our friends are writers, too, so we +have not the usual array of massive silver wedding gifts about the +place, but quite a lot of autograph photos and books instead. The +value of these might not be apparent to the casual pilferer. My +meditations got no further. I decided to lock up my silk stockings and +best handkerchiefs and engage Elizabeth without delay. As a matter of +fact, I afterwards discovered that her career had been blameless, while +she had every foundation for her favourite declaration, 'I wouldn't +take a used postage stamp, no, nor a rusty nail that wasn't my own.' + +I do not condemn the woman I interviewed on the telephone, +reprehensible as was her conduct. Perhaps she, too, was living on eggs +and it had warped her better nature. + +'I suppose you can cook all right?' I asked Elizabeth as ten minutes +later, all arrangements made, I accompanied her to the door. + +'Me? I'm a rare 'and at cookin'. My friend's 'usband ses 'e's never +come across any one who can cook a steak like I can.' + +'A steak,' I murmured ecstatically, 'richly brown with softly swelling +curves----' + +'Rather underdone in the middle,' supplemented Elizabeth, 'just a +little bit o' fat, fairly crisp, a lump o' butter on the top, and I +always 'old that a dash o' fried onion improves the flavour.' + +'How beautiful,' I murmured again. It sounded like a poem. Swinburne +or de Musset have never stirred me so deeply as did that simple +recitation. + +Elizabeth, seeing that she had an attentive audience, continued, 'Take +roast pork, now. Well, I always say there's a lot in the cookin' o' +that, with crisp cracklin', apple sauce an' stuffin'-----' + +'Don't go on,' I, broke in, feeling in my weakened state, unable to +stand any more. Tears that men weep had risen to my eyes. 'Promise,' +I said, taking her toil-worn hand, 'that you will come to-morrow.' + +'Right-o,' said Elizabeth, and her lank form disappeared in the +darkness. I staggered into the dining-room. Henry was sitting at the +disordered dinner table jotting down notes. At any other time this +would have irritated me, because I knew it was a preliminary to his +remark that as he had an article to write which must be finished that +evening he would not be able to help me with the washing-up. A +hackneyed dodge of his. Oh, I could tell you a tale of the meanness of +men. + +'Henry, something has happened,' I began. + +Without looking round he remarked, 'Don't disturb me. I must write up +a brief biographical sketch of Courtenay Colville, the actor. He's +been taken seriously ill and may be dead just in time for the morning +papers.' In this way do journalists speak. To them life and death, +all the tremendous happenings of the world--wars, revolutions, or even +weddings of revue actresses--are just so much matter for printed and +pictorial display. Do you think, if a great and honoured statesman +dies, sub-editors care two pins about his public services? Not they. +All they worry about is whether he is worth double-column headings, a +long primer intro., and a line across the page. + +'I didn't know Courtenay Colville was so ill,' I commented mildly. +What I did know was that he was reported to have sprained his right toe +at golf, and only an hour previously I should have commented +caustically on Henry's description of this 'serious illness.' Now I +came up to him and put my arm about his neck. + +'I've just put on a clean collar--be careful,' he said, shaking off my +hand. + +'Henry, dear, I've landed a servant at last,' I breathed. + +He looked up and, for a moment, I felt that I ought not to have told +him so suddenly. But joy does not often kill. I went and knelt beside +him. 'Dearest,' I whispered, 'it seems as though all the bitterness +and misunderstanding between you and me is to be swept away at last. +She can cook steaks, dear--juicy steaks, pork with crackling----' + +'Sage and onion stuffing?' burst in a hoarse murmur from Henry. + +'Yes, and large mutton chops, rich in fat----' + +'Dearest, how splendid,' whispered Henry. Our lips met in ecstacy. + +That evening was one of the happiest we have ever spent. Henry and I +sat together on the divan and looked at the cookery-book. There was no +doubt about it. Henry said, that Mrs. Beeton was a wonderful woman. +We felt that she and Mr. Beeton must have been tremendously happy in +their married life. + +[Illustration: Henry and I looked at the Cookery Book.] + +The illustrations to the book delighted us, too, with their bold +outlines, vigorous colouring, and, attention to detail. Henry and I +rather favour the impressionist school in art, but when you're admiring +a picture of salmon mayonnaise it refreshes you to distinguish the +ingredients. + +Elizabeth arrived the next day, bringing with her a small--perplexingly +small--brown paper parcel. The rest of her luggage, she said, was on +the way. It remained on the way so long that I finally got uneasy and +began to question her about it. She did not seem so disturbed at the +prospect of its being lost as I did. At last, when I declared my +intention of writing Carter Paterson's about it on her behalf, she +confessed. Frankness is one of her distinguishing qualities. + +'My box is still at my friend's,' she explained. 'You see, when I goes +to a new place I never 'ave my luggage sent on until I feel I'm going +to settle. It saves a lot o' bother--if I don't stop.' + +'I hadn't thought of that,' I commented feebly. + +'I brought a clean cap and another pair o' stockings with me, so I'm +all right for a fortnight,' she went on. Her creed, like her change of +underclothing, was obviously simple. Mournfully I withdrew from the +kitchen to meditate. + +So we were on probation. It was a tremulous time. I bade Henry tread +softly and not to forget to rub his feet on the mat. I gave all my +orders to Elizabeth in a voice which blended deference with +supplication. I strove hard to live up to what I thought must be her +conception of the Perfect Mistress. And when, the fortnight expired, +Carter Paterson drove up and deposited a small corded box on the hall +mat, I felt it to be a personal triumph. But Henry said I had nothing +to do with it. To this day he declares that Elizabeth decided to stop +because she so earnestly desired to serve such a gentle master. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +No doubt you will have guessed that Henry is a better and sounder +writer than I. He has helped me a lot with his criticism and advice, +for he is fastidious regarding style. There used to be a time, before +he came along, when I walked in darkness, often beginning sentences +with conjunctions and ending them with adverbs; I have even split +infinitives and gone on my way rejoicing. I am now greatly improved, +though one of the incurable things I shall never eradicate from my +system is a weakness for beginning sentences with 'but.' But if you +observe it, I hope you will kindly pass it over without remark. + +Henry often talks to me about construction. 'If you are writing a +book,' he says, 'don't introduce all your characters in the first +chapter. Let them develop gradually.' + +Now that is sound advice. It was not, however, for the sake of +construction that I refrained from telling you about The Kid at the +very beginning. I was impelled to silence by the same reason which +kept me from mentioning The Kid to Elizabeth until her box had arrived +and she had settled down. I feel sure you do not want to hear about +The Kid any more than Elizabeth did. It is annoying to read about +children. If they are good they cloy, and if bad they irritate. The +Kid is neither. In any case, it is time she came home now, so she will +have to drop in here. During my servantless period she stayed with +friends--which was a good thing for her digestion and my nervous +system. Now there was no longer any excuse--I mean, it was now time +for her to return. + +[Illustration: The Kid.] + +She is what you would call a boisterous child, overflowing with +ebullition of spirits, _joie de vivre_, bonhomie, and all those +attributes which cause people possessing them to make a noise. When +she enters a room you always think of those lines, 'the mountains +skipped like rams, and the little hills like young sheep.' + +She descended on Henry and me just a year after our marriage. As we +have now been married ten years you will be able to calculate her age +if you are good at arithmetic. + +Elizabeth did not disapprove of The Kid. It might have been awkward if +she had. As a matter of fact, they became close companions at sight. +There were certain affinities between them. Elizabeth, for example, +although perhaps not so habitually sticky as The Kid, like her didn't +seem able to remain clean or tidy for longer than half an hour at a +time. Also, Elizabeth believing in Signs, The Kid revered her for her +mysticism--about the only person who ever did. She used to beg to be +allowed to study her Dream Book, and every evening before bedtime would +go into the kitchen and--sitting amid that wild disorder that is +necessary to Elizabeth before she can really feel at home--'look up' +her dream of the previous night. + +Try as she would, the poor child never seemed to have the sort of +vision that, in the words of the book, had 'excellent portent.' 'I +don't get the nice things,' I once heard her remark, 'like white +horses, you know, which, it says, portend honours, riches and rare +gifts. Did you ever dream of white horses, Elizabeth?' + +'That I did--wunst.' + +'And did you get the honours, and all those things, Elizabeth?' + +'Well, I got the rare gifts in a manner o' speaking. My gran'mother +died a month later an' left me a pair o' jet earrings and a jet +bracelet to match--one o' them stretchin' ones, on elastic, you know.' + +That incident established Elizabeth in The Kid's estimation as a +prophet. Old Moore himself couldn't have done better. + +I did not pay much attention to these things; and it was not until +Elizabeth had been with me for some time that I discovered her intense +fatalism. She ordered her life by Signs, in fact. You or I might drop +a tablespoon on the floor and think nothing of it, but she would tell +you at once it was a Sign that a tall dark lady was coming to the +house. If a knife fell you would hear her mutter '_That's_ a man.' +According to Elizabeth, success in life is in no wise due to personal +effort--it all depends on whether you are 'born lucky.' + +Unfortunately Elizabeth was 'born unlucky'--unfortunately for me as +well as her. Destiny, having now woven my life with hers, it made me +unlucky, too. For example, she would come to me and announce, 'I've +been unlucky an' broke the teapot this mornin'. That means I'll break +another two things afore the week's out. It always goes in threes.' + +'Then hadn't you better smash something that is of no value at once,' +was my obvious suggestion, 'and get it over?' + +But Elizabeth, entrenched in her convictions, would shake her head. +'That's no good. I've tried that afore an' it didn't work. You see, +it 'as to be done unexpected to break the spell.' So the spell had to +be broken also. Clearly, human intervention was no good at all. Fate +was against both of us. + +There is something positively uncanny in the way misfortune lies in +wait for that girl. You would think that after causing her to break +two full breakfast services it would leave her alone for a while. But +no; she was half-way through the third before her luck showed any signs +of changing. + +Spilling the salt accounted for three burnt saucepans and the collapse +of the plate rack (at the moment fully charged); while seeing the new +moon through glass caused her to overlook the fact that she had left a +can in the middle of the staircase. Afterwards (during the week that I +waited on her on account of her sprained ankle) she said she would +never go near a window again until the moon was at full and quite safe. + +Of course, I do my best to parry these mysterious blows of Fate. I +remember when she first undertook to clean the drawing-room I took away +everything that a mysterious agency might cause to 'come in two' in her +hands. I left her alone with the grand piano and scrubbing materials, +and went out to spend the afternoon with cheerful countenance. I +returned rather late, and directly Elizabeth opened the door to me I +saw that something was wrong. + +'I've been unlucky,' she began. + +'Unlucky!' I faltered. 'But what with? Don't say the piano came in +two in your hands?' + +'It wasn't my 'ands, it was my feet. The floor gave way an' I went +through.' + +'You went through the floor!' I marvelled. Then my face cleared. The +house was not mine, and, after all, the landlord has no right to escape +these unusual machinations of Fate. + +'I knew somethink would 'appen when I put the boots on the table by +accident this mornin',' she explained, 'It's always a Bad Sign.' + +You must not think, however, that Elizabeth ever allows her fatalism to +interfere with her judgment. I recall the occasion when she came to me +looking actually concerned and remarked: 'I'm sorry, 'm, but them two +varses that was on the mantelpiece in the pink bedroom----' + +I started up. 'Don't dare to say you've been unlucky with them!' + +'No'm, I wasn't unlucky. I was just careless when I broke those.' + +A low moan escaped my lips. They were the Sevres vases that I loved +dearest of my possessions, and which, in the words of those who keep +shops, 'cannot be repeated.' I regarded Elizabeth angrily, no longer +able to control my wrath. I am at times (says Henry) a hasty woman. I +ought to have paused and put my love of Sevres vases in the balance +with the diet of scrambled eggs and the prospect of unlimited +washing-up, and I know which side would have tipped up at once. +However, I did not pause, caring not that the bitter recriminations I +intended to hurl at her would bring forth the inevitable month's +notice; that, at the first hint of her leaving me, at least a dozen of +my neighbours would stretch out eager hands to snatch Elizabeth, a +dozen different vacant sinks were ready for her selection. I did not +care, I say; I had loved my vases and in that moment I hated Elizabeth. + +But she began to speak before I did. 'It isn't as if I'd been +unlucky--I couldn't ha' 'elped _that_. But I know when I'm in the +wrong'--she unfolded a parcel she had in her hand as she spoke--'so I +went out larst night and bought these to replace what I broke. Right's +right, I always say'; and she laid down before me a pair of vases on +which were emblazoned gigantic and strangely-hued flowers that could +belong to no earthly flora. + +'They're bigger'n the varses I broke,' she murmured, regarding her +purchase with satisfaction. + +Then I noted that she wore an expression of lofty pride, that she +glowed with the calm satisfaction of one who has made ample reparation. +Looking at Elizabeth just then you might almost have thought that she +had a soul. Really, it gave one an odd feeling. + +I picked up her offering and regarded it a moment in silence, while my +aesthetic nature shook to its foundations. Stifling the moan of horror +that had risen to my lips, I faced her with a smile. Balaclava heroes +could have done no more. + +'Thank you, Elizabeth,' I said humbly. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Marion often says that if Elizabeth hadn't . . . but I believe I +haven't told you about Marion yet. I'm afraid I shall never learn +construction, in spite of Henry. + +Well, Marion is Henry's sister. She is what you would call a really +nice girl. Everybody likes her and sends for her when in trouble or +needing advice. Women adore her and tell her all their secrets, and +get her to alter their dresses for them. Men seek her company in order +to pour out their worries and anxieties into her sympathetic ear. She +is always acting as intermediary in love affairs that are not running +smoothly and need the intervention or assistance of a third party. +But--and this is where the poignant touch comes in--she never had a +love affair of her own. I could not understand why. It isn't that +she's unattractive, being quite pretty in that feminine clinging way +which we generally connect with the Victorian era. + +There is a certain type of man who admires this type of woman. He +writes to the newspapers, clamouring loudly to be told where the 'nice' +girls are (the girls of modest mien who know only the gentle, +housewifely arts), and signs himself 'Old-Fashioned' or 'Early +Victorian,' or merely gives baffling initials, always being careful not +to disclose his identity. If he really wants these sort of girls why +doesn't he give a name and address to which they can be forwarded? + +It is my belief that men like these 'nice' homely women as mothers, but +do not seek for them as wives. But, I ask, how are they to be +mothers--and still remain 'nice'--if they are not first to be selected +as wives? If the position isn't faced they will soon die out +altogether and become as rare as the brontosaurus. We shall go to +museums and see exhibited, 'Fossilized remains of "Nice Girl": supposed +to exist in early part of twentieth century. Rare specimen.' + +Everybody said Marion ought to be married as she had those fine +qualities which belong to the ideal home-maker. Nearly every man who +knew her declared that she would make a perfect wife--and then went off +and married someone else. They said the chap would be lucky who got +her--which was true enough--but the idea of going in to win her didn't +seem to occur to any one of them. + +So here was Marion, sweet and lovable, who would make a delightful +mother of children and of a home a haven of refuge, languishing alone +for want of a suitable offer of marriage. + +I will frankly admit that I planned various matrimonial schemes for +Marion. Many eligible men did I invite to meet her; some fell on stony +ground, and others made excuses and stayed away. + +I remained undaunted, although I got no assistance from Henry, who +strongly disapproved of my manoeuvres. In any case, he would never +have been of much help in the matter, being quite unable to distinguish +between the Right and the Wrong kind of man. Also, nearly all his +friends are either married with grown-up children, or elderly widowers +with hearts so firmly embedded in the graves of their former wives that +it would be perfectly impossible to try to excavate them again. + +The annoying thing about Henry, too, is his lack of discernment +regarding men. I have known him speak glowingly, and with unabated +enthusiasm, of 'a most interesting chap' he has met at his club, +referring to him as 'altogether delightful,' 'a charming +conversationalist,' and so on, until I have felt impelled to ask Henry +to bring this treasure home to dinner. + +Then, after expending myself in the preparation of such things as _hors +d'oeuvres_ and iced cocktails and putting on my most becoming frock +Henry has walked in with a veritable monster of a man. You know the +kind I mean. Quite good and God-fearing and all that, but with one of +those dreadful clematis moustaches which cling half over the face, +beginning at the nostrils and curling under the chin, a form which +undulates in the region of the waistcoat, and a slow and pompous +conversation (mainly devoted to the discussion of politics in the +'fifties). + +I remember, shortly after one of these visitations, Henry ringing me up +on the 'phone and asking if it was convenient to bring a man home to +dinner that evening. + +'What is he like?' I inquired, still smarting under recent experiences, +'has he much moustache--I mean, is he nice?' + +Henry paused. 'Oh, all right. I don't know whether you'd care for +him. Perhaps I'd better not----' + +'Yes, bring him if you want to, dear,' I conceded. I am not one of +those fussy wives. I like Henry to feel that he can bring a friend +home whenever he likes; but on this occasion I did not make unusual +preparations. After bidding Elizabeth turn the cold meat into curry +and judiciously water the soup to make it enough for four instead of +three, I tidied my hair and descended into the hall to see Henry +helping a man off with his overcoat--and such a man! It was the +dashing, the handsome, the witty Harvey Trevor (political writer on the +_Morning Sun_). + +It was too late to back upstairs again and improvise upon my toilette, +for they both looked up and saw me at that moment. So there I stood, +like a stag at bay, with my nose unpowdered (Henry would say that a +stag doesn't powder its nose, but you will know what I mean) wearing my +dullest and most uninspired house-frock, and hurling silent anathemas +at my heartless husband. + +You will now understand how useless Henry was as an ally in my +matrimonial plans for Marion. But I was doggedly determined that she +should make some man happy. At last, indeed, it seemed as though my +efforts were to be crowned with success when George Harbinger appeared +on the scene. + +He took to her at once and said that she was just the sort of girl his +mother would like. He declared that Marion's oyster patties were +things of pure delight and ought to be eaten to slow music. (Yes, I +always got Marion to make some of her special pastry when the eligibles +came to dine.) He openly sought her society. They even played +draughts together and he always won. Everything was going splendidly. + +I was especially satisfied, for George Harbinger was an estimable man. +He was an assessor, and entirely reliable. Indeed, I believe it would +be difficult to find an assessor who is not. When you read the police +court cases you find all sorts of professions and followings +represented in the charge sheets, from actors down to editors, but have +you ever heard of an assessor who defaulted, who committed bigamy, +arson, larceny, murder, or neglected to pay his income tax? No, you +have not. Also, you seldom hear of an unmarried assessor. They are +known to be such steady, dependable men that they are always snapped up +at once. Thus you can understand how pleased I was to get hold of +George. + +One evening it seemed as though things were getting to a climax. +George had eaten four of Marion's oyster patties at dinner and, after +retaining her hand for an undue length of time at parting, asked if he +could see her alone if he called the following evening, as he had +something important to say to her. + +Marion was in a flutter. She admitted that she 'rather liked' George. +(Your nice girl never says outright that she's keen on a man.) 'And +what do you think,' she confessed, 'he said when we were playing +draughts to-night that I was just the sort of girl his mother would +like, and--and----' + +'Yes, go on,' I said tensely. + +'That he never believed in a man marrying a girl of whom his mother did +not approve. What do you think he meant by that, dear?' + +'Everything,' I said, and took a silent decision to leave no stone +unturned to bring the thing off all right. I planned to leave them +alone in the rose drawing-room with its pink-shaded lights--Marion +looks her best under pink-shaded lights. She was thirty-seven, but +only looked thirty when she had her hair waved and wore her grey +_charmeuse_. + +I, myself, prepared her for the interview. I dressed her hair +becomingly and clasped my matrix necklace around her throat. Then, +soon after George arrived, I excused myself on the plea of having an +article to write--which was perfect truth--and left them alone together. + +Doesn't it give you a feeling of contentment when you have done a good +action? You are permeated with a sort of glow which comes from within. +After closing the drawing-room door on Marion and George, I sat down to +work in an atmosphere of righteousness. I could almost imagine there +must be the beginnings of a faint luminous disc around my head. + +The subject of the article I now began to write was 'Should Women +Propose?' Treading carefully on the delicate ground of the Woman's +Page, I decided that they must do nothing that is so utterly +unfeminine. 'But there are many subtle little ways in which a woman +can convey to a man her preference for him,' I penned, 'without for a +moment overstepping the bounds of that maidenly reticence which is one +of the charms of----' + +The door opened and Elizabeth entered. Elizabeth has a way of entering +when I am most likely to lose the thread of my sentence. + +'I'm fair worried about Miss Marryun,' she began. + +I looked up with a start. 'What on earth do you mean?' + +'Well, you see, the Signs are against 'er. They've bin against 'er for +days. Yesterday I see 'er sneeze three times to the left, an' that's +bad. Then when she put her right shoe on 'er wrong foot by accident, I +felt somethin' was comin'. But after I found two triangles an' a mouse +in 'er cup to-day I knew----' + +[Illustration: A Bad Sign.] + +'A mouse in her cup!' I marvelled. + +'Fortune tellin' by tea-leaves, 'm. Well, a mouse is a Bad Sign. It's +my belief that she won't get no propogal this evenin'.' + +I looked at Elizabeth sternly. I do not wish to insinuate for one +moment that she is in the habit of listening at doors, but she +certainly gains an insight into our private lives that is nothing short +of uncanny. + +'I just been lookin' at the cards,' she continued, 'an' they say as +plain as can be that Mr. 