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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/2231-h.zip b/2231-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b532d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/2231-h.zip diff --git a/2231-h/2231-h.htm b/2231-h/2231-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c698606 --- /dev/null +++ b/2231-h/2231-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9343 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>All Roads Lead to Calvary</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">All Roads Lead to Calvary, by Jerome K. Jerome</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, All Roads Lead to Calvary, by Jerome K. Jerome + + +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: All Roads Lead to Calvary + + +Author: Jerome K. Jerome + +Release Date: March 24, 2005 [eBook #2231] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL ROADS LEAD TO CALVARY*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1919 Hutchinson & Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>ALL ROADS LEAD TO CALVARY</h1> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>She had not meant to stay for the service. The door had stood +invitingly open, and a glimpse of the interior had suggested to her +the idea that it would make good copy. “Old London Churches: +Their Social and Historical Associations.” It would be easy +to collect anecdotes of the famous people who had attended them. +She might fix up a series for one of the religious papers. It +promised quite exceptional material, this particular specimen, rich +in tombs and monuments. There was character about it, a scent +of bygone days. She pictured the vanished congregations in their +powdered wigs and stiff brocades. How picturesque must have been +the marriages that had taken place there, say in the reign of Queen +Anne or of the early Georges. The church would have been ancient +even then. With its air of faded grandeur, its sculptured recesses +and dark niches, the tattered banners hanging from its roof, it must +have made an admirable background. Perhaps an historical novel +in the Thackeray vein? She could see her heroine walking up the +aisle on the arm of her proud old soldier father. Later on, when +her journalistic position was more established, she might think of it. +It was still quite early. There would be nearly half an hour before +the first worshippers would be likely to arrive: just time enough to +jot down a few notes. If she did ever take to literature it would +be the realistic school, she felt, that would appeal to her. The +rest, too, would be pleasant after her long walk from Westminster. +She would find a secluded seat in one of the high, stiff pews, and let +the atmosphere of the place sink into her.</p> +<p>And then the pew-opener had stolen up unobserved, and had taken it +so for granted that she would like to be shown round, and had seemed +so pleased and eager, that she had not the heart to repel her. +A curious little old party with a smooth, peach-like complexion and +white soft hair that the fading twilight, stealing through the yellow +glass, turned to gold. So that at first sight Joan took her for +a child. The voice, too, was so absurdly childish—appealing, +and yet confident. Not until they were crossing the aisle, where +the clearer light streamed in through the open doors, did Joan see that +she was very old and feeble, with about her figure that curious patient +droop that comes to the work-worn. She proved to be most interesting +and full of helpful information. Mary Stopperton was her name. +She had lived in the neighbourhood all her life; had as a girl worked +for the Leigh Hunts and had “assisted” Mrs. Carlyle. +She had been very frightened of the great man himself, and had always +hidden herself behind doors or squeezed herself into corners and stopped +breathing whenever there had been any fear of meeting him upon the stairs. +Until one day having darted into a cupboard to escape from him and drawn +the door to after her, it turned out to be the cupboard in which Carlyle +was used to keep his boots. So that there was quite a struggle +between them; she holding grimly on to the door inside and Carlyle equally +determined to open it and get his boots. It had ended in her exposure, +with trembling knees and scarlet face, and Carlyle had addressed her +as “woman,” and had insisted on knowing what she was doing +there. And after that she had lost all terror of him. And +he had even allowed her with a grim smile to enter occasionally the +sacred study with her broom and pan. It had evidently made a lasting +impression upon her, that privilege.</p> +<p>“They didn’t get on very well together, Mr. and Mrs. +Carlyle?” Joan queried, scenting the opportunity of obtaining +first-class evidence.</p> +<p>“There wasn’t much difference, so far as I could see, +between them and most of us,” answered the little old lady. +“You’re not married, dear,” she continued, glancing +at Joan’s ungloved hand, “but people must have a deal of +patience when they have to live with us for twenty-four hours a day. +You see, little things we do and say without thinking, and little ways +we have that we do not notice ourselves, may all the time be irritating +to other people.”</p> +<p>“What about the other people irritating us?” suggested +Joan.</p> +<p>“Yes, dear, and of course that can happen too,” agreed +the little old lady.</p> +<p>“Did he, Carlyle, ever come to this church?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>Mary Stopperton was afraid he never had, in spite of its being so +near. “And yet he was a dear good Christian—in his +way,” Mary Stopperton felt sure.</p> +<p>“How do you mean ‘in his way’?” demanded +Joan. It certainly, if Froude was to be trusted, could not have +been the orthodox way.</p> +<p>“Well, you see, dear,” explained the little old lady, +“he gave up things. He could have ridden in his carriage”—she +was quoting, it seemed, the words of the Carlyles’ old servant—“if +he’d written the sort of lies that people pay for being told, +instead of throwing the truth at their head.”</p> +<p>“But even that would not make him a Christian,” argued +Joan.</p> +<p>“It is part of it, dear, isn’t it?” insisted Mary +Stopperton. “To suffer for one’s faith. I think +Jesus must have liked him for that.”</p> +<p>They had commenced with the narrow strip of burial ground lying between +the south side of the church and Cheyne Walk. And there the little +pew-opener had showed her the grave of Anna, afterwards Mrs. Spragg. +“Who long declining wedlock and aspiring above her sex fought +under her brother with arms and manly attire in a flagship against the +French.” As also of Mary Astell, her contemporary, who had +written a spirited “Essay in Defence of the Fair Sex.” +So there had been a Suffrage Movement as far back as in the days of +Pope and Swift.</p> +<p>Returning to the interior, Joan had duly admired the Cheyne monument, +but had been unable to disguise her amusement before the tomb of Mrs. +Colvile, whom the sculptor had represented as a somewhat impatient lady, +refusing to await the day of resurrection, but pushing through her coffin +and starting for Heaven in her grave-clothes. Pausing in front +of the Dacre monument, Joan wondered if the actor of that name, who +had committed suicide in Australia, and whose London address she remembered +had been Dacre House just round the corner, was descended from the family; +thinking that, if so, it would give an up-to-date touch to the article. +She had fully decided now to write it. But Mary Stopperton could +not inform her. They had ended up in the chapel of Sir Thomas +More. He, too, had “given up things,” including his +head. Though Mary Stopperton, siding with Father Morris, was convinced +he had now got it back, and that with the remainder of his bones it +rested in the tomb before them.</p> +<p>There, the little pew-opener had left her, having to show the early-comers +to their seats; and Joan had found an out-of-the-way pew from where +she could command a view of the whole church. They were chiefly +poor folk, the congregation; with here and there a sprinkling of faded +gentility. They seemed in keeping with the place. The twilight +faded and a snuffy old man shuffled round and lit the gas.</p> +<p>It was all so sweet and restful. Religion had never appealed +to her before. The business-like service in the bare cold chapel +where she had sat swinging her feet and yawning as a child had only +repelled her. She could recall her father, aloof and awe-inspiring +in his Sunday black, passing round the bag. Her mother, always +veiled, sitting beside her, a thin, tall woman with passionate eyes +and ever restless hands; the women mostly overdressed, and the sleek, +prosperous men trying to look meek. At school and at Girton, chapel, +which she had attended no oftener than she was obliged, had had about +it the same atmosphere of chill compulsion. But here was poetry. +She wondered if, after all, religion might not have its place in the +world—in company with the other arts. It would be a pity +for it to die out. There seemed nothing to take its place. +All these lovely cathedrals, these dear little old churches, that for +centuries had been the focus of men’s thoughts and aspirations. +The harbour lights, illumining the troubled waters of their lives. +What could be done with them? They could hardly be maintained +out of the public funds as mere mementoes of the past. Besides, +there were too many of them. The tax-payer would naturally grumble. +As Town Halls, Assembly Rooms? The idea was unthinkable. +It would be like a performance of Barnum’s Circus in the Coliseum +at Rome. Yes, they would disappear. Though not, she was +glad to think, in her time. In towns, the space would be required +for other buildings. Here and there some gradually decaying specimen +would be allowed to survive, taking its place with the feudal castles +and walled cities of the Continent: the joy of the American tourist, +the text-book of the antiquary. A pity! Yes, but then from +the aesthetic point of view it was a pity that the groves of ancient +Greece had ever been cut down and replanted with currant bushes, their +altars scattered; that the stones of the temples of Isis should have +come to be the shelter of the fisher of the Nile; and the corn wave +in the wind above the buried shrines of Mexico. All these dead +truths that from time to time had encumbered the living world. +Each in its turn had had to be cleared away.</p> +<p>And yet was it altogether a dead truth: this passionate belief in +a personal God who had ordered all things for the best: who could be +appealed to for comfort, for help? Might it not be as good an +explanation as any other of the mystery surrounding us? It had +been so universal. She was not sure where, but somewhere she had +come across an analogy that had strongly impressed her. “The +fact that a man feels thirsty—though at the time he may be wandering +through the Desert of Sahara—proves that somewhere in the world +there is water.” Might not the success of Christianity in +responding to human needs be evidence in its favour? The Love +of God, the Fellowship of the Holy Ghost, the Grace of Our Lord Jesus +Christ. Were not all human needs provided for in that one comprehensive +promise: the desperate need of man to be convinced that behind all the +seeming muddle was a loving hand guiding towards good; the need of the +soul in its loneliness for fellowship, for strengthening; the need of +man in his weakness for the kindly grace of human sympathy, of human +example.</p> +<p>And then, as fate would have it, the first lesson happened to be +the story of Jonah and the whale. Half a dozen shocked faces turned +suddenly towards her told Joan that at some point in the thrilling history +she must unconsciously have laughed. Fortunately she was alone +in the pew, and feeling herself scarlet, squeezed herself into its farthest +corner and drew down her veil.</p> +<p>No, it would have to go. A religion that solemnly demanded +of grown men and women in the twentieth century that they should sit +and listen with reverential awe to a prehistoric edition of “Grimm’s +Fairy Stories,” including Noah and his ark, the adventures of +Samson and Delilah, the conversations between Balaam and his ass, and +culminating in what if it were not so appallingly wicked an idea would +be the most comical of them all: the conception of an elaborately organized +Hell, into which the God of the Christians plunged his creatures for +all eternity! Of what use was such a religion as that going to +be to the world of the future?</p> +<p>She must have knelt and stood mechanically, for the service was ended. +The pulpit was occupied by an elderly uninteresting-looking man with +a troublesome cough. But one sentence he had let fall had gripped +her attention. For a moment she could not remember it, and then +it came to her: “All Roads lead to Calvary.” It struck +her as rather good. Perhaps he was going to be worth listening +to. “To all of us, sooner or later,” he was saying, +“comes a choosing of two ways: either the road leading to success, +the gratification of desires, the honour and approval of our fellow-men—or +the path to Calvary.”</p> +<p>And then he had wandered off into a maze of detail. The tradesman, +dreaming perhaps of becoming a Whiteley, having to choose whether to +go forward or remain for all time in the little shop. The statesman—should +he abide by the faith that is in him and suffer loss of popularity, +or renounce his God and enter the Cabinet? The artist, the writer, +the mere labourer—there were too many of them. A few well-chosen +examples would have sufficed. And then that irritating cough!</p> +<p>And yet every now and then he would be arresting. In his prime, +Joan felt, he must have been a great preacher. Even now, decrepit +and wheezy, he was capable of flashes of magnetism, of eloquence. +The passage where he pictured the Garden of Gethsemane. The fair +Jerusalem, only hidden from us by the shadows. So easy to return +to. Its soft lights shining through the trees, beckoning to us; +its mingled voices stealing to us through the silence, whispering to +us of its well-remembered ways, its pleasant places, its open doorways, +friends and loved ones waiting for us. And above, the rock-strewn +Calvary: and crowning its summit, clear against the starlit sky, the +cold, dark cross. “Not perhaps to us the bleeding hands +and feet, but to all the bitter tears. Our Calvary may be a very +little hill compared with the mountains where Prometheus suffered, but +to us it is steep and lonely.”</p> +<p>There he should have stopped. It would have been a good note +on which to finish. But it seemed there was another point he wished +to make. Even to the sinner Calvary calls. To Judas—even +to him the gates of the life-giving Garden of Gethsemane had not been +closed. “With his thirty pieces of silver he could have +stolen away. In some distant crowded city of the Roman Empire +have lived unknown, forgotten. Life still had its pleasures, its +rewards. To him also had been given the choice. The thirty +pieces of silver that had meant so much to him! He flings them +at the feet of his tempters. They would not take them back. +He rushes out and hangs himself. Shame and death. With his +own hands he will build his own cross, none to help him. He, too—even +Judas, climbs his Calvary. Enters into the fellowship of those +who through all ages have trod its stony pathway.”</p> +<p>Joan waited till the last of the congregation had disappeared, and +then joined the little pew-opener who was waiting to close the doors. +Joan asked her what she had thought of the sermon, but Mary Stopperton, +being a little deaf, had not heard it.</p> +<p>“It was quite good—the matter of it,” Joan told +her. “All Roads lead to Calvary. The idea is that +there comes a time to all of us when we have to choose. Whether, +like your friend Carlyle, we will ‘give up things’ for our +faith’s sake. Or go for the carriage and pair.”</p> +<p>Mary Stopperton laughed. “He is quite right, dear,” +she said. “It does seem to come, and it is so hard. +You have to pray and pray and pray. And even then we cannot always +do it.” She touched with her little withered fingers Joan’s +fine white hand. “But you are so strong and brave,” +she continued, with another little laugh. “It won’t +be so difficult for you.”</p> +<p>It was not until well on her way home that Joan, recalling the conversation, +found herself smiling at Mary Stopperton’s literal acceptation +of the argument. At the time, she remembered, the shadow of a +fear had passed over her.</p> +<p>Mary Stopperton did not know the name of the preacher. It was +quite common for chance substitutes to officiate there, especially in +the evening. Joan had insisted on her acceptance of a shilling, +and had made a note of her address, feeling instinctively that the little +old woman would “come in useful” from a journalistic point +of view.</p> +<p>Shaking hands with her, she had turned eastward, intending to walk +to Sloane Square and there take the bus. At the corner of Oakley +Street she overtook him. He was evidently a stranger to the neighbourhood, +and was peering up through his glasses to see the name of the street; +and Joan caught sight of his face beneath a gas lamp.</p> +<p>And suddenly it came to her that it was a face she knew. In +the dim-lit church she had not seen him clearly. He was still +peering upward. Joan stole another glance. Yes, she had +met him somewhere. He was very changed, quite different, but she +was sure of it. It was a long time ago. She must have been +quite a child.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>One of Joan’s earliest recollections was the picture of herself +standing before the high cheval glass in her mother’s dressing-room. +Her clothes lay scattered far and wide, falling where she had flung +them; not a shred of any kind of covering was left to her. She +must have been very small, for she could remember looking up and seeing +high above her head the two brass knobs by which the glass was fastened +to its frame. Suddenly, out of the upper portion of the glass, +there looked a scared red face. It hovered there a moment, and +over it in swift succession there passed the expressions, first of petrified +amazement, secondly of shocked indignation, and thirdly of righteous +wrath. And then it swooped down upon her, and the image in the +glass became a confusion of small naked arms and legs mingled with green +cotton gloves and purple bonnet strings.</p> +<p>“You young imp of Satan!” demanded Mrs. Munday—her +feelings of outraged virtue exaggerating perhaps her real sentiments. +“What are you doing?”</p> +<p>“Go away. I’se looking at myself,” had explained +Joan, struggling furiously to regain the glass.</p> +<p>“But where are your clothes?” was Mrs. Munday’s +wonder.</p> +<p>“I’se tooked them off,” explained Joan. A +piece of information that really, all things considered, seemed unnecessary.</p> +<p>“But can’t you see yourself, you wicked child, without +stripping yourself as naked as you were born?”</p> +<p>“No,” maintained Joan stoutly. “I hate clothes.” +As a matter of fact she didn’t, even in those early days. +On the contrary, one of her favourite amusements was “dressing +up.” This sudden overmastering desire to arrive at the truth +about herself had been a new conceit.</p> +<p>“I wanted to see myself. Clothes ain’t me,” +was all she would or could vouchsafe; and Mrs. Munday had shook her +head, and had freely confessed that there were things beyond her and +that Joan was one of them; and had succeeded, partly by force, partly +by persuasion, in restoring to Joan once more the semblance of a Christian +child.</p> +<p>It was Mrs. Munday, poor soul, who all unconsciously had planted +the seeds of disbelief in Joan’s mind. Mrs. Munday’s +God, from Joan’s point of view, was a most objectionable personage. +He talked a lot—or rather Mrs. Munday talked for Him—about +His love for little children. But it seemed He only loved them +when they were good. Joan was under no delusions about herself. +If those were His terms, well, then, so far as she could see, He wasn’t +going to be of much use to her. Besides, if He hated naughty children, +why did He make them naughty? At a moderate estimate quite half +Joan’s wickedness, so it seemed to Joan, came to her unbidden. +Take for example that self-examination before the cheval glass. +The idea had come into her mind. It had never occurred to her +that it was wicked. If, as Mrs. Munday explained, it was the Devil +that had whispered it to her, then what did God mean by allowing the +Devil to go about persuading little girls to do indecent things? +God could do everything. Why didn’t He smash the Devil? +It seemed to Joan a mean trick, look at it how you would. Fancy +leaving a little girl to fight the Devil all by herself. And then +get angry because the Devil won! Joan came to cordially dislike +Mrs. Munday’s God.</p> +<p>Looking back it was easy enough to smile, but the agony of many nights +when she had lain awake for hours battling with her childish terrors +had left a burning sense of anger in Joan’s heart. Poor +mazed, bewildered Mrs. Munday, preaching the eternal damnation of the +wicked—who had loved her, who had only thought to do her duty, +the blame was not hers. But that a religion capable of inflicting +such suffering upon the innocent should still be preached; maintained +by the State! That its educated followers no longer believed in +a physical Hell, that its more advanced clergy had entered into a conspiracy +of silence on the subject was no answer. The great mass of the +people were not educated. Official Christendom in every country +still preached the everlasting torture of the majority of the human +race as a well thought out part of the Creator’s scheme. +No leader had been bold enough to come forward and denounce it as an +insult to his God. As one grew older, kindly mother Nature, ever +seeking to ease the self-inflicted burdens of her foolish brood, gave +one forgetfulness, insensibility. The condemned criminal puts +the thought of the gallows away from him as long as may be: eats, and +sleeps and even jokes. Man’s soul grows pachydermoid. +But the children! Their sensitive brains exposed to every cruel +breath. No philosophic doubt permitted to them. No learned +disputation on the relationship between the literal and the allegorical +for the easing of their frenzied fears. How many million tiny +white-faced figures scattered over Christian Europe and America, stared +out each night into a vision of black horror; how many million tiny +hands clutched wildly at the bedclothes. The Society for the Prevention +of Cruelty to Children, if they had done their duty, would have prosecuted +before now the Archbishop of Canterbury.</p> +<p>Of course she would go to Hell. As a special kindness some +generous relative had, on Joan’s seventh birthday, given her an +edition of Dante’s “Inferno,” with illustrations by +Doré. From it she was able to form some notion of what +her eternity was likely to be. And God all the while up in His +Heaven, surrounded by that glorious band of praise-trumpeting angels, +watching her out of the corner of His eye. Her courage saved her +from despair. Defiance came to her aid. Let Him send her +to Hell! She was not going to pray to Him and make up to Him. +He was a wicked God. Yes, He was: a cruel, wicked God. And +one night she told Him so to His face.</p> +<p>It had been a pretty crowded day, even for so busy a sinner as little +Joan. It was springtime, and they had gone into the country for +her mother’s health. Maybe it was the season: a stirring +of the human sap, conducing to that feeling of being “too big +for one’s boots,” as the saying is. A dangerous period +of the year. Indeed, on the principle that prevention is better +than cure, Mrs. Munday had made it a custom during April and May to +administer to Joan a cooling mixture; but on this occasion had unfortunately +come away without it. Joan, dressed for use rather than show, +and without either shoes or stockings, had stolen stealthily downstairs: +something seemed to be calling to her. Silently—“like +a thief in the night,” to adopt Mrs. Munday’s metaphor—had +slipped the heavy bolts; had joined the thousand creatures of the wood—had +danced and leapt and shouted; had behaved, in short, more as if she +had been a Pagan nymph than a happy English child. She had regained +the house unnoticed, as she thought, the Devil, no doubt, assisting +her; and had hidden her wet clothes in the bottom of a mighty chest. +Deceitfulness in her heart, she had greeted Mrs. Munday in sleepy tones +from beneath the sheets; and before breakfast, assailed by suspicious +questions, had told a deliberate lie. Later in the morning, during +an argument with an active young pig who was willing enough to play +at Red Riding Hood so far as eating things out of a basket was concerned, +but who would not wear a night-cap, she had used a wicked word. +In the afternoon she “might have killed” the farmer’s +only son and heir. They had had a row. In one of those sad +lapses from the higher Christian standards into which Satan was always +egging her, she had pushed him; and he had tumbled head over heels into +the horse-pond. The reason, that instead of lying there and drowning +he had got up and walked back to the house howling fit to wake the Seven +Sleepers, was that God, watching over little children, had arranged +for the incident taking place on that side of the pond where it was +shallow. Had the scrimmage occurred on the opposite bank, beneath +which the water was much deeper, Joan in all probability would have +had murder on her soul. It seemed to Joan that if God, all-powerful +and all-foreseeing, had been so careful in selecting the site, He might +with equal ease have prevented the row from ever taking place. +Why couldn’t the little beast have been guided back from school +through the orchard, much the shorter way, instead of being brought +round by the yard, so as to come upon her at a moment when she was feeling +a bit short-tempered, to put it mildly? And why had God allowed +him to call her “Carrots”? That Joan should have “put +it” this way, instead of going down on her knees and thanking +the Lord for having saved her from a crime, was proof of her inborn +evil disposition. In the evening was reached the culminating point. +Just before going to bed she had murdered old George the cowman. +For all practical purposes she might just as well have been successful +in drowning William Augustus earlier in the day. It seemed to +be one of those things that had to be. Mr. Hornflower still lived, +it was true, but that was not Joan’s fault. Joan, standing +in white night-gown beside her bed, everything around her breathing +of innocence and virtue: the spotless bedclothes, the chintz curtains, +the white hyacinths upon the window-ledge, Joan’s Bible, a present +from Aunt Susan; her prayer-book, handsomely bound in calf, a present +from Grandpapa, upon their little table; Mrs. Munday in evening black +and cameo brooch (pale red with tomb and weeping willow in white relief) +sacred to the memory of the departed Mr. Munday—Joan standing +there erect, with pale, passionate face, defying all these aids to righteousness, +had deliberately wished Mr. Hornflower dead. Old George Hornflower +it was who, unseen by her, had passed her that morning in the wood. +Grumpy old George it was who had overheard the wicked word with which +she had cursed the pig; who had met William Augustus on his emergence +from the pond. To Mr. George Hornflower, the humble instrument +in the hands of Providence, helping her towards possible salvation, +she ought to have been grateful. And instead of that she had flung +into the agonized face of Mrs. Munday these awful words:</p> +<p>“I wish he was dead!”</p> +<p>“He who in his heart—” there was verse and chapter +for it. Joan was a murderess. Just as well, so far as Joan +was concerned, might she have taken a carving-knife and stabbed Deacon +Hornflower to the heart.</p> +<p>Joan’s prayers that night, to the accompaniment of Mrs. Munday’s +sobs, had a hopeless air of unreality about them. Mrs. Munday’s +kiss was cold.</p> +<p>How long Joan lay and tossed upon her little bed she could not tell. +Somewhere about the middle of the night, or so it seemed to her, the +frenzy seized her. Flinging the bedclothes away she rose to her +feet. It is difficult to stand upon a spring mattress, but Joan +kept her balance. Of course He was there in the room with her. +God was everywhere, spying upon her. She could distinctly hear +His measured breathing. Face to face with Him, she told Him what +she thought of Him. She told Him He was a cruel, wicked God.</p> +<p>There are no Victoria Crosses for sinners, or surely little Joan +that night would have earned it. It was not lack of imagination +that helped her courage. God and she alone, in the darkness. +He with all the forces of the Universe behind Him. He armed with +His eternal pains and penalties, and eight-year-old Joan: the creature +that He had made in His Own Image that He could torture and destroy. +Hell yawned beneath her, but it had to be said. Somebody ought +to tell Him.</p> +<p>“You are a wicked God,” Joan told Him. “Yes, +You are. A cruel, wicked God.”</p> +<p>And then that she might not see the walls of the room open before +her, hear the wild laughter of the thousand devils that were coming +to bear her off, she threw herself down, her face hidden in the pillow, +and clenched her hands and waited.</p> +<p>And suddenly there burst a song. It was like nothing Joan had +ever heard before. So clear and loud and near that all the night +seemed filled with harmony. It sank into a tender yearning cry +throbbing with passionate desire, and then it rose again in thrilling +ecstasy: a song of hope, of victory.</p> +<p>Joan, trembling, stole from her bed and drew aside the blind. +There was nothing to be seen but the stars and the dim shape of the +hills. But still that song, filling the air with its wild, triumphant +melody.</p> +<p>Years afterwards, listening to the overture to <i>Tannhäuser</i>, +there came back to her the memory of that night. Ever through +the mad Satanic discords she could hear, now faint, now conquering, +the Pilgrims’ onward march. So through the jangled discords +of the world one heard the Song of Life. Through the dim aeons +of man’s savage infancy; through the centuries of bloodshed and +of horror; through the dark ages of tyranny and superstition; through +wrong, through cruelty, through hate; heedless of doom, heedless of +death, still the nightingale’s song: “I love you. +I love you. I love you. We will build a nest. We will +rear our brood. I love you. I love you. Life shall +not die.”</p> +<p>Joan crept back into bed. A new wonder had come to her. +And from that night Joan’s belief in Mrs. Munday’s God began +to fade, circumstances helping.</p> +<p>Firstly there was the great event of going to school. She was +glad to get away from home, a massive, stiffly furnished house in a +wealthy suburb of Liverpool. Her mother, since she could remember, +had been an invalid, rarely leaving her bedroom till the afternoon. +Her father, the owner of large engineering works, she only saw, as a +rule, at dinner-time, when she would come down to dessert. It +had been different when she was very young, before her mother had been +taken ill. Then she had been more with them both. She had +dim recollections of her father playing with her, pretending to be a +bear and growling at her from behind the sofa. And then he would +seize and hug her and they would both laugh, while he tossed her into +the air and caught her. He had looked so big and handsome. +All through her childhood there had been the desire to recreate those +days, to spring into the air and catch her arms about his neck. +She could have loved him dearly if he had only let her. Once, +seeking explanation, she had opened her heart a little to Mrs. Munday. +It was disappointment, Mrs. Munday thought, that she had not been a +boy; and with that Joan had to content herself. Maybe also her +mother’s illness had helped to sadden him. Or perhaps it +was mere temperament, as she argued to herself later, for which they +were both responsible. Those little tricks of coaxing, of tenderness, +of wilfulness, by means of which other girls wriggled their way so successfully +into a warm nest of cosy affection: she had never been able to employ +them. Beneath her self-confidence was a shyness, an immovable +reserve that had always prevented her from expressing her emotions. +She had inherited it, doubtless enough, from him. Perhaps one +day, between them, they would break down the barrier, the strength of +which seemed to lie in its very flimsiness, its impalpability.</p> +<p>And then during college vacations, returning home with growing notions +and views of her own, she had found herself so often in antagonism with +him. His fierce puritanism, so opposed to all her enthusiasms. +Arguing with him, she might almost have been listening to one of his +Cromwellian ancestors risen from the dead. There had been disputes +between him and his work-people, and Joan had taken the side of the +men. He had not been angry with her, but coldly contemptuous. +And yet, in spite of it all, if he had only made a sign! She wanted +to fling herself crying into his arms and shake him—make him listen +to her wisdom, sitting on his knee with her hands clasped round his +neck. He was not really intolerant and stupid. That had +been proved by his letting her go to a Church of England school. +Her mother had expressed no wish. It was he who had selected it.</p> +<p>Of her mother she had always stood somewhat in fear, never knowing +when the mood of passionate affection would give place to a chill aversion +that seemed almost like hate. Perhaps it had been good for her, +so she told herself in after years, her lonely, unguided childhood. +It had forced her to think and act for herself. At school she +reaped the benefit. Self-reliant, confident, original, leadership +was granted to her as a natural prerogative. Nature had helped +her. Nowhere does a young girl rule more supremely by reason of +her beauty than among her fellows. Joan soon grew accustomed to +having her boots put on and taken off for her; all her needs of service +anticipated by eager slaves, contending with one another for the privilege. +By giving a command, by bestowing a few moments of her conversation, +it was within her power to make some small adoring girl absurdly happy +for the rest of the day; while her displeasure would result in tears, +in fawning pleadings for forgiveness. The homage did not spoil +her. Rather it helped to develop her. She accepted it from +the beginning as in the order of things. Power had been given +to her. It was her duty to see to it that she did not use it capriciously, +for her own gratification. No conscientious youthful queen could +have been more careful in the distribution of her favours—that +they should be for the encouragement of the deserving, the reward of +virtue; more sparing of her frowns, reserving them for the rectification +of error.</p> +<p>At Girton it was more by force of will, of brain, that she had to +make her position. There was more competition. Joan welcomed +it, as giving more zest to life. But even there her beauty was +by no means a negligible quantity. Clever, brilliant young women, +accustomed to sweep aside all opposition with a blaze of rhetoric, found +themselves to their irritation sitting in front of her silent, not so +much listening to her as looking at her. It puzzled them for a +time. Because a girl’s features are classical and her colouring +attractive, surely that has nothing to do with the value of her political +views? Until one of them discovered by chance that it has.</p> +<p>“Well, what does Beauty think about it?” this one had +asked, laughing. She had arrived at the end of a discussion just +as Joan was leaving the room. And then she gave a long low whistle, +feeling that she had stumbled upon the explanation. Beauty, that +mysterious force that from the date of creation has ruled the world, +what does It think? Dumb, passive, as a rule, exercising its influence +unconsciously. But if it should become intelligent, active! +A Philosopher has dreamed of the vast influence that could be exercised +by a dozen sincere men acting in unity. Suppose a dozen of the +most beautiful women in the world could form themselves into a league! +Joan found them late in the evening still discussing it.</p> +<p>Her mother died suddenly during her last term, and Joan hurried back +to attend the funeral. Her father was out when she reached home. +Joan changed her travel-dusty clothes, and then went into the room where +her mother lay, and closed the door. She must have been a beautiful +woman. Now that the fret and the restlessness had left her it +had come back to her. The passionate eyes were closed. Joan +kissed the marble lids, and drawing a chair to the bedside, sat down. +It grieved her that she had never loved her mother—not as one +ought to love one’s mother, unquestioningly, unreasoningly, as +a natural instinct. For a moment a strange thought came to her, +and swiftly, almost guiltily, she stole across, and drawing back a corner +of the blind, examined closely her own features in the glass, comparing +them with the face of the dead woman, thus called upon to be a silent +witness for or against the living. Joan drew a sigh of relief +and let fall the blind. There could be no misreading the evidence. +Death had smoothed away the lines, given back youth. It was almost +uncanny, the likeness between them. It might have been her drowned +sister lying there. And they had never known one another. +Had this also been temperament again, keeping them apart? Why +did it imprison us each one as in a moving cell, so that we never could +stretch out our arms to one another, except when at rare intervals Love +or Death would unlock for a while the key? Impossible that two +beings should have been so alike in feature without being more or less +alike in thought and feeling. Whose fault had it been? Surely +her own; she was so hideously calculating. Even Mrs. Munday, because +the old lady had been fond of her and had shown it, had been of more +service to her, more a companion, had been nearer to her than her own +mother. In self-excuse she recalled the two or three occasions +when she had tried to win her mother. But fate seemed to have +decreed that their moods should never correspond. Her mother’s +sudden fierce outbursts of love, when she would be jealous, exacting, +almost cruel, had frightened her when she was a child, and later on +had bored her. Other daughters would have shown patience, unselfishness, +but she had always been so self-centred. Why had she never fallen +in love like other girls? There had been a boy at Brighton when +she was at school there—quite a nice boy, who had written her +wildly extravagant love-letters. It must have cost him half his +pocket-money to get them smuggled in to her. Why had she only +been amused at them? They might have been beautiful if only one +had read them with sympathy. One day he had caught her alone on +the Downs. Evidently he had made it his business to hang about +every day waiting for some such chance. He had gone down on his +knees and kissed her feet, and had been so abject, so pitiful that she +had given him some flowers she was wearing. And he had sworn to +dedicate the rest of his life to being worthy of her condescension. +Poor lad! She wondered—for the first time since that afternoon—what +had become of him. There had been others; a third cousin who still +wrote to her from Egypt, sending her presents that perhaps he could +ill afford, and whom she answered about once a year. And promising +young men she had met at Cambridge, ready, she felt instinctively, to +fall down and worship her. And all the use she had had for them +was to convert them to her views—a task so easy as to be quite +uninteresting—with a vague idea that they might come in handy +in the future, when she might need help in shaping that world of the +future.</p> +<p>Only once had she ever thought of marriage. And that was in +favour of a middle-aged, rheumatic widower with three children, a professor +of chemistry, very learned and justly famous. For about a month +she had thought herself in love. She pictured herself devoting +her life to him, rubbing his poor left shoulder where it seemed he suffered +most, and brushing his picturesque hair, inclined to grey. Fortunately +his eldest daughter was a young woman of resource, or the poor gentleman, +naturally carried off his feet by this adoration of youth and beauty, +might have made an ass of himself. But apart from this one episode +she had reached the age of twenty-three heart-whole.</p> +<p>She rose and replaced the chair. And suddenly a wave of pity +passed over her for the dead woman, who had always seemed so lonely +in the great stiffly-furnished house, and the tears came.</p> +<p>She was glad she had been able to cry. She had always hated +herself for her lack of tears; it was so unwomanly. Even as a +child she had rarely cried.</p> +<p>Her father had always been very tender, very patient towards her +mother, but she had not expected to find him so changed. He had +aged and his shoulders drooped. She had been afraid that he would +want her to stay with him and take charge of the house. It had +worried her considerably. It would be so difficult to refuse, +and yet she would have to. But when he never broached the subject +she was hurt. He had questioned her about her plans the day after +the funeral, and had seemed only anxious to assist them. She proposed +continuing at Cambridge till the end of the term. She had taken +her degree the year before. After that, she would go to London +and commence her work.</p> +<p>“Let me know what allowance you would like me to make you, +when you have thought it out. Things are not what they were at +the works, but there will always be enough to keep you in comfort,” +he had told her. She had fixed it there and then at two hundred +a year. She would not take more, and that only until she was in +a position to keep herself.</p> +<p>“I want to prove to myself,” she explained, “that +I am capable of earning my own living. I am going down into the +market-place. If I’m no good, if I can’t take care +of even one poor woman, I’ll come back and ask you to keep me.” +She was sitting on the arm of his chair, and laughing, she drew his +head towards her and pressed it against her. “If I succeed, +if I am strong enough to fight the world for myself and win, that will +mean I am strong enough and clever enough to help others.”</p> +<p>“I am only at the end of a journey when you need me,” +he had answered, and they had kissed. And next morning she returned +to her own life.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>It was at Madge Singleton’s rooms that the details of Joan’s +entry into journalistic London were arranged. “The Coming +of Beauty,” was Flora Lessing’s phrase for designating the +event. Flora Lessing, known among her associates as “Flossie,” +was the girl who at Cambridge had accidentally stumbled upon the explanation +of Joan’s influence. In appearance she was of the Fluffy +Ruffles type, with childish innocent eyes, and the “unruly curls” +beloved of the <i>Family Herald</i> novelist. At the first, these +latter had been the result of a habit of late rising and consequent +hurried toilet operations; but on the discovery that for the purposes +of her profession they possessed a market value they had been sedulously +cultivated. Editors of the old order had ridiculed the idea of +her being of any use to them, when two years previously she had, by +combination of cheek and patience, forced herself into their sanctum; +had patted her paternally upon her generally ungloved hand, and told +her to go back home and get some honest, worthy young man to love and +cherish her.</p> +<p>It was Carleton of the <i>Daily Dispatch</i> group who had first +divined her possibilities. With a swift glance on his way through, +he had picked her out from a line of depressed-looking men and women +ranged against the wall of the dark entrance passage; and with a snap +of his fingers had beckoned to her to follow him. Striding in +front of her up to his room, he had pointed to a chair and had left +her sitting there for three-quarters of an hour, while he held discussion +with a stream of subordinates, managers and editors of departments, +who entered and departed one after another, evidently in pre-arranged +order. All of them spoke rapidly, without ever digressing by a +single word from the point, giving her the impression of their speeches +having been rehearsed beforehand.</p> +<p>Carleton himself never interrupted them. Indeed, one might +have thought he was not listening, so engrossed he appeared to be in +the pile of letters and telegrams that lay waiting for him on his desk. +When they had finished he would ask them questions, still with his attention +fixed apparently upon the paper in his hand. Then, looking up +for the first time, he would run off curt instructions, much in the +tone of a Commander-in-Chief giving orders for an immediate assault; +and, finishing abruptly, return to his correspondence. When the +last, as it transpired, had closed the door behind him, he swung his +chair round and faced her.</p> +<p>“What have you been doing?” he asked her.</p> +<p>“Wasting my time and money hanging about newspaper offices, +listening to silly talk from old fossils,” she told him.</p> +<p>“And having learned that respectable journalism has no use +for brains, you come to me,” he answered her. “What +do you think you can do?”</p> +<p>“Anything that can be done with a pen and ink,” she told +him.</p> +<p>“Interviewing?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“I’ve always been considered good at asking awkward questions,” +she assured him.</p> +<p>He glanced at the clock. “I’ll give you five minutes,” +he said. “Interview me.”</p> +<p>She moved to a chair beside the desk, and, opening her bag, took +out a writing-block.</p> +<p>“What are your principles?” she asked him. “Have +you got any?”</p> +<p>He looked at her sharply across the corner of the desk.</p> +<p>“I mean,” she continued, “to what fundamental rule +of conduct do you attribute your success?”</p> +<p>She leant forward, fixing her eyes on him. “Don’t +tell me,” she persisted, “that you had none. That +life is all just mere blind chance. Think of the young men who +are hanging on your answer. Won’t you send them a message?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered musingly. “It’s +your baby face that does the trick. In the ordinary way I should +have known you were pulling my leg, and have shown you the door. +As it was, I felt half inclined for the moment to reply with some damned +silly platitude that would have set all Fleet Street laughing at me. +Why do my ‘principles’ interest you?”</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact they don’t,” she explained. +“But it’s what people talk about whenever they discuss you.”</p> +<p>“What do they say?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Your friends, that you never had any. And your enemies, +that they are always the latest,” she informed him.</p> +<p>“You’ll do,” he answered with a laugh. “With +nine men out of ten that speech would have ended your chances. +You sized me up at a glance, and knew it would only interest me. +And your instinct is right,” he added. “What people +are saying: always go straight for that.”</p> +<p>He gave her a commission then and there for a heart to heart talk +with a gentleman whom the editor of the Home News Department of the +<i>Daily Dispatch</i> would have referred to as a “Leading Literary +Luminary,” and who had just invented a new world in two volumes. +She had asked him childish questions and had listened with wide-open +eyes while he, sitting over against her, and smiling benevolently, had +laid bare to her all the seeming intricacies of creation, and had explained +to her in simple language the necessary alterations and improvements +he was hoping to bring about in human nature. He had the sensation +that his hair must be standing on end the next morning after having +read in cold print what he had said. Expanding oneself before +the admiring gaze of innocent simplicity and addressing the easily amused +ear of an unsympathetic public are not the same thing. He ought +to have thought of that.</p> +<p>It consoled him, later, that he was not the only victim. The +<i>Daily Dispatch</i> became famous for its piquant interviews; especially +with elderly celebrities of the masculine gender.</p> +<p>“It’s dirty work,” Flossie confided one day to +Madge Singleton. “I trade on my silly face. Don’t +see that I’m much different to any of these poor devils.” +They were walking home in the evening from a theatre. “If +I hadn’t been stony broke I’d never have taken it up. +I shall get out of it as soon as I can afford to.”</p> +<p>“I should make it a bit sooner than that,” suggested +the elder woman. “One can’t always stop oneself just +where one wants to when sliding down a slope. It has a knack of +getting steeper and steeper as one goes on.”</p> +<p>Madge had asked Joan to come a little earlier so that they could +have a chat together before the others arrived.</p> +<p>“I’ve only asked a few,” she explained, as she +led Joan into the restful white-panelled sitting-room that looked out +upon the gardens. Madge shared a set of chambers in Gray’s +Inn with her brother who was an actor. “But I have chosen +them with care.”</p> +<p>Joan murmured her thanks.</p> +<p>“I haven’t asked any men,” she added, as she fixed +Joan in an easy chair before the fire. “I was afraid of +its introducing the wrong element.”</p> +<p>“Tell me,” asked Joan, “am I likely to meet with +much of that sort of thing?”</p> +<p>“Oh, about as much as there always is wherever men and women +work together,” answered Madge. “It’s a nuisance, +but it has to be faced.”</p> +<p>“Nature appears to have only one idea in her head,” she +continued after a pause, “so far as we men and women are concerned. +She’s been kinder to the lower animals.”</p> +<p>“Man has more interests,” Joan argued, “a thousand +other allurements to distract him; we must cultivate his finer instincts.”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t seem to answer,” grumbled Madge. +“One is always told it is the artist—the brain worker, the +very men who have these fine instincts, who are the most sexual.”</p> +<p>She made a little impatient movement with her hands that was characteristic +of her. “Personally, I like men,” she went on. +“It is so splendid the way they enjoy life: just like a dog does, +whether it’s wet or fine. We are always blinking up at the +clouds and worrying about our hat. It would be so nice to be able +to have friendship with them.</p> +<p>“I don’t mean that it’s all their fault,” +she continued. “We do all we can to attract them—the +way we dress. Who was it said that to every woman every man is +a potential lover. We can’t get it out of our minds. +It’s there even when we don’t know it. We will never +succeed in civilizing Nature.”</p> +<p>“We won’t despair of her,” laughed Joan. +“She’s creeping up, poor lady, as Whistler said of her. +We have passed the phase when everything she did was right in our childish +eyes. Now we dare to criticize her. That shows we are growing +up. She will learn from us, later on. She’s a dear +old thing, at heart.”</p> +<p>“She’s been kind enough to you,” replied Madge, +somewhat irrelevantly. There was a note of irritation in her tone. +“I suppose you know you are supremely beautiful. You seem +so indifferent to it, I wonder sometimes if you do.”</p> +<p>“I’m not indifferent to it,” answered Joan. +“I’m reckoning on it to help me.”</p> +<p>“Why not?” she continued, with a flash of defiance, though +Madge had not spoken. “It is a weapon like any other—knowledge, +intellect, courage. God has given me beauty. I shall use +it in His service.”</p> +<p>They formed a curious physical contrast, these two women in this +moment. Joan, radiant, serene, sat upright in her chair, her head +slightly thrown back, her fine hands clasping one another so strongly +that the delicate muscles could be traced beneath the smooth white skin. +Madge, with puckered brows, leant forward in a crouching attitude, her +thin nervous hands stretched out towards the fire.</p> +<p>“How does one know when one is serving God?” she asked +after a pause, apparently rather of herself than of Joan. “It +seems so difficult.”</p> +<p>“One feels it,” explained Joan.</p> +<p>“Yes, but didn’t they all feel it,” Madge suggested. +She still seemed to be arguing with herself rather than with Joan. +“Nietzsche. I have been reading him. They are forming +a Nietzsche Society to give lectures about him—propagate him over +here. Eleanor’s in it up to the neck. It seems to +me awful. Every fibre in my being revolts against him. Yet +they’re all cocksure that he is the coming prophet. He must +have convinced himself that he is serving God. If I were a fighter +I should feel I was serving God trying to down Him. How do I know +which of us is right? Torquemada—Calvin,” she went +on, without giving Joan the chance of a reply. “It’s +easy enough to see they were wrong now. But at the time millions +of people believed in them—felt it was God’s voice speaking +through them. Joan of Arc! Fancy dying to put a thing like +that upon a throne. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic. +You can say she drove out the English—saved France. But +for what? The Bartholomew massacres. The ruin of the Palatinate +by Louis XIV. The horrors of the French Revolution, ending with +Napoleon and all the misery and degeneracy that he bequeathed to Europe. +History might have worked itself out so much better if the poor child +had left it alone and minded her sheep.”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t that train of argument lead to nobody ever +doing anything?” suggested Joan.</p> +<p>“I suppose it would mean stagnation,” admitted Madge. +“And yet I don’t know. Are there not forces moving +towards right that are crying to us to help them, not by violence, which +only interrupts—delays them, but by quietly preparing the way +for them? You know what I mean. Erasmus always said that +Luther had hindered the Reformation by stirring up passion and hate.” +She broke off suddenly. There were tears in her eyes. “Oh, +if God would only say what He wants of us,” she almost cried; +“call to us in trumpet tones that would ring through the world, +compelling us to take sides. Why can’t He speak?”</p> +<p>“He does,” answered Joan. “I hear His voice. +There are things I’ve got to do. Wrongs that I must fight +against. Rights that I must never dare to rest till they are won.” +Her lips were parted. Her breasts heaving. “He does +call to us. He has girded His sword upon me.”</p> +<p>Madge looked at her in silence for quite a while. “How +confident you are,” she said. “How I envy you.”</p> +<p>They talked for a time about domestic matters. Joan had established +herself in furnished rooms in a quiet street of pleasant Georgian houses +just behind the Abbey; a member of Parliament and his wife occupied +the lower floors, the landlord, a retired butler, and his wife, an excellent +cook, confining themselves to the basement and the attics. The +remaining floor was tenanted by a shy young man—a poet, so the +landlady thought, but was not sure. Anyhow he had long hair, lived +with a pipe in his mouth, and burned his lamp long into the night. +Joan had omitted to ask his name. She made a note to do so.</p> +<p>They discussed ways and means. Joan calculated she could get +through on two hundred a year, putting aside fifty for dress. +Madge was doubtful if this would be sufficient. Joan urged that +she was “stock size” and would be able to pick up “models” +at sales; but Madge, measuring her against herself, was sure she was +too full.</p> +<p>“You will find yourself expensive to dress,” she told +her, “cheap things won’t go well on you; and it would be +madness, even from a business point of view, for you not to make the +best of yourself.”</p> +<p>“Men stand more in awe of a well-dressed woman than they do +even of a beautiful woman,” Madge was of opinion. “If +you go into an office looking dowdy they’ll beat you down. +Tell them the price they are offering you won’t keep you in gloves +for a week and they’ll be ashamed of themselves. There’s +nothing <i>infra dig</i>. in being mean to the poor; but not to sympathize +with the rich stamps you as middle class.” She laughed.</p> +<p>Joan was worried. “I told Dad I should only ask him for +enough to make up two hundred a year,” she explained. “He’ll +laugh at me for not knowing my own mind.”</p> +<p>“I should let him,” advised Madge. She grew thoughtful +again. “We cranky young women, with our new-fangled, independent +ways, I guess we hurt the old folks quite enough as it is.”</p> +<p>The bell rang and Madge opened the door herself. It turned +out to be Flossie. Joan had not seen her since they had been at +Girton together, and was surprised at Flossie’s youthful “get +up.” Flossie explained, and without waiting for any possible +attack flew to her own defence.</p> +<p>“The revolution that the world is waiting for,” was Flossie’s +opinion, “is the providing of every man and woman with a hundred +and fifty a year. Then we shall all be able to afford to be noble +and high-minded. As it is, nine-tenths of the contemptible things +we do comes from the necessity of our having to earn our living. +A hundred and fifty a year would deliver us from evil.”</p> +<p>“Would there not still be the diamond dog-collar and the motor +car left to tempt us?” suggested Madge.</p> +<p>“Only the really wicked,” contended Flossie. “It +would classify us. We should know then which were the sheep and +which the goats. At present we’re all jumbled together: +the ungodly who sin out of mere greed and rapacity, and the just men +compelled to sell their birthright of fine instincts for a mess of meat +and potatoes.”</p> +<p>“Yah, socialist,” commented Madge, who was busy with +the tea things.</p> +<p>Flossie seemed struck by an idea.</p> +<p>“By Jove,” she exclaimed. “Why did I never +think of it. With a red flag and my hair down, I’d be in +all the illustrated papers. It would put up my price no end. +And I’d be able to get out of this silly job of mine. I +can’t go on much longer. I’m getting too well known. +I do believe I’ll try it. The shouting’s easy enough.” +She turned to Joan. “Are you going to take up socialism?” +she demanded.</p> +<p>“I may,” answered Joan. “Just to spank it, +and put it down again. I’m rather a believer in temptation—the +struggle for existence. I only want to make it a finer existence, +more worth the struggle, in which the best man shall rise to the top. +Your ‘universal security’—that will be the last act +of the human drama, the cue for ringing down the curtain.”</p> +<p>“But do not all our Isms work towards that end?” suggested +Madge.</p> +<p>Joan was about to reply when the maid’s announcement of “Mrs. +Denton” postponed the discussion.</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton was a short, grey-haired lady. Her large strong +features must have made her, when she was young, a hard-looking woman; +but time and sorrow had strangely softened them; while about the corners +of the thin firm mouth lurked a suggestion of humour that possibly had +not always been there. Joan, waiting to be introduced, towered +head and shoulders above her; yet when she took the small proffered +hand and felt those steely blue eyes surveying her, she had the sensation +of being quite insignificant. Mrs. Denton seemed to be reading +her, and then still retaining Joan’s hand she turned to Madge +with a smile.</p> +<p>“So this is our new recruit,” she said. “She +is come to bring healing to the sad, sick world—to right all the +old, old wrongs.”</p> +<p>She patted Joan’s hand and spoke gravely. “That +is right, dear. That is youth’s <i>métier</i>; to +take the banner from our failing hands, bear it still a little onward.” +Her small gloved hand closed on Joan’s with a pressure that made +Joan wince.</p> +<p>“And you must not despair,” she continued; “because +in the end it will seem to you that you have failed. It is the +fallen that win the victories.”</p> +<p>She released Joan’s hand abruptly. “Come and see +me to-morrow morning at my office,” she said. “We +will fix up something that shall be serviceable to us both.”</p> +<p>Madge flashed Joan a look. She considered Joan’s position +already secured. Mrs. Denton was the doyen of women journalists. +She edited a monthly review and was leader writer of one of the most +important dailies, besides being the controlling spirit of various social +movements. Anyone she “took up” would be assured of +steady work. The pay might not be able to compete with the prices +paid for more popular journalism, but it would afford a foundation, +and give to Joan that opportunity for influence which was her main ambition.</p> +<p>Joan expressed her thanks. She would like to have had more +talk with the stern old lady, but was prevented by the entrance of two +new comers. The first was Miss Lavery, a handsome, loud-toned +young woman. She ran a nursing paper, but her chief interest was +in the woman’s suffrage question, just then coming rapidly to +the front. She had heard Joan speak at Cambridge and was eager +to secure her adherence, being wishful to surround herself with a group +of young and good-looking women who should take the movement out of +the hands of the “frumps,” as she termed them. Her +doubt was whether Joan would prove sufficiently tractable. She +intended to offer her remunerative work upon the <i>Nursing News</i> +without saying anything about the real motive behind, trusting to gratitude +to make her task the easier.</p> +<p>The second was a clumsy-looking, overdressed woman whom Miss Lavery +introduced as “Mrs. Phillips, a very dear friend of mine, who +is going to be helpful to us all,” adding in a hurried aside to +Madge, “I simply had to bring her. Will explain to you another +time.” An apology certainly seemed to be needed. The +woman was absurdly out of her place. She stood there panting and +slightly perspiring. She was short and fat, with dyed hair. +As a girl she had possibly been pretty in a dimpled, giggling sort of +way. Joan judged her, in spite of her complexion, to be about +forty.</p> +<p>Joan wondered if she could be the wife of the Member of Parliament +who occupied the rooms below her in Cowley Street. His name, so +the landlady had told her, was Phillips. She put the suggestion +in a whisper to Flossie.</p> +<p>“Quite likely,” thought Flossie; “just the type +that sort of man does marry. A barmaid, I expect.”</p> +<p>Others continued to arrive until altogether there must have been +about a dozen women present. One of them turned out to be an old +schoolfellow of Joan’s and two had been with her at Girton. +Madge had selected those who she knew would be sympathetic, and all +promised help: those who could not give it direct undertaking to provide +introductions and recommendations, though some of them were frankly +doubtful of journalism affording Joan anything more than the means—not +always too honest—of earning a living.</p> +<p>“I started out to preach the gospel: all that sort of thing,” +drawled a Miss Simmonds from beneath a hat that, if she had paid for +it, would have cost her five guineas. “Now my chief purpose +in life is to tickle silly women into spending twice as much upon their +clothes as their husbands can afford, bamboozling them into buying any +old thing that our Advertising Manager instructs me to boom.”</p> +<p>“They talk about the editor’s opinions,” struck +in a fiery little woman who was busy flinging crumbs out of the window +to a crowd of noisy sparrows. “It’s the Advertiser +edits half the papers. Write anything that three of them object +to, and your proprietor tells you to change your convictions or go. +Most of us change.” She jerked down the window with a slam.</p> +<p>“It’s the syndicates that have done it,” was a +Mrs. Elliot’s opinion. She wrote “Society Notes” +for a Labour weekly. “When one man owned a paper he wanted +it to express his views. A company is only out for profit. +Your modern newspaper is just a shop. It’s only purpose +is to attract customers. Look at the <i>Methodist Herald</i>, +owned by the same syndicate of Jews that runs the <i>Racing News</i>. +They work it as far as possible with the same staff.”</p> +<p>“We’re a pack of hirelings,” asserted the fiery +little woman. “Our pens are for sale to the highest bidder. +I had a letter from Jocelyn only two days ago. He was one of the +original staff of the <i>Socialist</i>. He writes me that he has +gone as leader writer to a Conservative paper at twice his former salary. +Expected me to congratulate him.”</p> +<p>“One of these days somebody will start a Society for the Reformation +of the Press,” thought Flossie. “I wonder how the +papers will take it?”</p> +<p>“Much as Rome took Savonarola,” thought Madge.</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton had risen.</p> +<p>“They are right to a great extent,” she said to Joan. +“But not all the temple has been given over to the hucksters. +You shall place your preaching stool in some quiet corner, where the +passing feet shall pause awhile to listen.”</p> +<p>Her going was the signal for the breaking up of the party. +In a short time Joan and Madge found themselves left with only Flossie.</p> +<p>“What on earth induced Helen to bring that poor old Dutch doll +along with her?” demanded Flossie. “The woman never +opened her mouth all the time. Did she tell you?”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Madge, “but I think I can guess. +She hopes—or perhaps ‘fears’ would be more correct—that +her husband is going to join the Cabinet, and is trying to fit herself +by suddenly studying political and social questions. For a month +she’s been clinging like a leech to Helen Lavery, who takes her +to meetings and gatherings. I suppose they’ve struck up +some sort of a bargain. It’s rather pathetic.”</p> +<p>“Good Heavens! What a tragedy for the man,” commented +Flossie.</p> +<p>“What is he like?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“Not much to look at, if that’s what you mean,” +answered Madge. “Began life as a miner, I believe. +Looks like ending as Prime Minister.”</p> +<p>“I heard him at the Albert Hall last week,” said Flossie. +“He’s quite wonderful.”</p> +<p>“In what way?” questioned Joan.</p> +<p>“Oh, you know,” explained Flossie. “Like +a volcano compressed into a steam engine.”</p> +<p>They discussed Joan’s plans. It looked as if things were +going to be easy for her.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>Yet in the end it was Carleton who opened the door for her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton was helpful, and would have been more so, if Joan had +only understood. Mrs. Denton lived alone in an old house in Gower +Street, with a high stone hall that was always echoing to sounds that +no one but itself could ever hear. Her son had settled, it was +supposed, in one of the Colonies. No one knew what had become +of him, and Mrs. Denton herself never spoke of him; while her daughter, +on whom she had centred all her remaining hopes, had died years ago. +To those who remembered the girl, with her weak eyes and wispy ginger +coloured hair, it would have seemed comical, the idea that Joan resembled +her. But Mrs. Denton’s memory had lost itself in dreams; +and to her the likeness had appeared quite wonderful. The gods +had given her child back to her, grown strong and brave and clever. +Life would have a new meaning for her. Her work would not die +with her.</p> +<p>She thought she could harness Joan’s enthusiasm to her own +wisdom. She would warn her of the errors and pitfalls into which +she herself had fallen: for she, too, had started as a rebel. +Youth should begin where age left off. Had the old lady remembered +a faded dogs-eared volume labelled “Oddments” that for many +years had rested undisturbed upon its shelf in her great library, and +opening it had turned to the letter E, she would have read recorded +there, in her own precise thin penmanship, this very wise reflection:</p> +<p>“Experience is a book that all men write, but no man reads.”</p> +<p>To which she would have found added, by way of complement, “Experience +is untranslatable. We write it in the cipher of our sufferings, +and the key is hidden in our memories.”</p> +<p>And turning to the letter Y, she might have read:</p> +<p>“Youth comes to teach. Age remains to listen,” +and underneath the following:</p> +<p>“The ability to learn is the last lesson we acquire.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton had long ago given up the practice of jotting down her +thoughts, experience having taught her that so often, when one comes +to use them, one finds that one has changed them. But in the case +of Joan the recollection of these twin “oddments” might +have saved her disappointment. Joan knew of a new road that avoided +Mrs. Denton’s pitfalls. She grew impatient of being perpetually +pulled back.</p> +<p>For the <i>Nursing Times</i> she wrote a series of condensed biographies, +entitled “Ladies of the Lamp,” commencing with Elizabeth +Fry. They formed a record of good women who had battled for the +weak and suffering, winning justice for even the uninteresting. +Miss Lavery was delighted with them. But when Joan proposed exposing +the neglect and even cruelty too often inflicted upon the helpless patients +of private Nursing Homes, Miss Lavery shook her head.</p> +<p>“I know,” she said. “One does hear complaints +about them. Unfortunately it is one of the few businesses managed +entirely by women; and just now, in particular, if we were to say anything, +it would be made use of by our enemies to injure the Cause.”</p> +<p>There was a summer years ago—it came back to Joan’s mind—when +she had shared lodgings with a girl chum at a crowded sea-side watering-place. +The rooms were shockingly dirty; and tired of dropping hints she determined +one morning to clean them herself. She climbed a chair and started +on a row of shelves where lay the dust of ages. It was a jerry-built +house, and the result was that she brought the whole lot down about +her head, together with a quarter of a hundred-weight of plaster.</p> +<p>“Yes, I thought you’d do some mischief,” had commented +the landlady, wearily.</p> +<p>It seemed typical. A jerry-built world, apparently. With +the best intentions it seemed impossible to move in it without doing +more harm than good to it, bringing things down about one that one had +not intended.</p> +<p>She wanted to abolish steel rabbit-traps. She had heard the +little beggars cry. It had struck her as such a harmless reform. +But they told her there were worthy people in the neighbourhood of Wolverhampton—quite +a number of them—who made their living by the manufacture of steel +rabbit-traps. If, thinking only of the rabbits, you prohibited +steel rabbit-traps, then you condemned all these worthy people to slow +starvation. The local Mayor himself wrote in answer to her article. +He drew a moving picture of the sad results that might follow such an +ill-considered agitation: hundreds of grey-haired men, too old to learn +new jobs, begging from door to door; shoals of little children, white-faced +and pinched; sobbing women. Her editor was sorry for the rabbits. +Had often spent a pleasant day with them himself. But, after all, +the Human Race claimed our first sympathies.</p> +<p>She wanted to abolish sweating. She had climbed the rotting +stairways, seen the famished creatures in their holes. But it +seemed that if you interfered with the complicated system based on sweating +then you dislocated the entire structure of the British export clothing +trade. Not only would these poor creatures lose their admittedly +wretched living—but still a living—but thousands of other +innocent victims would also be involved in the common ruin. All +very sad, but half a loaf—or even let us frankly say a thin slice—is +better than no bread at all.</p> +<p>She wanted board school children’s heads examined. She +had examined one or two herself. It seemed to her wrong that healthy +children should be compelled to sit for hours within jumping distance +of the diseased. She thought it better that the dirty should be +made fit company for the clean than the clean should be brought down +to the level of the dirty. It seemed that in doing this you were +destroying the independence of the poor. Opposition reformers, +in letters scintillating with paradox, bristling with classical allusion, +denounced her attempt to impose middle-class ideals upon a too long +suffering proletariat. Better far a few lively little heads than +a broken-spirited people robbed of their parental rights.</p> +<p>Through Miss Lavery she obtained an introduction to the great Sir +William. He owned a group of popular provincial newspapers, and +was most encouraging. Sir William had often said to himself:</p> +<p>“What can I do for God who has done so much for me?” +It seemed only fair.</p> +<p>He asked her down to his “little place in Hampshire,” +to talk plans over. The “little place,” it turned +out, ran to forty bedrooms, and was surrounded by three hundred acres +of park. God had evidently done his bit quite handsomely.</p> +<p>It was in a secluded corner of the park that Sir William had gone +down upon one knee and gallantly kissed her hand. His idea was +that if she could regard herself as his “Dear Lady,” and +allow him the honour and privilege of being her “True Knight,” +that, between them, they might accomplish something really useful. +There had been some difficulty about his getting up again, Sir William +being an elderly gentleman subject to rheumatism, and Joan had had to +expend no small amount of muscular effort in assisting him; so that +the episode which should have been symbolical ended by leaving them +both red and breathless.</p> +<p>He referred to the matter again the same evening in the library while +Lady William slept peacefully in the blue drawing-room; but as it appeared +necessary that the compact should be sealed by a knightly kiss Joan +had failed to ratify it.</p> +<p>She blamed herself on her way home. The poor old gentleman +could easily have been kept in his place. The suffering of an +occasional harmless caress would have purchased for her power and opportunity. +Had it not been somewhat selfish of her? Should she write to him—see +him again?</p> +<p>She knew that she never would. It was something apart from +her reason. It would not even listen to her. It bade or +forbade as if one were a child without any right to a will of one’s +own. It was decidedly exasperating.</p> +<p>There were others. There were the editors who frankly told +her that the business of a newspaper was to write what its customers +wanted to read; and that the public, so far as they could judge, was +just about fed up with plans for New Jerusalems at their expense. +And the editors who were prepared to take up any number of reforms, +insisting only that they should be new and original and promise popularity.</p> +<p>And then she met Greyson.</p> +<p>It was at a lunch given by Mrs. Denton. Greyson was a bachelor +and lived with an unmarried sister, a few years older than himself. +He was editor and part proprietor of an evening paper. It had +ideals and was, in consequence, regarded by the general public with +suspicion; but by reason of sincerity and braininess was rapidly becoming +a power. He was a shy, reserved man with an aristocratic head +set upon stooping shoulders. The face was that of a dreamer, but +about the mouth there was suggestion of the fighter. Joan felt +at her ease with him in spite of the air of detachment that seemed part +of his character. Mrs. Denton had paired them off together; and, +during the lunch, one of them—Joan could not remember which—had +introduced the subject of reincarnation.</p> +<p>Greyson was unable to accept the theory because of the fact that, +in old age, the mind in common with the body is subject to decay.</p> +<p>“Perhaps by the time I am forty—or let us say fifty,” +he argued, “I shall be a bright, intelligent being. If I +die then, well and good. I select a likely baby and go straight +on. But suppose I hang about till eighty and die a childish old +gentleman with a mind all gone to seed. What am I going to do +then? I shall have to begin all over again: perhaps worse off +than I was before. That’s not going to help us much.”</p> +<p>Joan explained it to him: that old age might be likened to an illness. +A genius lies upon a bed of sickness and babbles childish nonsense. +But with returning life he regains his power, goes on increasing it. +The mind, the soul, has not decayed. It is the lines of communication +that old age has destroyed.</p> +<p>“But surely you don’t believe it?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Why not?” laughed Joan. “All things are +possible. It was the possession of a hand that transformed monkeys +into men. We used to take things up, you know, and look at them, +and wonder and wonder and wonder, till at last there was born a thought +and the world became visible. It is curiosity that will lead us +to the next great discovery. We must take things up; and think +and think and think till one day there will come knowledge, and we shall +see the universe.”</p> +<p>Joan always avoided getting excited when she thought of it.</p> +<p>“I love to make you excited,” Flossie had once confessed +to her in the old student days. “You look so ridiculously +young and you are so pleased with yourself, laying down the law.”</p> +<p>She did not know she had given way to it. He was leaning back +in his chair, looking at her; and the tired look she had noticed in +his eyes, when she had been introduced to him in the drawing-room, had +gone out of them.</p> +<p>During the coffee, Mrs. Denton beckoned him to come to her; and Miss +Greyson crossed over and took his vacant chair. She had been sitting +opposite to them.</p> +<p>“I’ve been hearing so much about you,” she said. +“I can’t help thinking that you ought to suit my brother’s +paper. He has all your ideas. Have you anything that you +could send him?”</p> +<p>Joan considered a moment.</p> +<p>“Nothing very startling,” she answered. “I +was thinking of a series of articles on the old London Churches—touching +upon the people connected with them and the things they stood for. +I’ve just finished the first one.”</p> +<p>“It ought to be the very thing,” answered Miss Greyson. +She was a thin, faded woman with a soft, plaintive voice. “It +will enable him to judge your style. He’s particular about +that. Though I’m confident he’ll like it,” she +hastened to add. “Address it to me, will you. I assist +him as much as I can.”</p> +<p>Joan added a few finishing touches that evening, and posted it; and +a day or two later received a note asking her to call at the office.</p> +<p>“My sister is enthusiastic about your article on Chelsea Church +and insists on my taking the whole series,” Greyson informed her. +“She says you have the Stevensonian touch.”</p> +<p>Joan flushed with pleasure.</p> +<p>“And you,” she asked, “did you think it had the +Stevensonian touch?”</p> +<p>“No,” he answered, “it seemed to me to have more +of your touch.”</p> +<p>“What’s that like?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“They couldn’t suppress you,” he explained. +“Sir Thomas More with his head under his arm, bloody old Bluebeard, +grim Queen Bess, snarling old Swift, Pope, Addison, Carlyle—the +whole grisly crowd of them! I could see you holding your own against +them all, explaining things to them, getting excited.” He +laughed.</p> +<p>His sister joined them, coming in from the next room. She had +a proposal to make. It was that Joan should take over the weekly +letter from “Clorinda.” It was supposed to give the +views of a—perhaps unusually—sane and thoughtful woman upon +the questions of the day. Miss Greyson had hitherto conducted +it herself, but was wishful as she explained to be relieved of it; so +that she might have more time for home affairs. It would necessitate +Joan’s frequent attendance at the office; for there would be letters +from the public to be answered, and points to be discussed with her +brother. She was standing behind his chair with her hands upon +his head. There was something strangely motherly about her whole +attitude.</p> +<p>Greyson was surprised, for the Letter had been her own conception, +and had grown into a popular feature. But she was evidently in +earnest; and Joan accepted willingly. “Clorinda” grew +younger, more self-assertive; on the whole more human. But still +so eminently “sane” and reasonable.</p> +<p>“We must not forget that she is quite a respectable lady, connected—according +to her own account—with the higher political circles,” Joan’s +editor would insist, with a laugh.</p> +<p>Miss Greyson, working in the adjoining room, would raise her head +and listen. She loved to hear him laugh.</p> +<p>“It’s absurd,” Flossie told her one morning, as +having met by chance they were walking home together along the Embankment. +“You’re not ‘Clorinda’; you ought to be writing +letters to her, not from her, waking her up, telling her to come off +her perch, and find out what the earth feels like. I’ll +tell you what I’ll do: I’ll trot you round to Carleton. +If you’re out for stirring up strife and contention, well, that’s +his game, too. He’ll use you for his beastly sordid ends. +He’d have roped in John the Baptist if he’d been running +the ‘Jerusalem Star’ at the time, and have given him a daily +column for so long as the boom lasted. What’s that matter, +if he’s willing to give you a start?”</p> +<p>Joan jibbed at first. But in the end Flossie’s arguments +prevailed. One afternoon, a week later, she was shown into Carleton’s +private room, and the door closed behind her. The light was dim, +and for a moment she could see no one; until Carleton, who had been +standing near one of the windows, came forward and placed a chair for +her. And they both sat down.</p> +<p>“I’ve glanced through some of your things,” he +said. “They’re all right. They’re alive. +What’s your idea?”</p> +<p>Remembering Flossie’s counsel, she went straight to the point. +She wanted to talk to the people. She wanted to get at them. +If she had been a man, she would have taken a chair and gone to Hyde +Park. As it was, she hadn’t the nerve for Hyde Park. +At least she was afraid she hadn’t. It might have to come +to that. There was a trembling in her voice that annoyed her. +She was so afraid she might cry. She wasn’t out for anything +crazy. She wanted only those things done that could be done if +the people would but lift their eyes, look into one another’s +faces, see the wrong and the injustice that was all around them, and +swear that they would never rest till the pain and the terror had been +driven from the land. She wanted soldiers—men and women +who would forget their own sweet selves, not counting their own loss, +thinking of the greater gain; as in times of war and revolution, when +men gave even their lives gladly for a dream, for a hope—</p> +<p>Without warning he switched on the electric lamp that stood upon +the desk, causing her to draw back with a start.</p> +<p>“All right,” he said. “Go ahead. You +shall have your tub, and a weekly audience of a million readers for +as long as you can keep them interested. Up with anything you +like, and down with everything you don’t. Be careful not +to land me in a libel suit. Call the whole Bench of Bishops hypocrites, +and all the ground landlords thieves, if you will: but don’t mention +names. And don’t get me into trouble with the police. +Beyond that, I shan’t interfere with you.”</p> +<p>She was about to speak.</p> +<p>“One stipulation,” he went on, “that every article +is headed with your photograph.”</p> +<p>He read the sudden dismay in her eyes.</p> +<p>“How else do you think you are going to attract their attention?” +he asked her. “By your eloquence! Hundreds of men +and women as eloquent as you could ever be are shouting to them every +day. Who takes any notice of them? Why should they listen +any the more to you—another cranky highbrow: some old maid, most +likely, with a bony throat and a beaky nose. If Woman is going +to come into the fight she will have to use her own weapons. If +she is prepared to do that she’ll make things hum with a vengeance. +She’s the biggest force going, if she only knew it.”</p> +<p>He had risen and was pacing the room.</p> +<p>“The advertiser has found that out, and is showing the way.” +He snatched at an illustrated magazine, fresh from the press, that had +been placed upon his desk, and opened it at the first page. “Johnson’s +Blacking,” he read out, “advertised by a dainty little minx, +showing her ankles. Who’s going to stop for a moment to +read about somebody’s blacking? If a saucy little minx isn’t +there to trip him up with her ankles!”</p> +<p>He turned another page. “Do you suffer from gout? +Classical lady preparing to take a bath and very nearly ready. +The old Johnny in the train stops to look at her. Reads the advertisement +because she seems to want him to. Rubber heels. Save your +boot leather! Lady in evening dress—jolly pretty shoulders—waves +them in front of your eyes. Otherwise you’d never think +of them.”</p> +<p>He fluttered the pages. Then flung the thing across to her.</p> +<p>“Look at it,” he said. “Fountain pens—Corn +plasters—Charitable appeals—Motor cars—Soaps—Grand +pianos. It’s the girl in tights and spangles outside the +show that brings them trooping in.”</p> +<p>“Let them see you,” he continued. “You say +you want soldiers. Throw off your veil and call for them. +Your namesake of France! Do you think if she had contented herself +with writing stirring appeals that Orleans would have fallen? +She put on a becoming suit of armour and got upon a horse where everyone +could see her. Chivalry isn’t dead. You modern women +are ashamed of yourselves—ashamed of your sex. You don’t +give it a chance. Revive it. Stir the young men’s +blood. Their souls will follow.”</p> +<p>He reseated himself and leant across towards her.</p> +<p>“I’m not talking business,” he said. “This +thing’s not going to mean much to me one way or the other. +I want you to win. Farm labourers bringing up families on twelve +and six a week. Shirt hands working half into the night for three +farthings an hour. Stinking dens for men to live in. Degraded +women. Half fed children. It’s damnable. Tell +them it’s got to stop. That the Eternal Feminine has stepped +out of the poster and commands it.”</p> +<p>A dapper young man opened the door and put his head into the room.</p> +<p>“Railway smash in Yorkshire,” he announced.</p> +<p>Carleton sat up. “Much of a one?” he asked.</p> +<p>The dapper gentleman shrugged his shoulders. “Three killed, +eight injured, so far,” he answered.</p> +<p>Carleton’s interest appeared to collapse.</p> +<p>“Stop press column?” asked the dapper gentleman.</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Carleton. “Unless +something better turns up.”</p> +<p>The dapper young gentleman disappeared. Joan had risen.</p> +<p>“May I talk it over with a friend?” she asked. +“Myself, I’m inclined to accept.”</p> +<p>“You will, if you’re in earnest,” he answered. +“I’ll give you twenty-four hours. Look in to-morrow +afternoon, and see Finch. It will be for the <i>Sunday Post</i>—the +Inset. We use surfaced paper for that and can do you justice. +Finch will arrange about the photograph.” He held out his +hand. “Shall be seeing you again,” he said.</p> +<p>It was but a stone’s throw to the office of the <i>Evening +Gazette</i>. She caught Greyson just as he was leaving and put +the thing before him. His sister was with him.</p> +<p>He did not answer at first. He was walking to and fro; and, +catching his foot in the waste paper basket, he kicked it savagely out +of his way, so that the contents were scattered over the room.</p> +<p>“Yes, he’s right,” he said. “It was +the Virgin above the altar that popularized Christianity. Her +face has always been woman’s fortune. If she’s going +to become a fighter, it will have to be her weapon.”</p> +<p>He had used almost the same words that Carleton had used.</p> +<p>“I so want them to listen to me,” she said. “After +all, it’s only like having a very loud voice.”</p> +<p>He looked at her and smiled. “Yes,” he said, “it’s +a voice men will listen to.”</p> +<p>Mary Greyson was standing by the fire. She had not spoken hitherto.</p> +<p>“You won’t give up ‘Clorinda’?” she +asked.</p> +<p>Joan had intended to do so, but something in Mary’s voice caused +her, against her will, to change her mind.</p> +<p>“Of course not,” she answered. “I shall run +them both. It will be like writing Jekyll and Hyde.”</p> +<p>“What will you sign yourself?” he asked.</p> +<p>“My own name, I think,” she said. “Joan Allway.”</p> +<p>Miss Greyson suggested her coming home to dinner with them; but Joan +found an excuse. She wanted to be alone.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>The twilight was fading as she left the office. She turned +northward, choosing a broad, ill-lighted road. It did not matter +which way she took. She wanted to think; or, rather, to dream.</p> +<p>It would all fall out as she had intended. She would commence +by becoming a power in journalism. She was reconciled now to the +photograph idea—was even keen on it herself. She would be +taken full face so that she would be looking straight into the eyes +of her readers as she talked to them. It would compel her to be +herself; just a hopeful, loving woman: a little better educated than +the majority, having had greater opportunity: a little further seeing, +maybe, having had more leisure for thought: but otherwise, no whit superior +to any other young, eager woman of the people. This absurd journalistic +pose of omniscience, of infallibility—this non-existent garment +of supreme wisdom that, like the King’s clothes in the fairy story, +was donned to hide his nakedness by every strutting nonentity of Fleet +Street! She would have no use for it. It should be a friend, +a comrade, a fellow-servant of the great Master, taking counsel with +them, asking their help. Government by the people for the people! +It must be made real. These silent, thoughtful-looking workers, +hurrying homewards through the darkening streets; these patient, shrewd-planning +housewives casting their shadows on the drawn-down blinds: it was they +who should be shaping the world, not the journalists to whom all life +was but so much “copy.” This monstrous conspiracy, +once of the Sword, of the Church, now of the Press, that put all Government +into the hands of a few stuffy old gentlemen, politicians, leader writers, +without sympathy or understanding: it was time that it was swept away. +She would raise a new standard. It should be, not “Listen +to me, oh ye dumb,” but, “Speak to me. Tell me your +hidden hopes, your fears, your dreams. Tell me your experience, +your thoughts born of knowledge, of suffering.”</p> +<p>She would get into correspondence with them, go among them, talk +to them. The difficulty, at first, would be in getting them to +write to her, to open their minds to her. These voiceless masses +that never spoke, but were always being spoken for by self-appointed +“leaders,” “representatives,” who immediately +they had climbed into prominence took their place among the rulers, +and then from press and platform shouted to them what they were to think +and feel. It was as if the Drill-Sergeant were to claim to be +the “leader,” the “representative” of his squad; +or the sheep-dog to pose as the “delegate” of the sheep. +Dealt with always as if they were mere herds, mere flocks, they had +almost lost the power of individual utterance. One would have +to teach them, encourage them.</p> +<p>She remembered a Sunday class she had once conducted; and how for +a long time she had tried in vain to get the children to “come +in,” to take a hand. That she might get in touch with them, +understand their small problems, she had urged them to ask questions. +And there had fallen such long silences. Until, at last, one cheeky +ragamuffin had piped out:</p> +<p>“Please, Miss, have you got red hair all over you? Or +only on your head?”</p> +<p>For answer she had rolled up her sleeve, and let them examine her +arm. And then, in her turn, had insisted on rolling up his sleeve, +revealing the fact that his arms above the wrists had evidently not +too recently been washed; and the episode had ended in laughter and +a babel of shrill voices. And, at once, they were a party of chums, +discussing matters together.</p> +<p>They were but children, these tired men and women, just released +from their day’s toil, hastening homeward to their play, or to +their evening tasks. A little humour, a little understanding, +a recognition of the wonderful likeness of us all to one another underneath +our outward coverings was all that was needed to break down the barrier, +establish comradeship. She stood aside a moment to watch them +streaming by. Keen, strong faces were among them, high, thoughtful +brows, kind eyes; they must learn to think, to speak for themselves.</p> +<p>She would build again the Forum. The people’s business +should no longer be settled for them behind lackey-guarded doors. +The good of the farm labourer should be determined not exclusively by +the squire and his relations. The man with the hoe, the man with +the bent back and the patient ox-like eyes: he, too, should be invited +to the Council board. Middle-class domestic problems should be +solved not solely by fine gentlemen from Oxford; the wife of the little +clerk should be allowed her say. War or peace, it should no longer +be regarded as a question concerning only the aged rich. The common +people—the cannon fodder, the men who would die, and the women +who would weep: they should be given something more than the privilege +of either cheering platform patriots or being summoned for interrupting +public meetings.</p> +<p>From a dismal side street there darted past her a small, shapeless +figure in crumpled cap and apron: evidently a member of that lazy, over-indulged +class, the domestic servant. Judging from the talk of the drawing-rooms, +the correspondence in the papers, a singularly unsatisfactory body. +They toiled not, lived in luxury and demanded grand pianos. Someone +had proposed doing something for them. They themselves—it +seemed that even they had a sort of conscience—were up in arms +against it. Too much kindness even they themselves perceived was +bad for them. They were holding a meeting that night to explain +how contented they were. Six peeresses had consented to attend, +and speak for them.</p> +<p>Likely enough that there were good-for-nothing, cockered menials +imposing upon incompetent mistresses. There were pampered slaves +in Rome. But these others. These poor little helpless sluts. +There were thousands such in every city, over-worked and under-fed, +living lonely, pleasureless lives. They must be taught to speak +in other voices than the dulcet tones of peeresses. By the light +of the guttering candles, from their chill attics, they should write +to her their ill-spelt visions.</p> +<p>She had reached a quiet, tree-bordered road, surrounding a great +park. Lovers, furtively holding hands, passed her by, whispering.</p> +<p>She would write books. She would choose for her heroine a woman +of the people. How full of drama, of tragedy must be their stories: +their problems the grim realities of life, not only its mere sentimental +embroideries. The daily struggle for bare existence, the ever-shadowing +menace of unemployment, of illness, leaving them helpless amid the grinding +forces crushing them down on every side. The ceaseless need for +courage, for cunning. For in the kingdom of the poor the tyrant +and the oppressor still sit in the high places, the robber still rides +fearless.</p> +<p>In a noisy, flaring street, a thin-clad woman passed her, carrying +a netted bag showing two loaves. In a flash, it came to her what +it must mean to the poor; this daily bread that in comfortable homes +had come to be regarded as a thing like water; not to be considered, +to be used without stint, wasted, thrown about. Borne by those +feeble, knotted hands, Joan saw it revealed as something holy: hallowed +by labour; sanctified by suffering, by sacrifice; worshipped with fear +and prayer.</p> +<p>In quiet streets of stately houses, she caught glimpses through uncurtained +windows of richly-laid dinner-tables about which servants moved noiselessly, +arranging flowers and silver. She wondered idly if she would every +marry. A gracious hostess, gathering around her brilliant men +and women, statesmen, writers, artists, captains of industry: counselling +them, even learning from them: encouraging shy genius. Perhaps, +in a perfectly harmless way, allowing it the inspiration derivable from +a well-regulated devotion to herself. A salon that should be the +nucleus of all those forces that influence influences, over which she +would rule with sweet and wise authority. The idea appealed to +her.</p> +<p>Into the picture, slightly to the background, she unconsciously placed +Greyson. His tall, thin figure with its air of distinction seemed +to fit in; Greyson would be very restful. She could see his handsome, +ascetic face flush with pleasure as, after the guests were gone, she +would lean over the back of his chair and caress for a moment his dark, +soft hair tinged here and there with grey. He would always adore +her, in that distant, undemonstrative way of his that would never be +tiresome or exacting. They would have children. But not +too many. That would make the house noisy and distract her from +her work. They would be beautiful and clever; unless all the laws +of heredity were to be set aside for her especial injury. She +would train them, shape them to be the heirs of her labour, bearing +her message to the generations that should follow.</p> +<p>At a corner where the trams and buses stopped she lingered for a +while, watching the fierce struggle; the weak and aged being pushed +back time after time, hardly seeming to even resent it, regarding it +as in the natural order of things. It was so absurd, apart from +the injustice, the brutality of it! The poor, fighting among themselves! +She felt as once when watching a crowd of birds to whom she had thrown +a handful of crumbs in winter time. As if they had not enemies +enough: cats, weasels, rats, hawks, owls, the hunger and the cold. +And added to all, they must needs make the struggle yet harder for one +another: pecking at each other’s eyes, joining with one another +to attack the fallen. These tired men, these weary women, pale-faced +lads and girls, why did they not organize among themselves some system +that would do away with this daily warfare of each against all. +If only they could be got to grasp the fact that they were one family, +bound together by suffering. Then, and not till then, would they +be able to make their power felt? That would have to come first: +the <i>Esprit de Corps</i> of the Poor.</p> +<p>In the end she would go into Parliament. It would be bound +to come soon, the woman’s vote. And after that the opening +of all doors would follow. She would wear her college robes. +It would be far more fitting than a succession of flimsy frocks that +would have no meaning in them. What pity it was that the art of +dressing—its relation to life—was not better understood. +What beauty-hating devil had prompted the workers to discard their characteristic +costumes that had been both beautiful and serviceable for these hateful +slop-shop clothes that made them look like walking scarecrows. +Why had the coming of Democracy coincided seemingly with the spread +of ugliness: dull towns, mean streets, paper-strewn parks, corrugated +iron roofs, Christian chapels that would be an insult to a heathen idol; +hideous factories (Why need they be hideous!); chimney-pot hats, baggy +trousers, vulgar advertisements, stupid fashions for women that spoilt +every line of their figure: dinginess, drabness, monotony everywhere. +It was ugliness that was strangling the soul of the people; stealing +from them all dignity, all self-respect, all honour for one another; +robbing them of hope, of reverence, of joy in life.</p> +<p>Beauty. That was the key to the riddle. All Nature: its +golden sunsets and its silvery dawns; the glory of piled-up clouds, +the mystery of moonlit glades; its rivers winding through the meadows; +the calling of its restless seas; the tender witchery of Spring; the +blazonry of autumn woods; its purple moors and the wonder of its silent +mountains; its cobwebs glittering with a thousand jewels; the pageantry +of starry nights. Form, colour, music! The feathered choristers +of bush and brake raising their matin and their evensong, the whispering +of the leaves, the singing of the waters, the voices of the winds. +Beauty and grace in every living thing, but man. The leaping of +the hares, the grouping of cattle, the flight of swallows, the dainty +loveliness of insects’ wings, the glossy skin of horses rising +and falling to the play of mighty muscles. Was it not seeking +to make plain to us that God’s language was beauty. Man +must learn beauty that he may understand God.</p> +<p>She saw the London of the future. Not the vision popular just +then: a soaring whirl of machinery in motion, of moving pavements and +flying omnibuses; of screaming gramophones and standardized “homes”: +a city where Electricity was King and man its soulless slave. +But a city of peace, of restful spaces, of leisured men and women; a +city of fine streets and pleasant houses, where each could live his +own life, learning freedom, individuality; a city of noble schools; +of workshops that should be worthy of labour, filled with light and +air; smoke and filth driven from the land: science, no longer bound +to commercialism, having discovered cleaner forces; a city of gay playgrounds +where children should learn laughter; of leafy walks where the creatures +of the wood and field should be as welcome guests helping to teach sympathy +and kindliness: a city of music, of colour, of gladness. Beauty +worshipped as religion; ugliness banished as a sin: no ugly slums, no +ugly cruelty, no slatternly women and brutalized men, no ugly, sobbing +children; no ugly vice flaunting in every highway its insult to humanity: +a city clad in beauty as with a living garment where God should walk +with man.</p> +<p>She had reached a neighbourhood of narrow, crowded streets. +The women were mostly without hats; and swarthy men, rolling cigarettes, +lounged against doorways. The place had a quaint foreign flavour. +Tiny cafés, filled with smoke and noise, and clean, inviting +restaurants abounded. She was feeling hungry, and, choosing one +the door of which stood open, revealing white tablecloths and a pleasant +air of cheerfulness, she entered. It was late and the tables were +crowded. Only at one, in a far corner, could she detect a vacant +place, opposite to a slight, pretty-looking girl very quietly dressed. +She made her way across and the girl, anticipating her request, welcomed +her with a smile. They ate for a while in silence, divided only +by the narrow table, their heads, when they leant forward, almost touching. +Joan noticed the short, white hands, the fragrance of some delicate +scent. There was something odd about her. She seemed to +be unnecessarily conscious of being alone. Suddenly she spoke.</p> +<p>“Nice little restaurant, this,” she said. “One +of the few places where you can depend upon not being annoyed.”</p> +<p>Joan did not understand. “In what way?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, you know, men,” answered the girl. “They +come and sit down opposite to you, and won’t leave you alone. +At most of the places, you’ve got to put up with it or go outside. +Here, old Gustav never permits it.”</p> +<p>Joan was troubled. She was rather looking forward to occasional +restaurant dinners, where she would be able to study London’s +Bohemia.</p> +<p>“You mean,” she asked, “that they force themselves +upon you, even if you make it plain—”</p> +<p>“Oh, the plainer you make it that you don’t want them, +the more sport they think it,” interrupted the girl with a laugh.</p> +<p>Joan hoped she was exaggerating. “I must try and select +a table where there is some good-natured girl to keep me in countenance,” +she said with a smile.</p> +<p>“Yes, I was glad to see you,” answered the girl. +“It’s hateful, dining by oneself. Are you living alone?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Joan. “I’m a journalist.”</p> +<p>“I thought you were something,” answered the girl. +“I’m an artist. Or, rather, was,” she added +after a pause.</p> +<p>“Why did you give it up?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“Oh, I haven’t given it up, not entirely,” the +girl answered. “I can always get a couple of sovereigns +for a sketch, if I want it, from one or another of the frame-makers. +And they can generally sell them for a fiver. I’ve seen +them marked up. Have you been long in London?”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Joan. “I’m a Lancashire +lass.”</p> +<p>“Curious,” said the girl, “so am I. My father’s +a mill manager near Bolton. You weren’t educated there?”</p> +<p>“No,” Joan admitted. “I went to Rodean at +Brighton when I was ten years old, and so escaped it. Nor were +you,” she added with a smile, “judging from your accent.”</p> +<p>“No,” answered the other, “I was at Hastings—Miss +Gwyn’s. Funny how we seem to have always been near to one +another. Dad wanted me to be a doctor. But I’d always +been mad about art.”</p> +<p>Joan had taken a liking to the girl. It was a spiritual, vivacious +face with frank eyes and a firm mouth; and the voice was low and strong.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” she said, “what interfered with it?” +Unconsciously she was leaning forward, her chin supported by her hands. +Their faces were very near to one another.</p> +<p>The girl looked up. She did not answer for a moment. +There came a hardening of the mouth before she spoke.</p> +<p>“A baby,” she said. “Oh, it was my own fault,” +she continued. “I wanted it. It was all the talk at +the time. You don’t remember. Our right to children. +No woman complete without one. Maternity, woman’s kingdom. +All that sort of thing. As if the storks brought them. Don’t +suppose it made any real difference; but it just helped me to pretend +that it was something pretty and high-class. ‘Overmastering +passion’ used to be the explanation, before that. I guess +it’s all much of a muchness: just natural instinct.”</p> +<p>The restaurant had been steadily emptying. Monsieur Gustav +and his ample-bosomed wife were seated at a distant table, eating their +own dinner.</p> +<p>“Why couldn’t you have married?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>The girl shrugged her shoulders. “Who was there for me +to marry?” she answered. “The men who wanted me: clerks, +young tradesmen, down at home—I wasn’t taking any of that +lot. And the men I might have fancied were all of them too poor. +There was one student. He’s got on since. Easy enough +for him to talk about waiting. Meanwhile. Well, it’s +like somebody suggesting dinner to you the day after to-morrow. +All right enough, if you’re not troubled with an appetite.”</p> +<p>The waiter came to clear the table. They were almost the last +customers left. The man’s tone and manner jarred upon Joan. +She had not noticed it before. Joan ordered coffee and the girl, +exchanging a joke with the waiter, added a liqueur.</p> +<p>“But why should you give up your art?” persisted Joan. +It was that was sticking in her mind. “I should have thought +that, if only for the sake of the child, you would have gone on with +it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I told myself all that,” answered the girl. +“Was going to devote my life to it. Did for nearly two years. +Till I got sick of living like a nun: never getting a bit of excitement. +You see, I’ve got the poison in me. Or, maybe, it had always +been there.”</p> +<p>“What’s become of it?” asked Joan. “The +child?”</p> +<p>“Mother’s got it,” answered the girl. “Seemed +best for the poor little beggar. I’m supposed to be dead, +and my husband gone abroad.” She gave a short, dry laugh. +“Mother brings him up to see me once a year. They’ve +got quite fond of him.”</p> +<p>“What are you doing now?” asked Joan, in a low tone.</p> +<p>“Oh, you needn’t look so scared,” laughed the girl, +“I haven’t come down to that.” Her voice had +changed. It had a note of shrillness. In some indescribable +way she had grown coarse. “I’m a kept woman,” +she explained. “What else is any woman?”</p> +<p>She reached for her jacket; and the waiter sprang forward and helped +her on with it, prolonging the business needlessly. She wished +him “Good evening” in a tone of distant hauteur, and led +the way to the door. Outside the street was dim and silent. +Joan held out her hand.</p> +<p>“No hope of happy endings,” she said with a forced laugh. +“Couldn’t marry him I suppose?”</p> +<p>“He has asked me,” answered the girl with a swagger. +“Not sure that it would suit me now. They’re not so +nice to you when they’ve got you fixed up. So long.”</p> +<p>She turned abruptly and walked rapidly away. Joan moved instinctively +in the opposite direction, and after a few minutes found herself in +a broad well-lighted thoroughfare. A newsboy was shouting his +wares.</p> +<p>“’Orrible murder of a woman. Shockin’ details. +Speshul,” repeating it over and over again in a hoarse, expressionless +monotone.</p> +<p>He was selling the papers like hot cakes; the purchasers too eager +to even wait for their change. She wondered, with a little lump +in her throat, how many would have stopped to buy had he been calling +instead: “Discovery of new sonnet by Shakespeare. Extra +special.”</p> +<p>Through swinging doors, she caught glimpses of foul interiors, crowded +with men and women released from their toil, taking their evening pleasure. +From coloured posters outside the great theatres and music halls, vulgarity +and lewdness leered at her, side by side with announcements that the +house was full. From every roaring corner, scintillating lights +flared forth the merits of this public benefactor’s whisky, of +this other celebrity’s beer: it seemed the only message the people +cared to hear. Even among the sirens of the pavement, she noticed +that the quiet and merely pretty were hardly heeded. It was everywhere +the painted and the overdressed that drew the roving eyes.</p> +<p>She remembered a pet dog that someone had given her when she was +a girl, and how one afternoon she had walked with the tears streaming +down her face because, in spite of her scoldings and her pleadings, +it would keep stopping to lick up filth from the roadway. A kindly +passer-by had laughed and told her not to mind.</p> +<p>“Why, that’s a sign of breeding, that is, Missie,” +the man had explained. “It’s the classy ones that +are always the worst.”</p> +<p>It had come to her afterwards craving with its soft brown, troubled +eyes for forgiveness. But she had never been able to break it +of the habit.</p> +<p>Must man for ever be chained by his appetites to the unclean: ever +be driven back, dragged down again into the dirt by his own instincts: +ever be rendered useless for all finer purposes by the baseness of his +own desires?</p> +<p>The City of her Dreams! The mingled voices of the crowd shaped +itself into a mocking laugh.</p> +<p>It seemed to her that it was she that they were laughing at, pointing +her out to one another, jeering at her, reviling her, threatening her.</p> +<p>She hurried onward with bent head, trying to escape them. She +felt so small, so helpless. Almost she cried out in her despair.</p> +<p>She must have walked mechanically. Looking up she found herself +in her own street. And as she reached her doorway the tears came +suddenly.</p> +<p>She heard a quick step behind her, and turning, she saw a man with +a latch key in his hand. He passed her and opened the door; and +then, facing round, stood aside for her to enter. He was a sturdy, +thick-set man with a strong, massive face. It would have been +ugly but for the deep, flashing eyes. There was tenderness and +humour in them.</p> +<p>“We are next floor neighbours,” he said. “My +name’s Phillips.”</p> +<p>Joan thanked him. As he held the door open for her their hands +accidentally touched. Joan wished him good-night and went up the +stairs. There was no light in her room: only the faint reflection +of the street lamp outside.</p> +<p>She could still see him: the boyish smile. And his voice that +had sent her tears back again as if at the word of command.</p> +<p>She hoped he had not seen them. What a little fool she was.</p> +<p>A little laugh escaped her.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>One day Joan, lunching at the club, met Madge Singleton.</p> +<p>“I’ve had such a funny letter from Flossie,” said +Joan, “begging me almost with tears in her ink to come to her +on Sunday evening to meet a ‘gentleman friend’ of hers, +as she calls him, and give her my opinion of him. What on earth +is she up to?”</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” answered Madge. “She +doesn’t really want our opinion of him—or rather she doesn’t +want our real opinion of him. She only wants us to confirm hers. +She’s engaged to him.”</p> +<p>“Flossie engaged!” Joan seemed surprised.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Madge. “It used to be a custom. +Young men used to ask young women to marry them. And if they consented +it was called ‘being engaged.’ Still prevails, so +I am told, in certain classes.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” said Joan. “I have heard of it.”</p> +<p>“I thought perhaps you hadn’t from your tone,” +explained Madge.</p> +<p>“But if she’s already engaged to him, why risk criticism +of him,” argued Joan, ignoring Madge’s flippancy. +“It’s too late.”</p> +<p>“Oh, she’s going to break it off unless we all assure +her that we find him brainy,” Madge explained with a laugh. +“It seems her father wasn’t brainy and her mother was. +Or else it was the other way about: I’m not quite sure. +But whichever it was, it led to ructions. Myself, if he’s +at all possible and seems to care for her, I intend to find him brilliant.”</p> +<p>“And suppose she repeats her mother’s experience,” +suggested Joan.</p> +<p>“There were the Norton-Browns,” answered Madge. +“Impossible to have found a more evenly matched pair. They +both write novels—very good novels, too; and got jealous of one +another; and threw press-notices at one another’s head all breakfast-time; +until they separated. Don’t know of any recipe myself for +being happy ever after marriage, except not expecting it.”</p> +<p>“Or keeping out of it altogether,” added Joan.</p> +<p>“Ever spent a day at the Home for Destitute Gentlewomen at +East Sheen?” demanded Madge.</p> +<p>“Not yet,” admitted Joan. “May have to, later +on.”</p> +<p>“It ought to be included in every woman’s education,” +Madge continued. “It is reserved for spinsters of over forty-five. +Susan Fleming wrote an article upon it for the <i>Teacher’s Friend</i>; +and spent an afternoon and evening there. A month later she married +a grocer with five children. The only sound suggestion for avoiding +trouble that I ever came across was in a burlesque of the <i>Blue Bird</i>. +You remember the scene where the spirits of the children are waiting +to go down to earth and be made into babies? Someone had stuck +up a notice at the entrance to the gangway: ‘Don’t get born. +It only means worry.’”</p> +<p>Flossie had her dwelling-place in a second floor bed-sitting-room +of a lodging house in Queen’s Square, Bloomsbury; but the drawing-room +floor being for the moment vacant, Flossie had persuaded her landlady +to let her give her party there; it seemed as if fate approved of the +idea. The room was fairly full when Joan arrived. Flossie +took her out on the landing, and closed the door behind them.</p> +<p>“You will be honest with me, won’t you?” pleaded +Flossie, “because it’s so important, and I don’t seem +able to think for myself. As they say, no man can be his own solicitor, +can he? Of course I like him, and all that—very much. +And I really believe he loves me. We were children together when +Mummy was alive; and then he had to go abroad; and has only just come +back. Of course, I’ve got to think of him, too, as he says. +But then, on the other hand, I don’t want to make a mistake. +That would be so terrible, for both of us; and of course I am clever; +and there was poor Mummy and Daddy. I’ll tell you all about +them one day. It was so awfully sad. Get him into a corner +and talk to him. You’ll be able to judge in a moment, you’re +so wonderful. He’s quiet on the outside, but I think there’s +depth in him. We must go in now.”</p> +<p>She had talked so rapidly Joan felt as if her hat were being blown +away. She had difficulty in recognizing Flossie. All the +cocksure pertness had departed. She seemed just a kid.</p> +<p>Joan promised faithfully; and Flossie, standing on tiptoe, suddenly +kissed her and then bustled her in.</p> +<p>Flossie’s young man was standing near the fire talking, or +rather listening, to a bird-like little woman in a short white frock +and blue ribbons. A sombre lady just behind her, whom Joan from +the distance took to be her nurse, turned out to be her secretary, whose +duty it was to be always at hand, prepared to take down any happy idea +that might occur to the bird-like little woman in the course of conversation. +The bird-like little woman was Miss Rose Tolley, a popular novelist. +She was explaining to Flossie’s young man, whose name was Sam +Halliday, the reason for her having written “Running Waters,” +her latest novel.</p> +<p>“It is daring,” she admitted. “I must be +prepared for opposition. But it had to be stated.”</p> +<p>“I take myself as typical,” she continued. “When +I was twenty I could have loved you. You were the type of man +I did love.”</p> +<p>Mr. Halliday, who had been supporting the weight of his body upon +his right leg, transferred the burden to his left.</p> +<p>“But now I’m thirty-five; and I couldn’t love you +if I tried.” She shook her curls at him. “It +isn’t your fault. It is that I have changed. Suppose +I’d married you?”</p> +<p>“Bit of bad luck for both of us,” suggested Mr. Halliday.</p> +<p>“A tragedy,” Miss Tolley corrected him. “There +are millions of such tragedies being enacted around us at this moment. +Sensitive women compelled to suffer the embraces of men that they have +come to loathe. What’s to be done?”</p> +<p>Flossie, who had been hovering impatient, broke in.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t you believe her,” she advised Mr. Halliday. +“She loves you still. She’s only teasing you. +This is Joan.”</p> +<p>She introduced her. Miss Tolley bowed; and allowed herself +to be drawn away by a lank-haired young man who had likewise been waiting +for an opening. He represented the Uplift Film Association of +Chicago, and was wishful to know if Miss Tolley would consent to altering +the last chapter and so providing “Running Waters” with +a happy ending. He pointed out the hopelessness of it in its present +form, for film purposes.</p> +<p>The discussion was brief. “Then I’ll send your +agent the contract to-morrow,” Joan overheard him say a minute +later.</p> +<p>Mr. Sam Halliday she liked at once. He was a clean-shaven, +square-jawed young man, with quiet eyes and a pleasant voice.</p> +<p>“Try and find me brainy,” he whispered to her, as soon +as Flossie was out of earshot. “Talk to me about China. +I’m quite intelligent on China.”</p> +<p>They both laughed, and then shot a guilty glance in Flossie’s +direction.</p> +<p>“Do the women really crush their feet?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “All those who have no +use for them. About one per cent. of the population. To +listen to Miss Tolley you would think that half the women wanted a new +husband every ten years. It’s always the one per cent. that +get themselves talked about. The other ninety-nine are too busy.”</p> +<p>“You are young for a philosopher,” said Joan.</p> +<p>He laughed. “I told you I’d be all right if you +started me on China,” he said.</p> +<p>“Why are you marrying. Flossie?” Joan asked him. +She thought his point of view would be interesting.</p> +<p>“Not sure I am yet,” he answered with a grin. “It +depends upon how I get through this evening.” He glanced +round the room. “Have I got to pass all this crowd, I wonder?” +he added.</p> +<p>Joan’s eyes followed. It was certainly an odd collection. +Flossie, in her hunt for brains, had issued her invitations broadcast; +and her fate had been that of the Charity concert. Not all the +stars upon whom she had most depended had turned up. On the other +hand not a single freak had failed her. At the moment, the centre +of the room was occupied by a gentleman and two ladies in classical +drapery. They were holding hands in an attitude suggestive of +a bas-relief. Joan remembered them, having seen them on one or +two occasions wandering in the King’s Road, Chelsea; still maintaining, +as far as the traffic would allow, the bas-relief suggestion; and generally +surrounded by a crowd of children, ever hopeful that at the next corner +they would stop and do something really interesting. They belonged +to a society whose object was to lure the London public by the force +of example towards the adoption of the early Greek fashions and the +simpler Greek attitudes. A friend of Flossie’s had thrown +in her lot with them, but could never be induced to abandon her umbrella. +They also, as Joan told herself, were reformers. Near to them +was a picturesque gentleman with a beard down to his waist whose “stunt”—as +Flossie would have termed it—was hygienic clothing; it seemed +to contain an undue proportion of fresh air. There were ladies +in coats and stand-up collars, and gentlemen with ringlets. More +than one of the guests would have been better, though perhaps not happier, +for a bath.</p> +<p>“I fancy that’s the idea,” said Joan. “What +will you do if you fail? Go back to China?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “And take her with me. +Poor little girl.”</p> +<p>Joan rather resented his tone.</p> +<p>“We are not all alike,” she remarked. “Some +of us are quite sane.”</p> +<p>He looked straight into her eyes. “You are,” he +said. “I have been reading your articles. They are +splendid. I’m going to help.”</p> +<p>“How can you?” she said. “I mean, how will +you?”</p> +<p>“Shipping is my business,” he said. “I’m +going to help sailor men. See that they have somewhere decent +to go to, and don’t get robbed. And then there are the Lascars, +poor devils. Nobody ever takes their part.”</p> +<p>“How did you come across them?” she asked. “The +articles, I mean. Did Flo give them to you?”</p> +<p>“No,” he answered. “Just chance. Caught +sight of your photo.”</p> +<p>“Tell me,” she said. “If it had been the +photo of a woman with a bony throat and a beaky nose would you have +read them?”</p> +<p>He thought a moment. “Guess not,” he answered. +“You’re just as bad,” he continued. “Isn’t +it the pale-faced young clergyman with the wavy hair and the beautiful +voice that you all flock to hear? No getting away from nature. +But it wasn’t only that.” He hesitated.</p> +<p>“I want to know,” she said.</p> +<p>“You looked so young,” he answered. “I had +always had the idea that it was up to the old people to put the world +to rights—that all I had to do was to look after myself. +It came to me suddenly while you were talking to me—I mean while +I was reading you: that if you were worrying yourself about it, I’d +got to come in, too—that it would be mean of me not to. +It wasn’t like being preached to. It was somebody calling +for help.”</p> +<p>Instinctively she held out her hand and he grasped it.</p> +<p>Flossie came up at the same instant. She wanted to introduce +him to Miss Lavery, who had just arrived.</p> +<p>“Hullo!” she said. “Are you two concluding +a bargain?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Joan. “We are founding the League +of Youth. You’ve got to be in it. We are going to +establish branches all round the world.”</p> +<p>Flossie’s young man was whisked away. Joan, who had seated +herself in a small chair, was alone for a few minutes.</p> +<p>Miss Tolley had chanced upon a Human Document, with the help of which +she was hopeful of starting a “Press Controversy” concerning +the morality, or otherwise, of “Running Waters.” The +secretary stood just behind her, taking notes. They had drifted +quite close. Joan could not help overhearing.</p> +<p>“It always seemed to me immoral, the marriage ceremony,” +the Human Document was explaining. She was a thin, sallow woman, +with an untidy head and restless eyes that seemed to be always seeking +something to look at and never finding it. “How can we pledge +the future? To bind oneself to live with a man when perhaps we +have ceased to care for him; it’s hideous.”</p> +<p>Miss Tolley murmured agreement.</p> +<p>“Our love was beautiful,” continued the Human Document, +eager, apparently, to relate her experience for the common good; “just +because it was a free gift. We were not fettered to one another. +At any moment either of us could have walked out of the house. +The idea never occurred to us; not for years—five, to be exact.”</p> +<p>The secretary, at a sign from Miss Tolley, made a memorandum of it.</p> +<p>“And then did your feelings towards him change suddenly?” +questioned Miss Tolley.</p> +<p>“No,” explained the Human Document, in the same quick, +even tones; “so far as I was concerned, I was not conscious of +any alteration in my own attitude. But he felt the need of more +solitude—for his development. We parted quite good friends.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Miss Tolley. “And were there any +children?”</p> +<p>“Only two,” answered the Human Document, “both +girls.”</p> +<p>“What has become of them?” persisted Miss Tolley.</p> +<p>The Human Document looked offended. “You do not think +I would have permitted any power on earth to separate them from me, +do you?” she answered. “I said to him, ‘They +are mine, mine. Where I go, they go. Where I stay, they +stay.’ He saw the justice of my argument.”</p> +<p>“And they are with you now?” concluded Miss Tolley.</p> +<p>“You must come and see them,” the Human Document insisted. +“Such dear, magnetic creatures. I superintend their entire +education myself. We have a cottage in Surrey. It’s +rather a tight fit. You see, there are seven of us now. +But the three girls can easily turn in together for a night, Abner will +be delighted.”</p> +<p>“Abner is your second?” suggested Miss Tolley.</p> +<p>“My third,” the Human Document corrected her. “After +Eustace, I married Ivanoff. I say ‘married’ because +I regard it as the holiest form of marriage. He had to return +to his own country. There was a political movement on foot. +He felt it his duty to go. I want you particularly to meet the +boy. He will interest you.”</p> +<p>Miss Tolley appeared to be getting muddled. “Whose boy?” +she demanded.</p> +<p>“Ivanoff’s,” explained the Human Document. +“He was our only child.”</p> +<p>Flossie appeared, towing a white-haired, distinguished-looking man, +a Mr. Folk. She introduced him and immediately disappeared. +Joan wished she had been left alone a little longer. She would +like to have heard more. Especially was she curious concerning +Abner, the lady’s third. Would the higher moral law compel +him, likewise, to leave the poor lady saddled with another couple of +children? Or would she, on this occasion, get in—or rather, +get off, first? Her own fancy was to back Abner. She did +catch just one sentence before Miss Tolley, having obtained more food +for reflection than perhaps she wanted, signalled to her secretary that +the note-book might be closed.</p> +<p>“Woman’s right to follow the dictates of her own heart, +uncontrolled by any law,” the Human Document was insisting: “That +is one of the first things we must fight for.”</p> +<p>Mr. Folk was a well-known artist. He lived in Paris. +“You are wonderfully like your mother,” he told Joan. +“In appearance, I mean,” he added. “I knew her +when she was Miss Caxton. I acted with her in America.”</p> +<p>Joan made a swift effort to hide her surprise. She had never +heard of her mother having been upon the stage.</p> +<p>“I did not know that you had been an actor,” she answered.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t really,” explained Mr. Folk. “I +just walked and talked naturally. It made rather a sensation at +the time. Your mother was a genius. You have never thought +of going on the stage yourself?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Joan. “I don’t think I’ve +got what you call the artistic temperament. I have never felt +drawn towards anything of that sort.”</p> +<p>“I wonder,” he said. “You could hardly be +your mother’s daughter without it.”</p> +<p>“Tell me,” said Joan. “What was my mother +like? I can only remember her as more or less of an invalid.”</p> +<p>He did not reply to her question. “Master or Mistress +Eminent Artist,” he said; “intends to retire from his or +her particular stage, whatever it may be. That paragraph ought +always to be put among the obituary notices.”</p> +<p>“What’s your line?” he asked her. “I +take it you have one by your being here. Besides, I am sure you +have. I am an old fighter. I can tell the young soldier. +What’s your regiment?”</p> +<p>Joan laughed. “I’m a drummer boy,” she answered. +“I beat my drum each week in a Sunday newspaper, hoping the lads +will follow.”</p> +<p>“You feel you must beat that drum,” he suggested. +“Beat it louder and louder and louder till all the world shall +hear it.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Joan agreed, “I think that does describe +me.”</p> +<p>He nodded. “I thought you were an artist,” he said. +“Don’t let them ever take your drum away from you. +You’ll go to pieces and get into mischief without it.”</p> +<p>“I know an old actress,” he continued. “She’s +the mother of four. They are all on the stage and they’ve +all made their mark. The youngest was born in her dressing-room, +just after the curtain had fallen. She was playing the Nurse to +your mother’s Juliet. She is still the best Nurse that I +know. ‘Jack’s always worrying me to chuck it and devote +myself to the children,’ she confided to me one evening, while +she was waiting for her cue. ‘But, as I tell him, I’m +more helpful to them being with them half the day alive than all the +day dead.’ That’s an anecdote worth remembering, when +your time comes. If God gives woman a drum he doesn’t mean +man to take it away from her. She hasn’t got to be playing +it for twenty-four hours a day. I’d like you to have seen +your mother’s Cordelia.”</p> +<p>Flossie was tacking her way towards them. Joan acted on impulse. +“I wish you’d give me your address,” she said “where +I could write to you. Or perhaps you would not mind my coming +and seeing you one day. I would like you to tell me more about +my mother.”</p> +<p>He gave her his address in Paris where he was returning almost immediately.</p> +<p>“Do come,” he said. “It will take me back +thirty-three years. I proposed to your mother on La Grande Terrasse +at St. Germain. We will walk there. I’m still a bachelor.” +He laughed, and, kissing her hand, allowed himself to be hauled away +by Flossie, in exchange for Mrs. Phillips, for whom Miss Lavery had +insisted on an invitation.</p> +<p>Joan had met Mrs. Phillips several times; and once, on the stairs, +had stopped and spoken to her; but had never been introduced to her +formally till now.</p> +<p>“We have been meaning to call on you so often,” panted +Mrs. Phillips. The room was crowded and the exertion of squeezing +her way through had winded the poor lady. “We take so much +interest in your articles. My husband—” she paused +for a second, before venturing upon the word, and the aitch came out +somewhat over-aspirated—“reads them most religiously. +You must come and dine with us one evening.”</p> +<p>Joan answered that she would be very pleased.</p> +<p>“I will find out when Robert is free and run up and let you +know,” she continued. “Of course, there are so many +demands upon him, especially during this period of national crisis, +that I spare him all the social duties that I can. But I shall +insist on his making an exception in your case.”</p> +<p>Joan murmured her sense of favour, but hoped she would not be allowed +to interfere with more pressing calls upon Mr. Phillips’s time.</p> +<p>“It will do him good,” answered Mrs. Phillips; “getting +away from them all for an hour or two. I don’t see much +of him myself.”</p> +<p>She glanced round and lowered her voice. “They tell me,” +she said, “that you’re a B.A.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Joan. “One goes in for it +more out of vanity, I’m afraid, than for any real purpose that +it serves.”</p> +<p>“I took one or two prizes myself,” said Mrs. Phillips. +“But, of course, one forgets things. I was wondering if +you would mind if I ran up occasionally to ask you a question. +Of course, as you know, my ’usband ’as ’ad so few +advantages”—the lady’s mind was concerned with more +important matters, and the aspirates, on this occasion, got themselves +neglected—“It is wonderful what he ’as done without +them. But if, now and then, I could ’elp him—”</p> +<p>There was something about the poor, foolish painted face, as it looked +up pleadingly, that gave it a momentary touch of beauty.</p> +<p>“Do,” said Joan, speaking earnestly. “I shall +be so very pleased if you will.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said the woman. Miss Lavery came up +in a hurry to introduce her to Miss Tolley. “I am telling +all my friends to read your articles,” she added, resuming the +gracious patroness, as she bowed her adieus.</p> +<p>Joan was alone again for a while. A handsome girl, with her +hair cut short and parted at the side, was discussing diseases of the +spine with a curly-headed young man in a velvet suit. The gentleman +was describing some of the effects in detail. Joan felt there +was danger of her being taken ill if she listened any longer; and seeing +Madge’s brother near the door, and unoccupied, she made her way +across to him.</p> +<p>Niel Singleton, or Keeley, as he called himself upon the stage, was +quite unlike his sister. He was short and plump, with a preternaturally +solemn face, contradicted by small twinkling eyes. He motioned +Joan to a chair and told her to keep quiet and not disturb the meeting.</p> +<p>“Is he brainy?” he whispered after a minute.</p> +<p>“I like him,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“I didn’t ask you if you liked him,” he explained +to her. “I asked you if he was brainy. I’m not +too sure that you like brainy men.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” said Joan. “I like you, sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Now, none of that,” he said severely. “It’s +no good your thinking of me. I’m wedded to my art. +We are talking about Mr. Halliday.”</p> +<p>“What does Madge think of him?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“Madge has fallen in love with him, and her judgment is not +to be relied upon,” he said. “I suppose you couldn’t +answer a straight question, if you tried.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be so harsh with me,” pleaded Joan meekly. +“I’m trying to think. Yes,” she continued, “decidedly +he’s got brains.”</p> +<p>“Enough for the two of them?” demanded Mr. Singleton. +“Because he will want them. Now think before you speak.”</p> +<p>Joan considered. “Yes,” she answered. “I +should say he’s just the man to manage her.”</p> +<p>“Then it’s settled,” he said. “We must +save her.”</p> +<p>“Save her from what?” demanded Joan.</p> +<p>“From his saying to himself: ‘This is Flossie’s +idea of a party. This is the sort of thing that, if I marry her, +I am letting myself in for.’ If he hasn’t broken off +the engagement already, we may be in time.”</p> +<p>He led the way to the piano. “Tell Madge I want her,” +he whispered. He struck a few notes; and then in a voice that +drowned every other sound in the room, struck up a comic song.</p> +<p>The effect was magical.</p> +<p>He followed it up with another. This one with a chorus, consisting +chiefly of “Umpty Umpty Umpty Umpty Ay,” which was vociferously +encored.</p> +<p>By the time it was done with, Madge had discovered a girl who could +sing “Three Little Pigs;” and a sad, pale-faced gentleman +who told stories. At the end of one of them Madge’s brother +spoke to Joan in a tone more of sorrow than of anger.</p> +<p>“Hardly the sort of anecdote that a truly noble and high-minded +young woman would have received with laughter,” he commented.</p> +<p>“Did I laugh?” said Joan.</p> +<p>“Your having done so unconsciously only makes the matter worse,” +observed Mr. Singleton. “I had hoped it emanated from politeness, +not enjoyment.”</p> +<p>“Don’t tease her,” said Madge. “She’s +having an evening off.”</p> +<p>Joan and the Singletons were the last to go. They promised +to show Mr. Halliday a short cut to his hotel in Holborn.</p> +<p>“Have you thanked Miss Lessing for a pleasant evening?” +asked Mr. Singleton, turning to Mr. Halliday.</p> +<p>He laughed and put his arm round her. “Poor little woman,” +he said. “You’re looking so tired. It was jolly +at the end.” He kissed her.</p> +<p>He had passed through the swing doors; and they were standing on +the pavement waiting for Joan’s bus.</p> +<p>“Why did we all like him?” asked Joan. “Even +Miss Lavery. There’s nothing extraordinary about him.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes there is,” said Madge. “Love has +lent him gilded armour. From his helmet waves her crest,” +she quoted. “Most men look fine in that costume. Pity +they can’t always wear it.”</p> +<p>The conductor seemed impatient. Joan sprang upon the step and +waved her hand.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>Joan was making herself a cup of tea when there came a tap at the +door. It was Mrs. Phillips.</p> +<p>“I heard you come in,” she said. “You’re +not busy, are you?”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Joan. “I hope you’re +not. I’m generally in about this time; and it’s always +nice to gossip over a dish of tea.”</p> +<p>“Why do you say ‘dish’ of tea!” asked Mrs. +Phillips, as she lowered herself with evident satisfaction into the +easy chair Joan placed for her.</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” laughed Joan. “Dr. +Johnson always talked of a ‘dish’ of tea. Gives it +a literary flavour.”</p> +<p>“I’ve heard of him,” said Mrs. Phillips. +“He’s worth reading, isn’t he?”</p> +<p>“Well, he talked more amusingly than he wrote,” explained +Joan. “Get Boswell’s Life of him. Or I’ll +lend you mine,” she added, “if you’ll be careful of +it. You’ll find all the passages marked that are best worth +remembering. At least, I think so.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” said Mrs. Phillips. “You see, as +the wife of a public man, I get so little time for study.”</p> +<p>“Is it settled yet?” asked Joan. “Are they +going to make room for him in the Cabinet?</p> +<p>“I’m afraid so,” answered Mrs. Phillips. +“Oh, of course, I want him to,” she corrected herself. +“And he must, of course, if the King insists upon it. But +I wish it hadn’t all come with such a whirl. What shall +I have to do, do you think?”</p> +<p>Joan was pouring out the tea. “Oh, nothing,” she +answered, “but just be agreeable to the right people. He’ll +tell you who they are. And take care of him.”</p> +<p>“I wish I’d taken more interest in politics when I was +young,” said Mrs. Phillips. “Of course, when I was +a girl, women weren’t supposed to.”</p> +<p>“Do you know, I shouldn’t worry about them, if I were +you,” Joan advised her. “Let him forget them when +he’s with you. A man can have too much of a good thing,” +she laughed.</p> +<p>“I wonder if you’re right,” mused Mrs. Phillips. +“He does often say that he’d just as soon I didn’t +talk about them.”</p> +<p>Joan shot a glance from over her cup. The poor puzzled face +was staring into the fire. Joan could almost hear him saying it.</p> +<p>“I’m sure I am,” she said. “Make home-coming +a change to him. As you said yourself the other evening. +It’s good for him to get away from it all, now and then.”</p> +<p>“I must try,” agreed Mrs. Phillips, looking up. +“What sort of things ought I to talk to him about, do you think?”</p> +<p>Joan gave an inward sigh. Hadn’t the poor lady any friends +of her own. “Oh, almost anything,” she answered vaguely: +“so long as it’s cheerful and non-political. What +used you to talk about before he became a great man?”</p> +<p>There came a wistful look into the worried eyes. “Oh, +it was all so different then,” she said. “’E +just liked to—you know. We didn’t seem to ’ave +to talk. ’E was a rare one to tease. I didn’t +know ’ow clever ’e was, then.”</p> +<p>It seemed a difficult case to advise upon. “How long +have you been married?” Joan asked.</p> +<p>“Fifteen years,” she answered. “I was a bit +older than ’im. But I’ve never looked my age, they +tell me. Lord, what a boy ’e was! Swept you off your +feet, like. ’E wasn’t the only one. I’d +got a way with me, I suppose. Anyhow, the men seemed to think +so. There was always a few ’anging about. Like flies +round a ’oney-pot, Mother used to say.” She giggled. +“But ’e wouldn’t take No for an answer. And +I didn’t want to give it ’im, neither. I was gone +on ’im, right enough. No use saying I wasn’t.”</p> +<p>“You must be glad you didn’t say No,” suggested +Joan.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered, “’E’s got on. +I always think of that little poem, ‘Lord Burleigh,’” +she continued; “whenever I get worrying about myself. Ever +read it?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Joan. “He was a landscape +painter, wasn’t he?”</p> +<p>“That’s the one,” said Mrs. Phillips. “I +little thought I was letting myself in for being the wife of a big pot +when Bob Phillips came along in ’is miner’s jacket.”</p> +<p>“You’ll soon get used to it,” Joan told her. +“The great thing is not to be afraid of one’s fate, whatever +it is; but just to do one’s best.” It was rather like +talking to a child.</p> +<p>“You’re the right sort to put ’eart into a body. +I’m glad I came up,” said Mrs. Phillips. “I +get a bit down in the mouth sometimes when ’e goes off into one +of ’is brown studies, and I don’t seem to know what ’e’s +thinking about. But it don’t last long. I was always +one of the light-’earted ones.”</p> +<p>They discussed life on two thousand a year; the problems it would +present; and Mrs. Phillips became more cheerful. Joan laid herself +out to be friendly. She hoped to establish an influence over Mrs. +Phillips that should be for the poor lady’s good; and, as she +felt instinctively, for poor Phillips’s also. It was not +an unpleasing face. Underneath the paint, it was kind and womanly. +Joan was sure he would like it better clean. A few months’ +attention to diet would make a decent figure of her and improve her +wind. Joan watched her spreading the butter a quarter of an inch +thick upon her toast and restrained with difficulty the impulse to take +it away from her. And her clothes! Joan had seen guys carried +through the streets on the fifth of November that were less obtrusive.</p> +<p>She remembered, as she was taking her leave, what she had come for: +which was to invite Joan to dinner on the following Friday.</p> +<p>“It’s just a homely affair,” she explained. +She had recovered her form and was now quite the lady again. “Two +other guests beside yourself: a Mr. Airlie—I am sure you will +like him. He’s so dilletanty—and Mr. McKean. +He’s the young man upstairs. Have you met him?”</p> +<p>Joan hadn’t: except once on the stairs when, to avoid having +to pass her, he had gone down again and out into the street. From +the doorstep she had caught sight of his disappearing coat-tails round +the corner. Yielding to impishness, she had run after him, and +his expression of blank horror when, glancing over his shoulder, he +found her walking abstractedly three yards behind him, had gladdened +all her evening.</p> +<p>Joan recounted the episode—so far as the doorstep.</p> +<p>“He tried to be shy with me,” said Mrs. Phillips, “but +I wouldn’t let him. I chipped him out of it. If he’s +going to write plays, as I told him, he will have to get over his fear +of a petticoat.”</p> +<p>She offered her cheek, and Joan kissed it, somewhat gingerly.</p> +<p>“You won’t mind Robert not wearing evening dress,” +she said. “He never will if he can help it. I shall +just slip on a semi-toilette myself.”</p> +<p>Joan had difficulty in deciding on her own frock. Her four +evening dresses, as she walked round them, spread out upon the bed, +all looked too imposing, for what Mrs. Phillips had warned her would +be a “homely affair.” She had one other, a greyish-fawn, +with sleeves to the elbow, that she had had made expressly for public +dinners and political At Homes. But that would be going to the +opposite extreme, and might seem discourteous—to her hostess. +Besides, “mousey” colours didn’t really suit her. +They gave her a curious sense of being affected. In the end she +decided to risk a black crêpe-de-chine, square cut, with a girdle +of gold embroidery. There couldn’t be anything quieter than +black, and the gold embroidery was of the simplest. She would +wear it without any jewellery whatever: except just a star in her hair. +The result, as she viewed the effect in the long glass, quite satisfied +her. Perhaps the jewelled star did scintillate rather. It +had belonged to her mother. But her hair was so full of shadows: +it wanted something to relieve it. Also she approved the curved +line of her bare arms. It was certainly very beautiful, a woman’s +arm. She took her gloves in her hand and went down.</p> +<p>Mr. Phillips was not yet in the room. Mrs. Phillips, in apple-green +with an ostrich feather in her hair, greeted her effusively, and introduced +her to her fellow guests. Mr. Airlie was a slight, elegant gentleman +of uncertain age, with sandy hair and beard cut Vandyke fashion. +He asked Joan’s permission to continue his cigarette.</p> +<p>“You have chosen the better part,” he informed her, on +her granting it. “When I’m not smoking, I’m +talking.”</p> +<p>Mr. McKean shook her hand vigorously without looking at her.</p> +<p>“And this is Hilda,” concluded Mrs. Phillips. “She +ought to be in bed if she hadn’t a naughty Daddy who spoils her.”</p> +<p>A lank, black-haired girl, with a pair of burning eyes looking out +of a face that, but for the thin line of the lips, would have been absolutely +colourless, rose suddenly from behind a bowl of artificial flowers. +Joan could not suppress a slight start; she had not noticed her on entering. +The girl came slowly forward, and Joan felt as if the uncanny eyes were +eating her up. She made an effort and held out her hand with a +smile, and the girl’s long thin fingers closed on it in a pressure +that hurt. She did not speak.</p> +<p>“She only came back yesterday for the half-term,” explained +Mrs. Phillips. “There’s no keeping her away from her +books. ’Twas her own wish to be sent to boarding-school. +How would you like to go to Girton and be a B.A. like Miss Allway?” +she asked, turning to the child.</p> +<p>Phillips’s entrance saved the need of a reply. To the +evident surprise of his wife he was in evening clothes.</p> +<p>“Hulloa. You’ve got ’em on,” she said.</p> +<p>He laughed. “I shall have to get used to them sooner +or later,” he said.</p> +<p>Joan felt relieved—she hardly knew why—that he bore the +test. It was a well-built, athletic frame, and he had gone to +a good tailor. He looked taller in them; and the strong, clean-shaven +face less rugged.</p> +<p>Joan sat next to him at the round dinner-table with the child the +other side of him. She noticed that he ate as far as possible +with his right hand—his hands were large, but smooth and well +shaped—his left remaining under the cloth, beneath which the child’s +right hand, when free, would likewise disappear. For a while the +conversation consisted chiefly of anecdotes by Mr. Airlie. There +were few public men and women about whom he did not know something to +their disadvantage. Joan, listening, found herself repeating the +experience of a night or two previous, when, during a performance of +<i>Hamlet</i>, Niel Singleton, who was playing the grave-digger, had +taken her behind the scenes. Hamlet, the King of Denmark and the +Ghost were sharing a bottle of champagne in the Ghost’s dressing-room: +it happened to be the Ghost’s birthday. On her return to +the front of the house, her interest in the play was gone. It +was absurd that it should be so; but the fact remained.</p> +<p>Mr. Airlie had lunched the day before with a leonine old gentleman +who every Sunday morning thundered forth Social Democracy to enthusiastic +multitudes on Tower Hill. Joan had once listened to him and had +almost been converted: he was so tremendously in earnest. She +now learnt that he lived in Curzon Street, Mayfair, and filled, in private +life, the perfectly legitimate calling of a company promoter in partnership +with a Dutch Jew. His latest prospectus dwelt upon the profits +to be derived from an amalgamation of the leading tanning industries: +by means of which the price of leather could be enormously increased.</p> +<p>It was utterly illogical; but her interest in the principles of Social +Democracy was gone.</p> +<p>A very little while ago, Mr. Airlie, in his capacity of second cousin +to one of the ladies concerned, a charming girl but impulsive, had been +called upon to attend a family council of a painful nature. The +gentleman’s name took Joan’s breath away: it was the name +of one of her heroes, an eminent writer: one might almost say prophet. +She had hitherto read his books with grateful reverence. They +pictured for her the world made perfect; and explained to her just precisely +how it was to be accomplished. But, as far as his own particular +corner of it was concerned, he seemed to have made a sad mess of it. +Human nature of quite an old-fashioned pattern had crept in and spoilt +all his own theories.</p> +<p>Of course it was unreasonable. The sign-post may remain embedded +in weeds: it notwithstanding points the way to the fair city. +She told herself this, but it left her still short-tempered. She +didn’t care which way it pointed. She didn’t believe +there was any fair city.</p> +<p>There was a famous preacher. He lived the simple life in a +small house in Battersea, and consecrated all his energies to the service +of the poor. Almost, by his unselfish zeal, he had persuaded Joan +of the usefulness of the church. Mr. Airlie frequently visited +him. They interested one another. What struck Mr. Airlie +most was the self-sacrificing devotion with which the reverend gentleman’s +wife and family surrounded him. It was beautiful to see. +The calls upon his moderate purse, necessitated by his wide-spread and +much paragraphed activities, left but a narrow margin for domestic expenses: +with the result that often the only fire in the house blazed brightly +in the study where Mr. Airlie and the reverend gentleman sat talking: +while mother and children warmed themselves with sense of duty in the +cheerless kitchen. And often, as Mr. Airlie, who was of an inquiring +turn of mind, had convinced himself, the only evening meal that resources +would permit was the satisfying supper for one brought by the youngest +daughter to her father where he sat alone in the small dining-room.</p> +<p>Mr. Airlie, picking daintily at his food, continued his stories: +of philanthropists who paid starvation wages: of feminists who were +a holy terror to their women folk: of socialists who travelled first-class +and spent their winters in Egypt or Monaco: of stern critics of public +morals who preferred the society of youthful affinities to the continued +company of elderly wives: of poets who wrote divinely about babies’ +feet and whose children hated them.</p> +<p>“Do you think it’s all true?” Joan whispered to +her host.</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. “No reason why it shouldn’t +be,” he said. “I’ve generally found him right.”</p> +<p>“I’ve never been able myself,” he continued, “to +understand the Lord’s enthusiasm for David. I suppose it +was the Psalms that did it.”</p> +<p>Joan was about to offer comment, but was struck dumb with astonishment +on hearing McKean’s voice: it seemed he could talk. He was +telling of an old Scotch peasant farmer. A mean, cantankerous +old cuss whose curious pride it was that he had never given anything +away. Not a crust, nor a sixpence, nor a rag; and never would. +Many had been the attempts to make him break his boast: some for the +joke of the thing and some for the need; but none had ever succeeded. +It was his one claim to distinction and he guarded it.</p> +<p>One evening it struck him that the milk-pail, standing just inside +the window, had been tampered with. Next day he marked with a +scratch the inside of the pan and, returning later, found the level +of the milk had sunk half an inch. So he hid himself and waited; +and at twilight the next day the window was stealthily pushed open, +and two small, terror-haunted eyes peered round the room. They +satisfied themselves that no one was about and a tiny hand clutching +a cracked jug was thrust swiftly in and dipped into the pan; and the +window softly closed.</p> +<p>He knew the thief, the grandchild of an old bedridden dame who lived +some miles away on the edge of the moor. The old man stood long, +watching the small cloaked figure till it was lost in the darkness. +It was not till he lay upon his dying bed that he confessed it. +But each evening, from that day, he would steal into the room and see +to it himself that the window was left ajar.</p> +<p>After the coffee, Mrs. Phillips proposed their adjourning to the +“drawing-room” the other side of the folding doors, which +had been left open. Phillips asked her to leave Joan and himself +where they were. He wanted to talk to her. He promised not +to bore her for more than ten minutes.</p> +<p>The others rose and moved away. Hilda came and stood before +Joan with her hands behind her.</p> +<p>“I am going to bed now,” she said. “I wanted +to see you from what Papa told me. May I kiss you?”</p> +<p>It was spoken so gravely that Joan did not ask her, as in lighter +mood she might have done, what it was that Phillips had said. +She raised her face quietly, and the child bent forward and kissed her, +and went out without looking back at either of them, leaving Joan more +serious than there seemed any reason for. Phillips filled his +pipe and lighted it.</p> +<p>“I wish I had your pen,” he said, suddenly breaking the +silence. “I’m all right at talking; but I want to +get at the others: the men and women who never come, thinking it has +nothing to do with them. I’m shy and awkward when I try +to write. There seems a barrier in front of me. You break +through it. One hears your voice. Tell me,” he said, +“are you getting your way? Do they answer you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Joan. “Not any great number of +them, not yet. But enough to show that I really am interesting +them. It grows every week.”</p> +<p>“Tell them that,” he said. “Let them hear +each other. It’s the same at a meeting. You wait ten +minutes sometimes before one man will summon up courage to put a question; +but once one or two have ventured they spring up all round you. +I was wondering,” he added, “if you would help me; let me +use you, now and again.”</p> +<p>“It is what I should love,” she answered. “Tell +me what to do.” She was not conscious of the low, vibrating +tone in which she spoke.</p> +<p>“I want to talk to them,” he said, “about their +stomachs. I want them to see the need of concentrating upon the +food problem: insisting that it shall be solved. The other things +can follow.”</p> +<p>“There was an old Egyptian chap,” he said, “a governor +of one of their provinces, thousands of years before the Pharaohs were +ever heard of. They dug up his tomb a little while ago. +It bore this inscription: ‘In my time no man went hungry.’ +I’d rather have that carved upon my gravestone than the boastings +of all the robbers and the butchers of history. Think what it +must have meant in that land of drought and famine: only a narrow strip +of river bank where a grain of corn would grow; and that only when old +Nile was kind. If not, your nearest supplies five hundred miles +away across the desert, your only means of transport the slow-moving +camel. Your convoy must be guarded against attack, provided with +provisions and water for a two months’ journey. Yet he never +failed his people. Fat year and lean year: ‘In my time no +man went hungry.’ And here, to-day, with our steamships +and our railways, with the granaries of the world filled to overflowing, +one third of our population lives on the border line of want. +In India they die by the roadside. What’s the good of it +all: your science and your art and your religion! How can you +help men’s souls if their bodies are starving? A hungry +man’s a hungry beast.</p> +<p>“I spent a week at Grimsby, some years ago, organizing a fisherman’s +union. They used to throw the fish back into the sea, tons upon +tons of it, that men had risked their lives to catch, that would have +fed half London’s poor. There was a ‘glut’ of +it, they said. The ‘market’ didn’t want it. +Funny, isn’t it, a ‘glut’ of food: and the kiddies +can’t learn their lessons for want of it. I was talking +with a farmer down in Kent. The plums were rotting on his trees. +There were too many of them: that was the trouble. The railway +carriage alone would cost him more than he could get for them. +They were too cheap. So nobody could have them. It’s +the muddle of the thing that makes me mad—the ghastly muddle-headed +way the chief business of the world is managed. There’s +enough food could be grown in this country to feed all the people and +then of the fragments each man might gather his ten basketsful. +There’s no miracle needed. I went into the matter once with +Dalroy of the Board of Agriculture. He’s the best man they’ve +got, if they’d only listen to him. It’s never been +organized: that’s all. It isn’t the fault of the individual. +It ought not to be left to the individual. The man who makes a +corner in wheat in Chicago and condemns millions to privation—likely +enough, he’s a decent sort of fellow in himself: a kind husband +and father—would be upset for the day if he saw a child crying +for bread. My dog’s a decent enough little chap, as dogs +go, but I don’t let him run my larder.</p> +<p>“It could be done with a little good will all round,” +he continued, “and nine men out of every ten would be the better +off. But they won’t even let you explain. Their newspapers +shout you down. It’s such a damned fine world for the few: +never mind the many. My father was a farm labourer: and all his +life he never earned more than thirteen and sixpence a week. I +left when I was twelve and went into the mines. There were six +of us children; and my mother brought us up healthy and decent. +She fed us and clothed us and sent us to school; and when she died we +buried her with the money she had put by for the purpose; and never +a penny of charity had ever soiled her hands. I can see them now. +Talk of your Chancellors of the Exchequer and their problems! +She worked herself to death, of course. Well, that’s all +right. One doesn’t mind that where one loves. If they +would only let you. She had no opposition to contend with—no +thwarting and hampering at every turn—the very people you are +working for hounded on against you. The difficulty of a man like +myself, who wants to do something, who could do something, is that for +the best part of his life he is fighting to be allowed to do it. +By the time I’ve lived down their lies and got my chance, my energy +will be gone.”</p> +<p>He knocked the ashes from his pipe and relit it.</p> +<p>“I’ve no quarrel with the rich,” he said. +“I don’t care how many rich men there are, so long as there +are no poor. Who does? I was riding on a bus the other day, +and there was a man beside me with a bandaged head. He’d +been hurt in that railway smash at Morpeth. He hadn’t claimed +damages from the railway company and wasn’t going to. ‘Oh, +it’s only a few scratches,’ he said. ‘They’ll +be hit hard enough as it is.’ If he’d been a poor +devil on eighteen shillings a week it would have been different. +He was an engineer earning good wages; so he wasn’t feeling sore +and bitter against half the world. Suppose you tried to run an +army with your men half starved while your officers had more than they +could eat. It’s been tried and what’s been the result? +See that your soldiers have their proper rations, and the General can +sit down to his six-course dinner, if he will. They are not begrudging +it to him.</p> +<p>“A nation works on its stomach. Underfeed your rank and +file, and what sort of a fight are you going to put up against your +rivals. I want to see England going ahead. I want to see +her workers properly fed. I want to see the corn upon her unused +acres, the cattle grazing on her wasted pastures. I object to +the food being thrown into the sea—left to rot upon the ground +while men are hungry—side-tracked in Chicago, while the children +grow up stunted. I want the commissariat properly organized.”</p> +<p>He had been staring through her rather than at her, so it had seemed +to Joan. Suddenly their eyes met, and he broke into a smile.</p> +<p>“I’m so awfully sorry,” he said. “I’ve +been talking to you as if you were a public meeting. I’m +afraid I’m more used to them than I am to women. Please +forgive me.”</p> +<p>The whole man had changed. The eyes had a timid pleading in +them.</p> +<p>Joan laughed. “I’ve been feeling as if I were the +King of Bavaria,” she said.</p> +<p>“How did he feel?” he asked her, leaning forward.</p> +<p>“He had his own private theatre,” Joan explained, “where +Wagner gave his operas. And the King was the sole audience.”</p> +<p>“I should have hated that,” he said, “if I had +been Wagner.”</p> +<p>He looked at her, and a flush passed over his boyish face.</p> +<p>“All right,” he said, “if it had been a queen.”</p> +<p>Joan found herself tracing patterns with her spoon upon the tablecloth. +“But you have won now,” she said, still absorbed apparently +with her drawing, “you are going to get your chance.”</p> +<p>He gave a short laugh. “A trick,” he said, “to +weaken me. They think to shave my locks; show me to the people +bound by their red tape. To put it another way, a rat among the +terriers.”</p> +<p>Joan laughed. “You don’t somehow suggest the rat,” +she said: “rather another sort of beast.”</p> +<p>“What do you advise me?” he asked. “I haven’t +decided yet.”</p> +<p>They were speaking in whispered tones. Through the open doors +they could see into the other room. Mrs. Phillips, under Airlie’s +instructions, was venturing upon a cigarette.</p> +<p>“To accept,” she answered. “They won’t +influence you—the terriers, as you call them. You are too +strong. It is you who will sway them. It isn’t as +if you were a mere agitator. Take this opportunity of showing +them that you can build, plan, organize; that you were meant to be a +ruler. You can’t succeed without them, as things are. +You’ve got to win them over. Prove to them that they can +trust you.”</p> +<p>He sat for a minute tattooing with his fingers on the table, before +speaking.</p> +<p>“It’s the frills and flummery part of it that frightens +me,” he said. “You wouldn’t think that sensitiveness +was my weak point. But it is. I’ve stood up to a Birmingham +mob that was waiting to lynch me and enjoyed the experience; but I’d +run ten miles rather than face a drawing-room of well-dressed people +with their masked faces and ironic courtesies. It leaves me for +days feeling like a lobster that has lost its shell.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t say it, if I didn’t mean it,” +answered Joan; “but you haven’t got to trouble yourself +about that . . . You’re quite passable.” She smiled. +It seemed to her that most women would find him more than passable.</p> +<p>He shook his head. “With you,” he said. “There’s +something about you that makes one ashamed of worrying about the little +things. But the others: the sneering women and the men who wink +over their shoulder while they talk to you, I shall never be able to +get away from them, and, of course, wherever I go—”</p> +<p>He stopped abruptly with a sudden tightening of the lips. Joan +followed his eyes. Mrs. Phillips had swallowed the smoke and was +giggling and spluttering by turns. The yellow ostrich feather +had worked itself loose and was rocking to and fro as if in a fit of +laughter of its own.</p> +<p>He pushed back his chair and rose. “Shall we join the +others?” he said.</p> +<p>He moved so that he was between her and the other room, his back +to the open doors. “You think I ought to?” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered firmly, as if she were giving a command. +But he read pity also in her eyes.</p> +<p>“Well, have you two settled the affairs of the kingdom? +Is it all decided?” asked Airlie.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, laughing. “We are going +to say to the people, ‘Eat, drink and be wise.’”</p> +<p>He rearranged his wife’s feather and smoothed her tumbled hair. +She looked up at him and smiled.</p> +<p>Joan set herself to make McKean talk, and after a time succeeded. +They had a mutual friend, a raw-boned youth she had met at Cambridge. +He was engaged to McKean’s sister. His eyes lighted up when +he spoke of his sister Jenny. The Little Mother, he called her.</p> +<p>“She’s the most beautiful body in all the world,” +he said. “Though merely seeing her you mightn’t know +it.”</p> +<p>He saw her “home”; and went on up the stairs to his own +floor.</p> +<p>Joan stood for a while in front of the glass before undressing; but +felt less satisfied with herself. She replaced the star in its +case, and took off the regal-looking dress with the golden girdle and +laid it carelessly aside. She seemed to be growing smaller.</p> +<p>In her white night dress, with her hair in two long plaits, she looked +at herself once more. She seemed to be no one of any importance +at all: just a long little girl going to bed. With no one to kiss +her good night.</p> +<p>She blew out the candle and climbed into the big bed, feeling very +lonesome as she used to when a child. It had not troubled her +until to-night. Suddenly she sat up again. She needn’t +be back in London before Tuesday evening, and to-day was only Friday. +She would run down home and burst in upon her father. He would +be so pleased to see her.</p> +<p>She would make him put his arms around her.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>She reached home in the evening. She thought to find her father +in his study. But they told her that, now, he usually sat alone +in the great drawing-room. She opened the door softly. The +room was dark save for a flicker of firelight; she could see nothing. +Nor was there any sound.</p> +<p>“Dad,” she cried, “are you here?”</p> +<p>He rose slowly from a high-backed chair beside the fire.</p> +<p>“It is you,” he said. He seemed a little dazed.</p> +<p>She ran to him and, seizing his listless arms, put them round her.</p> +<p>“Give me a hug, Dad,” she commanded. “A real +hug.”</p> +<p>He held her to him for what seemed a long while. There was +strength in his arms, in spite of the bowed shoulders and white hair.</p> +<p>“I was afraid you had forgotten how to do it,” she laughed, +when at last he released her. “Do you know, you haven’t +hugged me, Dad, since I was five years old. That’s nineteen +years ago. You do love me, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “I have always loved +you.”</p> +<p>She would not let him light the gas. “I have dined—in +the train,” she explained. “Let us talk by the firelight.”</p> +<p>She forced him gently back into his chair, and seated herself upon +the floor between his knees. “What were you thinking of +when I came in?” she asked. “You weren’t asleep, +were you?”</p> +<p>“No,” he answered. “Not that sort of sleep.” +She could not see his face. But she guessed his meaning.</p> +<p>“Am I very like her?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “Marvellously like her +as she used to be: except for just one thing. Perhaps that will +come to you later. I thought, for the moment, as you stood there +by the door . . . ” He did not finish the sentence.</p> +<p>“Tell me about her,” she said. “I never knew +she had been an actress.”</p> +<p>He did not ask her how she had learnt it. “She gave it +up when we were married,” he said. “The people she +would have to live among would have looked askance at her if they had +known. There seemed no reason why they should.”</p> +<p>“How did it all happen?” she persisted. “Was +it very beautiful, in the beginning?” She wished she had +not added that last. The words had slipped from her before she +knew.</p> +<p>“Very beautiful,” he answered, “in the beginning.”</p> +<p>“It was my fault,” he went on, “that it was not +beautiful all through. I ought to have let her take up her work +again, as she wished to, when she found what giving it up meant to her. +The world was narrower then than it is now; and I listened to the world. +I thought it another voice.”</p> +<p>“It’s difficult to tell, isn’t it?” she said. +“I wonder how one can?”</p> +<p>He did not answer; and they sat for a time in silence.</p> +<p>“Did you ever see her act?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“Every evening for about six months,” he answered. +A little flame shot up and showed a smile upon his face.</p> +<p>“I owe to her all the charity and tenderness I know. +She taught it to me in those months. I might have learned more +if I had let her go on teaching. It was the only way she knew.”</p> +<p>Joan watched her as gradually she shaped herself out of the shadows: +the poor, thin, fretful lady of the ever restless hands, with her bursts +of jealous passion, her long moods of sullen indifference: all her music +turned to waste.</p> +<p>“How did she come to fall in love with you?” asked Joan. +“I don’t mean to be uncomplimentary, Dad.” She +laughed, taking his hand in hers and stroking it. “You must +have been ridiculously handsome, when you were young. And you +must always have been strong and brave and clever. I can see such +a lot of women falling in love with you. But not the artistic +woman.”</p> +<p>“It wasn’t so incongruous at the time,” he answered. +“My father had sent me out to America to superintend a contract. +It was the first time I had ever been away from home, though I was nearly +thirty; and all my pent-up youth rushed out of me at once. It +was a harum-scarum fellow, mad with the joy of life, that made love +to her; not the man who went out, nor the man who came back. It +was at San Francisco that I met her. She was touring the Western +States; and I let everything go to the wind and followed her. +It seemed to me that Heaven had opened up to me. I fought a duel +in Colorado with a man who had insulted her. The law didn’t +run there in those days; and three of his hired gunmen, as they called +them, held us up that night in the train and gave her the alternative +of going back with them and kissing him or seeing me dead at her feet. +I didn’t give her time to answer, nor for them to finish. +It seemed a fine death anyhow, that. And I’d have faced +Hell itself for the chance of fighting for her. Though she told +me afterwards that if I’d died she’d have gone back with +them, and killed him.”</p> +<p>Joan did not speak for a time. She could see him grave—a +little pompous, in his Sunday black, his footsteps creaking down the +stone-flagged aisle, the silver-edged collecting bag held stiffly in +his hand.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you have saved a bit, Daddy?” she asked, +“of all that wealth of youth—just enough to live on?”</p> +<p>“I might,” he answered, “if I had known the value +of it. I found a cable waiting for me in New York. My father +had been dead a month; and I had to return immediately.”</p> +<p>“And so you married her and took her drum away from her,” +said Joan. “Oh, the thing God gives to some of us,” +she explained, “to make a little noise with, and set the people +marching.”</p> +<p>The little flame died out. She could feel his body trembling.</p> +<p>“But you still loved her, didn’t you, Dad?” she +asked. “I was very little at the time, but I can just remember. +You seemed so happy together. Till her illness came.”</p> +<p>“It was more than love,” he answered. “It +was idolatry. God punished me for it. He was a hard God, +my God.”</p> +<p>She raised herself, putting her hands upon his shoulders so that +her face was very close to his. “What has become of Him, +Dad?” she said. She spoke in a cold voice, as one does of +a false friend.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” he answered her. “I don’t +seem to care.”</p> +<p>“He must be somewhere,” she said: “the living God +of love and hope: the God that Christ believed in.”</p> +<p>“They were His last words, too,” he answered: “‘My +God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?’”</p> +<p>“No, not His last,” said Joan: “‘Lo, I am +with you always, even unto the end of the world.’ Love was +Christ’s God. He will help us to find Him.”</p> +<p>Their arms were about one another. Joan felt that a new need +had been born in her: the need of loving and of being loved. It +was good to lay her head upon his breast and know that he was glad of +her coming.</p> +<p>He asked her questions about herself. But she could see that +he was tired; so she told him it was too important a matter to start +upon so late. She would talk about herself to-morrow. It +would be Sunday.</p> +<p>“Do you still go to the chapel?” she asked him a little +hesitatingly.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “One lives by habit.”</p> +<p>“It is the only Temple I know,” he continued after a +moment. “Perhaps God, one day, will find me there.”</p> +<p>He rose and lit the gas, and a letter on the mantelpiece caught his +eye.</p> +<p>“Have you heard from Arthur?” he asked, suddenly turning +to her.</p> +<p>“No. Not since about a month,” she answered. +“Why?”</p> +<p>“He will be pleased to find you here, waiting for him,” +he said with a smile, handing her the letter. “He will be +here some time to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Arthur Allway was her cousin, the son of a Nonconformist Minister. +Her father had taken him into the works and for the last three years +he had been in Egypt, helping in the laying of a tramway line. +He was in love with her: at least so they all told her; and his letters +were certainly somewhat committal. Joan replied to them—when +she did not forget to do so—in a studiously sisterly vein; and +always reproved him for unnecessary extravagance whenever he sent her +a present. The letter announced his arrival at Southampton. +He would stop at Birmingham, where his parents lived, for a couple of +days, and be in Liverpool on Sunday evening, so as to be able to get +straight to business on Monday morning. Joan handed back the letter. +It contained nothing else.</p> +<p>“It only came an hour or two ago,” her father explained. +“If he wrote to you by the same post, you may have left before +it arrived.”</p> +<p>“So long as he doesn’t think that I came down specially +to see him, I don’t mind,” said Joan.</p> +<p>They both laughed. “He’s a good lad,” said +her father.