'Arbinger isn't the one. 'E's the wrong +colour.' + +'And what colour do you expect him to be?' I demanded. + +''Im bein' fair takes King o' Dimonds. Well, Queen o' Clubs--that's +Miss Marryun--is seven cards removed from 'im and the three o' spades +comin' between spells disappointment. But, as I ses to 'er quite +recent, I ses, "If you want to see your true love aright go into the +garding by pale moonlight, walk in a circle, and say,-- + + "If I my true love now would see----"' + +'Elizabeth,' I broke in, 'don't forget to grill master's bloaters for +breakfast.' In this way do I recall her and remind her of her duty +when she ignores the chasms of caste and class distinction which yawn +between us. + +'Grilled, 'm? Right-o. Well, as I was sayin' about Miss Marryun. +She's gotta ring in 'er fortune and she _will_ get married, but it will +be to a dark man who'll cross water to meet her. She's like me. She +isn't fated to meet the right one yet.' + +This was a subtle reference to her own chaotic love affairs. Elizabeth +never has any lack of young men.' But they are like ships that pass in +the night (her night out as a rule), and one by one they drift off, +never stopping to cast anchor in her vicinity. You know what I mean. +Elizabeth can't keep her young men. They seem attracted to her at +first, but, as I say, after a very short time they drift. + +'We shall see wot we shall see,' went on Elizabeth, 'there aint no +knowin' an' there aint no tellin'. But wot I ses is, if this 'ere +propogal don't come orf this evenin', I gotta plan. Of course, one +marries accordin' to Fate, but sometimes it doesn't do no 'arm to give +Fate an 'elpin' 'and, like.' + +Nodding darkly, she melted out. I did not at the time attach any +significance to her final words. How was I to guess at those schemes +which were even then fermenting in her mind and ended by involving not +only Marion and Another, but the entire family? + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Marion gave me what the newspapers term 'a verbatim report' of the +interview which took place between her and George Harbinger. She +omitted no detail. As far as I understand, when I left them he was +standing with his right foot on the fender and the other on the rug, +and his elbow on the mantelpiece. She was sitting in the easy chair to +the left of the fireplace, in the full glow of the shaded lamp, +knitting a jumper. There was a pause and then he began, 'You never +seem idle for a minute. How nimble your fingers are!' + +Marion knitted a little harder. + +'I have always hoped,' he went on, 'that the woman I married would be +fond of her needle. There is something so restful in the idea of +coming home in the evening to see one's companion sitting at the +fireside engaged in such womanly tasks.' + +Marion said that, no doubt, after a hard day at assessing, such a sight +would be soothing to a man. + +He now came and sat beside her. 'I want to ask you something rather +important,' he said, 'but I wonder if I have known you long enough to +warrant it.' + +She paused in her knitting for a moment to remind him--very +earnestly--that real friendship and understanding is more a matter of +affinity than actual length of acquaintance. + +'You're right,' he said, pondering, 'and, of course, you're so . . . so +sensible.' + +Women hate to be told they are sensible by any one but their +mothers-in-law. But how could an assessor know that? He continued to +regard her earnestly. 'I feel sure, too, that you're so much older +than you look.' + +To this day Marion says she's not sure whether this was intended as a +compliment or a deadly insult. + +'Do you think,' he went on, 'that a man should ask a woman to marry him +only when she has reached maturity?' + +Marion, moving well into the glow of the pink-shaded lamp, said it +depended on the stage of maturity. Nowadays, when women so often look +younger than they really are, it is difficult to tell. + +He seemed relieved. 'That's exactly what I feel about it. But +supposing my mother shouldn't approve of my choice? I hate family +squabbles above everything. I have always maintained that I would only +marry the woman that my mother really liked.' + +'Isn't that rather a handicap for your future wife?' asked Marion +gently. 'But why not ask your mother's opinion of her?' + +'That's just what I want to speak to you about,' he put in eagerly. 'I +. . . I want to ask you if I can introduce you to my mother?' + +The knitting fell from Marion's nerveless fingers. She can show you +the uneven row on the jumper where she dropped fifteen stitches at that +moment. + +[Illustration: Marion dropped fifteen stitches.] + +'I shall be most happy to meet your mother,' she murmured. + +'This is really good of you,' he said eagerly. 'You see, you're the +very one she would take to in an instant. I knew it directly I met +you. I don't know any one else she would listen to so willingly, if +you will consent to intervene.' + +'Intervene!' echoed Marion. Somehow she did not like the word. Not at +that moment, I mean. + +'Yes, intervene,' he repeated. There was no mistaking it--what could +be clearer. Latin, _inter_, between; _venio_, I come. Marion may have +translated it differently, but she had served in the capacity of buffer +too often to misinterpret its meaning. + +'I am to understand that you wish for my aid in a love affair?' she +said. + +'That's just about it. You see, I always hoped I should fall in love +with a quiet, homely, staid sort of girl, but dash it all, you can't +govern these things, can you?' + +'Sometimes one has to,' said Marion, picking up dropped stitches. + +'So I've completely lost my heart to a girl who--well, she's an +actress. She's second from the left in the front row chorus of +"Whizz-Bang" at the Hilarity Theatre; I tell you she's wonderful.' + +'No doubt,' said Marion, bending lower over her knitting. + +'Lottie's quite a good little girl, you know, but she's so +young--barely twenty--and she can't cook or sew or housekeep or do any +of those things which my mother approves. But she dances wonderfully +and kicks higher than anyone else in the chorus----' + +'And you want me to make your mother appreciate the . . . the . . . +high kicks?' broke in Marion rather bitterly. + +'Well, not exactly, but you know what mothers are--about the stage, I +mean. So don't you understand that if some sensible little woman like +you were to speak to her about it, she might reconstruct her views----' + +He paused, staring in a puzzled way at Marion. Beneath her gentle +exterior she has a decided temper which she is apt to deplore and, she +affirms, must instantly be held in check. This, however, was an +occasion when she did not seem to think the check action need be +applied. She faced George with flashing eyes. + +'If you were anything of a man,' she declared, 'you would manage an +affair like that alone without asking help from your woman friends. +Good evening.' + +'Good evening,' responded George, not, I suppose, at the moment +thinking of anything more original to say. He departed in a pensive +mood. + +'And that,' said Marion, concluding the narrative, 'is all there is to +be told.' + +She sat before me with her eyes downcast, her lips quivering, and a +fierce anger rose within me against George Harbinger and mankind in +general who could be so blind to Marion's excellent qualities. As I +took her in my arms and comforted her, kissing her soft cheeks and +fluffy hair, I felt that if I were a man she would be the one woman +above all others that I would desire to have and to hold henceforth and +for evermore. 'Never mind,' I said tenderly, 'some day you'll meet +another who will----' + +'No, no, I never shall,' interposed Marion, now openly weeping on my +shoulder. 'I shall never interest any one; I know that now. You can't +understand, Netta, for men are attracted towards you. If Henry died +tomorrow, you'd have half a dozen offers of marriage at once.' + +I was rather startled at this suggestion, which somehow hinted +disregard for the unconscious Henry. + +'I think I must lack charm,' went on Marion in a choked voice. 'Who +was it described charm as a--a--sort of a bloom on a woman, and said if +she had that she didn't need anything else?' + +'It was Barrie,' I said, stroking her hair, 'but don't take any notice +of him, dear.' + +'It's just what a man would say. Oh, Netta, why is life so hard to a +woman? Why must she always be the one to stifle her feelings, repress +her natural instincts, wait for man to take the lead? Why can't she be +the leading spirit if she wishes, without being humiliated? Why +shouldn't women propose?' + +'That's just what I've been writing about,' I said involuntarily. + +She raised her head from my shoulder. 'And what did you say about it?' + +'I held that a woman can--er--oh, hang it all, never mind what I +_wrote_ about it. What I _say_ is that of course they ought to propose +if they want to. There should be perfect equality of the sexes.' + +'Well, if there was,' put in Marion, her practical common sense coming +to her aid, 'it wouldn't after all make a man want to marry me just +because it was I who put the question. It's no use, Netta. I'm a born +old maid. I've got to go through life heart-hungry, loving other +people's babies instead of my own, and stepping aside to let all the +fair things go past me.' + +Poor little Marion! She looked very wistful and pathetic at that +moment. A lump rose in my throat as I strove to dry her eyes and find +words of comfort. + +She sobbed on unrestrainedly, however, and nothing I could say would +soothe her. 'Marion, darling,' I whispered, my own eyes growing moist, +'don't cry any more. Isn't there anything I can say to cheer you up? +Can't I suggest anything----?' + +The door opened and Elizabeth entered. She carried a tray in her hand +on which were a bottle of stout and a glass. + +'I thort so,' she said, setting down the tray and looking at Marion's +drooping form. 'Ah, these men--'ounds, I call 'em. I came in to 'ave +a word with Miss Marryun and cheer 'er up, like. I bin through it +myself, so I knows.' + +She approached Marion and laid a damp red hand on her shoulder. 'I bin +lookin' at the cards for you, miss, an' I see a loverly future,' she +began in a coaxing voice. 'I see a tall dark man crossin' water for +you, with a present in 'is right 'and.' + +Marion, who was not without a sense of humour, smiled rather wanly. +Encouraged, Elizabeth continued: 'Wot's the use o' spoilin' your pretty +eyes cryin' for the moon--by which I mean Mr. 'Arbinger--when 'e isn't +your Fate? Why, bless you, I was once goin' to marry a plumber's mate, +and jest a week afore the weddin 'e went orf with some one else an' +owin' me arf-a-crown, too. I was cut up at the time, but I know now 'e +wasn't my Fate, 'avin been told since that I'm goin' to marry a man +wot'll work with 'is brain. So cheer up, Miss Marryun, and come an' +'ave this nice glarss o' stout I've brought in for you.' She unscrewed +the bottle as she spoke. 'I always find that when things are at their +worst, an' you're feelin' real pipped like, a glarss o' stout acts like +magic. Yes, it's the right stuff, is stout.' + +The situation was distinctly ludicrous. Yet neither Marion nor I +laughed. We watched Elizabeth solemnly pouring out the stout, after +which she handed it to Marion, who, though she 'never touches' anything +alcoholic as a rule, took it and drank it off 'like a lamb,' as +Elizabeth expressed it. + +There was a pause. Then the corners of Marion's mouth ceased to droop. +She smiled. I smiled. Elizabeth smiled. + +There was another pause. 'I think, Elizabeth,' I remarked, 'I'll have +a glass--just a small glass--of stout myself.' + +'You do right, 'm. I'll fetch you a glass.' + +'And Elizabeth, if you'd care to have some----' + +'Thank you very much 'm, I _did_ take the liberty of 'avin' a taste +already, but a little drop more wouldn't do me any 'arm, as the sayin' +is.' + +She went out. Marion set down her glass and put away her +pocket-handkerchief. 'How silly of me to worry about Mr. Harbinger,' +she said. 'After all, I suppose Fate never intended us for each other.' + +I recognized in a flash that Elizabeth had succeeded where I had +failed, and I was conscious of a certain admiration for her methods. +Yet at that moment no hint of subsequent events filtered into my mind; +I did not suspect--even dimly--the possibilities of Elizabeth. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Neither Elizabeth or Marion like William. Of the two, Elizabeth is +more tolerant towards him, merely commenting that 'she couldn't abide +his ways.' Marion, however, views him with an antipathy entirely +foreign to one of her gentle nature. I think, in the light of what +happened later, if she had only shown a little more forbearance towards +him it might have simplified matters. + +William is our friend. He drops in to see us when he likes, sits with +his feet on our mantelpiece, strews tobacco ash on the carpet, and +always tells me which of my hats are the most unbecoming, so you can +imagine what a close friend he is. Though he does not stick any closer +than a brother, he is equally as frank. He likes Henry and tolerates +me. For the rest of the women in the world he has a strong objection. +Not that he is a misogynist; but he always holds that a woman +interferes with a man's life. I often think that William would be all +the better for a little judicious feminine interference. He has, +however, now got beyond the stage of redemption. + +[Illustration: Our Friend William.] + +Home means nothing more to William than a comfortable ledge below the +mantelpiece where he can put his feet, a carpet which will not spoil +with tobacco ash, and a few tables and chairs scattered about just to +hold a good supply of old magazines and newspapers handy for lighting +his pipe. He wears those shaggy, unbrushed-looking clothes which all +good women abhor. Worst of all, he is constantly getting imbued with +new and fantastic ideas which cause him to live in a (quite +unnecessary) ferment of enthusiasm. + +A good wife, now, would nip these ideas in the bud and make existence +infinitely more restful to him. Henry and he once got up a notion of +inventing a new drink which was to make them both everlastingly famous +and superlatively rich. They talked about it for hours and had even +got to designing the labels and bottles when I stepped in and told +Henry not to be a silly ass, that he was making a fool of himself, and +a few other sensible wifely things like that which finally brought him +to reason. William, however, having no one to bring him to reason, +goes on day by day becoming more of a lunatic. I could never +understand why there is such a close bond between him and Henry, unless +it is because they enjoy arguing together. Henry, being a Scotsman, +likes argument; and William, being an Irishman, likes hearing his own +voice. Thus they seldom got bored with each other. + +The time we did get bored with William was when he turned inventor. It +came rather as a surprise to us; and when he began to be abstracted, +profoundly meditative, almost sullen, with an apparent desire to be +alone, we thought at first that it was the onset of hydrophobia. In +fact, we looked it up on the back of the dog-licence to make sure. + +William's remarks next became irrelevant. For example, after being +wrapped in silence for over half an hour, he suddenly flung out the +question, 'How many people do you know who possess a trousers-press? + +Faced with the problem, I confessed I could not connect a single +acquaintance with a trousers-press. 'Henry hasn't got one,' I admitted. + +'Neither have I,' said William. (I didn't doubt that for an instant.) +He went on to remark that he knew many men in many walks of life, and +only two of them owned a trousers-press, and they shared it between +them. Yet the inventor of this apparently negligible article had made +a small fortune out of the idea. + +'If,' concluded William, 'you can make a small fortune out of a thing +that you can dispense with, how much more can you make out of something +that you can't do without?' + +This sentence I give as William composed it, and from its construction +you will understand the state of his mind, for he was as fastidious +regarding style as Henry himself. Of course there was some excuse for +him. You see, when you're an inventor you can't be anything else. It +takes all your time. Judging by William's procedure you must sit up +experimenting all night long; you lie down in your clothes and snatch a +little sleep at odd moments. When you walk abroad you stride along +muttering, waving your arms and bumping into people; you forget to eat; +your friends fall away from you. Let me advise parents who are +thinking of a career for their sons never to make inventors of them. +It's a dog's life. Far better to put them to something with regular +hours, say from 10.30 to 4 o'clock, which leaves them with the evenings +free. + +William wouldn't divulge what his invention was, because, he said, he +was afraid of the idea getting about before he took out the patent. He +merely told us it was a device which no man living could do without. +But he went so far as to show us the inner workings of his discovery +(hereinafter referred to as It), which, not knowing what they were for, +rather mystified us. I know there was a small suction valve which +involved the use of water, because William demonstrated to us one +Sunday afternoon in the drawing-room. He said afterwards that the +unexpected deluge that broke over the politely interested faces +gathered round him was merely due to a leakage in the valve, and he set +to work to repair it at once. + +At that time William always carried on his person a strange assortment +of screws, metal discs, springs, bits of rubber and the like. He +pulled them out in showers when he took out his handkerchief; they +dripped from him when he stood up. I think he kept them about him for +inspiration. + +William completed It in a frenzy of enthusiasm. He said that nothing +now stood between him and a vast fortune, and in a mood of reckless +generosity he promised us all shares, which certainly tended to deepen +our interest in the invention. Then he betook himself to the Patent +Office. + +I saw him the following day, and it occurred to me at once that all was +not well with William. For one thing he did not burst in unannounced +with hair dishevelled, which seems to be the usual way for an inventor +to come into a room; he entered slowly and sat down heavily. + +'Is anything wrong with the invention?' I asked. + +He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. A metal disc fell +out and rolled unheeded across the floor. + +'Nothing is wrong with it,' he answered dully. + +'You don't mean that some one else has thought of It before you?' + +'Most people seem to have thought of It.' He paused and absently +plucked off a stray piece of rubber from his coat sleeve. 'It seems to +have originated in America in 1880. Then a large colony of German +inventors applied for the patent; a body of Russians were imbued with +the idea; several Scandinavians had variations of it. It even seems to +have filtered into the brain of certain West African tribes; and in +1918 a Czecho-Slovak----' He paused, overcome with emotion. + +'But if It is a thing man can't do without, why haven't we heard of +it?' I demanded. + +'Men,' replied William sadly, seem determined to do without It. They +don't know what is good for them.' + +Suddenly he raised his head with the light of enthusiasm in his eyes. +'By the way, I was talking to a chap at the Patent Office who told me +that there's an enormous boom in inventing in this country just now. +Henry ought to get a good article out of it.' + +As a matter of fact it was the only thing that ever was got out of the +invention. + +William, being an Irishman, didn't let failure depress him in the +least. We were all glad to see him rational again--as rational as +could be expected from him, I mean. As Elizabeth was wont to express +it, ''E aint screwed up like other folk, so what can you expect.' But +as I have said, she did not approve of William. It was not so much +that she took exception to the trail of tobacco ash that followed in +his wake, or the unusual litter he created during his inventive period. +She resented the fact that he was unmarried, having, at all times, a +strong objection to celibacy. + +'When a man gets to the age o' that there Mr. Roarings' (William's +surname is Rawlings, so she didn't get so far out for her)--'an' isn't +married 'e's cheatin' some pore girl out of 'er rights, I ses,' she +declared. 'Selfishness! Spendin' all 'is money on 'isself. W'y isn't +'e married?' + +'I don't know, Elizabeth,' I replied, 'but if you like, I'll ask him.' + +'That'll do no good. 'E orter be thrown together with the right kind +o' young lady and kept up to the scratch. That's wot orter be done. +I'll look up the cards for 'im and see wot 'is Signs is. I'd like to +see 'im married and settled down.' + +'Perhaps you mean to marry him yourself, Elizabeth?' + +She gave a snort of indignation. 'Me! 'E's not my style. Give me a +young man who can set off a bright necktie an' a white waistcoat with a +nice watch an' albert 'ung on to it. But Mr. Roarings' now, 'e'd do +well for some one who 'ad settled down, like, with quiet sort o' +tastes. I got some one in my mind's eye for 'im already.' + +From the moment that Elizabeth took his destiny in hand William was no +longer safe, I felt sure. The Signs began to get to work upon him. + +'William,' I said to him one day, 'Elizabeth means to marry you.' + +'Why should I marry Elizabeth?' he asked placidly. + +'I don't mean that she herself is to be the blushing bride. She +prefers a man with a taste in waistcoats, a flowing auburn moustache, +and a tendency to bright neckties, none of which qualities or +quantities you possess. She means to get you married to some one else.' + +William slowly removed his pipe from his mouth and regarded me with +intense earnestness. He is not the sort of person who lets his +emotions ripple to the surface, so his serious mien surprised me. He +raised his hand in a prophetic attitude and began to speak. 'Dr. +Johnson has rightly said that the incommodities of a single life are +necessary and certain, but those of a conjugal state are avoidable. +Excellent philosophy. Sooner than get married, my dear madame, I would +walk in the wilderness, conversing with no man; I would fly to the +fastnesses of Tibet; I would make of myself a hermit in a cave that was +strongly barricaded. I would eschew tobacco. I would pay, to the +uttermost farthing, any bachelor tax imposed by the State.' + +'Do you so utterly abhor the idea of marriage?' I asked, profoundly +astonished. + +'I do,' said William. + +A strange sound broke on our ears. It seemed to come through the +keyhole, and resembled the contemptuous sniff with which Elizabeth +always expresses incredulity. But, of course, it couldn't have been +that. + +As I have said, Elizabeth never listens at doors. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +(William--although he has a great regard for Pepys--does not himself +keep a diary. From time to time, however, he 'chronicles the +outstanding events in his career,' as he puts it. The following is one +of William's 'chronicles,' which shows more knowledge than I have of +the happenings in this chapter.) + +_William's Story_: The more I think of it the more terrible the thing +becomes from every aspect. Who could have thought that I, only a few +days ago placidly drifting down the stream of life, should be jerked +into such a maelstrom of difficulties? I must, however, try to think +calmly. As Dr. Johnson has said, 'One of the principal themes of moral +instruction is the art of bearing calamities.' + +Let me try to narrate the events in their order--to trace, as far as +possible, how this particular calamity occurred. + +It began with Elizabeth. Or, I should say, she was the bearer of those +disastrous tidings which have robbed me of my peace of mind and given +me nights of sleepless horror. + +Elizabeth, I ought to explain, is employed at the house of my friends, +the Warringtons, as domestic worker. Up to the time of which I write I +had barely observed the girl, beyond remarking that she was exceedingly +lank as to form, and had a distressing habit of breathing very heavily +when serving at table, due, I thought, to asthmatic tendencies. + +I learned later that it only betokened anxiety lest she should drop the +various vessels she was handing round. + +The circumstances which brought her particularly under my notice were +singular. I had called at the Warringtons' one evening to have a smoke +and chat with Henry, as is my wont. Elizabeth, after showing me into +the study, told me that her master had gone out, but asked me to wait +as he was expected to return every minute. I settled myself down, +therefore, reached out for the tobacco jar, while my feet sought the +familiar ledge below the mantelpiece, when I observed that Elizabeth +was hovering in my vicinity. + +'Excuse me, sir,' she said, speaking with apparent hesitation, +'but--but--do you mind if I speak to you?' + +'Why shouldn't you speak to me if you want to?' I said, surprised and +rather puzzled. + +'Well, you see, sir, it's a bit 'ard to tell you. I dunno how to begin +exactly--makes me feel like a cat treadin' on 'ot plates.' I quote +exactly the rough vernacular of the lower classes in which she +habitually expresses herself. + +'There is no necessity for you to feel like a cat--or any other +animal--treading on plates hot or otherwise when unburdening yourself +to me,' I said kindly and benevolently, to put her at her ease. As a +matter of fact, I half surmised the cause of her embarrassment. No +doubt she had broken some object of value and wished me to act as +intermediary with her mistress in the matter. I have frequently heard +Mrs. Warrington complain of her ever-recurring breakages. + +'If I can assist you in any way,' I continued, 'and intervene----' + +'Inter-wot?' said Elizabeth. + +'Er--perhaps you desire me to put in a good word for you with your +mistress----' + +'Do I _not_,' she broke in. 