</p> +<p>They kissed good night, and Joan went up to her own room. She +found it just as she had left it. A bunch of roses stood upon +the dressing-table. Her father would never let anyone cut his +roses but himself.</p> +<p>Young Allway arrived just as Joan and her father had sat down to +supper. A place had been laid for him. He flushed with pleasure +at seeing her; but was not surprised.</p> +<p>“I called at your diggings,” he said. “I +had to go through London. They told me you had started. +It is good of you.”</p> +<p>“No, it isn’t,” said Joan. “I came +down to see Dad. I didn’t know you were back.” +She spoke with some asperity; and his face fell.</p> +<p>“How are you?” she added, holding out her hand. +“You’ve grown quite good-looking. I like your moustache.” +And he flushed again with pleasure.</p> +<p>He had a sweet, almost girlish face, with delicate skin that the +Egyptian sun had deepened into ruddiness; with soft, dreamy eyes and +golden hair. He looked lithe and agile rather than strong. +He was shy at first, but once set going, talked freely, and was interesting.</p> +<p>His work had taken him into the Desert, far from the beaten tracks. +He described the life of the people, very little different from what +it must have been in Noah’s time. For months he had been +the only white man there, and had lived among them. What had struck +him was how little he had missed all the paraphernalia of civilization, +once he had got over the first shock. He had learnt their sports +and games; wrestled and swum and hunted with them. Provided one +was a little hungry and tired with toil, a stew of goat’s flesh +with sweet cakes and fruits, washed down with wine out of a sheep’s +skin, made a feast; and after, there was music and singing and dancing, +or the travelling story-teller would gather round him his rapt audience. +Paris had only robbed women of their grace and dignity. He preferred +the young girls in their costume of the fourteenth dynasty. Progress, +he thought, had tended only to complicate life and render it less enjoyable. +All the essentials of happiness—love, courtship, marriage, the +home, children, friendship, social intercourse, and play, were independent +of it; had always been there for the asking.</p> +<p>Joan thought his mistake lay in regarding man’s happiness as +more important to him than his self-development. It was not what +we got out of civilization but what we put into it that was our gain. +Its luxuries and ostentations were, in themselves, perhaps bad for us. +But the pursuit of them was good. It called forth thought and +effort, sharpened our wits, strengthened our brains. Primitive +man, content with his necessities, would never have produced genius. +Art, literature, science would have been stillborn.</p> +<p>He hesitated before replying, glancing at her furtively while crumbling +his bread. When he did, it was in the tone that one of her younger +disciples might have ventured into a discussion with Hypatia. +But he stuck to his guns.</p> +<p>How did she account for David and Solomon, Moses and the Prophets? +They had sprung from a shepherd race. Yet surely there was genius, +literature. Greece owed nothing to progress. She had preceded +it. Her thinkers, her poets, her scientists had draws their inspiration +from nature, not civilization. Her art had sprung full grown out +of the soil. We had never surpassed it.</p> +<p>“But the Greek ideal could not have been the right one, or +Greece would not so utterly have disappeared,” suggested Mr. Allway. +“Unless you reject the law of the survival of the fittest.”</p> +<p>He had no qualms about arguing with his uncle.</p> +<p>“So did Archimedes disappear,” he answered with a smile. +“The nameless Roman soldier remained. That was hardly the +survival of the fittest.”</p> +<p>He thought it the tragedy of the world that Rome had conquered Greece, +imposing her lower ideals upon the race. Rome should have been +the servant of Greece: the hands directed by the brain. She would +have made roads and harbours, conducted the traffic, reared the market +place. She knew of the steam engine, employed it for pumping water +in the age of the Antonines. Sooner or later, she would have placed +it on rails, and in ships. Rome should have been the policeman, +keeping the world in order, making it a fit habitation. Her mistake +was in regarding these things as an end in themselves, dreaming of nothing +beyond. From her we had inherited the fallacy that man was made +for the world, not the world for man. Rome organized only for +man’s body. Greece would have legislated for his soul.</p> +<p>They went into the drawing-room. Her father asked her to sing +and Arthur opened the piano for her and lit the candles. She chose +some ballads and a song of Herrick’s, playing her own accompaniment +while Arthur turned the leaves. She had a good voice, a low contralto. +The room was high and dimly lighted. It looked larger than it +really was. Her father sat in his usual chair beside the fire +and listened with half-closed eyes. Glancing now and then across +at him, she was reminded of Orchardson’s picture. She was +feeling sentimental, a novel sensation to her. She rather enjoyed +it.</p> +<p>She finished with one of Burns’s lyrics; and then told Arthur +that it was now his turn, and that she would play for him. He +shook his head, pleading that he was out of practice.</p> +<p>“I wish it,” she said, speaking low. And it pleased +her that he made no answer but to ask her what he should sing. +He had a light tenor voice. It was wobbly at first, but improved +as he went on. They ended with a duet.</p> +<p>The next morning she went into town with them. She never seemed +to have any time in London, and wanted to do some shopping. They +joined her again for lunch and afterwards, at her father’s suggestion, +she and Arthur went for a walk. They took the tram out of the +city and struck into the country. The leaves still lingered brown +and red upon the trees. He carried her cloak and opened gates +for her and held back brambles while she passed. She had always +been indifferent to these small gallantries; but to-day she welcomed +them. She wished to feel her power to attract and command. +They avoided all subjects on which they could differ, even in words. +They talked of people and places they had known together. They +remembered their common love of animals and told of the comedies and +tragedies that had befallen their pets. Joan’s regret was +that she had not now even a dog, thinking it cruel to keep them in London. +She hated the women she met, dragging the poor little depressed beasts +about at the end of a string: savage with them, if they dared to stop +for a moment to exchange a passing wag of the tail with some other little +lonely sufferer. It was as bad as keeping a lark in a cage. +She had tried a cat: but so often she did not get home till late and +that was just the time when the cat wanted to be out; so that they seldom +met. He suggested a parrot. His experience of them was that +they had no regular hours and would willingly sit up all night, if encouraged, +and talk all the time. Joan’s objection to running a parrot +was that it stamped you as an old maid; and she wasn’t that, at +least, not yet. She wondered if she could make an owl really happy. +Minerva had an owl.</p> +<p>He told her how one spring, walking across a common, after a fire, +he had found a mother thrush burnt to death upon her nest, her charred +wings spread out in a vain endeavour to protect her brood. He +had buried her there among the blackened thorn and furze, and placed +a little cross of stones above her.</p> +<p>“I hope nobody saw me,” he said with a laugh. “But +I couldn’t bear to leave her there, unhonoured.”</p> +<p>“It’s one of the things that make me less certain than +I want to be of a future existence,” said Joan: “the thought +that animals can have no part in it; that all their courage and love +and faithfulness dies with them and is wasted.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure it is?” he answered. “It would +be so unreasonable.”</p> +<p>They had tea at an old-fashioned inn beside a stream. It was +a favourite resort in summer time, but now they had it to themselves. +The wind had played pranks with her hair and he found a mirror and knelt +before her, holding it.</p> +<p>She stood erect, looking down at him while seeming to be absorbed +in the rearrangement of her hair, feeling a little ashamed of herself. +She was “encouraging” him. There was no other word +for it. She seemed to have developed a sudden penchant for this +sort of thing. It would end in his proposing to her; and then +she would have to tell him that she cared for him only in a cousinly +sort of way—whatever that might mean—and that she could +never marry him. She dared not ask herself why. She must +manoeuvre to put it off as long as possible; and meanwhile some opening +might occur to enlighten him. She would talk to him about her +work; and explain to him how she had determined to devote her life to +it to the exclusion of all other distractions. If, then, he chose +to go on loving her—or if he couldn’t help it—that +would not be her fault. After all, it did him no harm. She +could always be gracious and kind to him. It was not as if she +had tricked him. He had always loved her. Kneeling before +her, serving her: it was evident it made him supremely happy. +It would be cruel of her to end it.</p> +<p>The landlady entered unexpectedly with the tea; but he did not rise +till Joan turned away, nor did he seem disconcerted. Neither did +the landlady. She was an elderly, quiet-eyed woman, and had served +more than one generation of young people with their teas.</p> +<p>They returned home by train. Joan insisted on travelling third +class, and selected a compartment containing a stout woman and two children. +Arthur had to be at the works. An important contract had got behindhand +and they were working overtime. She and her father dined alone. +He made her fulfil her promise to talk about herself, and she told him +all she thought would interest him. She passed lightly over her +acquaintanceship with Phillips. He would regard it as highly undesirable, +she told herself, and it would trouble him. He was reading her +articles in the <i>Sunday Post</i>, as also her Letters from Clorinda: +and of the two preferred the latter as being less subversive of law +and order. Also he did not like seeing her photograph each week, +displayed across two columns with her name beneath in one inch type. +He supposed he was old-fashioned. She was getting rather tired +of it herself.</p> +<p>“The Editor insisted upon it,” she explained. “It +was worth it for the opportunity it gives me. I preach every Sunday +to a congregation of over a million souls. It’s better than +being a Bishop. Besides,” she added, “the men are +just as bad. You see their silly faces everywhere.”</p> +<p>“That’s like you women,” he answered with a smile. +“You pretend to be superior; and then you copy us.”</p> +<p>She laughed. But the next moment she was serious.</p> +<p>“No, we don’t,” she said, “not those of us +who think. We know we shall never oust man from his place. +He will always be the greater. We want to help him; that’s +all.”</p> +<p>“But wasn’t that the Lord’s idea,” he said; +“when He gave Eve to Adam to be his helpmeet?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that was all right,” she answered. “He +fashioned Eve for Adam and saw that Adam got her. The ideal marriage +might have been the ideal solution. If the Lord had intended that, +he should have kept the match-making in His own hands: not have left +it to man. Somewhere in Athens there must have been the helpmeet +God had made for Socrates. When they met, it was Xanthippe that +she kissed.”</p> +<p>A servant brought the coffee and went out again. Her father +lighted a cigar and handed her the cigarettes.</p> +<p>“Will it shock you, Dad?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Rather late in the day for you to worry yourself about that, +isn’t it?” he answered with a smile.</p> +<p>He struck a match and held it for her. Joan sat with her elbows +on the table and smoked in silence. She was thinking.</p> +<p>Why had he never “brought her up,” never exacted obedience +from her, never even tried to influence her? It could not have +been mere weakness. She stole a sidelong glance at the tired, +lined face with its steel-blue eyes. She had never seen them other +than calm, but they must have been able to flash. Why had he always +been so just and kind and patient with her? Why had he never scolded +her and bullied her and teased her? Why had he let her go away, +leaving him lonely in his empty, voiceless house? Why had he never +made any claim upon her? The idea came to her as an inspiration. +At least, it would ease her conscience. “Why don’t +you let Arthur live here,” she said, “instead of going back +to his lodgings? It would be company for you.”</p> +<p>He did not answer for some time. She had begun to wonder if +he had heard.</p> +<p>“What do you think of him?” he said, without looking +at her.</p> +<p>“Oh, he’s quite a nice lad,” she answered.</p> +<p>It was some while again before he spoke. “He will be +the last of the Allways,” he said. “I should like +to think of the name being continued; and he’s a good business +man, in spite of his dreaminess. Perhaps he would get on better +with the men.”</p> +<p>She seized at the chance of changing the subject.</p> +<p>“It was a foolish notion,” she said, “that of the +Manchester school: that men and women could be treated as mere figures +in a sum.”</p> +<p>To her surprise, he agreed with her. “The feudal system +had a fine idea in it,” he said, “if it had been honestly +carried out. A master should be the friend, the helper of his +men. They should be one family.”</p> +<p>She looked at him a little incredulously, remembering the bitter +periods of strikes and lock-outs.</p> +<p>“Did you ever try, Dad?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” he answered. “But I tried the +wrong way.” “The right way might be found,” +he added, “by the right man, and woman.”</p> +<p>She felt that he was watching her through his half-closed eyes. +“There are those cottages,” he continued, “just before +you come to the bridge. They might be repaired and a club house +added. The idea is catching on, they tell me. Garden villages, +they call them now. It gets the men and women away from the dirty +streets; and gives the children a chance.”</p> +<p>She knew the place. A sad group of dilapidated little houses +forming three sides of a paved quadrangle, with a shattered fountain +and withered trees in the centre. Ever since she could remember, +they had stood there empty, ghostly, with creaking doors and broken +windows, their gardens overgrown with weeds.</p> +<p>“Are they yours?” she asked. She had never connected +them with the works, some half a mile away. Though had she been +curious, she might have learnt that they were known as “Allway’s +Folly.”</p> +<p>“Your mother’s,” he answered. “I built +them the year I came back from America and gave them to her. I +thought it would interest her. Perhaps it would, if I had left +her to her own ways.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t they want them?” she asked.</p> +<p>“They did, at first,” he answered. “The time-servers +and the hypocrites among them. I made it a condition that they +should be teetotallers, and chapel goers, and everything else that I +thought good for them. I thought that I could save their souls +by bribing them with cheap rents and share of profits. And then +the Union came, and that of course finished it.”</p> +<p>So he, too, had thought to build Jerusalem.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said. “I’ll sound him about +giving up his lodgings.”</p> +<p>Joan lay awake for a long while that night. The moon looked +in at the window. It seemed to have got itself entangled in the +tops of the tall pines. Would it not be her duty to come back—make +her father happy, to say nothing of the other. He was a dear, +sweet, lovable lad. Together, they might realize her father’s +dream: repair the blunders, plant gardens where the weeds now grew, +drive out the old sad ghosts with living voices. It had been a +fine thought, a “King’s thought.” Others had +followed, profiting by his mistakes. But might it not be carried +further than even they had gone, shaped into some noble venture that +should serve the future.</p> +<p>Was not her America here? Why seek it further? What was +this unknown Force, that, against all sense and reason, seemed driving +her out into the wilderness to preach. Might it not be mere vanity, +mere egoism. Almost she had convinced herself.</p> +<p>And then there flashed remembrance of her mother. She, too, +had laid aside herself; had thought that love and duty could teach one +to be other than one was. The Ego was the all important thing, +entrusted to us as the talents of silver to the faithful servant: to +be developed, not for our own purposes, but for the service of the Master.</p> +<p>One did no good by suppressing one’s nature. In the end +it proved too strong. Marriage with Arthur would be only repeating +the mistake. To be worshipped, to be served. It would be +very pleasant, when one was in the mood. But it would not satisfy +her. There was something strong and fierce and primitive in her +nature—something that had come down to her through the generations +from some harness-girded ancestress—something impelling her instinctively +to choose the fighter; to share with him the joy of battle, healing +his wounds, giving him of her courage, exulting with him in the victory.</p> +<p>The moon had risen clear of the entangling pines. It rode serene +and free.</p> +<p>Her father came to the station with her in the morning. The +train was not in: and they walked up and down and talked. Suddenly +she remembered: it had slipped her mind.</p> +<p>“Could I, as a child, have known an old clergyman?” she +asked him. “At least he wouldn’t have been old then. +I dropped into Chelsea Church one evening and heard him preach; and +on the way home I passed him again in the street. It seemed to +me that I had seen his face before. But not for many years. +I meant to write you about it, but forgot.”</p> +<p>He had to turn aside for a moment to speak to an acquaintance about +business.</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s possible,” he answered on rejoining her. +“What was his name?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” she answered. “He was not +the regular Incumbent. But it was someone that I seemed to know +quite well—that I must have been familiar with.”</p> +<p>“It may have been,” he answered carelessly, “though +the gulf was wider then than it is now. I’ll try and think. +Perhaps it is only your fancy.”</p> +<p>The train drew in, and he found her a corner seat, and stood talking +by the window, about common things.</p> +<p>“What did he preach about?” he asked her unexpectedly.</p> +<p>She was puzzled for the moment. “Oh, the old clergyman,” +she answered, recollecting. “Oh, Calvary. All roads +lead to Calvary, he thought. It was rather interesting.”</p> +<p>She looked back at the end of the platform. He had not moved.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>A pile of correspondence was awaiting her and, standing by the desk, +she began to open and read it. Suddenly she paused, conscious +that someone had entered the room and, turning, she saw Hilda. +She must have left the door ajar, for she had heard no sound. +The child closed the door noiselessly and came across, holding out a +letter.</p> +<p>“Papa told me to give you this the moment you came in,” +she said. Joan had not yet taken off her things. The child +must have been keeping a close watch. Save for the signature it +contained but one line: “I have accepted.”</p> +<p>Joan replaced the letter in its envelope, and laid it down upon the +desk. Unconsciously a smile played about her lips.</p> +<p>The child was watching her. “I’m glad you persuaded +him,” she said.</p> +<p>Joan felt a flush mount to her face. She had forgotten Hilda +for the instant.</p> +<p>She forced a laugh. “Oh, I only persuaded him to do what +he had made up his mind to do,” she explained. “It +was all settled.”</p> +<p>“No, it wasn’t,” answered the child. “Most +of them were against it. And then there was Mama,” she added +in a lower tone.</p> +<p>“What do you mean,” asked Joan. “Didn’t +she wish it?”</p> +<p>The child raised her eyes. There was a dull anger in them. +“Oh, what’s the good of pretending,” she said. +“He’s so great. He could be the Prime Minister of +England if he chose. But then he would have to visit kings and +nobles, and receive them at his house, and Mama—” +She broke off with a passionate gesture of the small thin hands.</p> +<p>Joan was puzzled what to say. She knew exactly what she ought +to say: what she would have said to any ordinary child. But to +say it to this uncannily knowing little creature did not promise much +good.</p> +<p>“Who told you I persuaded him?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Nobody,” answered the child. “I knew.”</p> +<p>Joan seated herself, and drew the child towards her.</p> +<p>“It isn’t as terrible as you think,” she said. +“Many men who have risen and taken a high place in the world were +married to kind, good women unable to share their greatness. There +was Shakespeare, you know, who married Anne Hathaway and had a clever +daughter. She was just a nice, homely body a few years older than +himself. And he seems to have been very fond of her; and was always +running down to Stratford to be with her.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but he didn’t bring her up to London,” answered +the child. “Mama would have wanted to come; and Papa would +have let her, and wouldn’t have gone to see Queen Elizabeth unless +she had been invited too.”</p> +<p>Joan wished she had not mentioned Shakespeare. There had surely +been others; men who had climbed up and carried their impossible wives +with them. But she couldn’t think of one, just then.</p> +<p>“We must help her,” she answered somewhat lamely. +“She’s anxious to learn, I know.”</p> +<p>The child shook her head. “She doesn’t understand,” +she said. “And Papa won’t tell her. He says +it would only hurt her and do no good.” The small hands +were clenched. “I shall hate her if she spoils his life.”</p> +<p>The atmosphere was becoming tragic. Joan felt the need of escaping +from it. She sprang up.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t be nonsensical,” she said. “Your +father isn’t the only man married to a woman not as clever as +himself. He isn’t going to let that stop him. And +your mother’s going to learn to be the wife of a great man and +do the best she can. And if they don’t like her they’ve +got to put up with her. I shall talk to the both of them.” +A wave of motherliness towards the entire Phillips family passed over +her. It included Hilda. She caught the child to her and +gave her a hug. “You go back to school,” she said, +“and get on as fast as you can, so that you’ll be able to +be useful to him.”</p> +<p>The child flung her arms about her. “You’re so +beautiful and wonderful,” she said. “You can do anything. +I’m so glad you came.”</p> +<p>Joan laughed. It was surprising how easily the problem had +been solved. She would take Mrs. Phillips in hand at once. +At all events she should be wholesome and unobtrusive. It would +be a delicate mission, but Joan felt sure of her own tact. She +could see his boyish eyes turned upon her with wonder and gratitude.</p> +<p>“I was so afraid you would not be back before I went,” +said the child. “I ought to have gone this afternoon, but +Papa let me stay till the evening.”</p> +<p>“You will help?” she added, fixing on Joan her great, +grave eyes.</p> +<p>Joan promised, and the child went out. She looked pretty when +she smiled. She closed the door behind her noiselessly.</p> +<p>It occurred to Joan that she would like to talk matters over with +Greyson. There was “Clorinda’s” attitude to +be decided upon; and she was interested to know what view he himself +would take. Of course he would be on P---’s side. +The <i>Evening Gazette</i> had always supported the “gas and water +school” of socialism; and to include the people’s food was +surely only an extension of the principle. She rang him up and +Miss Greyson answered, asking her to come round to dinner: they would +be alone. And she agreed.</p> +<p>The Greysons lived in a small house squeezed into an angle of the +Outer Circle, overlooking Regent’s Park. It was charmingly +furnished, chiefly with old Chippendale. The drawing-room made +quite a picture. It was home-like and restful with its faded colouring, +and absence of all show and overcrowding. They sat there after +dinner and discussed Joan’s news. Miss Greyson was repairing +a piece of old embroidery she had brought back with her from Italy; +and Greyson sat smoking, with his hands behind his head, and his long +legs stretched out towards the fire.</p> +<p>“Carleton will want him to make his food policy include Tariff +Reform,” he said. “If he prove pliable, and is willing +to throw over his free trade principles, all well and good.”</p> +<p>“What’s Carleton got to do with it?” demanded Joan +with a note of indignation.</p> +<p>He turned his head towards her with an amused raising of the eyebrows. +“Carleton owns two London dailies,” he answered, “and +is in treaty for a third: together with a dozen others scattered about +the provinces. Most politicians find themselves, sooner or later, +convinced by his arguments. Phillips may prove the exception.”</p> +<p>“It would be rather interesting, a fight between them,” +said Joan. “Myself I should back Phillips.”</p> +<p>“He might win through,” mused Greyson. “He’s +the man to do it, if anybody could. But the odds will be against +him.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see it,” said Joan, with decision.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you haven’t yet grasped the power of +the Press,” he answered with a smile. “Phillips speaks +occasionally to five thousand people. Carleton addresses every +day a circle of five million readers.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but when Phillips does speak, he speaks to the whole +country,” retorted Joan.</p> +<p>“Through the medium of Carleton and his like; and just so far +as they allow his influence to permeate beyond the platform,” +answered Greyson.</p> +<p>“But they report his speeches. They are bound to,” +explained Joan.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t read quite the same,” he answered. +“Phillips goes home under the impression that he has made a great +success and has roused the country. He and millions of other readers +learn from the next morning’s headlines that it was ‘A Tame +Speech’ that he made. What sounded to him ‘Loud Cheers’ +have sunk to mild ‘Hear, Hears.’ That five minutes’ +hurricane of applause, during which wildly excited men and women leapt +upon the benches and roared themselves hoarse, and which he felt had +settled the whole question, he searches for in vain. A few silly +interjections, probably pre-arranged by Carleton’s young lions, +become ‘renewed interruptions.’ The report is strictly +truthful; but the impression produced is that Robert Phillips has failed +to carry even his own people with him. And then follow leaders +in fourteen widely-circulated Dailies, stretching from the Clyde to +the Severn, foretelling how Mr. Robert Phillips could regain his waning +popularity by the simple process of adopting Tariff Reform: or whatever +the pet panacea of Carleton and Co. may, at the moment, happen to be.”</p> +<p>“Don’t make us out all alike,” pleaded his sister +with a laugh. “There are still a few old-fashioned papers +that do give their opponents fair play.”</p> +<p>“They are not increasing in numbers,” he answered, “and +the Carleton group is. There is no reason why in another ten years +he should not control the entire popular press of the country. +He’s got the genius and he’s got the means.”</p> +<p>“The cleverest thing he has done,” he continued, turning +to Joan, “is your <i>Sunday Post</i>. Up till then, the +working classes had escaped him. With the <i>Sunday Post</i>, +he has solved the problem. They open their mouths; and he gives +them their politics wrapped up in pictures and gossipy pars.”</p> +<p>Miss Greyson rose and put away her embroidery. “But what’s +his object?” she said. “He must have more money than +he can spend; and he works like a horse. I could understand it, +if he had any beliefs.”</p> +<p>“Oh, we can all persuade ourselves that we are the Heaven-ordained +dictator of the human race,” he answered. “Love of +power is at the bottom of it. Why do our Rockefellers and our +Carnegies condemn themselves to the existence of galley slaves, ruining +their digestions so that they never can enjoy a square meal. It +isn’t the money; it’s the trouble of their lives how to +get rid of that. It is the notoriety, the power that they are +out for. In Carleton’s case, it is to feel himself the power +behind the throne; to know that he can make and unmake statesmen; has +the keys of peace and war in his pocket; is able to exclaim: Public +opinion? It is I.”</p> +<p>“It can be a respectable ambition,” suggested Joan.</p> +<p>“It has been responsible for most of man’s miseries,” +he answered. “Every world’s conqueror meant to make +it happy after he had finished knocking it about. We are all born +with it, thanks to the devil.” He shifted his position and +regarded her with critical eyes. “You’ve got it badly,” +he said. “I can see it in the tilt of your chin and the +quivering of your nostrils. You beware of it.”</p> +<p>Miss Greyson left them. She had to finish an article. +They debated “Clorinda’s” views; and agreed that, +as a practical housekeeper, she would welcome attention being given +to the question of the nation’s food. The <i>Evening Gazette</i> +would support Phillips in principle, while reserving to itself the right +of criticism when it came to details.</p> +<p>“What’s he like in himself?” he asked her. +“You’ve been seeing something of him, haven’t you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, a little,” she answered. “He’s +absolutely sincere; and he means business. He won’t stop +at the bottom of the ladder now he’s once got his foot upon it.”</p> +<p>“But he’s quite common, isn’t he?” he asked +again. “I’ve only met him in public.”</p> +<p>“No, that’s precisely what he isn’t,” answered +Joan. “You feel that he belongs to no class, but his own. +The class of the Abraham Lincolns, and the Dantons.”</p> +<p>“England’s a different proposition,” he mused. +“Society counts for so much with us. I doubt if we should +accept even an Abraham Lincoln: unless in some supreme crisis. +His wife rather handicaps him, too, doesn’t she?”</p> +<p>“She wasn’t born to be the châtelaine of Downing +Street,” Joan admitted. “But it’s not an official +position.”</p> +<p>“I’m not so sure that it isn’t,” he laughed. +“It’s the dinner-table that rules in England. We settle +everything round a dinner-table.”</p> +<p>She was sitting in front of the fire in a high-backed chair. +She never cared to loll, and the shaded light from the electric sconces +upon the mantelpiece illumined her.</p> +<p>“If the world were properly stage-managed, that’s what +you ought to be,” he said, “the wife of a Prime Minister. +I can see you giving such an excellent performance.”</p> +<p>“I must talk to Mary,” he added, “see if we can’t +get you off on some promising young Under Secretary.”</p> +<p>“Don’t give me ideas above my station,” laughed +Joan. “I’m a journalist.”</p> +<p>“That’s the pity of it,” he said. “You’re +wasting the most important thing about you, your personality. +You would do more good in a drawing-room, influencing the rulers, than +you will ever do hiding behind a pen. It was the drawing-room +that made the French Revolution.”</p> +<p>The firelight played about her hair. “I suppose every +woman dreams of reviving the old French Salon,” she answered. +“They must have been gloriously interesting.” He was +leaning forward with clasped hands. “Why shouldn’t +she?” he said. “The reason that our drawing-rooms +have ceased to lead is that our beautiful women are generally frivolous +and our clever women unfeminine. What we are waiting for is an +English Madame Roland.”</p> +<p>Joan laughed. “Perhaps I shall some day,” she answered.</p> +<p>He insisted on seeing her as far as the bus. It was a soft, +mild night; and they walked round the Circle to Gloucester Gate. +He thought there would be more room in the buses at that point.</p> +<p>“I wish you would come oftener,” he said. “Mary +has taken such a liking to you. If you care to meet people, we +can always whip up somebody of interest.”</p> +<p>She promised that she would. She always felt curiously at home +with the Greysons.</p> +<p>They were passing the long sweep of Chester Terrace. “I +like this neighbourhood with its early Victorian atmosphere,” +she said. “It always makes me feel quiet and good. +I don’t know why.”</p> +<p>“I like the houses, too,” he said. “There’s +a character about them. You don’t often find such fine drawing-rooms +in London.”</p> +<p>“Don’t forget your promise,” he reminded her, when +they parted. “I shall tell Mary she may write to you.”</p> +<p>She met Carleton by chance a day or two later, as she was entering +the office. “I want to see you,” he said; and took +her up with him into his room.</p> +<p>“We must stir the people up about this food business,” +he said, plunging at once into his subject. “Phillips is +quite right. It overshadows everything. We must make the +country self-supporting. It can be done and must. If a war +were to be sprung upon us we could be starved out in a month. +Our navy, in face of these new submarines, is no longer able to secure +us. France is working day and night upon them. It may be +a bogey, or it may not. If it isn’t, she would have us at +her mercy; and it’s too big a risk to run. You live in the +same house with him, don’t you? Do you often see him?”</p> +<p>“Not often,” she answered.</p> +<p>He was reading a letter. “You were dining there on Friday +night, weren’t you?” he asked her, without looking up.</p> +<p>Joan flushed. What did he mean by cross-examining her in this +way? She was not at all used to impertinence from the opposite +sex.</p> +<p>“Your information is quite correct,” she answered.</p> +<p>Her anger betrayed itself in her tone; and he shot a swift glance +at her.</p> +<p>“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “A +mutual friend, a Mr. Airlie, happened to be of the party, and he mentioned +you.”</p> +<p>He threw aside the letter. “I’ll tell you what +I want you to do,” he said. “It’s nothing to +object to. Tell him that you’ve seen me and had a talk. +I understand his scheme to be that the country should grow more and +more food until it eventually becomes self-supporting; and that the +Government should control the distribution. Tell him that with +that I’m heart and soul in sympathy; and would like to help him.” +He pushed aside a pile of papers and, leaning across the desk, spoke +with studied deliberation. “If he can see his way to making +his policy dependent upon Protection, we can work together.”</p> +<p>“And if he can’t?” suggested Joan.</p> +<p>He fixed his large, colourless eyes upon her. “That’s +where you can help him,” he answered. “If he and I +combine forces, we can pull this through in spite of the furious opposition +that it is going to arouse. Without a good Press he is helpless; +and where is he going to get his Press backing if he turns me down? +From half a dozen Socialist papers whose support will do him more harm +than good. If he will bring the working class over to Protection +I will undertake that the Tariff Reformers and the Agricultural Interest +shall accept his Socialism. It will be a victory for both of us.</p> +<p>“If he gain his end, what do the means matter?” he continued, +as Joan did not answer. “Food may be dearer; the Unions +can square that by putting up wages; while the poor devil of a farm +labourer will at last get fair treatment. We can easily insist +upon that. What do you think, yourself?”</p> +<p>“About Protection,” she answered. “It’s +one of the few subjects I haven’t made up my mind about.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “You will find all your pet reforms depend +upon it, when you come to work them out,” he said. “You +can’t have a minimum wage without a minimum price.”</p> +<p>They had risen.</p> +<p>“I’ll give him your message,” said Joan. +“But I don’t see him exchanging his principles even for +your support. I admit it’s important.”</p> +<p>“Talk it over with him,” he said. “And bear +this in mind for your own guidance.” He took a step forward, +which brought his face quite close to hers: “If he fails, and +all his life’s work goes for nothing, I shall be sorry; but I +shan’t break my heart. He will.”</p> +<p>Joan dropped a note into Phillips’s letter-box on her return +home, saying briefly that she wished to see him; and he sent up answer +asking her if she would come to the gallery that evening, and meet him +after his speech, which would be immediately following the dinner hour.</p> +<p>It was the first time he had risen since his appointment, and he +was received with general cheers. He stood out curiously youthful +against the background of grey-haired and bald-headed men behind him; +and there was youth also in his clear, ringing voice that not even the +vault-like atmosphere of that shadowless chamber could altogether rob +of its vitality. He spoke simply and good-humouredly, without +any attempt at rhetoric, relying chiefly upon a crescendo of telling +facts that gradually, as he proceeded, roused the House to that tense +stillness that comes to it when it begins to think.</p> +<p>“A distinctly dangerous man,” Joan overheard a little +old lady behind her comment to a friend. “If I didn’t +hate him, I should like him.”</p> +<p>He met her in the corridor, and they walked up and down and talked, +too absorbed to be aware of the curious eyes that were turned upon them. +Joan gave him Carleton’s message.</p> +<p>“It was clever of him to make use of you,” he said. +“If he’d sent it through anybody else, I’d have published +it.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think it even worth considering?” suggested +Joan.</p> +<p>“Protection?” he flashed out scornfully. “Yes, +I’ve heard of that. I’ve listened, as a boy, while +the old men told of it to one another, in thin, piping voices, round +the fireside; how the labourers were flung eight-and-sixpence a week +to die on, and the men starved in the towns; while the farmers kept +their hunters, and got drunk each night on fine old crusted port. +Do you know what their toast was in the big hotels on market day, with +the windows open to the street: ‘To a long war and a bloody one.’ +It would be their toast to-morrow, if they had their way. Does +he think I am going to be a party to the putting of the people’s +neck again under their pitiless yoke?”</p> +<p>“But the people are more powerful now,” argued Joan. +“If the farmer demanded higher prices, they could demand higher +wages.”</p> +<p>“They would never overtake the farmer,” he answered, +with a laugh. “And the last word would always be with him. +I am out to get rid of the landlords,” he continued, “not +to establish them as the permanent rulers of the country, as they are +in Germany. The people are more powerful—just a little, +because they are no longer dependent on the land. They can say +to the farmer, ‘All right, my son, if that’s your figure, +I’m going to the shop next door—to South America, to Canada, +to Russia.’ It isn’t a satisfactory solution. +I want to see England happy and healthy before I bother about the Argentine. +It drives our men into the slums when they might be living fine lives +in God’s fresh air. In the case of war it might be disastrous. +There, I agree with him. We must be able to shut our door without +fear of having to open it ourselves to ask for bread. How would +Protection accomplish that? Did he tell you?”</p> +<p>“Don’t eat me,” laughed Joan. “I haven’t +been sent to you as a missionary. I’m only a humble messenger. +I suppose the argument is that, good profits assured to him, the farmer +would bustle up and produce more.”</p> +<p>“Can you see him bustling up?” he answered with a laugh; +“organizing himself into a body, and working the thing out from +the point of view of the public weal? I’ll tell you what +nine-tenths of him would do: grow just as much or little as suited his +own purposes; and then go to sleep. And Protection would be his +security against ever being awakened.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you don’t like him,” Joan commented.</p> +<p>“He will be all right in his proper place,” he answered: +“as the servant of the public: told what to do, and turned out +of his job if he doesn’t do it. My scheme does depend upon +Protection. You can tell him that. But this time, it’s +going to be Protection for the people.”</p> +<p>They were at the far end of the corridor; and the few others still +promenading were some distance away. She had not delivered the +whole of her message. She crossed to a seat, and he followed her. +She spoke with her face turned away from him.</p> +<p>“You have got to consider the cost of refusal,” she said. +“His offer wasn’t help or neutrality: it was help or opposition +by every means in his power. He left me in no kind of doubt as +to that. He’s not used to being challenged and he won’t +be squeamish. You will have the whole of his Press against you, +and every other journalistic and political influence that he possesses. +He’s getting a hold upon the working classes. The <i>Sunday +Post</i> has an enormous sale in the manufacturing towns; and he’s +talking of starting another. Are you strong enough to fight him?”</p> +<p>She very much wanted to look at him, but she would not. It +seemed to her quite a time before he replied.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, “I’m strong enough to +fight him. Shall rather enjoy doing it. And it’s time +that somebody did. Whether I’m strong enough to win has +got to be seen.”</p> +<p>She turned and looked at him then. She wondered why she had +ever thought him ugly.</p> +<p>“You can face it,” she said: “the possibility of +all your life’s work being wasted?”</p> +<p>“It won’t be wasted,” he answered. “The +land is there. I’ve seen it from afar and it’s a good +land, a land where no man shall go hungry. If not I, another shall +lead the people into it. I shall have prepared the way.”</p> +<p>She liked him for that touch of exaggeration. She was so tired +of the men who make out all things little, including themselves and +their own work. After all, was it exaggeration? Might he +not have been chosen to lead the people out of bondage to a land where +there should be no more fear.</p> +<p>“You’re not angry with me?” he asked. “I +haven’t been rude, have I?”</p> +<p>“Abominably rude,” she answered, “you’ve +defied my warnings, and treated my embassy with contempt.” +She turned to him and their eyes met. “I should have despised +you, if you hadn’t,” she added.</p> +<p>There was a note of exultation in her voice; and, as if in answer, +something leapt into his eyes that seemed to claim her. Perhaps +it was well that just then the bell rang for a division; and the moment +passed.</p> +<p>He rose and held out his hand. “We will fight him,” +he said. “And you can tell him this, if he asks, that I’m +going straight for him. Parliament may as well close down if a +few men between them are to be allowed to own the entire Press of the +country, and stifle every voice that does not shout their bidding. +We haven’t dethroned kings to put up a newspaper Boss. He +shall have all the fighting he wants.”</p> +<p>They met more often from that day, for Joan was frankly using her +two columns in the <i>Sunday Post</i> to propagate his aims. Carleton, +to her surprise, made no objection. Nor did he seek to learn the +result of his ultimatum. It looked, they thought, as if he had +assumed acceptance; and was willing for Phillips to choose his own occasion. +Meanwhile replies to her articles reached Joan in weekly increasing +numbers. There seemed to be a wind arising, blowing towards Protection. +Farm labourers, especially, appeared to be enthusiastic for its coming. +From their ill-spelt, smeared epistles, one gathered that, after years +of doubt and hesitation, they had—however reluctantly—arrived +at the conclusion that without it there could be no hope for them. +Factory workers, miners, engineers—more fluent, less apologetic—wrote +as strong supporters of Phillips’s scheme; but saw clearly how +upon Protection its success depended. Shopmen, clerks—only +occasionally ungrammatical—felt sure that Robert Phillips, the +tried friend of the poor, would insist upon the boon of Protection being +no longer held back from the people. Wives and mothers claimed +it as their children’s birthright. Similar views got themselves +at the same time, into the correspondence columns of Carleton’s +other numerous papers. Evidently Democracy had been throbbing +with a passion for Protection hitherto unknown, even to itself.</p> +<p>“He means it kindly,” laughed Phillips. “He +is offering me an excuse to surrender gracefully. We must have +a public meeting or two after Christmas, and clear the ground.” +They had got into the habit of speaking in the plural.</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips’s conversion Joan found more difficult than she +had anticipated. She had persuaded Phillips to take a small house +and let her furnish it upon the hire system. Joan went with her +to the widely advertised “Emporium” in the City Road, meaning +to advise her. But, in the end, she gave it up out of sheer pity. +Nor would her advice have served much purpose, confronted by the “rich +and varied choice” provided for his patrons by Mr. Krebs, the +“Furnisher for Connoisseurs.”</p> +<p>“We’ve never had a home exactly,” explained Mrs. +Phillips, during their journey in the tram. “It’s +always been lodgings, up to now. Nice enough, some of them; but +you know what I mean; everybody else’s taste but your own. +I’ve always fancied a little house with one’s own things +in it. You know, things that you can get fond of.”</p> +<p>Oh, the things she was going to get fond of! The things that +her poor, round foolish eyes gloated upon the moment that she saw them! +Joan tried to enlist the shopman on her side, descending even to flirtation. +Unfortunately he was a young man with a high sense of duty, convinced +that his employer’s interests lay in his support of Mrs. Phillips. +The sight of the furniture that, between them, they selected for the +dining-room gave Joan a quite distinct internal pain. They ascended +to the floor above, devoted to the exhibition of “<i>Recherché</i> +drawing-room suites.” Mrs. Phillips’s eye instinctively +fastened with passionate desire upon the most atrocious. Joan +grew vehement. It was impossible.</p> +<p>“I always was a one for cheerful colours,” explained +Mrs. Phillips.</p> +<p>Even the shopman wavered. Joan pressed her advantage; directed +Mrs. Phillips’s attention to something a little less awful. +Mrs. Phillips yielded.</p> +<p>“Of course you know best, dear,” she admitted. +“Perhaps I am a bit too fond of bright things.”</p> +<p>The victory was won. Mrs. Phillips had turned away. The +shopman was altering the order. Joan moved towards the door, and +accidentally caught sight of Mrs. Phillips’s face. The flabby +mouth was trembling. A tear was running down the painted cheek.</p> +<p>Joan slipped her hand through the other’s arm.</p> +<p>“I’m not so sure you’re not right after all,” +she said, fixing a critical eye upon the rival suites. “It +is a bit mousey, that other.”</p> +<p>The order was once more corrected. Joan had the consolation +of witnessing the childish delight that came again into the foolish +face; but felt angry with herself at her own weakness.</p> +<p>It was the woman’s feebleness that irritated her. If +only she had shown a spark of fight, Joan could have been firm. +Poor feckless creature, what could have ever been her attraction for +Phillips!</p> +<p>She followed, inwardly fuming, while Mrs. Phillips continued to pile +monstrosity upon monstrosity. What would Phillips think? +And what would Hilda’s eyes say when they looked upon that <i>recherché</i> +drawing-room suite? Hilda, who would have had no sentimental compunctions! +The woman would be sure to tell them both that she, Joan, had accompanied +her and helped in the choosing. The whole ghastly house would +be exhibited to every visitor as the result of their joint taste. +She could hear Mr. Airlie’s purring voice congratulating her.</p> +<p>She ought to have insisted on their going to a decent shop. +The mere advertisement ought to have forewarned her. It was the +posters that had captured Mrs. Phillips: those dazzling apartments where +bejewelled society reposed upon the “high-class but inexpensive +designs” of Mr. Krebs. Artists ought to have more self-respect +than to sell their talents for such purposes.</p> +<p>The contract was concluded in Mr. Krebs’ private office: a +very stout gentleman with a very thin voice, whose dream had always +been to one day be of service to the renowned Mr. Robert Phillips. +He was clearly under the impression that he had now accomplished it. +Even as Mrs. Phillips took up the pen to sign, the wild idea occurred +to Joan of snatching the paper away from her, hustling her into a cab, +and in some quiet street or square making the woman see for herself +that she was a useless fool; that the glowing dreams and fancies she +had cherished in her silly head for fifteen years must all be given +up; that she must stand aside, knowing herself of no account.</p> +<p>It could be done. She felt it. If only one could summon +up the needful brutality. If only one could stifle that still, +small voice of Pity.</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips signed amid splutterings and blots. Joan added +her signature as witness.</p> +<p>She did effect an improvement in the poor lady’s dress. +On Madge’s advice she took her to a voluble little woman in the +Earl’s Court Road who was struck at once by Madame Phillips’s +remarkable resemblance to the Baroness von Stein. Had not Joan +noticed it? Whatever suited the Baroness von Stein—allowed +by common consent to be one of the best-dressed women in London—was +bound to show up Madame Phillips to equal advantage. By curious +coincidence a costume for the Baroness had been put in hand only the +day before. It was sent for and pinned upon the delighted Madame +Phillips. Perfection! As the Baroness herself would always +say: “My frock must be a framework for my personality. It +must never obtrude.” The supremely well-dressed woman! +One never notices what she has on: that is the test. It seemed +it was what Mrs. Phillips had always felt herself. Joan could +have kissed the voluble, emphatic little woman.</p> +<p>But the dyed hair and the paint put up a fight for themselves.</p> +<p>“I want you to do something very brave,” said Joan. +She had invited herself to tea with Mrs. Phillips, and they were alone +in the small white-panelled room that they were soon to say good-bye +to. The new house would be ready at Christmas. “It +will be a little hard at first,” continued Joan, “but afterwards +you will be glad that you have done it. It is a duty you owe to +your position as the wife of a great leader of the people.”</p> +<p>The firelight showed to Joan a comically frightened face, with round, +staring eyes and an open mouth.</p> +<p>“What is it you want me to do?” she faltered</p> +<p>“I want you to be just yourself,” said Joan; “a +kind, good woman of the people, who will win their respect, and set +them an example.” She moved across and seating herself on +the arm of Mrs. Phillips’s chair, touched lightly with her hand +the flaxen hair and the rouged cheek. “I want you to get +rid of all this,” she whispered. “It isn’t worthy +of you. Leave it to the silly dolls and the bad women.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence. Joan felt the tears trickling between +her fingers.</p> +<p>“You haven’t seen me,” came at last in a thin, +broken voice.</p> +<p>Joan bent down and kissed her. “Let’s try it,” +she whispered.</p> +<p>A little choking sound was the only answer. But the woman rose +and, Joan following, they stole upstairs into the bedroom and Mrs. Phillips +turned the key.</p> +<p>It took a long time, and Joan, seated on the bed, remembered a night +when she had taken a trapped mouse (if only he had been a quiet mouse!) +into the bathroom and had waited while it drowned. It was finished +at last, and Mrs Phillips stood revealed with her hair down, showing +streaks of dingy brown.</p> +<p>Joan tried to enthuse; but the words came haltingly. She suggested +to Joan a candle that some wind had suddenly blown out. The paint +and powder had been obvious, but at least it had given her the mask +of youth. She looked old and withered. The life seemed to +have gone out of her.</p> +<p>“You see, dear, I began when I was young,” she explained; +“and he has always seen me the same. I don’t think +I could live like this.”</p> +<p>The painted doll that the child fancied! the paint washed off and +the golden hair all turned to drab? Could one be sure of “getting +used to it,” of “liking it better?” And the +poor bewildered doll itself! How could one expect to make of it +a statue: “The Woman of the People.” One could only +bruise it.</p> +<p>It ended in Joan’s promising to introduce her to discreet theatrical +friends who would tell her of cosmetics less injurious to the skin, +and advise her generally in the ancient and proper art of “making +up.”</p> +<p>It was not the end she had looked for. Joan sighed as she closed +her door behind her. What was the meaning of it? On the +one hand that unimpeachable law, the greatest happiness of the greatest +number; the sacred cause of Democracy; the moral Uplift of the people; +Sanity, Wisdom, Truth, the higher Justice; all the forces on which she +was relying for the regeneration of the world—all arrayed in stern +demand that the flabby, useless Mrs. Phillips should be sacrificed for +the general good. Only one voice had pleaded for foolish, helpless +Mrs. Phillips—and had conquered. The still, small voice +of Pity.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>Arthur sprang himself upon her a little before Christmas. He +was full of a great project. It was that she and her father should +spend Christmas with his people at Birmingham. Her father thought +he would like to see his brother; they had not often met of late, and +Birmingham would be nearer for her than Liverpool.</p> +<p>Joan had no intention of being lured into the Birmingham parlour. +She thought she could see in it a scheme for her gradual entanglement. +Besides, she was highly displeased. She had intended asking her +father to come to Brighton with her. As a matter of fact, she +had forgotten all about Christmas; and the idea only came into her head +while explaining to Arthur how his impulsiveness had interfered with +it. Arthur, crestfallen, suggested telegrams. It would be +quite easy to alter everything; and of course her father would rather +be with her, wherever it was. But it seemed it was too late. +She ought to have been consulted. A sudden sense of proprietorship +in her father came to her assistance and added pathos to her indignation. +Of course, now, she would have to spend Christmas alone. She was +far too busy to think of Birmingham. She could have managed Brighton. +Argument founded on the length of journey to Birmingham as compared +with the journey to Brighton she refused to be drawn into. Her +feelings had been too deeply wounded to permit of descent into detail.</p> +<p>But the sinner, confessing his fault, is entitled to forgiveness, +and, having put him back into his proper place, she let him kiss her +hand. She even went further and let him ask her out to dinner. +As the result of her failure to reform Mrs. Phillips she was feeling +dissatisfied with herself. It was an unpleasant sensation and +somewhat new to her experience. An evening spent in Arthur’s +company might do her good. The experiment proved successful. +He really was quite a dear boy. Eyeing him thoughtfully through +the smoke of her cigarette, it occurred to her how like he was to Guido’s +painting of St. Sebastian; those soft, dreamy eyes and that beautiful, +almost feminine, face! There always had been a suspicion of the +saint about him even as a boy: nothing one could lay hold of: just that +odd suggestion of a shadow intervening between him and the world.</p> +<p>It seemed a favourable opportunity to inform him of that fixed determination +of hers: never—in all probability—to marry: but to devote +her life to her work. She was feeling very kindly towards him; +and was able to soften her decision with touches of gentle regret. +He did not appear in the least upset. But ‘thought’ +that her duty might demand, later on, that she should change her mind: +that was if fate should offer her some noble marriage, giving her wider +opportunity.</p> +<p>She was a little piqued at his unexpected attitude of aloofness. +What did he mean by a “noble marriage”—to a Duke, +or something of that sort?</p> +<p>He did not think the candidature need be confined to Dukes, though +he had no objection to a worthy Duke. He meant any really great +man who would help her and whom she could help.</p> +<p>She promised, somewhat shortly, to consider the matter, whenever +the Duke, or other class of nobleman, should propose to her. At +present no sign of him had appeared above the horizon. Her own +idea was that, if she lived long enough, she would become a spinster. +Unless someone took pity on her when she was old and decrepit and past +her work.</p> +<p>There was a little humorous smile about his mouth. But his +eyes were serious and pleading.</p> +<p>“When shall I know that you are old and decrepit?” he +asked.</p> +<p>She was not quite sure. She thought it would be when her hair +was grey—or rather white. She had been informed by experts +that her peculiar shade of hair went white, not grey.</p> +<p>“I shall ask you to marry me when your hair is white,” +he said. “May I?”</p> +<p>It did not suggest any overwhelming impatience. “Yes,” +she answered. “In case you haven’t married yourself, +and forgotten all about me.”</p> +<p>“I shall keep you to your promise,” he said quite gravely.</p> +<p>She felt the time had come to speak seriously. “I want +you to marry,” she said, “and be happy. I shall be +troubled if you don’t.”</p> +<p>He was looking at her with those shy, worshipping eyes of his that +always made her marvel at her own wonderfulness.</p> +<p>“It need not do that,” he answered. “It would +be beautiful to be with you always so that I might serve you. +But I am quite happy, loving you. Let me see you now and then: +touch you and hear your voice.”</p> +<p>Behind her drawn-down lids, she offered up a little prayer that she +might always be worthy of his homage. She didn’t know it +would make no difference to him.</p> +<p>She walked with him to Euston and saw him into the train. He +had given up his lodgings and was living with her father at The Pines. +They were busy on a plan for securing the co-operation of the workmen, +and she promised to run down and hear all about it. She would +not change her mind about Birmingham, but sent everyone her love.</p> +<p>She wished she had gone when it came to Christmas Day. This +feeling of loneliness was growing upon her. The Phillips had gone +up north; and the Greysons to some relations of theirs: swell country +people in Hampshire. Flossie was on a sea voyage with Sam and +his mother, and even Madge had been struck homesick. It happened +to be a Sunday, too, of all days in the week, and London in a drizzling +rain was just about the limit. She worked till late in the afternoon, +but, sitting down to her solitary cup of tea, she felt she wanted to +howl. From the basement came faint sounds of laughter. Her +landlord and lady were entertaining guests. If they had not been, +she would have found some excuse for running down and talking to them, +if only for a few minutes.</p> +<p>Suddenly the vision of old Chelsea Church rose up before her with +its little motherly old pew-opener. She had so often been meaning +to go and see her again, but something had always interfered. +She hunted through her drawers and found a comparatively sober-coloured +shawl, and tucked it under her cloak. The service was just commencing +when she reached the church. Mary Stopperton showed her into a +seat and evidently remembered her. “I want to see you afterwards,” +she whispered; and Mary Stopperton had smiled and nodded. The +service, with its need for being continually upon the move, bored her; +she was not in the mood for it. And the sermon, preached by a +young curate who had not yet got over his Oxford drawl, was uninteresting. +She had half hoped that the wheezy old clergyman, who had preached about +Calvary on the evening she had first visited the church, would be there +again. She wondered what had become of him, and if it were really +a fact that she had known him when she was a child, or only her fancy. +It was strange how vividly her memory of him seemed to pervade the little +church. She had the feeling he was watching her from the shadows. +She waited for Mary in the vestibule, and gave her the shawl, making +her swear on the big key of the church door that she would wear it herself +and not give it away. The little old pew-opener’s pink and +white face flushed with delight as she took it, and the thin, work-worn +hands fingered it admiringly. “But I may lend it?” +she pleaded.</p> +<p>They turned up Church Street. Joan confided to Mary what a +rotten Christmas she had had, all by herself, without a soul to speak +to except her landlady, who had brought her meals and had been in such +haste to get away.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what made me think of you,” she said. +“I’m so glad I did.” She gave the little old +lady a hug. Mary laughed. “Where are you going now, +dearie?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t mind so much now,” answered Joan. +“Now that I’ve seen a friendly face, I shall go home and +go to bed early.”</p> +<p>They walked a little way in silence. Mary slipped her hand +into Joan’s. “You wouldn’t care to come home +and have a bit of supper with me, would you, dearie?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, may I?” answered Joan.</p> +<p>Mary’s hand gave Joan’s a little squeeze. “You +won’t mind if anybody drops in?” she said. “They +do sometimes of a Sunday evening.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean a party?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“No, dear,” answered Mary. “It’s only +one or two who have nowhere else to go.”</p> +<p>Joan laughed. She thought she would be a fit candidate.</p> +<p>“You see, it makes company for me,” explained Mary.</p> +<p>Mary lived in a tiny house behind a strip of garden. It stood +in a narrow side street between two public-houses, and was covered with +ivy. It had two windows above and a window and a door below. +The upstairs rooms belonged to the churchwardens and were used as a +storehouse for old parish registers, deemed of little value. Mary +Stopperton and her bedridden husband lived in the two rooms below. +Mary unlocked the door, and Joan passed in and waited. Mary lit +a candle that was standing on a bracket and turned to lead the way.</p> +<p>“Shall I shut the door?” suggested Joan.</p> +<p>Mary blushed like a child that has been found out just as it was +hoping that it had not been noticed.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter, dearie,” she explained. +“They know, if they find it open, that I’m in.”</p> +<p>The little room looked very cosy when Mary had made up the fire and +lighted the lamp. She seated Joan in the worn horsehair easy-chair; +out of which one had to be careful one did not slip on to the floor; +and spread her handsome shawl over the back of the dilapidated sofa.</p> +<p>“You won’t mind my running away for a minute,” +she said. “I shall only be in the next room.”</p> +<p>Through the thin partition, Joan heard a constant shrill, complaining +voice. At times, it rose into an angry growl. Mary looked +in at the door.</p> +<p>“I’m just running round to the doctor’s,” +she whispered. “His medicine hasn’t come. I +shan’t be long.”</p> +<p>Joan offered to go in and sit with the invalid. But Mary feared +the exertion of talking might be too much for him. “He gets +so excited,” she explained. She slipped out noiselessly.</p> +<p>It seemed, in spite of its open door, a very silent little house +behind its strip of garden. Joan had the feeling that it was listening.</p> +<p>Suddenly she heard a light step in the passage, and the room door +opened. A girl entered. She was wearing a large black hat +and a black boa round her neck. Between them her face shone unnaturally +white. She carried a small cloth bag. She started, on seeing +Joan, and seemed about to retreat.</p> +<p>“Oh, please don’t go,” cried Joan. “Mrs. +Stopperton has just gone round to the doctor’s. She won’t +be long. I’m a friend of hers.”</p> +<p>The girl took stock of her and, apparently reassured, closed the +door behind her.</p> +<p>“What’s he like to-night?” she asked, with a jerk +of her head in the direction of the next room. She placed her +bag carefully upon the sofa, and examined the new shawl as she did so.</p> +<p>“Well, I gather he’s a little fretful,” answered +Joan with a smile.</p> +<p>“That’s a bad sign,” said the girl. “Means +he’s feeling better.” She seated herself on the sofa +and fingered the shawl. “Did you give it her?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” admitted Joan. “I rather fancied her +in it.”</p> +<p>“She’ll only pawn it,” said the girl, “to +buy him grapes and port wine.”</p> +<p>“I felt a bit afraid of her,” laughed Joan, “so +I made her promise not to part with it. Is he really very ill, +her husband?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, there’s no make-believe this time,” answered +the girl. “A bad thing for her if he wasn’t.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s only what’s known all over the neighbourhood,” +continued the girl. “She’s had a pretty rough time +with him. Twice I’ve found her getting ready to go to sleep +for the night by sitting on the bare floor with her back against the +wall. Had sold every stick in the place and gone off. But +she’d always some excuse for him. It was sure to be half +her fault and the other half he couldn’t help. Now she’s +got her ‘reward’ according to her own account. Heard +he was dying in a doss-house, and must fetch him home and nurse him +back to life. Seems he’s getting fonder of her every day. +Now that he can’t do anything else.”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t seem to depress her spirits,” mused +Joan.</p> +<p>“Oh, she! She’s all right,” agreed the girl. +“Having the time of her life: someone to look after for twenty-four +hours a day that can’t help themselves.”</p> +<p>She examined Joan awhile in silence. “Are you on the +stage?” she asked.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Joan. “But my mother was. +Are you?”</p> +<p>“Thought you looked a bit like it,” said the girl. +“I’m in the chorus. It’s better than being in +service or in a shop: that’s all you can say for it.”</p> +<p>“But you’ll get out of that,” suggested Joan. +“You’ve got the actress face.”</p> +<p>The girl flushed with pleasure. It was a striking face, with +intelligent eyes and a mobile, sensitive mouth. “Oh, yes,” +she said, “I could act all right. I feel it. But you +don’t get out of the chorus. Except at a price.”</p> +<p>Joan looked at her. “I thought that sort of thing was +dying out,” she said.</p> +<p>The girl shrugged her shoulders. “Not in my shop,” +she answered. “Anyhow, it was the only chance I ever had. +Wish sometimes I’d taken it. It was quite a good part.”</p> +<p>“They must have felt sure you could act,” said Joan. +“Next time it will be a clean offer.”</p> +<p>The girl shook her head. “There’s no next time,” +she said; “once you’re put down as one of the stand-offs. +Plenty of others to take your place.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t blame them,” she added. “It +isn’t a thing to be dismissed with a toss of your head. +I thought it all out. Don’t know now what decided me. +Something inside me, I suppose.”</p> +<p>Joan found herself poking the fire. “Have you known Mary +Stopperton long?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” answered the girl. “Ever since +I’ve been on my own.”</p> +<p>“Did you talk it over with her?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“No,” answered the girl. “I may have just +told her. She isn’t the sort that gives advice.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad you didn’t do it,” said Joan: “that +you put up a fight for all women.”</p> +<p>The girl gave a short laugh. “Afraid I wasn’t thinking +much about that,” she said.</p> +<p>“No,” said Joan. “But perhaps that’s +the way the best fights are fought—without thinking.”</p> +<p>Mary peeped round the door. She had been lucky enough to find +the doctor in. She disappeared again, and they talked about themselves. +The girl was a Miss Ensor. She lived by herself in a room in Lawrence +Street.</p> +<p>“I’m not good at getting on with people,” she explained.</p> +<p>Mary joined them, and went straight to Miss Ensor’s bag and +opened it. She shook her head at the contents, which consisted +of a small, flabby-looking meat pie in a tin dish, and two pale, flat +mince tarts.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t nourish you, dearie,” complained Mary. +“You could have bought yourself a nice bit of meat with the same +money.”</p> +<p>“And you would have had all the trouble of cooking it,” +answered the girl. “That only wants warming up.”</p> +<p>“But I like cooking, you know, dearie,” grumbled Mary. +“There’s no interest in warming things up.”</p> +<p>The girl laughed. “You don’t have to go far for +your fun,” she said. “I’ll bring a sole next +time; and you shall do it <i>au gratin</i>.”</p> +<p>Mary put the indigestible-looking pasties into the oven, and almost +banged the door. Miss Ensor proceeded to lay the table. +“How many, do you think?” she asked. Mary was doubtful. +She hoped that, it being Christmas Day, they would have somewhere better +to go.</p> +<p>“I passed old ‘Bubble and Squeak,’ just now, spouting +away to three men and a dog outside the World’s End. I expect +he’ll turn up,” thought Miss Ensor. She laid for four, +leaving space for more if need be. “I call it the ‘Cadger’s +Arms,’” she explained, turning to Joan. “We +bring our own victuals, and Mary cooks them for us and waits on us; +and the more of us the merrier. You look forward to your Sunday +evening parties, don’t you?” she asked of Mary.</p> +<p>Mary laughed. She was busy in a corner with basins and a saucepan. +“Of course I do, dearie,” she answered. “I’ve +always been fond of company.”</p> +<p>There came another opening of the door. A little hairy man +entered. He wore spectacles and was dressed in black. He +carried a paper parcel which he laid upon the table. He looked +a little doubtful at Joan. Mary introduced them. His name +was Julius Simson. He shook hands as if under protest.</p> +<p>“As friends of Mary Stopperton,” he said, “we meet +on neutral ground. But in all matters of moment I expect we are +as far asunder as the poles. I stand for the People.”</p> +<p>“We ought to be comrades,” answered Joan, with a smile. +“I, too, am trying to help the People.”</p> +<p>“You and your class,” said Mr. Simson, “are friends +enough to the People, so long as they remember that they are the People, +and keep their proper place—at the bottom. I am for putting +the People at the top.”</p> +<p>“Then they will be the Upper Classes,” suggested Joan. +“And I may still have to go on fighting for the rights of the +lower orders.”</p> +<p>“In this world,” explained Mr. Simson, “someone +has got to be Master. The only question is who.”</p> +<p>Mary had unwrapped the paper parcel. It contained half a sheep’s +head. “How would you like it done?” she whispered.</p> +<p>Mr. Simson considered. There came a softer look into his eyes. +“How did you do it last time?” he asked. “It +came up brown, I remember, with thick gravy.”</p> +<p>“Braised,” suggested Mary.</p> +<p>“That’s the word,” agreed Mr. Simson. “Braised.” +He watched while Mary took things needful from the cupboard, and commenced +to peel an onion.</p> +<p>“That’s the sort that makes me despair of the People,” +said Mr. Simson. Joan could not be sure whether he was addressing +her individually or imaginary thousands. “Likes working +for nothing. Thinks she was born to be everybody’s servant.” +He seated himself beside Miss Ensor on the antiquated sofa. It +gave a complaining groan but held out.</p> +<p>“Did you have a good house?” the girl asked him. +“Saw you from the distance, waving your arms about. Hadn’t +time to stop.”</p> +<p>“Not many,” admitted Mr. Simson. “A Christmassy +lot. You know. Sort of crowd that interrupts you and tries +to be funny. Dead to their own interests. It’s slow +work.”</p> +<p>“Why do you do it?” asked Miss Ensor.</p> +<p>“Damned if I know,” answered Mr. Simson, with a burst +of candour. “Can’t help it, I suppose. Lost +me job again.”</p> +<p>“The old story?” suggested Miss Ensor.</p> +<p>“The old story,” sighed Mr. Simson. “One +of the customers happened to be passing last Wednesday when I was speaking +on the Embankment. Heard my opinion of the middle classes?”</p> +<p>“Well, you can’t expect ’em to like it, can you?” +submitted Miss Ensor.</p> +<p>“No,” admitted Mr. Simson with generosity. “It’s +only natural. It’s a fight to the finish between me and +the Bourgeois. I cover them with ridicule and contempt and they +hit back at me in the only way they know.”</p> +<p>“Take care they don’t get the best of you,” Miss +Ensor advised him.</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m not afraid,” he answered. “I’ll +get another place all right: give me time. The only thing I’m +worried about is my young woman.”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t agree with you?” inquired Miss Ensor.</p> +<p>“Oh, it isn’t that,” he answered. “But +she’s frightened. You know. Says life with me is going +to be a bit too uncertain for her. Perhaps she’s right.”</p> +<p>“Oh, why don’t you chuck it,” advised Miss Ensor, +“give the Bourgeois a rest.”</p> +<p>Mr. Simson shook his head. “Somebody’s got to tackle +them,” he said. “Tell them the truth about themselves, +to their faces.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but it needn’t be you,” suggested Miss Ensor.</p> +<p>Mary was leaning over the table. Miss Ensor’s four-penny +veal and ham pie was ready. Mary arranged it in front of her. +“Eat it while it’s hot, dearie,” she counselled. +“It won’t be so indigestible.”</p> +<p>Miss Ensor turned to her. “Oh, you talk to him,” +she urged. “Here, he’s lost his job again, and is +losing his girl: all because of his silly politics. Tell him he’s +got to have sense and stop it.”</p> +<p>Mary seemed troubled. Evidently, as Miss Ensor had stated, +advice was not her line. “Perhaps he’s got to do it, +dearie,” she suggested.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by got to do it?” exclaimed Miss Ensor. +“Who’s making him do it, except himself?”</p> +<p>Mary flushed. She seemed to want to get back to her cooking. +“It’s something inside us, dearie,” she thought: “that +nobody hears but ourselves.”</p> +<p>“That tells him to talk all that twaddle?” demanded Miss +Ensor. “Have you heard him?”</p> +<p>“No, dearie,” Mary admitted. “But I expect +it’s got its purpose. Or he wouldn’t have to do it.”</p> +<p>Miss Ensor gave a gesture of despair and applied herself to her pie. +The hirsute face of Mr. Simson had lost the foolish aggressiveness that +had irritated Joan. He seemed to be pondering matters.</p> +<p>Mary hoped that Joan was hungry. Joan laughed and admitted +that she was. “It’s the smell of all the nice things,” +she explained. Mary promised it should soon be ready, and went +back to her corner.</p> +<p>A short, dark, thick-set man entered and stood looking round the +room. The frame must once have been powerful, but now it was shrunken +and emaciated. The shabby, threadbare clothes hung loosely from +the stooping shoulders. Only the head seemed to have retained +its vigour. The face, from which the long black hair was brushed +straight back, was ghastly white. Out of it, deep set beneath +great shaggy, overhanging brows, blazed the fierce, restless eyes of +a fanatic. The huge, thin-lipped mouth seemed to have petrified +itself into a savage snarl. He gave Joan the idea, as he stood +there glaring round him, of a hunted beast at bay.</p> +<p>Miss Ensor, whose bump of reverence was undeveloped, greeted him +cheerfully as Boanerges. Mr. Simson, more respectful, rose and +offered his small, grimy hand. Mary took his hat and cloak away +from him and closed the door behind him. She felt his hands, and +put him into a chair close to the fire. And then she introduced +him to Joan.</p> +<p>Joan started on hearing his name. It was one well known.</p> +<p>“The Cyril Baptiste?” she asked. She had often +wondered what he might be like.</p> +<p>“The Cyril Baptiste,” he answered, in a low, even, passionate +voice, that he flung at her almost like a blow. “The atheist, +the gaol bird, the pariah, the blasphemer, the anti-Christ. I’ve +hoofs instead of feet. Shall I take off my boots and show them +to you? I tuck my tail inside my coat. You can’t see +my horns. I’ve cut them off close to my head. That’s +why I wear my hair long: to hide the stumps.”</p> +<p>Mary had been searching in the pockets of his cloak. She had +found a paper bag. “You mustn’t get excited,” +she said, laying her little work-worn hand upon his shoulder; “or +you’ll bring on the bleeding.”</p> +<p>“Aye,” he answered, “I must be careful I don’t +die on Christmas Day. It would make a fine text, that, for their +sermons.”</p> +<p>He lapsed into silence: his almost transparent hands stretched out +towards the fire.</p> +<p>Mr. Simson fidgeted. The quiet of the room, broken only by +Mary’s ministering activities, evidently oppressed him.</p> +<p>“Paper going well, sir?” he asked. “I often +read it myself.”</p> +<p>“It still sells,” answered the proprietor, and editor +and publisher, and entire staff of <i>The Rationalist</i>.</p> +<p>“I like the articles you are writing on the History of Superstition. +Quite illuminating,” remarked Mr. Simson.</p> +<p>“It’s many a year, I am afraid, to the final chapter,” +thought their author.</p> +<p>“They afford much food for reflection,” thought Mr. Simson, +“though I cannot myself go as far as you do in including Christianity +under that heading.”</p> +<p>Mary frowned at him; but Mr. Simson, eager for argument or not noticing, +blundered on:—</p> +<p>“Whether we accept the miraculous explanation of Christ’s +birth,” continued Mr. Simson, in his best street-corner voice, +“or whether, with the great French writer whose name for the moment +escapes me, we regard Him merely as a man inspired, we must, I think, +admit that His teaching has been of help: especially to the poor.”</p> +<p>The fanatic turned upon him so fiercely that Mr. Simson’s arm +involuntarily assumed the posture of defence.</p> +<p>“To the poor?” the old man almost shrieked. “To +the poor that he has robbed of all power of resistance to oppression +by his vile, submissive creed! that he has drugged into passive acceptance +of every evil done to them by his false promises that their sufferings +here shall win for them some wonderful reward when they are dead. +What has been his teaching to the poor? Bow your backs to the +lash, kiss the rod that scars your flesh. Be ye humble, oh, my +people. Be ye poor in spirit. Let Wrong rule triumphant +through the world. Raise no hand against it, lest ye suffer my +eternal punishments. Learn from me to be meek and lowly. +Learn to be good slaves and give no trouble to your taskmasters. +Let them turn the world into a hell for you. The grave—the +grave shall be your gate to happiness.</p> +<p>“Helpful to the poor? Helpful to their rulers, to their +owners. They take good care that Christ shall be well taught. +Their fat priests shall bear his message to the poor. The rod +may be broken, the prison door be forced. It is Christ that shall +bind the people in eternal fetters. Christ, the lackey, the jackal +of the rich.”</p> +<p>Mr. Simson was visibly shocked. Evidently he was less familiar +with the opinions of <i>The Rationalist</i> than he had thought.</p> +<p>“I really must protest,” exclaimed Mr. Simson. +“To whatever wrong uses His words may have been twisted, Christ +Himself I regard as divine, and entitled to be spoken of with reverence. +His whole life, His sufferings—”</p> +<p>But the old fanatic’s vigour had not yet exhausted itself.</p> +<p>“His sufferings!” he interrupted. “Does suffering +entitle a man to be regarded as divine? If so, so also am I a +God. Look at me!” He stretched out his long, thin +arms with their claw-like hands, thrusting forward his great savage +head that the bony, wizened throat seemed hardly strong enough to bear. +“Wealth, honour, happiness: I had them once. I had wife, +children and a home. Now I creep an outcast, keeping to the shadows, +and the children in the street throw stones at me. Thirty years +I have starved that I might preach. They shut me in their prisons, +they hound me into garrets. They jibe at me and mock me, but they +cannot silence me. What of my life? Am I divine?”</p> +<p>Miss Ensor, having finished her supper, sat smoking.</p> +<p>“Why must you preach?” she asked. “It doesn’t +seem to pay you.” There was a curious smile about the girl’s +lips as she caught Joan’s eye.</p> +<p>He turned to her with his last flicker of passion.</p> +<p>“Because to this end was I born, and for this cause came I +into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth,” he +answered.</p> +<p>He sank back a huddled heap upon the chair. There was foam +about his mouth, great beads of sweat upon his forehead. Mary +wiped them away with a corner of her apron, and felt again his trembling +hands. “Oh, please don’t talk to him any more,” +she pleaded, “not till he’s had his supper.” +She fetched her fine shawl, and pinned it round him. His eyes +followed her as she hovered about him. For the first time, since +he had entered the room, they looked human.</p> +<p>They gathered round the table. Mr. Baptiste was still pinned +up in Mary’s bright shawl. It lent him a curious dignity. +He might have been some ancient prophet stepped from the pages of the +Talmud. Miss Ensor completed her supper with a cup of tea and +some little cakes: “just to keep us all company,” as Mary +had insisted.</p> +<p>The old fanatic’s eyes passed from face to face. There +was almost the suggestion of a smile about the savage mouth.</p> +<p>“A strange supper-party,” he said. “Cyril +the Apostate; and Julius who strove against the High Priests and the +Pharisees; and Inez a dancer before the people; and Joanna a daughter +of the rulers, gathered together in the house of one Mary a servant +of the Lord.”</p> +<p>“Are you, too, a Christian?” he asked of Joan.</p> +<p>“Not yet,” answered Joan. “But I hope to +be, one day.” She spoke without thinking, not quite knowing +what she meant. But it came back to her in after years.</p> +<p>The talk grew lighter under the influence of Mary’s cooking. +Mr. Baptiste could be interesting when he got away from his fanaticism; +and even the apostolic Mr. Simson had sometimes noticed humour when +it had chanced his way.</p> +<p>A message came for Mary about ten o’clock, brought by a scared +little girl, who whispered it to her at the door. Mary apologized. +She had to go out. The party broke up. Mary disappeared +into the next room and returned in a shawl and bonnet, carrying a small +brown paper parcel. Joan walked with her as far as the King’s +Road.</p> +<p>“A little child is coming,” she confided to Joan. +She was quite excited about it.</p> +<p>Joan thought. “It’s curious,” she said, “one +so seldom hears of anybody being born on Christmas Day.”</p> +<p>They were passing a lamp. Joan had never seen a face look quite +so happy as Mary’s looked, just then.</p> +<p>“It always seems to me Christ’s birthday,” she +said, “whenever a child is born.”</p> +<p>They had reached the corner. Joan could see her bus in the +distance.</p> +<p>She stooped and kissed the little withered face.</p> +<p>“Don’t stop,” she whispered.</p> +<p>Mary gave her a hug, and almost ran away. Joan watched the +little child-like figure growing smaller. It glided in and out +among the people.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>In the spring, Joan, at Mrs. Denton’s request, undertook a +mission. It was to go to Paris. Mrs. Denton had meant to +go herself, but was laid up with sciatica; and the matter, she considered, +would not brook of any delay.</p> +<p>“It’s rather a delicate business,” she told Joan. +She was lying on a couch in her great library, and Joan was seated by +her side. “I want someone who can go into private houses +and mix with educated people on their own level; and especially I want +you to see one or two women: they count in France. You know French +pretty well, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, sufficiently,” Joan answered. The one thing +her mother had done for her had been to talk French with her when she +was a child; and at Girton she had chummed on with a French girl, and +made herself tolerably perfect.</p> +<p>“You will not go as a journalist,” continued Mrs. Denton; +“but as a personal friend of mine, whose discretion I shall vouch +for. I want you to find out what the people I am sending you among +are thinking themselves, and what they consider ought to be done. +If we are not very careful on both sides we shall have the newspapers +whipping us into war.”</p> +<p>The perpetual Egyptian trouble had cropped up again and the Carleton +papers, in particular, were already sounding the tocsin. Carleton’s +argument was that we ought to fall upon France and crush her, before +she could develop her supposed submarine menace. His flaming posters +were at every corner. Every obscure French newspaper was being +ransacked for “Insults and Pinpricks.”</p> +<p>“A section of the Paris Press is doing all it can to help him, +of course,” explained Mrs. Denton. “It doesn’t +seem to matter to them that Germany is only waiting her opportunity, +and that, if Russia comes in, it is bound to bring Austria. Europe +will pay dearly one day for the luxury of a free Press.”</p> +<p>“But you’re surely not suggesting any other kind of Press, +at this period of the world’s history?” exclaimed Joan.</p> +<p>“Oh, but I am,” answered the old lady with a grim tightening +of the lips. “Not even Carleton would be allowed to incite +to murder or arson. I would have him prosecuted for inciting a +nation to war.”</p> +<p>“Why is the Press always so eager for war?” mused Joan. +“According to their own account, war doesn’t pay them.”</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose it does: not directly,” answered +Mrs. Denton. “But it helps them to establish their position +and get a tighter hold upon the public. War does pay the newspaper +in the long run. The daily newspaper lives on commotion, crime, +lawlessness in general. If people no longer enjoyed reading about +violence and bloodshed half their occupation, and that the most profitable +half would be gone. It is the interest of the newspaper to keep +alive the savage in human nature; and war affords the readiest means +of doing this. You can’t do much to increase the number +of gruesome murders and loathsome assaults, beyond giving all possible +advertisement to them when they do occur. But you can preach war, +and cover yourself with glory, as a patriot, at the same time.”</p> +<p>“I wonder how many of my ideals will be left to me,” +sighed Joan. “I always used to regard the Press as the modern +pulpit.”</p> +<p>“The old pulpit became an evil, the moment it obtained unlimited +power,” answered Mrs. Denton. “It originated persecution +and inflamed men’s passions against one another. It, too, +preached war for its own ends, taught superstition, and punished thought +as a crime. The Press of to-day is stepping into the shoes of +the medieval priest. It aims at establishing the worst kind of +tyranny: the tyranny over men’s minds. They pretend to fight +among themselves, but it’s rapidly becoming a close corporation. +The Institute of Journalists will soon be followed by the Union of Newspaper +Proprietors and the few independent journals will be squeezed out. +Already we have German shareholders on English papers; and English capital +is interested in the St. Petersburg Press. It will one day have +its International Pope and its school of cosmopolitan cardinals.”</p> +<p>Joan laughed. “I can see Carleton rather fancying himself +in a tiara,” she said. “I must tell Phillips what +you say. He’s out for a fight with him. Government +by Parliament or Government by Press is going to be his war cry.”</p> +<p>“Good man,” said Mrs. Denton. “I’m +quite serious. You tell him from me that the next revolution has +got to be against the Press. And it will be the stiffest fight +Democracy has ever had.”</p> +<p>The old lady had tired herself. Joan undertook the mission. +She thought she would rather enjoy it, and Mrs. Denton promised to let +her have full instructions. She would write to her friends in +Paris and prepare them for Joan’s coming.</p> +<p>Joan remembered Folk, the artist she had met at Flossie’s party, +who had promised to walk with her on the terrace at St. Germain, and +tell her more about her mother. She looked up his address on her +return home, and wrote to him, giving him the name of the hotel in the +Rue de Grenelle where Mrs. Denton had arranged that she should stay. +She found a note from him awaiting her when she arrived there. +He thought she would like to be quiet after her journey. He would +call round in the morning. He had presumed on the privilege of +age to send her some lilies. They had been her mother’s +favourite flower. “Monsieur Folk, the great artist,” +had brought them himself, and placed them in her dressing-room, so Madame +informed her.</p> +<p>It was one of the half-dozen old hotels still left in Paris, and +was built round a garden famous for its mighty mulberry tree. +She breakfasted underneath it, and was reading there when Folk appeared +before her, smiling and with his hat in his hand. He excused himself +for intruding upon her so soon, thinking from what she had written him +that her first morning might be his only chance. He evidently +considered her remembrance of him a feather in his cap.</p> +<p>“We old fellows feel a little sadly, at times, how unimportant +we are,” he explained. “We are grateful when Youth +throws us a smile.”</p> +<p>“You told me my coming would take you back thirty-three years,” +Joan reminded him. “It makes us about the same age. +I shall treat you as just a young man.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “Don’t be surprised,” he said, +“if I make a mistake occasionally and call you Lena.”</p> +<p>Joan had no appointment till the afternoon. They drove out +to St. Germain, and had <i>déjeuner</i> at a small restaurant +opposite the Château; and afterwards they strolled on to the terrace.</p> +<p>“What was my mother doing in Paris?” asked Joan,</p> +<p>“She was studying for the stage,” he answered. +“Paris was the only school in those days. I was at Julien’s +studio. We acted together for some charity. I had always +been fond of it. An American manager who was present offered us +both an engagement, and I thought it would be a change and that I could +combine the two arts.”</p> +<p>“And it was here that you proposed to her,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“Just by that tree that leans forward,” he answered, +pointing with his cane a little way ahead. “I thought that +in America I’d get another chance. I might have if your +father hadn’t come along. I wonder if he remembers me.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever see her again, after her marriage?” asked +Joan.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered. “We used to write to one +another until she gave it up. She had got into the habit of looking +upon me as a harmless sort of thing to confide in and ask advice of—which +she never took.”</p> +<p>“Forgive me,” he said. “You must remember +that I am still her lover.” They had reached the tree that +leant a little forward beyond its fellows, and he had halted and turned +so that he was facing her. “Did she and your father get +on together. Was she happy?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think she was happy,” answered Joan. +“She was at first. As a child, I can remember her singing +and laughing about the house, and she liked always to have people about +her. Until her illness came. It changed her very much. +But my father was gentleness itself, to the end.”</p> +<p>They had resumed their stroll. It seemed to her that he looked +at her once or twice a little oddly without speaking. “What +caused your mother’s illness?” he asked, abruptly.</p> +<p>The question troubled her. It struck her with a pang of self-reproach +that she had always been indifferent to her mother’s illness, +regarding it as more or less imaginary. “It was mental rather +than physical, I think,” she answered. “I never knew +what brought it about.”</p> +<p>Again he looked at her with that odd, inquisitive expression. +“She never got over it?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, there were times,” answered Joan, “when she +was more like her old self again. But I don’t think she +ever quite got over it. Unless it was towards the end,” +she added. “They told me she seemed much better for a little +while before she died. I was away at Cambridge at the time.”</p> +<p>“Poor dear lady,” he said, “all those years! +And poor Jack Allway.” He seemed to be talking to himself. +Suddenly he turned to her. “How is the dear fellow?” +he asked.</p> +<p>Again the question troubled her. She had not seen her father +since that week-end, nearly six months ago, when she had ran down to +see him because she wanted something from him. “He felt +my mother’s death very deeply,” she answered. “But +he’s well enough in health.”</p> +<p>“Remember me to him,” he said. “And tell +him I thank him for all those years of love and gentleness. I +don’t think he will be offended.”</p> +<p>He drove her back to Paris, and she promised to come and see him +in his studio and let him introduce her to his artist friends.</p> +<p>“I shall try to win you over, I warn you,” he said. +“Politics will never reform the world. They appeal only +to men’s passions and hatreds. They divide us. It +is Art that is going to civilize mankind; broaden his sympathies. +Art speaks to him the common language of his loves, his dreams, reveals +to him the universal kinship.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton’s friends called upon her, and most of them invited +her to their houses. A few were politicians, senators or ministers. +Others were bankers, heads of business houses, literary men and women. +There were also a few quiet folk with names that were historical. +They all thought that war between France and England would be a world +disaster, but were not very hopeful of averting it. She learnt +that Carleton was in Berlin trying to secure possession of a well-known +German daily that happened at the moment to be in low water. He +was working for an alliance between Germany and England. In France, +the Royalists had come to an understanding with the Clericals, and both +were evidently making ready to throw in their lot with the war-mongers, +hoping that out of the troubled waters the fish would come their way. +Of course everything depended on the people. If the people only +knew it! But they didn’t. They stood about in puzzled +flocks, like sheep, wondering which way the newspaper dog was going +to hound them. They took her to the great music halls. Every +allusion to war was greeted with rapturous applause. The Marseillaise +was demanded and encored till the orchestra rebelled from sheer exhaustion. +Joan’s patience was sorely tested. She had to listen with +impassive face to coarse jests and brutal gibes directed against England +and everything English; to sit unmoved while the vast audience rocked +with laughter at senseless caricatures of supposed English soldiers +whose knees always gave way at the sight of a French uniform. +Even in the eyes of her courteous hosts, Joan’s quick glance would +occasionally detect a curious glint. The fools! Had they +never heard of Waterloo and Trafalgar? Even if their memories +might be excused for forgetting Crecy and Poictiers and the campaigns +of Marlborough. One evening—it had been a particularly trying +one for Joan—there stepped upon the stage a wooden-looking man +in a kilt with bagpipes under his arm. How he had got himself +into the programme Joan could not understand. Managerial watchfulness +must have gone to sleep for once. He played Scotch melodies, and +the Parisians liked them, and when he had finished they called him back. +Joan and her friends occupied a box close to the stage. The wooden-looking +Scot glanced up at her, and their eyes met. And as the applause +died down there rose the first low warning strains of the Pibroch. +Joan sat up in her chair and her lips parted. The savage music +quickened. It shrilled and skrealed. The blood came surging +through her veins.</p> +<p>And suddenly something lying hidden there leaped to life within her +brain. A mad desire surged hold of her to rise and shout defiance +at those three thousand pairs of hostile eyes confronting her. +She clutched at the arms of her chair and so kept her seat. The +pibroch ended with its wild sad notes of wailing, and slowly the mist +cleared from her eyes, and the stage was empty. A strange hush +had fallen on the house.</p> +<p>She was not aware that her hostess had been watching her. She +was a sweet-faced, white-haired lady. She touched Joan lightly +on the hand. “That’s the trouble,” she whispered. +“It’s in our blood.”</p> +<p>Could we ever hope to eradicate it? Was not the survival of +this fighting instinct proof that war was still needful to us? +In the sculpture-room of an exhibition she came upon a painted statue +of Bellona. Its grotesqueness shocked her at first sight, the +red streaming hair, the wild eyes filled with fury, the wide open mouth—one +could almost hear it screaming—the white uplifted arms with outstretched +hands! Appalling! Terrible! And yet, as she gazed +at it, gradually the thing grew curiously real to her. She seemed +to hear the gathering of the chariots, the neighing of the horses, the +hurrying of many feet, the sound of an armouring multitude, the shouting, +and the braying of the trumpets.</p> +<p>These cold, thin-lipped calculators, arguing that “War doesn’t +pay”; those lank-haired cosmopolitans, preaching their “International,” +as if the only business of mankind were wages! War still was the +stern school where men learnt virtue, duty, forgetfulness of self, faithfulness +unto death.</p> +<p>This particular war, of course, must be stopped: if it were not already +too late. It would be a war for markets; for spheres of commercial +influence; a sordid war that would degrade the people. War, the +supreme test of a nation’s worth, must be reserved for great ideals. +Besides, she wanted to down Carleton.</p> +<p>One of the women on her list, and the one to whom Mrs. Denton appeared +to attach chief importance, a Madame de Barante, disappointed Joan. +She seemed to have so few opinions of her own. She had buried +her young husband during the Franco-Prussian war. He had been +a soldier. And she had remained unmarried. She was still +beautiful.</p> +<p>“I do not think we women have the right to discuss war,” +she confided to Joan in her gentle, high-bred voice. “I +suppose you think that out of date. I should have thought so myself +forty years ago. We talk of ‘giving’ our sons and +lovers, as if they were ours to give. It makes me a little angry +when I hear pampered women speak like that. It is the men who +have to suffer and die. It is for them to decide.”</p> +<p>“But perhaps I can arrange a meeting for you with a friend,” +she added, “who will be better able to help you, if he is in Paris. +I will let you know.”</p> +<p>She told Joan what she remembered herself of 1870. She had +turned her country house into a hospital and had seen a good deal of +the fighting.</p> +<p>“It would not do to tell the truth, or we should have our children +growing up to hate war,” she concluded.</p> +<p>She was as good as her word, and sent Joan round a message the next +morning to come and see her in the afternoon. Joan was introduced +to a Monsieur de Chaumont. He was a soldierly-looking gentleman, +with a grey moustache, and a deep scar across his face.</p> +<p>“Hanged if I can see how we are going to get out of it,” +he answered Joan cheerfully. “The moment there is any threat +of war, it becomes a point of honour with every nation to do nothing +to avoid it. I remember my old duelling days. The quarrel +may have been about the silliest trifle imaginable. A single word +would have explained the whole thing away. But to utter it would +have stamped one as a coward. This Egyptian Tra-la-la! It +isn’t worth the bones of a single grenadier, as our friends across +the Rhine would say. But I expect, before it’s settled, +there will be men’s bones sufficient, bleaching on the desert, +to build another Pyramid. It’s so easily started: that’s +the devil of it. A mischievous boy can throw a lighted match into +a powder magazine, and then it becomes every patriot’s business +to see that it isn’t put out. I hate war. It accomplishes +nothing, and leaves everything in a greater muddle than it was before. +But if the idea ever catches fire, I shall have to do all I can to fan +the conflagration. Unless I am prepared to be branded as a poltroon. +Every professional soldier is supposed to welcome war. Most of +us do: it’s our opportunity. There’s some excuse for +us. But these men—Carleton and their lot: I regard them +as nothing better than the Ménades of the Commune. They +care nothing if the whole of Europe blazes. They cannot personally +get harmed whatever happens. It’s fun to them.”</p> +<p>“But the people who can get harmed,” argued Joan. +“The men who will be dragged away from their work, from their +business, used as ‘cannon fodder.’”</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, they are always eager +enough for it, at first,” he answered. “There is the +excitement. The curiosity. You must remember that life is +a monotonous affair to the great mass of the people. There’s +the natural craving to escape from it; to court adventure. They +are not so enthusiastic about it after they have tasted it. Modern +warfare, they soon find, is about as dull a business as science ever +invented.”</p> +<p>There was only one hope that he could see: and that was to switch +the people’s mind on to some other excitement. His advices +from London told him that a parliamentary crisis was pending. +Could not Mrs. Denton and her party do something to hasten it? +He, on his side, would consult with the Socialist leaders, who might +have something to suggest.</p> +<p>He met Joan, radiant, a morning or two later. The English Government +had resigned and preparations for a general election were already on +foot.</p> +<p>“And God has been good to us, also,” he explained.</p> +<p>A well-known artist had been found murdered in his bed and grave +suspicion attached to his beautiful young wife.</p> +<p>“She deserves the Croix de Guerre, if it is proved that she +did it,” he thought. “She will have saved many thousands +of lives—for the present.”</p> +<p>Folk had fixed up a party at his studio to meet her. She had +been there once or twice; but this was a final affair. She had +finished her business in Paris and would be leaving the next morning. +To her surprise, she found Phillips there. He had come over hurriedly +to attend a Socialist conference, and Leblanc, the editor of <i>Le Nouveau +Monde</i>, had brought him along.</p> +<p>“I took Smedley’s place at the last moment,” he +whispered to her. “I’ve never been abroad before. +You don’t mind, do you?”</p> +<p>It didn’t strike her as at all odd that a leader of a political +party should ask her “if she minded” his being in Paris +to attend a political conference. He was wearing a light grey +suit and a blue tie. There was nothing about him, at that moment, +suggesting that he was a leader of any sort. He might have been +just any man, but for his eyes.</p> +<p>“No,” she whispered. “Of course not. +I don’t like your tie.” It seemed to depress him, +that.</p> +<p>She felt elated at the thought that he would see her for the first +time amid surroundings where she would shine. Folk came forward +to meet her with that charming air of protective deference that he had +adopted towards her. He might have been some favoured minister +of state kissing the hand of a youthful Queen. She glanced down +the long studio, ending in its fine window overlooking the park. +Some of the most distinguished men in Paris were there, and the immediate +stir of admiration that her entrance had created was unmistakable. +Even the women turned pleased glances at her; as if willing to recognize +in her their representative. A sense of power came to her that +made her feel kind to all the world. There was no need for her +to be clever: to make any effort to attract. Her presence, her +sympathy, her approval seemed to be all that was needed of her. +She had the consciousness that by the mere exercise of her will she +could sway the thoughts and actions of these men: that sovereignty had +been given to her. It reflected itself in her slightly heightened +colour, in the increased brilliance of her eyes, in the confident case +of all her movements. It added a compelling softness to her voice.</p> +<p>She never quite remembered what the talk was about. Men were +brought up and presented to her, and hung about her words, and sought +to please her. She had spoken her own thoughts, indifferent whether +they expressed agreement or not; and the argument had invariably taken +another plane. It seemed so important that she should be convinced. +Some had succeeded, and had been strengthened. Others had failed, +and had departed sorrowful, conscious of the necessity of “thinking +it out again.”</p> +<p>Guests with other engagements were taking their leave. A piquante +little woman, outrageously but effectively dressed—she looked +like a drawing by Beardsley—drew her aside. “I’ve +always wished I were a man,” she said. “It seemed +to me that they had all the power. From this afternoon, I shall +be proud of belonging to the governing sex.”</p> +<p>She laughed and slipped away.</p> +<p>Phillips was waiting for her in the vestibule. She had forgotten +him; but now she felt glad of his humble request to be allowed to see +her home. It would have been such a big drop from her crowded +hour of triumph to the long lonely cab ride and the solitude of the +hotel. She resolved to be gracious, feeling a little sorry for +her neglect of him—but reflecting with satisfaction that he had +probably been watching her the whole time.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with my tie?” he asked. +“Wrong colour?”</p> +<p>She laughed. “Yes,” she answered. “It +ought to be grey to match your suit. And so ought your socks.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know it was going to be such a swell affair, +or I shouldn’t have come,” he said.</p> +<p>She touched his hand lightly.</p> +<p>“I want you to get used to it,” she said. “It’s +part of your work. Put your brain into it, and don’t be +afraid.”</p> +<p>“I’ll try,” he said.</p> +<p>He was sitting on the front seat, facing her. “I’m +glad I went,” he said with sudden vehemence. “I loved +watching you, moving about among all those people. I never knew +before how beautiful you are.”</p> +<p>Something in his eyes sent a slight thrill of fear through her. +It was not an unpleasant sensation—rather exhilarating. +She watched the passing street till she felt that his eyes were no longer +devouring her.</p> +<p>“You’re not offended?” he asked. “At +my thinking you beautiful?” he added, in case she hadn’t +understood.</p> +<p>She laughed. Her confidence had returned to her. “It +doesn’t generally offend a woman,” she answered.</p> +<p>He seemed relieved. “That’s what’s so wonderful +about you,” he said. “I’ve met plenty of clever, +brilliant women, but one could forget that they were women. You’re +everything.”</p> +<p>He pleaded, standing below her on the steps of the hotel, that she +would dine with him. But she shook her head. She had her +packing to do. She could have managed it; but something prudent +and absurd had suddenly got hold of her; and he went away with much +the same look in his eyes that comes to a dog when he finds that his +master cannot be persuaded into an excursion.</p> +<p>She went up to her room. There really was not much to do. +She could quite well finish her packing in the morning. She sat +down at the desk and set to work to arrange her papers. It was +a warm spring evening, and the window was open. A crowd of noisy +sparrows seemed to be delighted about something. From somewhere, +unseen, a blackbird was singing. She read over her report for +Mrs. Denton. The blackbird seemed never to have heard of war. +He sang as if the whole world were a garden of languor and love. +Joan looked at her watch. The first gong would sound in a few +minutes. She pictured the dreary, silent dining-room with its +few scattered occupants, and her heart sank at the prospect. To +her relief came remembrance of a cheerful but entirely respectable restaurant +near to the Louvre to which she had been taken a few nights before. +She had noticed quite a number of women dining there alone. She +closed her dispatch case with a snap and gave a glance at herself in +the great mirror. The blackbird was still singing.</p> +<p>She walked up the Rue des Sts. Pères, enjoying the delicious +air. Half way across the bridge she overtook a man, strolling +listlessly in front of her. There was something familiar about +him. He was wearing a grey suit and had his hands in his pockets. +Suddenly the truth flashed upon her. She stopped. If he +strolled on, she would be able to slip back. Instead of which +he abruptly turned to look down at a passing steamer, and they were +face to face.</p> +<p>It made her mad, the look of delight that came into his eyes. +She could have boxed his ears. Hadn’t he anything else to +do but hang about the streets.</p> +<p>He explained that he had been listening to the band in the gardens, +returning by the Quai d’Orsay.</p> +<p>“Do let me come with you,” he said. “I kept +myself free this evening, hoping. And I’m feeling so lonesome.”</p> +<p>Poor fellow! She had come to understand that feeling. +After all, it wasn’t altogether his fault that they had met. +And she had been so cross to him!</p> +<p>He was reading every expression on her face.</p> +<p>“It’s such a lovely evening,” he said. “Couldn’t +we go somewhere and dine under a tree?”</p> +<p>It would be rather pleasant. There was a little place at Meudon, +she remembered. The plane trees would just be in full leaf.</p> +<p>A passing cab had drawn up close to them. The chauffeur was +lighting his pipe.</p> +<p>Even Mrs. Grundy herself couldn’t object to a journalist dining +with a politician!</p> +<p>The stars came out before they had ended dinner. She had made +him talk about himself. It was marvellous what he had accomplished +with his opportunities. Ten hours a day in the mines had earned +for him his living, and the night had given him his leisure. An +attic, lighted by a tallow candle, with a shelf of books that left him +hardly enough for bread, had been his Alma Mater. History was +his chief study. There was hardly an authority Joan could think +of with which he was not familiar. <i>Julius Caesar</i> was his +favourite play. He seemed to know it by heart. At twenty-three +he had been elected a delegate, and had entered Parliament at twenty-eight. +It had been a life of hardship, of privation, of constant strain; but +she found herself unable to pity him. It was a tale of strength, +of struggle, of victory, that he told her.</p> +<p>Strength! The shaded lamplight fell upon his fearless kindly +face with its flashing eyes and its humorous mouth. He ought to +have been drinking out of a horn, not a wine glass that his well-shaped +hand could have crushed by a careless pressure. In a winged helmet +and a coat of mail he would have looked so much more fitly dressed than +in that soft felt hat and ridiculous blue tie.</p> +<p>She led him to talk on about the future. She loved to hear +his clear, confident voice with its touch of boyish boastfulness. +What was there to stop him? Why should he not climb from power +to power till he had reached the end!</p> +<p>And as he talked and dreamed there grew up in her heart a fierce +anger. What would her own future be? She would marry probably +some man of her own class, settle down to the average woman’s +“life”; be allowed, like a spoilt child, to still “take +an interest” in public affairs: hold “drawing-rooms” +attended by cranks and political nonentities: be President, perhaps, +of the local Woman’s Liberal League. The alternative: to +spend her days glued to a desk, penning exhortations to the people that +Carleton and his like might or might not allow them to read; while youth +and beauty slipped away from her, leaving her one of the ten thousand +other lonely, faded women, forcing themselves unwelcome into men’s +jobs. There came to her a sense of having been robbed of what +was hers by primitive eternal law. Greyson had been right. +She did love power—power to serve and shape the world. She +would have earned it and used it well. She could have helped him, +inspired him. They would have worked together: he the force and +she the guidance. She would have supplied the things he lacked. +It was to her he came for counsel, as it was. But for her he would +never have taken the first step. What right had this poor brainless +lump of painted flesh to share his wounds, his triumphs? What +help could she give him when the time should come that he should need +it?</p> +<p>Suddenly he broke off. “What a fool I’m making +of myself,” he said. “I always was a dreamer.”</p> +<p>She forced a laugh. “Why shouldn’t it come true?” +she asked.</p> +<p>They had the little garden to themselves. The million lights +of Paris shone below them.</p> +<p>“Because you won’t be there,” he answered, “and +without you I can’t do it. You think I’m always like +I am to-night, bragging, confident. So I am when you are with +me. You give me back my strength. The plans and hopes and +dreams that were slipping from me come crowding round me, laughing and +holding out their hands. They are like the children. They +need two to care for them. I want to talk about them to someone +who understands them and loves them, as I do. I want to feel they +are dear to someone else, as well as to myself: that I must work for +them for her sake, as well as for my own. I want someone to help +me to bring them up.”</p> +<p>There were tears in his eyes. He brushed them angrily away. +“Oh, I know I ought to be ashamed of myself,” he said. +“It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t to know that +a hot-blooded young chap of twenty hasn’t all his wits about him, +any more than I was. If I had never met you, it wouldn’t +have mattered. I’d have done my bit of good, and have stopped +there, content. With you beside me”—he looked away +from her to where the silent city peeped through its veil of night—“I +might have left the world better than I found it.”</p> +<p>The blood had mounted to her face. She drew back into the shadow, +beyond the tiny sphere of light made by the little lamp.</p> +<p>“Men have accomplished great things without a woman’s +help,” she said.</p> +<p>“Some men,” he answered. “Artists and poets. +They have the woman within them. Men like myself—the mere +fighter: we are incomplete in ourselves. Male and female created +He them. We are lost without our mate.”</p> +<p>He was thinking only of himself. Had he no pity for her. +So was she, also, useless without her mate. Neither was she of +those, here and there, who can stand alone. Her task was that +of the eternal woman: to make a home: to cleanse the world of sin and +sorrow, make it a kinder dwelling-place for the children that should +come. This man was her true helpmeet. He would have been +her weapon, her dear servant; and she could have rewarded him as none +other ever could. The lamplight fell upon his ruddy face, his +strong white hands resting on the flimsy table. He belonged to +an older order than her own. That suggestion about him of something +primitive, of something not yet altogether tamed. She felt again +that slight thrill of fear that so strangely excited her. A mist +seemed to be obscuring all things. He seemed to be coming towards +her. Only by keeping her eyes fixed on his moveless hands, still +resting on the table, could she convince herself that his arms were +not closing about her, that she was not being drawn nearer and nearer +to him, powerless to resist.</p> +<p>Suddenly, out of the mist, she heard voices. The waiter was +standing beside him with the bill. She reached out her hand and +took it. The usual few mistakes had occurred. She explained +them, good temperedly, and the waiter, with profuse apologies, went +back to have it corrected.</p> +<p>He turned to her as the man went. “Try and forgive me,” +he said in a low voice. “It all came tumbling out before +I thought what I was saying.”</p> +<p>The blood was flowing back into her veins. “Oh, it wasn’t +your fault,” she answered. “We must make the best +we can of it.”</p> +<p>He bent forward so that he could see into her eyes.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” he said. There was a note of fierce +exultation in his voice. “I’ll promise never to speak +of it again. If I had been a free man, could I have won you?”</p> +<p>She had risen while he was speaking. She moved to him and laid +her hands upon his shoulders.</p> +<p>“Will you serve me and fight for me against all my enemies?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“So long as I live,” he answered.</p> +<p>She glanced round. There was no sign of the returning waiter. +She bent over him and kissed him.</p> +<p>“Don’t come with me,” she said. “There’s +a cab stand in the Avenue. I shall walk to Sèvres and take +the train.”</p> +<p>She did not look back.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>She reached home in the evening. The Phillips’s old rooms +had been twice let since Christmas, but were now again empty. +The McKean with his silent ways and his everlasting pipe had gone to +America to superintend the production of one of his plays. The +house gave her the feeling of being haunted. She had her dinner +brought up to her and prepared for a long evening’s work; but +found herself unable to think—except on the one subject that she +wanted to put off thinking about. To her relief the last post +brought her a letter from Arthur. He had been called to Lisbon +to look after a contract, and would be away for a fortnight. Her +father was not as well as he had been.</p> +<p>It seemed to just fit in. She would run down and spend a few +quiet days at Liverpool. In her old familiar room where the moon +peeped in over the tops of the tall pines she would be able to reason +things out. Perhaps her father would be able to help her. +She had lost her childish conception of him as of someone prim and proper, +with cut and dried formulas for all occasions. That glimpse he +had shown her of himself had established a fellowship between them. +He, too, had wrestled with life’s riddles, not sure of his own +answers. She found him suffering from his old heart trouble, but +more cheerful than she had known him for years. Arthur seemed +to be doing wonders with the men. They were coming to trust him.</p> +<p>“The difficulty I have always been up against,” explained +her father, “has been their suspicion. ‘What’s +the cunning old rascal up to now? What’s his little game?’ +That is always what I have felt they were thinking to themselves whenever +I have wanted to do anything for them. It isn’t anything +he says to them. It seems to be just he, himself.”</p> +<p>He sketched out their plans to her. It seemed to be all going +in at one ear and out at the other. What was the matter with her? +Perhaps she was tired without knowing it. She would get him to +tell her all about it to-morrow. Also, to-morrow, she would tell +him about Phillips, and ask his advice. It was really quite late. +If he talked any more now, it would give her a headache. She felt +it coming on.</p> +<p>She made her “good-night” extra affectionate, hoping +to disguise her impatience. She wanted to get up to her own room.</p> +<p>But even that did not help her. It seemed in some mysterious +way to be no longer her room, but the room of someone she had known +and half forgotten: who would never come back. It gave her the +same feeling she had experienced on returning to the house in London: +that the place was haunted. The high cheval glass from her mother’s +dressing-room had been brought there for her use. The picture +of an absurdly small child—the child to whom this room had once +belonged—standing before it naked, rose before her eyes. +She had wanted to see herself. She had thought that only her clothes +stood in the way. If we could but see ourselves, as in some magic +mirror? All the garments usage and education has dressed us up +in laid aside. What was she underneath her artificial niceties, +her prim moralities, her laboriously acquired restraints, her unconscious +pretences and hypocrisies? She changed her clothes for a loose +robe, and putting out the light drew back the curtains. The moon +peeped in over the top of the tall pines, but it only stared at her, +indifferent. It seemed to be looking for somebody else.</p> +<p>Suddenly, and intensely to her own surprise, she fell into a passionate +fit of weeping. There was no reason for it, and it was altogether +so unlike her. But for quite a while she was unable to control +it. Gradually, and of their own accord, her sobs lessened, and +she was able to wipe her eyes and take stock of herself in the long +glass. She wondered for the moment whether it was really her own +reflection that she saw there or that of some ghostly image of her mother. +She had so often seen the same look in her mother’s eyes. +Evidently the likeness between them was more extensive than she had +imagined. For the first time she became conscious of an emotional, +hysterical side to her nature of which she had been unaware. Perhaps +it was just as well that she had discovered it. She would have +to keep a stricter watch upon herself. This question of her future +relationship with Phillips: it would have to be thought out coldly, +dispassionately. Nothing unexpected must be allowed to enter into +it.</p> +<p>It was some time before she fell asleep. The high glass faced +her as she lay in bed. She could not get away from the idea that +it was her mother’s face that every now and then she saw reflected +there.</p> +<p>She woke late the next morning. Her father had already left +for the works. She was rather glad to have no need of talking. +She would take a long walk into the country, and face the thing squarely +with the help of the cheerful sun and the free west wind that was blowing +from the sea. She took the train up north and struck across the +hills. Her spirits rose as she walked.</p> +<p>It was only the intellectual part of him she wanted—the spirit, +not the man. She would be taking nothing away from the woman, +nothing that had ever belonged to her. All the rest of him: his +home life, the benefits that would come to her from his improved means, +from his social position: all that the woman had ever known or cared +for in him would still be hers. He would still remain to her the +kind husband and father. What more was the woman capable of understanding? +What more had she any right to demand?</p> +<p>It was not of herself she was thinking. It was for his work’s +sake that she wanted to be near to him always: that she might counsel +him, encourage him. For this she was prepared to sacrifice herself, +give up her woman’s claim on life. They would be friends, +comrades—nothing more. That little lurking curiosity of +hers, concerning what it would be like to feel his strong arms round +her, pressing her closer and closer to him: it was only a foolish fancy. +She could easily laugh that out of herself. Only bad women had +need to be afraid of themselves. She would keep guard for both +of them. Their purity of motive, their high purpose, would save +them from the danger of anything vulgar or ridiculous.</p> +<p>Of course they would have to be careful. There must be no breath +of gossip, no food for evil tongues. About that she was determined +even more for his sake than her own. It would be fatal to his +career. She was quite in agreement with the popular demand, supposed +to be peculiarly English, that a public man’s life should be above +reproach. Of what use these prophets without self-control; these +social reformers who could not shake the ape out of themselves? +Only the brave could give courage to others. Only through the +pure could God’s light shine upon men.</p> +<p>It was vexing his having moved round the corner, into North Street. +Why couldn’t the silly woman have been content where she was. +Living under one roof, they could have seen one another as often as +was needful without attracting attention. Now, she supposed, she +would have to be more than ever the bosom friend of Mrs. Phillips—spend +hours amid that hideous furniture, surrounded by those bilious wallpapers. +Of course he could not come to her. She hoped he would appreciate +the sacrifice she would be making for him. Fortunately Mrs. Phillips +would give no trouble. She would not even understand.</p> +<p>What about Hilda? No hope of hiding their secret from those +sharp eyes. But Hilda would approve. They could trust Hilda. +The child might prove helpful.</p> +<p>It cast a passing shadow upon her spirits, this necessary descent +into details. It brought with it the suggestion of intrigue, of +deceit: robbing the thing, to a certain extent, of its fineness. +Still, what was to be done? If women were coming into public life +these sort of relationships with men would have to be faced and worked +out. Sex must no longer be allowed to interfere with the working +together of men and women for common ends. It was that had kept +the world back. They would be the pioneers of the new order. +Casting aside their earthly passions, humbly with pure hearts they would +kneel before God’s altar. He should bless their union.</p> +<p>A lark was singing. She stood listening. Higher and higher +he rose, pouring out his song of worship; till the tiny, fragile body +disappeared as if fallen from him, leaving his sweet soul still singing. +The happy tears came to her eyes, and she passed on. She did not +hear that little last faint sob with which he sank exhausted back to +earth beside a hidden nest among the furrows.</p> +<p>She had forgotten the time. It was already late afternoon. +Her long walk and the keen air had made her hungry. She had a +couple of eggs with her tea at a village inn, and was fortunate enough +to catch a train that brought her back in time for dinner. A little +ashamed of her unresponsiveness the night before, she laid herself out +to be sympathetic to her father’s talk. She insisted on +hearing again all that he and Arthur were doing, opposing him here and +there with criticism just sufficient to stimulate him; careful in the +end to let him convince her.</p> +<p>These small hypocrisies were new to her. She hoped she was +not damaging her character. But it was good, watching him slyly +from under drawn-down lids, to see the flash of triumph that would come +into his tired eyes in answer to her half-protesting: “Yes, I +see your point, I hadn’t thought of that,” her half reluctant +admission that “perhaps” he was right, there; that “perhaps” +she was wrong. It was delightful to see him young again, eager, +boyishly pleased with himself. It seemed there was a joy she had +not dreamed of in yielding victory as well as in gaining it. A +new tenderness was growing up in her. How considerate, how patient, +how self-forgetful he had always been. She wanted to mother him. +To take him in her arms and croon over him, hushing away remembrance +of the old sad days.</p> +<p>Folk’s words came back to her: “And poor Jack Allway. +Tell him I thank him for all those years of love and gentleness.” +She gave him the message.</p> +<p>Folk had been right. He was not offended. “Dear +old chap,” he said. “That was kind of him. He +was always generous.”</p> +<p>He was silent for a while, with a quiet look on his face.</p> +<p>“Give him our love,” he said. “Tell him we +came together, at the end.”</p> +<p>It was on her tongue to ask him, as so often she had meant to do +of late, what had been the cause of her mother’s illness—if +illness it was: what it was that had happened to change both their lives. +But always something had stopped her—something ever present, ever +watchful, that seemed to shape itself out of the air, bending towards +her with its finger on its lips.</p> +<p>She stayed over the week-end; and on the Saturday, at her suggestion, +they took a long excursion into the country. It was the first +time she had ever asked him to take her out. He came down to breakfast +in a new suit, and was quite excited. In the car his hand had +sought hers shyly, and, feeling her responsive pressure, he had continued +to hold it; and they had sat for a long time in silence. She decided +not to tell him about Phillips, just yet. He knew of him only +from the Tory newspapers and would form a wrong idea. She would +bring them together and leave Phillips to make his own way. He +would like Phillips when he knew him, she felt sure. He, too, +was a people’s man. The torch passed down to him from his +old Ironside ancestors, it still glowed. More than once she had +seen it leap to flame. In congenial atmosphere, it would burn +clear and steadfast. It occurred to her what a delightful solution +of her problem, if later on her father could be persuaded to leave Arthur +in charge of the works, and come to live with her in London. There +was a fine block of flats near Chelsea Church with long views up and +down the river. How happy they could be there; the drawing-room +in the Adams style with wine-coloured curtains! He was a father +any young woman could be proud to take about. Unconsciously she +gave his hand an impulsive squeeze. They lunched at an old inn +upon the moors; and the landlady, judging from his shy, attentive ways, +had begun by addressing her as Madame.</p> +<p>“You grow wonderfully like your mother,” he told her +that evening at dinner. “There used to be something missing. +But I don’t feel that, now.”</p> +<p>She wrote to Phillips to meet her, if possible, at Euston. +There were things she wanted to talk to him about. There was the +question whether she should go on writing for Carleton, or break with +him at once. Also one or two points that were worrying her in +connection with tariff reform. He was waiting for her on the platform. +It appeared he, too, had much to say. He wanted her advice concerning +his next speech. He had not dined and suggested supper. +They could not walk about the streets. Likely enough, it was only +her imagination, but it seemed to her that people in the restaurant +had recognized him, and were whispering to one another: he was bound +to be well known. Likewise her own appearance, she felt, was against +them as regarded their desire to avoid observation. She would +have to take to those mousey colours that did not suit her, and wear +a veil. She hated the idea of a veil. It came from the East +and belonged there. Besides, what would be the use? Unless +he wore one too. “Who is the veiled woman that Phillips +goes about with?” That is what they would ask. It +was going to be very awkward, the whole thing. Viewed from the +distance, it had looked quite fine. “Dedicating herself +to the service of Humanity” was how it had presented itself to +her in the garden at Meudon, the twinkling labyrinth of Paris at her +feet, its sordid by-ways hidden beneath its myriad lights. She +had not bargained for the dedication involving the loss of her self-respect.</p> +<p>They did not talk as much as they had thought they would. He +was not very helpful on the Carleton question. There was so much +to be said both for and against. It might be better to wait and +see how circumstances shaped themselves. She thought his speech +excellent. It was difficult to discover any argument against it.</p> +<p>He seemed to be more interested in looking at her when he thought +she was not noticing. That little faint vague fear came back to +her and stayed with her, but brought no quickening of her pulse. +It was a fear of something ugly. She had the feeling they were +both acting, that everything depended upon their not forgetting their +parts. In handing things to one another, they were both of them +so careful that their hands should not meet and touch.</p> +<p>They walked together back to Westminster and wished each other a +short good-night upon what once had been their common doorstep. +With her latchkey in her hand, she turned and watched his retreating +figure, and suddenly a wave of longing seized her to run after him and +call him back—to see his eyes light up and feel the pressure of +his hands. It was only by clinging to the railings and counting +till she was sure he had entered his own house round the corner and +closed the door behind him, that she restrained herself.</p> +<p>It was a frightened face that looked at her out of the glass, as +she stood before it taking off her hat.</p> +<p>She decided that their future meetings should be at his own house. +Mrs. Phillips’s only complaint was that she knocked at the door +too seldom.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what I should do without you, I really +don’t,” confessed the grateful lady. “If ever +I become a Prime Minister’s wife, it’s you I shall have +to thank. You’ve got so much courage yourself, you can put +the heart into him. I never had any pluck to spare myself.”</p> +<p>She concluded by giving Joan a hug, accompanied by a sloppy but heartfelt +kiss.</p> +<p>She would stand behind Phillips’s chair with her fat arms round +his neck, nodding her approval and encouragement; while Joan, seated +opposite, would strain every nerve to keep her brain fixed upon the +argument, never daring to look at poor Phillips’s wretched face, +with its pleading, apologetic eyes, lest she should burst into hysterical +laughter. She hoped she was being helpful and inspiring! +Mrs. Phillips would assure her afterwards that she had been wonderful. +As for herself, there were periods when she hadn’t the faintest +idea about what she was talking.</p> +<p>Sometimes Mrs. Phillips, called away by domestic duty, would leave +them; returning full of excuses just as they had succeeded in forgetting +her. It was evident she was under the impression that her presence +was useful to them, making it easier for them to open up their minds +to one another.</p> +<p>“Don’t you be put off by his seeming a bit unresponsive,” +Mrs. Phillips would explain. “He’s shy with women. +What I’m trying to do is to make him feel you are one of the family.”</p> +<p>“And don’t you take any notice of me,” further +explained the good woman, “when I seem to be in opposition, like. +I chip in now and then on purpose, just to keep the ball rolling. +It stirs him up, a bit of contradictoriness. You have to live +with a man before you understand him.”</p> +<p>One morning Joan received a letter from Phillips, marked immediate. +He informed her that his brain was becoming addled. He intended +that afternoon to give it a draught of fresh air. He would be +at the Robin Hood gate in Richmond Park at three o’clock. +Perhaps the gods would be good to him. He would wait there for +half an hour to give them a chance, anyway.</p> +<p>She slipped the letter unconsciously into the bosom of her dress, +and sat looking out of the window. It promised to be a glorious +day, and London was stifling and gritty. Surely no one but an +unwholesome-minded prude could jib at a walk across a park. Mrs. +Phillips would be delighted to hear that she had gone. For the +matter of that, she would tell her—when next they met.</p> +<p>Phillips must have seen her getting off the bus, for he came forward +at once from the other side of the gate, his face radiant with boyish +delight. A young man and woman, entering the park at the same +time, looked at them and smiled sympathetically.</p> +<p>Joan had no idea the park contained such pleasant by-ways. +But for an occasional perambulator they might have been in the heart +of the country. The fallow deer stole near to them with noiseless +feet, regarding them out of their large gentle eyes with looks of comradeship. +They paused and listened while a missal thrush from a branch close to +them poured out his song of hope and courage. From quite a long +way off they could still hear his clear voice singing, telling to the +young and brave his gallant message. It seemed too beautiful a +day for politics. After all, politics—one has them always +with one; but the spring passes.</p> +<p>He saw her on to a bus at Kingston, and himself went back by train. +They agreed they would not mention it to Mrs. Phillips. Not that +she would have minded. The danger was that she would want to come, +too; honestly thinking thereby to complete their happiness. It +seemed to be tacitly understood there would be other such excursions.</p> +<p>The summer was propitious. Phillips knew his London well, and +how to get away from it. There were winding lanes in Hertfordshire, +Surrey hills and commons, deep, cool, bird-haunted woods in Buckingham. +Each week there was something to look forward to, something to plan +for and manoeuvre. The sense of adventure, a spice of danger, +added zest. She still knocked frequently, as before, at the door +of the hideously-furnished little house in North Street; but Mrs. Phillips +no longer oppressed her as some old man of the sea she could never hope +to shake off from her shoulders. The flabby, foolish face, robbed +of its terrors, became merely pitiful. She found herself able +to be quite gentle and patient with Mrs. Phillips. Even the sloppy +kisses she came to bear without a shudder down her spine.</p> +<p>“I know you are only doing it because you sympathize with his +aims and want him to win,” acknowledged the good lady. “But +I can’t help feeling grateful to you. I don’t feel +how useless I am while I’ve got you to run to.”</p> +<p>They still discussed their various plans for the amelioration and +improvement of humanity; but there seemed less need for haste than they +had thought. The world, Joan discovered, was not so sad a place +as she had judged it. There were chubby, rogue-eyed children; +whistling lads and smiling maidens; kindly men with ruddy faces; happy +mothers crooning over gurgling babies. There was no call to be +fretful and vehement. They would work together in patience and +in confidence. God’s sun was everywhere. It needed +only that dark places should be opened up and it would enter.</p> +<p>Sometimes, seated on a lichened log, or on the short grass of some +sloping hillside, looking down upon some quiet valley, they would find +they had been holding hands while talking. It was but as two happy, +thoughtless children might have done. They would look at one another +with frank, clear eyes and smile.</p> +<p>Once, when their pathway led through a littered farm-yard, he had +taken her up in his arms and carried her and she had felt a glad pride +in him that he had borne her lightly as if she had been a child, looking +up at her and laughing.</p> +<p>An old bent man paused from his work and watched them. “Lean +more over him, missie,” he advised her. “That’s +the way. Many a mile I’ve carried my lass like that, in +flood time; and never felt her weight.”</p> +<p>Often on returning home, not knowing why, she would look into the +glass. It seemed to her that the girlhood she had somehow missed +was awakening in her, taking possession of her, changing her. +The lips she had always seen pressed close and firm were growing curved, +leaving a little parting, as though they were not quite so satisfied +with one another. The level brows were becoming slightly raised. +It gave her a questioning look that was new to her. The eyes beneath +were less confident. They seemed to be seeking something.</p> +<p>One evening, on her way home from a theatre, she met Flossie. +“Can’t stop now,” said Flossie, who was hurrying. +“But I want to see you: most particular. Was going to look +you up. Will you be at home to-morrow afternoon at tea-time?”</p> +<p>There was a distinct challenge in Flossie’s eye as she asked +the question. Joan felt herself flush, and thought a moment.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered. “Will you be coming +alone?”</p> +<p>“That’s the idea,” answered Flossie; “a heart +to heart talk between you and me, and nobody else. Half-past four. +Don’t forget.”</p> +<p>Joan walked on slowly. She had the worried feeling with which, +once or twice, when a schoolgirl, she had crawled up the stairs to bed +after the head mistress had informed her that she would see her in her +private room at eleven o’clock the next morning, leaving her to +guess what about. It occurred to her, in Trafalgar Square, that +she had promised to take tea with the Greysons the next afternoon, to +meet some big pot from America. She would have to get out of that. +She felt it wouldn’t do to put off Flossie.</p> +<p>She went to bed wakeful. It was marvellously like being at +school again. What could Flossie want to see her about that was +so important? She tried to pretend to herself that she didn’t +know. After all, perhaps it wasn’t that.</p> +<p>But she knew that it was the instant Flossie put up her hands in +order to take off her hat. Flossie always took off her hat when +she meant to be unpleasant. It was her way of pulling up her sleeves. +They had their tea first. They seemed both agreed that that would +be best. And then Flossie pushed back her chair and sat up.</p> +<p>She had just the head mistress expression. Joan wasn’t +quite sure she oughtn’t to stand. But, controlling the instinct, +leant back in her chair, and tried to look defiant without feeling it.</p> +<p>“How far are you going?” demanded Flossie.</p> +<p>Joan was not in a comprehending mood.</p> +<p>“If you’re going the whole hog, that’s something +I can understand,” continued Flossie. “If not, you’d +better pull up.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by the whole hog?” requested Joan, +assuming dignity.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t come the kid,” advised Flossie. +“If you don’t mind being talked about yourself, you might +think of him. If Carleton gets hold of it, he’s done for.”</p> +<p>“‘A little bird whispers to me that Robert Phillips was +seen walking across Richmond Park the other afternoon in company with +Miss Joan Allway, formerly one of our contributors.’ Is +that going to end his political career?” retorted Joan with fine +sarcasm.</p> +<p>Flossie fixed a relentless eye upon her. “He’ll +wait till the bird has got a bit more than that to whisper to him,” +she suggested.</p> +<p>“There’ll be nothing more,” explained Joan. +“So long as my friendship is of any assistance to Robert Phillips +in his work, he’s going to have it. What use are we going +to be in politics—what’s all the fuss about, if men and +women mustn’t work together for their common aims and help one +another?”</p> +<p>“Why can’t you help him in his own house, instead of +wandering all about the country?” Flossie wanted to know.</p> +<p>“So I do,” Joan defended herself. “I’m +in and out there till I’m sick of the hideous place. You +haven’t seen the inside. And his wife knows all about it, +and is only too glad.”</p> +<p>“Does she know about Richmond Park—and the other places?” +asked Flossie.</p> +<p>“She wouldn’t mind if she did,” explained Joan. +“And you know what she’s like! How can one think what +one’s saying with that silly, goggle-eyed face in front of one +always.”</p> +<p>Flossie, since she had become engaged, had acquired quite a matronly +train of thought. She spoke kindly, with a little grave shake +of her head. “My dear,” she said, “the wife +is always in the way. You’d feel just the same whatever +her face was like.”</p> +<p>Joan grew angry. “If you choose to suspect evil, of course +you can,” she answered with hauteur. “But you might +have known me better. I admire the man and sympathize with him. +All the things I dream of are the things he is working for. I +can do more good by helping and inspiring him”—she wished +she had not let slip that word “inspire.” She knew +that Flossie would fasten upon it—“than I can ever accomplish +by myself. And I mean to do it.” She really did feel +defiant, now.</p> +<p>“I know, dear,” agreed Flossie, “you’ve both +of you made up your minds it shall always remain a beautiful union of +twin spirits. Unfortunately you’ve both got bodies—rather +attractive bodies.”</p> +<p>“We’ll keep it off that plane, if you don’t mind,” +answered Joan with a touch of severity.</p> +<p>“I’m willing enough,” answered Flossie. “But +what about Old Mother Nature? She’s going to be in this, +you know.”</p> +<p>“Take off your glasses, and look at it straight,” she +went on, without giving Joan time to reply. “What is it +in us that ‘inspires’ men? If it’s only advice +and sympathy he’s after, what’s wrong with dear old Mrs. +Denton? She’s a good walker, except now and then, when she’s +got the lumbago. Why doesn’t he get her to ‘inspire’ +him?”</p> +<p>“It isn’t only that,” explained Joan. “I +give him courage. I always did have more of that than is any use +to a woman. He wants to be worthy of my belief in him. What +is the harm if he does admire me—if a smile from me or a touch +of the hand can urge him to fresh effort? Suppose he does love +me—”</p> +<p>Flossie interrupted. “How about being quite frank?” +she suggested. “Suppose we do love one another. How +about putting it that way?”</p> +<p>“And suppose we do?” agreed Joan, her courage rising. +“Why should we shun one another, as if we were both of us incapable +of decency or self-control? Why must love be always assumed to +make us weak and contemptible, as if it were some subtle poison? +Why shouldn’t it strengthen and ennoble us?”</p> +<p>“Why did the apple fall?” answered Flossie. “Why, +when it escapes from its bonds, doesn’t it soar upward? +If it wasn’t for the irritating law of gravity, we could skip +about on the brink of precipices without danger. Things being +what they are, sensible people keep as far away from the edge as possible.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” she continued; “awfully sorry, +old girl. It’s a bit of rotten bad luck for both of you. +You were just made for one another. And Fate, knowing what was +coming, bustles round and gets hold of poor, silly Mrs. Phillips so +as to be able to say ‘Yah.’”</p> +<p>“Unless it all comes right in the end,” she added musingly; +“and the poor old soul pegs out. I wouldn’t give much +for her liver.”</p> +<p>“That’s not bringing me up well,” suggested Joan: +“putting those ideas into my head.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, one can’t help one’s thoughts,” +explained Flossie. “It would be a blessing all round.”</p> +<p>They had risen. Joan folded her hands. “Thank you +for your scolding, ma’am,” she said. “Shall +I write out a hundred lines of Greek? Or do you think it will +be sufficient if I promise never to do it again?”</p> +<p>“You mean it?” said Flossie. “Of course you +will go on seeing him—visiting them, and all that. But you +won’t go gadding about, so that people can talk?”</p> +<p>“Only through the bars, in future,” she promised. +“With the gaoler between us.” She put her arms round +Flossie and bent her head, so that her face was hidden.</p> +<p>Flossie still seemed troubled. She held on to Joan.</p> +<p>“You are sure of yourself?” she asked. “We’re +only the female of the species. We get hungry and thirsty, too. +You know that, kiddy, don’t you?”</p> +<p>Joan laughed without raising her face. “Yes, ma’am, +I know that,” she answered. “I’ll be good.”</p> +<p>She sat in the dusk after Flossie had gone; and the laboured breathing +of the tired city came to her through the open window. She had +rather fancied that martyr’s crown. It had not looked so +very heavy, the thorns not so very alarming—as seen through the +window. She would wear it bravely. It would rather become +her.</p> +<p>Facing the mirror of the days to come, she tried it on. It +was going to hurt. There was no doubt of that. She saw the +fatuous, approving face of the eternal Mrs. Phillips, thrust ever between +them, against the background of that hideous furniture, of those bilious +wall papers—the loneliness that would ever walk with her, sit +down beside her in the crowded restaurant, steal up the staircase with +her, creep step by step with her from room to room—the ever unsatisfied +yearning for a tender word, a kindly touch. Yes, it was going +to hurt.</p> +<p>Poor Robert! It would be hard on him, too. She could +not help feeling consolation in the thought that he also would be wearing +that invisible crown.</p> +<p>She must write to him. The sooner it was done, the better. +Half a dozen contradictory moods passed over her during the composing +of that letter; but to her they seemed but the unfolding of a single +thought. On one page it might have been his mother writing to +him; an experienced, sagacious lady; quite aware, in spite of her affection +for him, of his faults and weaknesses; solicitous that he should avoid +the dangers of an embarrassing entanglement; his happiness being the +only consideration of importance. On others it might have been +a queen laying her immutable commands upon some loyal subject, sworn +to her service. Part of it might have been written by a laughing +philosopher who had learnt the folly of taking life too seriously, knowing +that all things pass: that the tears of to-day will be remembered with +a smile. And a part of it was the unconsidered language of a loving +woman. And those were the pages that he kissed.</p> +<p>His letter in answer was much shorter. Of course he would obey +her wishes. He had been selfish, thinking only of himself. +As for his political career, he did not see how that was going to suffer +by his being occasionally seen in company with one of the most brilliantly +intellectual women in London, known to share his views. And he +didn’t care if it did. But inasmuch as she valued it, all +things should be sacrificed to it. It was hers to do what she +would with. It was the only thing he had to offer her.</p> +<p>Their meetings became confined, as before, to the little house in +North Street. But it really seemed as if the gods, appeased by +their submission, had decided to be kind. Hilda was home for the +holidays; and her piercing eyes took in the situation at a flash. +She appeared to have returned with a new-born and exacting affection +for her mother, that astonished almost as much as it delighted the poor +lady. Feeling sudden desire for a walk or a bus ride, or to be +taken to an entertainment, no one was of any use to Hilda but her mother. +Daddy had his silly politics to think and talk about. He must +worry them out alone; or with the assistance of Miss Allway. That +was what she was there for. Mrs. Phillips, torn between her sense +of duty and fear of losing this new happiness, would yield to the child’s +coaxing. Often they would be left alone to discuss the nation’s +needs uninterrupted. Conscientiously they would apply themselves +to the task. Always to find that, sooner or later, they were looking +at one another, in silence.</p> +<p>One day Phillips burst into a curious laugh. They had been +discussing the problem of the smallholder. Joan had put a question +to him, and with a slight start he had asked her to repeat it. +But it seemed she had forgotten it.</p> +<p>“I had to see our solicitor one morning,” he explained, +“when I was secretary to a miners’ union up north. +A point had arisen concerning the legality of certain payments. +It was a matter of vast importance to us; but he didn’t seem to +be taking any interest, and suddenly he jumped up. ‘I’m +sorry, Phillips,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got a big trouble +of my own on at home—I guess you know what—and I don’t +seem to care a damn about yours. You’d better see Delauny, +if you’re in a hurry.’ And I did.”</p> +<p>He turned and leant over his desk. “I guess they’ll +have to find another leader if they’re in a hurry,” he added. +“I don’t seem able to think about turnips and cows.”</p> +<p>“Don’t make me feel I’ve interfered with your work +only to spoil it,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“I guess I’m spoiling yours, too,” he answered. +“I’m not worth it. I might have done something to +win you and keep you. I’m not going to do much without you.”</p> +<p>“You mean my friendship is going to be of no use to you?” +asked Joan.</p> +<p>He raised his eyes and fixed them on her with a pleading, dog-like +look.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake don’t take even that away from +me,” he said. “Unless you want me to go to pieces +altogether. A crust does just keep one alive. One can’t +help thinking what a fine, strong chap one might be if one wasn’t +always hungry.”</p> +<p>She felt so sorry for him. He looked such a boy, with the angry +tears in his clear blue eyes, and that little childish quivering of +the kind, strong, sulky mouth.</p> +<p>She rose and took his head between her hands and turned his face +towards her. She had meant to scold him, but changed her mind +and laid his head against her breast and held it there.</p> +<p>He clung to her, as a troubled child might, with his arms clasped +round her, and his head against her breast. And a mist rose up +before her, and strange, commanding voices seemed calling to her.</p> +<p>He could not see her face. She watched it herself with dim +half consciousness as it changed before her in the tawdry mirror above +the mantelpiece, half longing that he might look up and see it, half +terrified lest he should.</p> +<p>With an effort that seemed to turn her into stone, she regained command +over herself.</p> +<p>“I must go now,” she said in a harsh voice, and he released +her.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I’m an awful nuisance to you,” +he said. “I get these moods at times. You’re +not angry with me?”</p> +<p>“No,” she answered with a smile. “But it +will hurt me if you fail. Remember that.”</p> +<p>She turned down the Embankment after leaving the house. She +always found the river strong and restful. So it was not only +bad women that needed to be afraid of themselves—even to the most +high-class young woman, with letters after her name, and altruistic +interests: even to her, also, the longing for the lover’s clasp. +Flossie had been right. Mother Nature was not to be flouted of +her children—not even of her new daughters; to them, likewise, +the family trait.</p> +<p>She would have run away if she could, leaving him to guess at her +real reason—if he were smart enough. But that would have +meant excuses and explanations all round. She was writing a daily +column of notes for Greyson now, in addition to the weekly letter from +Clorinda; and Mrs. Denton, having compromised with her first dreams, +was delegating to Joan more and more of her work. She wrote to +Mrs. Phillips that she was feeling unwell and would be unable to lunch +with them on the Sunday, as had been arranged. Mrs. Phillips, +much disappointed, suggested Wednesday; but it seemed on Wednesday she +was no better. And so it drifted on for about a fortnight, without +her finding the courage to come to any decision; and then one morning, +turning the corner into Abingdon Street, she felt a slight pull at her +sleeve; and Hilda was beside her. The child had shown an uncanny +intuition in not knocking at the door. Joan had been fearing that, +and would have sent down word that she was out. But it had to +be faced.</p> +<p>“Are you never coming again?” asked the child.</p> +<p>“Of course,” answered Joan, “when I’m better. +I’m not very well just now. It’s the weather, I suppose.”</p> +<p>The child turned her head as they walked and looked at her. +Joan felt herself smarting under that look, but persisted.</p> +<p>“I’m very much run down,” she said. “I +may have to go away.”</p> +<p>“You promised to help him,” said the child.</p> +<p>“I can’t if I’m ill,” retorted Joan. +“Besides, I am helping him. There are other ways of helping +people than by wasting their time talking to them.”</p> +<p>“He wants you,” said the child. “It’s +your being there that helps him.”</p> +<p>Joan stopped and turned. “Did he send you?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“No,” the child answered. “Mama had a headache +this morning, and I slipped out. You’re not keeping your +promise.”</p> +<p>Palace Yard, save for a statuesque policeman, was empty.</p> +<p>“How do you know that my being with him helps him?” asked +Joan.</p> +<p>“You know things when you love anybody,” explained the +child. “You feel them. You will come again, soon?”</p> +<p>Joan did not answer.</p> +<p>“You’re frightened,” the child continued in a passionate, +low voice. “You think that people will talk about you and +look down upon you. You oughtn’t to think about yourself. +You ought to think only about him and his work. Nothing else matters.”</p> +<p>“I am thinking about him and his work,” Joan answered. +Her hand sought Hilda’s and held it. “There are things +you don’t understand. Men and women can’t help each +other in the way you think. They may try to, and mean no harm +in the beginning, but the harm comes, and then not only the woman but +the man also suffers, and his work is spoilt and his life ruined.”</p> +<p>The small, hot hand clasped Joan’s convulsively.</p> +<p>“But he won’t be able to do his work if you keep away +and never come back to him,” she persisted. “Oh, I +know it. It all depends upon you. He wants you.”</p> +<p>“And I want him, if that’s any consolation to you,” +Joan answered with a short laugh. It wasn’t much of a confession. +The child was cute enough to have found that out for herself. +“Only you see I can’t have him. And there’s +an end of it.”</p> +<p>They had reached the Abbey. Joan turned and they retraced their +steps slowly.</p> +<p>“I shall be going away soon, for a little while,” she +said. The talk had helped her to decision. “When I +come back I will come and see you all. And you must all come and +see me, now and then. I expect I shall have a flat of my own. +My father may be coming to live with me. Good-bye. Do all +you can to help him.”</p> +<p>She stooped and kissed the child, straining her to her almost fiercely. +But the child’s lips were cold. She did not look back.</p> +<p>Miss Greyson was sympathetic towards her desire for a longish holiday +and wonderfully helpful; and Mrs. Denton also approved, and, to Joan’s +surprise, kissed her; Mrs. Denton was not given to kissing. She +wired to her father, and got his reply the same evening. He would +be at her rooms on the day she had fixed with his travelling bag, and +at her Ladyship’s orders. “With love and many thanks,” +he had added. She waited till the day before starting to run round +and say good-bye to the Phillipses. She felt it would be unwise +to try and get out of doing that. Both Phillips and Hilda, she +was thankful, were out; and she and Mrs. Phillips had tea alone together. +The talk was difficult, so far as Joan was concerned. If the woman +had been possessed of ordinary intuition, she might have arrived at +the truth. Joan almost wished she would. It would make her +own future task the easier. But Mrs. Phillips, it was clear, was +going to be no help to her.</p> +<p>For her father’s sake, she made pretence of eagerness, but +as the sea widened between her and the harbour lights it seemed as if +a part of herself were being torn away from her.</p> +<p>They travelled leisurely through Holland and the Rhine land, and +that helped a little: the new scenes and interests; and in Switzerland +they discovered a delightful little village in an upland valley with +just one small hotel, and decided to stay there for a while, so as to +give themselves time to get their letters. They took long walks +and climbs, returning tired and hungry, looking forward to their dinner +and the evening talk with the few other guests on the veranda. +The days passed restfully in that hidden valley. The great white +mountains closed her in. They seemed so strong and clean.</p> +<p>It was on the morning they were leaving that a telegram was put into +her hands. Mrs. Phillips was ill at lodgings in Folkestone. +She hoped that Joan, on her way back, would come to see her.</p> +<p>She showed the telegram to her father. “Do you mind, +Dad, if we go straight back?” she asked.</p> +<p>“No, dear,” he answered, “if you wish it.”</p> +<p>“I would like to go back,” she said.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in an easy chair near the heavily-curtained +windows when Joan arrived. It was a pleasant little house in the +old part of the town, and looked out upon the harbour. She was +startlingly thin by comparison with what she had been; but her face +was still painted. Phillips would run down by the afternoon train +whenever he could get away. She never knew when he was coming, +so she explained; and she could not bear the idea of his finding her +“old and ugly.” She had fought against his wish that +she should go into a nursing home; and Joan, who in the course of her +work upon the <i>Nursing Times</i> had acquired some knowledge of them +as a whole, was inclined to agree with her. She was quite comfortable +where she was. The landlady, according to her account, was a dear. +She had sent the nurse out for a walk on getting Joan’s wire, +so that they could have a cosy chat. She didn’t really want +much attendance. It was her heart. It got feeble now and +then, and she had to keep very still; that was all. Joan told +how her father had suffered for years from much the same complaint. +So long as you were careful there was no danger. She must take +things easily and not excite herself.</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips acquiesced. “It’s turning me into +a lazy-bones,” she said with a smile. “I can sit here +by the hour, just watching the bustle. I was always one for a +bit of life.”</p> +<p>The landlady entered with Joan’s tea. Joan took an instinctive +dislike to her. She was a large, flashy woman, wearing a quantity +of cheap jewellery. Her familiarity had about it something almost +threatening. Joan waited till she heard the woman’s heavy +tread descending the stairs, before she expressed her opinion.</p> +<p>“I think she only means to be cheerful,” explained Mrs. +Phillips. “She’s quite a good sort, when you know +her.” The subject seemed in some way to trouble her, and +Joan dropped it.</p> +<p>They watched the loading of a steamer while Joan drank her tea.</p> +<p>“He will come this afternoon, I fancy,” said Mrs. Phillips. +“I seem to feel it. He will be able to see you home.”</p> +<p>Joan started. She had been thinking about Phillips, wondering +what she should say to him when they met.</p> +<p>“What does he think,” she asked, “about your illness?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it worries him, of course, poor dear,” Mrs. Phillips +answered. “You see, I’ve always been such a go-ahead, +as a rule. But I think he’s getting more hopeful. +As I tell him, I’ll be all right by the autumn. It was that +spell of hot weather that knocked me over.”</p> +<p>Joan was still looking out of the window. She didn’t +quite know what to say. The woman’s altered appearance had +shocked her. Suddenly she felt a touch upon her hand.</p> +<p>“You’ll look after him if anything does happen, won’t +you?” The woman’s eyes were pleading with her. +They seemed to have grown larger. “You know what I mean, +dear, don’t you?” she continued. “It will be +such a comfort to me to know that it’s all right.”</p> +<p>In answer the tears sprang to Joan’s eyes. She knelt +down and put her arms about the woman.</p> +<p>“Don’t be so silly,” she cried. “There’s +nothing going to happen. You’re going to get fat and well +again; and live to see him Prime Minister.”</p> +<p>“I am getting thin, ain’t I?” she said. “I +always wanted to be thin.” They both laughed.</p> +<p>“But I shan’t see him that, even if I do live,” +she went on. “He’ll never be that, without you. +And I’d be so proud to think that he would. I shouldn’t +mind going then,” she added.</p> +<p>Joan did not answer. There seemed no words that would come.</p> +<p>“You will promise, won’t you?” she persisted, in +a whisper. “It’s only ‘in case’—just +that I needn’t worry myself.”</p> +<p>Joan looked up. There was something in the eyes looking down +upon her that seemed to be compelling her.</p> +<p>“If you’ll promise to try and get better,” she +answered.</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips stooped and kissed her. “Of course, dear,” +she said. “Perhaps I shall, now that my mind is easier.”</p> +<p>Phillips came, as Mrs. Phillips had predicted. He was surprised +at seeing Joan. He had not thought she could get back so soon. +He brought an evening paper with him. It contained a paragraph +to the effect that Mrs. Phillips, wife of the Rt. Hon. Robert Phillips, +M.P., was progressing favourably and hoped soon to be sufficiently recovered +to return to her London residence. It was the first time she had +had a paragraph all to herself, headed with her name. She flushed +with pleasure; and Joan noticed that, after reading it again, she folded +the paper up small and slipped it into her pocket. The nurse came +in from her walk a little later and took Joan downstairs with her.</p> +<p>“She ought not to talk to more than one person at a time,” +the nurse explained, with a shake of the head. She was a quiet, +business-like woman. She would not express a definite opinion.</p> +<p>“It’s her mental state that is the trouble,” was +all that she would say. “She ought to be getting better. +But she doesn’t.”</p> +<p>“You’re not a Christian Scientist, by any chance?” +she asked Joan suddenly.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Joan. “Surely you’re +not one?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” answered the woman. “I +believe that would do her more good than anything else. If she +would listen to it. She seems to have lost all will-power.”</p> +<p>The nurse left her; and the landlady came in to lay the table. +She understood that Joan would be dining with Mr. Phillips. There +was no train till the eight-forty. She kept looking at Joan as +she moved about the room. Joan was afraid she would begin to talk, +but she must have felt Joan’s antagonism for she remained silent. +Once their eyes met, and the woman leered at her.</p> +<p>Phillips came down looking more cheerful. He had detected improvement +in Mrs. Phillips. She was more hopeful in herself. They +talked in low tones during the meal, as people do whose thoughts are +elsewhere. It happened quite suddenly, Phillips explained. +They had come down a few days after the rising of Parliament. +There had been a spell of hot weather; but nothing remarkable. +The first attack had occurred about three weeks ago. It was just +after Hilda had gone back to school. He wasn’t sure whether +he ought to send for Hilda, or not. Her mother didn’t want +him to—not just yet. Of course, if she got worse, he would +have to. What did Joan think?—did she think there was any +real danger?</p> +<p>Joan could not say. So much depended upon the general state +of health. There was the case of her own father. Of course +she would always be subject to attacks. But this one would have +warned her to be careful.</p> +<p>Phillips thought that living out of town might be better for her, +in the future—somewhere in Surrey, where he could easily get up +and down. He could sleep himself at the club on nights when he +had to be late.</p> +<p>They talked without looking at one another. They did not speak +about themselves.</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips was in bed when Joan went up to say good-bye. +“You’ll come again soon?” she asked, and Joan promised. +“You’ve made me so happy,” she whispered. The +nurse was in the room.</p> +<p>They discussed politics in the train. Phillips had found more +support for his crusade against Carleton than he had expected. +He was going to open the attack at once, thus forestalling Carleton’s +opposition to his land scheme.</p> +<p>“It isn’t going to be the <i>Daily This</i> and the <i>Daily +That</i> and the <i>Weekly the Other</i> all combined to down me. +I’m going to tell the people that it’s Carleton and only +Carleton—Carleton here, Carleton there, Carleton everywhere, against +them. I’m going to drag him out into the open and make him +put up his own fists.”</p> +<p>Joan undertook to sound Greyson. She was sure Greyson would +support him, in his balanced, gentlemanly way, that could nevertheless +be quite deadly.</p> +<p>They grew less and less afraid of looking at one another as they +felt that darkened room further and further behind them.</p> +<p>They parted at Charing Cross. Joan would write. They +agreed it would be better to choose separate days for their visits to +Folkestone.</p> +<p>She ran against Madge in the morning, and invited herself to tea. +Her father had returned to Liverpool, and her own rooms, for some reason, +depressed her. Flossie was there with young Halliday. They +were both off the next morning to his people’s place in Devonshire, +from where they were going to get married, and had come to say good-bye. +Flossie put Sam in the passage and drew-to the door.</p> +<p>“Have you seen her?” she asked. “How is she?”</p> +<p>“Oh, she’s changed a good deal,” answered Joan. +“But I think she’ll get over it all right, if she’s +careful.”</p> +<p>“I shall hope for the best,” answered Flossie. +“Poor old soul, she’s had a good time. Don’t +send me a present; and then I needn’t send you one—when +your time comes. It’s a silly custom. Besides, I’ve +nowhere to put it. Shall be in a ship for the next six months. +Will let you know when we’re back.”</p> +<p>She gave Joan a hug and a kiss, and was gone. Joan joined Madge +in the kitchen, where she was toasting buns.</p> +<p>“I suppose she’s satisfied herself that he’s brainy,” +she laughed.</p> +<p>“Oh, brains aren’t everything,” answered Madge. +“Some of the worst rotters the world has ever been cursed with +have been brainy enough—men and women. We make too much +fuss about brains; just as once upon a time we did about mere brute +strength, thinking that was all that was needed to make a man great. +Brain is only muscle translated into civilization. That’s +not going to save us.”</p> +<p>“You’ve been thinking,” Joan accused her. +“What’s put all that into your head?”</p> +<p>Madge laughed. “Mixing with so many brainy people, perhaps,” +she suggested; “and wondering what’s become of their souls.”</p> +<p>“Be good, sweet child. And let who can be clever,” +Joan quoted. “Would that be your text?”</p> +<p>Madge finished buttering her buns. “Kant, wasn’t +it,” she answered, “who marvelled chiefly at two things: +the starry firmament above him and the moral law within him. And +they’re one and the same, if he’d only thought it out. +It’s rather big to be good.”</p> +<p>They carried their tea into the sitting-room.</p> +<p>“Do you really think she’ll get over it?” asked +Madge. “Or is it one of those things one has to say?”</p> +<p>“I think she could,” answered Joan, “if she would +pull herself together. It’s her lack of will-power that’s +the trouble.”</p> +<p>Madge did not reply immediately. She was watching the rooks +settling down for the night in the elm trees just beyond the window. +There seemed to be much need of coming and going, of much cawing.</p> +<p>“I met her pretty often during those months that Helen Lavery +was running her round,” she said at length. “It always +seemed to me to have a touch of the heroic, that absurd effort she was +making to ‘qualify’ herself, so that she might be of use +to him. I can see her doing something quite big, if she thought +it would help him.”</p> +<p>The cawing of the rooks grew fainter. One by one they folded +their wings.</p> +<p>Neither spoke for a while. Later on, they talked about the +coming election. If the Party got back, Phillips would go to the +Board of Trade. It would afford him a better platform for the +introduction of his land scheme.</p> +<p>“What do you gather is the general opinion?” Joan asked. +“That he will succeed?”</p> +<p>“The general opinion seems to be that his star is in the ascendant,” +Madge answered with a smile; “that all things are working together +for his good. It’s rather a useful atmosphere to have about +one, that. It breeds friendship and support!”</p> +<p>Joan looked at her watch. She had an article to finish. +Madge stood on tiptoe and kissed her.</p> +<p>“Don’t think me unsympathetic,” she said. +“No one will rejoice more than I shall if God sees fit to call +you to good work. But I can’t help letting fall my little +tear of fellowship with the weeping.”</p> +<p>“And mind your p’s and q’s,” she added. +“You’re in a difficult position. And not all the eyes +watching you are friendly.”</p> +<p>Joan bore the germ of worry in her breast as she crossed the Gray’s +Inn Garden. It was a hard law, that of the world: knowing only +winners and losers. Of course, the woman was to be pitied. +No one could feel more sorry for her than Joan herself. But what +had Madge exactly meant by those words: that she could “see her +doing something really big,” if she thought it would help him? +There was no doubt about her affection for him. It was almost +dog-like. And the child, also! There must be something quite +exceptional about him to have won the devotion of two such opposite +beings. Especially Hilda. It would be hard to imagine any +lengths to which Hilda’s blind idolatry would not lead her.</p> +<p>She ran down twice to Folkestone during the following week. +Her visits made her mind easier. Mrs. Phillips seemed so placid, +so contented. There was no suggestion of suffering, either mental +or physical.</p> +<p>She dined with the Greysons the Sunday after, and mooted the question +of the coming fight with Carleton. Greyson thought Phillips would +find plenty of journalistic backing. The concentration of the +Press into the hands of a few conscienceless schemers was threatening +to reduce the journalist to a mere hireling, and the better-class men +were becoming seriously alarmed. He found in his desk the report +of a speech made by a well-known leader writer at a recent dinner of +the Press Club. The man had risen to respond to the toast of his +own health and had taken the opportunity to unpack his heart.</p> +<p>“I am paid a thousand a year,” so Greyson read to them, +“for keeping my own opinions out of my paper. Some of you, +perhaps, earn more, and others less; but you’re getting it for +writing what you’re told. If I were to be so foolish as +to express my honest opinion, I’d be on the street, the next morning, +looking for another job.”