'I can put in all the good words _I_ want +meself--yes, an' a few more, too.' + +I was pondering on the remarkable formation of this sentence which lent +itself neither to analysis nor parsing, when her next words arrested my +instant attention. + +'It's about Miss Marryun I wanted to speak to you,' she said. + +I stared. Why on earth should she speak to me about Miss Warrington, +Henry's sister? I have not noticed her closely, but she is a quiet +enough female, I believe, though possessed of an irritating habit of +constantly pressing quite unnecessary ash-trays on a man. + +To my surprise Elizabeth closed the door at this point and, coming up +to me, whispered in a strange husky voice: 'That's just where all the +trouble begins. It's what I overheerd 'er sayin' about you.' + +I must confess to feeling rather startled. Then I remembered Mrs. +Warrington had often commented on Elizabeth's curious proclivities for +'overhearing.' I looked at her coldly. I had not the slightest +intention of becoming her confidant. + +'Well, well, my good girl,' I retorted briskly, 'listeners never hear +any good of themselves--or of other people either, I suppose. So, if +you please, we will drop the subject.' I then picked up a book and +held it before me to signify that the parley was at an end. + +Elizabeth snorted. The term is vulgar, I know, but no other expression +is adequate. 'Oo was listenin', I'd like to know?' she asked. 'I sed +_overheerd_. The door was well on the jar and I was dustin' the 'all +when I 'ears Miss Marryun a-moanin' and a-sobbin' like. Missus was +talkin' to 'er and soothin' 'er. "Don't carry on so," she ses, "for I +tells you, it's no use." + +'"No use," ses Miss Marryun in a choked sort o' voice, "why is it no +use? I love 'im, I adore 'im. Oh, Willyum, Willyum, you'll break my +'art if you go on with this yeer cold indifference----"' + +'Stop,' I interposed sternly. At any other time I might have smiled at +the girl's quaint phraseology. But I did not smile just then. _Dulce +est desipere in loco_. Wild as the story sounded, it was making me +feel decidedly uncomfortable. A slight perspiration had broken out on +my forehead. But I threw a strong note of assurance into my voice as I +went on: 'Girl, this is a monstrous action on your part to +listen--er--overhear at doors and repeat conversations of a most +delicate nature to a third party.' + +'What-ho,' put in Elizabeth. + +'Now let me show you the mistake under which you are labouring. It is +true my name is William, but William is a common name. I have +remarked, indeed, that the world is pretty full of Williams. Miss +Warrington was in no way referring to me.' + +'I don't think,' commented Elizabeth. + +'Evidently you don't,' I said severely, 'or you would not make such +absurd statements.' + +'I ain't done yet,' went on this diabolical creature. 'You say it +wasn't meant fer you? Listen. When Miss Marryun goes on wringin' 'er +'ands an' sobbin', "I love my Willyum," missus ses, "But 'ow can you +love such a big ugly brute of a man wot's allus throwin' 'is tobacco +ash about the place, and scrapin' the fendy with 'is feet and never +wears a fancy westcoat even at evernin' parties. 'Ow can you love +him?" she arsks. + +'"I don't know myself," ses Miss Marryun, "but there it is. I'd rather +die than live without my Willyum."' + +'Silence,' I burst out fiercely, 'do you think I don't know that all +this is pure invention on your part--for what reason I, as yet, cannot +tell. How dare you concoct such tales?' + +'Wait till I've finished, please, sir. The missus, she ses, "But +Marryun, my pore dear, it's no use lovin' 'im. 'E ses to me 'is very +self the other day, 'e ses, 'Sooner than get married I'd go and dwell +in the wilderness, I'd go to Tibbet, be an 'ermit in a cave, give up +baccy, and give away every farthin' I 'ad in the world.'"' + +A feeling of acute horror swept over me. With a crash my favourite +pipe fell from my nerveless fingers and was smashed to atoms on the +fender. There was truth in the girl's fantastic story after all. I +recalled using such expressions as those when, a little time before, I +was discussing conjugal difficulties in a talk with Mrs. Warrington. +Obviously the girl could not have made the thing up. I passed my hand +wildly across my brow. 'But what have I done that she should fall in +love with me? What is there about me to attract any woman?' + +'Nothink, as I can see,' she retorted, 'but with a woman's heart +there's no knowin' an' there's no tellin'. P'raps you've managed to +throw dust in her eyes.' + +'I have thrown nothing--I mean, Miss Warrington and I are only slightly +acquainted with each other. I have, indeed, barely noticed her. And +now you tell me this horrible thing.' + +She bridled. 'Wot's 'orrible about it? You ought to be glad. Most +men would be proud to marry a young lady 'oo's got such a light 'and +for pastry, and can mend up an old pair o' pants to make 'em look like +new. She's just the sort of wife----' + +[Illustration: 'Wot's 'orrible about it?'] + +'"Wife,"' I interrupted, '"marry"? What do you mean by those words, +girl? Do you think for one instant if all the females in Christendom +were to fall in love with me I would _marry_ any one of them! No, a +thousand times, no. I repeat I will never, _never_ marry.' + +'I 'eard yer,' said Elizabeth, 'and do you sit there and mean to tell +me that you're going to break a gentle woman's 'eart deliberate?' + +The imputation caused me to shudder from head to foot. 'No, no, +Elizabeth. If I have unwittingly caused the lady pain I am deeply +remorseful. But she must, as soon as possible, be disillusioned.' + +'Dish-who?' said Elizabeth. In this peculiar and baffling way does +she express herself. It makes a sustained conversation extremely +difficult and, at times, almost impossible. + +'She must be brought to dislike me, I mean. In this matter I must ask +you to help me.' I took a ten-shilling note from my pocket. 'If, from +time to time, you will talk to Miss Warrington of my many faults--you +can invent what you like----' + +'Shan't need to invent much in the way o' faults,' put in the monstrous +girl. 'But it's my belief she likes you for 'em. Some women are made +like that. Anyway,' she handed me back the note which I had +endeavoured to press into her warm, moist palm. 'I'm not wantin' this. +I'm not goin' to take blood money to 'elp to break any woman's 'eart.' + +It sounded really terrible viewed in that light. 'There is no need for +you to put it in that coarse way,' I said, my temper rising. 'I only +ask you to help me to regain my peace of mind and secure Miss +Warrington's happiness.' + +'Well, if you put it like that o' course,' she said, her fingers +closing over the note, 'I'm not the one to refuse good money. I'm +willin' to do all I can to make you an' Miss Marryun happy.' With a +broad grin she sidled out of the room. + +As for me, I gathered up the fragments of my pipe and departed. I no +longer wished to talk to Henry just then. I wanted to be alone to +think, to consider my strategic position. I must go away to some +remote place, perhaps not Tibet, but at any rate a quiet spot in the +country fully twenty miles out of London. Before going, however, I +must in some way show Miss Warrington the utter folly of her illusions +regarding my unfortunate self. Nothing must be left undone to achieve +that object. + +Alas, what troubles, what unending anxiety a woman can cause a man! +After getting over this difficulty, I swear I will not even converse +with any one of them again. In the meantime I must invoke the aid of +this wretched girl Elizabeth. _Necessitas non habet legem_. Elizabeth +is that most irritating necessity. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Elizabeth often speaks of the time when she poisoned The Kid. She says +she never had such a 'turn' in all her life, and wouldn't go through +such an experience again for all the money in the world. Neither, +indeed, would I, or Henry, or Marion. Looking back on the matter, I +don't think The Kid cared for it either. + +It was a peaceful summer evening. The Kid had just gone to bed and +we--Henry, Marion and I--had foregathered in the study. Marion spends +most of her time with us, being one of those delightfully restful +persons who doesn't need to be 'entertained,' who doesn't talk to you +if you want to do a little writing at meal times, and is altogether a +desirable visitor. Thus, at the moment of which I write, we sat in +perfect amity and silence, Henry working, I working, while every time I +looked up my eyes fell on the gratifying vision of dear Marion making a +blouse for me. Suddenly the door opened and Elizabeth entered. + +'That there medicine you told me to give Miss Moira,' she said. 'I +just been looking at it and I see it's got your name on the bottle.' +She held it out to me as she spoke. + +'Why is The Kid taking medicine?' inquired Marion. + +'It's only a little tonic the doctor prescribed. But,' I stared at the +bottle Elizabeth had brought in, 'this is my medicine. The chemist +must have mixed up the prescriptions when I took them to him.' +Suddenly I sprang to my feet. 'Great Heavens! My tonic contains +strychnine!' + +'And as you've been taking it for some time, I expect the dose has been +increased,' said Marion excitedly. 'How much did you give her, +Elizabeth?' + +'A teaspoonful, miss, as usual.' + +I wrung my hands. 'I take only six drops at a time myself! What are +we to do?' + +'One place I was at,' put in Elizabeth, 'the master was rather fond of +a drop too much, an' 'e come 'ome very late one night an' drank spirits +o' salt thinkin' it was something else, so we give 'im stuff to bring +it up agen.' + +'Of course,' said Marion, 'that's the very thing.' Long ago, during +the war, she worked in a hospital, so she affects to know something of +medicines. 'Give The Kid an emetic at once. Ipecac. Dose 5 minims. +Repeat, if necessary. Or salt and water. I'll dash off to the +doctor's and ask him what's to be done.' And seizing the bottle she +hurried out. + +The Kid was sitting up in bed eating her supper when Elizabeth, Henry +and I burst breathlessly into her room. Her face was shining with +quiet contentment. + +'Look, Mama, dear,' she said, 'at the beautiful baked custard Elizabeth +has made for my supper. Wasn't it kind of her?' + +I snatched the custard away from her grasp. 'Don't eat another +mouthful,' I panted, 'you're going to have an emetic. You must be sick +at once.' + +Mutely questioning inexorable Fate, she raised large, contemplative +eyes to mine. '_Must_ I, Mama? Can't I finish my custard first?' + +There is about The Kid's character a stoic philosophy, blended, since +she has known Elizabeth, with a certain fatalism. Her habit of saying +'_Must_ I?' when faced with a disagreeable duty, indicates her outlook +on life. If those in authority declare she must, then there is no more +to be said about it. They represent Fate in action. She now yielded +up the custard with a sigh, but obediently drank the mixture I handed +her. There was a pause. + +'How are you feeling, dear?' I inquired. + +'Quite well, thank you, Mama, dear. May I have my custard now?' + +'You ought not to be feeling well,' I said, puzzled. 'You'd better +have some more drops.' + +'Oh, must I, Mama?' + +'Yes, dear. Drink this.' I now gave her a slightly larger dose. +There was a still longer pause, and Henry, Elizabeth and I waited for +her to speak, or express emotion of some sort. At last she opened her +lips and said, 'May I have----' + +'A basin?' inquired Elizabeth, darting forward. + +'----my custard, now, if you please, Elizabeth?' + +'No,' I said sternly. 'It's very strange that the ipecac, has had no +effect.' + +'Try salt and water. There's more about it, like,' remarked Elizabeth. +'I'll fetch some.' + +'And hurry,' Henry commanded, 'every moment's delay is making the thing +more serious.' + +'Now drink this salt and water, darling,' I urged The Kid when +Elizabeth reappeared. + +'Oh, _must_ I, Mama?' + +[Illustration: 'Oh, _must_ I, Mama?'] + +'Yes. Your life depends upon it.' + +She drank rather hastily at that. There was a long, long pause while +Elizabeth, Henry and I gazed into each other's eyes and--waited. + +'How do you feel now?' I asked at last with strained anxiety. + +'I'm feeling rather sick now, thank you, Mama, dear. But perhaps I +could manage a little of my cus----' + +'No,' I interrupted. 'Can't you be sick, child?' + +'I'm afraid I can't, Mama.' + +'Then why can't you?' Henry burst out. 'It's dreadful--most unnatural.' + +'She's got a stummick like an 'orse,' commented Elizabeth. + +'Prompt action is vital,' put in Henry firmly. 'There are other +emetics. Mustard and----' + +'I've always 'eard that soap and water's good for turnin' any one +over,' began Elizabeth. + +'Soap and water!' I echoed, 'yes, that sounds the worst--the best, I +mean. Get it at once, Elizabeth.' + +'Enough to make a good lather, should you think, 'm?' + +'Oh, _must_ I?' wailed the Kid, still questioning inexorable Fate. + +We all united in preparing the soap and water to avoid delay. +Elizabeth boiled the water. Henry cut the soap into small flakes, and +I beat it up into a lather. Then, now in a condition of feverish +anxiety, I handed The Kid the foaming mixture. + +'Drink,' I panted. + +'Oh, mus----' she began. + +'Don't say that again!' I exclaimed, overwrought by the intensity of my +emotions. 'Can't you see how serious it is, child? You might die any +minute.' + +She drank off the contents of the glass without further question. + +'Well, that ought to do it,' commented Henry, looking at a few +iridescent bubbles at the bottom of the glass. 'I made it strong.' + +There was a strained silence when I almost seemed to hear my own heart +beats. 'How--how--do you feel, now, darling?' I asked at last. + +'Dreadful, thank you, Mama, dear.' + +'That isn't enough,' I cried in anguish. 'Can't you----?' + +'No, I can't, Mama.' + +'This is terrible,' I broke out, fast becoming hysterical. 'What is to +be done! Can nothing save her?' + +'I suppose the doctor will bring along a stomach pump,' said Henry, +trying to soothe me. + +'Oh, must he?' moaned The Kid (ignored). + +'Get 'er to put 'er finger down 'er throat,' suggested Elizabeth +brightly; 'that'll work it.' + +It was the last straw. The Kid, though still dutiful, was utterly +outraged. 'No, no, I won't,' she cried in open rebellion. + +She looked unhappy. The soap and water had evidently met the allied +forces of ipecac. and salt, and a fierce battle was, no doubt, in +progress in her interior at the moment. 'I won't,' she repeated +desperately. + +'Do try, darling,' implored Henry, 'and I'll give you a whole shilling.' + +'No, no, _no_. I don't want any shillings.' Judging by her expression +the soap must have commenced an encircling movement, and the salt and +ipecac. were hurrying up reserves. 'I won't put my finger down my +throat.' + +'What are we to do?' I said, wringing my hands. 'I never knew her to +be so obstinate. Why, oh, why doesn't the doctor come? The child is +beginning to look so strange already.' + +'Well, wot I'd do if I was you,' suggested Elizabeth, 'is to begin the +doses all over again----' + +'Good,' said Henry. 'Firstly the ipecac.----' + +'Oh, must I?' interrupted The Kid. + +To my intense relief Marion dashed in at that moment. 'Have you given +her an emetic?' she demanded breathlessly. + +Elizabeth, Henry and I gathered round her with the necessary +information. + +'She has had several. Ipecac.----' + +'Twice.' + +'Salt and water----' + +'A cupful.' + +'Warm soap and water----' + +'One glass.' + +'And,' I concluded, now in tears, 'she won't be sick--simply _won't_!' + +'I do want to, _auntie_,' explained The Kid, her child's sense of +justice receiving mortal blows, 'but I can't _be_----' + +Marion stood and gazed at her in awe. 'It's wonderful,' she murmured, +'amazing! I think, perhaps, _The Lancet_ would be interested in a +letter on the subject.' + +'But what did the doctor say?' broke in Henry. 'Is he coming?' + +'No,' said Marion, 'he----' + +'Why not?' I asked feverishly. + +'Because he said it was all right directly he tasted the contents of +the bottle. But to make quite sure he 'phoned to your chemist, who, it +appears, put your name on the bottle instead of The Kid's. He was +awfully sorry and apologetic.' + +'Sorry!' I echoed, 'apologetic! Why, the man's a monster. To think of +all I've suffered through his carelessness.' I sank down on a chair. +'I'm quite overwrought.' + +'There's no harm done, thank goodness,' said Marion. + +'"All's well that ends well,"' quoted Henry. + +'I'm fair relieved to get that load orf my mind,' supplemented +Elizabeth. + +'Mama, dear,' put in The Kid, glad, no doubt, that at last she was able +to please, 'I think that now I really can _be_----' + +'It doesn't matter now, darling,' I explained. 'You'd better lie +perfectly still and let it pass off.' + +'Must I, Mama?' + +We all moved towards the door. The relief from the strain was apparent +in our joyous faces and lightened mien. We sang out 'Good-night' to +The Kid, and went out laughing and chatting. Half-way down the stairs +we heard her calling. + +'Mama, dear.' + +'What is it?' we all asked in chorus. + +'Please may I have my custard _now_?' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +_Being an extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington: Thursday_. +A most remarkable and perplexing thing has happened. Never, for a +moment, could I have dreamed of such an improbable and embarrassing +occurrence. + +It was Elizabeth who first brought it to my notice, and I can only wish +she had never made that strange discovery which is causing me so much +uneasiness. I was spending the day with Netta, and had gone into the +kitchen for a moment, when Elizabeth asked if she might speak to me in +confidence. This rather surprised me, because she does not, as a rule, +show such diffidence about speaking (in confidence or otherwise) to any +one. + +'Is it anything very important?' I inquired. + +She seemed to hesitate and then jerked out, 'Well, miss, it's about +that there Mr. Roarings.' + +I at once felt rather troubled on Netta's account. Perhaps Elizabeth +was on the verge of giving notice as a protest against the extra work +involved by having that monstrously untidy man about the place. Why +Netta tolerates him with his slovenly habits is beyond my comprehension. + +'What has he been doing now?' I asked. 'Surely he hasn't started +another invention?' I never before realized what a thoroughly untidy, +disordered business inventing could be until I saw him at it. + +'Oh, no, miss, nothin' like that, only--only--well, it was what I see +when 'e was standin' in the droring-room the other day, an' I was just +at the door----' + +'I quite understand, Elizabeth. He has burnt a hole in that beautiful +pile carpet.' + +'No, miss, he----' + +'Then he has scorched the rose silk tapestry on the couch!' It is my +opinion that he should not be allowed in the drawing-room at all. He +isn't safe with a pipe in his mouth or a box of matches in his pocket. +Henry ought to take out a special insurance against Mr. Rawlings. + +'No, it's nothin' like that, miss. As I was sayin', 'e was standin' in +the droring-room. The door was wide open. I was just goin' in to dust +an' then I sees that 'e's 'oldin' your photo in 'is 'ands, that big one +in the silver frame. 'E was starin' at it wild-like, and a-mutterin' +to 'isself. I 'eard 'im say, quite distinct, "Oh, Marryun, Marryun, my +beautiful darlin', 'ow I adore you," ses e. "I'm not 'arf mad about +you." An' then 'e starts kissin' the photo until I thinks 'e'll crack +the glarss of the frame with 'is passion and 'ot breath.' + +[Illustration: ''E was starin' at it wild-like.'] + +I stared at her, scarcely able to believe the evidence of my own ears. +Then, remembering that she is a girl greatly given to a maudlin kind of +sentiment, I was reassured. 'You have been mistaken,' I said with +quiet dignity. 'Mr. Rawlings is incapable of such a display as you +have just described. If, as you say, he was holding my photo in his +hand, it was, no doubt, for the purpose of using it as an ash-tray.' + +'Never seen 'im use an ash-tray,' commented Elizabeth. + +'Being in the drawing-room he might, for once, have had some qualms +about the carpet,' I explained. Under his rugged exterior he may have +a conscience. I rather doubt it myself, but one should never judge too +harshly. + +'Arter 'earing 'im say that,' went on Elizabeth, 'I didn't like to let +'im see I'd been in the room all the time, an' I was just goin' to +creep out quiet when 'e starts talkin' to the photo again. "Marryun," +'e ses, "if I carn't 'ave you I'll go away in the wilderness, or be an +'ermit in a cave, or go an' live in Tibbet, or give away every farthin' +I've got in the world." That's wot 'e sed, an' 'e looked so wild I was +fair scared, miss.' + +I stared at Elizabeth, quite unable to speak a word. The whole thing +sounded so wildly improbable and yet she was obviously speaking the +truth. She is, I should say, a girl of no imagination and, being +entirely artless, could not possibly have invented such a thing. At +last I found my voice, which sounded rather hollow. 'What a terrible +thing,' I said. + +'Why terrible?' she inquired. + +Poor, simple girl, with her primitive views of life, how little she +understood the delicate situation that had been created, or the +significance of the words she had just repeated to me. + +'I detest the idea of inflicting pain even on an animal,' I replied, +'and if, as you say, Mr. Rawlings appeared to be suffering on my +account----' + +''E was--agonies,' she put in. + +'Well, is not the whole position dreadful? Mr. Rawlings is the last, +the very last man, Elizabeth, in the whole world that I should think of +in the way you mention.' + +I could not repress a sigh as I spoke. How peculiar is the irony of +fate. Why should I deny (particularly in this, my diary, which +contains the outpourings of my soul) that I have often wished to win +the love of some good strong man who could protect me in the battle of +life and be willing, as it were, like the knights of old, to enter the +lists for my sake. This I could in no way imagine Mr. Rawlings doing. +My conception of the hero of my dreams may have varied from time to +time, but never has it included even the smallest of the +characteristics of William Rawlings. He reminds me of nothing so much +as the very shaggiest bear I have ever seen at the Zoo--not even a nice +white Polar bear, but one of those nondescript, snuff-coloured kinds +that are all ragged ends from top to toe. That a man with such a rough +exterior could be capable of such sickening sentimentality as Elizabeth +had just described quite nauseated me. It made me dislike him more, if +possible, than I had done before. + +'Remember, Elizabeth,' I said, looking at her steadily, 'you must not +repeat a word of this to any one. Mr. Rawlings must never know that he +has been discovered in this----' + +'Well, 'e knows that _I_ know,' she interrupted. + +I stared. 'What do you mean?' + +'You see, me bein' in the room when 'e was a-kissin' of your fotograft, +'e looks up an' sees me afore I could get away, quiet, like. "Good +lor', Elizabeth," 'e breaks out, "you don't mean to tell me that you +sor everything, that you 'eard my 'eart strings burstin' in a manner of +speakin'." + +'"I'm afraid I did, sir," ses I, "I was just comin' in to dust an' your +sighs bein' rather loud, I couldn't 'elp overhearing." + +'"Listen," 'e ses, goin' ashy pale, "you must never tell 'er. I will +win 'er in my own way," 'e ses. "In the meantime, 'ere is ten +shillings, my good girl. Will you put in a word for me with Miss +Worryington from time to time? She may not like me just yet, but I'll +make 'er mine or blow my brains out." + +'"I shouldn't do that, sir, if I was you," I ses, "leastways not yet +until you see 'ow things turns out, like." + +'"I'm goin' to lead a better life," 'e goes on, "an' stop puttin' baccy +ash in my pocket, an' dustin' my boots with my handkercher, an' all +those little things that a gentle woman might find careless."' + +'Elizabeth,' I put in weakly, 'this is terrible. I do not want Mr. +Rawlings to make any sacrifices for me. I do not want Mr. Rawlings. +Nothing in the world would make me consider his suit.' + +''Is suit's all right if it were well brushed an' pressed,' she said. +'An if 'e isn't quite a fancy style 'isself we can't all pick an' +choose in this world. Don't go despisin' of 'im too much, miss. If 'e +was properly done up, now, and sort o' dusted an' polished, like, 'e +mightn't be so bad.' + +I turned on her with burning indignation. 'How dare you openly assist +his plans after confessing to taking his money as a bribe? Don't +mention his name to me again, or I shall refuse to listen to you.' + +She actually had the impertinence to look indignant. 'It's shame I cry +on you, miss, for tryin' to break the pore man's 'eart. Then I s'pose +I can't give 'im that there fotograft of you?' + +'My photograph! Of all the unspeakable----' + +'It was with 'im sayin' that if 'e only 'ad it to look at it might 'elp +to parss all the dark 'ours 'e 'as to spend away from you. 'E sed 'e +wanted it to look at wen 'e was lyin' awake at night, thinkin' of you.' + +I strove to be reasonable. 'To let him have my photo, Elizabeth, would +only encourage his mad ideas. No, all this must be stopped +immediately. I shall take prompt measures. Once more, let me beg of +you never to mention this painful occurrence to any one.' I turned to +go out of the kitchen, but when I reached the door Elizabeth called to +me. 'I wanted to ask you a favour, miss, if it isn't troublin' you too +much,' she began. + +'What is it?' I inquired rather absently, for my mind was very much +disturbed just then. + +'You see, miss, it's this way. I gotta young man wot's very poetick, +like. 'E's always sendin' me portry copied from mottoes out o' +crackers. It's very 'ard to keep up with 'im.' + +'Then how do you want me to help you?' I asked, puzzled. + +'I wondered if you'd be so kind as to copy me a bit o' portry I sor in +one o' master's books. It sounds real pretty, but I can't get it down +right. My 'andwritin' is that bad.' She took a leather-bound volume +of Byron from the kitchen drawer. 'It's just this yere bit:-- + + "Yet, oh, yet thyself deceeve not, + Luv' may sink by slow decay; + But by suddint wrench beleeve not + 'Earts can thus be torn away."' + +'Have you had a quarrel with your young man?' I asked, perplexed at the +strange selection of verse. + +'No, miss, but 'e's 'overin' just now--you know what I mean. I want to +bring 'im up to the scratch, like.' + +I could not help thinking what blunt direct methods the lower classes +employ in affairs of the heart. In our walk in life the sending of +such lines to a gentleman who had not declared himself would be +considered almost indelicate. However, I wrote out the absurd lines +for the girl without comment, and rescued Henry's volume of Byron, +which I felt would not improve in appearance by contact with the meat +chopper, knife-board and other miscellaneous objects which she keeps in +the kitchen drawer. It is a pity Netta does not exercise stricter +supervision over Elizabeth. The girl seems to do what she likes. + +'You had better ask permission from Mrs. Warrington before taking books +into the kitchen,' I said with gentle reproof. 'They might get lost or +soiled.' + +'Right-o!' said Elizabeth. 'An' do you reely mean that you're not +a-goin' to give your fotograft to Mr. Roarings?' + +'Indeed not,' I said vehemently, 'don't dare to suggest the idea to me +again. If Mr. Rawlings ever speaks of it to you, you can tell him how +amazed and indignant I was.' + +'Right-o!' said Elizabeth, as I hurried out of the kitchen. + +On thinking the whole matter over I must admit I am greatly perturbed. +I am not like those women who glory in winning a man's love for the +mere gratification of their vanity. I know myself how much one can +suffer from unrequited affection, and I am steadily determined to cure +Mr. Rawlings of his love-madness by every means in my power. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +The study door burst open and one end of Elizabeth--the articulate +end--was jerked into view. + +'Wot will you 'ave for lunch, 'm?' she demanded breathlessly. 'Lamb or +'am?' + +Abruptly recalled from the realms of fiction writing I looked up a +little dazed. 'Lamb or 'am,' I repeated dully, 'lamorram? Er--ram, I +think, please, Elizabeth.' + +Having thus disposed of my domestic obligations for the day, I returned +to my writing. I was annoyed therefore to see the other end of +Elizabeth travel round the doorway and sidle into the room. Her +pretext for entering--that of dusting the roll-top desk with her +apron--was a little thin, for she has not the slightest objection to +dust. I rather think it cheers her up to see it about the place. +Obviously she had come in to make conversation. I laid down my pen +with a sigh. + +'I yeerd from my young man this morning,' she began. A chill +foreboding swept over me. (I will explain why in a minute.) + +'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked. + +[Illustration: 'Do you mean the boiler one?' I asked.] + +''Im wot belongs to the Amalgamated Serciety of Boilermakers,' she +corrected with dignity. 'Well, they've moved 'is 'eadquarters from +London to Manchester.' + +There was a tense silence, broken only by Elizabeth's hard breathing on +a brass paper-weight ere she polished it with her sleeve. + +'If 'e goes to Manchester, there I goes,' she went on; 'I suppose I'd +quite easy get a situation there?' + +'Quite easy,' I acquiesced in a hollow voice. + +She went out leaving me chill and dejected. Not that I thought for a +moment that I was in imminent danger of losing her. I knew full well +that this was but a ruse on the part of the young man to disembarrass +himself of Elizabeth, and, if he had involved the entire Amalgamated +Society of Boilermakers in the plot, that only proved how desperate he +was. + +I have very earnest reasons for wishing that Elizabeth could have a +'settled' young man. You see, as I have previously explained, she +never retains the same one for many weeks at a time. It isn't her +fault, poor girl. She would be as true as steel if she had a chance; +she would cling to any one of them through thick and thin, following +him to the ends of the earth if necessary. + +It is they who are fickle, and the excuses they make to break away from +her are both varied and ingenious. During the War, of course, they +always had the pretext of being ordered to the Front at a moment's +notice, and were not, it appears, allowed to write home on account of +the Censor. Elizabeth used to blame Lloyd George for these defects of +organization. Even to this day she is extremely bitter against the +Government. + +In fact, she is bitter against every one when her love affairs are not +running smoothly. The entire household suffers in consequence. She is +sullen and obstinate; she is always on the verge of giving notice. And +the way she breaks things in her abstraction is awful. Elizabeth's +illusions and my crockery always get shattered together. My rose-bowl +of Venetian glass got broken when the butcher threw her over for the +housemaid next door. Half a dozen tumblers, a basin and several odd +plates came in two in her hands after the grocer's assistant went away +suddenly to join the silent Navy. And nearly the whole of a dinner +service was sacrificed when Lloyd George peremptorily ordered her young +man in the New Army to go to Mesopotamia and stay there for at least +three years without leave. + +Those brief periods when Elizabeth's young men are in the incipient +stages of paying her marked attention are agreeable to everybody. +Elizabeth, feeling no doubt in her rough untutored way that God's in +his Heaven and all's right with the world, sings at her work; she shows +extraordinary activity when going about her duties. She does unusual +things like remembering to polish the brasses every week--indeed, you +have only to step in the hall and glance at the stair rods to discover +the exact stage of her latest 'affair.' I remember once when one +ardent swain (who she declared was 'in the flying corpse') got to the +length of offering her marriage before he flew away, she cleaned the +entire house down in her enthusiasm--and had actually got to the +cellars before he vanished out of her life. + +You will now understand why I was dejected at the perfidy of the +follower belonging to the Boilermakers' Society. I saw a dreary period +of discomfort ahead of me. Worst of all I was expecting the Boscombes +to dinner that very week. They had not before visited us, and Henry +was anxious to impress Mr. Boscombe, he being a publisher. It is +surprising, when you come to think of it, how full the world is of +writers trying to make a good impression on publishers. Yet no one has +met the publisher who ever tries to make a good impression on any one. + +I will not elaborate the situation as it stood. All I can say is that +there is no earthly possibility of making a good impression on any +living thing if Elizabeth is in one of her bad moods. And it would be +no use explaining the case to Mrs. Boscombe, because she has no sense +of humour; or to Mr. Boscombe, because he likes a good dinner. + +Finally, the Domestic Bureau failed me. Hitherto they had always been +able to supply me with a temporary waitress on the occasion of dinner +parties. Now it appeared these commodities had become pearls of great +price which could no longer be cast before me and mine (at the modest +fee of ten shillings a night) without at least fourteen days' notice. + +The Bureau promised to do its best for me, of course, but reminded me +that women were scarce. I asked, with bitterness, what had become of +the surplus million we heard so much about. They replied with +politeness that, judging from the number of applications received, they +must be the million in search of domestics. + +Returning home from the Bureau, I found Elizabeth studying a time-table. + +'I see it's a 'undred and eighty-three miles to Manchester,' she +commented, 'an' the fare's 15s. 5 1/2d.' + +'That's an old time-table you've got,' I hastened to remark, 'it is now +L2 13s. 7 1/2d.--return fare.' + +'I shan't want no return ticket,' said Elizabeth grimly. + +Sickening outlook, wasn't it? + + * * * * * * + +The day of my dinner-party dawned fair and bright, but Elizabeth was +raging. Things got so bad, in fact, that about mid-day I decided I +must telephone to the Boscombes and tell them Henry had suddenly been +taken ill; and I was just looking up the doctor's book to find +something especially virulent and infectious for Henry, when Elizabeth +came in. Amazing to relate, her face was wreathed in smiles. + +'They've sent from the Domestic Boorow,' she began. + +'What!' I exclaimed, 'did they get me a waitress after all?' + +She smirked. 'They've sent a man this time. A footman 'e was before +the War, but 'e didn't take it up again arter 'e was demobbed. Just +now, bein' out of a job 'e's takin' tempory work and-----' + +'He seems to have told you quite a lot about himself already,' I +interposed. + +She smirked again. 'I 'adn't been talkin' to 'im ten minutes afore 'e +arsked me wot was my night out. 'E isn't arf a one.' + +'It seems he isn't,' I agreed. And I sent up a silent prayer of +thankfulness to Heaven and the Domestic Bureau. 'But what about the +Amalgamated boilermaker?' + +'Oh, 'im!' She tossed her head. ''E can go to--Manchester.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +'Have you observed William closely, recently, Netta?' Henry asked me. +'Something seems to have happened to him?' + +'Why should I observe William?' I demanded, puzzled, 'he is not the +sort of man a woman would observe, closely or otherwise.' + +'That is exactly one of the reasons why I like him--you leave him +alone,' remarked that horrid Henry. 'I can talk to him without your +distracting his attention by flirting with him.' + +I felt wounded. 'Henry, this is monstrous.' + +'You cannot deny, my dear, that I have brought men--fluent +conversationalists--round here for a pleasant evening's debate only to +see them become abstracted and monosyllabic directly you appear.' + +'You can't blame me for that, Henry.' + +'Yes, I do. You deliberately seek to interest them. I've seen you at +it. You spare no pains or powder to gain your object. Don't dare to +deny it.' + +Chastened, I replied meekly: 'Dear Henry, I love my +fellow-creatures--if they haven't beards,' I added hastily. 'After +all, doesn't the Scripture command it?' + +'But you don't love William.' + +'The Scripture says nothing at all about William,' I replied decidedly. +'I--er--tolerate him. What is this you tell me about something having +happened to him?' + +'He's growing peculiar.' + +'_More_ peculiar, I suppose you mean?' + +'His manner is erratic and changed. It isn't another invention, +because when he is inventing he is merely monosyllabic, with spasms of +muttering and an increased tendency to knock things over. Now he's +altogether different. It's the trend of his conversation that puzzles +me. He talks of love.' + +'Love and William,' I remarked, 'are as incompatible as acids and +alkalis. In what way does he touch on the subject? With bitterness or +curiosity? + +'Both, I should say. For one thing he is most 'anxious to know what +are the effects of unrequited affection, and if the results can be +serious. Seems strange, doesn't it?' + +'It's passing strange, Henry.' + +'You don't think he's fallen in love with you, Netta?' + +'What makes you suggest he's fallen in love with me?' + +'Because he comes in contact with no other woman beyond you and his +landlady, who, I understand, is over sixty and weighs fifteen stone--so +it must be you if it's anybody.' (This is a Scotsman's way of paying a +compliment; if you can follow the workings of his mind up to the source +of the idea you will see he means well.) + +'That William should fall in love seems incredible--and entirely +unnecessary,' I commented. 'There must be some other explanation of +his manner. As he's coming to dinner to-night, I'll watch and see if I +can find anything unusually strange about him.' + +When William made his appearance, therefore, I observed him intently. +Surely enough I was struck by the fact that he was changed in some +subtle way. He looked dejected. Of course it was impossible to see +much of his expression, owing to his face being almost entirely +obliterated with hair, but what was visible was extremely sad. + +Then a strange thing happened. As soon as we were alone he began to +exhibit signs of acute mental distress, and to my astonishment burst +out, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is something I wanted to--er--ask you. +You are a woman for whom I have a profound respect; though you are +inclined by character to be _un peu moqueuse_, you have, I feel, an +exceedingly tender heart.' + +I felt uneasy. 'Yes, William, it is tender--but not for everybody,' I +added warningly. Really, it was going to be very awkward if he, in his +elephantine way, had conceived an infatuation for me. My conscience +was perfectly clear--I had not encouraged him in any way, but +nevertheless I did not wish to see him suffer from unrequited +affection. It would be so awkward in many ways. William, even in his +sane moods, has a dreadful habit of knocking things over. If the +abstraction of the lover descended upon him, it was going to have a +dire effect on our household goods. + +'Because your heart is tender,' he pursued, 'you will be able to +realize the difficulty of my--er--you can better understand the +sufferings of others. Do you think an ill-placed affection can be +combated--that is, in time, be utterly stamped out?' + +'I do, William,' I said firmly, 'but it must be stamped effectively, +you understand. No half measures, you know.' + +'Yes, yes, I quite see that,' he said eagerly. 'Then do you think in +such a case it would help matters if a man--if one of the parties, I +mean--went right away. You know the adage, "Out of sight out of mind"?' + +I pondered. It would, I knew, be a great denial to William if he was +debarred from coming about our place--almost the only home he had ever +known. Henry, too, would be lost with no one to argue with. If you +want to manage a Scotsman properly see that he gets plenty of argument, +and he'll rarely develop any other vice. No, the pair must not be +separated. + +'There is another adage, William, which says, "Absence makes the heart +grow fonder,"' I said, 'so I think, after all, you--I mean he, had +better stay.' + +William looked relieved. 'You think that I--er--I mean one--ought to +face it?' + +'I am sure one should,' I acquiesced. + +William pressed my hand gratefully, and I sighed as I examined his +physiognomy in the hope of finding one attractive feature. I sighed +again as I finished my inspection. What a pity, I thought, that he had +not just a little dash about him, even the merest _soupcon_ of +fascination, in order to make the situation interesting. He was still +holding my hand as the door opened and Elizabeth shot into view with +the declaration, 'Dinner's in.' + +We have a massive and imposing looking gong erected in the hall for the +sole purpose of announcing when meals are ready, but nothing will +induce Elizabeth to make use of it. If we are upstairs she hails us +from below with such expressions as 'Come on, now, it's getting cold,' +or, 'I won't bring it in till you're all 'ere, so mind you 'urry.' + +If William had appeared strange, it struck me that Marion--who was also +dining with us that evening--was even stranger. For one thing, I +regret to say, she was exceedingly rude to William. She does not like +him, I know, but he was after all our guest, and she was not justified +in remarking, when he upset his wine on the tablecloth, and knocked +over an adjacent salt-cellar, 'If there's anything in the world I +loathe, it is a clumsy man.' + +'I must admit I _am_ extremely clumsy--like an elephant, in fact,' came +the soft answer from William. + +It did not turn away Marion's wrath. 'So I see,' she snapped. + +I kicked her gently under the table. 'Marion, _dear_,' I remonstrated. + +'Nothing in the world will ever improve me,' continued William. + +'I'm sure of it,' replied Marion, 'it's in your system.' + +She seemed in a most contrary mood that evening. For instance, William +had remarked quite nicely and affably that he considered smoking +pernicious for women. He said his mother had always declared it was, +and he thought they were better without it. Whereupon Marion, who +dislikes the weed as a general rule, immediately got up, took a +cigarette from the box on the table and asked William for a light. + +'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly,' she remarked to him. + +[Illustration: 'I suppose I'm shocking you terribly.'] + +'I don't think there's anything you could do that would shock me now,' +he replied. It was rather a peculiar retort, especially as he laid a +faint accent on the 'you.' Evidently he wished to have his revenge for +what she had said to him at dinner. + +'I smoke even in bed,' said Marion, regarding him steadily. I was at a +loss to understand why she told this deliberate falsehood. + +'So do I,' said William calmly. + +'I smoke in the bath,' continued Marion. + +'By Jove, so do I,' said William, looking at her with a new interest. +'But don't you find it rather awkward when you're washing your back?' + +Marion looked rather scandalized, as though she considered William's +remark in bad taste. But she had only herself to blame after all. She +was silent and rather moody after that, until the episode of the +photograph occurred. We were assembled in the drawing-room, and I +suddenly noticed that a photo of Marion which stands on the mantelpiece +had been removed from its frame. + +'Why, Marion, what has become of your photo?' I inquired. + +There was, after all, nothing unusual in its disappearance. It was one +that she did not like and she had often threatened to remove it. What +was my astonishment now to see her spring to her feet and, going white +with suppressed anger, exclaim, 'Who has dared to take it? It is a +piece of unwarrantable impertinence. Who has _dared_, I say?' + +I saw William looking at her in surprise--it was, indeed, something +even deeper than that. Fascinated horror seems a more apt expression. + +'I insist on its being recovered,' went on Marion. + +A strange exclamation from William made us all look at him. 'Women,' +he said, 'are beyond me--utterly beyond me, I repeat.' + +'I'm glad you admit it,' snapped Marion. + +'In guile,' he continued coldly. 'I suppose, now, you have never heard +of a woman thrusting her photograph where it is not wanted accompanied +by verse of an amorous character?' + +Marion looked contemptuously at him. 'What on earth are you raving +about?' she inquired. + +Henry and I intervened at this moment and changed the subject, feeling +that a quarrel between them was imminent. It was all very strange and +puzzling. But the strangest thing was yet to come. I had accompanied +Marion upstairs to put on her cloak before departure, and when we +descended William had vanished. Henry related that he was just +answering a call on the 'phone when he saw William dash past him into +the small lobby off the hall, possess himself of hat and coat, and, +after muttering some words of apology, go forth into the darkness. + +'How eccentric--and ill-behaved, too,' I commented. 'It looks almost +as if he wished to avoid accompanying Marion home.' + +We were standing in the drawing-room as I spoke. Suddenly I gave a +start as my eye drifted to the mantelpiece. 'What an extraordinary +coincidence!' I exclaimed. A strange eerie feeling came over me. +Marion's lost photo had been restored to its frame. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +_William resumes his story_: I am now aware that I should not have +invoked the aid of Elizabeth. A man should work out his own destiny. +Once a woman precipitates herself in an affair, complications are bound +to follow. Also Elizabeth is no ordinary woman. There are times when +I question whether she is human. Was it not her idea that I +should--but I must try to chronicle the events in their correct +sequence. + +The mistake I made primarily, was in not going away directly I first +heard from Elizabeth of Miss Warrington's unfortunate and misplaced +attachment for me. Things might then have adjusted themselves quite +naturally. The idea, however, of a sensitive woman suffering on my +account was exceedingly distasteful to me. If, I decided, I could +bring about her complete disillusionment my conscience would be at +rest. Also there would then be no necessity to cut myself off from the +Warringtons, and give up my pleasant discourses with Henry. Thus, I +felt, I was taking the most advisable course under the circumstances. + +As for Miss Warrington herself, her behaviour was so inexplicable I +wondered if her mind was not beginning to get unhinged. In the first +place it was, I thought, unmaidenly enough that she should, through the +medium of Elizabeth, thrust her photo on me; but that the photo should +be accompanied by some feeble selection from the ill-balanced +outpourings of Byron (who is my pet aversion) was, indeed, almost +revolting. + +Further, her attitude towards me in the presence of others was one of +open hostility. So well, indeed, did she act on one occasion when I +happened to be dining at her brother's house, that a new hope sprang up +within me. I began to think that her strange uncalled-for passion for +me had passed--in short, that her love had turned to hate. So +impressed was I with this idea that when I next called at the +Warringtons' I asked Elizabeth if I could speak to her alone for a few +moments. + +'About Miss Marryun, I'll bet,' she remarked. Looking at her I thought +she accompanied her words with a slight lowering of the left eyelid. I +trust I was mistaken. Free as the girl is in her speech I have never +given her any encouragement to embellish it by winking. + +[Illustration: A slight lowering of the left eyelid.] + +'Naturally, the subject has been preying on my mind,' I admitted. 