</p> +<p>“The business of the journalist,” the man had continued, +“is to destroy the truth, to lie, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn +at the feet of Mammon, to sell his soul for his daily bread. We +are the tools and vassals of rich men behind the scenes. We are +the jumping-jacks. They pull the strings and we dance. Our +talents, our possibilities, our lives are the property of other men.”</p> +<p>“We tried to pretend it was only one of Jack’s little +jokes,” explained Greyson as he folded up the cutting; “but +it wouldn’t work. It was too near the truth.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see what you are going to do,” commented +Mary. “So long as men are not afraid to sell their souls, +there will always be a Devil’s market for them.”</p> +<p>Greyson did not so much mind there being a Devil’s market, +provided he could be assured of an honest market alongside, so that +a man could take his choice. What he feared was the Devil’s +steady encroachment, that could only end by the closing of the independent +market altogether. His remedy was the introduction of the American +trust law, forbidding any one man being interested in more than a limited +number of journals.</p> +<p>“But what’s the difference,” demanded Joan, “between +a man owning one paper with a circulation of, say, six millions; or +owning six with a circulation of a million apiece? By concentrating +all his energies on one, a man with Carleton’s organizing genius +might easily establish a single journal that would cover the whole field.”</p> +<p>“Just all the difference,” answered Greyson, “between +Pooh Bah as Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Lord High Admiral, or Chief +Executioner, whichever he preferred to be, and Pooh Bah as all the Officers +of State rolled into one. Pooh Bah may be a very able statesman, +entitled to exert his legitimate influence. But, after all, his +opinion is only the opinion of one old gentleman, with possible prejudices +and preconceived convictions. The Mikado—or the people, +according to locality—would like to hear the views of others of +his ministers. He finds that the Lord Chancellor and the Lord +Chief Justice and the Groom of the Bedchamber and the Attorney-General—the +whole entire Cabinet, in short, are unanimously of the same opinion +as Pooh Bah. He doesn’t know it’s only Pooh Bah speaking +from different corners of the stage. The consensus of opinion +convinces him. One statesman, however eminent, might err in judgment. +But half a score of statesmen, all of one mind! One must accept +their verdict.”</p> +<p>Mary smiled. “But why shouldn’t the good newspaper +proprietor hurry up and become a multi-proprietor?” she suggested. +“Why don’t you persuade Lord Sutcliffe to buy up three or +four papers, before they’re all gone?”</p> +<p>“Because I don’t want the Devil to get hold of him,” +answered Greyson.</p> +<p>“You’ve got to face this unalterable law,” he continued. +“That power derived from worldly sources can only be employed +for worldly purposes. The power conferred by popularity, by wealth, +by that ability to make use of other men that we term organization—sooner +or later the man who wields that power becomes the Devil’s servant. +So long as Kingship was merely a force struggling against anarchy, it +was a holy weapon. As it grew in power so it degenerated into +an instrument of tyranny. The Church, so long as it remained a +scattered body of meek, lowly men, did the Lord’s work. +Enthroned at Rome, it thundered its edicts against human thought. +The Press is in danger of following precisely the same history. +When it wrote in fear of the pillory and of the jail, it fought for +Liberty. Now it has become the Fourth Estate, it fawns—as +Jack Swinton said of it—at the feet of Mammon. My Proprietor, +good fellow, allows me to cultivate my plot amid the wilderness for +other purposes than those of quick returns. If he were to become +a competitor with the Carletons and the Bloomfields, he would have to +look upon it as a business proposition. The Devil would take him +up on to the high mountain, and point out to him the kingdom of huge +circulations and vast profits, whispering to him: ‘All this will +I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.’ I don’t +want the dear good fellow to be tempted.”</p> +<p>“Is it impossible, then, to combine duty and success?” +questioned Joan.</p> +<p>“The combination sometimes happens, by chance,” admitted +Greyson. “But it’s dangerous to seek it. It +is so easy to persuade ourselves that it’s our duty to succeed.”</p> +<p>“But we must succeed to be of use,” urged Mary. +“Must God’s servants always remain powerless?”</p> +<p>“Powerless to rule. Powerful only to serve,” he +answered. “Powerful as Christ was powerful; not as Caesar +was powerful—powerful as those who have suffered and have failed, +leaders of forlorn hopes—powerful as those who have struggled +on, despised and vilified; not as those of whom all men speak well—powerful +as those who have fought lone battles and have died, not knowing their +own victory. It is those that serve, not those that rule, shall +conquer.”</p> +<p>Joan had never known him quite so serious. Generally there +was a touch of irony in his talk, a suggestion of aloofness that had +often irritated her.</p> +<p>“I wish you would always be yourself, as you are now,” +she said, “and never pose.”</p> +<p>“Do I pose?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.</p> +<p>“That shows how far it has gone,” she told him, “that +you don’t even know it. You pretend to be a philosopher. +But you’re really a man.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “It isn’t always a pose,” he +explained. “It’s some men’s way of saying: Thy +will be done.”</p> +<p>“Ask Phillips to come and see me,” he said. “I +can be of more help, if I know exactly his views.”</p> +<p>He walked with her to the bus. They passed a corner house that +he had more than once pointed out to her. It had belonged, years +ago, to a well-known artist, who had worked out a wonderful scheme of +decoration in the drawing-room. A board was up, announcing that +the house was for sale. A gas lamp, exactly opposite, threw a +flood of light upon the huge white lettering.</p> +<p>Joan stopped. “Why, it’s the house you are always +talking about,” she said. “Are you thinking of taking +it?”</p> +<p>“I did go over it,” he answered. “But it +would be rather absurd for just Mary and me.”</p> +<p>She looked up Phillips at the House, and gave him Greyson’s +message. He had just returned from Folkestone, and was worried.</p> +<p>“She was so much better last week,” he explained. +“But it never lasts.”</p> +<p>“Poor old girl!” he added. “I believe she’d +have been happier if I’d always remained plain Bob Phillips.”</p> +<p>Joan had promised to go down on the Friday; but finding, on the Thursday +morning, that it would be difficult, decided to run down that afternoon +instead. She thought at first of sending a wire. But in +Mrs. Phillips’s state of health, telegrams were perhaps to be +avoided. It could make no difference. The front door of +the little house was standing half open. She called down the kitchen +stairs to the landlady, but received no answer. The woman had +probably run out on some short errand. She went up the stairs +softly. The bedroom door, she knew, would be open. Mrs. +Phillips had a feeling against being “shut off,” as she +called it. She meant to tap lightly and walk straight in, as usual. +But what she saw through the opening caused her to pause. Mrs. +Phillips was sitting up in bed with her box of cosmetics in front of +her. She was sensitive of anyone seeing her make-up; and Joan, +knowing this, drew back a step. But for some reason, she couldn’t +help watching. Mrs. Phillips dipped a brush into one of the compartments +and then remained with it in her hand, as if hesitating. Suddenly +she stuck out her tongue and passed the brush over it. At least, +so it seemed to Joan. It was only a side view of Mrs. Phillips’s +face that she was obtaining, and she may have been mistaken. It +might have been the lips. The woman gave a little gasp and sat +still for a moment. Then, putting away the brush, she closed the +box and slipped it under the pillow.</p> +<p>Joan felt her knees trembling. A cold, creeping fear was taking +possession of her. Why, she could not understand. She must +have been mistaken. People don’t make-up their tongues. +It must have been the lips. And even if not—if the woman +had licked the brush! It was a silly trick people do. Perhaps +she liked the taste. She pulled herself together and tapped at +the door.</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips gave a little start at seeing her; but was glad that +she had come. Phillips had not been down for two days and she +had been feeling lonesome. She persisted in talking more than +Joan felt was good for her. She was feeling so much better, she +explained. Joan was relieved when the nurse came back from her +walk and insisted on her lying down. She dropped to sleep while +Joan and the nurse were having their tea.</p> +<p>Joan went back by the early train. She met some people at the +station that she knew and travelled up with them. That picture +of Mrs. Phillips’s tongue just showing beyond the line of Mrs. +Phillips’s cheek remained at the back of her mind; but it was +not until she was alone in her own rooms that she dared let her thoughts +return to it.</p> +<p>The suggestion that was forcing itself into her brain was monstrous—unthinkable. +That, never possessed of any surplus vitality, and suffering from the +added lassitude of illness, the woman should have become indifferent—willing +to let a life that to her was full of fears and difficulties slip peacefully +away from her, that was possible. But that she should exercise +thought and ingenuity—that she should have reasoned the thing +out and deliberately laid her plans, calculating at every point on their +success; it was inconceivable.</p> +<p>Besides, what could have put the idea into her head? It was +laughable, the presumption that she was a finished actress, capable +of deceiving everyone about her. If she had had an inkling of +the truth, Joan, with every nerve on the alert, almost hoping for it, +would have detected it. She had talked with her alone the day +before she had left England, and the woman had been full of hopes and +projects for the future.</p> +<p>That picture of Mrs. Phillips, propped up against the pillows, with +her make-up box upon her knees was still before her when she went to +bed. All night long it haunted her: whether thinking or dreaming +of it, she could not tell.</p> +<p>Suddenly, she sat up with a stifled cry. It seemed as if a +flash of light had been turned upon her, almost blinding her.</p> +<p>Hilda! Why had she never thought of it? The whole thing +was so obvious. “You ought not to think about yourself. +You ought to think only of him and of his work. Nothing else matters.” +If she could say that to Joan, what might she not have said to her mother +who, so clearly, she divined to be the incubus—the drag upon her +father’s career? She could hear the child’s dry, passionate +tones—could see Mrs. Phillips’s flabby cheeks grow white—the +frightened, staring eyes. Where her father was concerned the child +had neither conscience nor compassion. She had waited her time. +It was a few days after Hilda’s return to school that Mrs. Phillips +had been first taken ill.</p> +<p>She flung herself from the bed and drew the blind. A chill, +grey light penetrated the room. It was a little before five. +She would go round to Phillips, wake him up. He must be told.</p> +<p>With her hat in her hands, she paused. No. That would +not do. Phillips must never know. They must keep the secret +to themselves. She would go down and see the woman; reason with +her, insist. She went into the other room. It was lighter +there. The “A.B.C.” was standing in its usual place +upon her desk. There was a train to Folkestone at six-fifteen. +She had plenty of time. It would be wise to have a cup of tea +and something to eat. There would be no sense in arriving there +with a headache. She would want her brain clear.</p> +<p>It was half-past five when she sat down with her tea in front of +her. It was only ten minutes’ walk to Charing Cross—say +a quarter of an hour. She might pick up a cab. She grew +calmer as she ate and drank. Her reason seemed to be returning +to her. There was no such violent hurry. Hadn’t she +better think things over, in the clear daylight? The woman had +been ill now for nearly six weeks: a few hours—a day or two—could +make no difference. It might alarm the poor creature, her unexpected +appearance at such an unusual hour—cause a relapse. Suppose +she had been mistaken? Hadn’t she better make a few inquiries +first—feel her way? One did harm more often than good, acting +on impulse. After all, had she the right to interfere? Oughtn’t +the thing to be thought over as a whole? Mightn’t there +be arguments, worth considering, against her interference? Her +brain was too much in a whirl. Hadn’t she better wait till +she could collect and arrange her thoughts?</p> +<p>The silver clock upon her desk struck six. It had been a gift +from her father when she was at Girton. It never obtruded. +Its voice was a faint musical chime that she need not hear unless she +cared to listen. She turned and looked at it. It seemed +to be a little face looking back at her out of its two round, blinkless +eyes. For the first time during all the years that it had watched +beside her, she heard its quick, impatient tick.</p> +<p>She sat motionless, staring at it. The problem, in some way, +had simplified itself into a contest between herself, demanding time +to think, and the little insistent clock, shouting to her to act upon +blind impulse. If she could remain motionless for another five +minutes, she would have won.</p> +<p>The ticking of the little clock was filling the room. The thing +seemed to have become alive—to be threatening to burst its heart. +But the thin, delicate indicator moved on.</p> +<p>Suddenly its ticking ceased. It had become again a piece of +lifeless mechanism. The hands pointed to six minutes past. +Joan took off her hat and laid it aside.</p> +<p>She must think the whole thing over quietly.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p>She could help him. Without her, he would fail. The woman +herself saw that, and wished it. Why should she hesitate? +It was not as if she had only herself to consider. The fate—the +happiness of millions was at stake. He looked to her for aid—for +guidance. It must have been intended. All roads had led +to it. Her going to the house. She remembered now, it was +the first door at which she had knocked. Her footsteps had surely +been directed. Her meeting with Mrs. Phillips in Madge’s +rooms; and that invitation to dinner, coinciding with that crisis in +his life. It was she who had persuaded him to accept. But +for her he would have doubted, wavered, let his opportunities slip by. +He had confessed it to her.</p> +<p>And she had promised him. He needed her. The words she +had spoken to Madge, not dreaming then of their swift application. +They came back to her. “God has called me. He girded +His sword upon me.” What right had she to leave it rusting +in its scabbard, turning aside from the pathway pointed out to her because +of one weak, useless life, crouching in her way. It was not as +if she were being asked to do evil herself that good might come. +The decision had been taken out of her hands. All she had to do +was to remain quiescent, not interfering, awaiting her orders. +Her business was with her own part, not with another’s. +To be willing to sacrifice oneself: that was at the root of all service. +Sometimes it was one’s own duty, sometimes that of another. +Must one never go forward because another steps out of one’s way, +voluntarily? Besides, she might have been mistaken. That +picture, ever before her, of the woman pausing with the brush above +her tongue—that little stilled gasp! It may have been but +a phantasm, born of her own fevered imagination. She clung to +that, desperately.</p> +<p>It was the task that had been entrusted to her. How could he +hope to succeed without her. With her, he would be all powerful—accomplish +the end for which he had been sent into the world. Society counts +for so much in England. What public man had ever won through without +its assistance. As Greyson had said: it is the dinner-table that +rules. She could win it over to his side. That mission to +Paris that she had undertaken for Mrs. Denton, that had brought her +into contact with diplomatists, politicians, the leaders and the rulers, +the bearers of names known and honoured in history. They had accepted +her as one of themselves. She had influenced them, swayed them. +That afternoon at Folk’s studio, where all eyes had followed her, +where famous men and women had waited to attract her notice, had hung +upon her words. Even at school, at college, she had always commanded +willing homage. As Greyson had once told her, it was herself—her +personality that was her greatest asset. Was it to be utterly +wasted? There were hundreds of impersonal, sexless women, equipped +for nothing else, with pens as keen if not keener than hers. That +was not the talent with which she had been entrusted—for which +she would have to account. It was her beauty, her power to charm, +to draw after her—to compel by the mere exercise of her will. +Hitherto Beauty had been content to barter itself for mere coin of the +realm—for ease and luxury and pleasure. She only asked to +be allowed to spend it in service. As his wife, she could use +it to fine ends. By herself she was helpless. One must take +the world as one finds it. It gives the unmated woman no opportunity +to employ the special gifts with which God has endowed her—except +for evil. As the wife of a rising statesman, she could be a force +for progress. She could become another Madame Roland; gather round +her all that was best of English social life; give back to it its lost +position in the vanguard of thought.</p> +<p>She could strengthen him, give him courage. Without her, he +would always remain the mere fighter, doubtful of himself. The +confidence, the inspiration, necessary for leadership, she alone could +bring to him. Each by themselves was incomplete. Together, +they would be the whole. They would build the city of their dreams.</p> +<p>She seemed to have become a wandering spirit rather than a living +being. She had no sense of time or place. Once she had started, +hearing herself laugh. She was seated at a table, and was talking. +And then she had passed back into forgetfulness. Now, from somewhere, +she was gazing downward. Roofs, domes and towers lay stretched +before her, emerging from a sea of shadows. She held out her arms +towards them and the tears came to her eyes. The poor tired people +were calling to her to join with him to help them. Should she +fail them—turn deaf ears to the myriad because of pity for one +useless, feeble life?</p> +<p>She had been fashioned to be his helpmate, as surely as if she had +been made of the same bone. Nature was at one with God. +Spirit and body both yearned for him. It was not position—power +for herself that she craved. The marriage market—if that +had been her desire: it had always been open to her. She had the +gold that buys these things. Wealth, ambition: they had been offered +to her—spread out temptingly before her eyes. They were +always within her means, if ever she chose to purchase them. It +was this man alone to whom she had ever felt drawn—this man of +the people, with that suggestion about him of something primitive, untamed, +causing her always in his presence that faint, compelling thrill of +fear, who stirred her blood as none of the polished men of her own class +had ever done. His kind, strong, ugly face: it moved beside her: +its fearless, tender eyes now pleading, now commanding.</p> +<p>He needed her. She heard his passionate, low voice, as she +had heard it in the little garden above Meudon: “Because you won’t +be there; and without you I can do nothing.” What right +had this poor, worn-out shadow to stand between them, to the end? +Had love and life no claims, but only weakness? She had taken +all, had given nothing. It was but reparation she was making. +Why stop her?</p> +<p>She was alone in a maze of narrow, silent streets that ended always +in a high blank wall. It seemed impossible to get away from this +blank wall. Whatever way she turned she was always coming back +to it.</p> +<p>What was she to do? Drag the woman back to life against her +will—lead her back to him to be a chain about his feet until the +end? Then leave him to fight the battle alone?</p> +<p>And herself? All her world had been watching and would know. +She had counted her chickens before they were dead. She had set +her cap at the man, reckoning him already widowed; and his wife had +come to life and snatched it from her head. She could hear the +laughter—the half amused, half contemptuous pity for her “rotten +bad luck.” She would be their standing jest, till she was +forgotten.</p> +<p>What would life leave to her? A lonely lodging and a pot of +ink that she would come to hate the smell of. She could never +marry. It would be but her body that she could give to any other +man. Not even for the sake of her dreams could she bring herself +to that. It might have been possible before, but not now. +She could have won the victory over herself, but for hope, that had +kindled the smouldering embers of her passion into flame. What +cunning devil had flung open this door, showing her all her heart’s +desire, merely that she should be called upon to slam it to in her own +face?</p> +<p>A fierce anger blazed up in her brain. Why should she listen? +Why had reason been given to us if we were not to use it—weigh +good and evil in the balance and decide for ourselves where lay the +nobler gain? Were we to be led hither and thither like blind children? +What was right—what wrong, but what our own God-given judgment +told us? Was it wrong of the woman to perform this act of self-renunciation, +yielding up all things to love? No, it was great—heroic +of her. It would be her cross of victory, her crown.</p> +<p>If the gift were noble, so also it could not be ignoble to accept +it.</p> +<p>To reject it would be to dishonour it.</p> +<p>She would accept it. The wonder of it should cast out her doubts +and fears. She would seek to make herself worthy of it. +Consecrate it with her steadfastness, her devotion.</p> +<p>She thought it ended. But yet she sat there motionless.</p> +<p>What was plucking at her sleeve—still holding her?</p> +<p>Unknowing, she had entered a small garden. It formed a passage +between two streets, and was left open day and night. It was but +a narrow strip of rank grass and withered shrubs with an asphalte pathway +widening to a circle in the centre, where stood a gas lamp and two seats, +facing one another.</p> +<p>And suddenly it came to her that this was her Garden of Gethsemane; +and a dull laugh broke from her that she could not help. It was +such a ridiculous apology for Gethsemane. There was not a corner +in which one could possibly pray. Only these two iron seats, one +each side of the gaunt gas lamp that glared down upon them. Even +the withered shrubs were fenced off behind a railing. A ragged +figure sprawled upon the bench opposite to her. It snored gently, +and its breath came laden with the odour of cheap whisky.</p> +<p>But it was her Gethsemane: the best that Fate had been able to do +for her. It was here that her choice would be made. She +felt that.</p> +<p>And there rose before her the vision of that other Garden of Gethsemane +with, below it, the soft lights of the city shining through the trees; +and above, clear against the starlit sky, the cold, dark cross.</p> +<p>It was only a little cross, hers, by comparison. She could +see that. They seemed to be standing side by side. But then +she was only a woman—little more than a girl. And her courage +was so small. She thought He ought to know that. For her, +it was quite a big cross. She wondered if He had been listening +to all her arguments. There was really a good deal of sense in +some of them. Perhaps He would understand. Not all His prayer +had come down to us. He, too, had put up a fight for life. +He, too, was young. For Him, also, life must have seemed but just +beginning. Perhaps He, too, had felt that His duty still lay among +the people—teaching, guiding, healing them. To Him, too, +life must have been sweet with its noble work, its loving comradeship. +Even from Him the words had to be wrung: “Thy will, not Mine, +be done.”</p> +<p>She whispered them at last. Not bravely, at all. Feebly, +haltingly, with a little sob: her forehead pressed against the cold +iron seat, as if that could help her.</p> +<p>She thought that even then God might reconsider it—see her +point of view. Perhaps He would send her a sign.</p> +<p>The ragged figure on the bench opposite opened its eyes, stared at +her; then went to sleep again. A prowling cat paused to rub itself +against her foot, but meeting no response, passed on. Through +an open window, somewhere near, filtered the sound of a child’s +low whimpering.</p> +<p>It was daylight when she awoke. She was cold and her limbs +ached. Slowly her senses came back to her. The seat opposite +was vacant. The gas lamp showed but a faint blue point of flame. +Her dress was torn, her boots soiled and muddy. Strands of her +hair had escaped from underneath her hat.</p> +<p>She looked at her watch. Fortunately it was still early. +She would be able to let herself in before anyone was up. It was +but a little way. She wondered, while rearranging her hair, what +day it was. She would find out, when she got home, from the newspaper.</p> +<p>In the street she paused a moment and looked back through the railings. +It seemed even still more sordid in the daylight: the sooty grass and +the withered shrubs and the asphalte pathway strewn with dirty paper. +And again a laugh she could not help broke from her. Her Garden +of Gethsemane!</p> +<p>She sent a brief letter round to Phillips, and a telegram to the +nurse, preparing them for what she meant to do. She had just time +to pack a small trunk and catch the morning train. At Folkestone, +she drove first to a house where she herself had once lodged and fixed +things to her satisfaction. The nurse was waiting for her in the +downstairs room, and opened the door to her. She was opposed to +Joan’s interference. But Joan had come prepared for that. +“Let me have a talk with her,” she said. “I +think I’ve found out what it is that is causing all the trouble.”</p> +<p>The nurse shot her a swift glance. “I’m glad of +that,” she said dryly. She let Joan go upstairs.</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips was asleep. Joan seated herself beside the bed +and waited. She had not yet made herself up for the day and the +dyed hair was hidden beneath a white, close-fitting cap. The pale, +thin face with its closed eyes looked strangely young. Suddenly +the thin hands clasped, and her lips moved, as if she were praying in +her sleep. Perhaps she also was dreaming of Gethsemane. +It must be quite a crowded garden, if only we could see it.</p> +<p>After a while, her eyes opened. Joan drew her chair nearer +and slipped her arm in under her, and their eyes met.</p> +<p>“You’re not playing the game,” whispered Joan, +shaking her head. “I only promised on condition that you +would try to get well.”</p> +<p>The woman made no attempt to deny. Something told her that +Joan had learned her secret. She glanced towards the door. +Joan had closed it.</p> +<p>“Don’t drag me back,” she whispered. “It’s +all finished.” She raised herself up and put her arms about +Joan’s neck. “It was hard at first, and I hated you. +And then it came to me that this was what I had been wanting to do, +all my life—something to help him, that nobody else could do. +Don’t take it from me.”</p> +<p>“I know,” whispered Joan. “I’ve been +there, too. I knew you were doing it, though I didn’t quite +know how—till the other day. I wouldn’t think. +I wanted to pretend that I didn’t. I know all you can say. +I’ve been listening to it. It was right of you to want to +give it all up to me for his sake. But it would be wrong of me +to take it. I don’t quite see why. I can’t explain +it. But I mustn’t. So you see it would be no good.”</p> +<p>“But I’m so useless,” pleaded the woman.</p> +<p>“I said that,” answered Joan. “I wanted to +do it and I talked and talked, so hard. I said everything I could +think of. But that was the only answer: I mustn’t do it.”</p> +<p>They remained for a while with their arms round one another. +It struck Joan as curious, even at the time, that all feeling of superiority +had gone out of her. They might have been two puzzled children +that had met one another on a path that neither knew. But Joan +was the stronger character.</p> +<p>“I want you to give me up that box,” she said, “and +to come away with me where I can be with you and take care of you until +you are well.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips made yet another effort. “Have you thought +about him?” she asked.</p> +<p>Joan answered with a faint smile. “Oh, yes,” she +said. “I didn’t forget that argument in case it hadn’t +occurred to the Lord.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” she added, “the helpmate theory was +intended to apply only to our bodies. There was nothing said about +our souls. Perhaps God doesn’t have to work in pairs. +Perhaps we were meant to stand alone.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips’s thin hands were playing nervously with the +bed clothes. There still seemed something that she had to say. +As if Joan hadn’t thought of everything. Her eyes were fixed +upon the narrow strip of light between the window curtains.</p> +<p>“You don’t think you could, dear,” she whispered, +“if I didn’t do anything wicked any more. But just +let things take their course.”</p> +<p>“You see, dear,” she went on, her face still turned away, +“I thought it all finished. It will be hard for me to go +back to him, knowing as I do now that he doesn’t want me. +I shall always feel that I am in his way. And Hilda,” she +added after a pause, “she will hate me.”</p> +<p>Joan looked at the white patient face and was silent. What +would be the use of senseless contradiction. The woman knew. +It would only seem an added stab of mockery. She knelt beside +the bed, and took the thin hands in hers.</p> +<p>“I think God must want you very badly,” she said, “or +He wouldn’t have laid so heavy a cross upon you. You will +come?”</p> +<p>The woman did not answer in words. The big tears were rolling +down her cheeks. There was no paint to mingle with and mar them. +She drew the little metal box from under the pillow and gave it into +Joan’s hands.</p> +<p>Joan crept out softly from the room.</p> +<p>The nurse was standing by the window. She turned sharply on +Joan’s entrance. Joan slipped the box into her hands.</p> +<p>The nurse raised the lid. “What a fool I’ve been,” +she said. “I never thought of that.”</p> +<p>She held out a large strong hand and gave Joan a longish grip. +“You’re right,” she said, “we must get her out +of this house at once. Forgive me.”</p> +<p>Phillips had been called up north and wired that he would not be +able to get down till the Wednesday evening. Joan met him at the +station.</p> +<p>“She won’t be expecting you, just yet,” she explained. +“We might have a little walk.”</p> +<p>She waited till they had reached a quiet road leading to the hills.</p> +<p>“You will find her changed,” she said. “Mentally, +I mean. Though she will try not to show it. She was dying +for your sake—to set you free. Hilda seems to have had a +talk with her and to have spared her no part of the truth. Her +great love for you made the sacrifice possible and even welcome. +It was the one gift she had in her hands. She was giving it gladly, +proudly. So far as she was concerned, it would have been kinder +to let her make an end of it. But during the last few days I have +come to the conclusion there is a law within us that we may not argue +with. She is coming back to life, knowing you no longer want her, +that she is only in the way. Perhaps you may be able to think +of something to say or do that will lessen her martyrdom. I can’t.”</p> +<p>They had paused where a group of trees threw a blot of shadow across +the moonlit road.</p> +<p>“You mean she was killing herself?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Quite cleverly. So as to avoid all danger of after discovery: +that might have hurt us,” she answered.</p> +<p>They walked in silence, and coming to a road that led back into the +town, he turned down it. She had the feeling she was following +him without his knowing it. A cab was standing outside the gate +of a house, having just discharged its fare. He seemed to have +suddenly recollected her.</p> +<p>“Do you mind?” he said. “We shall get there +so much quicker.”</p> +<p>“You go,” she said. “I’ll stroll on +quietly.”</p> +<p>“You’re sure?” he said.</p> +<p>“I would rather,” she answered.</p> +<p>It struck her that he was relieved. He gave the man the address, +speaking hurriedly, and jumped in.</p> +<p>She had gone on. She heard the closing of the door behind her, +and the next moment the cab passed her.</p> +<p>She did not see him again that night. They met in the morning +at breakfast. A curious strangeness to each other seemed to have +grown up between them, as if they had known one another long ago, and +had half forgotten. When they had finished she rose to leave; +but he asked her to stop, and, after the table had been cleared, he +walked up and down the room, while she sat sideways on the window seat +from where she could watch the little ships moving to and fro across +the horizon, like painted figures in a show.</p> +<p>“I had a long talk with Nan last night,” he said. +“And, trying to explain it to her, I came a little nearer to understanding +it myself. My love for you would have been strong enough to ruin +both of us. I see that now. It would have dominated every +other thought in me. It would have swallowed up my dreams. +It would have been blind, unscrupulous. Married to you, I should +have aimed only at success. It would not have been your fault. +You would not have known. About mere birth I should never have +troubled myself. I’ve met daughters of a hundred earls—more +or less: clever, jolly little women I could have chucked under the chin +and have been chummy with. Nature creates her own ranks, and puts +her ban upon misalliances. Every time I took you in my arms I +should have felt that you had stepped down from your proper order to +mate yourself with me and that it was up to me to make the sacrifice +good to you by giving you power—position. Already within +the last few weeks, when it looked as if this thing was going to be +possible, I have been thinking against my will of a compromise with +Carleton that would give me his support. This coming election +was beginning to have terrors for me that I have never before felt. +The thought of defeat—having to go back to comparative poverty, +to comparative obscurity, with you as my wife, was growing into a nightmare. +I should have wanted wealth, fame, victory, for your sake—to see +you honoured, courted, envied, finely dressed and finely housed—grateful +to me for having won for you these things. It wasn’t honest, +healthy love—the love that unites, that makes a man willing to +take as well as to give, that I felt for you; it was worship that separates +a man from a woman, that puts fear between them. It isn’t +good that man should worship a woman. He can’t serve God +and woman. Their interests are liable to clash. Nan’s +my helpmate—just a loving woman that the Lord brought to me and +gave me when I was alone—that I still love. I didn’t +know it till last night. She will never stand in my way. +I haven’t to put her against my duty. She will leave me +free to obey the voice that calls to me. And no man can hear that +voice but himself.”</p> +<p>He had been speaking in a clear, self-confident tone, as if at last +he saw his road before him to the end; and felt that nothing else mattered +but that he should go forward hopefully, unfalteringly. Now he +paused, and his eyes wandered. But the lines about his strong +mouth deepened.</p> +<p>“Perhaps, I am not of the stuff that conquerors are made,” +he went on. “Perhaps, if I were, I should be thinking differently. +It comes to me sometimes that I may be one of those intended only to +prepare the way—that for me there may be only the endless struggle. +I may have to face unpopularity, abuse, failure. She won’t +mind.”</p> +<p>“Nor would you,” he added, turning to her suddenly for +the first time, “I know that. But I should be afraid—for +you.”</p> +<p>She had listened to him without interrupting, and even now she did +not speak for a while.</p> +<p>It was hard not to. She wanted to tell him that he was all +wrong—at least, so far as she was concerned. It. was not +the conqueror she loved in him; it was the fighter. Not in the +hour of triumph but in the hour of despair she would have yearned to +put her arms about him. “Unpopularity, abuse, failure,” +it was against the fear of such that she would have guarded him. +Yes, she had dreamed of leadership, influence, command. But it +was the leadership of the valiant few against the hosts of the oppressors +that she claimed. Wealth, honours! Would she have given +up a life of ease, shut herself off from society, if these had been +her standards? “<i>Mésalliance</i>!” +Had the male animal no instinct, telling it when it was loved with all +a woman’s being, so that any other union would be her degradation.</p> +<p>It was better for him he should think as he did. She rose and +held out her hand.</p> +<p>“I will stay with her for a little while,” she said. +“Till I feel there is no more need. Then I must get back +to work.”</p> +<p>He looked into her eyes, holding her hand, and she felt his body +trembling. She knew he was about to speak, and held up a warning +hand.</p> +<p>“That’s all, my lad,” she said with a smile. +“My love to you, and God speed you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips progressed slowly but steadily. Life was returning +to her, but it was not the same. Out of those days there had come +to her a gentle dignity, a strengthening and refining. The face, +now pale and drawn, had lost its foolishness. Under the thin, +white hair, and in spite of its deep lines, it had grown younger. +A great patience, a child-like thoughtfulness had come into the quiet +eyes.</p> +<p>She was sitting by the window, her hands folded. Joan had been +reading to her, and the chapter finished, she had closed the book and +her thoughts had been wandering. Mrs. Phillips’s voice recalled +them.</p> +<p>“Do you remember that day, my dear,” she said, “when +we went furnishing together. And I would have all the wrong things. +And you let me.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Joan with a laugh. “They +were pretty awful, some of them.”</p> +<p>“I was just wondering,” she went on. “It +was a pity, wasn’t it? I was silly and began to cry.”</p> +<p>“I expect that was it,” Joan confessed. “It +interferes with our reason at times.”</p> +<p>“It was only a little thing, of course, that,” she answered. +“But I’ve been thinking it must be that that’s at +the bottom of it all; and that is why God lets there be weak things—children +and little animals and men and women in pain, that we feel sorry for, +so that people like you and Robert and so many others are willing to +give up all your lives to helping them. And that is what He wants.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps God cannot help there being weak things,” answered +Joan. “Perhaps He, too, is sorry for them.”</p> +<p>“It comes to the same thing, doesn’t it, dear?” +she answered. “They are there, anyhow. And that is +how He knows those who are willing to serve Him: by their being pitiful.”</p> +<p>They fell into a silence. Joan found herself dreaming.</p> +<p>Yes, it was true. It must have been the beginning of all things. +Man, pitiless, deaf, blind, groping in the darkness, knowing not even +himself. And to her vision, far off, out of the mist, he shaped +himself before her: that dim, first standard-bearer of the Lord, the +man who first felt pity. Savage, brutish, dumb—lonely there +amid the desolation, staring down at some hurt creature, man or beast +it mattered not, his dull eyes troubled with a strange new pain he understood +not.</p> +<p>And suddenly, as he stooped, there must have come a great light into +his eyes.</p> +<p>Man had heard God’s voice across the deep, and had made answer.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p>The years that followed—till, like some shipwrecked swimmer +to whom returning light reveals the land, she felt new life and hopes +come back to her—always remained in her memory vague, confused; +a jumble of events, thoughts, feelings, without sequence or connection.</p> +<p>She had gone down to Liverpool, intending to persuade her father +to leave the control of the works to Arthur, and to come and live with +her in London; but had left without broaching the subject. There +were nights when she would trapse the streets till she would almost +fall exhausted, rather than face the solitude awaiting her in her own +rooms. But so also there were moods when, like some stricken animal, +her instinct was to shun all living things. At such times his +presence, for all his loving patience, would have been as a knife in +her wound. Besides, he would always be there, when escape from +herself for a while became an absolute necessity. More and more +she had come to regard him as her comforter. Not from anything +he ever said or did. Rather, it seemed to her, because that with +him she felt no need of words.</p> +<p>The works, since Arthur had shared the management, had gradually +been regaining their position; and he had urged her to let him increase +her allowance.</p> +<p>“It will give you greater freedom,” he had suggested +with fine assumption of propounding a mere business proposition; “enabling +you to choose your work entirely for its own sake. I have always +wanted to take a hand in helping things on. It will come to just +the same, your doing it for me.”</p> +<p>She had suppressed a smile, and had accepted. “Thanks, +Dad,” she had answered. “It will be nice, having you +as my backer.”</p> +<p>Her admiration of the independent woman had undergone some modification +since she had come in contact with her. Woman was intended to +be dependent upon man. It was the part appointed to him in the +social scheme. Woman had hers, no less important. Earning +her own living did not improve her. It was one of the drawbacks +of civilization that so many had to do it of necessity. It developed +her on the wrong lines—against her nature. This cry of the +unsexed: that woman must always be the paid servant instead of the helper +of man—paid for being mother, paid for being wife! Why not +carry it to its logical conclusion, and insist that she should be paid +for her embraces? That she should share in man’s labour, +in his hopes, that was the true comradeship. What mattered it, +who held the purse-strings!</p> +<p>Her room was always kept ready for her. Often she would lie +there, watching the moonlight creep across the floor; and a curious +feeling would come to her of being something wandering, incomplete. +She would see as through a mist the passionate, restless child with +the rebellious eyes to whom the room had once belonged; and later the +strangely self-possessed girl with that impalpable veil of mystery around +her who would stand with folded hands, there by the window, seeming +always to be listening. And she, too, had passed away. The +tears would come into her eyes, and she would stretch out yearning arms +towards their shadowy forms. But they would only turn upon her +eyes that saw not, and would fade away.</p> +<p>In the day-time, when Arthur and her father were at the works, she +would move through the high, square, stiffly-furnished rooms, or about +the great formal garden, with its ordered walks and level lawns. +And as with knowledge we come to love some old, stern face our childish +eyes had thought forbidding, and would not have it changed, there came +to her with the years a growing fondness for the old, plain brick-built +house. Generations of Allways had lived and died there: men and +women somewhat narrow, unsympathetic, a little hard of understanding; +but at least earnest, sincere, seeking to do their duty in their solid, +unimaginative way. Perhaps there were other ways besides those +of speech and pen. Perhaps one did better, keeping to one’s +own people; the very qualities that separated us from them being intended +for their need. What mattered the colours, so that one followed +the flag? Somewhere, all roads would meet.</p> +<p>Arthur had to be in London generally once or twice a month, and it +came to be accepted that he should always call upon her and “take +her out.” She had lost the self-sufficiency that had made +roaming about London by herself a pleasurable adventure; and a newly-born +fear of what people were saying and thinking about her made her shy +even of the few friends she still clung to, so that his visits grew +to be of the nature of childish treats to which she found herself looking +forward—counting the days. Also, she came to be dependent +upon him for the keeping alight within her of that little kindly fire +of self-conceit at which we warm our hands in wintry days. It +is not good that a young woman should remain for long a stranger to +her mirror—above her frocks, indifferent to the angle of her hat. +She had met the women superior to feminine vanities. Handsome +enough, some of them must once have been; now sunk in slovenliness, +uncleanliness, in disrespect to womanhood. It would not be fair +to him. The worshipper has his rights. The goddess must +remember always that she is a goddess—must pull herself together +and behave as such, appearing upon her pedestal becomingly attired; +seeing to it that in all things she is at her best; not allowing private +grief to render her neglectful of this duty.</p> +<p>She had not told him of the Phillips episode. But she felt +instinctively that he knew. It was always a little mysterious +to her, his perception in matters pertaining to herself.</p> +<p>“I want your love,” she said to him one day. “It +helps me. I used to think it was selfish of me to take it, knowing +I could never return it—not that love. But I no longer feel +that now. Your love seems to me a fountain from which I can drink +without hurting you.”</p> +<p>“I should love to be with you always,” he answered, “if +you wished it. You won’t forget your promise?”</p> +<p>She remembered it then. “No,” she answered with +a smile. “I shall keep watch. Perhaps I shall be worthy +of it by that time.”</p> +<p>She had lost her faith in journalism as a drum for the rousing of +the people against wrong. Its beat had led too often to the trickster’s +booth, to the cheap-jack’s rostrum. It had lost its rallying +power. The popular Press had made the newspaper a byword for falsehood. +Even its supporters, while reading it because it pandered to their passions, +tickled their vices, and flattered their ignorance, despised and disbelieved +it. Here and there, an honest journal advocated a reform, pleaded +for the sweeping away of an injustice. The public shrugged its +shoulders. Another newspaper stunt! A bid for popularity, +for notoriety: with its consequent financial kudos.</p> +<p>She still continued to write for Greyson, but felt she was labouring +for the doomed. Lord Sutcliffe had died suddenly and his holding +in the <i>Evening Gazette</i> had passed to his nephew, a gentleman +more interested in big game shooting than in politics. Greyson’s +support of Phillips had brought him within the net of Carleton’s +operations, and negotiations for purchase had already been commenced. +She knew that, sooner or later, Greyson would be offered the alternative +of either changing his opinions or of going. And she knew that +he would go. Her work for Mrs. Denton was less likely to be interfered +with. It appealed only to the few, and aimed at informing and +explaining rather than directly converting. Useful enough work +in its way, no doubt; but to put heart into it seemed to require longer +views than is given to the eyes of youth.</p> +<p>Besides, her pen was no longer able to absorb her attention, to keep +her mind from wandering. The solitude of her desk gave her the +feeling of a prison. Her body made perpetual claims upon her, +as though it were some restless, fretful child, dragging her out into +the streets without knowing where it wanted to go, discontented with +everything it did: then hurrying her back to fling itself upon a chair, +weary, but still dissatisfied.</p> +<p>If only she could do something. She was sick of thinking.</p> +<p>These physical activities into which women were throwing themselves! +Where one used one’s body as well as one’s brain—hastened +to appointments; gathered round noisy tables; met fellow human beings, +argued with them, walked with them, laughing and talking; forced one’s +way through crowds; cheered, shouted; stood up on platforms before a +sea of faces; roused applause, filling and emptying one’s lungs; +met interruptions with swift flash of wit or anger, faced opposition, +danger—felt one’s blood surging through one’s veins, +felt one’s nerves quivering with excitement; felt the delirious +thrill of passion; felt the mad joy of the loosened animal.</p> +<p>She threw herself into the suffrage movement. It satisfied +her for a while. She had the rare gift of public speaking, and +enjoyed her triumphs. She was temperate, reasonable; persuasive +rather than aggressive; feeling her audience as she went, never losing +touch with them. She had the magnetism that comes of sympathy. +Medical students who came intending to tell her to go home and mind +the baby, remained to wonder if man really was the undoubted sovereign +of the world, born to look upon woman as his willing subject; to wonder +whether under some unwritten whispered law it might not be the other +way about. Perhaps she had the right—with or without the +baby—to move about the kingdom, express her wishes for its care +and management. Possibly his doubts may not have been brought +about solely by the force and logic of her arguments. Possibly +the voice of Nature is not altogether out of place in discussions upon +Humanity’s affairs.</p> +<p>She wanted votes for women. But she wanted them clean—won +without dishonour. These “monkey tricks”—this +apish fury and impatience! Suppose it did hasten by a few months, +more or less, the coming of the inevitable. Suppose, by unlawful +methods, one could succeed in dragging a reform a little prematurely +from the womb of time, did not one endanger the child’s health? +Of what value was woman’s influence on public affairs going to +be, if she was to boast that she had won the right to exercise it by +unscrupulousness and brutality?</p> +<p>They were to be found at every corner: the reformers who could not +reform themselves. The believers in universal brotherhood who +hated half the people. The denouncers of tyranny demanding lamp-posts +for their opponents. The bloodthirsty preachers of peace. +The moralists who had persuaded themselves that every wrong was justified +provided one were fighting for the right. The deaf shouters for +justice. The excellent intentioned men and women labouring for +reforms that could only be hoped for when greed and prejudice had yielded +place to reason, and who sought to bring about their ends by appeals +to passion and self-interest.</p> +<p>And the insincere, the self-seekers, the self-advertisers! +Those who were in the business for even coarser profit! The lime-light +lovers who would always say and do the clever, the unexpected thing +rather than the useful and the helpful thing: to whom paradox was more +than principle.</p> +<p>Ought there not to be a school for reformers, a training college +where could be inculcated self-examination, patience, temperance, subordination +to duty; with lectures on the fundamental laws, within which all progress +must be accomplished, outside which lay confusion and explosions; with +lectures on history, showing how improvements had been brought about +and how failure had been invited, thus avoiding much waste of reforming +zeal; with lectures on the properties and tendencies of human nature, +forbidding the attempt to treat it as a sum in rule of three?</p> +<p>There were the others. The men and women not in the lime-light. +The lone, scattered men and women who saw no flag but Pity’s ragged +skirt; who heard no drum but the world’s low cry of pain; who +fought with feeble hands against the wrong around them; who with aching +heart and troubled eyes laboured to make kinder the little space about +them. The great army of the nameless reformers uncheered, unparagraphed, +unhonoured. The unknown sowers of the seed. Would the reapers +of the harvest remember them?</p> +<p>Beyond giving up her visits to the house, she had made no attempt +to avoid meeting Phillips; and at public functions and at mutual friends +they sometimes found themselves near to one another. It surprised +her that she could see him, talk to him, and even be alone with him +without its troubling her. He seemed to belong to a part of her +that lay dead and buried—something belonging to her that she had +thrust away with her own hands: that she knew would never come back +to her.</p> +<p>She was still interested in his work and keen to help him. +It was going to be a stiff fight. He himself, in spite of Carleton’s +opposition, had been returned with an increased majority; but the Party +as a whole had suffered loss, especially in the counties. The +struggle centred round the agricultural labourer. If he could +be won over the Government would go ahead with Phillips’s scheme. +Otherwise there was danger of its being shelved. The difficulty +was the old problem of how to get at the men of the scattered villages, +the lonely cottages. The only papers that they ever saw were those, +chiefly of the Carleton group, that the farmers and the gentry took +care should come within their reach; that were handed to them at the +end of their day’s work as a kindly gift; given to the school +children to take home with them; supplied in ample numbers to all the +little inns and public-houses. In all these, Phillips was held +up as their arch enemy, his proposal explained as a device to lower +their wages, decrease their chances of employment, and rob them of the +produce of their gardens and allotments. No arguments were used. +A daily stream of abuse, misrepresentation and deliberate lies, set +forth under flaming headlines, served their simple purpose. The +one weekly paper that had got itself established among them, that their +fathers had always taken, that dimly they had come to look upon as their +one friend, Carleton had at last succeeded in purchasing. When +that, too, pictured Phillips’s plan as a diabolical intent to +take from them even the little that they had, and give it to the loafing +socialist and the bloated foreigner, no room for doubt was left to them.</p> +<p>He had organized volunteer cycle companies of speakers from the towns, +young working-men and women and students, to go out on summer evenings +and hold meetings on the village greens. They were winning their +way. But it was slow work. And Carleton was countering their +efforts by a hired opposition that followed them from place to place, +and whose interruptions were made use of to represent the whole campaign +as a fiasco.</p> +<p>“He’s clever,” laughed Phillips. “I’d +enjoy the fight, if I’d only myself to think of, and life wasn’t +so short.”</p> +<p>The laugh died away and a shadow fell upon his face.</p> +<p>“If I could get a few of the big landlords to come in on my +side,” he continued, “it would make all the difference in +the world. They’re sensible men, some of them; and the whole +thing could be carried out without injury to any legitimate interest. +I could make them see that, if I could only get them quietly into a +corner.”</p> +<p>“But they’re frightened of me,” he added, with +a shrug of his broad shoulders, “and I don’t seem to know +how to tackle them.”</p> +<p>Those drawing-rooms? Might not something of the sort be possible? +Not, perhaps, the sumptuous salon of her imagination, thronged with +the fair and famous, suitably attired. Something, perhaps, more +homely, more immediately attainable. Some of the women dressed, +perhaps, a little dowdily; not all of them young and beautiful. +The men wise, perhaps, rather than persistently witty; a few of them +prosy, maybe a trifle ponderous; but solid and influential. Mrs. +Denton’s great empty house in Gower Street? A central situation +and near to the tube. Lords and ladies had once ruffled there; +trod a measure on its spacious floors; filled its echoing stone hall +with their greetings and their partings. The gaping sconces, where +their link-boys had extinguished their torches, still capped its grim +iron railings.</p> +<p>Seated in the great, sombre library, Joan hazarded the suggestion. +Mrs. Denton might almost have been waiting for it. It would be +quite easy. A little opening of long fastened windows; a lighting +of chill grates; a little mending of moth-eaten curtains, a sweeping +away of long-gathered dust and cobwebs.</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton knew just the right people. They might be induced +to bring their sons and daughters—it might be their grandchildren, +youth being there to welcome them. For Joan, of course, would +play her part.</p> +<p>The lonely woman touched her lightly on the hand. There shot +a pleading look from the old stern eyes.</p> +<p>“You will have to imagine yourself my daughter,” she +said. “You are taller, but the colouring was the same. +You won’t mind, will you?”</p> +<p>The right people did come: Mrs. Denton being a personage that a landed +gentry, rendered jumpy by the perpetual explosion of new ideas under +their very feet, and casting about eagerly for friends, could not afford +to snub. A kindly, simple folk, quite intelligent, some of them, +as Phillips had surmised. Mrs. Denton made no mystery of why she +had invited them. Why should all questions be left to the politicians +and the journalists? Why should not the people interested take +a hand; meet and talk over these little matters with quiet voices and +attentive ears, amid surroundings where the unwritten law would restrain +ladies and gentlemen from addressing other ladies and gentlemen as blood-suckers +or anarchists, as grinders of the faces of the poor or as oily-tongued +rogues; arguments not really conducive to mutual understanding and the +bridging over of differences. The latest Russian dancer, the last +new musical revue, the marvellous things that can happen at golf, the +curious hands that one picks up at bridge, the eternal fox, the sacred +bird! Excellent material for nine-tenths of our conversation. +But the remaining tenth? Would it be such excruciatingly bad form +for us to be intelligent, occasionally; say, on one or two Fridays during +the season? Mrs. Denton wrapped it up tactfully; but that was +her daring suggestion.</p> +<p>It took them aback at first. There were people who did this +sort of thing. People of no class, who called themselves names +and took up things. But for people of social standing to talk +about serious subjects—except, perhaps, in bed to one’s +wife! It sounded so un-English.</p> +<p>With the elders it was sense of duty that prevailed. That, +at all events, was English. The country must be saved. To +their sons and daughters it was the originality, the novelty that gradually +appealed. Mrs. Denton’s Fridays became a new sensation. +It came to be the chic and proper thing to appear at them in shades +of mauve or purple. A pushing little woman in Hanover Street designed +the “Denton” bodice, with hanging sleeves and square-cut +neck. The younger men inclined towards a coat shaped to the waist +with a roll collar.</p> +<p>Joan sighed. It looked as if the word had been passed round +to treat the whole thing as a joke. Mrs. Denton took a different +view.</p> +<p>“Nothing better could have happened,” she was of opinion. +“It means that their hearts are in it.”</p> +<p>The stone hall was still vibrating to the voices of the last departed +guests. Joan was seated on a footstool before the fire in front +of Mrs. Denton’s chair.</p> +<p>“It’s the thing that gives me greatest hope,” she +continued. “The childishness of men and women. It +means that the world is still young, still teachable.”</p> +<p>“But they’re so slow at their lessons,” grumbled +Joan. “One repeats it and repeats it; and then, when one +feels that surely now at least one has drummed it into their heads, +one finds they have forgotten all that one has ever said.”</p> +<p>“Not always forgotten,” answered Mrs. Denton; “mislaid, +it may be, for the moment. An Indian student, the son of an old +Rajah, called on me a little while ago. He was going back to organize +a system of education among his people. ‘My father heard +you speak when you were over in India,’ he told me. ‘He +has always been thinking about it.’ Thirty years ago it +must have been, that I undertook that mission to India. I had +always looked back upon it as one of my many failures.”</p> +<p>“But why leave it to his son,” argued Joan. “Why +couldn’t the old man have set about it himself, instead of wasting +thirty precious years?”</p> +<p>“I should have preferred it, myself,” agreed Mrs. Denton. +“I remember when I was a very little girl my mother longing for +a tree upon the lawn underneath which she could sit. I found an +acorn and planted it just in the right spot. I thought I would +surprise her. I happened to be in the neighbourhood last summer, +and I walked over. There was such a nice old lady sitting under +it, knitting stockings. So you see it wasn’t wasted.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t mind the waiting,” answered Joan, “if +it were not for the sorrow and the suffering that I see all round me. +I want to get rid of it right away, now. I could be patient for +myself, but not for others.”</p> +<p>The little old lady straightened herself. There came a hardening +of the thin, firm mouth.</p> +<p>“And those that have gone before?” she demanded. +“Those that have won the ground from where we are fighting. +Had they no need of patience? Was the cry never wrung from their +lips: ‘How long, oh Lord, how long?’ Is it for us +to lay aside the sword that they bequeath us because we cannot hope +any more than they to see the far-off victory? Fifty years I have +fought, and what, a few years hence, will my closing eyes still see +but the banners of the foe still waving, fresh armies pouring to his +standard?”</p> +<p>She flung back her head and the grim mouth broke into a smile.</p> +<p>“But I’ve won,” she said. “I’m +dying further forward. I’ve helped advance the line.”</p> +<p>She put out her hands and drew Joan to her.</p> +<p>“Let me think of you,” she said, “as taking my +place, pushing the outposts a little further on.”</p> +<p>Joan did not meet Hilda again till the child had grown into a woman—practically +speaking. She had always been years older than her age. +It was at a reception given in the Foreign Office. Joan’s +dress had been trodden on and torn. She had struggled out of the +crowd into an empty room, and was examining the damage somewhat ruefully, +when she heard a voice behind her, proffering help. It was a hard, +cold voice, that yet sounded familiar, and she turned.</p> +<p>There was no forgetting those deep, burning eyes, though the face +had changed. The thin red lips still remained its one touch of +colour; but the unhealthy whiteness of the skin had given place to a +delicate pallor; and the features that had been indistinct had shaped +themselves in fine, firm lines. It was a beautiful, arresting +face, marred only by the sullen callousness of the dark, clouded eyes.</p> +<p>Joan was glad of the assistance. Hilda produced pins.</p> +<p>“I always come prepared to these scrimmages,” she explained. +“I’ve got some Hazeline in my bag. They haven’t +kicked you, have they?”</p> +<p>“No,” laughed Joan. “At least, I don’t +think so.”</p> +<p>“They do sometimes,” answered Hilda, “if you happen +to be in the way, near the feeding troughs. If they’d only +put all the refreshments into one room, one could avoid it. But +they will scatter them about so that one never knows for certain whether +one is in the danger zone or not. I hate a mob.”</p> +<p>“Why do you come?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“Oh, I!” answered the girl. “I go everywhere +where there’s a chance of picking up a swell husband. They’ve +got to come to these shows, they can’t help themselves. +One never knows what incident may give one one’s opportunity.”</p> +<p>Joan shot a glance. The girl was evidently serious.</p> +<p>“You think it would prove a useful alliance?” she suggested.</p> +<p>“It would help, undoubtedly,” the girl answered. +“I don’t see any other way of getting hold of them.”</p> +<p>Joan seated herself on one of the chairs ranged round the walls, +and drew the girl down beside her. Through the closed door, the +mingled voices of the Foreign Secretary’s guests sounded curiously +like the buzzing of flies.</p> +<p>“It’s quite easy,” said Joan, “with your +beauty. Especially if you’re not going to be particular. +But isn’t there danger of your devotion to your father leading +you too far? A marriage founded on a lie—no matter for what +purpose!—mustn’t it degrade a woman—smirch her soul +for all time? We have a right to give up the things that belong +to ourselves, but not the things that belong to God: our truth, our +sincerity, our cleanliness of mind and body; the things that He may +one day want of us. It led you into evil once before. Don’t +think I’m judging you. I was no better than you. I +argued just as you must have done. Something stopped me just in +time. That was the only difference between us.”</p> +<p>The girl turned her dark eyes full upon Joan. “What did +stop you?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“Does it matter what we call it?” answered Joan. +“It was a voice.”</p> +<p>“It told me to do it,” answered the girl.</p> +<p>“Did no other voice speak to you?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the girl. “The voice of weakness.”</p> +<p>There came a fierce anger into the dark eyes. “Why did +you listen to it?” she demanded. “All would have been +easy if you hadn’t.”</p> +<p>“You mean,” answered Joan quietly, “that if I had +let your mother die and had married your father, that he and I would +have loved each other to the end; that I should have helped him and +encouraged him in all things, so that his success would have been certain. +Is that the argument?”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you love him?” asked the girl, staring. +“Wouldn’t you have helped him?”</p> +<p>“I can’t tell,” answered Joan. “I should +have meant to. Many men and women have loved, and have meant to +help each other all their lives; and with the years have drifted asunder; +coming even to be against one another. We change and our thoughts +change; slight differences of temperament grow into barriers between +us; unguessed antagonisms widen into gulfs. Accidents come into +our lives. A friend was telling me the other day of a woman who +practically proposed to and married a musical genius, purely and solely +to be of use to him. She earned quite a big income, drawing fashions; +and her idea was to relieve him of the necessity of doing pot-boilers +for a living, so that he might devote his whole time to his real work. +And a few weeks after they were married she ran the point of a lead +pencil through her eye and it set up inflammation of her brain. +And now all the poor fellow has to think of is how to make enough to +pay for her keep at a private lunatic asylum. I don’t mean +to be flippant. It’s the very absurdity of it all that makes +the mystery of life—that renders it so hopeless for us to attempt +to find our way through it by our own judgment. It is like the +ants making all their clever, laborious plans, knowing nothing of chickens +and the gardener’s spade. That is why we have to cling to +the life we can order for ourselves—the life within us. +Truth, Justice, Pity. They are the strong things, the eternal +things, the things we’ve got to sacrifice ourselves for—serve +with our bodies and our souls.</p> +<p>“Don’t think me a prig,” she pleaded. “I’m +talking as if I knew all about it. I don’t really. +I grope in the dark; and now and then—at least so it seems to +me—I catch a glint of light. We are powerless in ourselves. +It is only God working through us that enables us to be of any use. +All we can do is to keep ourselves kind and clean and free from self, +waiting for Him to come to us.”</p> +<p>The girl rose. “I must be getting back,” she said. +“Dad will be wondering where I’ve got to.”</p> +<p>She paused with the door in her hand, and a faint smile played round +the thin red lips.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” she said. “What is God?”</p> +<p>“A Labourer, together with man, according to Saint Paul,” +Joan answered.</p> +<p>The girl turned and went. Joan watched her as she descended +the great staircase. She moved with a curious, gliding motion, +pausing at times for the people to make way for her.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p>It was a summer’s evening; Joan had dropped in at the Greysons +and had found Mary alone, Francis not having yet returned from a bachelor +dinner at his uncle’s, who was some big pot in the Navy. +They sat in the twilight, facing the open French windows, through which +one caught a glimpse of the park. A great stillness seemed to +be around them.</p> +<p>The sale and purchase of the <i>Evening Gazette</i> had been completed +a few days before. Greyson had been offered the alternative of +gradually and gracefully changing his opinions, or getting out; and +had, of course, chosen dismissal. He was taking a holiday, as +Mary explained with a short laugh.</p> +<p>“He had some shares in it himself, hadn’t he?” +Joan asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, just enough to be of no use,” Mary answered. +“Carleton was rather decent, so far as that part of it was concerned, +and insisted on paying him a fair price. The market value would +have been much less; and he wanted to be out of it.”</p> +<p>Joan remained silent. It made her mad, that a man could be +suddenly robbed of fifteen years’ labour: the weapon that his +heart and brain had made keen wrested from his hand by a legal process, +and turned against the very principles for which all his life he had +been fighting.</p> +<p>“I’m almost more sorry for myself than for him,” +said Mary, making a whimsical grimace. “He will start something +else, so soon as he’s got over his first soreness; but I’m +too old to dream of another child.”</p> +<p>He came in a little later and, seating himself between them, filled +and lighted his pipe. Looking back, Joan remembered that curiously +none of them had spoken. Mary had turned at the sound of his key +in the door. She seemed to be watching him intently; but it was +too dark to notice her expression. He pulled at his pipe till +it was well alight and then removed it.</p> +<p>“It’s war,” he said.</p> +<p>The words made no immediate impression upon Joan. There had +been rumours, threatenings and alarms, newspaper talk. But so +there had been before. It would come one day: the world war that +one felt was gathering in the air; that would burst like a second deluge +on the nations. But it would not be in our time: it was too big. +A way out would be found.</p> +<p>“Is there no hope?” asked Mary.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “The hope that a miracle +may happen. The Navy’s got its orders.”</p> +<p>And suddenly—as years before in a Paris music hall—there +leapt to life within Joan’s brain a little impish creature that +took possession of her. She hoped the miracle would not happen. +The little impish creature within her brain was marching up and down +beating a drum. She wished he would stop a minute. Someone +was trying to talk to her, telling her she ought to be tremendously +shocked and grieved. He—or she, or whatever it was that +was trying to talk to her, appeared concerned about Reason and Pity +and Universal Brotherhood and Civilization’s clock—things +like that. But the little impish drummer was making such a din, +she couldn’t properly hear. Later on, perhaps, he would +get tired; and then she would be able to listen to this humane and sensible +person, whoever it might be.</p> +<p>Mary argued that England could and should keep out of it; but Greyson +was convinced it would be impossible, not to say dishonourable: a sentiment +that won the enthusiastic approval of the little drummer in Joan’s +brain. He played “Rule Britannia” and “God Save +the King,” the “Marseillaise” and the Russian National +hymn, all at the same time. He would have included “Deutschland +über Alles,” if Joan hadn’t made a supreme effort and +stopped him. Evidently a sporting little devil. He took +himself off into a corner after a time, where he played quietly to himself; +and Joan was able to join in the conversation.</p> +<p>Greyson spoke with an enthusiasm that was unusual to him. So +many of our wars had been mean wars—wars for the wrong; sordid +wars for territory, for gold mines; wars against the weak at the bidding +of our traders, our financiers. “Shouldering the white man’s +burden,” we called it. Wars for the right of selling opium; +wars to perpetuate the vile rule of the Turk because it happened to +serve our commercial interests. This time, we were out to play +the knight; to save the smaller peoples; to rescue our once “sweet +enemy,” fair France. Russia was the disturbing thought. +It somewhat discounted the knight-errant idea, riding stirrup to stirrup +beside that barbarian horseman. But there were possibilities about +Russia. Idealism lay hid within that sleeping brain. It +would be a holy war for the Kingdom of the Peoples. With Germany +freed from the monster of blood and iron that was crushing out her soul, +with Russia awakened to life, we would build the United States of Europe. +Even his voice was changed. Joan could almost fancy it was some +excited schoolboy that was talking.</p> +<p>Mary had been clasping and unclasping her hands, a habit of hers +when troubled. Could good ever come out of evil? That was +her doubt. Did war ever do anything but sow the seeds of future +violence; substitute one injustice for another; change wrong for wrong. +Did it ever do anything but add to the world’s sum of evil, making +God’s task the heavier?</p> +<p>Suddenly, while speaking, she fell into a passionate fit of weeping. +She went on through her tears:</p> +<p>“It will be terrible,” she said. “It will +last longer than you say. Every nation will be drawn into it. +There will be no voice left to speak for reason. Every day we +shall grow more brutalized, more pitiless. It will degrade us, +crush the soul out of us. Blood and iron! It will become +our God too: the God of all the world. You say we are going into +it with clean hands, this time. How long will they keep clean? +The people who only live for making money: how long do you think they +will remain silent? What has been all the talk of the last ten +years but of capturing German trade. We shall be told that we +owe it to our dead to make a profit out of them; that otherwise they +will have died in vain. Who will care for the people but to use +them for killing one another—to hound them on like dogs. +In every country nothing but greed and hatred will be preached. +Horrible men and women will write to the papers crying out for more +blood, more cruelty. Everything that can make for anger and revenge +will be screamed from every newspaper. Every plea for humanity +will be jeered at as ‘sickly sentimentality.’ Every +man and woman who remembers the ideals with which we started will be +shrieked at as a traitor. The people who are doing well out of +it, they will get hold of the Press, appeal to the passions of the mob. +Nobody else will be allowed to speak. It always has been so in +war. It always will be. This will be no exception merely +because it’s bigger. Every country will be given over to +savagery. There will be no appeal against it. The whole +world will sink back into the beast.”</p> +<p>She ended by rising abruptly and wishing them good-night. Her +outburst had silenced Joan’s impish drummer, for the time. +He appeared to be nervous and depressed, but bucked up again on the +way to the bus. Greyson walked with her as usual. They took +the long way round by the outer circle.</p> +<p>“Poor Mary!” he said. “I should not have +talked before her if I had thought. Her horror of war is almost +physical. She will not even read about them. It has the +same effect upon her as stories of cruelty.”</p> +<p>“But there’s truth in a good deal that she says,” +he added. “War can bring out all that is best in a people; +but also it brings out the worst. We shall have to take care that +the ideals are not lost sight of.”</p> +<p>“I wish this wretched business of the paper hadn’t come +just at this time,” said Joan: “just when your voice is +most needed.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you get enough money together to start something +quickly,” she continued, the idea suddenly coming to her. +“I think I could help you. It wouldn’t matter its +being something small to begin with. So long as it was entirely +your own, and couldn’t be taken away from you. You’d +soon work it up.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” he answered. “I may ask you to +later on. But just now—” He paused.</p> +<p>Of course. For war you wanted men, to fight. She had +been thinking of them in the lump: hurrying masses such as one sees +on cinema screens, blurred but picturesque. Of course, when you +came to think of it, they would have to be made up of individuals—gallant-hearted, +boyish sort of men who would pass through doors, one at a time, into +little rooms; give their name and address to a soldier man seated at +a big deal table. Later on, one would say good-bye to them on +crowded platforms, wave a handkerchief. Not all of them would +come back. “You can’t make omelettes without breaking +eggs,” she told herself.</p> +<p>It annoyed her, that silly saying having come into her mind. +She could see them lying there, with their white faces to the night. +Surely she might have thought of some remark less idiotic to make to +herself, at such a time.</p> +<p>He was explaining to her things about the air service. It seemed +he had had experience in flying—some relation of his with whom +he had spent a holiday last summer.</p> +<p>It would mean his getting out quickly. He seemed quite eager +to be gone.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it rather dangerous work?” she asked. +She felt it was a footling question even as she asked it. Her +brain had become stodgy.</p> +<p>“Nothing like as dangerous as being in the Infantry,” +he answered. “And that would be my only other alternative. +Besides I get out of the drilling.” He laughed. “I +should hate being shouted at and ordered about by a husky old sergeant.”</p> +<p>They neither spoke again till they came to the bridge, from the other +side of which the busses started.</p> +<p>“I may not see you again before I go,” he said. +“Look after Mary. I shall try to persuade her to go down +to her aunt in Hampshire. It’s rather a bit of luck, as +it turns out, the paper being finished with. I shouldn’t +have quite known what to do.”</p> +<p>He had stopped at the corner. They were still beneath the shadow +of the trees. Quite unconsciously she put her face up; and as +if it had always been the custom at their partings, he drew her to him +and kissed her; though it really was for the first time.</p> +<p>She walked home instead of taking the bus. She wanted to think. +A day or two would decide the question. She determined that if +the miracle did not happen, she would go down to Liverpool. Her +father was on the committee of one of the great hospitals; and she knew +one or two of the matrons. She would want to be doing something—to +get out to the front, if possible. Maybe, her desire to serve +was not altogether free from curiosity—from the craving for adventure. +There’s a spice of the man even in the best of women.</p> +<p>Her conscience plagued her when she thought of Mrs. Denton. +For some time now, they had been very close together; and the old lady +had come to depend upon her. She waited till all doubt was ended +before calling to say good-bye. Mrs. Denton was seated before +an old bureau that had long stood locked in a corner of the library. +The drawers were open and books and papers were scattered about.</p> +<p>Joan told her plans. “You’ll be able to get along +without me for a little while?” she asked doubtfully.</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton laughed. “I haven’t much more to do,” +she answered. “Just tidying up, as you see; and two or three +half-finished things I shall try to complete. After that, I’ll +perhaps take a rest.”</p> +<p>She took from among the litter a faded photograph and handed it to +Joan. “Odd,” she said. “I’ve just +turned it out.”</p> +<p>It represented a long, thin line of eminently respectable ladies +and gentlemen in early Victorian costume. The men in peg-top trousers +and silk stocks, the women in crinolines and poke bonnets. Among +them, holding the hand of a benevolent-looking, stoutish gentleman, +was a mere girl. The terminating frills of a white unmentionable +garment showed beneath her skirts. She wore a porkpie hat with +a feather in it.</p> +<p>“My first public appearance,” explained Mrs. Denton. +“I teased my father into taking me with him. We represented +Great Britain and Ireland. I suppose I’m the only one left.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t have recognized you,” laughed Joan. +“What was the occasion?”</p> +<p>“The great International Peace Congress at Paris,” explained +Mrs. Denton; “just after the Crimean war. It made quite +a stir at the time. The Emperor opened our proceedings in person, +and the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury both sent us their blessing. +We had a copy of the speeches presented to us on leaving, in every known +language in Europe, bound in vellum. I’m hoping to find +it. And the Press was enthusiastic. There were to be Acts +of Parliament, Courts of Arbitration, International Laws, Diplomatic +Treaties. A Sub-Committee was appointed to prepare a special set +of prayers and a Palace of Peace was to be erected. There was +only one thing we forgot, and that was the foundation.”</p> +<p>“I may not be here,” she continued, “when the new +plans are submitted. Tell them not to forget the foundation this +time. Tell them to teach the children.”</p> +<p>Joan dined at a popular restaurant that evening. She fancied +it might cheer her up. But the noisy patriotism of the over-fed +crowd only irritated her. These elderly, flabby men, these fleshy +women, who would form the spectators, who would loll on their cushioned +seats protected from the sun, munching contentedly from their well-provided +baskets while listening to the dying groans rising upwards from the +drenched arena. She glanced from one podgy thumb to another and +a feeling of nausea crept over her.</p> +<p>Suddenly the band struck up “God Save the King.” +Three commonplace enough young men, seated at a table near to her, laid +down their napkins and stood up. Yes, there was something to be +said for war, she felt, as she looked at their boyish faces, transfigured. +Not for them Business as usual, the Capture of German Trade. Other +visions those young eyes were seeing. The little imp within her +brain had seized his drum again. “Follow me”—so +he seemed to beat—“I teach men courage, duty, the laying +down of self. I open the gates of honour. I make heroes +out of dust. Isn’t it worth my price?”</p> +<p>A figure was loitering the other side of the street when she reached +home. She thought she somehow recognized it, and crossed over. +It was McKean, smoking his everlasting pipe. Success having demanded +some such change, he had migrated to “The Albany,” and she +had not seen him for some time. He had come to have a last look +at the house—in case it might happen to be the last. He +was off to Scotland the next morning, where he intended to “join +up.”</p> +<p>“But are you sure it’s your particular duty?” suggested +Joan. “I’m told you’ve become a household word +both in Germany and France. If we really are out to end war and +establish the brotherhood of nations, the work you are doing is of more +importance than even the killing of Germans. It isn’t as +if there wouldn’t be enough without you.”</p> +<p>“To tell the truth,” he answered, “that’s +exactly what I’ve been saying to myself. I shan’t +be any good. I don’t see myself sticking a bayonet into +even a German. Unless he happened to be abnormally clumsy. +I tried to shoot a rabbit once. I might have done it if the little +beggar, instead of running away, hadn’t turned and looked at me.”</p> +<p>“I should keep out of it if I were you,” laughed Joan.</p> +<p>“I can’t,” he answered. “I’m +too great a coward.”</p> +<p>“An odd reason for enlisting,” thought Joan.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t face it,” he went on; “the way +people would be looking at me in trains and omnibuses; the things people +would say of me, the things I should imagine they were saying; what +my valet would be thinking of me. Oh, I’m ashamed enough +of myself. It’s the artistic temperament, I suppose. +We must always be admired, praised. We’re not the stuff +that martyrs are made of. We must for ever be kow-towing to the +cackling geese around us. We’re so terrified lest they should +hiss us.”</p> +<p>The street was empty. They were pacing it slowly, up and down.</p> +<p>“I’ve always been a coward,” he continued. +“I fell in love with you the first day I met you on the stairs. +But I dared not tell you.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t give me that impression,” answered +Joan.</p> +<p>She had always found it difficult to know when to take him seriously +and when not.</p> +<p>“I was so afraid you would find it out,” he explained.</p> +<p>“You thought I would take advantage of it,” she suggested.</p> +<p>“One can never be sure of a woman,” he answered. +“And it would have been so difficult. There was a girl down +in Scotland, one of the village girls. It wasn’t anything +really. We had just been children together. But they all +thought I had gone away to make my fortune so as to come back and marry +her—even my mother. It would have looked so mean if after +getting on I had married a fine London lady. I could never have +gone home again.”</p> +<p>“But you haven’t married her—or have you?” +asked Joan.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered. “She wrote me a beautiful +letter that I shall always keep, begging me to forgive her, and hoping +I might be happy. She had married a young farmer, and was going +out to Canada. My mother will never allow her name to be mentioned +in our house.”</p> +<p>They had reached the end of the street again. Joan held out +her hand with a laugh.</p> +<p>“Thanks for the compliment,” she said. “Though +I notice you wait till you’re going away before telling me.”</p> +<p>“But quite seriously,” she added, “give it a little +more thought—the enlisting, I mean. The world isn’t +too rich in kind influences. It needs men like you. Come, +pull yourself together and show a little pluck.” She laughed.