'But +I am not so tortured with misgivings as before. Miss Warrington has +ceased to--er--interest herself in me. In fact she detests me.' + +'Oo ses that tom-my-rot?' asked the girl, turning on me almost fiercely. + +'Miss Warrington was so excessively rude and abrupt in her manner to me +the other evening,' I explained, 'that I am now convinced she has +suddenly grown to hate me.' + +'If you're not as blind as a bat!' commented Elizabeth. 'Can't you see +she's doin' that to 'ide 'er feelings--so that you'll never guess 'ow +'er 'eart is torn an' bleedin' like.' + +'Dear me, Elizabeth, do you mean this?' I asked in the utmost concern. + +'Sure of it. As a matter o' fact she's more gone on you than ever. +She's got to not eatin' now, so you can guess 'ow bad she is.' + +I wiped the gathering moisture from my brow. 'Elizabeth, this is +terrible--it must be stopped. I must discover some way to make Miss +Warrington actually dislike me. In this I hope for your assistance. +You know Miss Warrington much better than I do. You are, no doubt, +acquainted with her likes and prejudices?' + +'Not 'arf, I aint,' she said. + +Taking this as meaning an affirmative, I continued, 'Perhaps you are +able to tell me what it is about me that attracts her. I have a +plan--I shall do exactly the opposite of what she desires of me.' + +'To set her agen you, like,' remarked Elizabeth. + +'Exactly.' + +She stood for a few moments regarding me with her head on one side. +Had you known her to be capable of it you might almost have imagined +that she was thinking. Certainly she breathed much harder than usual. +At last, to my profound astonishment, she suddenly sat down, threw her +apron over her face and burst into unrestrained laughter. + +'Compose yourself, my good girl,' I said, anxious lest the family +should overhear, 'what is the matter?' + +'I got an idea,' she said as soon as she had recovered. 'It aint 'arf +a bad one. You say you want to know wot it is Miss Marryun likes about +you?' + +'I do, indeed,' I said eagerly. + +'Well, I can tell you that right away. It's your towsled look, so to +speak. Only the other day she ses to me, she ses, "Wot I like about +Mr. Roarings is the rough kind o' suits 'e wears, them baggy trousis, +an' also 'is great clompin' boots. I like the free an' easy way 'e +throws 'is feet up to the ledge of the mantelpiece," she ses, "an' the +way 'e 'as of wearin' 'is 'air 'anging all about 'is ears, +shaggy-like."' + +'Incredible!' I exclaimed. + +'An' only yesterday she stood on this very spot where you are now and +ses to me, thoughtful like: "Don't you love a man with a heavy beard +an' moustarch--like Mr. Roarings, f'r instance?" she ses.' + +'"Well, miss, since you put the question to me," I ses plain out; "I'm +not parshul to either, though I've 'ad young men with 'em, singly and +both together. I prefers 'em entirely without, but beggars can't be +choosers, can they?" + +'Then Miss Marryun said thoughtful like: "I think I'm rather different +from other wimmin, Elizabeth. Very few would admire a man like Mr. +Roarings. But 'e's my style, so to speak, if I was pickin' an' +choosin'. But to show you 'ow strange I am," she goes on, "if 'e made +'isself spruce I should get to dislike 'im all at once."' + +I raised my head sharply, suffused by a glow of hope. 'Elizabeth, my +good girl,' I exclaimed, 'is it so easy to accomplish as all that?' + +'I'm not so sure about easy,' she commented, looking me over as if I'd +been an unlabelled exhibit in a Zoo. '"Rome wasn't built in a day," as +the sayin' is, but it's a long lane that 'as no turnin'. "If 'e," ses +Miss Marryun, meanin' you, "was got up real smart with a fancy +westcoat, a crease down the front of 'is trousis, shinin' button boots, +and wos to shave orf 'is beard and moustarch--" she said that bit very +earnest, too--"well, I should fair detest the sight of 'im."' + +I sank down in a seat with a groan of despair. Elizabeth was right. +Such a metamorphosis would not be easy. It would mean the overturning +of my most cherished convictions, an upheaval of the very routine of my +existence. Would life be worth living if one awoke in a morning to the +knowledge of the rites that every day would bring forth? A matutinal +shave, trousers to be taken from the press, collars and cuffs to be +changed, hair and nails to be trimmed, the two latter, if not every +day, at all events occurring with enough frequency to keep a simple man +in a constant state of unrest. + +'Elizabeth,' I said, shuddering, 'I cannot do all this.' + +'Oo's arskin' you to?' demanded the girl. 'I was only repeating wot +Miss Marryun ses to me with 'er own lips. "Yes, I should fair get to +detest 'im if 'e was spruce," was 'er very words.' + +I pondered. 'Are you quite sure she stipulated about the beard?' + +'She did that. She mentioned it pertickler three times.' + +I shook my head firmly. Whatever happened I did not mean to concede +that point. My beard is one of my best friends. By allowing it to +grow to a suitable length it conceals the fact when my ties have grown +shabby, and saves me any unnecessary changing of collars. No, I would +never be clean-shaven. I could not face the world stripped of my +natural facial coverings. + +'There may be something in what you say, and I will consider your +suggestion regarding the trousers, Elizabeth,' I conceded, 'but the +suggestion that I should shave is perfectly monstrous and I won't think +of it for a moment.' + +'Well, to my mind it's one of the first things wot ought to be done +with you,' she said in what seemed to me a disparaging sort of voice, +'wots the good o' puttin' a fancy westcoat an' a watch an' albert on a +chap when 'e's got an 'ead like a wild man o' the woods. There ort to +be no 'arf an' 'arf about it, I ses.' + +I looked at the girl sternly, feeling that her speech was becoming +unduly familiar. Nevertheless, I was conscious of a certain gratitude +for her suggestion, and after she had gone out, I began to consider it +from all points. There could be no harm in gradually making those +changes in my habits and apparel which would bring about Miss +Warrington's disillusionment, but it must be fairly gradual. Otherwise +it might attract undue attention, for there are times when I think I am +just a trifle careless about my appearance. + +I decided I had better begin operations with a new suit. This would +involve changing my regular tailor. The one who has had my custom for +the last quarter of a century is used to my way of putting my head +round his door once in three years and commanding, 'A tweed lounge +suit, the same as the last.' + +'Yes, sir,' he invariably concurs, 'any difference in measurements, +sir?' + +'I think not,' I reply, 'but make it quite loose and comfortable in +case I've added a few inches to the waist.' + +That is all. Occasionally, of course, I vary the order by making it an +overcoat, or an extra pair of slacks (when I burn holes in my usual +ones, which frequently happens), but the procedure is always the same. +It can easily be understood that I had not the courage to confront him +after all these years with a demand for the latest thing in the +season's suitings, and especial injunctions regarding style and cut. + +As I was dwelling on the annoyances and difficulties that were already +presenting themselves, Miss Warrington came in. I must confess that, +as I looked at the irritating female whose misplaced affections were +already harassing me, I felt slightly confused. Since I had first +learned of her insane infatuation I had studiously avoided being left +alone with her for one instant. At the moment, however, there was no +possibility of escape, as she stood between me and the door, thus +effectively barring my exit. I could only confront her uneasily, +trying to avoid her direct gaze and, as I did so, I could not help +remarking that she, too, was obviously embarrassed. + +Then, as if taking a resolution, she came up to me and looked me +squarely in the face. I moved away, a faint shiver of apprehension +going down my spine. + +'Mr. Rawlings,' she said slowly and impressively, 'there is one thing I +want to say regarding your conduct. When you are addressing +photographs, may I ask you to do it with lowered voice, or at all +events in a purely conversational tone?' Then she swept out of the +room, banging the door behind her. + +As for me, I was left dazed and struggling to grasp the strange import +of her mystic words. Why this constant reference to the photograph she +had so shamelessly thrust upon me, and which, as a direct hint to her +that I did not desire it, I had replaced in its frame at the first +opportunity? + +What had come over the woman? I began to be more than ever convinced +of my former suspicion that her fatal and erratic passion for myself +was beginning to unhinge her mind. I saw that I must lose no time in +bringing about her disillusionment. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +'Henry, do you think William has been looking particularly unhappy +lately?' I inquired. + +Henry grunted. Converted for the moment into 'A Well-known Actor,' he +was digging amongst his theatrical cuttings for reminiscent purposes, +and was, therefore, somewhat abstracted. + +I, too, was supposed to be working, but try as I would I could not help +thinking of William. I felt sorry for him--he looked so distrait. +When, as he vaguely hinted, he had conceived an attachment for me I did +not think it was likely to cause him any unhappiness. Indeed, I never +imagined him capable of feeling any emotions but those of a purely +physical character--such as the effects of cold, heat, hunger or bodily +pain. And here he was, sighing and looking so dejected it was +depressing even to see him about the place. I had just been re-reading +_Cyrano de Bergerac_, whose case seemed rather applicable to William. +Could it be possible that under his rough exterior the poor fellow had +all the sentiment and fiery imagination of Cyrano, and suffered the +same sensitive torment about his appearance. Did William, like Cyrano, +shudder when his eye rested even on his own shadow? Did he feel that +because of his physical failings the love of woman must be for ever +denied him? + +I must admit that William was a trifle more interesting to me now than +he had previously been. Every woman finds something rather gratifying +in being worshipped from afar, even if it is by an 'impossible.' Yet +the idea of making him unhappy was distasteful to me. I repeated my +question to Henry. + +'Never seen William unhappy yet,' replied Henry, looking up, 'he's one +of those few chaps who seem contented with life--only wish I was the +same.' + +Something in his tone made me promptly forget William and concentrate +on Henry. 'Aren't you contented?' I asked. + +He paused a moment before replying, and then rather wearily indicated +the article he was writing. 'It's this kind of thing, you know--where +does it all lead to? At times I think journalism is the most exacting +profession in the world.' + +'What do you mean?' I asked, puzzled at his tone. + +'It is exacting because it seems to lead to nothing,' he continued. +'For instance, just think of all the energy, brains and effort involved +in the bringing out of a newspaper. Yet it is only read casually, +skimmed over by most people, then tossed on one side and instantly +forgotten. It is conceived, born, and it dies all in one day. Do you +ever see any one reading a morning paper at, say, four o'clock in the +afternoon? It is hopelessly out of date by that time.' + +'I hadn't thought of it like that,' I pondered. 'Of course, journalism +isn't like a business that you can build up and constantly improve; but +you can at least establish a reputation amongst newspaper readers.' + +'You can't do that so well nowadays,' returned Henry, who seemed in +pessimistic vein, 'owing to the present demand for getting well-known +names attached to articles. We write them all the same, of course, but +it's the people with the well-known names that get the credit for +having a good literary style. Well, I always put the best of myself +into my work--I can't write anything in a hasty, slovenly manner--but +where does it lead to? Some day, perhaps, my ideas will give out and +then----' he made a little hopeless gesture. + +He was silent a moment, staring out of the window. 'Then there's +another thing,' he went on, 'this constant grind leaves me no time to +get on with my play. If I could only get it finished it might bring me +success--even fame. But how shall I ever get the leisure to complete +it?' + +A feeling of compunction swept over me. I went up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. 'Henry, dear old chap, I never thought you felt +like this about things.' Certainly he was writing a play, but as he +had been engaged on it now for over ten years (Henry is a conscientious +writer), my interest in it was not so keen as it had been when he first +told me of the idea a decade previously. + +'Couldn't you do a little of your play every evening after dinner?' I +suggested. + +'I'm too brain weary by that time--my ideas seem to have given out. +Sometimes I think I must renounce the notion of going on with it--and +it's been one of my greatest ambitions.' + +I smoothed his hair tenderly, noticing how heavily flecked it was with +grey and how it silvered at the temples. Poor Henry, he reminded me +just then of _L'homme a la cervelle d'or_, a fantastic story of +Daudet's, where he tells of a man possessed of a brain of gold which he +tore out, atom by atom, to buy gifts for the woman he loved until, in +the end (she being an extravagant type), he was left without a scrap of +brain to call his own and so expired. The man was, of course, supposed +to be a writer, and the brain of gold his ideas. It made me feel quite +uneasy to think that Henry, too, might be, metaphorically speaking, +steadily divesting himself of brain day by day in order to support The +Kid and me in comfort. + +'I ought not to grumble,' he said at last. 'Very few people can do +what they want to in this world. Take you, my dear, for instance. You +are not following your natural bent when you write those articles for +the Woman's Page.' + +'I should hope not--I loathe 'em,' I said viciously. + +'There's one thing about it,' he went on musingly, 'we'll see that The +Kid has every chance when she grows up.' + +We are looking forward very much to the time when The Kid will be grown +up. Henry says he pictures her moving silently about the house, tall, +graceful, helpful, smoothing his brow when he is wearied, keeping his +papers in order, correcting his proofs and doing all his typing for +him. I, too, for my part, have visions of her taking all household +cares off my shoulders, mending, cooking, making my blouses and her own +clothes, and playing Beethoven to us in the evenings when our work is +done. In her spare time we anticipate that she will write books and +plays that will make her famous. + +We have visions of these things, I repeat--generally when The Kid is in +bed asleep with her hands folded on her breast in a devotional +attitude, a cherubic smile on her lips. There are, however, other +times when I hope for nothing more exacting than the day to come when +she will keep herself clean. + +I often wonder where all the stickiness comes from that she manages to +communicate from her person to the handles of doors, backs of chairs +and other such places where you are most likely to set your hand +unconsciously. Henry has a theory about it oozing from the pores of +her skin, and says she conceals some inexhaustible sources of grime +which is constantly rising to the surface. In which case you can't +entirely blame The Kid. + +Under the circumstances, however, we feel that she ought to practise +more restraint. Always when she is most thickly coated in dirt and +varnished with the glutinous substance already referred to, does she +most strongly feel the calls of affection. Then is the moment when she +flings her arms about Henry and presses long kisses on his clean +collar, or gently caresses the entire surface of my new blouse. +Nothing, I have remarked, can stir her demonstrative nature so much as +the sight of Henry and me arrayed in all the glory of evening attire. +The merest glimpse of my georgette theatre gown, or the chaste folds of +Henry's tie, scintillating collar and shirt front send her flying to us +with hands that fondle and lips that cling. If we repel her and +compromise by kissing the middle of her head, she has a way of giving +us haunting looks that, after we have sallied forth to the halls of +pleasure, can make us feel uncomfortable for the entire evening. + +'Yes, when The Kid is grown up,' Henry went on, 'perhaps she'll have +the success that has been denied to us, old girl.' + +I was about to reply when my attention was arrested by a confused +murmur of voices in the hall. I distinguished Elizabeth's, and as the +other was a man's tones, I supposed she was having a little badinage at +the side door with one of the tradesmen, as is her wont. As in time it +did not die away, but began to get a little more heated (one voice +appearing to be raised in entreaty and the other, Elizabeth's, in +protest), I thought I had better saunter out and interrupt the +causerie. Elizabeth has occasionally to be reminded of her work in +this manner. She is too fond of gossiping. + +I opened the door ostentatiously and sallied out--just in time to see +Elizabeth playfully pulling William by the beard. 'You get them +whiskers orf--narsty, rarspin' things,' she was saying. + +It was an awful moment. Elizabeth had the grace to look ashamed of +herself for once, and drifted back to her sink without a word. As for +William, he appeared thoroughly unnerved. He tottered towards me. +'Let me explain,' he began. + +'William!' I said in stern tones. Then again, '_William!_' He wilted +under my gaze. 'I should never have thought such a thing of you,' I +continued. + +He pointed with a finger that trembled in the direction of the kitchen. +'That girl has no respect for any one or anything in the world. +Traditions, class distinctions are as nothing to her. She would put +out her tongue at Homer.' + +'Or pull the beard of William,' I added sarcastically. + +'Until I met her,' he went on fiercely, 'I was entirely a democrat. +But now I see that once power gets into the hands of the common people +we are damned!' + +'But what has all this to do with your flirting with Elizabeth?' I +demanded. + +He seemed so overcome at this very natural comment on my part that for +a moment I thought he was going to have a seizure of some sort. +'I--I--_flirt_, and with Elizabeth?' he repeated when he had slightly +recovered himself. 'Madame, what do you mean to insinuate?' + +He drew himself up to his full height of six feet three, and, looking +at him as he towered above me with his mane of disordered hair and +flowing beard, I could not help thinking he rather resembled Samson in +one of his peevish moods. The indignation that possessed him seemed +sincere enough, but the circumstances of the case utterly bewildered +me. I was gazing at him in perplexity when Henry came out of the study. + +'What's all this parleying in the hall, noise without, voices heard +"off," and so forth?' he demanded. + +William gave me such an agonized look of entreaty I decided I would say +nothing about what had just occurred. 'It is only I endeavouring to +get our friend William to rub his feet on the mat,' I retorted +cheerfully. 'But let us go into the consulting chamber.' + +[Illustration: Henry, being a Scotsman, likes argument.] + +William followed me into the study and took his usual seat at the +fireside in a dejected manner. Then went through a strange gymnastic. + +He had just started to swing his feet up to the mantelpiece when he +paused with them in mid-air and brought them down again. The arrested +action had a droll effect. + +'Have a smoke,' said Henry, pretending not to notice this peculiar +conduct and pushing the tobacco jar towards him. + +'No thanks, old man,' he replied. 'I'm giving up smoking--for a time.' + +It was now Henry's turn to look surprised. 'Giving up smoking,' he +ejaculated. 'What's wrong--is it your liver?' + +'No, no, my liver's all right.' + +'Your lungs, then?' + +'Of course, not.' + +'It surely can't be your heart?' + +William began to look annoyed. 'Look here, can't I go without a smoke +for once without my entire anatomy being held up for discussion?' He +then produced a cigarette and proceeded to light it. + +'I thought you'd given up smoking,' commented the puzzled Henry. + +'Do you call this smoking?' he replied in disgust. 'You might as well +give lemonade to a man who asks for a brandy and soda and tell him it's +just as good.' + +'Then why renounce your pipe at all?' asked Henry, still mystified. + +'I've decided to go through a sort of mental training,' replied +William, speaking rather quickly and avoiding my eye. 'I think a man +has no right to become the slave of habit. Directly he feels he is +dropping into a groove he ought to face about and go in exactly the +opposite direction.' + +'Is that what you're doing just now?' I asked, wondering if this was an +explanation of the Elizabeth episode. + +'Exactly. It is the only way to build up one's character. Now, some +people might think me a little careless regarding dress.' + +'The ultra-fastidious might consider you a trifle insouciant, William.' + +'That is one of the points in my character I intend to correct.' He +dived into his pocket as he spoke and produced a brown paper parcel. +William can carry any number of things in his pockets without making +his figure look any bulgier or more unsymmetrical than usual. He +boasts that he has at times gone on a three weeks' walking tour with +all the luggage he required for that period disposed about his person, +his damp sponge (concealed in the crown of his hat) keeping his head +delightfully cool in the heat of the day. + +'What have you got there, William?' I inquired as he unfolded the +parcel. + +'My first step in the evolution of character,' he replied solemnly, and +took out a pair of white spats, and some fawn-coloured gloves. + +'You don't mean you're going to wear those?' gasped Henry. + +'I am--abhorrent as they are to me,' rejoined William mournfully. + +'You may call it building up character if you like,' said Henry +shortly, 'but I call it a lot of damned rot.' He pulled hard at his +cigar, and then added, 'You're suffering from softening of the brain, +my boy, or something of the sort.' + +William looked at me in questioning despair, and in that moment my +heart softened towards him. In a flash I understood. He had so often +heard me urge Henry to wear white spats and light-coloured gloves, +though all my coercion and entreaty had been in vain. William had +thought by donning these things--which on him would have a grotesque +effect--he would win my favour. Poor fellow! I was quite touched by +his devotion, his absolutely hopeless passion. + +'These things wouldn't be in keeping with the rest of you,' I said +gently; 'they require to be accompanied by all the--er--appurtenances +of the smart man.' + +'Is--is--a beard an appurtenance?' he asked in a hollow voice. + +'Not an appurtenance, William--perhaps a detriment would be the better +word.' + +He emitted a sound that was half a groan. 'I knew it,' he said. +'Well, what must be, must be, I suppose.' + +'You're getting profound,' snorted Henry, who apparently objected to +William in his present mood; and he proceeded to distract his attention +by touching on a recent stirring debate in the House. William allowed +Henry to talk on unchecked--your man who indulges in argument abhors +that--and left unusually early for him. + +'That fellow is undoubtedly going off his head,' commented Henry after +his departure. 'I wonder what's wrong with him.' + +I smiled rather sadly, and mentally decided that I must cure William of +his infatuation for me without delay. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +It is not easy to write--even on such a simple topic as 'How to Retain +a Husband's Love'--if your attention is being distracted by a +conscientious rendering of Czerny's 101 Exercises in an adjoining room. +I could get no further with my article than the opening lines (they +like an introductory couplet on the Woman's Page):-- + + It is the little rift within the lute + That by and by will make the music mute! + +whereas The Kid, having disposed of all the major and minor scales and +a goodly slice of Czerny, had now started her 'piece,' 'The Blue Bells +of Scotland.' It was too much. I flung down my pencil and strode to +the door. 