</p> +<p>“I’ll try,” he promised, “but it won’t +be any use; I shall drift about the streets, seeking to put heart into +myself, but all the while my footsteps will be bearing me nearer and +nearer to the recruiting office; and outside the door some girl in the +crowd will smile approval or some old fool will pat me on the shoulder +and I shall sneak in and it will close behind me. It must be fine +to have courage.”</p> +<p>He wrote her two days later from Ayr, giving her the name of his +regiment, and again some six months later from Flanders. But there +would have been no sense in her replying to that last.</p> +<p>She lingered in the street by herself, a little time, after he had +turned the corner. It had been a house of sorrow and disappointment +to her; but so also she had dreamed her dreams there, seen her visions. +She had never made much headway with her landlord and her landlady: +a worthy couple, who had proved most excellent servants, but who prided +themselves, to use their own expression, on knowing their place and +keeping themselves to themselves. Joan had given them notice that +morning, and had been surprised at the woman’s bursting into tears.</p> +<p>“I felt it just the same when young Mr. McKean left us,” +she explained with apologies. “He had been with us five +years. He was like you, miss, so unpracticable. I’d +got used to looking after him.”</p> +<p>Mary Greyson called on her in the morning, while she was still at +breakfast. She had come from seeing Francis off by an early train +from Euston. He had sent Joan a ring.</p> +<p>“He is so afraid you may not be able to wear it—that +it will not fit you,” said Mary, “but I told him I was sure +it would.”</p> +<p>Joan held our her hand for the letter. “I was afraid +he had forgotten it,” she answered, with a smile.</p> +<p>She placed the ring on her finger and held out her hand. “I +might have been measured for it,” she said. “I wonder +how he knew.”</p> +<p>“You left a glove behind you, the first day you ever came to +our house,” Mary explained. “And I kept it.”</p> +<p>She was following his wishes and going down into the country. +They did not meet again until after the war.</p> +<p>Madge dropped in on her during the week and brought Flossie with +her. Flossie’s husband, Sam, had departed for the Navy; +and Niel Singleton, who had offered and been rejected for the Army, +had joined a Red Cross unit. Madge herself was taking up canteen +work. Joan rather expected Flossie to be in favour of the war, +and Madge against it. Instead of which, it turned out the other +way round. It seemed difficult to forecast opinion in this matter.</p> +<p>Madge thought that England, in particular, had been too much given +up to luxury and pleasure. There had been too much idleness and +empty laughter: Hitchicoo dances and women undressing themselves upon +the stage. Even the working classes seemed to think of nothing +else but cinemas and beer. She dreamed of a United Kingdom purified +by suffering, cleansed by tears; its people drawn together by memory +of common sacrifice; class antagonism buried in the grave where Duke’s +son and cook’s son would lie side by side: of a new-born Europe +rising from the ashes of the old. With Germany beaten, her lust +of war burnt out, her hideous doctrine of Force proved to be false, +the world would breathe a freer air. Passion and hatred would +fall from man’s eyes. The people would see one another and +join hands.</p> +<p>Flossie was sceptical. “Why hasn’t it done it before?” +she wanted to know. “Good Lord! There’s been +enough of it.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t we all kiss and be friends after the Napoleonic +wars?” she demanded, “instead of getting up Peterloo massacres, +and anti-Corn Law riots, and breaking the Duke of Wellington’s +windows?”</p> +<p>“All this talk of downing Militarism,” she continued. +“It’s like trying to do away with the other sort of disorderly +house. You don’t stamp out a vice by chivying it round the +corner. When men and women have become decent there will be no +more disorderly houses. But it won’t come before. +Suppose we do knock Militarism out of Germany, like we did out of France, +not so very long ago? It will only slip round the corner into +Russia or Japan. Come and settle over here, as likely as not, +especially if we have a few victories and get to fancy ourselves.”</p> +<p>Madge was of opinion that the world would have had enough of war. +Not armies but whole peoples would be involved this time. The +lesson would be driven home.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, we shall have had enough of it,” agreed Flossie, +“by the time we’ve paid up. There’s no doubt +of that. What about our children? I’ve just left young +Frank strutting all over the house and flourishing a paper knife. +And the servants have had to bar the kitchen door to prevent his bursting +in every five minutes and attacking them. What’s he going +to say when I tell him, later on, that his father and myself have had +all the war we want, and have decided there shall be no more? +The old folks have had their fun. Why shouldn’t I have mine? +That will be his argument.”</p> +<p>“You can’t do it,” she concluded, “unless +you are prepared to keep half the world’s literature away from +the children, scrap half your music, edit your museums and your picture +galleries; bowdlerize your Old Testament and rewrite your histories. +And then you’ll have to be careful for twenty-four hours a day +that they never see a dog-fight.”</p> +<p>Madge still held to her hope. God would make a wind of reason +to pass over the earth. He would not smite again his people.</p> +<p>“I wish poor dear Sam could have been kept out of it,” +said Flossie. She wiped her eyes and finished her tea.</p> +<p>Joan had arranged to leave on the Monday. She ran down to see +Mary Stopperton on the Saturday afternoon. Mr. Stopperton had +died the year before, and Mary had been a little hurt, divining insincerity +in the condolences offered to her by most of her friends.</p> +<p>“You didn’t know him, dear,” she had said to Joan. +“All his faults were on the outside.”</p> +<p>She did not want to talk about the war.</p> +<p>“Perhaps it’s wrong of me,” she said. “But +it makes me so sad. And I can do nothing.”</p> +<p>She had been busy at her machine when Joan had entered; and a pile +of delicate white work lay folded on a chair beside her.</p> +<p>“What are you making?” asked Joan.</p> +<p>The little withered face lighted up. “Guess,” she +said, as she unfolded and displayed a tiny garment.</p> +<p>“I so love making them,” she said. “I say +to myself, ‘It will all come right. God will send more and +more of His Christ babies; till at last there will be thousands and +thousands of them everywhere; and their love will change the world!’”</p> +<p>Her bright eyes had caught sight of the ring upon Joan’s hand. +She touched it with her little fragile fingers.</p> +<p>“You will let me make one for you, dearie, won’t you?” +she said. “I feel sure it will be a little Christ baby.”</p> +<p>Arthur was still away when she arrived home. He had gone to +Norway on business. Her father was afraid he would find it difficult +to get back. Telegraphic communication had been stopped, and they +had had no news of him. Her father was worried. A big Government +contract had come in, while many of his best men had left to enlist.</p> +<p>“I’ve fixed you up all right at the hospital,” +he said. “It was good of you to think of coming home. +Don’t go away, for a bit.” It was the first time he +had asked anything of her.</p> +<p>Another fortnight passed before they heard from Arthur, and then +he wrote them both from Hull. He would be somewhere in the North +Sea, mine sweeping, when they read his letters. He had hoped to +get a day or two to run across and say good-bye; but the need for men +was pressing and he had not liked to plead excuses. The boat by +which he had managed to leave Bergen had gone down. He and a few +others had been picked up, but the sights that he had seen were haunting +him. He felt sure his uncle would agree that he ought to be helping, +and this was work for England he could do with all his heart. +He hoped he was not leaving his uncle in the lurch; but he did not think +the war would last long, and he would soon be back.</p> +<p>“Dear lad,” said her father, “he would take the +most dangerous work that he could find. But I wish he hadn’t +been quite so impulsive. He could have been of more use helping +me with this War Office contract. I suppose he never got my letter, +telling him about it.”</p> +<p>In his letter to Joan he went further. He had received his +uncle’s letter, so he confided to her. Perhaps she would +think him a crank, but he couldn’t help it. He hated this +killing business, this making of machinery for slaughtering men in bulk, +like they killed pigs in Chicago. Out on the free, sweet sea, +helping to keep it clean from man’s abominations, he would be +away from it all.</p> +<p>She saw the vision of him that night, as, leaning from her window, +she looked out beyond the pines: the little lonely ship amid the waste +of waters; his beautiful, almost womanish, face, and the gentle dreamy +eyes with their haunting suggestion of a shadow.</p> +<p>Her little drummer played less and less frequently to her as the +months passed by. It didn’t seem to be the war he had looked +forward to. The illustrated papers continued to picture it as +a sort of glorified picnic where smiling young men lolled luxuriously +in cosy dug-outs, reading their favourite paper. By curious coincidence, +it generally happened to be the journal publishing the photograph. +Occasionally, it appeared, they came across the enemy, who then put +up both hands and shouted “Kamerad.” But the weary, +wounded men she talked to told another story.</p> +<p>She grew impatient of the fighters with their mouths; the savage +old baldheads heroically prepared to sacrifice the last young man; the +sleek, purring women who talked childish nonsense about killing every +man, woman and child in Germany, but quite meant it; the shrieking journalists +who had decided that their place was the home front; the press-spurred +mobs, the spy hunters, chasing terrified old men and sobbing children +through the streets. It was a relief to enter the quiet ward and +close the door behind her. The camp-followers: the traders and +pedlars, the balladmongers, and the mountebanks, the ghoulish sightseers! +War brought out all that was worst in them. But the givers of +their blood, the lads who suffered, who had made the sacrifice: war +had taught them chivalry, manhood. She heard no revilings of hatred +and revenge from those drawn lips. Patience, humour, forgiveness, +they had learnt from war. They told her kindly stories even of +Hans and Fritz.</p> +<p>The little drummer in her brain would creep out of his corner, play +to her softly while she moved about among them.</p> +<p>One day she received a letter from Folk. He had come to London +at the request of the French Government to consult with English artists +on a matter he must not mention. He would not have the time, he +told her, to run down to Liverpool. Could she get a couple of +days’ leave and dine with him in London.</p> +<p>She found him in the uniform of a French Colonel. He had quite +a military bearing and seemed pleased with himself. He kissed +her hand, and then held her out at arms’ length.</p> +<p>“It’s wonderful how like you are to your mother,” +he said, “I wish I were as young as I feel.”</p> +<p>She had written him at the beginning of the war, telling him of her +wish to get out to the front, and he thought that now he might be able +to help her.</p> +<p>“But perhaps you’ve changed your mind,” he said. +“It isn’t quite as pretty as it’s painted.”</p> +<p>“I want to,” she answered. “It isn’t +all curiosity. I think it’s time for women to insist on +seeing war with their own eyes, not trust any longer to the pictures +you men paint.” She smiled.</p> +<p>“But I’ve got to give it up,” she added. +“I can’t leave Dad.”</p> +<p>They were sitting in the hall of the hotel. It was the dressing +hour and the place was almost empty. He shot a swift glance at +her.</p> +<p>“Arthur is still away,” she explained, “and I feel +that he wants me. I should be worrying myself, thinking of him +all alone with no one to look after him. It’s the mother +instinct I suppose. It always has hampered woman.” +She laughed.</p> +<p>“Dear old boy,” he said. He was watching her with +a little smile. “I’m glad he’s got some luck +at last.”</p> +<p>They dined in the great restaurant belonging to the hotel. +He was still vastly pleased with himself as he marched up the crowded +room with Joan upon his arm. He held himself upright and talked +and laughed perhaps louder than an elderly gentleman should. “Swaggering +old beggar,” he must have overheard a young sub. mutter as they +passed. But he did not seem to mind it.</p> +<p>They lingered over the meal. Folk was a brilliant talker. +Most of the men whose names were filling the newspapers had sat to him +at one time or another. He made them seem quite human. Joan +was surprised at the time.</p> +<p>“Come up to my rooms, will you?” he asked. “There’s +something I want to say to you. And then I’ll walk back +with you.” She was staying at a small hotel off Jermyn Street.</p> +<p>He sat her down by the fire and went into the next room. He +had a letter in his hand when he returned. Joan noticed that the +envelope was written upon across the corner, but she was not near enough +to distinguish the handwriting. He placed it on the mantelpiece +and sat down opposite her.</p> +<p>“So you have come to love the dear old chap,” he said.</p> +<p>“I have always loved him,” Joan answered. “It +was he didn’t love me, for a time, as I thought. But I know +now that he does.”</p> +<p>He was silent for a few moments, and then he leant across and took +her hands in his.</p> +<p>“I am going,” he said, “where there is just the +possibility of an accident: one never knows. I wanted to be sure +that all was well with you.”</p> +<p>He was looking at the ring upon her hand.</p> +<p>“A soldier boy?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered. “If he comes back.” +There was a little catch in her voice.</p> +<p>“I know he’ll come back,” he said. “I +won’t tell you why I am so sure. Perhaps you wouldn’t +believe.” He was still holding her hands, looking into her +eyes.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” he said, “did you see your mother before +she died. Did she speak to you?”</p> +<p>“No,” Joan answered. “I was too late. +She had died the night before. I hardly recognized her when I +saw her. She looked so sweet and young.”</p> +<p>“She loved you very dearly,” he said. “Better +than herself. All those years of sorrow: they came to her because +of that. I thought it foolish of her at the time, but now I know +she was wise. I want you always to love and honour her. +I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t right.”</p> +<p>She looked at him and smiled. “It’s quite easy,” +she answered. “I always see her as she lay there with all +the sorrow gone from her. She looked so beautiful and kind.”</p> +<p>He rose and took the letter from where he had placed it on the mantelpiece. +He stooped and held it out above the fire and a little flame leaped +up and seemed to take it from his hand.</p> +<p>They neither spoke during the short walk between the two hotels. +But at the door she turned and held out her hands to him.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she said, “for being so kind—and +wise. I shall always love and honour her.”</p> +<p>He kissed her, promising to take care of himself.</p> +<p>She ran against Phillips, the next day, at one of the big stores +where she was shopping. He had obtained a commission early in +the war and was now a captain. He had just come back from the +front on leave. The alternative had not appealed to him, of being +one of those responsible for sending other men to death while remaining +himself in security and comfort.</p> +<p>“It’s a matter of temperament,” he said. +“Somebody’s got to stop behind and do the patriotic speechifying. +I’m glad I didn’t. Especially after what I’ve +seen.”</p> +<p>He had lost interest in politics.</p> +<p>“There’s something bigger coming,” he said. +“Here everything seems to be going on much the same, but over +there you feel it. Something growing silently out of all this +blood and mud. I find myself wondering what the men are staring +at, but when I look there’s nothing as far as my field-glasses +will reach but waste and desolation. And it isn’t only on +the faces of our own men. It’s in the eyes of the prisoners +too. As if they saw something. A funny ending to the war, +if the people began to think.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Phillips was running a Convalescent Home in Folkestone, he told +her; and had even made a speech. Hilda was doing relief work among +the ruined villages of France.</p> +<p>“It’s a new world we shall be called upon to build,” +he said. “We must pay more heed to the foundation this time.”</p> +<p>She seldom discussed the war with her father. At the beginning, +he had dreamed with Greyson of a short and glorious campaign that should +weld all classes together, and after which we should forgive our enemies +and shape with them a better world. But as the months went by, +he appeared to grow indifferent; and Joan, who got about twelve hours +a day of it outside, welcomed other subjects.</p> +<p>It surprised her when one evening after dinner he introduced it himself.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do when it’s over?” he asked +her. “You won’t give up the fight, will you, whatever +happens?” She had not known till then that he had been taking +any interest in her work.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered with a laugh, “no matter what +happens, I shall always want to be in it.”</p> +<p>“Good lad,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. +“It will be an ugly world that will come out of all this hate +and anger. The Lord will want all the help that He can get.”</p> +<p>“And you don’t forget our compact, do you?” he +continued, “that I am to be your backer. I want to be in +it too.”</p> +<p>She shot a glance at him. He was looking at the portrait of +that old Ironside Allway who had fought and died to make a nobler England, +as he had dreamed. A grim, unprepossessing gentleman, unless the +artist had done him much injustice, with high, narrow forehead, and +puzzled, staring eyes.</p> +<p>She took the cigarette from her lips and her voice trembled a little.</p> +<p>“I want you to be something more to me than that, sir,” +she said. “I want to feel that I’m an Allway, fighting +for the things we’ve always had at heart. I’ll try +and be worthy of the name.”</p> +<p>Her hand stole out to him across the table, but she kept her face +away from him. Until she felt his grasp grow tight, and then she +turned and their eyes met.</p> +<p>“You’ll be the last of the name,” he said. +“Something tells me that. I’m glad you’re a +fighter. I always prayed my child might be a fighter.”</p> +<p>Arthur had not been home since the beginning of the war. Twice +he had written them to expect him, but the little fleet of mine sweepers +had been hard pressed, and on both occasions his leave had been stopped +at the last moment. One afternoon he turned up unexpectedly at +the hospital. It was a few weeks after the Conscription Act had +been passed.</p> +<p>Joan took him into her room at the end of the ward, from where, through +the open door, she could still keep watch. They spoke in low tones.</p> +<p>“It’s done you good,” said Joan. “You +look every inch the jolly Jack Tar.” He was hard and tanned, +and his eyes were marvellously bright.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “I love the sea. It’s +clean and strong.”</p> +<p>A fear was creeping over her. “Why have you come back?” +she asked.</p> +<p>He hesitated, keeping his eyes upon the ground.</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose you will agree with me,” he said. +“Somehow I felt I had to.”</p> +<p>A Conscientious Objector. She might have guessed it. +A “Conchy,” as they would call him in the Press: all the +spiteful screamers who had never risked a scratch, themselves, denouncing +him as a coward. The local Dogberrys of the tribunals would fire +off their little stock of gibes and platitudes upon him, propound with +owlish solemnity the new Christianity, abuse him and condemn him, without +listening to him. Jeering mobs would follow him through the streets. +More than once, of late, she had encountered such crowds made up of +shrieking girls and foul-mouthed men, surging round some white-faced +youngster while the well-dressed passers-by looked on and grinned.</p> +<p>She came to him and stood over him with her hands upon his shoulders.</p> +<p>“Must you, dear?” she said. “Can’t +you reconcile it to yourself—to go on with your work of mercy, +of saving poor folks’ lives?”</p> +<p>He raised his eyes to hers. The shadow that, to her fancy, +had always rested there seemed to have departed. A light had come +to them.</p> +<p>“There are more important things than saving men’s bodies. +You think that, don’t you?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered. “I won’t try to +hold you back, dear, if you think you can do that.”</p> +<p>He caught her hands and held them.</p> +<p>“I wanted to be a coward,” he said, “to keep out +of the fight. I thought of the shame, of the petty persecutions—that +even you might despise me. But I couldn’t. I was always +seeing His face before me with His beautiful tender eyes, and the blood +drops on His brow. It is He alone can save the world. It +is perishing for want of love; and by a little suffering I might be +able to help Him. And then one night—I suppose it was a +piece of driftwood—there rose up out of the sea a little cross +that seemed to call to me to stretch out my hand and grasp it, and gird +it to my side.”</p> +<p>He had risen. “Don’t you see,” he said. +“It is only by suffering that one can help Him. It is the +sword that He has chosen—by which one day He will conquer the +world. And this is such a splendid opportunity to fight for Him. +It would be like deserting Him on the eve of a great battle.”</p> +<p>She looked into his eager, hopeful eyes. Yes, it had always +been so—it always would be, to the end. Not priests and +prophets, but ever that little scattered band of glad sufferers for +His sake would be His army. His weapon still the cross, till the +victory should be won.</p> +<p>She glanced through the open door to where the poor, broken fellows +she always thought of as “her boys” lay so patient, and +then held out her hand to him with a smile, though the tears were in +her eyes.</p> +<p>“So you’re like all the rest of them, lad,” she +said. “It’s for King and country. Good luck +to you.”</p> +<p>After the war was over and the men, released from their long terms +of solitary confinement, came back to life injured in mind and body, +she was almost glad he had escaped. But at the time it filled +her soul with darkness.</p> +<p>It was one noonday. He had been down to the tribunal and his +case had been again adjourned. She was returning from a lecture, +and, crossing a street in the neighbourhood of the docks, found herself +suddenly faced by an oncoming crowd. It was yelping and snarling, +curiously suggestive of a pack of hungry wolves. A couple of young +soldiers were standing back against a wall.</p> +<p>“Better not go on, nurse,” said one of them. “It’s +some poor devil of a Conchy, I expect. Must have a damned sight +more pluck than I should.”</p> +<p>It was the fear that had been haunting her. She did not know +how white she had turned.</p> +<p>“I think it is someone I know,” she said. “Won’t +you help me?”</p> +<p>The crowd gave way to them, and they had all but reached him. +He was hatless and bespattered, but his tender eyes had neither fear +nor anger in them. She reached out her arms and called to him. +Another step and she would have been beside him, but at the moment a +slim, laughing girl darted in front of him and slipped her foot between +his legs and he went down.</p> +<p>She heard the joyous yell and the shrill laughter as she struggled +wildly to force her way to him. And then for a moment there was +a space and a man with bent body and clenched hands was rushing forward +as if upon a football field, and there came a little sickening thud +and then the crowd closed in again.</p> +<p>Her strength was gone and she could only wait. More soldiers +had come up and were using their fists freely, and gradually the crowd +retired, still snarling; and they lifted him up and brought him to her.</p> +<p>“There’s a chemist’s shop in the next street. +We’d better take him there,” suggested the one who had first +spoken to her. And she thanked them and followed them.</p> +<p>They made a bed for him with their coats upon the floor, and some +of them kept guard outside the shop, while one, putting aside the frightened, +useless little chemist, waited upon her, bringing things needful, while +she cleansed the foulness from his smooth young face, and washed the +matted blood from his fair hair, and closed the lids upon his tender +eyes, and, stooping, kissed the cold, quiet lips.</p> +<p>There had been whispered talk among the men, and when she rose the +one who had first spoken to her came forward. He was nervous and +stood stiffly.</p> +<p>“Beg pardon, nurse,” he said, “but we’ve +sent for a stretcher, as the police don’t seem in any hurry. +Would you like us to take him. Or would it upset him, do you think, +if he knew?”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she answered. “He would think +it kind of you, I know.”</p> +<p>She had the feeling that he was being borne by comrades.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p>It was from a small operating hospital in a village of the Argonne +that she first saw the war with her own eyes.</p> +<p>Her father had wished her to go. Arthur’s death had stirred +in him the old Puritan blood with its record of long battle for liberty +of conscience. If war claimed to be master of a man’s soul, +then the new warfare must be against war. He remembered the saying +of a Frenchwoman who had been through the Franco-Prussian war. +Joan, on her return from Paris some years before, had told him of her, +repeating her words: “But, of course, it would not do to tell +the truth,” the old lady had said, “or we should have our +children growing up to hate war.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be lonely and anxious till you come back,” +he said. “But that will have to be my part of the fight.”</p> +<p>She had written to Folk. No female nurses were supposed to +be allowed within the battle zone; but under pressure of shortage the +French staff were relaxing the rule, and Folk had pledged himself to +her discretion. “I am not doing you any kindness,” +he had written. “You will have to share the common hardships +and privations, and the danger is real. If I didn’t feel +instinctively that underneath your mask of sweet reasonableness you +are one of the most obstinate young women God ever made, and that without +me you would probably get yourself into a still worse hole, I’d +have refused.” And then followed a list of the things she +was to be sure to take with her, including a pound or two of Keating’s +insect powder, and a hint that it might save her trouble, if she had +her hair cut short.</p> +<p>There was but one other woman at the hospital. It had been +a farmhouse. The man and both sons had been killed during the +first year of the war, and the woman had asked to be allowed to stay +on. Her name was Madame Lelanne. She was useful by reason +of her great physical strength. She could take up a man as he +lay and carry him on her outstretched arms. It was an expressionless +face, with dull, slow-moving eyes that never changed. She and +Joan shared a small <i>grenier</i> in one of the barns. Joan had +brought with her a camp bedstead; but the woman, wrapping a blanket +round her, would creep into a hole she had made for herself among the +hay. She never took off her clothes, except the great wooden-soled +boots, so far as Joan could discover.</p> +<p>The medical staff consisted of a Dr. Poujoulet and two assistants. +The authorities were always promising to send him more help, but it +never arrived. One of the assistants, a Monsieur Dubos, a little +man with a remarkably big beard, was a chemist, who, at the outbreak +of the war, had been on the verge, as he made sure, of an important +discovery in connection with colour photography. Almost the first +question he asked Joan was could she speak German. Finding that +she could, he had hurried her across the yard into a small hut where +patients who had borne their operation successfully awaited their turn +to be moved down to one of the convalescent hospitals at the base. +Among them was a German prisoner, an elderly man, belonging to the Landwehr; +in private life a photographer. He also had been making experiments +in the direction of colour photography. Chance had revealed to +the two men their common interest, and they had been exchanging notes. +The German talked a little French, but not sufficient; and on the day +of Joan’s arrival they had reached an impasse that was maddening +to both of them. Joan found herself up against technical terms +that rendered her task difficult, but fortunately had brought a dictionary +with her, and was able to make them understand one another. But +she had to be firm with both of them, allowing them only ten minutes +together at a time. The little Frenchman would kneel by the bedside, +holding the German at an angle where he could talk with least danger +to his wound. It seemed that each was the very man the other had +been waiting all his life to meet. They shed tears on one another’s +neck when they parted, making all arrangements to write to one another.</p> +<p>“And you will come and stay with me,” persisted the little +Frenchman, “when this affair is finished”—he made +an impatient gesture with his hands. “My wife takes much +interest. She will be delighted.”</p> +<p>And the big German, again embracing the little Frenchman, had promised, +and had sent his compliments to Madame.</p> +<p>The other was a young priest. He wore the regulation Red Cross +uniform, but kept his cassock hanging on a peg behind his bed. +He had pretty frequent occasion to take it down. These small emergency +hospitals, within range of the guns, were reserved for only dangerous +cases: men whose wounds would not permit of their being carried further; +and there never was much more than a sporting chance of saving them. +They were always glad to find there was a priest among the staff. +Often it was the first question they would ask on being lifted out of +the ambulance. Even those who professed to no religion seemed +comforted by the idea. He went by the title of “Monsieur +le Prêtre:” Joan never learned his name. It was he +who had laid out the little cemetery on the opposite side of the village +street. It had once been an orchard, and some of the trees were +still standing. In the centre, rising out of a pile of rockwork, +he had placed a crucifix that had been found upon the roadside and had +surrounded it with flowers. It formed the one bright spot of colour +in the village; and at night time, when all other sounds were hushed, +the iron wreaths upon its little crosses, swaying against one another +in the wind, would make a low, clear, tinkling music. Joan would +sometimes lie awake listening to it. In some way she could not +explain it always brought the thought of children to her mind.</p> +<p>The doctor himself was a broad-shouldered, bullet-headed man, clean +shaven, with close-cropped, bristly hair. He had curiously square +hands, with short, squat fingers. He had been head surgeon in +one of the Paris hospitals, and had been assigned his present post because +of his marvellous quickness with the knife. The hospital was the +nearest to a hill of great strategical importance, and the fighting +in the neighbourhood was almost continuous. Often a single ambulance +would bring in three or four cases, each one demanding instant attention. +Dr. Poujoulet, with his hairy arms bare to the shoulder, would polish +them off one after another, with hardly a moment’s rest between, +not allowing time even for the washing of the table. Joan would +have to summon all her nerve to keep herself from collapsing. +At times the need for haste was such that it was impossible to wait +for the anaesthetic to take effect. The one redeeming feature +was the extraordinary heroism of the men, though occasionally there +was nothing for it but to call in the orderlies to hold some poor fellow +down, and to deafen one’s ears.</p> +<p>One day, after a successful operation, she was tending a young sergeant. +He was a well-built, handsome man, with skin as white as a woman’s. +He watched her with curious indifference in his eyes as she busied herself, +trying to make him comfortable, and did nothing to help her.</p> +<p>“Has Mam’selle ever seen a bull fight?” he asked +her.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered. “I’ve seen all +the horror and cruelty I want to for the rest of my life.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” he said, “you would understand if you had. +When one of the horses goes down gored, his entrails lying out upon +the sand, you know what they do, don’t you? They put a rope +round him, and drag him, groaning, into the shambles behind. And +once there, kind people like you and Monsieur le Médecin tend +him and wash him, and put his entrails back, and sew him up again. +He thinks it so kind of them—the first time. But the second! +He understands. He will be sent back into the arena to be ripped +up again, and again after that. This is the third time I have +been wounded, and as soon as you’ve all patched me up and I’ve +got my breath again, they’ll send me back into it. Mam’selle +will forgive my not feeling grateful to her.” He gave a +short laugh that brought the blood into his mouth.</p> +<p>The village consisted of one long straggling street, following the +course of a small stream between two lines of hills. It was on +one of the great lines of communication: and troops and war material +passed through it, going and coming, in almost endless procession. +It served also as a camp of rest. Companies from the trenches +would arrive there, generally towards the evening, weary, listless, +dull-eyed, many of them staggering like over-driven cattle beneath their +mass of burdens. They would fling their accoutrements from them +and stand in silent groups till the sergeants and corporals returned +to lead them to the barns and out-houses that had been assigned to them, +the houses still habitable being mostly reserved for the officers. +Like those of most French villages, they were drab, plaster-covered +buildings without gardens; but some of them were covered with vines, +hiding their ugliness; and the village as a whole, with its groups, +here and there, of fine sycamore trees and its great stone fountain +in the centre, was picturesque enough. It had twice changed hands, +and a part of it was in ruins. From one or two of the more solidly +built houses merely the front had fallen, leaving the rooms just as +they had always been: the furniture in its accustomed place, the pictures +on the walls. They suggested doll’s houses standing open. +One wondered when the giant child would come along and close them up. +The iron spire of the little church had been hit twice. It stood +above the village, twisted into the form of a note of interrogation. +In the churchyard many of the graves had been ripped open. Bones +and skulls lay scattered about among the shattered tombstones. +But, save for a couple of holes in the roof, the body was still intact, +and every afternoon a faint, timid-sounding bell called a few villagers +and a sprinkling of soldiers to Mass. Most of the inhabitants +had fled, but the farmers and shopkeepers had remained. At intervals, +the German batteries, searching round with apparent aimlessness, would +drop a score or so of shells about the neighbourhood; but the peasant, +with an indifference that was almost animal, would still follow his +ox-drawn plough; the old, bent crone, muttering curses, still ply the +hoe. The proprietors of the tiny <i>épiceries</i> must +have been rapidly making their fortunes, considering the prices that +they charged the unfortunate <i>poilu</i>, dreaming of some small luxury +out of his five sous a day. But as one of them, a stout, smiling +lady, explained to Joan, with a gesture: “It is not often that +one has a war.”</p> +<p>Joan had gone out in September, and for a while the weather was pleasant. +The men, wrapped up in their great-coats, would sleep for preference +under the great sycamore trees. Through open doorways she would +catch glimpses of picturesque groups of eager card-players, crowded +round a flickering candle. From the darkness there would steal +the sound of flute or zither, of voices singing. Occasionally +it would be some strident ditty of the Paris music-halls, but more often +it was sad and plaintive. But early in October the rains commenced +and the stream became a roaring torrent, and a clammy mist lay like +a white river between the wooded hills.</p> +<p>Mud! that seemed to be the one word with which to describe modern +war. Mud everywhere! Mud ankle-deep upon the roads; mud +into which you sank up to your knees the moment you stepped off it; +tents and huts to which you waded through the mud, avoiding the slimy +gangways on which you slipped and fell; mud-bespattered men, mud-bespattered +horses, little donkeys, looking as if they had been sculptured out of +mud, struggling up and down the light railways that every now and then +would disappear and be lost beneath the mud; guns and wagons groaning +through the mud; lorries and ambulances, that in the darkness had swerved +from the straight course, overturned and lying abandoned in the mud, +motor-cyclists ploughing swift furrows through the mud, rolling it back +in liquid streams each side of them; staff cars rushing screaming through +the mud, followed by a rushing fountain of mud; serried ranks of muddy +men stamping through the mud with steady rhythm, moving through a rain +of mud, rising upward from the ground; long lines of motor-buses filled +with a mass of muddy humanity packed shoulder to shoulder, rumbling +ever through the endless mud.</p> +<p>Men sitting by the roadside in the mud, gnawing at unsavoury food; +men squatting by the ditches, examining their sores, washing their bleeding +feet in the muddy water, replacing the muddy rags about their wounds.</p> +<p>A world without colour. No other colour to be seen beneath +the sky but mud. The very buttons on the men’s coats painted +to make them look like mud.</p> +<p>Mud and dirt! Dirty faces, dirty hands, dirty clothes, dirty +food, dirty beds; dirty interiors, from which there was never time to +wash the mud; dirty linen hanging up to dry, beneath which dirty children +played, while dirty women scolded. Filth and desolation all around. +Shattered farmsteads half buried in the mud; shattered gardens trampled +into mud. A weary land of foulness, breeding foulness; tangled +wire the only harvest of the fields; mile after mile of gaping holes, +filled with muddy water; stinking carcases of dead horses; birds of +prey clinging to broken fences, flapping their great wings.</p> +<p>A land where man died, and vermin increased and multiplied. +Vermin on your body, vermin in your head, vermin in your food, vermin +waiting for you in your bed; vermin the only thing that throve, the +only thing that looked at you with bright eyes; vermin the only thing +to which the joy of life had still been left.</p> +<p>Joan had found a liking gradually growing up in her for the quick-moving, +curt-tongued doctor. She had dismissed him at first as a mere +butcher: his brutal haste, his indifference apparently to the suffering +he was causing, his great, strong, hairy hands, with their squat fingers, +his cold grey eyes. But she learnt as time went by, that his callousness +was a thing that he put on at the same time that he tied his white apron +round his waist, and rolled up his sleeves.</p> +<p>She was resting, after a morning of grim work, on a bench outside +the hospital, struggling with clenched, quivering hands against a craving +to fling herself upon the ground and sob. And he had found her +there; and had sat down beside her.</p> +<p>“So you wanted to see it with your own eyes,” he said. +He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and she had some difficulty in not +catching hold of him and clinging to him. She was feeling absurdly +womanish just at that moment.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered. “And I’m glad +that I did it,” she added, defiantly.</p> +<p>“So am I,” he said. “Tell your children what +you have seen. Tell other women.”</p> +<p>“It’s you women that make war,” he continued. +“Oh, I don’t mean that you do it on purpose, but it’s +in your blood. It comes from the days when to live it was needful +to kill. When a man who was swift and strong to kill was the only +thing that could save a woman and her brood. Every other man that +crept towards them through the grass was an enemy, and her only hope +was that her man might kill him, while she watched and waited. +And later came the tribe; and instead of the one man creeping through +the grass, the everlasting warfare was against all other tribes. +So you loved only the men ever ready and willing to fight, lest you +and your children should be carried into slavery: then it was the only +way. You brought up your boys to be fighters. You told them +stories of their gallant sires. You sang to them the songs of +battle: the glory of killing and of conquering. You have never +unlearnt the lesson. Man has learnt comradeship—would have +travelled further but for you. But woman is still primitive. +She would still have her man the hater and the killer. To the +woman the world has never changed.”</p> +<p>“Tell the other women,” he said. “Open their +eyes. Tell them of their sons that you have seen dead and dying +in the foolish quarrel for which there was no need. Tell them +of the foulness, of the cruelty, of the senselessness of it all. +Set the women against War. That is the only way to end it.”</p> +<p>It was a morning or two later that, knocking at the door of her loft, +he asked her if she would care to come with him to the trenches. +He had brought an outfit for her which he handed to her with a grin. +She had followed Folk’s advice and had cut her hair; and when +she appeared before him for inspection in trousers and overcoat, the +collar turned up about her neck, and reaching to her helmet, he had +laughingly pronounced the experiment safe.</p> +<p>A motor carried them to where the road ended, and from there, a little +one-horse ambulance took them on to almost the last trees of the forest. +There was no life to be seen anywhere. During the last mile, they +had passed through a continuous double line of graves; here and there +a group of tiny crosses keeping one another company; others standing +singly, looking strangely lonesome amid the torn-up earth and shattered +trees. But even these had ceased. Death itself seemed to +have been frightened away from this terror-haunted desert.</p> +<p>Looking down, she could see thin wreaths of smoke, rising from the +ground. From underneath her feet there came a low, faint, ceaseless +murmur.</p> +<p>“Quick,” said the doctor. He pushed her in front +of him, and she almost fell down a flight of mud-covered steps that +led into the earth. She found herself in a long, low gallery, +lighted by a dim oil lamp, suspended from the blackened roof. +A shelf ran along one side of it, covered with straw. Three men +lay there. The straw was soaked with their blood. They had +been brought in the night before by the stretcher-bearers. A young +surgeon was rearranging their splints and bandages, and redressing their +wounds. They would lie there for another hour or so, and then +start for their twenty kilometre drive over shell-ridden roads to one +or another of the great hospitals at the base. While she was there, +two more cases were brought in. The doctor gave but a glance at +the first one and then made a sign; and the bearers passed on with him +to the further end of the gallery. He seemed to understand, for +he gave a low, despairing cry and the tears sprang to his eyes. +He was but a boy. The other had a foot torn off. One of +the orderlies gave him two round pieces of wood to hold in his hands +while the young surgeon cut away the hanging flesh and bound up the +stump.</p> +<p>The doctor had been whispering to one of the bearers. He had +the face of an old man, but his shoulders were broad and he looked sturdy. +He nodded, and beckoned Joan to follow him up the slippery steps.</p> +<p>“It is breakfast time,” he explained, as they emerged +into the air. “We leave each other alone for half an hour—even +the snipers. But we must be careful.” She followed +in his footsteps, stooping so low that her hands could have touched +the ground. They had to be sure that they did not step off the +narrow track marked with white stones, lest they should be drowned in +the mud. They passed the head of a dead horse. It looked +as if it had been cut off and laid there; the body was below it in the +mud.</p> +<p>They spoke in whispers, and Joan at first had made an effort to disguise +her voice. But her conductor had smiled. “They shall +be called the brothers and the sisters of the Lord,” he had said. +“Mademoiselle is brave for her Brothers’ sake.” +He was a priest. There were many priests among the stretcher-bearers.</p> +<p>Crouching close to the ground, behind the spreading roots of a giant +oak, she raised her eyes. Before her lay a sea of smooth, soft +mud nearly a mile wide. From the centre rose a solitary tree, +from which all had been shot away but two bare branches like outstretched +arms above the silence. Beyond, the hills rose again. There +was something unearthly in the silence that seemed to brood above that +sea of mud. The old priest told her of the living men, French +and German, who had stood there day and night sunk in it up to their +waists, screaming hour after hour, and waving their arms, sinking into +it lower and lower, none able to help them: until at last only their +screaming heads were left, and after a time these, too, would disappear: +and the silence come again.</p> +<p>She saw the ditches, like long graves dug for the living, where the +weary, listless men stood knee-deep in mud, hoping for wounds that would +relieve them from the ghastly monotony of their existence; the holes +of muddy water where the dead things lay, to which they crept out in +the night to wash a little of the filth from their clammy bodies and +their stinking clothes; the holes dug out of the mud in which they ate +and slept and lived year after year: till brain and heart and soul seemed +to have died out of them, and they remembered with an effort that they +once were men.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>After a time, the care of the convalescents passed almost entirely +into Joan’s hands, Madame Lelanne being told off to assist her. +By dint of much persistence she had succeeded in getting the leaky roof +repaired, and in place of the smoky stove that had long been her despair +she had one night procured a fine calorifère by the simple process +of stealing it. Madame Lelanne had heard about it from the gossips. +It had been brought to a lonely house at the end of the village by a +major of engineers. He had returned to the trenches the day before, +and the place for the time being was empty. The thieves were never +discovered. The sentry was positive that no one had passed him +but two women, one of them carrying a baby. Madame Lelanne had +dressed it up in a child’s cloak and hood, and had carried it +in her arms. As it must have weighed nearly a couple of hundred-weight +suspicion had not attached to them.</p> +<p>Space did not allow of any separation; broken Frenchmen and broken +Germans would often lie side by side. Joan would wonder, with +a grim smile to herself, what the patriotic Press of the different countries +would have thought had they been there to have overheard the conversations. +Neither France nor Germany appeared to be the enemy, but a thing called +“They,” a mysterious power that worked its will upon them +both from a place they always spoke of as “Back there.” +One day the talk fell on courage. A young French soldier was holding +forth when Joan entered the hut.</p> +<p>“It makes me laugh,” he was saying, “all this newspaper +talk. Every nation, properly led, fights bravely. It is +the male instinct. Women go into hysterics about it, because it +has not been given them. I have the Croix de Guerre with all three +leaves, and I haven’t half the courage of my dog, who weighs twelve +kilos, and would face a regiment by himself. Why, a game cock +has got more than the best of us. It’s the man who doesn’t +think, who can’t think, who has the most courage—who imagines +nothing, but just goes forward with his head down, like a bull. +There is, of course, a real courage. When you are by yourself, +and have to do something in cold blood. But the courage required +for rushing forward, shouting and yelling with a lot of other fellows—why, +it would take a hundred times more pluck to turn back.”</p> +<p>“They know that,” chimed in the man lying next to him; +“or they would not drug us. Why, when we stormed La Haye +I knew nothing until an ugly-looking German spat a pint of blood into +my face and woke me up.”</p> +<p>A middle-aged sergeant, who had a wound in the stomach and was sitting +up in his bed, looked across. “There was a line of Germans +came upon us,” he said, “at Bras. I thought I must +be suffering from a nightmare when I saw them. They had thrown +away their rifles and had all joined hands. They came dancing +towards us just like a row of ballet girls. They were shrieking +and laughing, and they never attempted to do anything. We just +waited until they were close up and then shot them down. It was +like killing a lot of kids who had come to have a game with us. +The one I potted got his arms round me before he coughed himself out, +calling me his ‘liebe Elsa,’ and wanting to kiss me. +Lord! You can guess how the Boche ink-slingers spread themselves +over that business: ‘Sonderbar! Colossal! Unvergessliche +Helden.’ Poor devils!”</p> +<p>“They’ll give us ginger before it is over,” said +another. He had had both his lips torn away, and appeared to be +always laughing. “Stuff it into us as if we were horses +at a fair. That will make us run forward, right enough.”</p> +<p>“Oh, come,” struck in a youngster who was lying perfectly +flat, face downwards on his bed: it was the position in which he could +breathe easiest. He raised his head a couple of inches and twisted +it round so as to get his mouth free. “It isn’t as +bad as all that. Why, the Thirty-third swarmed into Fort Malmaison +of their own accord, though ’twas like jumping into a boiling +furnace, and held it for three days against pretty nearly a division. +There weren’t a dozen of them left when we relieved them. +They had no ammunition left. They’d just been filling up +the gaps with their bodies. And they wouldn’t go back even +then. We had to drag them away. ‘They shan’t +pass,’ ‘They shan’t pass!’—that’s +all they kept saying.” His voice had sunk to a thin whisper.</p> +<p>A young officer was lying in a corner behind a screen. He leant +forward and pushed it aside.</p> +<p>“Oh, give the devil his due, you fellows,” he said. +“War isn’t a pretty game, but it does make for courage. +We all know that. And things even finer than mere fighting pluck. +There was a man in my company, a Jacques Decrusy. He was just +a stupid peasant lad. We were crowded into one end of the trench, +about a score of us. The rest of it had fallen in, and we couldn’t +move. And a bomb dropped into the middle of us; and the same instant +that it touched the ground Decrusy threw himself flat down upon it and +took the whole of it into his body. There was nothing left of +him but scraps. But the rest of us got off. Nobody had drugged +him to do that. There isn’t one of us who was in that trench +that will not be a better man to the end of his days, remembering how +Jacques Decrusy gave his life for ours.”</p> +<p>“I’ll grant you all that, sir,” answered the young +soldier who had first spoken. He had long, delicate hands and +eager, restless eyes. “War does bring out heroism. +So does pestilence and famine. Read Defoe’s account of the +Plague of London. How men and women left their safe homes, to +serve in the pest-houses, knowing that sooner or later they were doomed. +Read of the mothers in India who die of slow starvation, never allowing +a morsel of food to pass their lips so that they may save up their own +small daily portion to add it to their children’s. Why don’t +we pray to God not to withhold from us His precious medicine of pestilence +and famine? So is shipwreck a fine school for courage. Look +at the chance it gives the captain to set a fine example. And +the engineers who stick to their post with the water pouring in upon +them. We don’t reconcile ourselves to shipwrecks as a necessary +school for sailors. We do our best to lessen them. So did +persecution bring out heroism. It made saints and martyrs. +Why have we done away with it? If this game of killing and being +killed is the fine school for virtue it is made out to be, then all +our efforts towards law and order have been a mistake. We never +ought to have emerged from the jungle.”</p> +<p>He took a note-book from under his pillow and commenced to scribble.</p> +<p>An old-looking man spoke. He lay with his arms folded across +his breast, addressing apparently the smoky rafters. He was a +Russian, a teacher of languages in Paris at the outbreak of the war, +and had joined the French Army.</p> +<p>“It is not only courage,” he said, “that War brings +out. It brings out vile things too. Oh, I’m not thinking +merely of the Boches. That’s the cant of every nation: that +all the heroism is on one side and all the brutality on the other. +Take men from anywhere and some of them will be devils. War gives +them their opportunity, brings out the beast. Can you wonder at +it? You teach a man to plunge a bayonet into the writhing flesh +of a fellow human being, and twist it round and round and jamb it further +in, while the blood is spurting from him like a fountain. What +are you making of him but a beast? A man’s got to be a beast +before he can bring himself to do it. I have seen things done +by our own men in cold blood, the horror of which will haunt my memory +until I die. But of course, we hush it up when it happens to be +our own people.”</p> +<p>He ceased speaking. No one seemed inclined to break the silence.</p> +<p>They remained confused in her memory, these talks among the wounded +men in the low, dimly lighted hut that had become her world. At +times it was but two men speaking to one another in whispers, at others +every creaking bed would be drawn into the argument.</p> +<p>One topic that never lost its interest was: Who made wars? +Who hounded the people into them, and kept them there, tearing at one +another’s throats? They never settled it.</p> +<p>“God knows I didn’t want it, speaking personally,” +said a German prisoner one day, with a laugh. “I had been +working at a printing business sixteen hours a day for seven years. +It was just beginning to pay me, and now my wife writes me that she +has had to shut the place up and sell the machinery to keep them all +from starving.”</p> +<p>“But couldn’t you have done anything to stop it?” +demanded a Frenchman, lying next to him. “All your millions +of Socialists, what were they up to? What went wrong with the +Internationale, the Universal Brotherhood of Labour, and all that Tra-la-la?”</p> +<p>The German laughed again. “Oh, they know their business,” +he answered. “You have your glass of beer and go to bed, +and when you wake up in the morning you find that war has been declared; +and you keep your mouth shut—unless you want to be shot for a +traitor. Not that it would have made much difference,” he +added. “I admit that. The ground had been too well +prepared. England was envious of our trade. King Edward +had been plotting our destruction. Our papers were full of translations +from yours, talking about ‘<i>La Revanche</i>!’ We +were told that you had been lending money to Russia to enable her to +build railways, and that when they were complete France and Russia would +fall upon us suddenly. ‘The Fatherland in danger!’ +It may be lies or it may not; what is one to do? What would you +have done—even if you could have done anything?”</p> +<p>“He’s right,” said a dreamy-eyed looking man, laying +down the book he had been reading. “We should have done +just the same. ‘My country, right or wrong.’ +After all, it is an ideal.”</p> +<p>A dark, black-bearded man raised himself painfully upon his elbow. +He was a tailor in the Rue Parnesse, and prided himself on a decided +resemblance to Victor Hugo.</p> +<p>“It’s a noble ideal,” he said. “<i>La +Patrie</i>! The great Mother. Right or wrong, who shall +dare to harm her? Yes, if it was she who rose up in her majesty +and called to us.” He laughed. “What does it +mean in reality: Germania, Italia, La France, Britannia? Half +a score of pompous old muddlers with their fat wives egging them on: +sons of the fools before them; talkers who have wormed themselves into +power by making frothy speeches and fine promises. My Country!” +he laughed again. “Look at them. Can’t you see +their swelling paunches and their flabby faces? Half a score of +ambitious politicians, gouty old financiers, bald-headed old toffs, +with their waxed moustaches and false teeth. That’s what +we mean when we talk about ‘My Country’: a pack of selfish, +soulless, muddle-headed old men. And whether they’re right +or whether they’re wrong, our duty is to fight at their bidding—to +bleed for them, to die for them, that they may grow more sleek and prosperous.” +He sank back on his pillow with another laugh.</p> +<p>Sometimes they agreed it was the newspapers that made war—that +fanned every trivial difference into a vital question of national honour—that, +whenever there was any fear of peace, re-stoked the fires of hatred +with their never-failing stories of atrocities. At other times +they decided it was the capitalists, the traders, scenting profit for +themselves. Some held it was the politicians, dreaming of going +down to history as Richelieus or as Bismarcks. A popular theory +was that cause for war was always discovered by the ruling classes whenever +there seemed danger that the workers were getting out of hand. +In war, you put the common people back in their place, revived in them +the habits of submission and obedience. Napoleon the Little, it +was argued, had started the war of 1870 with that idea. Russia +had welcomed the present war as an answer to the Revolution that was +threatening Czardom. Others contended it was the great munition +industries, aided by the military party, the officers impatient for +opportunities of advancement, the strategists eager to put their theories +to the test. A few of the more philosophical shrugged their shoulders. +It was the thing itself that sooner or later was bound to go off of +its own accord. Half every country’s energy, half every +country’s time and money was spent in piling up explosives. +In every country envy and hatred of every other country was preached +as a religion. They called it patriotism. Sooner or later +the spark fell.</p> +<p>A wizened little man had been listening to it all one day. +He had a curiously rat-like face, with round, red, twinkling eyes, and +a long, pointed nose that twitched as he talked.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you who makes all the wars,” he said. +“It’s you and me, my dears: we make the wars. We love +them. That’s why we open our mouths and swallow all the +twaddle that the papers give us; and cheer the fine, black-coated gentlemen +when they tell us it’s our sacred duty to kill Germans, or Italians, +or Russians, or anybody else. We are just crazy to kill something: +it doesn’t matter what. If it’s to be Germans, we +shout ‘<i>A Berlin</i>!’; and if it’s to be Russians +we cheer for Liberty. I was in Paris at the time of the Fashoda +trouble. How we hissed the English in the cafés! +And how they glared back at us! They were just as eager to kill +us. Who makes a dog fight? Why, the dog. Anybody can +do it. Who could make us fight each other, if we didn’t +want to? Not all the king’s horses and all the King’s +men. No, my dears, it’s we make the wars. You and +me, my dears.”</p> +<p>There came a day in early spring. All night long the guns had +never ceased. It sounded like the tireless barking of ten thousand +giant dogs. Behind the hills, the whole horizon, like a fiery +circle, was ringed with flashing light. Shapeless forms, bent +beneath burdens, passed in endless procession through the village. +Masses of rushing men swept like shadowy phantoms through the fitfully-illumined +darkness. Beneath that everlasting barking, Joan would hear, now +the piercing wail of a child; now a clap of thunder that for the moment +would drown all other sounds, followed by a faint, low, rumbling crash, +like the shooting of coals into a cellar. The wounded on their +beds lay with wide-open, terrified eyes, moving feverishly from side +to side.</p> +<p>At dawn the order came that the hospital was to be evacuated. +The ambulances were already waiting in the street. Joan flew up +the ladder to her loft, the other side of the yard. Madame Lelanne +was already there. She had thrown a few things into a bundle, +and her foot was again upon the ladder, when it seemed to her that someone +struck her, hurling her back upon the floor, and the house the other +side of the yard rose up into the air, and then fell quite slowly, and +a cloud of dust hid it from her sight.</p> +<p>Madame Lelanne must have carried her down the ladder. She was +standing in the yard, and the dust was choking her. Across the +street, beyond the ruins of the hospital, swarms of men were running +about like ants when their nest has been disturbed. Some were +running this way, and some that. And then they would turn and +run back again, making dancing movements round one another and jostling +one another. The guns had ceased; and instead, it sounded as if +all the babies in the world were playing with their rattles. Suddenly +Madame Lelanne reappeared out of the dust, and seizing Joan, dragged +her through a dark opening and down a flight of steps, and then left +her. She was in a great vaulted cellar. A faint light crept +in through a grated window at the other end. There was a long +table against the wall, and in front of it a bench. She staggered +to it and sat down, leaning against the damp wall. The place was +very silent. Suddenly she began to laugh. She tried to stop +herself, but couldn’t. And then she heard footsteps descending, +and her memory came back to her with a rush. They were German +footsteps, she felt sure by the sound: they were so slow and heavy. +They should not find her in hysterics, anyhow. She fixed her teeth +into the wooden table in front of her and held on to it with clenched +hands. She had recovered herself before the footsteps had finished +their descent. With a relief that made it difficult for her not +to begin laughing again, she found it was Madame Lelanne and Monsieur +Dubos. They were carrying something between them. She hardly +recognized Dubos at first. His beard was gone, and a line of flaming +scars had taken its place. They laid their burden on the table. +It was one of the wounded men from the hut. They told her they +were bringing down two more. The hut itself had not been hit, +but the roof had been torn off by the force of the explosion, and the +others had been killed by the falling beams. Joan wanted to return +with them, but Madame Lelanne had assumed an air of authority, and told +her she would be more useful where she was. From the top of the +steps they threw down bundles of straw, on which they laid the wounded +men, and Joan tended them, while Madame Lelanne and the little chemist +went up and down continuously. Before evening the place, considering +all things, was fairly habitable. Madame Lelanne brought down +the great stove from the hut; and breaking a pane of glass in the barred +window, they fixed it up with its chimney and lighted it. From +time to time the turmoil above them would break out again: the rattling, +and sometimes a dull rumbling as of rushing water. But only a +faint murmur of it penetrated into the cellar. Towards night it +became quiet again.</p> +<p>How long Joan remained there she was never quite sure. There +was little difference between day and night. After it had been +quiet for an hour or so, Madame Lelanne would go out, to return a little +later with a wounded man upon her back; and when one died, she would +throw him across her shoulder and disappear again up the steps. +Sometimes it was a Frenchman and sometimes a German she brought in. +One gathered that the fight for the village still continued. There +was but little they could do for them beyond dressing their wounds and +easing their pain. Joan and the little chemist took it in turns +to relieve one another. If Madame Lelanne ever slept, it was when +she would sit in the shadow behind the stove, her hands upon her knees. +Dubos had been in the house when it had fallen. Madame Lelanne +had discovered him pinned against a wall underneath a great oak beam +that had withstood the falling débris. His beard had been +burnt off, but otherwise he had been unharmed.</p> +<p>She seemed to be living in a dream. She could not shake from +her the feeling that it was not bodies but souls that she was tending. +The men themselves gave colour to this fancy of hers. Stripped +of their poor, stained, tattered uniforms, they were neither French +nor Germans. Friend or foe! it was already but a memory. +Often, awakening out of a sleep, they would look across at one another +and smile as to a comrade. A great peace seemed to have entered +there. Faint murmurs as from some distant troubled world would +steal at times into the silence. It brought a pang of pity, but +it did not drive away the quiet that dwelt there.</p> +<p>Once, someone who must have known the place and had descended the +steps softly, sat there among them and talked with them. Joan +could not remember seeing him enter. Perhaps unknowing, she had +fallen to sleep for a few minutes. Madame Lelanne was seated by +the stove, her great coarse hands upon her knees, her patient, dull, +slow-moving eyes fixed upon the speaker’s face. Dubos was +half standing, half resting against the table, his arms folded upon +his breast. The wounded men had raised themselves upon the straw +and were listening. Some leant upon their elbows, some sat with +their hands clasped round their knees, and one, with head bent down, +remained with his face hidden in his hands.</p> +<p>The speaker sat a little way apart. The light from the oil +lamp, suspended from the ceiling, fell upon his face. He wore +a peasant’s blouse. It seemed to her a face she knew. +Possibly she had passed him in the village street and had looked at +him without remembering. It was his eyes that for long years afterwards +still haunted her. She did not notice at the time what language +he was speaking. But there were none who did not understand him.</p> +<p>“You think of God as of a great King,” he said, “a +Ruler who orders all things: who could change all things in the twinkling +of an eye. You see the cruelty and the wrong around you. +And you say to yourselves: ‘He has ordered it. If He would, +He could have willed it differently.’ So that in your hearts +you are angry with Him. How could it be otherwise? What +father, loving his children, would see them suffer wrong, when by stretching +out a hand he could protect them: turn their tears to gladness? +What father would see his children doing evil to one another and not +check them: would see them following ways leading to their destruction, +and not pluck them back? If God has ordered all things, why has +He created evil, making His creatures weak and sinful? Does a +father lay snares for his children: leading them into temptation: delivering +them unto evil?”</p> +<p>“There is no God, apart from Man.”</p> +<p>“God is a spirit. His dwelling-place is in man’s +heart. We are His fellow-labourers. It is through man that +He shall one day rule the world.”</p> +<p>“God is knocking at your heart, but you will not open to Him. +You have filled your hearts with love of self. There is no room +for Him to enter in.”</p> +<p>“God whispers to you: ‘Be pitiful. Be merciful. +Be just.’ But you answer Him: ‘If I am pitiful, I +lose my time and money. If I am merciful, I forego advantage to +myself. If I am just, I lessen my own profit, and another passes +me in the race.’”</p> +<p>“And yet in your inmost thoughts you know that you are wrong: +that love of self brings you no peace. Who is happier than the +lover, thinking only how to serve? Who is the more joyous: he +who sits alone at the table, or he who shares his meal with a friend? +It is more blessed to give than to receive. How can you doubt +it? For what do you toil and strive but that you may give to your +children, to your loved ones, reaping the harvest of their good?”</p> +<p>“Who among you is the more honoured? The miser or the +giver: he who heaps up riches for himself or he who labours for others?”</p> +<p>“Who is the true soldier? He who has put away self. +His own ease and comfort, even his own needs, his own safety: they are +but as a feather in the balance when weighed against his love for his +comrades, for his country. The true soldier is not afraid to love. +He gives his life for his friend. Do you jeer at him? Do +you say he is a fool for his pains? No, it is his honour, his +glory.”</p> +<p>“God is love. Why are you afraid to let Him in? +Hate knocks also at your door and to him you open wide. Why are +you afraid of love? All things are created by love. Hate +can but destroy. Why choose you death instead of life? God +pleads to you. He is waiting for your help.”</p> +<p>And one answered him.</p> +<p>“We are but poor men,” he said. “What can +we do? Of what use are such as we?”</p> +<p>The young man looked at him and smiled.</p> +<p>“You can ask that,” he said: “you, a soldier? +Does the soldier say: ‘I am of no use. I am but a poor man +of no account. Who has need of such as I?’ God has +need of all. There is none that shall not help to win the victory. +It is with his life the soldier serves. Who were they whose teaching +moved the world more than it has ever yet been moved by the teaching +of the wisest? They were men of little knowledge, of but little +learning, poor and lowly. It was with their lives they taught.”</p> +<p>“Cast out self, and God shall enter in, and you shall be One +with God. For there is none so lowly that he may not become the +Temple of God: there is none so great that he shall be greater than +this.”</p> +<p>The speaker ceased. There came a faint sound at which she turned +her head; and when she looked again he was gone.</p> +<p>The wounded men had heard it also. Dubos had moved forward. +Madame Lelanne had risen. It came again, the thin, faint shrill +of a distant bugle. Footsteps were descending the stairs. +French soldiers, laughing, shouting, were crowding round them.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p>Her father met her at Waterloo. He had business in London, +and they stayed on for a few days. Reading between the lines of +his later letters, she had felt that all was not well with him. +His old heart trouble had come back; and she noticed that he walked +to meet her very slowly. It would be all right, now that she had +returned, he explained: he had been worrying himself about her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Denton had died. She had left Joan her library, together +with her wonderful collection of note books. She had brought them +all up-to-date and indexed them. They would be invaluable to Francis +when he started the new paper upon which they had determined. +He was still in the hospital at Breganze, near to where his machine +had been shot down. She had tried to get to him; but it would +have meant endless delays; and she had been anxious about her father. +The Italian surgeons were very proud of him, he wrote. They had +had him X-rayed before and after; and beyond a slight lameness which +gave him, he thought, a touch of distinction, there was no flaw that +the most careful scrutiny would be likely to detect. Any day, +now, he expected to be discharged. Mary had married an old sweetheart. +She had grown restless in the country with nothing to do, and, at the +suggestion of some friends, had gone to Bristol to help in a children’s +hospital; and there they had met once more.</p> +<p>Neil Singleton, after serving two years in a cholera hospital at +Baghdad, had died of the flu in Dover twenty-fours hours after landing. +Madge was in Palestine. She had been appointed secretary to a +committee for the establishment of native schools. She expected +to be there for some years, she wrote. The work was interesting, +and appealed to her.</p> +<p>Flossie ’phoned her from Paddington Station, the second day, +and by luck she happened to be in. Flossie had just come up from +Devonshire. Sam had “got through,” and she was on +her way to meet him at Hull. She had heard of Joan’s arrival +in London from one of Carleton’s illustrated dailies. She +brought the paper with her. They had used the old photograph that +once had adorned each week the <i>Sunday Post</i>. Joan hardly +recognized herself in the serene, self-confident young woman who seemed +to be looking down upon a world at her feet. The world was strong +and cruel, she had discovered; and Joans but small and weak. One +had to pretend that one was not afraid of it.</p> +<p>Flossie had joined every society she could hear of that was working +for the League of Nations. Her hope was that it would get itself +established before young Frank grew up.</p> +<p>“Not that I really believe it will,” she confessed. +“A draw might have disgusted us all with fighting. As it +is, half the world is dancing at Victory balls, exhibiting captured +guns on every village green, and hanging father’s helmet above +the mantelpiece; while the other half is nursing its revenge. +Young Frank only cares for life because he is looking forward to one +day driving a tank. I’ve made up my mind to burn Sam’s +uniform; but I expect it will end in my wrapping it up in lavender and +hiding it away in a drawer. And then there will be all the books +and plays. No self-respecting heroine, for the next ten years +will dream of marrying anyone but a soldier.”</p> +<p>Joan laughed. “Difficult to get anything else, just at +present,” she said. “It’s the soldiers I’m +looking to for help. I don’t think the men who have been +there will want their sons to go. It’s the women I’m +afraid of.”</p> +<p>Flossie caught sight of the clock and jumped up. “Who +was it said that woman would be the last thing man would civilize?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“It sounds like Meredith,” suggested Joan. “I +am not quite sure.”</p> +<p>“Well, he’s wrong, anyhow,” retorted Flossie. +“It’s no good our waiting for man. He is too much +afraid of us to be of any real help to us. We shall have to do +it ourselves.” She gave Joan a hug and was gone.</p> +<p>Phillips was still abroad with the Army of Occupation. He had +tried to get out of it, but had not succeeded. He held it to be +gaoler’s work; and the sight of the starving populace was stirring +in him a fierce anger.</p> +<p>He would not put up again for Parliament. He was thinking of +going back to his old work upon the Union. “Parliament is +played out,” he had written her. “Kings and Aristocracies +have served their purpose and have gone, and now the Ruling Classes, +as they call themselves, must be content to hear the bell toll for them +also. Parliament was never anything more than an instrument in +their hands, and never can be. What happens? Once in every +five years you wake the people up: tell them the time has come for them +to exercise their Heaven-ordained privilege of putting a cross against +the names of some seven hundred gentlemen who have kindly expressed +their willingness to rule over them. After that, you send the +people back to sleep; and for the next five years these seven hundred +gentlemen, consulting no one but themselves, rule over the country as +absolutely as ever a Caesar ruled over Rome. What sort of Democracy +is that? Even a Labour Government—supposing that in spite +of the Press it did win through—what would be its fate? +Separated from its base, imprisoned within those tradition-haunted walls, +it would lose touch with the people, would become in its turn a mere +oligarchy. If the people are ever to govern they must keep their +hand firmly upon the machine; not remain content with pulling a lever +and then being shown the door.”</p> +<p>She had sent a note by messenger to Mary Stopperton to say she was +coming. Mary had looked very fragile the last time she had seen +her, just before leaving for France; and she had felt a fear. +Mary had answered in her neat, thin, quavering writing, asking her to +come early in the morning. Sometimes she was a little tired and +had to lie down again. She had been waiting for Joan. She +had a present for her.</p> +<p>The morning promised to be fair, and she decided to walk by way of +the Embankment. The great river with its deep, strong patience +had always been a friend to her. It was Sunday and the city was +still sleeping. The pale December sun rose above the mist as she +reached the corner of Westminster Bridge, turning the river into silver +and flooding the silent streets with a soft, white, tender light.</p> +<p>The tower of Chelsea Church brought back to her remembrance of the +wheezy old clergyman who had preached there that Sunday evening, that +now seemed so long ago, when her footsteps had first taken her that +way by chance. Always she had intended making inquiries and discovering +his name. Why had she never done so? It would surely have +been easy. He was someone she had known as a child. She +had become quite convinced of that. She could see his face close +to hers as if he had lifted her up in his arms and was smiling at her. +But pride and power had looked out of his eyes then.</p> +<p>It was earlier than the time she had fixed in her own mind and, pausing +with her elbows resting on the granite parapet, she watched the ceaseless +waters returning to the sea, bearing their burden of impurities.</p> +<p>“All roads lead to Calvary.” It was curious how +the words had dwelt with her, till gradually they had become a part +of her creed. She remembered how at first they had seemed to her +a threat chilling her with fear. They had grown to be a promise, +a hope held out to all. The road to Calvary! It was the +road to life. By the giving up of self we gained God.</p> +<p>And suddenly a great peace came to her. One was not alone in +the fight, God was with us: the great Comrade. The evil and the +cruelty all round her: she was no longer afraid of it. God was +coming. Beyond the menace of the passing day, black with the war’s +foul aftermath of evil dreams and hatreds, she saw the breaking of the +distant dawn. The devil should not always triumph. God was +gathering His labourers.</p> +<p>God was conquering. Unceasing through the ages, God’s +voice had crept round man, seeking entry. Through the long darkness +of that dim beginning, when man knew no law but self, unceasing God +had striven: until at last one here and there, emerging from the brute, +had heard—had listened to the voice of love and pity, and in that +hour, unknowing, had built to God a temple in the wilderness.</p> +<p>Labourers together with God. The mighty host of those who through +the ages had heard the voice of God and had made answer. The men +and women in all lands who had made room in their hearts for God. +Still nameless, scattered, unknown to one another: still powerless as +yet against the world’s foul law of hate, they should continue +to increase and multiply, until one day they should speak with God’s +voice and should be heard. And a new world should be created.</p> +<p>God. The tireless Spirit of eternal creation, the Spirit of +Love. What else was it that out of formlessness had shaped the +spheres, had planned the orbits of the suns. The law of gravity +we named it. What was it but another name for Love, the yearning +of like for like, the calling to one another of the stars. What +else but Love had made the worlds, had gathered together the waters, +had fashioned the dry land. The cohesion of elements, so we explained +it. The clinging of like to like. The brotherhood of the +atoms.</p> +<p>God. The Eternal Creator. Out of matter, lifeless void, +he had moulded His worlds, had ordered His endless firmament. +It was finished. The greater task remained: the Universe of mind, +of soul. Out of man it should be created. God in man and +man in God: made in like image: fellow labourers together with one another: +together they should build it. Out of the senseless strife and +discord, above the chaos and the tumult should be heard the new command: +“Let there be Love.”</p> +<p>The striking of the old church clock recalled her to herself. +But she had only a few minutes’ walk before her. Mary had +given up her Church work. It included the cleaning, and she had +found it beyond her failing strength. But she still lived in the +tiny cottage behind its long strip of garden. The door yielded +to Joan’s touch: it was seldom fast closed. And knowing +Mary’s ways, she entered without knocking and pushed it to behind +her, leaving it still ajar.</p> +<p>And as she did so, it seemed to her that someone passing breathed +upon her lips a little kiss: and for a while she did not move. +Then, treading softly, she looked into the room.</p> +<p>It welcomed her, as always, with its smile of cosy neatness. +The spotless curtains that were Mary’s pride: the gay flowers +in the window, to which she had given children’s names: the few +poor pieces of furniture, polished with much loving labour: the shining +grate: the foolish china dogs and the little china house between them +on the mantelpiece. The fire was burning brightly, and the kettle +was singing on the hob.</p> +<p>Mary’s work was finished. She sat upright in her straight-backed +chair before the table, her eyes half closed. It seemed so odd +to see those little work-worn hands idle upon her lap.</p> +<p>Joan’s present lay on the table near to her, as if she had +just folded it and placed it there: the little cap and the fine robe +of lawn: as if for a king’s child.</p> +<p>Joan had never thought that Death could be so beautiful. It +was as if some friend had looked in at the door, and, seeing her so +tired, had taken the work gently from her hands, and had folded them +upon her lap. And she had yielded with a smile.</p> +<p>Joan heard a faint rustle and looked up. A woman had entered. +It was the girl she had met there on a Christmas Day, a Miss Ensor. +Joan had met her once or twice since then. She was still in the +chorus. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.</p> +<p>“I have been expecting every morning to find her gone,” +said the girl. “I think she only waited to finish this.” +She gently unfolded the fine lawn robe, and they saw the delicate insertion +and the wonderful, embroidery.</p> +<p>“I asked her once,” said the girl, “why she wasted +so much work on them. They were mostly only for poor people. +‘One never knows, dearie,’ she answered, with that childish +smile of hers. ‘It may be for a little Christ.’”</p> +<p>They would not let less loving hands come near her.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Her father had completed his business, and both were glad to leave +London. She had a sense of something sinister, foreboding, casting +its shadow on the sordid, unclean streets, the neglected buildings falling +into disrepair. A lurking savagery, a half-veiled enmity seemed +to be stealing among the people. The town’s mad lust for +pleasure: its fierce, unjoyous laughter: its desire ever to be in crowds +as if afraid of itself: its orgies of eating and drinking: its animal-like +indifference to the misery and death that lay but a little way beyond +its own horizon! She dared not remember history. Perhaps +it would pass.</p> +<p>The long, slow journey tried her father’s strength, and assuming +an authority to which he yielded obedience tempered by grumbling, Joan +sent him to bed, and would not let him come down till Christmas Day. +The big, square house was on the outskirts of the town where it was +quiet, and in the afternoon they walked in the garden sheltered behind +its high brick wall.</p> +<p>He told her of what had been done at the works. Arthur’s +plan had succeeded. It might not be the last word, but at least +it was on the road to the right end. The men had been brought +into it and shared the management. And the disasters predicted +had proved groundless.</p> +<p>“You won’t be able to indulge in all your mad schemes,” +he laughed, “but there’ll be enough to help on a few. +And you will be among friends. Arthur told me he had explained +it to you and that you had agreed.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered. “It was the last time +he came to see me in London. And I could not help feeling a bit +jealous. He was doing things while I was writing and talking. +But I was glad he was an Allway. It will be known as the Allway +scheme. New ways will date from it.”</p> +<p>She had thought it time for him to return indoors, but he pleaded +for a visit to his beloved roses. He prided himself on being always +able to pick roses on Christmas Day.</p> +<p>“This young man of yours,” he asked, “what is he +like?”</p> +<p>“Oh, just a Christian gentleman,” she answered. +“You will love him when you know him.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “And this new journal of his?” he asked. +“It’s got to be published in London, hasn’t it?”</p> +<p>She gave a slight start, for in their letters to one another they +had been discussing this very point.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, “it could be circulated just +as well from, say, Birmingham or Manchester.”</p> +<p>He was choosing his roses. They held their petals wrapped tight +round them, trying to keep the cold from their brave hearts. In +the warmth they would open out and be gay, until the end.</p> +<p>“Not Liverpool?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Or even Liverpool,” she laughed.</p> +<p>They looked at one another, and then beyond the sheltering evergreens +and the wide lawns to where the great square house seemed to be listening.</p> +<p>“It’s an ugly old thing,” he said.</p> +<p>“No, it isn’t,” she contradicted. “It’s +simple and big and kind. I always used to feel it disapproved +of me. I believe it has come to love me, in its solemn old brick +way.”</p> +<p>“It was built by Kent in seventeen-forty for your great-great +grandfather,” he explained. He was regarding it more affectionately. +“Solid respectability was the dream, then.”</p> +<p>“I think that’s why I love it,” she said: “for +it’s dear, old-fashioned ways. We will teach it the new +dreams, too. It will be so shocked, at first.”</p> +<p>They dined in state in the great dining-room.</p> +<p>“I was going to buy you a present,” he grumbled. +“But you wouldn’t let me get up.”</p> +<p>“I want to give you something quite expensive, Dad,” +she said. “I’ve had my eye on it for years.”</p> +<p>She slipped her hand in his. “I want you to give me that +Dream of yours; that you built for my mother, and that all went wrong. +They call it Allway’s Folly; and it makes me so mad. I want +to make it all come true. May I try?”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>It was there that he came to her.