'Moira,' I shrieked, 'stop that practising instantly.' + +'Yes, Mama, dear.' + +'Don't you understand I'm writing and want to be quiet?' + +'Yes, Mama, dear. May I go on when you've finished writing?' + +'I suppose so; but when I've quite finished it will be about your +bedtime,' I said, trying not to feel exasperated. + +'Then, may I get up an hour earlier in the morning to practise, Mama, +dear?' + +There is something almost unnatural in the way that child fights her +way through all obstacles to the piano and the monotony of Czerny. All +the other parents in the world seem to be bewailing the fact that they +can't get their children to practise. I know I ought to be proud and +glad that The Kid is so bent upon a musical career, but even as the +lion and the lamb cannot lie down together, neither can a writer and an +incipient musician dwell in the same house in amity. + +Through almost illimitable difficulties (for when at work Henry can no +more stand piano practice than I can) The Kid has got to the Variations +of 'The Blue Bells of Scotland.' Nevertheless she is yearning for the +day when she will arrive at the part where she crosses hands (Var. +8)--a tremendous achievement in her eyes, but viewed with cold +aloofness by Henry and me. + +As I returned to my writing Henry entered the room. + +'Will you as a Scotsman tell me,' I inquired before he could speak, +'what English people have done that they should be so unduly annoyed by +the bells of Scotland, why those bells should be blue, and who was +responsible for bringing the said blue bells (with variations) across +the Border?' + +'I see The Kid's been annoying you again,' he commented. 'It's a pity +she gets no chance of practising.' + +I looked at him sternly. 'No chance! On the contrary, she never lets +a chance escape her. I think it's the fierce Northern strain she +inherits from you, Henry, that makes her so persistent. She reminds me +of Bannockburn----' + +'Bannockburn!' ejaculated Henry. + +'King Bruce and the Spider and all that, you know. Didn't he go on +trying and trying until he succeeded? That's what The Kid does with +her scales. I think I understand why in 1603 we put a Scotch King on +the English throne--you wouldn't have given us any peace if we hadn't.' + +'Well, don't blame me for it, my dear,' replied Henry. 'I dropped in +to tell you that William has just 'phoned up to say he accepts our +invitation to dinner this evening, but he is most anxious to know who +else is coming.' + +I stared. 'This is most unusual. What should it matter to him who is +coming?' + +'I told him, of course, that there was only Marion and ourselves, and +then he asked if he should get into evening dress. What do you think +of that?' We looked at each other in silent amazement. + +'William--in--evening--dress,' I echoed blankly. 'What can it mean?' + +'Frankly, I think the poor old chap's brain is getting a little +unhinged,' hazarded Henry. 'Do you remember the episode with the white +spats and gloves the other day? I think you ought to persuade him to +see a specialist, my dear.' + +Suddenly I remembered the apparent reason for poor William's altered +manner and smiled. 'I don't think we need call in medical aid just +yet,' I replied. + +Nevertheless, I felt that he must be cured of this foolishness as soon +as possible, for, as I had already hinted to him, any attempt at +embellishing his person would only make him appear more grotesque. How +little did I then dream of the amazing surprise that was in store for +me! + +I was sitting alone in the drawing-room that same evening awaiting my +two guests, Marion and William (Henry was upstairs dressing), when +Elizabeth burst into the room. + +'Oh, 'm, 'e's come!' she exclaimed, 'an' you never did see anything in +your life 'arf so funny. I've been larfin' fit to split my sides.' + +'Elizabeth,' I said coldly, 'what is wrong? Of whom are you speaking?' + +For answer she threw her apron over her head and went off into an +almost hysterical fit of laughing. + +''Oo'd have thort it,' she said when she had slightly recovered. 'That +there grizzly bear of a Mr. Roarings, too!' + +'So you are referring to one of my guests,' I interrupted sternly. +'I'm ashamed of you, Elizabeth.' + +'Well, you only ort ter see 'im now! Talk about grubs turnin' into +butterflies----' + +'I'm not talking about anything of the sort,' I interposed with extreme +asperity of manner. 'Am I to understand that Mr. Rawlings has arrived?' + +'Not 'arf, 'e 'asn't. Wait till you see Mamma's boy. 'E's a fair +razzle-dazzle from top to toe. Oh, my godmother!' And being seized +with another burst of hysterical laughter she dashed from the room. + +[Illustration: 'A fair razzle-dazzle.'] + +I sighed as I put aside the French novel I had been reading when I was +so rudely disturbed. I could not help wishing just then that Elizabeth +had a little less character and a little more deference, and I decided +that I must rebuke her for her familiarity. Then, remembering her +supreme art in grilling a steak, I decided that rebukes--practised on +domestics--are rather risky things in these days. + +'Good evening,' said the deep voice of William behind me. + +'Good evening,' I said casually, turning round and holding out my hand. +Then I started back, my hand falling limply to my side. It was William +who stood before me, because I recognized his voice--but that was all I +recognized at the moment. Not a shred of his former self seemed to +have remained. + +I think I have, from time to time, represented William as shabby, +bulky, shapeless, hairy, and altogether impossible as far as appearance +goes. Can any words depict my astonishment at seeing him so suddenly +transformed, glorified, redeemed and clean-shaven? His figure, which +once appeared so stodgy, now looked merely strong and athletic encased +in a well-fitting morning coat, a waistcoat of a discreet shade of +smoke grey, with a hint of starched pique slip at the opening. His +irreproachable trousers were correctly creased--not too marked to be +ostentatious, but just a graceful fold emerging, as it were, out of the +texture, even as the faint line of dawn strikes across the darkened sky. + +But it was his head that attracted me most. There was no denying +it--shorn of his overgrowth of whiskers and put into a correct setting, +William was handsome; even more than that, he was interesting. He had +that firm, chiselled kind of mouth which women and artists find so +attractive, and a delightful cleft in his chin; his hair, which had +hitherto always struck me as being so unkempt and disordered, now that +it was brushed smoothly back from his brow and curled into the nape of +his neck gave him a distinguished appearance. I directed one long look +at him and then instinctively dived to the mirror. + +'Oh, William,' I gasped, 'is it possible?' + +'Is what possible?' he inquired. + +'Why just think of it,' I replied, groping in my pocket for my powder +puff. '_You're a man!_' + +'What else should I be?' he asked, apparently mystified. + +'You used to be--just William. But now,' I sidled up to him, 'you've +changed amazingly.' + +'Yes, I know that,' he growled with some of his former gruffness of +manner. 'Can you imagine what a tremendous amount of determination and +will power I required to get myself up like this?' + +'And a good tailor as well--don't forget that,' I added, running an +appraising eye over his form. 'I must get his address for Henry. Yes, +it was brave of you. What made you do it, William?' + +He avoided my eye and looked embarrassed. 'I had an object, of course. +Didn't I explain the other evening----' + +'I remember. You did say something about a man not getting into a +groove.' I smiled, feeling slightly self-conscious for a moment. 'And +how do you feel now you're entirely metamorphosed?' + +'Entirely metamorphosed, am I?' he said rather bitterly, 'Just on +account of a change of raiment. Yet Dr. Johnson said, "Fine clothes +are good only as they supply the want of other means of procuring +respect."' + +'Oh, I always respected you, William,' I put in hastily, 'And don't +quote Dr. Johnson now. It doesn't go with your tie.' + +He groaned. 'Must I change my expressions, my thoughts, my very mode +of living to match the garments I wear?' + +'I'm afraid you must. But tell me,' I added, looking earnestly into +his face, 'doesn't this outward change affect you inwardly as +well--just a little? You _must_ be feeling more--what shall I +say--sprightly than before?' + +He looked down at me as if puzzled, and then said in a half shame-faced +way, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is some truth in that remark of yours. +Some subtle, inexplicable change that I cannot account for has come +over me. Even as Samson's strength lay in his hair, do you think my +reason lay in my beard?' + +'It depends on the quality of the reason. Describe your present +symptoms to me, William.' + +He avoided my gaze. 'It is quite impossible to analyse them, I assure +you.' + +'Let me help. Look at me steadily,' I said impressively. 'Now try, as +far as possible, to describe me.' + +There was a pause. 'I'm afraid you'll be offended, Madame,' he began. + +'No, I won't. Go on,' I commanded. + +'Well, as a matter of fact, although I have known you for over nine +years, it has never before occurred to me to notice that you are +an--an--exceedingly pretty woman--but I am offending you?' + +'Not in the least, William. Go on.' + +'Before, I merely remarked you as Henry's wife--that was all. Why +should I so suddenly observe your facial aspect? As Dr. Johnson once +said----' + +'Cut out Dr. Johnson, and go on with that bit about the facial aspect,' +I put in gently. + +'It must, of course, be self-consciousness arising out of my unusual +adornment,' he went on, 'but despite myself I am compelled to notice +your attractive qualities. I must, however, overcome this deplorable +tendency--combat it----' + +'I shouldn't combat it too strongly at first,' I suggested. 'It's +always better to do things by degrees. What a nice mouth you have, +William.' + +'So have you,' he said, pondering on the discovery. + +I blushed. William suddenly started back and smote his brow with his +hand. 'Isn't Henry coming in? Where is he?' he demanded wildly. + +'Are you so anxious to see Henry at the moment?' + +'I am. Mrs. Warrington, I am ashamed to admit the preposterous idea +that came into my mind just now. You and Henry would never forgive +me--never countenance me again--it was intolerable, incredible----' He +paused and wiped his brow. 'Why doesn't Henry come in?' + +'What was the preposterous idea?' I asked, wondering. + +'Well, you'll hardly believe it--scarcely realize what you've +escaped . . . just now, had you been a foot closer to me I believe--I +believe, Mrs. Warrington, I should have kissed you!' + +I moved a step nearer to him. 'William, I should never have forgiven +you if you had,' I said, raising my face to his so that he could see +how intensely earnest I was. + +The door opened, and Henry and Marion came in together. + +'Netta!' exclaimed Marion, 'how could you!' + +'My dear,' remarked Henry, 'I am surprised. How is it I come in and +find a man kissing you?' + +'I don't know, Henry,' I replied meekly, 'unless it's because that door +opens so quietly!' + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +An exclamation from William made us all turn and look at him. + +'I must have been mad,' he groaned, sinking into a chair and covering +his face with his hands. + +'That's what I thought myself just now when I caught sight of your +waistcoat,' said Henry, staring at him. 'What is the meaning of all +this--why the flawless trousers, the immaculate morning coat?' + +'I--I--put on a morning coat because you said I wasn't to get into +evening dress,' he replied. 'I know it isn't the correct thing for +dinner, but you've only yourself to blame.' + +Henry continued to stare at him. 'I was quite right. Your brain is +unhinged, William. When I last saw you, you appeared fairly +normal--and now I come in and discover you arrayed like the lilies of +the field and kissing my wife.' + +William gave a cry like a wounded animal. 'Your indictment is only too +true. Henry, it is terrible. I can never even hope for your +forgiveness for such a heinous offence. The only reparation I can make +is to go forth from your house, shake from my feet the dust of your +hospitable roof----' + +'That metaphor's wrong, William,' I interposed. + +'--and pass out of your lives for ever.' + +'What on earth are you talking about, old chap?' inquired Henry. + +'Have I not betrayed the trust you always reposed in me?' + +'I wouldn't put it as strong as that,' replied Henry, eyeing him up and +down, 'though you certainly have made a bit of a guy of yourself. Who +created those trousers?' + +'I--I--was not referring to my change of apparel, Henry, but to that +most unfortunate aberration on my part, when I was impelled by some +strange uncontrollable impulse to bestow a labial salute on your wife. +Heaven only knows that I----' + +'As for that, I expect she egged you on,' calmly rejoined that horrid +Henry. 'I know her. You did flirt with him, didn't you, Netta?' + +Before I could reply William sprang to his feet and placed himself +before me. 'Stop, Henry!' he exclaimed, 'You have no right to suggest +such a thing. If I took a gentle unsuspecting woman unawares, then I +am willing to stand by the consequences of my rash act. Never for one +moment, I can assure you, did such a thought enter Mrs. Warrington's +head. She was wholly unprepared----' + +'I'm not so sure of that,' put in Marion, with a sniff. + +I began to feel somewhat of a martyr. 'Yes, it _was_ rather a +surprise,' I remarked. + +'Only a moment before,' continued William, 'Mrs. Warrington had said to +me, "If you do kiss me, I shall never forgive you!"' Oh, clumsy, +clumsy William! + +'Then you had been discussing it,' commented Marion, who seemed +unusually chilly about the innocent affair. + +'Well, I'm hungry, so let's have dinner now,' suggested Henry, 'and we +can settle the discussion afterwards.' + +But William strode to the door. 'No, no, Henry, I cannot break bread +in your house again after this distressing incident. I have imposed on +your kindness and good faith, disturbed your trust in me----' + +'Well, I forgive you this time if you promise never to bestow any of +those, what d'ye call 'em--labial salutes on Netta again. Now let's +have dinner.' + +'No, no, old man, you may forgive me, but I shall never forgive myself.' + +Henry began to look irritated. 'For Heaven's sake, Netta, tell him the +truth and admit it was your fault, or we shall never get anything to +eat to-night.' + +I sighed, and going up to William gently pulled back his retreating +form by the coat tails. 'You are young, Father William,' I said, 'and +innocent in the wiles of women. You've only been born a few hours as +far as they are concerned--I don't think it's quite safe for you to go +about without your beard just yet. I will tell you nothing but the +truth. I incited you to kiss me.' + +'I knew it!' snapped Marion. + +'Henry, as you see, has treated me under the First Offenders Act and +forgiven me. And now, William, I will kiss you once again (with +Henry's full consent) for your youth and innocence.' And I suited the +action to the word. 'So will Marion, won't you, dear?' + +At this William started as if shot. 'Never, never!' he +exclaimed, staring at Marion with a hunted look, 'it would be +preposterous--infamous.' + +The situation was decidedly awkward, especially as Marion, going +suddenly pale, gave a little hysterical sort of cry and ran out of the +room. + +The meal that followed was a silent one. Marion did not speak at all, +and when she was not casting furtive glances in William's direction, +kept her gaze fixed on her plate. William was monosyllabic, partly, I +gathered, on account of recent events, and partly because one of his +patent leather boots was obviously causing him anguish. I noticed that +he occasionally lifted his foot (as an animal raises a wounded paw) and +then set it down again with a sort of half moan. + +For one reason I was rather grateful that my guests were so abstracted. +That reason was Elizabeth. Her behaviour during dinner, to put it +mildly, was disturbing and abnormal. Every time she entered the room +to change the plates or hand round the dishes she went through +remarkable pantomimic gestures behind the unconscious William's back. +She drew my attention to him by nods, winks, and significant gestures. +Once or twice she was impelled to clap her hand over her mouth and dash +from the room in a spasm of uncontrollable mirth. It was most +unnerving; and what with William's gloomy looks, Marion's abstraction, +and my constant fear that Elizabeth would spill gravy, custard or +something of an equally clinging character, over William during her +contortions behind him, I was relieved when the meal was ended. + +[Illustration: She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth.] + +William at once retired to the study with Henry, presumably for a chat, +but chiefly, as I afterwards discovered, to remove his right boot for +an hour's respite. He left early, limping heavily. + +'It is really most curious about William,' I said to Marion as we sat +alone in the drawing-room--Henry having remained in the study to finish +some work. 'One can hardly conceive a reason strong enough to induce +him to renounce his aboriginal mode of living and become so highly +civilized almost in a day.' + +Marion lowered her head, and I thought she looked self-conscious. 'A +man might do a thing like that for--for love,' she murmured. + +I blushed slightly. 'I scarcely think it's more than a passing +infatuation.' + +'I feel convinced it's stronger than that,' she replied tensely. + +'I hope not,' I said in an alarmed tone. 'It would be horrid to see +the poor fellow in the throes of a hopeless passion.' + +'Perhaps after all it might not be quite hopeless,' rejoined Marion +softly. + +I raised my head sharply. 'I don't think you are justified in that +remark,' I said stiffly, 'what you saw between him and me was only a +little harmless fun. As if, indeed, there is any man living who could +make me forget dear old Henry for a minute----' + +'You!' exclaimed Marion with a start. 'I wasn't thinking of you, +Netta.' + +'Then who----?' + +'I--I--was referring to--myself.' She put down her knitting on her +knee and looked at me half defiantly, her cheeks flushed. + +'But, my dear Marion, when has he shown you the slightest attention?' I +was impelled to remark. 'You have always professed the profoundest +contempt for him.' + +'Not contempt, Netta. I have remarked that he was untidy.' + +'You said the other evening that you considered him to be the last man +on earth a woman could like.' + +'No doubt, dearest, but that was before I had discovered a woman +kissing him.' + +'Perhaps you regret it was not yourself in that enviable position, +darling?' + +'No, my love. I don't think the position of a married woman discovered +kissing a man other than her husband _is_ enviable; do you?' + +Marion's obtuse and unreasonable attitude puzzled me. I am quick +tempered, and was about to reply hotly, when the door opened and +Elizabeth entered. + +'Miss Marryun,' she said, nodding mysteriously in the direction of my +sister-in-law, 'I bin lookin' at the cards for you an' I see a warnin' +in 'em. You'll 'ave to keep an eye on 'im if you want to keep 'im.' + +Marion did not look so mystified as I expected at this unusual +outburst. 'Thank you for the warning, Elizabeth,' she said in an +affable tone. + +'You gotta rival for 'is affeckshuns,' continued Elizabeth. + +Marion raised an eyebrow in my direction. 'No doubt,' she commented. + +'What is all this nonsense?' I asked, a little testily. + +'Elizabeth is, as you know, a fatalist,' explained Marion. 'She places +her faith in cards, which, I am repeatedly telling her, is utter +nonsense.' + +'It aint nonsense,' expostulated Elizabeth in an injured tone. 'You +gotta fair rival acrost your parth----' + +'I'm glad I'm dark,' I murmured. + +'Fair an' false she is,' continued the soothsayer, 'the words of 'er +mouth are like 'oney an'----' + +'I tell you I consider all this rubbish,' interrupted Marion briskly. +'You would be far better not to believe in such foolish things, +Elizabeth. They do you no good.' + +Elizabeth retired in some indignation, muttering, 'Well, don't say you +wasn't told.' + +We sat in strained silence--for it was the first occasion there had +been any hint of a tiff between us--and after a time Marion rose to go. +When Henry had put on his overcoat to accompany her home she was +nowhere to be found. Hearing voices proceeding from the kitchen, I +went in that direction. It was then I heard Marion remark in a casual +tone--the casualness a little overdone: 'You might let me hear if he +says any more about it.' + +'Right-o, Miss.' + +'And, oh, by the way, Elizabeth, what was that you said about a +rival--are you quite sure that she is fair?' + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +I should like to begin this chapter by saying it's the unexpected that +always happens. As that, however, would be too trite a remark, I will +only say that William was the last person on earth I should have +suspected of falling in love with Gladys Harringay. + +She is, indeed, exceedingly pretty in a fluffy kind of way and most men +like to flirt with her, but they do not let their attentions develop +into anything serious. Perhaps you know the sort of girl she is. She +makes a dead set at every eligible man she meets and concentrates on +him to such an extent that he ends by losing interest in her +altogether--actually avoiding her, in fact. Man is like that, I've +observed. I suppose it's the primitive instinct of the hunter which +still lurks in him and makes him desire to stalk down his quarry +instead of its stalking him. Gladys didn't seem aware of this supreme +fact, and (though she affected the giddy airs of eighteen) she was +getting perilously near the age when the country considers a woman is +wise and staid enough to vote, yet she still remained unwed. + +Never for a moment did it occur to me, when I asked her to dine with us +one evening, that she would go for William. Still less did I think +that he would take even the faintest interest in such a vapid creature. +But, as I wanted to say before, it's the unexpected that always happens. + +William was looking unusually nice that evening. His eyes had a +far-away, rather haunted expression, due to his wearing sock-suspenders +for the first time, but, of course, Gladys didn't know that. He seemed +like one of the strong, silent heroes of fiction. I can testify that +he was silent--perhaps because Gladys did all the talking--and he +looked unusually strong. They sat together most of the evening, and +she only left his side to go to the piano to sing one of her 'stock' +French chansons. Even then she directed it entirely at William. + + '_Mamman, dites-moi, ce qu'on sent quand on aime + Est-ce plaisir, est-ce tourment?_' + +she warbled, rolling her r's and looking so fixedly at William that he +seemed quite uneasy--he might, indeed, have been more uneasy had his +French been equal to following the words of the song. Modern +languages, however, like modern writers, do not appeal to him. They +must be as dead as mutton before they can awaken his interest. If you +want to see him roused to a perfect frenzy of enthusiasm you should see +him arguing with Henry as to the comparative dramatic values of Homeric +hexameters and Ionian iambics. + +But to return to Gladys--or rather Gladys and William, for they +remained inseparable for the remainder of the evening. He even +accompanied her home, for I saw him dart forward (in his patent leather +boots, too, which demanded slow movement on his part), when she rose to +go, and hurry out to act as her escort. + +A few days later he called in to see us for the sole purpose of +inquiring about her. He pretended he wanted to borrow Ruskin's _Munera +Pulveris_, but as he went away without the volume we saw how feeble was +that pretext. + +'With regard to--er--Miss Harringay,' he began, almost as soon as he +arrived, 'I must say I consider her a remarkable young lady.' + +'She _is_,' I said grimly. + +'Would you believe it,' he went on, addressing himself to Henry, 'she +is actually a Dr. Johnson enthusiast.' + +'Nonsense!' ejaculated Henry. + +'It's a fact. Isn't it unusual in one so young and--er--tender and +timid that she recalls Keats' dissertation on woman, "she is like a +milk-white lamb that bleats for man's protection."' + +'Oh, so she's been bleating, has she?' I said cruelly. + +'It makes it all the more astonishing that she should have leanings +toward the study of serious literature.' + +'Who told you she had?' + +'She told me so herself.' + +'Do you mean to tell me you believe it?' + +He looked puzzled. 'Why should she say that if it isn't true? She +could have no object in making such a statement. As a matter of fact, +I found out quite by accident, when she unconsciously quoted a passage +from the great master.' + +I began to see light. So that was why Gladys had come up in such haste +the day following her introduction to William to borrow _Johnson's +Aphorisms_. Oh, hapless, artless William! + +'I see now that you were quite right when you once remarked that you +feared you had lost your reason with your beard,' I remarked severely. +'Do let things grow again before it is too late.' + +'Let what grow?' he asked. + +'Everything. Moustache, beard and general air of fuzziness. It's the +best protection you can have, my poor fellow.' + +He departed rather abruptly after that, seeming somewhat annoyed. I +could not understand what was making him so unusually touchy. + +'Surely,' I said to Henry, 'even William isn't so blind as to let +himself be taken in by that little noodle of a Gladys.' + +'Of course he isn't,' replied Henry vehemently, 'do you think a chap is +ever deceived by anything like that? He hates to be pounced on, so to +speak. Do you know, my dear, that one of the things that first +attracted you to me was your complete indifference to myself.' + +'Indeed, Henry?' I said, with lowered eyes and modest mien. + +'Yes. If you remember I was editing the _Gazette_ at the time I first +met you, and although you, as one of my contributors, often came up to +the office to see me, we remained for a long time on a purely business +footing.' + +It is true Henry was an unconscionable time in coming to the point. +'Entirely business-like,' I acquiesced. + +'When you called to see me to discuss a gross misstatement in one of +your articles (which you refused to acknowledge until I had sent for +you to put the matter clearly before you), you did not conduct yourself +like so many other girls who came to discuss their work with me. You +did not attempt to engage in a mild flirtation, make eyes, bend over me +as I glanced through the manuscript----' + +'Oh, bad, bad girls,' I murmured. 'Do women behave like that with you, +Henry?' + +'They _did_, my dear. I am speaking of the time before I was married.' + +I smiled. What a comfort it is to have a Scotsman for a husband! He +is so solid and reliable regarding the opposite sex. + +'You, however, employed none of these wiles,' he continued, 'and were +almost studiously cold and business-like. For a long time I thought I +should never interest you in myself--in fact, I know I took you very +much by surprise when I made you an offer, didn't I?' + +'I was rather surprised, Henry,' I said, smiling at his retreating form +as he went out of the room. Then I turned to Marion, who happened to +be present. 'Why, of course,' I commented, 'that makes it all the more +serious about William.' + +'What are you talking about?' she asked in a puzzled tone. + +'If Henry was deceived so easily----' + +'Deceived! Oh, Netta!' + +'Well, I mean, dear, I'd decided to marry Henry before the episode of +the misstatement in my article he just mentioned. I--I--put the +misstatement in on purpose to arouse a controversy between us.' + +'Netta, how terrible!' + +'Why terrible, Marion? I knew Henry would make an excellent husband. +Am I not a suitable wife for him?' + +[Illustration: 'Am I not a suitable wife for Henry?'] + +'You are just perfect, dear--but you might have been otherwise.' + +'That's exactly what I'm driving at, Marion. Gladys is an "otherwise." +If I deceived Henry, how much easier is it for her to deceive William? +No, she shan't marry him. He'd be wretched.' + +Marion smiled. 'You surely don't think there's anything like that +between them?' + +'He's drifting that way if some one doesn't stop him.' + +Again Marion smiled. 'I tell you it's impossible. He couldn't have +got over his passion for me so quickly.' + +'His passion for you,' I echoed. 'My dear, what do you mean?' + +Marion then laid down her sewing and began to speak. I listened +amazed, unable at first to credit what she was saying, though gradually +I began to understand many things which had hitherto been obscure. + +'It's wonderful to think of his having loved you secretly all this +time,' I marvelled; 'yet why should he take Elizabeth into his +confidence rather than myself? And why didn't you tell me all this +before--it would have made things so much simpler.' + +'At first, not being aware how handsome he could be made, I did not +care for him and----' + +'Do you mean, then, that you no longer dislike him, Marion?' + +'On the contrary, dear, I have begun to regard him with--with feelings +of warmth.' + +'Then all goes well, it seems. Now I shall go and speak to Elizabeth +about the affair.' + +I thought Elizabeth seemed a little uneasy under my questioning, but +she reiterated many times: 'I tell you 'e isn't 'arf gone on Miss +Marryun--fair mad about 'er 'e is, but 'e told me not to breathe a word +about it to a soul.' + +'Well, he's mad about some one else now,' I interposed. + +Elizabeth looked unduly startled. 'Oo with? Don't say it's that there +Miss 'Arringay 'oo wos a-settin' 'er cap so 'ard at 'im the other +night?' + +I was a little taken aback. 'Yes, that's about it,' I confessed. + +'Well, upon my soul, the sorcy baggage,' burst out Elizabeth with +unexpected wrath, 'such imperence after me workin' an' plannin' the way +I 'ave. But she shan't 'ave 'im. Look 'ere, 'm, Miss Marryun is just +the one fer 'im. Can't it be brought off like?' + +I pondered. 'I'll do my best, Elizabeth. If, as you say, he has +formed such a strong attachment to Miss Marion, I should like to see +them both happy. You say he was particularly anxious to have her +photograph?' + +I almost imagined at that moment Elizabeth avoided my eye. 'Very +pertickler,' she retorted in a muffled voice. + +'Very well, then. I, myself, will restore the photo he replaced. It +will be the first step to an understanding between them.' + +I left the kitchen smiling complacently, feeling that my latest +matrimonial scheme for Marion was going to be the easiest I had ever +attempted. + +Alas! I was reckoning, as the saying is, without my host. The host in +this case was Gladys. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Everything went wrong with my plans from the first. For instance, +Marion, the central figure in the plot, went away suddenly to nurse a +sick great-aunt. William now became so engrossed with Gladys that he +talked of very little else. Thus Henry and I would have avoided him at +this stage, if possible; it was not possible, however, to avoid him. +We saw more of him than ever. I will explain why. + +William was one of those lovers who are terrified of being over-bold or +too confident, lest by their presumption they might alarm the timid +object of their affections. He needn't have been afraid of wooing +Gladys. She flung herself at his head rather obviously, but he seemed +so obtuse she must have found him irritating at times. Thus, instead +of calling upon her or asking her to meet him by appointment, or +arranging an evening at the theatre and otherwise behaving in a +sensible manner, he hung about her house, endeavouring to come upon her +'by chance.' Further, having met her at our place he seemed to be +under the impression that she was one of my closest friends, and came +to see me every day, judging by the times he 'dropped in' in the +obvious anticipation of meeting her. Not finding his quarry, he talked +about her to Henry, though I must admit his audience was not always +sympathetic. + +'I don't believe in interfering in these things,' remarked Henry, one +evening, when we were alone, 'but, frankly, I should be really sorry to +see good old William throw himself away on that frivolous, stupid +little Gladys. They'd be desperately unhappy after being married a +week. Couldn't something be said to them, do you think--a hint thrown +out from time to time?' + +'Throwing hints--or anything else--wouldn't be of the slightest use, +Henry. Have you ever met a person in love who would listen to sound +advice of the sort? If you want to know how to get yourself intensely +unpopular--with two people at least--try intervening in what you +consider an unsuitable love match.' + +I spoke with feeling, for I had once been implored to use my influence +to part a couple who were, to all appearances, acutely incompatible. +The job was distasteful to me, and I only undertook it because there is +a strain of philanthropy in my nature (though that isn't what the +incompatibles called it). My intervention had no effect, of course. +They are now married--and quite happy--and neither of them will speak +to me any more. + +Henry continued to look disturbed. 'If he only knew Gladys,' he said, +'but as things are going at present I'm afraid he'll propose before his +eyes are opened.' + +I felt troubled. For a day or two I pondered on the distressing +affair, but I was resolutely determined not to intervene. Then it was +the idea occurred to me. To be frank, it was Elizabeth who actually +inspired it. I was giving orders for dinner and was suggesting apple +turnovers for a sweet, when she blandly remarked, 'Talkin' o' +turnovers, Mr. Roarings is dead gone on that there Miss 'Arringay now, +I 'ear.' + +'Your hearing does seem unusually good,' I said coldly. Certainly, I +had never mentioned the subject to any one but Henry. It was a +surprise to discover that I had, at the same time, been mentioning it +to Elizabeth as well. + +'Nice wife she'd make him,' continued the irrepressible Elizabeth, 'a +flipperty-flapperty piece o' goods like 'er.' + +'We will have cheese straws after the sweet, Elizabeth,' I said in +tones of chill rebuke. + +'Right-o, 'm. Well, wot are you goin' to _do_ about it?' + +'Do about what?' + +'Mr. Roarings an' Miss 'Arringay. 'E isn't 'er style as any one could +see with 'arf an eye, but 'e's fair blinded just now. Wot an +eye-opener it'd be if 'e got to know 'er proper--met 'er frequent, so +to speak.' + +'I'm afraid I don't quite understand.' + +'Well, 'ere's a case in point. My sister-in-law's brother--nice young +chap 'e was too--fell in with a girl that wasn't the right one fer +'im--no clarss like,--but 'e wouldn't 'ear a word agen 'er. So my +sister-in-law thinks of a plan. She arsks both 'er brother an' the +young woman 'e was courtin' to go and spend their 'olidays with 'er at +the seaside. Which they did an'--bless yer--wot with seein' 'er every +day an' gettin' to know 'er too well 'e soon got sick o' 'er. Why, +'e'd given 'er a black eye afore the week was out. Now if Mr. Roarings +and Miss 'Arringay met frequent like that----' + +'Elizabeth,' I interposed, 'mind your own business'; and I went out of +the kitchen with dignity. + +Nevertheless, I was compelled to admit that she had given me an +inspiration. That girl, under a rough and unpromising exterior, has +fecundity of ideas which astonishes me. Had she been in a higher class +in life--or even able to spell--she might have been a regular +contributor to the Sunday papers. + +'Henry,' I said, hurrying into the study. 'I have got a solution +regarding William's entanglement. I am going to invite Gladys to spend +a week here with us.' + +'How can that help? I don't quite see----' + +'My dear ass, the idea isn't a novel one, but in this case it's +excellent. I'll write her a note on the instant and ask her if she'll +come, giving as a pretext that I'm feeling lonely in Marion's absence.' + +'But why this hurry? Hadn't you better think it over first?' + +'If I pause to think it over, Henry, I know I shall decide that I can't +tolerate Gladys for an entire week. As it is, I expect she'll drive me +stark mad. No, no, let me write while I am in my present frenzy of +philanthropy?' + +'I suppose,' he reflected, 'William will practically spend the week +here, too, when he knows Gladys is coming.' + +'Exactly. What about it?' + +'I'm thinking of my work,' he grumbled. 'Two people being +disillusioned under one roof are sure to create interruptions.' + +'They shan't interrupt you. I intend to leave them together as much as +possible. How glad I am that Gladys isn't the least bit clever--a week +might not be long enough if she were.' + +'I'm not sanguine about the idea,' was Henry's comment. 'It might work +out all right in books and plays; but in real life its effect is +extremely doubtful.' + +'Not at all. Elizabeth knew a young man who was devoted to a girl +until they spent a holiday together. At the end of the first week he +gave her a black eye. What more do you want than that?' + +'Nothing,' replied Henry, 'if she was quite satisfied. Do you think +William's disillusionment will be as abrupt as all that?' + +'I'm hopeful. Now don't talk to me until I've finished my letter to +Gladys, which demands effort on my part. It must read as if I really +wanted her to come.' + +Evidently the letter was effective, for Gladys rang up directly she +received it and told me she'd be simply charmed to come and that it was +perfectly sweet of me to have her. (I rather thought it was myself.) + +She came the next day with an abnormal amount of luggage for such a +brief visit. But as I told Henry (who said it looked as though she +intended wintering in our abode), I had distinctly stipulated that the +invitation was for a week only. I was not at that time aware of the +barnacle-like qualities of Gladys. + +As I anticipated, William also descended on us when he knew we had +Gladys for a visitor. I left them alone together at every opportunity, +and for a day or two all went well. + +Things might have gone better (for Gladys) if she hadn't attempted to +be clever. As a matter of fact she over-reached herself. To this day +I believe she ascribes her failure to Dr. Johnson, though she was far +more to blame than that good old man. She talks very bitterly against +him even now. + +You see, knowing William's weakness, she played up to it, but not being +clever she hadn't got her subject properly in hand. I know the poor +girl worked hard at the _Aphorisms_, but she had exhausted what she +knew of those by the end of the first day. She did her best, I will +admit, and even took the _Lives of the English Poets_ to bed with her +and concentrated on them until midnight, while she dipped into _The +Vanity of Human Wishes_ before breakfast. But it was no use. William +discovered her deception rapidly, and it seemed to annoy him unduly. +His visits began to fall off, and after Gladys had artlessly remarked +to him one day, 'Who is that Mr. Boswell you're always talking +about--he must be a great friend of yours. I hope you'll introduce +me,' he ceased to come altogether. + +He had, in fact, arrived at the stage where Gladys irritated him. So +had we. But unlike William we could not get away from her. Her visit +had already extended two weeks and was melting into a third, and she +gave no hint of returning home. It wouldn't have been so bad if only +she had been quiet, but she is the most restless person I have ever +known. She was always running up and down stairs, banging doors, +playing fragments on the piano, and dashing into the study to talk to +Henry when he was writing. + +He is, on the whole, an equable man, but more than once I trembled for +the consequences when I saw her go up to him, lean over his shoulder +and, snatching at some loose pages of his MS., playfully remark, 'What +funny crabbed letters! And what is it all about--something you're +inventing to deceive us poor public, I'll be bound. I don't believe a +word of what you're writing, so there!' + +Henry used to say scorching things about Gladys when we retired at +night (the only chance we seemed to have now of being alone was in our +bedroom), and would ask me when I meant to tell her to go. I suggested +he should tell her himself, and he declared it was not the duty of the +host. I replied that it was the first time I'd ever heard it was the +duty of the hostess either. + +We planned to make little speeches in her presence based on the subject +of her departure, and fraught with deep and subtle allusion, but she +ignored them. We inquired if her mother did not miss her after such a +prolonged absence, and she said they rather liked her to be away from +home for a few months in the year, as a change was always good. No +doubt it was good for her people, but it was bad for Henry and me. + +Then one night Henry revolted. 'If she hasn't gone in another two +days,' he informed me, 'I'm going to get rooms at an hotel.' + +He spoke as if he meant it, and I was mournfully wondering what I ought +to do to get Gladys to go, short of being downright rude, when +Elizabeth drifted into the problem. + +'If Miss 'Arringay's goin' to stop much longer, I ain't,' she +announced. 'She makes too much extry work, an' the sight o' 'er about +the place fair riles me.' + +I looked wearily at Elizabeth. 'No doubt Miss Harringay will be going +soon,' I said with an utter lack of conviction. + +Elizabeth approached me, and bending down, said in a hoarse whisper, +'Wot is it--carn't you get rid of 'er?' + +[Illustration: 'Carn't you get rid of 'er?'] + +I did not reply, feeling it distasteful to discuss my guest with a +domestic, though I could not refrain from discussing her with Henry. + +'Tell you wot you orter do,' said the fertile Elizabeth, 'send for Miss +Marryun to come 'ere unexpected, an' then tell Miss 'Arringay you'll +want 'er room.' + +'But--but I've got another spare room. Miss Harringay knows that.' + +Elizabeth winked: I pretended not to see it, but there was no mistaking +the distinct muscular movement of her left eyelid. 'No you '_aven't_,' +she said stoutly. 'You 'avent got any proper bedding in the spare room +now, 'ave you?' + +'That's too thin,' I said decidedly. Yet even as I spoke I clutched at +the straw and, holding on to it, went at once and wrote to Marion. + +'You must come home at once,' I commanded, 'in spite of great-aunt +Jane's rheumatism. Is it not written that it is better to have one +rheumatic great-aunt than a brother, sister-in-law, and a niece in an +asylum!' + +For answer Marion wired the time of her return train, and I began to +grow hopeful. + +'An' when Miss Marryun comes,' remarked Elizabeth, 'if I wos you I +wouldn't say nothin' to 'er about the way Mr. Roarings went after Miss +'Arringay.' + +'Why not?' I asked involuntarily. + +'She mightn't trust 'im arter that. I never thort myself 'e'd turn as +quick as 'e did. But men is queer, as my pore mother often said when +father give 'er a black eye just to show 'ow fond 'e was of her like. +No, the best thing to do is to let Miss Marryun think that Mr. Roarings +is still taken up with 'er and only went after the other young lady to +make 'er jealous.' + +There was much wisdom in Elizabeth's words. Nevertheless, I did not +intend to mix myself up in any more matrimonial schemes. Much as I +desired to see Marion happy, I felt that arranging the destiny of +others did not leave me enough leisure to arrange my own, besides +interfering with my literary work. At the moment, too, the thought +uppermost in my mind was how to dispose of Gladys. + +I went to her with Marion's telegram in my hand and a falsely contrite +expression on my face. 'I'm so awfully sorry, Gladys, but a most +unforeseen thing has happened,' I said. 'Marion is coming to-day, and +she'll have to take your room. Isn't it an idiotic situation?' + +Gladys pondered. 'But you have another spare room, haven't you?' she +demanded brightly. + +'Yes, Gladys, we have. But we haven't got the bedding for that just +now. The mattress is being cleaned, and I suppose it won't be sent +back for another fortnight at least.' + +Undaunted, Gladys had another idea. 'Then do you think Marion would +mind sharing my room?' + +'She would indeed--you see she walks in her sleep,' I said glibly, +wondering how it was George Washington had found any difficulty in +dissembling, 'and she's very sensitive about any one getting to know +about it.' + +Gladys went after that. Henry and I have both decided that we're not +going to interfere with incompatibles in future. It's too much of a +strain on the nervous system. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +_Being a further extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington_. It +seemed particularly unfortunate that I should be called away so +hurriedly to the bedside of dear Aunt Jane at the very moment of the +blossoming of my first real love episode. Yes, I must admit my +feelings have undergone a change regarding Mr. Rawlings, whom I call my +silent lover. + +Evidently he has, all the time, been fated for me. Truly, as the poet +says, there's a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we +will. Divinity, so to speak, has shaped Mr. Rawlings' rough ends and +completely transformed him. After seeing him without his beard and, +above all, realizing what sacrifices he has made for my sake, I cannot +but be touched by such overwhelming devotion. + +There is something almost sublime in the way that man has thrown off +the habits of a lifetime for my sake! To think he has even donned +white spats to please me! Netta has been trying for ten years to get +Henry to wear them, but he remains as obdurate about it as ever. + +I was relieved when (the malady of Aunt Jane having somewhat abated) I +was able to go back to town after an urgent message from Netta asking +me to return at once. No doubt Mr. Rawlings inspired that message. He +is a timid lover, but unusually full of resource. Though, for example, +he seems afraid to approach me, he actually engaged in a mild +flirtation with Gladys Harringay to awaken my interest in him. His +intention was so obvious that I found it actually amusing. Any one +could see through it. Poor fellow, perhaps he thinks the idea of +evoking love by first arousing jealousy is a new one. He is an infant +in such matters. I intend him to remain so. + +_Thursday_: I have neglected my diary for nearly a fortnight, for I +have been too troubled about Mr. Rawlings to concentrate on anything +else. He is certainly a most remarkable man. Though obviously +suffering he shrinks from any declaration. Often we are alone for +hours (I have asked dear Netta to give him the necessary opportunity to +unburden himself) and he does nothing but stare at me in a fixed and +dreadful way, and remains mute. Of course I know that I am to blame on +account of my former indifference--even antagonism--to him. He is +afraid of rebuff. I have extended encouragement to him by all the +slight means in my power, and Netta has openly handed him my photo, +observing that she knew he would like to have it. I have even gone to +the length of asking Henry to convey to him that he has nothing to +fear; but Henry resolutely refuses to touch on the subject with him. I +cannot understand why, when the happiness of two people is at stake. + +_Sunday_: I don't know what impelled me to do it. Perhaps it was the +remembrance of an article of Netta's I once read entitled, 'Should +Women Propose?' where she cited the historic instance of Queen +Victoria, in whose case, on account of her rank, it was a necessity. I +had begun to realize that William was not likely to bring his courage +to the sticking point without a great deal of encouragement. +Distasteful as the idea was to me, I did not intend to shrink from what +I felt was to be my duty. If he, though languishing for love, was too +faint-hearted to propose, I saw that it would be necessary for me to +undertake that task. + +Last evening, therefore, when he called I received him in the +drawing-room and explained that Netta and Henry had gone out to the +theatre. He at once made for the door, saying in that case he would +not stop, but I intercepted him. Closing the door, I said gently, 'I +am going to ask you to keep me company for an hour--if,' I added +archly, 'it won't bore you.' + +In a confused sort of way he assured me it would not, and he sat down +and dropped into the silence that is becoming habitual when we are left +alone together. + +I knitted and he pulled hard at his cigarette. At last I said: 'Why +don't you smoke a pipe, Mr. Rawlings? I know you prefer it.' + +'No, no,' he said vehemently, 'I would much rather have a cigarette. +It's a cleaner habit than pipe-smoking, isn't it?' + +I smiled faintly and mentally decided that when we were married I would +not allow him to deprive himself of one of his greatest joys for my +sake. + +There was another long silence and then, feeling extremely nervous, I +murmured haltingly, 'I--I--wonder if you missed me when I was away +nursing my great sick aunt--I--I--mean my sick great-aunt. +Did--did--the time seem long?' + +'I--I'm not quite sure,' he stammered, obviously as ill at ease as +myself. 'You see, to be perfectly frank, Miss Warrington, I was at the +time in love as far as I believe, and it seems a confused period.' + +I waited for him to continue, my eyes discreetly lowered. As, however, +he did not go on, I raised them again. + +'Yes?' I said encouragingly. + +'That's all,' he replied. He looked so embarrassed and unhappy, and +wore such an imploring expression I realized that now or never I must +come to his relief. + +I laid down my knitting and leaned forward. 'Mr. Rawlings,' I said +impressively--'or, shall I say William--I have known of the state of +your feelings towards me for some time now.' + +He raised his head, and there was no disguising the look of hope in his +eye. 'Do you really mean that?' he asked eagerly. + +I nodded. 'I want to tell you not to be afraid. However harsh I once +seemed to you, the sight of your devotion and self-sacrifice has +touched me.' + +'Devotion--self-sacrifice,' he murmured in a wondering tone. + +'As such do I regard them, William. But they have reaped their reward. +I . . . how shall I tell you . . . it is so difficult . . .' + +I paused in some distress, wondering if Queen Victoria had felt as +uncomfortable about it as I did. + +'I want to tell you that . . . I love you, William,' I said at last, +very softly. + +There was an intense silence, broken only by his laboured breathing. +The intensity of his emotions was evidently too much for him. + +'And so,' I concluded, raising my eyes to his for a moment, 'I am going +to be your wife.' + +There! It was out at last. Having spoken I lowered my eyes again and +did not look at him until I heard him say in a strained kind of voice, +'But--but--this is too much honour. Believe me, Miss Warrington, I am +not worthy----' + +'I think you are,' I replied softly, 'and isn't that enough?' + +'It isn't enough--I assure you it isn't,' he replied. I noted that his +eyes had a rather staring look and slight beads of perspiration had +broken out on his forehead--he must be a man of strong emotions. 'It +would be a most unfair thing for a man like me, with all my +shortcomings, to inflict myself on any woman.' + +'Don't be too modest about yourself,' I put in encouragingly, and +somewhat timidly laying my hand on his, I added, 'I like you as you +are.' + +'Nothing would induce me to let you sacrifice yourself,' he exclaimed +hotly, 'it would be monstrous, intolerable!' He sprang to his feet as +he spoke. 'I must go at once,' he went on, 'we can never meet again, +never, never!' + +I rose also, going rather pale. In that moment a dreadful thought came +to me that perhaps I had made a mistake. Yet there could have been no +misconstruing what he had said to Elizabeth regarding his passion for +me. + +'Stop, William!' I cried as he retreated to the door, 'why are you so +obtuse? Don't you understand how difficult you are making everything +for me--as well as for yourself! What is all this talk of sacrifice +and your unworthiness. I don't think you are unworthy. I--I--love +you--isn't it enough when I say that?' + +[Illustration: 'Stop, William!' Marion cried.] + +Involuntarily I stretched out my hands to him as I spoke. He has told +me since that the sight of me standing there bathed in the light of the +rose-shaded lamp, my eyes and lips unusually soft and tender (so he +says), with my arms held out to him, forms a picture that he will never +forget. He looked at me for a moment in absolute silence, and appeared +to be thinking deeply. When at last he spoke he made an astonishing +remark. 'What does it matter about me, after all?' he murmured slowly, +as if speaking to himself. 'Good God, little woman, I was just about +to act the part of a consummate cad and coward!' + +He then strode up to me and continued in a serious tone: 'If you care +enough for me to take me with all my faults, I shall be proud to be +your husband.' + +After which he bent and kissed me very gravely on the forehead, and +surprised me by walking out of the room. It was the most remarkable +proposal. But then, in every way, my dear William is a most remarkable +man. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +There was something distinctly puzzling about Marion's engagement to +William. It was William who puzzled me. Instinctively I knew he was +not happy. Had I been instrumental in bringing about the match, I +should have felt disturbed, but as it happened, they pulled it off +without the slightest assistance from me. It is the best way. I am +steadily determined never to involve myself in matrimonial schemes for +any one in future. Even when The Kid gets old enough to have love +affairs, she will get my advice and sympathy, but no active +co-operation on my part. + +But to return to William. Though he seemed plunged in gloom, Marion +was radiant. She gaily prepared her trousseau, and took William on +long shopping expeditions from which he returned more overcast than +ever. Sometimes I wondered if he had really got over his infatuation +for Gladys, and if he had merely proposed to Marion out of pique. A +strange foreboding came over me that all was not going well. + +This was deepened when Marion came to me one day with her eyes red as +though she had been weeping. + +'Is anything wrong?' I inquired, an instinctive fear gripping at my +heart. 'You surely haven't quarrelled with William?' + +She shook her head. 'Can you imagine William quarrelling with any one?' + +I could not. He is one of those comfortable people with whom you can +be perfectly frank and outspoken without fear of giving the slightest +offence. If I say to him when he is deep in a learned discussion with +Henry, 'Do shut up, William, I can't think when you're talking,' he +does not snort, glare at me, breathe hard or show any other signs of +inward resentment. He at once relapses into silence--an affable +silence, not the strained kind when the offended party takes deep +respirations through the nose--and I am allowed to think without +interruption. It is one of the reasons why I have never minded Henry +having him about the place at any time. + +'Then if you and William haven't quarrelled, what is wrong?' I asked of +the drooping Marion. + +'It's--it's about our wedding, Netta. He wants to know if I'll put it +off for another six months.' + +I started. 'Why should he wish to do that now, with all arrangements +made?' + +'I don't know. There isn't the slightest reason for delay. It isn't a +case of money, for you know he has a good private income, and I have my +own little income as well. Then, we are both old enough to know our +own minds--yet he says he thinks we ought to have more time for +reflection. What can it mean, Netta?' + +I was silent for a moment, not liking to voice my uneasy thoughts. + +'It isn't that I mind the extra six months' delay,' she went on, 'but I +don't like the idea of postponing the wedding. There is something +unlucky about it.' + +'You're right--it is unlucky,' said the voice of Elizabeth, coming +unexpectedly into the discussion. + +'Elizabeth,' I said sternly, 'do you mean to tell me you were +listening?' + +She drew herself up with dignity. 'Me listenin'! I've too much to do +to go poking myself into other people's bizness. But I wos just comin' +in to ask wot you wanted for dinner----' + +'I have already given orders for dinner, Elizabeth.' + +'Well, I musta forgotten 'em. An' just as I was comin' in I 'eard Miss +Marryun talkin' about Mr. Roarings wantin' to put the weddin' orf. +Don't you let 'im do it, miss. I've 'eard o' young women puttin' off +their weddin's so long that in the end they've never took place at all. +I've 'ad it 'appen to myself, so I _know_.' + +'Elizabeth,' I interposed, 'we don't want your advice. Go away at +once.' + +'I ain't done yet. You'll be glad o' my advice in the end. Experience +'elps a lot. Some men wot's goin' to be married gets a sort o' funk at +the last minnit and, bless you, they'd wriggle out o' it, yes, even if +they was goin' to marry an angel out o' 'eaven. My friend's 'usband +was one o' them sort--wanted to stop the 'ole thing with the weddin' +cake ordered, an' lodgings taken at Margate for the 'oneymoon. But she +'eld 'im to it--stuck to 'im like grim death until' e'd gone through +with it. An' now 'e often ses 'e never regrets it for a minnit.' + +Marion looked up hopefully. 'Perhaps you're right, Elizabeth.' + +'O' course I'm right,' she asserted, throwing a triumphant glance at me +as she retired. + +'These tactics may be all very well for the lower classes,' I said to +Marion when we were alone, 'but I'm not quite sure whether they'd +answer in every case. No, Marion dear, if William wants to postpone +the wedding, it must be done.' + +Her face fell at once, and she looked so dejected I felt troubled. + +'If you like I will talk to William and try to discover the reason for +his change of plan,' I conceded reluctantly, 'but you must understand, +dear, that nothing will make me interfere with the natural course of +events.' + +Rather to my surprise, William touched on the subject the next time he +came to see me. We were sitting alone and I was mentally noting his +air of depression, when he suddenly burst out: 'Tell me, frankly, do +you think a man is justified in--er--postponing a great event in his +life--such as, say, his wedding, if he feels uncertain?' + +'Uncertain about what?' I asked gently. + +'About himself--and everything, you know. True, Johnson has said that +marriage is one of the means of happiness--a sentiment delivered, no +doubt, by the great master when he was in a light vein--but supposing a +man is not sure that he can make a woman happy----' + +'And supposing instead of the hypothetical man and woman you are +speaking of, we simply quote the case of you and Marion,' I interposed. +'Am I to understand that you do not wish to marry her?' + +He started. 'It isn't exactly that. But at the--er--time +I--er--offered myself to Marion I had not weighed all the +possibilities. To be perfectly frank with you, I am not quite certain +of my own affections. I decided that, with companionship, these might +develop after marriage. But supposing they do not, then I shall have +rendered her unhappy. Is not the risk too great?' + +He leaned forward and laid his hand on mine with an expression of great +earnestness. 'In this matter,' he said slowly, 'I intend to abide by +your decision. I have supreme faith in your judgment, and I do not +believe you would advise me wrongly. Tell me what I ought to do. Do +you think it is making for the happiness of two people if they are +united under these peculiar circumstances?' + +'I said I would never interfere,' I began weakly. + +'It isn't a question of interfering,' he broke in, 'but only a matter +of advising what you think is right or wrong.' + +I hesitated, feeling the responsibility keenly. It is true that I am +accustomed to giving advice on these delicate matters. In my capacity +of writer on the Woman's Page I often discuss affairs of the heart, +getting much correspondence on the subject and (if a stamped addressed +envelope is enclosed) giving unsparing help and assistance to perplexed +lovers. But this case seemed entirely different. It lacked any +element of the frivolous. I knew that Manor's whole happiness depended +on my answer. + +Supposing I suggested that the marriage should go on and afterwards the +couple turned out to be totally unsuited, what a serious situation I +should have created. As a matter of fact, I more than once suspected +that they were incompatibles, but hoped that they would ultimately +accommodate themselves to each other. If, however, they did not, I +should be confronted with the spectacle of two most excellent people +(apart) being thoroughly unhappy (together) for the remainder of their +lives. I shivered before the prospect, and was on the point of telling +William that I would never advise a union to take place unless there +was perfect understanding and sympathy between a couple, when he spoke +again. + +'It's just at the last minute all these doubts have assailed me,' he +explained. 'I didn't realize before how serious a thing marriage +is--how irrevocable.' + +In a flash Elizabeth's words came into my mind. I recalled her +references to men who get in a 'funk' and want to stop proceedings on +the eve of the wedding, and then I saw the whole thing. William was +that sort of man. I had an instinctive idea just then that no matter +who he was going to marry he would have come to me at the eleventh hour +with the same bewildered demand for advice. + +In that moment I decided to trust to Elizabeth. She seems to have a +rude knowledge of life which is almost uncanny at times, but entirely +convincing. She has, as it were, a way of going to the heart of things +and straightway extracting truth. I felt just then that I could depend +on her judgment. + +'William,' I said, looking at him steadily in the eye, 'you want my +candid opinion?' + +'I do,' he replied fervently. + +'Then I advise you to go on with the marriage. I have weighed it all +up, and I feel it is for the best.' + +He wrung my hand silently, and then he rose. 'Thank you,' he said, 'I +am sure you are always right.' I thought I detected a note of relief +in his voice. Man is a perplexing creature. + +The next day Marion came to me overjoyed. 'It's all right, dear,' she +announced. 'William wants to get married at once. Netta, you are +wonderful--how did you do it? What did you say to him?' + +'Never mind,' I said, trying to look enigmatical and rather enjoying +Marion's respectful admiration of my wondrous powers, 'all's well that +ends well . . . ask Elizabeth if it isn't,' I added as that worthy +lurched in with the tea-tray. + +'The wedding isn't going to be postponed after all, Elizabeth,' +announced Marion gleefully. + +'I knowed it wouldn't be, Miss Marryun, when I see a weddin' wreath in +your cup. I tell you the Signs is always right.' + +Marion shook her head. 'Not always. Didn't you once tell me that my +future husband would cross water to meet me? Mr. Rawlings, now, has +been here all the time.' + +Elizabeth paused in the act of arranging the tea-table, and stood in a +prophetic attitude with the teapot held aloft. + +'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?' she demanded. 'Isn't Mr. Roarings an +Irishman, an' was born in Dubling? Now I'd like to know 'ow any one +can get from Ireland to London without crossin' water, anyway!' + +[Illustration: 'Oo ses the Signs is wrong?'] + +Marion bowed her head, meekly acquiescent. 'I never thought of that, +Elizabeth. You always seem to be right.' + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +I had not seen Marion and William since their marriage as they had gone +on a six-months' tour of the Italian lakes, but I was haunted with the +foreboding that the match was not, after all, turning out a success. + +For one thing, Marion's silence regarding her marriage was unusual. +She wrote only brief notes that made no reference to William. As for +William, he did not write at all. + +Now Marion is what you would call an ardent correspondent, as well as +being a communicative person. If she were happy she would be likely to +write no less than eight pages three times a week breathing praise of +William--I mean that would be the general tone of her letters. But now +she devoted herself exclusively to descriptions of scenery and relating +episodes regarding the constant losing and regaining of their baggage +on their journeys, which though in its way instructive, struck me as +lacking vital interest. + +The affair troubled me, because I knew that I was, in a measure, +responsible for the match. William had left the decision in my hands, +and, on thinking it over, it struck me as a rather cowardly thing to +do. What right had he to put it on to me? I knew that if they were +not happy I should be haunted by remorse to the end of my days. It was +an annoying situation. + +When they arrived home and wired from an hotel in London that they were +coming up to see me the next day my trepidation increased. Supposing +they came to me with reproaches, even recriminations? I awaited their +visit in a subdued frame of mind. + +Not so Elizabeth. Her jubilant air, her triumphant expression when she +spoke of the newly wedded pair, ended by irritating me. + +'Getting married isn't the only thing in life; as you seem to think,' I +said rather severely, after a remark of hers that she was glad to think +Marion was so happily settled. + +'Maybe not, but it's the best,' she commented, 'an' as I always sed +about Miss Marryun----' + +'Mrs. Rawlings,' I corrected. + +'Lor', I'll never get used to the name. Mrs. Roarings, then, 'as only +got me to thank for the present 'appy state o' things.' + +'What do you mean?' I asked, only half interested. + +'Well, it's like this yeer,' answered Elizabeth, 'I see from the very +first that Mr. Roarings an' Miss Marryun were just suited to each +other. The trouble was they didn't see it theirselves, an' so I 'elped +to open their eyes like.' + +'Explain,' I commanded. + +Elizabeth did so. She unfolded a tale that, as she proceeded step by +step, left me speechless with horror. That she should have so basely +conspired to throw William and Marion at each other and, by +misrepresentations, lies and every kind of deception, brought about the +match, utterly appalled me. Everything suddenly became clear. William +had married through a misplaced sense of chivalry--offered himself up +as a sacrifice as it were. I understood then why Marion had written so +much about luggage and nothing about connubial bliss--the union was +bound to turn out a ghastly failure under such circumstances. Worst of +all, I, quite unconsciously, had aided and abetted the whole +disgraceful scheme. + +'Elizabeth!' I exclaimed at last in dismay, 'you shameless, intriguing +creature, I will never forgive you for this. You have ruined two +lives, and I am involved in it as well. The only thing to do is to +explain the whole situation to Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings when they come +to-day.' + +She changed colour. 'You'd never do that, 'm.' + +'I shall tell them everything. It will, at any rate, help them to +begin life on a different understanding.' + +'But what good will that do, 'm? It'll upset everything an' lead to +goodness knows wot.' + +'It may lead to a judicial separation, of course,' I replied, 'but my +duty in this case is perfectly clear. There is only one thing to be +done.' + +I have never seen the girl so genuinely distressed. 'I wouldn't do it, +if I wos you, I wouldn't indeed. If you must tell 'em, wait a year or +two, till they've settled down----' + +A loud knock on the door interrupted her. 'There they are now,' I +remarked. 'And no matter what you say I shall explain everything +before they leave to-day. They shall know how they've been hoodwinked.' + +'Orl right, then,' said Elizabeth, 'an' let the consingquences be on +your own head. You'll see 'ow they'll take it.' And darting defiant +looks, she went to open the door. + +The next moment Marion was enfolded in my arms. Then I turned to greet +William. As I did so the words of welcome died on my lips and I stood +staring at him in puzzled wonder. + +'Why, what has happened to you?' I asked. + +He grinned. 'Don't you like me as I am at present?' + +I did not, but thought it polite to refrain from saying so. He had +gone back to his former state of fuzziness, and looked more like Rip +van Winkle than ever. Indeed, his beard seemed even more fierce and +bristly than in the old days--probably shaving had tended to strengthen +the roots. + +'How do you do, William?' I said, extending my hand, deciding as I did +so that I would not give him any other kind of salute after all. Yet +it was with a tinge of regret I thought of that nice mouth of his +hidden under such a rank undergrowth of whisker. + +Marion looked on complacently as I greeted him. I remembered then that +she had rather seemed to resent the sisterly salute I thought necessary +to bestow on him after the wedding, and the brotherly salutes (repeated +four times in succession) he had given me in return. I decided at that +moment I would respect her objections and only shake hands with William +in future. I am sure she preferred it, and I should hate to displease +her. + +Besides, beards do rasp one so. + +Henry now emerged from the study full of hearty greeting and +_bonhomie_. He seemed less surprised at William's altered appearance +than I did, and was certainly more pleased about it. + +'What made you let him do it?' I said reproachfully to Marion when we +were alone, 'he was a really handsome man before, and now----' + +'That's just it,' she interrupted, 'he was too handsome, and it wasn't +safe for him.' + +'Not safe, Marion?' + +'Women wouldn't leave him alone--they all flirted with him. It would +have been all right if he'd been used to it before, but getting +good-looking so suddenly unbalanced him. From a kind of puzzled wonder +that he should thus attract the opposite sex, he began to develop an +interest in what he termed "their bewildering number of types." He +said he used to think they were all exactly alike. It was when he +declared his intention of writing a eulogy on woman that I stepped in +and insisted on his letting his beard grow again. Don't you think I +acted for the best?' + +'No doubt you did,' I said pensively, 'but he had such an attractive +mouth.' + +Marion regarded me severely. 'That's what all the other women seemed +to think. I feel I was justified in protecting him.' + +'No doubt you were, dear,' I murmured, with meekly lowered eyes. +'Don't you ever regret him as he was before?' + +She sighed a little. 'Sometimes--particularly when dear William was +just beginning to grow again--did I have my qualms of discouragement. +A beard in its incipient stages is an unbecoming, almost startling +affair, Netta. Then of course, I find solace by looking at this,' and +she held out a small locket containing a portrait of William in his +glorified state. 'Also I always keep his white spats and lavender +gloves as a remembrance.' + +There was a hint of sadness in the idea. It seemed almost as if +William was dead--one phase of him was, at all events. + +'Then you _do_ regret----' I began. + +'I regret nothing, Netta,' she broke in very decidedly. 'I am now +getting quite reconciled to dear William's present appearance, and I +know he's happier in his natural state.' + +This was obviously true. William, his feet once more installed on the +mantelpiece, pulling hard at his pipe (filled for him by Marion's +loving hands) was a picture of perfect contentment. + +But it was some time before I ventured to put the question to him that +was uppermost in my thoughts. + +'Are you happy, William?' I asked tensely when, for a moment, we were +alone. 'Was my advice for better or for worse?' + +He took my hand and wrung it warmly. 'My dear Netta!' he exclaimed, +'what a fool I was to hesitate even for a moment. Had it not been for +you--and, I think I ought to add, Elizabeth--I might never have won +such a treasure as my dear Marion. "Marriage," as Dr. Johnson has +said, "is the best state for man in general," and although he added +that it is more necessary to a man than a woman as he is less able to +supply himself with domestic comforts, I think in that case it is put +too crudely. I look upon it as something higher and nobler.' + +'That's all right, then,' I said, relieved. 'Dr. Johnson seems to have +as sound a philosophy as Elizabeth.' + +As I sat meditating before the fire that evening, after the departure +of the happy couple, Elizabeth entered. Her face betokened anxiety. +'You--you--didn't tell 'em anything, I 'ope?' she demanded. + +'Under the circumstances I did not, Elizabeth. They seemed quite happy +and so----' + +'"Let sleepin' dogs lie,"' she supplemented. + +'You seem able to lie a great deal more than sleeping dogs,' I said +severely. 'In future, remember to stick to the truth or you may get +yourself--and other people--into serious trouble.' + +'Right-o, 'm. But Mr. Roarings seemed satisfied enough. Look wot 'e +gave me to-day?'--she held out two crisp banknotes. ''E sed they were +for my own troosoo,' she added gleefully. + +'What, Elizabeth, are you going to be married next?' asked Henry, as he +strolled into the room at that moment. + +'Well, I ain't got a party in view as yet, sir. But as I always ses, +you never know wot a day may bring forth. The Signs 'ave been good for +me lately. Isn't there a sayin' somewhere about not knowing the day +nor the 'our when the young man may come along? Well, I always think +it's best to be prepared, like.' + +She went out, but returned a moment later bearing a tray in her hand. + +'What is this?' I inquired. + +'I thort p'raps you'd like to drink to the occashun of the 'appy +'ome-coming in a nice glarss o' stout,' she explained. + +I noted that there were three glasses. 'Elizabeth,' I said coldly, +'you are unduly familiar. I protest----' + +'Oh, hang it all, let's be democratic,' put in Henry, grinning. 'It's +only your _joie de vivre_ and natural _bonhomie_, isn't it, Elizabeth?' + +'Not 'arf,' replied Elizabeth. 'Well,' she added a moment later as she +raised her glass, ''ere's to us, all of us, an' may we never want +nothin', none of us--nor me neither.' + +[Illustration: 'Ere's to us, all of us!'] + +I saw that Henry was grappling with the construction of the sentence, +and it was a full minute and a half before he gave it up. Then he +lifted his glass. 'Thank you, Elizabeth,' he said, 'and the same to +you.' + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR ELIZABETH*** + + +******* This file should be named 18430.txt or 18430.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/3/18430 + + + +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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