</p> +<p>She stood beneath the withered trees, beside the shattered fountain. +The sad-faced ghosts peeped out at her from the broken windows of the +little silent houses.</p> +<p>She wondered later why she had not been surprised to see him. +But at the time it seemed to be in the order of things that she should +look up and find him there.</p> +<p>She went to him with outstretched arms.</p> +<p>“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said. +“I was just wanting you.”</p> +<p>They sat on the stone step of the fountain, where they were sheltered +from the wind; and she buttoned his long coat about him.</p> +<p>“Do you think you will go on doing it?” he asked, with +a laugh.</p> +<p>“I’m so afraid,” she answered gravely. “That +I shall come to love you too much: the home, the children and you. +I shall have none left over.”</p> +<p>“There is an old Hindoo proverb,” he said: “That +when a man and woman love they dig a fountain down to God.”</p> +<p>“This poor, little choked-up thing,” he said, “against +which we are sitting; it’s for want of men and women drawing water, +of children dabbling their hands in it and making themselves all wet, +that it has run dry.”</p> +<p>She took his hands in hers to keep them warm. The nursing habit +seemed to have taken root in her.</p> +<p>“I see your argument,” she said. “The more +I love you, the deeper will be the fountain. So that the more +Love I want to come to me, the more I must love you.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you see it for yourself?” he demanded.</p> +<p>She broke into a little laugh.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you are right,” she admitted. “Perhaps +that is why He made us male and female: to teach us to love.”</p> +<p>A robin broke into a song of triumph. He had seen the sad-faced +ghosts steal silently away.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL ROADS LEAD TO CALVARY***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2231-h.htm or 2231-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/3/2231 + + + +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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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: All Roads Lead to Calvary + + +Author: Jerome K. Jerome + +Release Date: March 24, 2005 [eBook #2231] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL ROADS LEAD TO CALVARY*** + + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1919 Hutchinson & Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +ALL ROADS LEAD TO CALVARY + + +CHAPTER I + + +She had not meant to stay for the service. The door had stood invitingly +open, and a glimpse of the interior had suggested to her the idea that it +would make good copy. "Old London Churches: Their Social and Historical +Associations." It would be easy to collect anecdotes of the famous +people who had attended them. She might fix up a series for one of the +religious papers. It promised quite exceptional material, this +particular specimen, rich in tombs and monuments. There was character +about it, a scent of bygone days. She pictured the vanished +congregations in their powdered wigs and stiff brocades. How picturesque +must have been the marriages that had taken place there, say in the reign +of Queen Anne or of the early Georges. The church would have been +ancient even then. With its air of faded grandeur, its sculptured +recesses and dark niches, the tattered banners hanging from its roof, it +must have made an admirable background. Perhaps an historical novel in +the Thackeray vein? She could see her heroine walking up the aisle on +the arm of her proud old soldier father. Later on, when her journalistic +position was more established, she might think of it. It was still quite +early. There would be nearly half an hour before the first worshippers +would be likely to arrive: just time enough to jot down a few notes. If +she did ever take to literature it would be the realistic school, she +felt, that would appeal to her. The rest, too, would be pleasant after +her long walk from Westminster. She would find a secluded seat in one of +the high, stiff pews, and let the atmosphere of the place sink into her. + +And then the pew-opener had stolen up unobserved, and had taken it so for +granted that she would like to be shown round, and had seemed so pleased +and eager, that she had not the heart to repel her. A curious little old +party with a smooth, peach-like complexion and white soft hair that the +fading twilight, stealing through the yellow glass, turned to gold. So +that at first sight Joan took her for a child. The voice, too, was so +absurdly childish--appealing, and yet confident. Not until they were +crossing the aisle, where the clearer light streamed in through the open +doors, did Joan see that she was very old and feeble, with about her +figure that curious patient droop that comes to the work-worn. She +proved to be most interesting and full of helpful information. Mary +Stopperton was her name. She had lived in the neighbourhood all her +life; had as a girl worked for the Leigh Hunts and had "assisted" Mrs. +Carlyle. She had been very frightened of the great man himself, and had +always hidden herself behind doors or squeezed herself into corners and +stopped breathing whenever there had been any fear of meeting him upon +the stairs. Until one day having darted into a cupboard to escape from +him and drawn the door to after her, it turned out to be the cupboard in +which Carlyle was used to keep his boots. So that there was quite a +struggle between them; she holding grimly on to the door inside and +Carlyle equally determined to open it and get his boots. It had ended in +her exposure, with trembling knees and scarlet face, and Carlyle had +addressed her as "woman," and had insisted on knowing what she was doing +there. And after that she had lost all terror of him. And he had even +allowed her with a grim smile to enter occasionally the sacred study with +her broom and pan. It had evidently made a lasting impression upon her, +that privilege. + +"They didn't get on very well together, Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle?" Joan +queried, scenting the opportunity of obtaining first-class evidence. + +"There wasn't much difference, so far as I could see, between them and +most of us," answered the little old lady. "You're not married, dear," +she continued, glancing at Joan's ungloved hand, "but people must have a +deal of patience when they have to live with us for twenty-four hours a +day. You see, little things we do and say without thinking, and little +ways we have that we do not notice ourselves, may all the time be +irritating to other people." + +"What about the other people irritating us?" suggested Joan. + +"Yes, dear, and of course that can happen too," agreed the little old +lady. + +"Did he, Carlyle, ever come to this church?" asked Joan. + +Mary Stopperton was afraid he never had, in spite of its being so near. +"And yet he was a dear good Christian--in his way," Mary Stopperton felt +sure. + +"How do you mean 'in his way'?" demanded Joan. It certainly, if Froude +was to be trusted, could not have been the orthodox way. + +"Well, you see, dear," explained the little old lady, "he gave up things. +He could have ridden in his carriage"--she was quoting, it seemed, the +words of the Carlyles' old servant--"if he'd written the sort of lies +that people pay for being told, instead of throwing the truth at their +head." + +"But even that would not make him a Christian," argued Joan. + +"It is part of it, dear, isn't it?" insisted Mary Stopperton. "To suffer +for one's faith. I think Jesus must have liked him for that." + +They had commenced with the narrow strip of burial ground lying between +the south side of the church and Cheyne Walk. And there the little pew- +opener had showed her the grave of Anna, afterwards Mrs. Spragg. "Who +long declining wedlock and aspiring above her sex fought under her +brother with arms and manly attire in a flagship against the French." As +also of Mary Astell, her contemporary, who had written a spirited "Essay +in Defence of the Fair Sex." So there had been a Suffrage Movement as +far back as in the days of Pope and Swift. + +Returning to the interior, Joan had duly admired the Cheyne monument, but +had been unable to disguise her amusement before the tomb of Mrs. +Colvile, whom the sculptor had represented as a somewhat impatient lady, +refusing to await the day of resurrection, but pushing through her coffin +and starting for Heaven in her grave-clothes. Pausing in front of the +Dacre monument, Joan wondered if the actor of that name, who had +committed suicide in Australia, and whose London address she remembered +had been Dacre House just round the corner, was descended from the +family; thinking that, if so, it would give an up-to-date touch to the +article. She had fully decided now to write it. But Mary Stopperton +could not inform her. They had ended up in the chapel of Sir Thomas +More. He, too, had "given up things," including his head. Though Mary +Stopperton, siding with Father Morris, was convinced he had now got it +back, and that with the remainder of his bones it rested in the tomb +before them. + +There, the little pew-opener had left her, having to show the +early-comers to their seats; and Joan had found an out-of-the-way pew +from where she could command a view of the whole church. They were +chiefly poor folk, the congregation; with here and there a sprinkling of +faded gentility. They seemed in keeping with the place. The twilight +faded and a snuffy old man shuffled round and lit the gas. + +It was all so sweet and restful. Religion had never appealed to her +before. The business-like service in the bare cold chapel where she had +sat swinging her feet and yawning as a child had only repelled her. She +could recall her father, aloof and awe-inspiring in his Sunday black, +passing round the bag. Her mother, always veiled, sitting beside her, a +thin, tall woman with passionate eyes and ever restless hands; the women +mostly overdressed, and the sleek, prosperous men trying to look meek. At +school and at Girton, chapel, which she had attended no oftener than she +was obliged, had had about it the same atmosphere of chill compulsion. +But here was poetry. She wondered if, after all, religion might not have +its place in the world--in company with the other arts. It would be a +pity for it to die out. There seemed nothing to take its place. All +these lovely cathedrals, these dear little old churches, that for +centuries had been the focus of men's thoughts and aspirations. The +harbour lights, illumining the troubled waters of their lives. What +could be done with them? They could hardly be maintained out of the +public funds as mere mementoes of the past. Besides, there were too many +of them. The tax-payer would naturally grumble. As Town Halls, Assembly +Rooms? The idea was unthinkable. It would be like a performance of +Barnum's Circus in the Coliseum at Rome. Yes, they would disappear. +Though not, she was glad to think, in her time. In towns, the space +would be required for other buildings. Here and there some gradually +decaying specimen would be allowed to survive, taking its place with the +feudal castles and walled cities of the Continent: the joy of the +American tourist, the text-book of the antiquary. A pity! Yes, but then +from the aesthetic point of view it was a pity that the groves of ancient +Greece had ever been cut down and replanted with currant bushes, their +altars scattered; that the stones of the temples of Isis should have come +to be the shelter of the fisher of the Nile; and the corn wave in the +wind above the buried shrines of Mexico. All these dead truths that from +time to time had encumbered the living world. Each in its turn had had +to be cleared away. + +And yet was it altogether a dead truth: this passionate belief in a +personal God who had ordered all things for the best: who could be +appealed to for comfort, for help? Might it not be as good an +explanation as any other of the mystery surrounding us? It had been so +universal. She was not sure where, but somewhere she had come across an +analogy that had strongly impressed her. "The fact that a man feels +thirsty--though at the time he may be wandering through the Desert of +Sahara--proves that somewhere in the world there is water." Might not +the success of Christianity in responding to human needs be evidence in +its favour? The Love of God, the Fellowship of the Holy Ghost, the Grace +of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Were not all human needs provided for in that +one comprehensive promise: the desperate need of man to be convinced that +behind all the seeming muddle was a loving hand guiding towards good; the +need of the soul in its loneliness for fellowship, for strengthening; the +need of man in his weakness for the kindly grace of human sympathy, of +human example. + +And then, as fate would have it, the first lesson happened to be the +story of Jonah and the whale. Half a dozen shocked faces turned suddenly +towards her told Joan that at some point in the thrilling history she +must unconsciously have laughed. Fortunately she was alone in the pew, +and feeling herself scarlet, squeezed herself into its farthest corner +and drew down her veil. + +No, it would have to go. A religion that solemnly demanded of grown men +and women in the twentieth century that they should sit and listen with +reverential awe to a prehistoric edition of "Grimm's Fairy Stories," +including Noah and his ark, the adventures of Samson and Delilah, the +conversations between Balaam and his ass, and culminating in what if it +were not so appallingly wicked an idea would be the most comical of them +all: the conception of an elaborately organized Hell, into which the God +of the Christians plunged his creatures for all eternity! Of what use +was such a religion as that going to be to the world of the future? + +She must have knelt and stood mechanically, for the service was ended. +The pulpit was occupied by an elderly uninteresting-looking man with a +troublesome cough. But one sentence he had let fall had gripped her +attention. For a moment she could not remember it, and then it came to +her: "All Roads lead to Calvary." It struck her as rather good. Perhaps +he was going to be worth listening to. "To all of us, sooner or later," +he was saying, "comes a choosing of two ways: either the road leading to +success, the gratification of desires, the honour and approval of our +fellow-men--or the path to Calvary." + +And then he had wandered off into a maze of detail. The tradesman, +dreaming perhaps of becoming a Whiteley, having to choose whether to go +forward or remain for all time in the little shop. The statesman--should +he abide by the faith that is in him and suffer loss of popularity, or +renounce his God and enter the Cabinet? The artist, the writer, the mere +labourer--there were too many of them. A few well-chosen examples would +have sufficed. And then that irritating cough! + +And yet every now and then he would be arresting. In his prime, Joan +felt, he must have been a great preacher. Even now, decrepit and wheezy, +he was capable of flashes of magnetism, of eloquence. The passage where +he pictured the Garden of Gethsemane. The fair Jerusalem, only hidden +from us by the shadows. So easy to return to. Its soft lights shining +through the trees, beckoning to us; its mingled voices stealing to us +through the silence, whispering to us of its well-remembered ways, its +pleasant places, its open doorways, friends and loved ones waiting for +us. And above, the rock-strewn Calvary: and crowning its summit, clear +against the starlit sky, the cold, dark cross. "Not perhaps to us the +bleeding hands and feet, but to all the bitter tears. Our Calvary may be +a very little hill compared with the mountains where Prometheus suffered, +but to us it is steep and lonely." + +There he should have stopped. It would have been a good note on which to +finish. But it seemed there was another point he wished to make. Even +to the sinner Calvary calls. To Judas--even to him the gates of the life- +giving Garden of Gethsemane had not been closed. "With his thirty pieces +of silver he could have stolen away. In some distant crowded city of the +Roman Empire have lived unknown, forgotten. Life still had its +pleasures, its rewards. To him also had been given the choice. The +thirty pieces of silver that had meant so much to him! He flings them at +the feet of his tempters. They would not take them back. He rushes out +and hangs himself. Shame and death. With his own hands he will build +his own cross, none to help him. He, too--even Judas, climbs his +Calvary. Enters into the fellowship of those who through all ages have +trod its stony pathway." + +Joan waited till the last of the congregation had disappeared, and then +joined the little pew-opener who was waiting to close the doors. Joan +asked her what she had thought of the sermon, but Mary Stopperton, being +a little deaf, had not heard it. + +"It was quite good--the matter of it," Joan told her. "All Roads lead to +Calvary. The idea is that there comes a time to all of us when we have +to choose. Whether, like your friend Carlyle, we will 'give up things' +for our faith's sake. Or go for the carriage and pair." + +Mary Stopperton laughed. "He is quite right, dear," she said. "It does +seem to come, and it is so hard. You have to pray and pray and pray. And +even then we cannot always do it." She touched with her little withered +fingers Joan's fine white hand. "But you are so strong and brave," she +continued, with another little laugh. "It won't be so difficult for +you." + +It was not until well on her way home that Joan, recalling the +conversation, found herself smiling at Mary Stopperton's literal +acceptation of the argument. At the time, she remembered, the shadow of +a fear had passed over her. + +Mary Stopperton did not know the name of the preacher. It was quite +common for chance substitutes to officiate there, especially in the +evening. Joan had insisted on her acceptance of a shilling, and had made +a note of her address, feeling instinctively that the little old woman +would "come in useful" from a journalistic point of view. + +Shaking hands with her, she had turned eastward, intending to walk to +Sloane Square and there take the bus. At the corner of Oakley Street she +overtook him. He was evidently a stranger to the neighbourhood, and was +peering up through his glasses to see the name of the street; and Joan +caught sight of his face beneath a gas lamp. + +And suddenly it came to her that it was a face she knew. In the dim-lit +church she had not seen him clearly. He was still peering upward. Joan +stole another glance. Yes, she had met him somewhere. He was very +changed, quite different, but she was sure of it. It was a long time +ago. She must have been quite a child. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +One of Joan's earliest recollections was the picture of herself standing +before the high cheval glass in her mother's dressing-room. Her clothes +lay scattered far and wide, falling where she had flung them; not a shred +of any kind of covering was left to her. She must have been very small, +for she could remember looking up and seeing high above her head the two +brass knobs by which the glass was fastened to its frame. Suddenly, out +of the upper portion of the glass, there looked a scared red face. It +hovered there a moment, and over it in swift succession there passed the +expressions, first of petrified amazement, secondly of shocked +indignation, and thirdly of righteous wrath. And then it swooped down +upon her, and the image in the glass became a confusion of small naked +arms and legs mingled with green cotton gloves and purple bonnet strings. + +"You young imp of Satan!" demanded Mrs. Munday--her feelings of outraged +virtue exaggerating perhaps her real sentiments. "What are you doing?" + +"Go away. I'se looking at myself," had explained Joan, struggling +furiously to regain the glass. + +"But where are your clothes?" was Mrs. Munday's wonder. + +"I'se tooked them off," explained Joan. A piece of information that +really, all things considered, seemed unnecessary. + +"But can't you see yourself, you wicked child, without stripping yourself +as naked as you were born?" + +"No," maintained Joan stoutly. "I hate clothes." As a matter of fact +she didn't, even in those early days. On the contrary, one of her +favourite amusements was "dressing up." This sudden overmastering desire +to arrive at the truth about herself had been a new conceit. + +"I wanted to see myself. Clothes ain't me," was all she would or could +vouchsafe; and Mrs. Munday had shook her head, and had freely confessed +that there were things beyond her and that Joan was one of them; and had +succeeded, partly by force, partly by persuasion, in restoring to Joan +once more the semblance of a Christian child. + +It was Mrs. Munday, poor soul, who all unconsciously had planted the +seeds of disbelief in Joan's mind. Mrs. Munday's God, from Joan's point +of view, was a most objectionable personage. He talked a lot--or rather +Mrs. Munday talked for Him--about His love for little children. But it +seemed He only loved them when they were good. Joan was under no +delusions about herself. If those were His terms, well, then, so far as +she could see, He wasn't going to be of much use to her. Besides, if He +hated naughty children, why did He make them naughty? At a moderate +estimate quite half Joan's wickedness, so it seemed to Joan, came to her +unbidden. Take for example that self-examination before the cheval +glass. The idea had come into her mind. It had never occurred to her +that it was wicked. If, as Mrs. Munday explained, it was the Devil that +had whispered it to her, then what did God mean by allowing the Devil to +go about persuading little girls to do indecent things? God could do +everything. Why didn't He smash the Devil? It seemed to Joan a mean +trick, look at it how you would. Fancy leaving a little girl to fight +the Devil all by herself. And then get angry because the Devil won! Joan +came to cordially dislike Mrs. Munday's God. + +Looking back it was easy enough to smile, but the agony of many nights +when she had lain awake for hours battling with her childish terrors had +left a burning sense of anger in Joan's heart. Poor mazed, bewildered +Mrs. Munday, preaching the eternal damnation of the wicked--who had loved +her, who had only thought to do her duty, the blame was not hers. But +that a religion capable of inflicting such suffering upon the innocent +should still be preached; maintained by the State! That its educated +followers no longer believed in a physical Hell, that its more advanced +clergy had entered into a conspiracy of silence on the subject was no +answer. The great mass of the people were not educated. Official +Christendom in every country still preached the everlasting torture of +the majority of the human race as a well thought out part of the +Creator's scheme. No leader had been bold enough to come forward and +denounce it as an insult to his God. As one grew older, kindly mother +Nature, ever seeking to ease the self-inflicted burdens of her foolish +brood, gave one forgetfulness, insensibility. The condemned criminal +puts the thought of the gallows away from him as long as may be: eats, +and sleeps and even jokes. Man's soul grows pachydermoid. But the +children! Their sensitive brains exposed to every cruel breath. No +philosophic doubt permitted to them. No learned disputation on the +relationship between the literal and the allegorical for the easing of +their frenzied fears. How many million tiny white-faced figures +scattered over Christian Europe and America, stared out each night into a +vision of black horror; how many million tiny hands clutched wildly at +the bedclothes. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, +if they had done their duty, would have prosecuted before now the +Archbishop of Canterbury. + +Of course she would go to Hell. As a special kindness some generous +relative had, on Joan's seventh birthday, given her an edition of Dante's +"Inferno," with illustrations by Dore. From it she was able to form some +notion of what her eternity was likely to be. And God all the while up +in His Heaven, surrounded by that glorious band of praise-trumpeting +angels, watching her out of the corner of His eye. Her courage saved her +from despair. Defiance came to her aid. Let Him send her to Hell! She +was not going to pray to Him and make up to Him. He was a wicked God. +Yes, He was: a cruel, wicked God. And one night she told Him so to His +face. + +It had been a pretty crowded day, even for so busy a sinner as little +Joan. It was springtime, and they had gone into the country for her +mother's health. Maybe it was the season: a stirring of the human sap, +conducing to that feeling of being "too big for one's boots," as the +saying is. A dangerous period of the year. Indeed, on the principle +that prevention is better than cure, Mrs. Munday had made it a custom +during April and May to administer to Joan a cooling mixture; but on this +occasion had unfortunately come away without it. Joan, dressed for use +rather than show, and without either shoes or stockings, had stolen +stealthily downstairs: something seemed to be calling to her. +Silently--"like a thief in the night," to adopt Mrs. Munday's +metaphor--had slipped the heavy bolts; had joined the thousand creatures +of the wood--had danced and leapt and shouted; had behaved, in short, +more as if she had been a Pagan nymph than a happy English child. She +had regained the house unnoticed, as she thought, the Devil, no doubt, +assisting her; and had hidden her wet clothes in the bottom of a mighty +chest. Deceitfulness in her heart, she had greeted Mrs. Munday in sleepy +tones from beneath the sheets; and before breakfast, assailed by +suspicious questions, had told a deliberate lie. Later in the morning, +during an argument with an active young pig who was willing enough to +play at Red Riding Hood so far as eating things out of a basket was +concerned, but who would not wear a night-cap, she had used a wicked +word. In the afternoon she "might have killed" the farmer's only son and +heir. They had had a row. In one of those sad lapses from the higher +Christian standards into which Satan was always egging her, she had +pushed him; and he had tumbled head over heels into the horse-pond. The +reason, that instead of lying there and drowning he had got up and walked +back to the house howling fit to wake the Seven Sleepers, was that God, +watching over little children, had arranged for the incident taking place +on that side of the pond where it was shallow. Had the scrimmage +occurred on the opposite bank, beneath which the water was much deeper, +Joan in all probability would have had murder on her soul. It seemed to +Joan that if God, all-powerful and all-foreseeing, had been so careful in +selecting the site, He might with equal ease have prevented the row from +ever taking place. Why couldn't the little beast have been guided back +from school through the orchard, much the shorter way, instead of being +brought round by the yard, so as to come upon her at a moment when she +was feeling a bit short-tempered, to put it mildly? And why had God +allowed him to call her "Carrots"? That Joan should have "put it" this +way, instead of going down on her knees and thanking the Lord for having +saved her from a crime, was proof of her inborn evil disposition. In the +evening was reached the culminating point. Just before going to bed she +had murdered old George the cowman. For all practical purposes she might +just as well have been successful in drowning William Augustus earlier in +the day. It seemed to be one of those things that had to be. Mr. +Hornflower still lived, it was true, but that was not Joan's fault. Joan, +standing in white night-gown beside her bed, everything around her +breathing of innocence and virtue: the spotless bedclothes, the chintz +curtains, the white hyacinths upon the window-ledge, Joan's Bible, a +present from Aunt Susan; her prayer-book, handsomely bound in calf, a +present from Grandpapa, upon their little table; Mrs. Munday in evening +black and cameo brooch (pale red with tomb and weeping willow in white +relief) sacred to the memory of the departed Mr. Munday--Joan standing +there erect, with pale, passionate face, defying all these aids to +righteousness, had deliberately wished Mr. Hornflower dead. Old George +Hornflower it was who, unseen by her, had passed her that morning in the +wood. Grumpy old George it was who had overheard the wicked word with +which she had cursed the pig; who had met William Augustus on his +emergence from the pond. To Mr. George Hornflower, the humble instrument +in the hands of Providence, helping her towards possible salvation, she +ought to have been grateful. And instead of that she had flung into the +agonized face of Mrs. Munday these awful words: + +"I wish he was dead!" + +"He who in his heart--" there was verse and chapter for it. Joan was a +murderess. Just as well, so far as Joan was concerned, might she have +taken a carving-knife and stabbed Deacon Hornflower to the heart. + +Joan's prayers that night, to the accompaniment of Mrs. Munday's sobs, +had a hopeless air of unreality about them. Mrs. Munday's kiss was cold. + +How long Joan lay and tossed upon her little bed she could not tell. +Somewhere about the middle of the night, or so it seemed to her, the +frenzy seized her. Flinging the bedclothes away she rose to her feet. It +is difficult to stand upon a spring mattress, but Joan kept her balance. +Of course He was there in the room with her. God was everywhere, spying +upon her. She could distinctly hear His measured breathing. Face to +face with Him, she told Him what she thought of Him. She told Him He was +a cruel, wicked God. + +There are no Victoria Crosses for sinners, or surely little Joan that +night would have earned it. It was not lack of imagination that helped +her courage. God and she alone, in the darkness. He with all the forces +of the Universe behind Him. He armed with His eternal pains and +penalties, and eight-year-old Joan: the creature that He had made in His +Own Image that He could torture and destroy. Hell yawned beneath her, +but it had to be said. Somebody ought to tell Him. + +"You are a wicked God," Joan told Him. "Yes, You are. A cruel, wicked +God." + +And then that she might not see the walls of the room open before her, +hear the wild laughter of the thousand devils that were coming to bear +her off, she threw herself down, her face hidden in the pillow, and +clenched her hands and waited. + +And suddenly there burst a song. It was like nothing Joan had ever heard +before. So clear and loud and near that all the night seemed filled with +harmony. It sank into a tender yearning cry throbbing with passionate +desire, and then it rose again in thrilling ecstasy: a song of hope, of +victory. + +Joan, trembling, stole from her bed and drew aside the blind. There was +nothing to be seen but the stars and the dim shape of the hills. But +still that song, filling the air with its wild, triumphant melody. + +Years afterwards, listening to the overture to _Tannhauser_, there came +back to her the memory of that night. Ever through the mad Satanic +discords she could hear, now faint, now conquering, the Pilgrims' onward +march. So through the jangled discords of the world one heard the Song +of Life. Through the dim aeons of man's savage infancy; through the +centuries of bloodshed and of horror; through the dark ages of tyranny +and superstition; through wrong, through cruelty, through hate; heedless +of doom, heedless of death, still the nightingale's song: "I love you. I +love you. I love you. We will build a nest. We will rear our brood. I +love you. I love you. Life shall not die." + +Joan crept back into bed. A new wonder had come to her. And from that +night Joan's belief in Mrs. Munday's God began to fade, circumstances +helping. + +Firstly there was the great event of going to school. She was glad to +get away from home, a massive, stiffly furnished house in a wealthy +suburb of Liverpool. Her mother, since she could remember, had been an +invalid, rarely leaving her bedroom till the afternoon. Her father, the +owner of large engineering works, she only saw, as a rule, at +dinner-time, when she would come down to dessert. It had been different +when she was very young, before her mother had been taken ill. Then she +had been more with them both. She had dim recollections of her father +playing with her, pretending to be a bear and growling at her from behind +the sofa. And then he would seize and hug her and they would both laugh, +while he tossed her into the air and caught her. He had looked so big +and handsome. All through her childhood there had been the desire to +recreate those days, to spring into the air and catch her arms about his +neck. She could have loved him dearly if he had only let her. Once, +seeking explanation, she had opened her heart a little to Mrs. Munday. It +was disappointment, Mrs. Munday thought, that she had not been a boy; and +with that Joan had to content herself. Maybe also her mother's illness +had helped to sadden him. Or perhaps it was mere temperament, as she +argued to herself later, for which they were both responsible. Those +little tricks of coaxing, of tenderness, of wilfulness, by means of which +other girls wriggled their way so successfully into a warm nest of cosy +affection: she had never been able to employ them. Beneath her +self-confidence was a shyness, an immovable reserve that had always +prevented her from expressing her emotions. She had inherited it, +doubtless enough, from him. Perhaps one day, between them, they would +break down the barrier, the strength of which seemed to lie in its very +flimsiness, its impalpability. + +And then during college vacations, returning home with growing notions +and views of her own, she had found herself so often in antagonism with +him. His fierce puritanism, so opposed to all her enthusiasms. Arguing +with him, she might almost have been listening to one of his Cromwellian +ancestors risen from the dead. There had been disputes between him and +his work-people, and Joan had taken the side of the men. He had not been +angry with her, but coldly contemptuous. And yet, in spite of it all, if +he had only made a sign! She wanted to fling herself crying into his +arms and shake him--make him listen to her wisdom, sitting on his knee +with her hands clasped round his neck. He was not really intolerant and +stupid. That had been proved by his letting her go to a Church of +England school. Her mother had expressed no wish. It was he who had +selected it. + +Of her mother she had always stood somewhat in fear, never knowing when +the mood of passionate affection would give place to a chill aversion +that seemed almost like hate. Perhaps it had been good for her, so she +told herself in after years, her lonely, unguided childhood. It had +forced her to think and act for herself. At school she reaped the +benefit. Self-reliant, confident, original, leadership was granted to +her as a natural prerogative. Nature had helped her. Nowhere does a +young girl rule more supremely by reason of her beauty than among her +fellows. Joan soon grew accustomed to having her boots put on and taken +off for her; all her needs of service anticipated by eager slaves, +contending with one another for the privilege. By giving a command, by +bestowing a few moments of her conversation, it was within her power to +make some small adoring girl absurdly happy for the rest of the day; +while her displeasure would result in tears, in fawning pleadings for +forgiveness. The homage did not spoil her. Rather it helped to develop +her. She accepted it from the beginning as in the order of things. Power +had been given to her. It was her duty to see to it that she did not use +it capriciously, for her own gratification. No conscientious youthful +queen could have been more careful in the distribution of her +favours--that they should be for the encouragement of the deserving, the +reward of virtue; more sparing of her frowns, reserving them for the +rectification of error. + +At Girton it was more by force of will, of brain, that she had to make +her position. There was more competition. Joan welcomed it, as giving +more zest to life. But even there her beauty was by no means a +negligible quantity. Clever, brilliant young women, accustomed to sweep +aside all opposition with a blaze of rhetoric, found themselves to their +irritation sitting in front of her silent, not so much listening to her +as looking at her. It puzzled them for a time. Because a girl's +features are classical and her colouring attractive, surely that has +nothing to do with the value of her political views? Until one of them +discovered by chance that it has. + +"Well, what does Beauty think about it?" this one had asked, laughing. +She had arrived at the end of a discussion just as Joan was leaving the +room. And then she gave a long low whistle, feeling that she had +stumbled upon the explanation. Beauty, that mysterious force that from +the date of creation has ruled the world, what does It think? Dumb, +passive, as a rule, exercising its influence unconsciously. But if it +should become intelligent, active! A Philosopher has dreamed of the vast +influence that could be exercised by a dozen sincere men acting in unity. +Suppose a dozen of the most beautiful women in the world could form +themselves into a league! Joan found them late in the evening still +discussing it. + +Her mother died suddenly during her last term, and Joan hurried back to +attend the funeral. Her father was out when she reached home. Joan +changed her travel-dusty clothes, and then went into the room where her +mother lay, and closed the door. She must have been a beautiful woman. +Now that the fret and the restlessness had left her it had come back to +her. The passionate eyes were closed. Joan kissed the marble lids, and +drawing a chair to the bedside, sat down. It grieved her that she had +never loved her mother--not as one ought to love one's mother, +unquestioningly, unreasoningly, as a natural instinct. For a moment a +strange thought came to her, and swiftly, almost guiltily, she stole +across, and drawing back a corner of the blind, examined closely her own +features in the glass, comparing them with the face of the dead woman, +thus called upon to be a silent witness for or against the living. Joan +drew a sigh of relief and let fall the blind. There could be no +misreading the evidence. Death had smoothed away the lines, given back +youth. It was almost uncanny, the likeness between them. It might have +been her drowned sister lying there. And they had never known one +another. Had this also been temperament again, keeping them apart? Why +did it imprison us each one as in a moving cell, so that we never could +stretch out our arms to one another, except when at rare intervals Love +or Death would unlock for a while the key? Impossible that two beings +should have been so alike in feature without being more or less alike in +thought and feeling. Whose fault had it been? Surely her own; she was +so hideously calculating. Even Mrs. Munday, because the old lady had +been fond of her and had shown it, had been of more service to her, more +a companion, had been nearer to her than her own mother. In self-excuse +she recalled the two or three occasions when she had tried to win her +mother. But fate seemed to have decreed that their moods should never +correspond. Her mother's sudden fierce outbursts of love, when she would +be jealous, exacting, almost cruel, had frightened her when she was a +child, and later on had bored her. Other daughters would have shown +patience, unselfishness, but she had always been so self-centred. Why +had she never fallen in love like other girls? There had been a boy at +Brighton when she was at school there--quite a nice boy, who had written +her wildly extravagant love-letters. It must have cost him half his +pocket-money to get them smuggled in to her. Why had she only been +amused at them? They might have been beautiful if only one had read them +with sympathy. One day he had caught her alone on the Downs. Evidently +he had made it his business to hang about every day waiting for some such +chance. He had gone down on his knees and kissed her feet, and had been +so abject, so pitiful that she had given him some flowers she was +wearing. And he had sworn to dedicate the rest of his life to being +worthy of her condescension. Poor lad! She wondered--for the first time +since that afternoon--what had become of him. There had been others; a +third cousin who still wrote to her from Egypt, sending her presents that +perhaps he could ill afford, and whom she answered about once a year. And +promising young men she had met at Cambridge, ready, she felt +instinctively, to fall down and worship her. And all the use she had had +for them was to convert them to her views--a task so easy as to be quite +uninteresting--with a vague idea that they might come in handy in the +future, when she might need help in shaping that world of the future. + +Only once had she ever thought of marriage. And that was in favour of a +middle-aged, rheumatic widower with three children, a professor of +chemistry, very learned and justly famous. For about a month she had +thought herself in love. She pictured herself devoting her life to him, +rubbing his poor left shoulder where it seemed he suffered most, and +brushing his picturesque hair, inclined to grey. Fortunately his eldest +daughter was a young woman of resource, or the poor gentleman, naturally +carried off his feet by this adoration of youth and beauty, might have +made an ass of himself. But apart from this one episode she had reached +the age of twenty-three heart-whole. + +She rose and replaced the chair. And suddenly a wave of pity passed over +her for the dead woman, who had always seemed so lonely in the great +stiffly-furnished house, and the tears came. + +She was glad she had been able to cry. She had always hated herself for +her lack of tears; it was so unwomanly. Even as a child she had rarely +cried. + +Her father had always been very tender, very patient towards her mother, +but she had not expected to find him so changed. He had aged and his +shoulders drooped. She had been afraid that he would want her to stay +with him and take charge of the house. It had worried her considerably. +It would be so difficult to refuse, and yet she would have to. But when +he never broached the subject she was hurt. He had questioned her about +her plans the day after the funeral, and had seemed only anxious to +assist them. She proposed continuing at Cambridge till the end of the +term. She had taken her degree the year before. After that, she would +go to London and commence her work. + +"Let me know what allowance you would like me to make you, when you have +thought it out. Things are not what they were at the works, but there +will always be enough to keep you in comfort," he had told her. She had +fixed it there and then at two hundred a year. She would not take more, +and that only until she was in a position to keep herself. + +"I want to prove to myself," she explained, "that I am capable of earning +my own living. I am going down into the market-place. If I'm no good, +if I can't take care of even one poor woman, I'll come back and ask you +to keep me." She was sitting on the arm of his chair, and laughing, she +drew his head towards her and pressed it against her. "If I succeed, if +I am strong enough to fight the world for myself and win, that will mean +I am strong enough and clever enough to help others." + +"I am only at the end of a journey when you need me," he had answered, +and they had kissed. And next morning she returned to her own life. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +It was at Madge Singleton's rooms that the details of Joan's entry into +journalistic London were arranged. "The Coming of Beauty," was Flora +Lessing's phrase for designating the event. Flora Lessing, known among +her associates as "Flossie," was the girl who at Cambridge had +accidentally stumbled upon the explanation of Joan's influence. In +appearance she was of the Fluffy Ruffles type, with childish innocent +eyes, and the "unruly curls" beloved of the _Family Herald_ novelist. At +the first, these latter had been the result of a habit of late rising and +consequent hurried toilet operations; but on the discovery that for the +purposes of her profession they possessed a market value they had been +sedulously cultivated. Editors of the old order had ridiculed the idea +of her being of any use to them, when two years previously she had, by +combination of cheek and patience, forced herself into their sanctum; had +patted her paternally upon her generally ungloved hand, and told her to +go back home and get some honest, worthy young man to love and cherish +her. + +It was Carleton of the _Daily Dispatch_ group who had first divined her +possibilities. With a swift glance on his way through, he had picked her +out from a line of depressed-looking men and women ranged against the +wall of the dark entrance passage; and with a snap of his fingers had +beckoned to her to follow him. Striding in front of her up to his room, +he had pointed to a chair and had left her sitting there for +three-quarters of an hour, while he held discussion with a stream of +subordinates, managers and editors of departments, who entered and +departed one after another, evidently in pre-arranged order. All of them +spoke rapidly, without ever digressing by a single word from the point, +giving her the impression of their speeches having been rehearsed +beforehand. + +Carleton himself never interrupted them. Indeed, one might have thought +he was not listening, so engrossed he appeared to be in the pile of +letters and telegrams that lay waiting for him on his desk. When they +had finished he would ask them questions, still with his attention fixed +apparently upon the paper in his hand. Then, looking up for the first +time, he would run off curt instructions, much in the tone of a Commander- +in-Chief giving orders for an immediate assault; and, finishing abruptly, +return to his correspondence. When the last, as it transpired, had +closed the door behind him, he swung his chair round and faced her. + +"What have you been doing?" he asked her. + +"Wasting my time and money hanging about newspaper offices, listening to +silly talk from old fossils," she told him. + +"And having learned that respectable journalism has no use for brains, +you come to me," he answered her. "What do you think you can do?" + +"Anything that can be done with a pen and ink," she told him. + +"Interviewing?" he suggested. + +"I've always been considered good at asking awkward questions," she +assured him. + +He glanced at the clock. "I'll give you five minutes," he said. +"Interview me." + +She moved to a chair beside the desk, and, opening her bag, took out a +writing-block. + +"What are your principles?" she asked him. "Have you got any?" + +He looked at her sharply across the corner of the desk. + +"I mean," she continued, "to what fundamental rule of conduct do you +attribute your success?" + +She leant forward, fixing her eyes on him. "Don't tell me," she +persisted, "that you had none. That life is all just mere blind chance. +Think of the young men who are hanging on your answer. Won't you send +them a message?" + +"Yes," he answered musingly. "It's your baby face that does the trick. +In the ordinary way I should have known you were pulling my leg, and have +shown you the door. As it was, I felt half inclined for the moment to +reply with some damned silly platitude that would have set all Fleet +Street laughing at me. Why do my 'principles' interest you?" + +"As a matter of fact they don't," she explained. "But it's what people +talk about whenever they discuss you." + +"What do they say?" he demanded. + +"Your friends, that you never had any. And your enemies, that they are +always the latest," she informed him. + +"You'll do," he answered with a laugh. "With nine men out of ten that +speech would have ended your chances. You sized me up at a glance, and +knew it would only interest me. And your instinct is right," he added. +"What people are saying: always go straight for that." + +He gave her a commission then and there for a heart to heart talk with a +gentleman whom the editor of the Home News Department of the _Daily +Dispatch_ would have referred to as a "Leading Literary Luminary," and +who had just invented a new world in two volumes. She had asked him +childish questions and had listened with wide-open eyes while he, sitting +over against her, and smiling benevolently, had laid bare to her all the +seeming intricacies of creation, and had explained to her in simple +language the necessary alterations and improvements he was hoping to +bring about in human nature. He had the sensation that his hair must be +standing on end the next morning after having read in cold print what he +had said. Expanding oneself before the admiring gaze of innocent +simplicity and addressing the easily amused ear of an unsympathetic +public are not the same thing. He ought to have thought of that. + +It consoled him, later, that he was not the only victim. The _Daily +Dispatch_ became famous for its piquant interviews; especially with +elderly celebrities of the masculine gender. + +"It's dirty work," Flossie confided one day to Madge Singleton. "I trade +on my silly face. Don't see that I'm much different to any of these poor +devils." They were walking home in the evening from a theatre. "If I +hadn't been stony broke I'd never have taken it up. I shall get out of +it as soon as I can afford to." + +"I should make it a bit sooner than that," suggested the elder woman. +"One can't always stop oneself just where one wants to when sliding down +a slope. It has a knack of getting steeper and steeper as one goes on." + +Madge had asked Joan to come a little earlier so that they could have a +chat together before the others arrived. + +"I've only asked a few," she explained, as she led Joan into the restful +white-panelled sitting-room that looked out upon the gardens. Madge +shared a set of chambers in Gray's Inn with her brother who was an actor. +"But I have chosen them with care." + +Joan murmured her thanks. + +"I haven't asked any men," she added, as she fixed Joan in an easy chair +before the fire. "I was afraid of its introducing the wrong element." + +"Tell me," asked Joan, "am I likely to meet with much of that sort of +thing?" + +"Oh, about as much as there always is wherever men and women work +together," answered Madge. "It's a nuisance, but it has to be faced." + +"Nature appears to have only one idea in her head," she continued after a +pause, "so far as we men and women are concerned. She's been kinder to +the lower animals." + +"Man has more interests," Joan argued, "a thousand other allurements to +distract him; we must cultivate his finer instincts." + +"It doesn't seem to answer," grumbled Madge. "One is always told it is +the artist--the brain worker, the very men who have these fine instincts, +who are the most sexual." + +She made a little impatient movement with her hands that was +characteristic of her. "Personally, I like men," she went on. "It is so +splendid the way they enjoy life: just like a dog does, whether it's wet +or fine. We are always blinking up at the clouds and worrying about our +hat. It would be so nice to be able to have friendship with them. + +"I don't mean that it's all their fault," she continued. "We do all we +can to attract them--the way we dress. Who was it said that to every +woman every man is a potential lover. We can't get it out of our minds. +It's there even when we don't know it. We will never succeed in +civilizing Nature." + +"We won't despair of her," laughed Joan. "She's creeping up, poor lady, +as Whistler said of her. We have passed the phase when everything she +did was right in our childish eyes. Now we dare to criticize her. That +shows we are growing up. She will learn from us, later on. She's a dear +old thing, at heart." + +"She's been kind enough to you," replied Madge, somewhat irrelevantly. +There was a note of irritation in her tone. "I suppose you know you are +supremely beautiful. You seem so indifferent to it, I wonder sometimes +if you do." + +"I'm not indifferent to it," answered Joan. "I'm reckoning on it to help +me." + +"Why not?" she continued, with a flash of defiance, though Madge had not +spoken. "It is a weapon like any other--knowledge, intellect, courage. +God has given me beauty. I shall use it in His service." + +They formed a curious physical contrast, these two women in this moment. +Joan, radiant, serene, sat upright in her chair, her head slightly thrown +back, her fine hands clasping one another so strongly that the delicate +muscles could be traced beneath the smooth white skin. Madge, with +puckered brows, leant forward in a crouching attitude, her thin nervous +hands stretched out towards the fire. + +"How does one know when one is serving God?" she asked after a pause, +apparently rather of herself than of Joan. "It seems so difficult." + +"One feels it," explained Joan. + +"Yes, but didn't they all feel it," Madge suggested. She still seemed to +be arguing with herself rather than with Joan. "Nietzsche. I have been +reading him. They are forming a Nietzsche Society to give lectures about +him--propagate him over here. Eleanor's in it up to the neck. It seems +to me awful. Every fibre in my being revolts against him. Yet they're +all cocksure that he is the coming prophet. He must have convinced +himself that he is serving God. If I were a fighter I should feel I was +serving God trying to down Him. How do I know which of us is right? +Torquemada--Calvin," she went on, without giving Joan the chance of a +reply. "It's easy enough to see they were wrong now. But at the time +millions of people believed in them--felt it was God's voice speaking +through them. Joan of Arc! Fancy dying to put a thing like that upon a +throne. It would be funny if it wasn't so tragic. You can say she drove +out the English--saved France. But for what? The Bartholomew massacres. +The ruin of the Palatinate by Louis XIV. The horrors of the French +Revolution, ending with Napoleon and all the misery and degeneracy that +he bequeathed to Europe. History might have worked itself out so much +better if the poor child had left it alone and minded her sheep." + +"Wouldn't that train of argument lead to nobody ever doing anything?" +suggested Joan. + +"I suppose it would mean stagnation," admitted Madge. "And yet I don't +know. Are there not forces moving towards right that are crying to us to +help them, not by violence, which only interrupts--delays them, but by +quietly preparing the way for them? You know what I mean. Erasmus +always said that Luther had hindered the Reformation by stirring up +passion and hate." She broke off suddenly. There were tears in her +eyes. "Oh, if God would only say what He wants of us," she almost cried; +"call to us in trumpet tones that would ring through the world, +compelling us to take sides. Why can't He speak?" + +"He does," answered Joan. "I hear His voice. There are things I've got +to do. Wrongs that I must fight against. Rights that I must never dare +to rest till they are won." Her lips were parted. Her breasts heaving. +"He does call to us. He has girded His sword upon me." + +Madge looked at her in silence for quite a while. "How confident you +are," she said. "How I envy you." + +They talked for a time about domestic matters. Joan had established +herself in furnished rooms in a quiet street of pleasant Georgian houses +just behind the Abbey; a member of Parliament and his wife occupied the +lower floors, the landlord, a retired butler, and his wife, an excellent +cook, confining themselves to the basement and the attics. The remaining +floor was tenanted by a shy young man--a poet, so the landlady thought, +but was not sure. Anyhow he had long hair, lived with a pipe in his +mouth, and burned his lamp long into the night. Joan had omitted to ask +his name. She made a note to do so. + +They discussed ways and means. Joan calculated she could get through on +two hundred a year, putting aside fifty for dress. Madge was doubtful if +this would be sufficient. Joan urged that she was "stock size" and would +be able to pick up "models" at sales; but Madge, measuring her against +herself, was sure she was too full. + +"You will find yourself expensive to dress," she told her, "cheap things +won't go well on you; and it would be madness, even from a business point +of view, for you not to make the best of yourself." + +"Men stand more in awe of a well-dressed woman than they do even of a +beautiful woman," Madge was of opinion. "If you go into an office +looking dowdy they'll beat you down. Tell them the price they are +offering you won't keep you in gloves for a week and they'll be ashamed +of themselves. There's nothing _infra dig_. in being mean to the poor; +but not to sympathize with the rich stamps you as middle class." She +laughed. + +Joan was worried. "I told Dad I should only ask him for enough to make +up two hundred a year," she explained. "He'll laugh at me for not +knowing my own mind." + +"I should let him," advised Madge. She grew thoughtful again. "We +cranky young women, with our new-fangled, independent ways, I guess we +hurt the old folks quite enough as it is." + +The bell rang and Madge opened the door herself. It turned out to be +Flossie. Joan had not seen her since they had been at Girton together, +and was surprised at Flossie's youthful "get up." Flossie explained, and +without waiting for any possible attack flew to her own defence. + +"The revolution that the world is waiting for," was Flossie's opinion, +"is the providing of every man and woman with a hundred and fifty a year. +Then we shall all be able to afford to be noble and high-minded. As it +is, nine-tenths of the contemptible things we do comes from the necessity +of our having to earn our living. A hundred and fifty a year would +deliver us from evil." + +"Would there not still be the diamond dog-collar and the motor car left +to tempt us?" suggested Madge. + +"Only the really wicked," contended Flossie. "It would classify us. We +should know then which were the sheep and which the goats. At present +we're all jumbled together: the ungodly who sin out of mere greed and +rapacity, and the just men compelled to sell their birthright of fine +instincts for a mess of meat and potatoes." + +"Yah, socialist," commented Madge, who was busy with the tea things. + +Flossie seemed struck by an idea. + +"By Jove," she exclaimed. "Why did I never think of it. With a red flag +and my hair down, I'd be in all the illustrated papers. It would put up +my price no end. And I'd be able to get out of this silly job of mine. I +can't go on much longer. I'm getting too well known. I do believe I'll +try it. The shouting's easy enough." She turned to Joan. "Are you +going to take up socialism?" she demanded. + +"I may," answered Joan. "Just to spank it, and put it down again. I'm +rather a believer in temptation--the struggle for existence. I only want +to make it a finer existence, more worth the struggle, in which the best +man shall rise to the top. Your 'universal security'--that will be the +last act of the human drama, the cue for ringing down the curtain." + +"But do not all our Isms work towards that end?" suggested Madge. + +Joan was about to reply when the maid's announcement of "Mrs. Denton" +postponed the discussion. + +Mrs. Denton was a short, grey-haired lady. Her large strong features +must have made her, when she was young, a hard-looking woman; but time +and sorrow had strangely softened them; while about the corners of the +thin firm mouth lurked a suggestion of humour that possibly had not +always been there. Joan, waiting to be introduced, towered head and +shoulders above her; yet when she took the small proffered hand and felt +those steely blue eyes surveying her, she had the sensation of being +quite insignificant. Mrs. Denton seemed to be reading her, and then +still retaining Joan's hand she turned to Madge with a smile. + +"So this is our new recruit," she said. "She is come to bring healing to +the sad, sick world--to right all the old, old wrongs." + +She patted Joan's hand and spoke gravely. "That is right, dear. That is +youth's _metier_; to take the banner from our failing hands, bear it +still a little onward." Her small gloved hand closed on Joan's with a +pressure that made Joan wince. + +"And you must not despair," she continued; "because in the end it will +seem to you that you have failed. It is the fallen that win the +victories." + +She released Joan's hand abruptly. "Come and see me to-morrow morning at +my office," she said. "We will fix up something that shall be +serviceable to us both." + +Madge flashed Joan a look. She considered Joan's position already +secured. Mrs. Denton was the doyen of women journalists. She edited a +monthly review and was leader writer of one of the most important +dailies, besides being the controlling spirit of various social +movements. Anyone she "took up" would be assured of steady work. The +pay might not be able to compete with the prices paid for more popular +journalism, but it would afford a foundation, and give to Joan that +opportunity for influence which was her main ambition. + +Joan expressed her thanks. She would like to have had more talk with the +stern old lady, but was prevented by the entrance of two new comers. The +first was Miss Lavery, a handsome, loud-toned young woman. She ran a +nursing paper, but her chief interest was in the woman's suffrage +question, just then coming rapidly to the front. She had heard Joan +speak at Cambridge and was eager to secure her adherence, being wishful +to surround herself with a group of young and good-looking women who +should take the movement out of the hands of the "frumps," as she termed +them. Her doubt was whether Joan would prove sufficiently tractable. She +intended to offer her remunerative work upon the _Nursing News_ without +saying anything about the real motive behind, trusting to gratitude to +make her task the easier. + +The second was a clumsy-looking, overdressed woman whom Miss Lavery +introduced as "Mrs. Phillips, a very dear friend of mine, who is going to +be helpful to us all," adding in a hurried aside to Madge, "I simply had +to bring her. Will explain to you another time." An apology certainly +seemed to be needed. The woman was absurdly out of her place. She stood +there panting and slightly perspiring. She was short and fat, with dyed +hair. As a girl she had possibly been pretty in a dimpled, giggling sort +of way. Joan judged her, in spite of her complexion, to be about forty. + +Joan wondered if she could be the wife of the Member of Parliament who +occupied the rooms below her in Cowley Street. His name, so the landlady +had told her, was Phillips. She put the suggestion in a whisper to +Flossie. + +"Quite likely," thought Flossie; "just the type that sort of man does +marry. A barmaid, I expect." + +Others continued to arrive until altogether there must have been about a +dozen women present. One of them turned out to be an old schoolfellow of +Joan's and two had been with her at Girton. Madge had selected those who +she knew would be sympathetic, and all promised help: those who could not +give it direct undertaking to provide introductions and recommendations, +though some of them were frankly doubtful of journalism affording Joan +anything more than the means--not always too honest--of earning a +living. + +"I started out to preach the gospel: all that sort of thing," drawled a +Miss Simmonds from beneath a hat that, if she had paid for it, would have +cost her five guineas. "Now my chief purpose in life is to tickle silly +women into spending twice as much upon their clothes as their husbands +can afford, bamboozling them into buying any old thing that our +Advertising Manager instructs me to boom." + +"They talk about the editor's opinions," struck in a fiery little woman +who was busy flinging crumbs out of the window to a crowd of noisy +sparrows. "It's the Advertiser edits half the papers. Write anything +that three of them object to, and your proprietor tells you to change +your convictions or go. Most of us change." She jerked down the window +with a slam. + +"It's the syndicates that have done it," was a Mrs. Elliot's opinion. She +wrote "Society Notes" for a Labour weekly. "When one man owned a paper +he wanted it to express his views. A company is only out for profit. +Your modern newspaper is just a shop. It's only purpose is to attract +customers. Look at the _Methodist Herald_, owned by the same syndicate +of Jews that runs the _Racing News_. They work it as far as possible +with the same staff." + +"We're a pack of hirelings," asserted the fiery little woman. "Our pens +are for sale to the highest bidder. I had a letter from Jocelyn only two +days ago. He was one of the original staff of the _Socialist_. He +writes me that he has gone as leader writer to a Conservative paper at +twice his former salary. Expected me to congratulate him." + +"One of these days somebody will start a Society for the Reformation of +the Press," thought Flossie. "I wonder how the papers will take it?" + +"Much as Rome took Savonarola," thought Madge. + +Mrs. Denton had risen. + +"They are right to a great extent," she said to Joan. "But not all the +temple has been given over to the hucksters. You shall place your +preaching stool in some quiet corner, where the passing feet shall pause +awhile to listen." + +Her going was the signal for the breaking up of the party. In a short +time Joan and Madge found themselves left with only Flossie. + +"What on earth induced Helen to bring that poor old Dutch doll along with +her?" demanded Flossie. "The woman never opened her mouth all the time. +Did she tell you?" + +"No," answered Madge, "but I think I can guess. She hopes--or perhaps +'fears' would be more correct--that her husband is going to join the +Cabinet, and is trying to fit herself by suddenly studying political and +social questions. For a month she's been clinging like a leech to Helen +Lavery, who takes her to meetings and gatherings. I suppose they've +struck up some sort of a bargain. It's rather pathetic." + +"Good Heavens! What a tragedy for the man," commented Flossie. + +"What is he like?" asked Joan. + +"Not much to look at, if that's what you mean," answered Madge. "Began +life as a miner, I believe. Looks like ending as Prime Minister." + +"I heard him at the Albert Hall last week," said Flossie. "He's quite +wonderful." + +"In what way?" questioned Joan. + +"Oh, you know," explained Flossie. "Like a volcano compressed into a +steam engine." + +They discussed Joan's plans. It looked as if things were going to be +easy for her. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Yet in the end it was Carleton who opened the door for her. + +Mrs. Denton was helpful, and would have been more so, if Joan had only +understood. Mrs. Denton lived alone in an old house in Gower Street, +with a high stone hall that was always echoing to sounds that no one but +itself could ever hear. Her son had settled, it was supposed, in one of +the Colonies. No one knew what had become of him, and Mrs. Denton +herself never spoke of him; while her daughter, on whom she had centred +all her remaining hopes, had died years ago. To those who remembered the +girl, with her weak eyes and wispy ginger coloured hair, it would have +seemed comical, the idea that Joan resembled her. But Mrs. Denton's +memory had lost itself in dreams; and to her the likeness had appeared +quite wonderful. The gods had given her child back to her, grown strong +and brave and clever. Life would have a new meaning for her. Her work +would not die with her. + +She thought she could harness Joan's enthusiasm to her own wisdom. She +would warn her of the errors and pitfalls into which she herself had +fallen: for she, too, had started as a rebel. Youth should begin where +age left off. Had the old lady remembered a faded dogs-eared volume +labelled "Oddments" that for many years had rested undisturbed upon its +shelf in her great library, and opening it had turned to the letter E, +she would have read recorded there, in her own precise thin penmanship, +this very wise reflection: + +"Experience is a book that all men write, but no man reads." + +To which she would have found added, by way of complement, "Experience is +untranslatable. We write it in the cipher of our sufferings, and the key +is hidden in our memories." + +And turning to the letter Y, she might have read: + +"Youth comes to teach. Age remains to listen," and underneath the +following: + +"The ability to learn is the last lesson we acquire." + +Mrs. Denton had long ago given up the practice of jotting down her +thoughts, experience having taught her that so often, when one comes to +use them, one finds that one has changed them. But in the case of Joan +the recollection of these twin "oddments" might have saved her +disappointment. Joan knew of a new road that avoided Mrs. Denton's +pitfalls. She grew impatient of being perpetually pulled back. + +For the _Nursing Times_ she wrote a series of condensed biographies, +entitled "Ladies of the Lamp," commencing with Elizabeth Fry. They +formed a record of good women who had battled for the weak and suffering, +winning justice for even the uninteresting. Miss Lavery was delighted +with them. But when Joan proposed exposing the neglect and even cruelty +too often inflicted upon the helpless patients of private Nursing Homes, +Miss Lavery shook her head. + +"I know," she said. "One does hear complaints about them. Unfortunately +it is one of the few businesses managed entirely by women; and just now, +in particular, if we were to say anything, it would be made use of by our +enemies to injure the Cause." + +There was a summer years ago--it came back to Joan's mind--when she had +shared lodgings with a girl chum at a crowded sea-side watering-place. +The rooms were shockingly dirty; and tired of dropping hints she +determined one morning to clean them herself. She climbed a chair and +started on a row of shelves where lay the dust of ages. It was a jerry- +built house, and the result was that she brought the whole lot down about +her head, together with a quarter of a hundred-weight of plaster. + +"Yes, I thought you'd do some mischief," had commented the landlady, +wearily. + +It seemed typical. A jerry-built world, apparently. With the best +intentions it seemed impossible to move in it without doing more harm +than good to it, bringing things down about one that one had not +intended. + +She wanted to abolish steel rabbit-traps. She had heard the little +beggars cry. It had struck her as such a harmless reform. But they told +her there were worthy people in the neighbourhood of Wolverhampton--quite +a number of them--who made their living by the manufacture of steel +rabbit-traps. If, thinking only of the rabbits, you prohibited steel +rabbit-traps, then you condemned all these worthy people to slow +starvation. The local Mayor himself wrote in answer to her article. He +drew a moving picture of the sad results that might follow such an ill- +considered agitation: hundreds of grey-haired men, too old to learn new +jobs, begging from door to door; shoals of little children, white-faced +and pinched; sobbing women. Her editor was sorry for the rabbits. Had +often spent a pleasant day with them himself. But, after all, the Human +Race claimed our first sympathies. + +She wanted to abolish sweating. She had climbed the rotting stairways, +seen the famished creatures in their holes. But it seemed that if you +interfered with the complicated system based on sweating then you +dislocated the entire structure of the British export clothing trade. Not +only would these poor creatures lose their admittedly wretched living--but +still a living--but thousands of other innocent victims would also be +involved in the common ruin. All very sad, but half a loaf--or even let +us frankly say a thin slice--is better than no bread at all. + +She wanted board school children's heads examined. She had examined one +or two herself. It seemed to her wrong that healthy children should be +compelled to sit for hours within jumping distance of the diseased. She +thought it better that the dirty should be made fit company for the clean +than the clean should be brought down to the level of the dirty. It +seemed that in doing this you were destroying the independence of the +poor. Opposition reformers, in letters scintillating with paradox, +bristling with classical allusion, denounced her attempt to impose middle- +class ideals upon a too long suffering proletariat. Better far a few +lively little heads than a broken-spirited people robbed of their +parental rights. + +Through Miss Lavery she obtained an introduction to the great Sir +William. He owned a group of popular provincial newspapers, and was most +encouraging. Sir William had often said to himself: + +"What can I do for God who has done so much for me?" It seemed only +fair. + +He asked her down to his "little place in Hampshire," to talk plans over. +The "little place," it turned out, ran to forty bedrooms, and was +surrounded by three hundred acres of park. God had evidently done his +bit quite handsomely. + +It was in a secluded corner of the park that Sir William had gone down +upon one knee and gallantly kissed her hand. His idea was that if she +could regard herself as his "Dear Lady," and allow him the honour and +privilege of being her "True Knight," that, between them, they might +accomplish something really useful. There had been some difficulty about +his getting up again, Sir William being an elderly gentleman subject to +rheumatism, and Joan had had to expend no small amount of muscular effort +in assisting him; so that the episode which should have been symbolical +ended by leaving them both red and breathless. + +He referred to the matter again the same evening in the library while +Lady William slept peacefully in the blue drawing-room; but as it +appeared necessary that the compact should be sealed by a knightly kiss +Joan had failed to ratify it. + +She blamed herself on her way home. The poor old gentleman could easily +have been kept in his place. The suffering of an occasional harmless +caress would have purchased for her power and opportunity. Had it not +been somewhat selfish of her? Should she write to him--see him again? + +She knew that she never would. It was something apart from her reason. +It would not even listen to her. It bade or forbade as if one were a +child without any right to a will of one's own. It was decidedly +exasperating. + +There were others. There were the editors who frankly told her that the +business of a newspaper was to write what its customers wanted to read; +and that the public, so far as they could judge, was just about fed up +with plans for New Jerusalems at their expense. And the editors who were +prepared to take up any number of reforms, insisting only that they +should be new and original and promise popularity. + +And then she met Greyson. + +It was at a lunch given by Mrs. Denton. Greyson was a bachelor and lived +with an unmarried sister, a few years older than himself. He was editor +and part proprietor of an evening paper. It had ideals and was, in +consequence, regarded by the general public with suspicion; but by reason +of sincerity and braininess was rapidly becoming a power. He was a shy, +reserved man with an aristocratic head set upon stooping shoulders. The +face was that of a dreamer, but about the mouth there was suggestion of +the fighter. Joan felt at her ease with him in spite of the air of +detachment that seemed part of his character. Mrs. Denton had paired +them off together; and, during the lunch, one of them--Joan could not +remember which--had introduced the subject of reincarnation. + +Greyson was unable to accept the theory because of the fact that, in old +age, the mind in common with the body is subject to decay. + +"Perhaps by the time I am forty--or let us say fifty," he argued, "I +shall be a bright, intelligent being. If I die then, well and good. I +select a likely baby and go straight on. But suppose I hang about till +eighty and die a childish old gentleman with a mind all gone to seed. +What am I going to do then? I shall have to begin all over again: +perhaps worse off than I was before. That's not going to help us much." + +Joan explained it to him: that old age might be likened to an illness. A +genius lies upon a bed of sickness and babbles childish nonsense. But +with returning life he regains his power, goes on increasing it. The +mind, the soul, has not decayed. It is the lines of communication that +old age has destroyed. + +"But surely you don't believe it?" he demanded. + +"Why not?" laughed Joan. "All things are possible. It was the +possession of a hand that transformed monkeys into men. We used to take +things up, you know, and look at them, and wonder and wonder and wonder, +till at last there was born a thought and the world became visible. It +is curiosity that will lead us to the next great discovery. We must take +things up; and think and think and think till one day there will come +knowledge, and we shall see the universe." + +Joan always avoided getting excited when she thought of it. + +"I love to make you excited," Flossie had once confessed to her in the +old student days. "You look so ridiculously young and you are so pleased +with yourself, laying down the law." + +She did not know she had given way to it. He was leaning back in his +chair, looking at her; and the tired look she had noticed in his eyes, +when she had been introduced to him in the drawing-room, had gone out of +them. + +During the coffee, Mrs. Denton beckoned him to come to her; and Miss +Greyson crossed over and took his vacant chair. She had been sitting +opposite to them. + +"I've been hearing so much about you," she said. "I can't help thinking +that you ought to suit my brother's paper. He has all your ideas. Have +you anything that you could send him?" + +Joan considered a moment. + +"Nothing very startling," she answered. "I was thinking of a series of +articles on the old London Churches--touching upon the people connected +with them and the things they stood for. I've just finished the first +one." + +"It ought to be the very thing," answered Miss Greyson. She was a thin, +faded woman with a soft, plaintive voice. "It will enable him to judge +your style. He's particular about that. Though I'm confident he'll like +it," she hastened to add. "Address it to me, will you. I assist him as +much as I can." + +Joan added a few finishing touches that evening, and posted it; and a day +or two later received a note asking her to call at the office. + +"My sister is enthusiastic about your article on Chelsea Church and +insists on my taking the whole series," Greyson informed her. "She says +you have the Stevensonian touch." + +Joan flushed with pleasure. + +"And you," she asked, "did you think it had the Stevensonian touch?" + +"No," he answered, "it seemed to me to have more of your touch." + +"What's that like?" she demanded. + +"They couldn't suppress you," he explained. "Sir Thomas More with his +head under his arm, bloody old Bluebeard, grim Queen Bess, snarling old +Swift, Pope, Addison, Carlyle--the whole grisly crowd of them! I could +see you holding your own against them all, explaining things to them, +getting excited." He laughed. + +His sister joined them, coming in from the next room. She had a proposal +to make. It was that Joan should take over the weekly letter from +"Clorinda." It was supposed to give the views of a--perhaps +unusually--sane and thoughtful woman upon the questions of the day. Miss +Greyson had hitherto conducted it herself, but was wishful as she +explained to be relieved of it; so that she might have more time for home +affairs. It would necessitate Joan's frequent attendance at the office; +for there would be letters from the public to be answered, and points to +be discussed with her brother. She was standing behind his chair with +her hands upon his head. There was something strangely motherly about +her whole attitude. + +Greyson was surprised, for the Letter had been her own conception, and +had grown into a popular feature. But she was evidently in earnest; and +Joan accepted willingly. "Clorinda" grew younger, more self-assertive; +on the whole more human. But still so eminently "sane" and reasonable. + +"We must not forget that she is quite a respectable lady, +connected--according to her own account--with the higher political +circles," Joan's editor would insist, with a laugh. + +Miss Greyson, working in the adjoining room, would raise her head and +listen. She loved to hear him laugh. + +"It's absurd," Flossie told her one morning, as having met by chance they +were walking home together along the Embankment. "You're not 'Clorinda'; +you ought to be writing letters to her, not from her, waking her up, +telling her to come off her perch, and find out what the earth feels +like. I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll trot you round to Carleton. If +you're out for stirring up strife and contention, well, that's his game, +too. He'll use you for his beastly sordid ends. He'd have roped in John +the Baptist if he'd been running the 'Jerusalem Star' at the time, and +have given him a daily column for so long as the boom lasted. What's +that matter, if he's willing to give you a start?" + +Joan jibbed at first. But in the end Flossie's arguments prevailed. One +afternoon, a week later, she was shown into Carleton's private room, and +the door closed behind her. The light was dim, and for a moment she +could see no one; until Carleton, who had been standing near one of the +windows, came forward and placed a chair for her. And they both sat +down. + +"I've glanced through some of your things," he said. "They're all right. +They're alive. What's your idea?" + +Remembering Flossie's counsel, she went straight to the point. She +wanted to talk to the people. She wanted to get at them. If she had +been a man, she would have taken a chair and gone to Hyde Park. As it +was, she hadn't the nerve for Hyde Park. At least she was afraid she +hadn't. It might have to come to that. There was a trembling in her +voice that annoyed her. She was so afraid she might cry. She wasn't out +for anything crazy. She wanted only those things done that could be done +if the people would but lift their eyes, look into one another's faces, +see the wrong and the injustice that was all around them, and swear that +they would never rest till the pain and the terror had been driven from +the land. She wanted soldiers--men and women who would forget their own +sweet selves, not counting their own loss, thinking of the greater gain; +as in times of war and revolution, when men gave even their lives gladly +for a dream, for a hope-- + +Without warning he switched on the electric lamp that stood upon the +desk, causing her to draw back with a start. + +"All right," he said. "Go ahead. You shall have your tub, and a weekly +audience of a million readers for as long as you can keep them +interested. Up with anything you like, and down with everything you +don't. Be careful not to land me in a libel suit. Call the whole Bench +of Bishops hypocrites, and all the ground landlords thieves, if you will: +but don't mention names. And don't get me into trouble with the police. +Beyond that, I shan't interfere with you." + +She was about to speak. + +"One stipulation," he went on, "that every article is headed with your +photograph." + +He read the sudden dismay in her eyes. + +"How else do you think you are going to attract their attention?" he +asked her. "By your eloquence! Hundreds of men and women as eloquent as +you could ever be are shouting to them every day. Who takes any notice +of them? Why should they listen any the more to you--another cranky +highbrow: some old maid, most likely, with a bony throat and a beaky +nose. If Woman is going to come into the fight she will have to use her +own weapons. If she is prepared to do that she'll make things hum with a +vengeance. She's the biggest force going, if she only knew it." + +He had risen and was pacing the room. + +"The advertiser has found that out, and is showing the way." He snatched +at an illustrated magazine, fresh from the press, that had been placed +upon his desk, and opened it at the first page. "Johnson's Blacking," he +read out, "advertised by a dainty little minx, showing her ankles. Who's +going to stop for a moment to read about somebody's blacking? If a saucy +little minx isn't there to trip him up with her ankles!" + +He turned another page. "Do you suffer from gout? Classical lady +preparing to take a bath and very nearly ready. The old Johnny in the +train stops to look at her. Reads the advertisement because she seems to +want him to. Rubber heels. Save your boot leather! Lady in evening +dress--jolly pretty shoulders--waves them in front of your eyes. +Otherwise you'd never think of them." + +He fluttered the pages. Then flung the thing across to her. + +"Look at it," he said. "Fountain pens--Corn plasters--Charitable +appeals--Motor cars--Soaps--Grand pianos. It's the girl in tights and +spangles outside the show that brings them trooping in." + +"Let them see you," he continued. "You say you want soldiers. Throw off +your veil and call for them. Your namesake of France! Do you think if +she had contented herself with writing stirring appeals that Orleans +would have fallen? She put on a becoming suit of armour and got upon a +horse where everyone could see her. Chivalry isn't dead. You modern +women are ashamed of yourselves--ashamed of your sex. You don't give it +a chance. Revive it. Stir the young men's blood. Their souls will +follow." + +He reseated himself and leant across towards her. + +"I'm not talking business," he said. "This thing's not going to mean +much to me one way or the other. I want you to win. Farm labourers +bringing up families on twelve and six a week. Shirt hands working half +into the night for three farthings an hour. Stinking dens for men to +live in. Degraded women. Half fed children. It's damnable. Tell them +it's got to stop. That the Eternal Feminine has stepped out of the +poster and commands it." + +A dapper young man opened the door and put his head into the room. + +"Railway smash in Yorkshire," he announced. + +Carleton sat up. "Much of a one?" he asked. + +The dapper gentleman shrugged his shoulders. "Three killed, eight +injured, so far," he answered. + +Carleton's interest appeared to collapse. + +"Stop press column?" asked the dapper gentleman. + +"Yes, I suppose so," replied Carleton. "Unless something better turns +up." + +The dapper young gentleman disappeared. Joan had risen. + +"May I talk it over with a friend?" she asked. "Myself, I'm inclined to +accept." + +"You will, if you're in earnest," he answered. "I'll give you twenty- +four hours. Look in to-morrow afternoon, and see Finch. It will be for +the _Sunday Post_--the Inset. We use surfaced paper for that and can do +you justice. Finch will arrange about the photograph." He held out his +hand. "Shall be seeing you again," he said. + +It was but a stone's throw to the office of the _Evening Gazette_. She +caught Greyson just as he was leaving and put the thing before him. His +sister was with him. + +He did not answer at first. He was walking to and fro; and, catching his +foot in the waste paper basket, he kicked it savagely out of his way, so +that the contents were scattered over the room. + +"Yes, he's right," he said. "It was the Virgin above the altar that +popularized Christianity. Her face has always been woman's fortune. If +she's going to become a fighter, it will have to be her weapon." + +He had used almost the same words that Carleton had used. + +"I so want them to listen to me," she said. "After all, it's only like +having a very loud voice." + +He looked at her and smiled. "Yes," he said, "it's a voice men will +listen to." + +Mary Greyson was standing by the fire. She had not spoken hitherto. + +"You won't give up 'Clorinda'?" she asked. + +Joan had intended to do so, but something in Mary's voice caused her, +against her will, to change her mind. + +"Of course not," she answered. "I shall run them both. It will be like +writing Jekyll and Hyde." + +"What will you sign yourself?" he asked. + +"My own name, I think," she said. "Joan Allway." + +Miss Greyson suggested her coming home to dinner with them; but Joan +found an excuse. She wanted to be alone. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The twilight was fading as she left the office. She turned northward, +choosing a broad, ill-lighted road. It did not matter which way she +took. She wanted to think; or, rather, to dream. + +It would all fall out as she had intended. She would commence by +becoming a power in journalism. She was reconciled now to the photograph +idea--was even keen on it herself. She would be taken full face so that +she would be looking straight into the eyes of her readers as she talked +to them. It would compel her to be herself; just a hopeful, loving +woman: a little better educated than the majority, having had greater +opportunity: a little further seeing, maybe, having had more leisure for +thought: but otherwise, no whit superior to any other young, eager woman +of the people. This absurd journalistic pose of omniscience, of +infallibility--this non-existent garment of supreme wisdom that, like the +King's clothes in the fairy story, was donned to hide his nakedness by +every strutting nonentity of Fleet Street! She would have no use for it. +It should be a friend, a comrade, a fellow-servant of the great Master, +taking counsel with them, asking their help. Government by the people +for the people! It must be made real. These silent, thoughtful-looking +workers, hurrying homewards through the darkening streets; these patient, +shrewd-planning housewives casting their shadows on the drawn-down +blinds: it was they who should be shaping the world, not the journalists +to whom all life was but so much "copy." This monstrous conspiracy, once +of the Sword, of the Church, now of the Press, that put all Government +into the hands of a few stuffy old gentlemen, politicians, leader +writers, without sympathy or understanding: it was time that it was swept +away. She would raise a new standard. It should be, not "Listen to me, +oh ye dumb," but, "Speak to me. Tell me your hidden hopes, your fears, +your dreams. Tell me your experience, your thoughts born of knowledge, +of suffering." + +She would get into correspondence with them, go among them, talk to them. +The difficulty, at first, would be in getting them to write to her, to +open their minds to her. These voiceless masses that never spoke, but +were always being spoken for by self-appointed "leaders," +"representatives," who immediately they had climbed into prominence took +their place among the rulers, and then from press and platform shouted to +them what they were to think and feel. It was as if the Drill-Sergeant +were to claim to be the "leader," the "representative" of his squad; or +the sheep-dog to pose as the "delegate" of the sheep. Dealt with always +as if they were mere herds, mere flocks, they had almost lost the power +of individual utterance. One would have to teach them, encourage them. + +She remembered a Sunday class she had once conducted; and how for a long +time she had tried in vain to get the children to "come in," to take a +hand. That she might get in touch with them, understand their small +problems, she had urged them to ask questions. And there had fallen such +long silences. Until, at last, one cheeky ragamuffin had piped out: + +"Please, Miss, have you got red hair all over you? Or only on your +head?" + +For answer she had rolled up her sleeve, and let them examine her arm. +And then, in her turn, had insisted on rolling up his sleeve, revealing +the fact that his arms above the wrists had evidently not too recently +been washed; and the episode had ended in laughter and a babel of shrill +voices. And, at once, they were a party of chums, discussing matters +together. + +They were but children, these tired men and women, just released from +their day's toil, hastening homeward to their play, or to their evening +tasks. A little humour, a little understanding, a recognition of the +wonderful likeness of us all to one another underneath our outward +coverings was all that was needed to break down the barrier, establish +comradeship. She stood aside a moment to watch them streaming by. Keen, +strong faces were among them, high, thoughtful brows, kind eyes; they +must learn to think, to speak for themselves. + +She would build again the Forum. The people's business should no longer +be settled for them behind lackey-guarded doors. The good of the farm +labourer should be determined not exclusively by the squire and his +relations. The man with the hoe, the man with the bent back and the +patient ox-like eyes: he, too, should be invited to the Council board. +Middle-class domestic problems should be solved not solely by fine +gentlemen from Oxford; the wife of the little clerk should be allowed her +say. War or peace, it should no longer be regarded as a question +concerning only the aged rich. The common people--the cannon fodder, the +men who would die, and the women who would weep: they should be given +something more than the privilege of either cheering platform patriots or +being summoned for interrupting public meetings. + +From a dismal side street there darted past her a small, shapeless figure +in crumpled cap and apron: evidently a member of that lazy, over-indulged +class, the domestic servant. Judging from the talk of the drawing-rooms, +the correspondence in the papers, a singularly unsatisfactory body. They +toiled not, lived in luxury and demanded grand pianos. Someone had +proposed doing something for them. They themselves--it seemed that even +they had a sort of conscience--were up in arms against it. Too much +kindness even they themselves perceived was bad for them. They were +holding a meeting that night to explain how contented they were. Six +peeresses had consented to attend, and speak for them. + +Likely enough that there were good-for-nothing, cockered menials imposing +upon incompetent mistresses. There were pampered slaves in Rome. But +these others. These poor little helpless sluts. There were thousands +such in every city, over-worked and under-fed, living lonely, +pleasureless lives. They must be taught to speak in other voices than +the dulcet tones of peeresses. By the light of the guttering candles, +from their chill attics, they should write to her their ill-spelt +visions. + +She had reached a quiet, tree-bordered road, surrounding a great park. +Lovers, furtively holding hands, passed her by, whispering. + +She would write books. She would choose for her heroine a woman of the +people. How full of drama, of tragedy must be their stories: their +problems the grim realities of life, not only its mere sentimental +embroideries. The daily struggle for bare existence, the ever-shadowing +menace of unemployment, of illness, leaving them helpless amid the +grinding forces crushing them down on every side. The ceaseless need for +courage, for cunning. For in the kingdom of the poor the tyrant and the +oppressor still sit in the high places, the robber still rides fearless. + +In a noisy, flaring street, a thin-clad woman passed her, carrying a +netted bag showing two loaves. In a flash, it came to her what it must +mean to the poor; this daily bread that in comfortable homes had come to +be regarded as a thing like water; not to be considered, to be used +without stint, wasted, thrown about. Borne by those feeble, knotted +hands, Joan saw it revealed as something holy: hallowed by labour; +sanctified by suffering, by sacrifice; worshipped with fear and prayer. + +In quiet streets of stately houses, she caught glimpses through +uncurtained windows of richly-laid dinner-tables about which servants +moved noiselessly, arranging flowers and silver. She wondered idly if +she would every marry. A gracious hostess, gathering around her +brilliant men and women, statesmen, writers, artists, captains of +industry: counselling them, even learning from them: encouraging shy +genius. Perhaps, in a perfectly harmless way, allowing it the +inspiration derivable from a well-regulated devotion to herself. A salon +that should be the nucleus of all those forces that influence influences, +over which she would rule with sweet and wise authority. The idea +appealed to her. + +Into the picture, slightly to the background, she unconsciously placed +Greyson. His tall, thin figure with its air of distinction seemed to fit +in; Greyson would be very restful. She could see his handsome, ascetic +face flush with pleasure as, after the guests were gone, she would lean +over the back of his chair and caress for a moment his dark, soft hair +tinged here and there with grey. He would always adore her, in that +distant, undemonstrative way of his that would never be tiresome or +exacting. They would have children. But not too many. That would make +the house noisy and distract her from her work. They would be beautiful +and clever; unless all the laws of heredity were to be set aside for her +especial injury. She would train them, shape them to be the heirs of her +labour, bearing her message to the generations that should follow. + +At a corner where the trams and buses stopped she lingered for a while, +watching the fierce struggle; the weak and aged being pushed back time +after time, hardly seeming to even resent it, regarding it as in the +natural order of things. It was so absurd, apart from the injustice, the +brutality of it! The poor, fighting among themselves! She felt as once +when watching a crowd of birds to whom she had thrown a handful of crumbs +in winter time. As if they had not enemies enough: cats, weasels, rats, +hawks, owls, the hunger and the cold. And added to all, they must needs +make the struggle yet harder for one another: pecking at each other's +eyes, joining with one another to attack the fallen. These tired men, +these weary women, pale-faced lads and girls, why did they not organize +among themselves some system that would do away with this daily warfare +of each against all. If only they could be got to grasp the fact that +they were one family, bound together by suffering. Then, and not till +then, would they be able to make their power felt? That would have to +come first: the _Esprit de Corps_ of the Poor. + +In the end she would go into Parliament. It would be bound to come soon, +the woman's vote. And after that the opening of all doors would follow. +She would wear her college robes. It would be far more fitting than a +succession of flimsy frocks that would have no meaning in them. What +pity it was that the art of dressing--its relation to life--was not +better understood. What beauty-hating devil had prompted the workers to +discard their characteristic costumes that had been both beautiful and +serviceable for these hateful slop-shop clothes that made them look like +walking scarecrows. Why had the coming of Democracy coincided seemingly +with the spread of ugliness: dull towns, mean streets, paper-strewn +parks, corrugated iron roofs, Christian chapels that would be an insult +to a heathen idol; hideous factories (Why need they be hideous!); chimney- +pot hats, baggy trousers, vulgar advertisements, stupid fashions for +women that spoilt every line of their figure: dinginess, drabness, +monotony everywhere. It was ugliness that was strangling the soul of the +people; stealing from them all dignity, all self-respect, all honour for +one another; robbing them of hope, of reverence, of joy in life. + +Beauty. That was the key to the riddle. All Nature: its golden sunsets +and its silvery dawns; the glory of piled-up clouds, the mystery of +moonlit glades; its rivers winding through the meadows; the calling of +its restless seas; the tender witchery of Spring; the blazonry of autumn +woods; its purple moors and the wonder of its silent mountains; its +cobwebs glittering with a thousand jewels; the pageantry of starry +nights. Form, colour, music! The feathered choristers of bush and brake +raising their matin and their evensong, the whispering of the leaves, the +singing of the waters, the voices of the winds. Beauty and grace in +every living thing, but man. The leaping of the hares, the grouping of +cattle, the flight of swallows, the dainty loveliness of insects' wings, +the glossy skin of horses rising and falling to the play of mighty +muscles. Was it not seeking to make plain to us that God's language was +beauty. Man must learn beauty that he may understand God. + +She saw the London of the future. Not the vision popular just then: a +soaring whirl of machinery in motion, of moving pavements and flying +omnibuses; of screaming gramophones and standardized "homes": a city +where Electricity was King and man its soulless slave. But a city of +peace, of restful spaces, of leisured men and women; a city of fine +streets and pleasant houses, where each could live his own life, learning +freedom, individuality; a city of noble schools; of workshops that should +be worthy of labour, filled with light and air; smoke and filth driven +from the land: science, no longer bound to commercialism, having +discovered cleaner forces; a city of gay playgrounds where children +should learn laughter; of leafy walks where the creatures of the wood and +field should be as welcome guests helping to teach sympathy and +kindliness: a city of music, of colour, of gladness. Beauty worshipped +as religion; ugliness banished as a sin: no ugly slums, no ugly cruelty, +no slatternly women and brutalized men, no ugly, sobbing children; no +ugly vice flaunting in every highway its insult to humanity: a city clad +in beauty as with a living garment where God should walk with man. + +She had reached a neighbourhood of narrow, crowded streets. The women +were mostly without hats; and swarthy men, rolling cigarettes, lounged +against doorways. The place had a quaint foreign flavour. Tiny cafes, +filled with smoke and noise, and clean, inviting restaurants abounded. +She was feeling hungry, and, choosing one the door of which stood open, +revealing white tablecloths and a pleasant air of cheerfulness, she +entered. It was late and the tables were crowded. Only at one, in a far +corner, could she detect a vacant place, opposite to a slight, pretty- +looking girl very quietly dressed. She made her way across and the girl, +anticipating her request, welcomed her with a smile. They ate for a +while in silence, divided only by the narrow table, their heads, when +they leant forward, almost touching. Joan noticed the short, white +hands, the fragrance of some delicate scent. There was something odd +about her. She seemed to be unnecessarily conscious of being alone. +Suddenly she spoke. + +"Nice little restaurant, this," she said. "One of the few places where +you can depend upon not being annoyed." + +Joan did not understand. "In what way?" she asked. + +"Oh, you know, men," answered the girl. "They come and sit down opposite +to you, and won't leave you alone. At most of the places, you've got to +put up with it or go outside. Here, old Gustav never permits it." + +Joan was troubled. She was rather looking forward to occasional +restaurant dinners, where she would be able to study London's Bohemia. + +"You mean," she asked, "that they force themselves upon you, even if you +make it plain--" + +"Oh, the plainer you make it that you don't want them, the more sport +they think it," interrupted the girl with a laugh. + +Joan hoped she was exaggerating. "I must try and select a table where +there is some good-natured girl to keep me in countenance," she said with +a smile. + +"Yes, I was glad to see you," answered the girl. "It's hateful, dining +by oneself. Are you living alone?" + +"Yes," answered Joan. "I'm a journalist." + +"I thought you were something," answered the girl. "I'm an artist. Or, +rather, was," she added after a pause. + +"Why did you give it up?" asked Joan. + +"Oh, I haven't given it up, not entirely," the girl answered. "I can +always get a couple of sovereigns for a sketch, if I want it, from one or +another of the frame-makers. And they can generally sell them for a +fiver. I've seen them marked up. Have you been long in London?" + +"No," answered Joan. "I'm a Lancashire lass." + +"Curious," said the girl, "so am I. My father's a mill manager near +Bolton. You weren't educated there?" + +"No," Joan admitted. "I went to Rodean at Brighton when I was ten years +old, and so escaped it. Nor were you," she added with a smile, "judging +from your accent." + +"No," answered the other, "I was at Hastings--Miss Gwyn's. Funny how we +seem to have always been near to one another. Dad wanted me to be a +doctor. But I'd always been mad about art." + +Joan had taken a liking to the girl. It was a spiritual, vivacious face +with frank eyes and a firm mouth; and the voice was low and strong. + +"Tell me," she said, "what interfered with it?" Unconsciously she was +leaning forward, her chin supported by her hands. Their faces were very +near to one another. + +The girl looked up. She did not answer for a moment. There came a +hardening of the mouth before she spoke. + +"A baby," she said. "Oh, it was my own fault," she continued. "I wanted +it. It was all the talk at the time. You don't remember. Our right to +children. No woman complete without one. Maternity, woman's kingdom. +All that sort of thing. As if the storks brought them. Don't suppose it +made any real difference; but it just helped me to pretend that it was +something pretty and high-class. 'Overmastering passion' used to be the +explanation, before that. I guess it's all much of a muchness: just +natural instinct." + +The restaurant had been steadily emptying. Monsieur Gustav and his ample- +bosomed wife were seated at a distant table, eating their own dinner. + +"Why couldn't you have married?" asked Joan. + +The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Who was there for me to marry?" she +answered. "The men who wanted me: clerks, young tradesmen, down at +home--I wasn't taking any of that lot. And the men I might have fancied +were all of them too poor. There was one student. He's got on since. +Easy enough for him to talk about waiting. Meanwhile. Well, it's like +somebody suggesting dinner to you the day after to-morrow. All right +enough, if you're not troubled with an appetite." + +The waiter came to clear the table. They were almost the last customers +left. The man's tone and manner jarred upon Joan. She had not noticed +it before. Joan ordered coffee and the girl, exchanging a joke with the +waiter, added a liqueur. + +"But why should you give up your art?" persisted Joan. It was that was +sticking in her mind. "I should have thought that, if only for the sake +of the child, you would have gone on with it." + +"Oh, I told myself all that," answered the girl. "Was going to devote my +life to it. Did for nearly two years. Till I got sick of living like a +nun: never getting a bit of excitement. You see, I've got the poison in +me. Or, maybe, it had always been there." + +"What's become of it?" asked Joan. "The child?" + +"Mother's got it," answered the girl. "Seemed best for the poor little +beggar. I'm supposed to be dead, and my husband gone abroad." She gave +a short, dry laugh. "Mother brings him up to see me once a year. They've +got quite fond of him." + +"What are you doing now?" asked Joan, in a low tone. + +"Oh, you needn't look so scared," laughed the girl, "I haven't come down +to that." Her voice had changed. It had a note of shrillness. In some +indescribable way she had grown coarse. "I'm a kept woman," she +explained. "What else is any woman?" + +She reached for her jacket; and the waiter sprang forward and helped her +on with it, prolonging the business needlessly. She wished him "Good +evening" in a tone of distant hauteur, and led the way to the door. +Outside the street was dim and silent. Joan held out her hand. + +"No hope of happy endings," she said with a forced laugh. "Couldn't +marry him I suppose?" + +"He has asked me," answered the girl with a swagger. "Not sure that it +would suit me now. They're not so nice to you when they've got you fixed +up. So long." + +She turned abruptly and walked rapidly away. Joan moved instinctively in +the opposite direction, and after a few minutes found herself in a broad +well-lighted thoroughfare. A newsboy was shouting his wares. + +"'Orrible murder of a woman. Shockin' details. Speshul," repeating it +over and over again in a hoarse, expressionless monotone. + +He was selling the papers like hot cakes; the purchasers too eager to +even wait for their change. She wondered, with a little lump in her +throat, how many would have stopped to buy had he been calling instead: +"Discovery of new sonnet by Shakespeare. Extra special." + +Through swinging doors, she caught glimpses of foul interiors, crowded +with men and women released from their toil, taking their evening +pleasure. From coloured posters outside the great theatres and music +halls, vulgarity and lewdness leered at her, side by side with +announcements that the house was full. From every roaring corner, +scintillating lights flared forth the merits of this public benefactor's +whisky, of this other celebrity's beer: it seemed the only message the +people cared to hear. Even among the sirens of the pavement, she noticed +that the quiet and merely pretty were hardly heeded. It was everywhere +the painted and the overdressed that drew the roving eyes. + +She remembered a pet dog that someone had given her when she was a girl, +and how one afternoon she had walked with the tears streaming down her +face because, in spite of her scoldings and her pleadings, it would keep +stopping to lick up filth from the roadway. A kindly passer-by had +laughed and told her not to mind. + +"Why, that's a sign of breeding, that is, Missie," the man had explained. +"It's the classy ones that are always the worst." + +It had come to her afterwards craving with its soft brown, troubled eyes +for forgiveness. But she had never been able to break it of the habit. + +Must man for ever be chained by his appetites to the unclean: ever be +driven back, dragged down again into the dirt by his own instincts: ever +be rendered useless for all finer purposes by the baseness of his own +desires? + +The City of her Dreams! The mingled voices of the crowd shaped itself +into a mocking laugh. + +It seemed to her that it was she that they were laughing at, pointing her +out to one another, jeering at her, reviling her, threatening her. + +She hurried onward with bent head, trying to escape them. She felt so +small, so helpless. Almost she cried out in her despair. + +She must have walked mechanically. Looking up she found herself in her +own street. And as she reached her doorway the tears came suddenly. + +She heard a quick step behind her, and turning, she saw a man with a +latch key in his hand. He passed her and opened the door; and then, +facing round, stood aside for her to enter. He was a sturdy, thick-set +man with a strong, massive face. It would have been ugly but for the +deep, flashing eyes. There was tenderness and humour in them. + +"We are next floor neighbours," he said. "My name's Phillips." + +Joan thanked him. As he held the door open for her their hands +accidentally touched. Joan wished him good-night and went up the stairs. +There was no light in her room: only the faint reflection of the street +lamp outside. + +She could still see him: the boyish smile. And his voice that had sent +her tears back again as if at the word of command. + +She hoped he had not seen them. What a little fool she was. + +A little laugh escaped her. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +One day Joan, lunching at the club, met Madge Singleton. + +"I've had such a funny letter from Flossie," said Joan, "begging me +almost with tears in her ink to come to her on Sunday evening to meet a +'gentleman friend' of hers, as she calls him, and give her my opinion of +him. What on earth is she up to?" + +"It's all right," answered Madge. "She doesn't really want our opinion +of him--or rather she doesn't want our real opinion of him. She only +wants us to confirm hers. She's engaged to him." + +"Flossie engaged!" Joan seemed surprised. + +"Yes," answered Madge. "It used to be a custom. Young men used to ask +young women to marry them. And if they consented it was called 'being +engaged.' Still prevails, so I am told, in certain classes." + +"Thanks," said Joan. "I have heard of it." + +"I thought perhaps you hadn't from your tone," explained Madge. + +"But if she's already engaged to him, why risk criticism of him," argued +Joan, ignoring Madge's flippancy. "It's too late." + +"Oh, she's going to break it off unless we all assure her that we find +him brainy," Madge explained with a laugh. "It seems her father wasn't +brainy and her mother was. Or else it was the other way about: I'm not +quite sure. But whichever it was, it led to ructions. Myself, if he's +at all possible and seems to care for her, I intend to find him +brilliant." + +"And suppose she repeats her mother's experience," suggested Joan. + +"There were the Norton-Browns," answered Madge. "Impossible to have +found a more evenly matched pair. They both write novels--very good +novels, too; and got jealous of one another; and threw press-notices at +one another's head all breakfast-time; until they separated. Don't know +of any recipe myself for being happy ever after marriage, except not +expecting it." + +"Or keeping out of it altogether," added Joan. + +"Ever spent a day at the Home for Destitute Gentlewomen at East Sheen?" +demanded Madge. + +"Not yet," admitted Joan. "May have to, later on." + +"It ought to be included in every woman's education," Madge continued. +"It is reserved for spinsters of over forty-five. Susan Fleming wrote an +article upon it for the _Teacher's Friend_; and spent an afternoon and +evening there. A month later she married a grocer with five children. +The only sound suggestion for avoiding trouble that I ever came across +was in a burlesque of the _Blue Bird_. You remember the scene where the +spirits of the children are waiting to go down to earth and be made into +babies? Someone had stuck up a notice at the entrance to the gangway: +'Don't get born. It only means worry.'" + +Flossie had her dwelling-place in a second floor bed-sitting-room of a +lodging house in Queen's Square, Bloomsbury; but the drawing-room floor +being for the moment vacant, Flossie had persuaded her landlady to let +her give her party there; it seemed as if fate approved of the idea. The +room was fairly full when Joan arrived. Flossie took her out on the +landing, and closed the door behind them. + +"You will be honest with me, won't you?" pleaded Flossie, "because it's +so important, and I don't seem able to think for myself. As they say, no +man can be his own solicitor, can he? Of course I like him, and all +that--very much. And I really believe he loves me. We were children +together when Mummy was alive; and then he had to go abroad; and has only +just come back. Of course, I've got to think of him, too, as he says. +But then, on the other hand, I don't want to make a mistake. That would +be so terrible, for both of us; and of course I am clever; and there was +poor Mummy and Daddy. I'll tell you all about them one day. It was so +awfully sad. Get him into a corner and talk to him. You'll be able to +judge in a moment, you're so wonderful. He's quiet on the outside, but I +think there's depth in him. We must go in now." + +She had talked so rapidly Joan felt as if her hat were being blown away. +She had difficulty in recognizing Flossie. All the cocksure pertness had +departed. She seemed just a kid. + +Joan promised faithfully; and Flossie, standing on tiptoe, suddenly +kissed her and then bustled her in. + +Flossie's young man was standing near the fire talking, or rather +listening, to a bird-like little woman in a short white frock and blue +ribbons. A sombre lady just behind her, whom Joan from the distance took +to be her nurse, turned out to be her secretary, whose duty it was to be +always at hand, prepared to take down any happy idea that might occur to +the bird-like little woman in the course of conversation. The bird-like +little woman was Miss Rose Tolley, a popular novelist. She was +explaining to Flossie's young man, whose name was Sam Halliday, the +reason for her having written "Running Waters," her latest novel. + +"It is daring," she admitted. "I must be prepared for opposition. But +it had to be stated." + +"I take myself as typical," she continued. "When I was twenty I could +have loved you. You were the type of man I did love." + +Mr. Halliday, who had been supporting the weight of his body upon his +right leg, transferred the burden to his left. + +"But now I'm thirty-five; and I couldn't love you if I tried." She shook +her curls at him. "It isn't your fault. It is that I have changed. +Suppose I'd married you?" + +"Bit of bad luck for both of us," suggested Mr. Halliday. + +"A tragedy," Miss Tolley corrected him. "There are millions of such +tragedies being enacted around us at this moment. Sensitive women +compelled to suffer the embraces of men that they have come to loathe. +What's to be done?" + +Flossie, who had been hovering impatient, broke in. + +"Oh, don't you believe her," she advised Mr. Halliday. "She loves you +still. She's only teasing you. This is Joan." + +She introduced her. Miss Tolley bowed; and allowed herself to be drawn +away by a lank-haired young man who had likewise been waiting for an +opening. He represented the Uplift Film Association of Chicago, and was +wishful to know if Miss Tolley would consent to altering the last chapter +and so providing "Running Waters" with a happy ending. He pointed out +the hopelessness of it in its present form, for film purposes. + +The discussion was brief. "Then I'll send your agent the contract to- +morrow," Joan overheard him say a minute later. + +Mr. Sam Halliday she liked at once. He was a clean-shaven, square-jawed +young man, with quiet eyes and a pleasant voice. + +"Try and find me brainy," he whispered to her, as soon as Flossie was out +of earshot. "Talk to me about China. I'm quite intelligent on China." + +They both laughed, and then shot a guilty glance in Flossie's direction. + +"Do the women really crush their feet?" asked Joan. + +"Yes," he answered. "All those who have no use for them. About one per +cent. of the population. To listen to Miss Tolley you would think that +half the women wanted a new husband every ten years. It's always the one +per cent. that get themselves talked about. The other ninety-nine are +too busy." + +"You are young for a philosopher," said Joan. + +He laughed. "I told you I'd be all right if you started me on China," he +said. + +"Why are you marrying. Flossie?" Joan asked him. She thought his point +of view would be interesting. + +"Not sure I am yet," he answered with a grin. "It depends upon how I get +through this evening." He glanced round the room. "Have I got to pass +all this crowd, I wonder?" he added. + +Joan's eyes followed. It was certainly an odd collection. Flossie, in +her hunt for brains, had issued her invitations broadcast; and her fate +had been that of the Charity concert. Not all the stars upon whom she +had most depended had turned up. On the other hand not a single freak +had failed her. At the moment, the centre of the room was occupied by a +gentleman and two ladies in classical drapery. They were holding hands +in an attitude suggestive of a bas-relief. Joan remembered them, having +seen them on one or two occasions wandering in the King's Road, Chelsea; +still maintaining, as far as the traffic would allow, the bas-relief +suggestion; and generally surrounded by a crowd of children, ever hopeful +that at the next corner they would stop and do something really +interesting. They belonged to a society whose object was to lure the +London public by the force of example towards the adoption of the early +Greek fashions and the simpler Greek attitudes. A friend of Flossie's +had thrown in her lot with them, but could never be induced to abandon +her umbrella. They also, as Joan told herself, were reformers. Near to +them was a picturesque gentleman with a beard down to his waist whose +"stunt"--as Flossie would have termed it--was hygienic clothing; it +seemed to contain an undue proportion of fresh air. There were ladies in +coats and stand-up collars, and gentlemen with ringlets. More than one +of the guests would have been better, though perhaps not happier, for a +bath. + +"I fancy that's the idea," said Joan. "What will you do if you fail? Go +back to China?" + +"Yes," he answered. "And take her with me. Poor little girl." + +Joan rather resented his tone. + +"We are not all alike," she remarked. "Some of us are quite sane." + +He looked straight into her eyes. "You are," he said. "I have been +reading your articles. They are splendid. I'm going to help." + +"How can you?" she said. "I mean, how will you?" + +"Shipping is my business," he said. "I'm going to help sailor men. See +that they have somewhere decent to go to, and don't get robbed. And then +there are the Lascars, poor devils. Nobody ever takes their part." + +"How did you come across them?" she asked. "The articles, I mean. Did +Flo give them to you?" + +"No," he answered. "Just chance. Caught sight of your photo." + +"Tell me," she said. "If it had been the photo of a woman with a bony +throat and a beaky nose would you have read them?" + +He thought a moment. "Guess not," he answered. "You're just as bad," he +continued. "Isn't it the pale-faced young clergyman with the wavy hair +and the beautiful voice that you all flock to hear? No getting away from +nature. But it wasn't only that." He hesitated. + +"I want to know," she said. + +"You looked so young," he answered. "I had always had the idea that it +was up to the old people to put the world to rights--that all I had to do +was to look after myself. It came to me suddenly while you were talking +to me--I mean while I was reading you: that if you were worrying yourself +about it, I'd got to come in, too--that it would be mean of me not to. It +wasn't like being preached to. It was somebody calling for help." + +Instinctively she held out her hand and he grasped it. + +Flossie came up at the same instant. She wanted to introduce him to Miss +Lavery, who had just arrived. + +"Hullo!" she said. "Are you two concluding a bargain?" + +"Yes," said Joan. "We are founding the League of Youth. You've got to +be in it. We are going to establish branches all round the world." + +Flossie's young man was whisked away. Joan, who had seated herself in a +small chair, was alone for a few minutes. + +Miss Tolley had chanced upon a Human Document, with the help of which she +was hopeful of starting a "Press Controversy" concerning the morality, or +otherwise, of "Running Waters." The secretary stood just behind her, +taking notes. They had drifted quite close. Joan could not help +overhearing. + +"It always seemed to me immoral, the marriage ceremony," the Human +Document was explaining. She was a thin, sallow woman, with an untidy +head and restless eyes that seemed to be always seeking something to look +at and never finding it. "How can we pledge the future? To bind oneself +to live with a man when perhaps we have ceased to care for him; it's +hideous." + +Miss Tolley murmured agreement. + +"Our love was beautiful," continued the Human Document, eager, +apparently, to relate her experience for the common good; "just because +it was a free gift. We were not fettered to one another. At any moment +either of us could have walked out of the house. The idea never occurred +to us; not for years--five, to be exact." + +The secretary, at a sign from Miss Tolley, made a memorandum of it. + +"And then did your feelings towards him change suddenly?" questioned Miss +Tolley. + +"No," explained the Human Document, in the same quick, even tones; "so +far as I was concerned, I was not conscious of any alteration in my own +attitude. But he felt the need of more solitude--for his development. We +parted quite good friends." + +"Oh," said Miss Tolley. "And were there any children?" + +"Only two," answered the Human Document, "both girls." + +"What has become of them?" persisted Miss Tolley. + +The Human Document looked offended. "You do not think I would have +permitted any power on earth to separate them from me, do you?" she +answered. "I said to him, 'They are mine, mine. Where I go, they go. +Where I stay, they stay.' He saw the justice of my argument." + +"And they are with you now?" concluded Miss Tolley. + +"You must come and see them," the Human Document insisted. "Such dear, +magnetic creatures. I superintend their entire education myself. We +have a cottage in Surrey. It's rather a tight fit. You see, there are +seven of us now. But the three girls can easily turn in together for a +night, Abner will be delighted." + +"Abner is your second?" suggested Miss Tolley. + +"My third," the Human Document corrected her. "After Eustace, I married +Ivanoff. I say 'married' because I regard it as the holiest form of +marriage. He had to return to his own country. There was a political +movement on foot. He felt it his duty to go. I want you particularly to +meet the boy. He will interest you." + +Miss Tolley appeared to be getting muddled. "Whose boy?" she demanded. + +"Ivanoff's," explained the Human Document. "He was our only child." + +Flossie appeared, towing a white-haired, distinguished-looking man, a Mr. +Folk. She introduced him and immediately disappeared. Joan wished she +had been left alone a little longer. She would like to have heard more. +Especially was she curious concerning Abner, the lady's third. Would the +higher moral law compel him, likewise, to leave the poor lady saddled +with another couple of children? Or would she, on this occasion, get +in--or rather, get off, first? Her own fancy was to back Abner. She did +catch just one sentence before Miss Tolley, having obtained more food for +reflection than perhaps she wanted, signalled to her secretary that the +note-book might be closed. + +"Woman's right to follow the dictates of her own heart, uncontrolled by +any law," the Human Document was insisting: "That is one of the first +things we must fight for." + +Mr. Folk was a well-known artist. He lived in Paris. "You are +wonderfully like your mother," he told Joan. "In appearance, I mean," he +added. "I knew her when she was Miss Caxton. I acted with her in +America." + +Joan made a swift effort to hide her surprise. She had never heard of +her mother having been upon the stage. + +"I did not know that you had been an actor," she answered. + +"I wasn't really," explained Mr. Folk. "I just walked and talked +naturally. It made rather a sensation at the time. Your mother was a +genius. You have never thought of going on the stage yourself?" + +"No," said Joan. "I don't think I've got what you call the artistic +temperament. I have never felt drawn towards anything of that sort." + +"I wonder," he said. "You could hardly be your mother's daughter without +it." + +"Tell me," said Joan. "What was my mother like? I can only remember her +as more or less of an invalid." + +He did not reply to her question. "Master or Mistress Eminent Artist," +he said; "intends to retire from his or her particular stage, whatever it +may be. That paragraph ought always to be put among the obituary +notices." + +"What's your line?" he asked her. "I take it you have one by your being +here. Besides, I am sure you have. I am an old fighter. I can tell the +young soldier. What's your regiment?" + +Joan laughed. "I'm a drummer boy," she answered. "I beat my drum each +week in a Sunday newspaper, hoping the lads will follow." + +"You feel you must beat that drum," he suggested. "Beat it louder and +louder and louder till all the world shall hear it." + +"Yes," Joan agreed, "I think that does describe me." + +He nodded. "I thought you were an artist," he said. "Don't let them +ever take your drum away from you. You'll go to pieces and get into +mischief without it." + +"I know an old actress," he continued. "She's the mother of four. They +are all on the stage and they've all made their mark. The youngest was +born in her dressing-room, just after the curtain had fallen. She was +playing the Nurse to your mother's Juliet. She is still the best Nurse +that I know. 'Jack's always worrying me to chuck it and devote myself to +the children,' she confided to me one evening, while she was waiting for +her cue. 'But, as I tell him, I'm more helpful to them being with them +half the day alive than all the day dead.' That's an anecdote worth +remembering, when your time comes. If God gives woman a drum he doesn't +mean man to take it away from her. She hasn't got to be playing it for +twenty-four hours a day. I'd like you to have seen your mother's +Cordelia." + +Flossie was tacking her way towards them. Joan acted on impulse. "I +wish you'd give me your address," she said "where I could write to you. +Or perhaps you would not mind my coming and seeing you one day. I would +like you to tell me more about my mother." + +He gave her his address in Paris where he was returning almost +immediately. + +"Do come," he said. "It will take me back thirty-three years. I +proposed to your mother on La Grande Terrasse at St. Germain. We will +walk there. I'm still a bachelor." He laughed, and, kissing her hand, +allowed himself to be hauled away by Flossie, in exchange for Mrs. +Phillips, for whom Miss Lavery had insisted on an invitation. + +Joan had met Mrs. Phillips several times; and once, on the stairs, had +stopped and spoken to her; but had never been introduced to her formally +till now. + +"We have been meaning to call on you so often," panted Mrs. Phillips. The +room was crowded and the exertion of squeezing her way through had winded +the poor lady. "We take so much interest in your articles. My husband--" +she paused for a second, before venturing upon the word, and the aitch +came out somewhat over-aspirated--"reads them most religiously. You must +come and dine with us one evening." + +Joan answered that she would be very pleased. + +"I will find out when Robert is free and run up and let you know," she +continued. "Of course, there are so many demands upon him, especially +during this period of national crisis, that I spare him all the social +duties that I can. But I shall insist on his making an exception in your +case." + +Joan murmured her sense of favour, but hoped she would not be allowed to +interfere with more pressing calls upon Mr. Phillips's time. + +"It will do him good," answered Mrs. Phillips; "getting away from them +all for an hour or two. I don't see much of him myself." + +She glanced round and lowered her voice. "They tell me," she said, "that +you're a B.A." + +"Yes," answered Joan. "One goes in for it more out of vanity, I'm +afraid, than for any real purpose that it serves." + +"I took one or two prizes myself," said Mrs. Phillips. "But, of course, +one forgets things. I was wondering if you would mind if I ran up +occasionally to ask you a question. Of course, as you know, my 'usband +'as 'ad so few advantages"--the lady's mind was concerned with more +important matters, and the aspirates, on this occasion, got themselves +neglected--"It is wonderful what he 'as done without them. But if, now +and then, I could 'elp him--" + +There was something about the poor, foolish painted face, as it looked up +pleadingly, that gave it a momentary touch of beauty. + +"Do," said Joan, speaking earnestly. "I shall be so very pleased if you +will." + +"Thank you," said the woman. Miss Lavery came up in a hurry to introduce +her to Miss Tolley. "I am telling all my friends to read your articles," +she added, resuming the gracious patroness, as she bowed her adieus. + +Joan was alone again for a while. A handsome girl, with her hair cut +short and parted at the side, was discussing diseases of the spine with a +curly-headed young man in a velvet suit. The gentleman was describing +some of the effects in detail. Joan felt there was danger of her being +taken ill if she listened any longer; and seeing Madge's brother near the +door, and unoccupied, she made her way across to him. + +Niel Singleton, or Keeley, as he called himself upon the stage, was quite +unlike his sister. He was short and plump, with a preternaturally solemn +face, contradicted by small twinkling eyes. He motioned Joan to a chair +and told her to keep quiet and not disturb the meeting. + +"Is he brainy?" he whispered after a minute. + +"I like him," said Joan. + +"I didn't ask you if you liked him," he explained to her. "I asked you +if he was brainy. I'm not too sure that you like brainy men." + +"Yes, I do," said Joan. "I like you, sometimes." + +"Now, none of that," he said severely. "It's no good your thinking of +me. I'm wedded to my art. We are talking about Mr. Halliday." + +"What does Madge think of him?" asked Joan. + +"Madge has fallen in love with him, and her judgment is not to be relied +upon," he said. "I suppose you couldn't answer a straight question, if +you tried." + +"Don't be so harsh with me," pleaded Joan meekly. "I'm trying to think. +Yes," she continued, "decidedly he's got brains." + +"Enough for the two of them?" demanded Mr. Singleton. "Because he will +want them. Now think before you speak." + +Joan considered. "Yes," she answered. "I should say he's just the man +to manage her." + +"Then it's settled," he said. "We must save her." + +"Save her from what?" demanded Joan. + +"From his saying to himself: 'This is Flossie's idea of a party. This is +the sort of thing that, if I marry her, I am letting myself in for.' If +he hasn't broken off the engagement already, we may be in time." + +He led the way to the piano. "Tell Madge I want her," he whispered. He +struck a few notes; and then in a voice that drowned every other sound in +the room, struck up a comic song. + +The effect was magical. + +He followed it up with another. This one with a chorus, consisting +chiefly of "Umpty Umpty Umpty Umpty Ay," which was vociferously encored. + +By the time it was done with, Madge had discovered a girl who could sing +"Three Little Pigs;" and a sad, pale-faced gentleman who told stories. At +the end of one of them Madge's brother spoke to Joan in a tone more of +sorrow than of anger. + +"Hardly the sort of anecdote that a truly noble and high-minded young +woman would have received with laughter," he commented. + +"Did I laugh?" said Joan. + +"Your having done so unconsciously only makes the matter worse," observed +Mr. Singleton. "I had hoped it emanated from politeness, not enjoyment." + +"Don't tease her," said Madge. "She's having an evening off." + +Joan and the Singletons were the last to go. They promised to show Mr. +Halliday a short cut to his hotel in Holborn. + +"Have you thanked Miss Lessing for a pleasant evening?" asked Mr. +Singleton, turning to Mr. Halliday. + +He laughed and put his arm round her. "Poor little woman," he said. +"You're looking so tired. It was jolly at the end." He kissed her. + +He had passed through the swing doors; and they were standing on the +pavement waiting for Joan's bus. + +"Why did we all like him?" asked Joan. "Even Miss Lavery. There's +nothing extraordinary about him." + +"Oh yes there is," said Madge. "Love has lent him gilded armour. From +his helmet waves her crest," she quoted. "Most men look fine in that +costume. Pity they can't always wear it." + +The conductor seemed impatient. Joan sprang upon the step and waved her +hand. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Joan was making herself a cup of tea when there came a tap at the door. +It was Mrs. Phillips. + +"I heard you come in," she said. "You're not busy, are you?" + +"No," answered Joan. "I hope you're not. I'm generally in about this +time; and it's always nice to gossip over a dish of tea." + +"Why do you say 'dish' of tea!" asked Mrs. Phillips, as she lowered +herself with evident satisfaction into the easy chair Joan placed for +her. + +"Oh, I don't know," laughed Joan. "Dr. Johnson always talked of a 'dish' +of tea. Gives it a literary flavour." + +"I've heard of him," said Mrs. Phillips. "He's worth reading, isn't he?" + +"Well, he talked more amusingly than he wrote," explained Joan. "Get +Boswell's Life of him. Or I'll lend you mine," she added, "if you'll be +careful of it. You'll find all the passages marked that are best worth +remembering. At least, I think so." + +"Thanks," said Mrs. Phillips. "You see, as the wife of a public man, I +get so little time for study." + +"Is it settled yet?" asked Joan. "Are they going to make room for him in +the Cabinet? + +"I'm afraid so," answered Mrs. Phillips. "Oh, of course, I want him to," +she corrected herself. "And he must, of course, if the King insists upon +it. But I wish it hadn't all come with such a whirl. What shall I have +to do, do you think?" + +Joan was pouring out the tea. "Oh, nothing," she answered, "but just be +agreeable to the right people. He'll tell you who they are. And take +care of him." + +"I wish I'd taken more interest in politics when I was young," said Mrs. +Phillips. "Of course, when I was a girl, women weren't supposed to." + +"Do you know, I shouldn't worry about them, if I were you," Joan advised +her. "Let him forget them when he's with you. A man can have too much +of a good thing," she laughed. + +"I wonder if you're right," mused Mrs. Phillips. "He does often say that +he'd just as soon I didn't talk about them." + +Joan shot a glance from over her cup. The poor puzzled face was staring +into the fire. Joan could almost hear him saying it. + +"I'm sure I am," she said. "Make home-coming a change to him. As you +said yourself the other evening. It's good for him to get away from it +all, now and then." + +"I must try," agreed Mrs. Phillips, looking up. "What sort of things +ought I to talk to him about, do you think?" + +Joan gave an inward sigh. Hadn't the poor lady any friends of her own. +"Oh, almost anything," she answered vaguely: "so long as it's cheerful +and non-political. What used you to talk about before he became a great +man?" + +There came a wistful look into the worried eyes. "Oh, it was all so +different then," she said. "'E just liked to--you know. We didn't seem +to 'ave to talk. 'E was a rare one to tease. I didn't know 'ow clever +'e was, then." + +It seemed a difficult case to advise upon. "How long have you been +married?" Joan asked. + +"Fifteen years," she answered. "I was a bit older than 'im. But I've +never looked my age, they tell me. Lord, what a boy 'e was! Swept you +off your feet, like. 'E wasn't the only one. I'd got a way with me, I +suppose. Anyhow, the men seemed to think so. There was always a few +'anging about. Like flies round a 'oney-pot, Mother used to say." She +giggled. "But 'e wouldn't take No for an answer. And I didn't want to +give it 'im, neither. I was gone on 'im, right enough. No use saying I +wasn't." + +"You must be glad you didn't say No," suggested Joan. + +"Yes," she answered, "'E's got on. I always think of that little poem, +'Lord Burleigh,'" she continued; "whenever I get worrying about myself. +Ever read it?" + +"Yes," answered Joan. "He was a landscape painter, wasn't he?" + +"That's the one," said Mrs. Phillips. "I little thought I was letting +myself in for being the wife of a big pot when Bob Phillips came along in +'is miner's jacket." + +"You'll soon get used to it," Joan told her. "The great thing is not to +be afraid of one's fate, whatever it is; but just to do one's best." It +was rather like talking to a child. + +"You're the right sort to put 'eart into a body. I'm glad I came up," +said Mrs. Phillips. "I get a bit down in the mouth sometimes when 'e +goes off into one of 'is brown studies, and I don't seem to know what +'e's thinking about. But it don't last long. I was always one of the +light-'earted ones." + +They discussed life on two thousand a year; the problems it would +present; and Mrs. Phillips became more cheerful. Joan laid herself out +to be friendly. She hoped to establish an influence over Mrs. Phillips +that should be for the poor lady's good; and, as she felt instinctively, +for poor Phillips's also. It was not an unpleasing face. Underneath the +paint, it was kind and womanly. Joan was sure he would like it better +clean. A few months' attention to diet would make a decent figure of her +and improve her wind. Joan watched her spreading the butter a quarter of +an inch thick upon her toast and restrained with difficulty the impulse +to take it away from her. And her clothes! Joan had seen guys carried +through the streets on the fifth of November that were less obtrusive. + +She remembered, as she was taking her leave, what she had come for: which +was to invite Joan to dinner on the following Friday. + +"It's just a homely affair," she explained. She had recovered her form +and was now quite the lady again. "Two other guests beside yourself: a +Mr. Airlie--I am sure you will like him. He's so dilletanty--and Mr. +McKean. He's the young man upstairs. Have you met him?" + +Joan hadn't: except once on the stairs when, to avoid having to pass her, +he had gone down again and out into the street. From the doorstep she +had caught sight of his disappearing coat-tails round the corner. +Yielding to impishness, she had run after him, and his expression of +blank horror when, glancing over his shoulder, he found her walking +abstractedly three yards behind him, had gladdened all her evening. + +Joan recounted the episode--so far as the doorstep. + +"He tried to be shy with me," said Mrs. Phillips, "but I wouldn't let +him. I chipped him out of it. If he's going to write plays, as I told +him, he will have to get over his fear of a petticoat." + +She offered her cheek, and Joan kissed it, somewhat gingerly. + +"You won't mind Robert not wearing evening dress," she said. "He never +will if he can help it. I shall just slip on a semi-toilette myself." + +Joan had difficulty in deciding on her own frock. Her four evening +dresses, as she walked round them, spread out upon the bed, all looked +too imposing, for what Mrs. Phillips had warned her would be a "homely +affair." She had one other, a greyish-fawn, with sleeves to the elbow, +that she had had made expressly for public dinners and political At +Homes. But that would be going to the opposite extreme, and might seem +discourteous--to her hostess. Besides, "mousey" colours didn't really +suit her. They gave her a curious sense of being affected. In the end +she decided to risk a black crepe-de-chine, square cut, with a girdle of +gold embroidery. There couldn't be anything quieter than black, and the +gold embroidery was of the simplest. She would wear it without any +jewellery whatever: except just a star in her hair. The result, as she +viewed the effect in the long glass, quite satisfied her. Perhaps the +jewelled star did scintillate rather. It had belonged to her mother. But +her hair was so full of shadows: it wanted something to relieve it. Also +she approved the curved line of her bare arms. It was certainly very +beautiful, a woman's arm. She took her gloves in her hand and went down. + +Mr. Phillips was not yet in the room. Mrs. Phillips, in apple-green with +an ostrich feather in her hair, greeted her effusively, and introduced +her to her fellow guests. Mr. Airlie was a slight, elegant gentleman of +uncertain age, with sandy hair and beard cut Vandyke fashion. He asked +Joan's permission to continue his cigarette. + +"You have chosen the better part," he informed her, on her granting it. +"When I'm not smoking, I'm talking." + +Mr. McKean shook her hand vigorously without looking at her. + +"And this is Hilda," concluded Mrs. Phillips. "She ought to be in bed if +she hadn't a naughty Daddy who spoils her." + +A lank, black-haired girl, with a pair of burning eyes looking out of a +face that, but for the thin line of the lips, would have been absolutely +colourless, rose suddenly from behind a bowl of artificial flowers. Joan +could not suppress a slight start; she had not noticed her on entering. +The girl came slowly forward, and Joan felt as if the uncanny eyes were +eating her up. She made an effort and held out her hand with a smile, +and the girl's long thin fingers closed on it in a pressure that hurt. +She did not speak. + +"She only came back yesterday for the half-term," explained Mrs. +Phillips. "There's no keeping her away from her books. 'Twas her own +wish to be sent to boarding-school. How would you like to go to Girton +and be a B.A. like Miss Allway?" she asked, turning to the child. + +Phillips's entrance saved the need of a reply. To the evident surprise +of his wife he was in evening clothes. + +"Hulloa. You've got 'em on," she said. + +He laughed. "I shall have to get used to them sooner or later," he said. + +Joan felt relieved--she hardly knew why--that he bore the test. It was a +well-built, athletic frame, and he had gone to a good tailor. He looked +taller in them; and the strong, clean-shaven face less rugged. + +Joan sat next to him at the round dinner-table with the child the other +side of him. She noticed that he ate as far as possible with his right +hand--his hands were large, but smooth and well shaped--his left +remaining under the cloth, beneath which the child's right hand, when +free, would likewise disappear. For a while the conversation consisted +chiefly of anecdotes by Mr. Airlie. There were few public men and women +about whom he did not know something to their disadvantage. Joan, +listening, found herself repeating the experience of a night or two +previous, when, during a performance of _Hamlet_, Niel Singleton, who was +playing the grave-digger, had taken her behind the scenes. Hamlet, the +King of Denmark and the Ghost were sharing a bottle of champagne in the +Ghost's dressing-room: it happened to be the Ghost's birthday. On her +return to the front of the house, her interest in the play was gone. It +was absurd that it should be so; but the fact remained. + +Mr. Airlie had lunched the day before with a leonine old gentleman who +every Sunday morning thundered forth Social Democracy to enthusiastic +multitudes on Tower Hill. Joan had once listened to him and had almost +been converted: he was so tremendously in earnest. She now learnt that +he lived in Curzon Street, Mayfair, and filled, in private life, the +perfectly legitimate calling of a company promoter in partnership with a +Dutch Jew. His latest prospectus dwelt upon the profits to be derived +from an amalgamation of the leading tanning industries: by means of which +the price of leather could be enormously increased. + +It was utterly illogical; but her interest in the principles of Social +Democracy was gone. + +A very little while ago, Mr. Airlie, in his capacity of second cousin to +one of the ladies concerned, a charming girl but impulsive, had been +called upon to attend a family council of a painful nature. The +gentleman's name took Joan's breath away: it was the name of one of her +heroes, an eminent writer: one might almost say prophet. She had +hitherto read his books with grateful reverence. They pictured for her +the world made perfect; and explained to her just precisely how it was to +be accomplished. But, as far as his own particular corner of it was +concerned, he seemed to have made a sad mess of it. Human nature of +quite an old-fashioned pattern had crept in and spoilt all his own +theories. + +Of course it was unreasonable. The sign-post may remain embedded in +weeds: it notwithstanding points the way to the fair city. She told +herself this, but it left her still short-tempered. She didn't care +which way it pointed. She didn't believe there was any fair city. + +There was a famous preacher. He lived the simple life in a small house +in Battersea, and consecrated all his energies to the service of the +poor. Almost, by his unselfish zeal, he had persuaded Joan of the +usefulness of the church. Mr. Airlie frequently visited him. They +interested one another. What struck Mr. Airlie most was the +self-sacrificing devotion with which the reverend gentleman's wife and +family surrounded him. It was beautiful to see. The calls upon his +moderate purse, necessitated by his wide-spread and much paragraphed +activities, left but a narrow margin for domestic expenses: with the +result that often the only fire in the house blazed brightly in the study +where Mr. Airlie and the reverend gentleman sat talking: while mother and +children warmed themselves with sense of duty in the cheerless kitchen. +And often, as Mr. Airlie, who was of an inquiring turn of mind, had +convinced himself, the only evening meal that resources would permit was +the satisfying supper for one brought by the youngest daughter to her +father where he sat alone in the small dining-room. + +Mr. Airlie, picking daintily at his food, continued his stories: of +philanthropists who paid starvation wages: of feminists who were a holy +terror to their women folk: of socialists who travelled first-class and +spent their winters in Egypt or Monaco: of stern critics of public morals +who preferred the society of youthful affinities to the continued company +of elderly wives: of poets who wrote divinely about babies' feet and +whose children hated them. + +"Do you think it's all true?" Joan whispered to her host. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "No reason why it shouldn't be," he said. +"I've generally found him right." + +"I've never been able myself," he continued, "to understand the Lord's +enthusiasm for David. I suppose it was the Psalms that did it." + +Joan was about to offer comment, but was struck dumb with astonishment on +hearing McKean's voice: it seemed he could talk. He was telling of an +old Scotch peasant farmer. A mean, cantankerous old cuss whose curious +pride it was that he had never given anything away. Not a crust, nor a +sixpence, nor a rag; and never would. Many had been the attempts to make +him break his boast: some for the joke of the thing and some for the +need; but none had ever succeeded. It was his one claim to distinction +and he guarded it. + +One evening it struck him that the milk-pail, standing just inside the +window, had been tampered with. Next day he marked with a scratch the +inside of the pan and, returning later, found the level of the milk had +sunk half an inch. So he hid himself and waited; and at twilight the +next day the window was stealthily pushed open, and two small, terror- +haunted eyes peered round the room. They satisfied themselves that no +one was about and a tiny hand clutching a cracked jug was thrust swiftly +in and dipped into the pan; and the window softly closed. + +He knew the thief, the grandchild of an old bedridden dame who lived some +miles away on the edge of the moor. The old man stood long, watching the +small cloaked figure till it was lost in the darkness. It was not till +he lay upon his dying bed that he confessed it. But each evening, from +that day, he would steal into the room and see to it himself that the +window was left ajar. + +After the coffee, Mrs. Phillips proposed their adjourning to the "drawing- +room" the other side of the folding doors, which had been left open. +Phillips asked her to leave Joan and himself where they were. He wanted +to talk to her. He promised not to bore her for more than ten minutes. + +The others rose and moved away. Hilda came and stood before Joan with +her hands behind her. + +"I am going to bed now," she said. "I wanted to see you from what Papa +told me. May I kiss you?" + +It was spoken so gravely that Joan did not ask her, as in lighter mood +she might have done, what it was that Phillips had said. She raised her +face quietly, and the child bent forward and kissed her, and went out +without looking back at either of them, leaving Joan more serious than +there seemed any reason for. Phillips filled his pipe and lighted it. + +"I wish I had your pen," he said, suddenly breaking the silence. "I'm +all right at talking; but I want to get at the others: the men and women +who never come, thinking it has nothing to do with them. I'm shy and +awkward when I try to write. There seems a barrier in front of me. You +break through it. One hears your voice. Tell me," he said, "are you +getting your way? Do they answer you?" + +"Yes," said Joan. "Not any great number of them, not yet. But enough to +show that I really am interesting them. It grows every week." + +"Tell them that," he said. "Let them hear each other. It's the same at +a meeting. You wait ten minutes sometimes before one man will summon up +courage to put a question; but once one or two have ventured they spring +up all round you. I was wondering," he added, "if you would help me; let +me use you, now and again." + +"It is what I should love," she answered. "Tell me what to do." She was +not conscious of the low, vibrating tone in which she spoke. + +"I want to talk to them," he said, "about their stomachs. I want them to +see the need of concentrating upon the food problem: insisting that it +shall be solved. The other things can follow." + +"There was an old Egyptian chap," he said, "a governor of one of their +provinces, thousands of years before the Pharaohs were ever heard of. +They dug up his tomb a little while ago. It bore this inscription: 'In +my time no man went hungry.' I'd rather have that carved upon my +gravestone than the boastings of all the robbers and the butchers of +history. Think what it must have meant in that land of drought and +famine: only a narrow strip of river bank where a grain of corn would +grow; and that only when old Nile was kind. If not, your nearest +supplies five hundred miles away across the desert, your only means of +transport the slow-moving camel. Your convoy must be guarded against +attack, provided with provisions and water for a two months' journey. Yet +he never failed his people. Fat year and lean year: 'In my time no man +went hungry.' And here, to-day, with our steamships and our railways, +with the granaries of the world filled to overflowing, one third of our +population lives on the border line of want. In India they die by the +roadside. What's the good of it all: your science and your art and your +religion! How can you help men's souls if their bodies are starving? A +hungry man's a hungry beast. + +"I spent a week at Grimsby, some years ago, organizing a fisherman's +union. They used to throw the fish back into the sea, tons upon tons of +it, that men had risked their lives to catch, that would have fed half +London's poor. There was a 'glut' of it, they said. The 'market' didn't +want it. Funny, isn't it, a 'glut' of food: and the kiddies can't learn +their lessons for want of it. I was talking with a farmer down in Kent. +The plums were rotting on his trees. There were too many of them: that +was the trouble. The railway carriage alone would cost him more than he +could get for them. They were too cheap. So nobody could have them. +It's the muddle of the thing that makes me mad--the ghastly muddle-headed +way the chief business of the world is managed. There's enough food +could be grown in this country to feed all the people and then of the +fragments each man might gather his ten basketsful. There's no miracle +needed. I went into the matter once with Dalroy of the Board of +Agriculture. He's the best man they've got, if they'd only listen to +him. It's never been organized: that's all. It isn't the fault of the +individual. It ought not to be left to the individual. The man who +makes a corner in wheat in Chicago and condemns millions to +privation--likely enough, he's a decent sort of fellow in himself: a kind +husband and father--would be upset for the day if he saw a child crying +for bread. My dog's a decent enough little chap, as dogs go, but I don't +let him run my larder. + +"It could be done with a little good will all round," he continued, "and +nine men out of every ten would be the better off. But they won't even +let you explain. Their newspapers shout you down. It's such a damned +fine world for the few: never mind the many. My father was a farm +labourer: and all his life he never earned more than thirteen and +sixpence a week. I left when I was twelve and went into the mines. There +were six of us children; and my mother brought us up healthy and decent. +She fed us and clothed us and sent us to school; and when she died we +buried her with the money she had put by for the purpose; and never a +penny of charity had ever soiled her hands. I can see them now. Talk of +your Chancellors of the Exchequer and their problems! She worked herself +to death, of course. Well, that's all right. One doesn't mind that +where one loves. If they would only let you. She had no opposition to +contend with--no thwarting and hampering at every turn--the very people +you are working for hounded on against you. The difficulty of a man like +myself, who wants to do something, who could do something, is that for +the best part of his life he is fighting to be allowed to do it. By the +time I've lived down their lies and got my chance, my energy will be +gone." + +He knocked the ashes from his pipe and relit it. + +"I've no quarrel with the rich," he said. "I don't care how many rich +men there are, so long as there are no poor. Who does? I was riding on +a bus the other day, and there was a man beside me with a bandaged head. +He'd been hurt in that railway smash at Morpeth. He hadn't claimed +damages from the railway company and wasn't going to. 'Oh, it's only a +few scratches,' he said. 'They'll be hit hard enough as it is.' If he'd +been a poor devil on eighteen shillings a week it would have been +different. He was an engineer earning good wages; so he wasn't feeling +sore and bitter against half the world. Suppose you tried to run an army +with your men half starved while your officers had more than they could +eat. It's been tried and what's been the result? See that your soldiers +have their proper rations, and the General can sit down to his six-course +dinner, if he will. They are not begrudging it to him. + +"A nation works on its stomach. Underfeed your rank and file, and what +sort of a fight are you going to put up against your rivals. I want to +see England going ahead. I want to see her workers properly fed. I want +to see the corn upon her unused acres, the cattle grazing on her wasted +pastures. I object to the food being thrown into the sea--left to rot +upon the ground while men are hungry--side-tracked in Chicago, while the +children grow up stunted. I want the commissariat properly organized." + +He had been staring through her rather than at her, so it had seemed to +Joan. Suddenly their eyes met, and he broke into a smile. + +"I'm so awfully sorry," he said. "I've been talking to you as if you +were a public meeting. I'm afraid I'm more used to them than I am to +women. Please forgive me." + +The whole man had changed. The eyes had a timid pleading in them. + +Joan laughed. "I've been feeling as if I were the King of Bavaria," she +said. + +"How did he feel?" he asked her, leaning forward. + +"He had his own private theatre," Joan explained, "where Wagner gave his +operas. And the King was the sole audience." + +"I should have hated that," he said, "if I had been Wagner." + +He looked at her, and a flush passed over his boyish face. + +"All right," he said, "if it had been a queen." + +Joan found herself tracing patterns with her spoon upon the tablecloth. +"But you have won now," she said, still absorbed apparently with her +drawing, "you are going to get your chance." + +He gave a short laugh. "A trick," he said, "to weaken me. They think to +shave my locks; show me to the people bound by their red tape. To put it +another way, a rat among the terriers." + +Joan laughed. "You don't somehow suggest the rat," she said: "rather +another sort of beast." + +"What do you advise me?" he asked. "I haven't decided yet." + +They were speaking in whispered tones. Through the open doors they could +see into the other room. Mrs. Phillips, under Airlie's instructions, was +venturing upon a cigarette. + +"To accept," she answered. "They won't influence you--the terriers, as +you call them. You are too strong. It is you who will sway them. It +isn't as if you were a mere agitator. Take this opportunity of showing +them that you can build, plan, organize; that you were meant to be a +ruler. You can't succeed without them, as things are. You've got to win +them over. Prove to them that they can trust you." + +He sat for a minute tattooing with his fingers on the table, before +speaking. + +"It's the frills and flummery part of it that frightens me," he said. +"You wouldn't think that sensitiveness was my weak point. But it is. +I've stood up to a Birmingham mob that was waiting to lynch me and +enjoyed the experience; but I'd run ten miles rather than face a drawing- +room of well-dressed people with their masked faces and ironic +courtesies. It leaves me for days feeling like a lobster that has lost +its shell." + +"I wouldn't say it, if I didn't mean it," answered Joan; "but you haven't +got to trouble yourself about that . . . You're quite passable." She +smiled. It seemed to her that most women would find him more than +passable. + +He shook his head. "With you," he said. "There's something about you +that makes one ashamed of worrying about the little things. But the +others: the sneering women and the men who wink over their shoulder while +they talk to you, I shall never be able to get away from them, and, of +course, wherever I go--" + +He stopped abruptly with a sudden tightening of the lips. Joan followed +his eyes. Mrs. Phillips had swallowed the smoke and was giggling and +spluttering by turns. The yellow ostrich feather had worked itself loose +and was rocking to and fro as if in a fit of laughter of its own. + +He pushed back his chair and rose. "Shall we join the others?" he said. + +He moved so that he was between her and the other room, his back to the +open doors. "You think I ought to?" he said. + +"Yes," she answered firmly, as if she were giving a command. But he read +pity also in her eyes. + +"Well, have you two settled the affairs of the kingdom? Is it all +decided?" asked Airlie. + +"Yes," he answered, laughing. "We are going to say to the people, 'Eat, +drink and be wise.'" + +He rearranged his wife's feather and smoothed her tumbled hair. She +looked up at him and smiled. + +Joan set herself to make McKean talk, and after a time succeeded. They +had a mutual friend, a raw-boned youth she had met at Cambridge. He was +engaged to McKean's sister. His eyes lighted up when he spoke of his +sister Jenny. The Little Mother, he called her. + +"She's the most beautiful body in all the world," he said. "Though +merely seeing her you mightn't know it." + +He saw her "home"; and went on up the stairs to his own floor. + +Joan stood for a while in front of the glass before undressing; but felt +less satisfied with herself. She replaced the star in its case, and took +off the regal-looking dress with the golden girdle and laid it carelessly +aside. She seemed to be growing smaller. + +In her white night dress, with her hair in two long plaits, she looked at +herself once more. She seemed to be no one of any importance at all: +just a long little girl going to bed. With no one to kiss her good +night. + +She blew out the candle and climbed into the big bed, feeling very +lonesome as she used to when a child. It had not troubled her until to- +night. Suddenly she sat up again. She needn't be back in London before +Tuesday evening, and to-day was only Friday. She would run down home and +burst in upon her father. He would be so pleased to see her. + +She would make him put his arms around her. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +She reached home in the evening. She thought to find her father in his +study. But they told her that, now, he usually sat alone in the great +drawing-room. She opened the door softly. The room was dark save for a +flicker of firelight; she could see nothing. Nor was there any sound. + +"Dad," she cried, "are you here?" + +He rose slowly from a high-backed chair beside the fire. + +"It is you," he said. He seemed a little dazed. + +She ran to him and, seizing his listless arms, put them round her. + +"Give me a hug, Dad," she commanded. "A real hug." + +He held her to him for what seemed a long while. There was strength in +his arms, in spite of the bowed shoulders and white hair. + +"I was afraid you had forgotten how to do it," she laughed, when at last +he released her. "Do you know, you haven't hugged me, Dad, since I was +five years old. That's nineteen years ago. You do love me, don't you?" + +"Yes," he answered. "I have always loved you." + +She would not let him light the gas. "I have dined--in the train," she +explained. "Let us talk by the firelight." + +She forced him gently back into his chair, and seated herself upon the +floor between his knees. "What were you thinking of when I came in?" she +asked. "You weren't asleep, were you?" + +"No," he answered. "Not that sort of sleep." She could not see his +face. But she guessed his meaning. + +"Am I very like her?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered. "Marvellously like her as she used to be: except for +just one thing. Perhaps that will come to you later. I thought, for the +moment, as you stood there by the door . . . " He did not finish the +sentence. + +"Tell me about her," she said. "I never knew she had been an actress." + +He did not ask her how she had learnt it. "She gave it up when we were +married," he said. "The people she would have to live among would have +looked askance at her if they had known. There seemed no reason why they +should." + +"How did it all happen?" she persisted. "Was it very beautiful, in the +beginning?" She wished she had not added that last. The words had +slipped from her before she knew. + +"Very beautiful," he answered, "in the beginning." + +"It was my fault," he went on, "that it was not beautiful all through. I +ought to have let her take up her work again, as she wished to, when she +found what giving it up meant to her. The world was narrower then than +it is now; and I listened to the world. I thought it another voice." + +"It's difficult to tell, isn't it?" she said. "I wonder how one can?" + +He did not answer; and they sat for a time in silence. + +"Did you ever see her act?" asked Joan. + +"Every evening for about six months," he answered. A little flame shot +up and showed a smile upon his face. + +"I owe to her all the charity and tenderness I know. She taught it to me +in those months. I might have learned more if I had let her go on +teaching. It was the only way she knew." + +Joan watched her as gradually she shaped herself out of the shadows: the +poor, thin, fretful lady of the ever restless hands, with her bursts of +jealous passion, her long moods of sullen indifference: all her music +turned to waste. + +"How did she come to fall in love with you?" asked Joan. "I don't mean +to be uncomplimentary, Dad." She laughed, taking his hand in hers and +stroking it. "You must have been ridiculously handsome, when you were +young. And you must always have been strong and brave and clever. I can +see such a lot of women falling in love with you. But not the artistic +woman." + +"It wasn't so incongruous at the time," he answered. "My father had sent +me out to America to superintend a contract. It was the first time I had +ever been away from home, though I was nearly thirty; and all my pent-up +youth rushed out of me at once. It was a harum-scarum fellow, mad with +the joy of life, that made love to her; not the man who went out, nor the +man who came back. It was at San Francisco that I met her. She was +touring the Western States; and I let everything go to the wind and +followed her. It seemed to me that Heaven had opened up to me. I fought +a duel in Colorado with a man who had insulted her. The law didn't run +there in those days; and three of his hired gunmen, as they called them, +held us up that night in the train and gave her the alternative of going +back with them and kissing him or seeing me dead at her feet. I didn't +give her time to answer, nor for them to finish. It seemed a fine death +anyhow, that. And I'd have faced Hell itself for the chance of fighting +for her. Though she told me afterwards that if I'd died she'd have gone +back with them, and killed him." + +Joan did not speak for a time. She could see him grave--a little +pompous, in his Sunday black, his footsteps creaking down the +stone-flagged aisle, the silver-edged collecting bag held stiffly in his +hand. + +"Couldn't you have saved a bit, Daddy?" she asked, "of all that wealth of +youth--just enough to live on?" + +"I might," he answered, "if I had known the value of it. I found a cable +waiting for me in New York. My father had been dead a month; and I had +to return immediately." + +"And so you married her and took her drum away from her," said Joan. "Oh, +the thing God gives to some of us," she explained, "to make a little +noise with, and set the people marching." + +The little flame died out. She could feel his body trembling. + +"But you still loved her, didn't you, Dad?" she asked. "I was very +little at the time, but I can just remember. You seemed so happy +together. Till her illness came." + +"It was more than love," he answered. "It was idolatry. God punished me +for it. He was a hard God, my God." + +She raised herself, putting her hands upon his shoulders so that her face +was very close to his. "What has become of Him, Dad?" she said. She +spoke in a cold voice, as one does of a false friend. + +"I do not know," he answered her. "I don't seem to care." + +"He must be somewhere," she said: "the living God of love and hope: the +God that Christ believed in." + +"They were His last words, too," he answered: "'My God, my God, why hast +Thou forsaken me?'" + +"No, not His last," said Joan: "'Lo, I am with you always, even unto the +end of the world.' Love was Christ's God. He will help us to find Him." + +Their arms were about one another. Joan felt that a new need had been +born in her: the need of loving and of being loved. It was good to lay +her head upon his breast and know that he was glad of her coming. + +He asked her questions about herself. But she could see that he was +tired; so she told him it was too important a matter to start upon so +late. She would talk about herself to-morrow. It would be Sunday. + +"Do you still go to the chapel?" she asked him a little hesitatingly. + +"Yes," he answered. "One lives by habit." + +"It is the only Temple I know," he continued after a moment. "Perhaps +God, one day, will find me there." + +He rose and lit the gas, and a letter on the mantelpiece caught his eye. + +"Have you heard from Arthur?" he asked, suddenly turning to her. + +"No. Not since about a month," she answered. "Why?" + +"He will be pleased to find you here, waiting for him," he said with a +smile, handing her the letter. "He will be here some time to-morrow." + +Arthur Allway was her cousin, the son of a Nonconformist Minister. Her +father had taken him into the works and for the last three years he had +been in Egypt, helping in the laying of a tramway line. He was in love +with her: at least so they all told her; and his letters were certainly +somewhat committal. Joan replied to them--when she did not forget to do +so--in a studiously sisterly vein; and always reproved him for +unnecessary extravagance whenever he sent her a present. The letter +announced his arrival at Southampton. He would stop at Birmingham, where +his parents lived, for a couple of days, and be in Liverpool on Sunday +evening, so as to be able to get straight to business on Monday morning. +Joan handed back the letter. It contained nothing else. + +"It only came an hour or two ago," her father explained. "If he wrote to +you by the same post, you may have left before it arrived." + +"So long as he doesn't think that I came down specially to see him, I +don't mind," said Joan. + +They both laughed. "He's a good lad," said her father. + +They kissed good night, and Joan went up to her own room. She found it +just as she had left it. A bunch of roses stood upon the dressing-table. +Her father would never let anyone cut his roses but himself. + +Young Allway arrived just as Joan and her father had sat down to supper. +A place had been laid for him. He flushed with pleasure at seeing her; +but was not surprised. + +"I called at your diggings," he said. "I had to go through London. They +told me you had started. It is good of you." + +"No, it isn't," said Joan. "I came down to see Dad. I didn't know you +were back." She spoke with some asperity; and his face fell. + +"How are you?" she added, holding out her hand. "You've grown quite good- +looking. I like your moustache." And he flushed again with pleasure. + +He had a sweet, almost girlish face, with delicate skin that the Egyptian +sun had deepened into ruddiness; with soft, dreamy eyes and golden hair. +He looked lithe and agile rather than strong. He was shy at first, but +once set going, talked freely, and was interesting. + +His work had taken him into the Desert, far from the beaten tracks. He +described the life of the people, very little different from what it must +have been in Noah's time. For months he had been the only white man +there, and had lived among them. What had struck him was how little he +had missed all the paraphernalia of civilization, once he had got over +the first shock. He had learnt their sports and games; wrestled and swum +and hunted with them. Provided one was a little hungry and tired with +toil, a stew of goat's flesh with sweet cakes and fruits, washed down +with wine out of a sheep's skin, made a feast; and after, there was music +and singing and dancing, or the travelling story-teller would gather +round him his rapt audience. Paris had only robbed women of their grace +and dignity. He preferred the young girls in their costume of the +fourteenth dynasty. Progress, he thought, had tended only to complicate +life and render it less enjoyable. All the essentials of happiness--love, +courtship, marriage, the home, children, friendship, social intercourse, +and play, were independent of it; had always been there for the asking. + +Joan thought his mistake lay in regarding man's happiness as more +important to him than his self-development. It was not what we got out +of civilization but what we put into it that was our gain. Its luxuries +and ostentations were, in themselves, perhaps bad for us. But the +pursuit of them was good. It called forth thought and effort, sharpened +our wits, strengthened our brains. Primitive man, content with his +necessities, would never have produced genius. Art, literature, science +would have been stillborn. + +He hesitated before replying, glancing at her furtively while crumbling +his bread. When he did, it was in the tone that one of her younger +disciples might have ventured into a discussion with Hypatia. But he +stuck to his guns. + +How did she account for David and Solomon, Moses and the Prophets? They +had sprung from a shepherd race. Yet surely there was genius, +literature. Greece owed nothing to progress. She had preceded it. Her +thinkers, her poets, her scientists had draws their inspiration from +nature, not civilization. Her art had sprung full grown out of the soil. +We had never surpassed it. + +"But the Greek ideal could not have been the right one, or Greece would +not so utterly have disappeared," suggested Mr. Allway. "Unless you +reject the law of the survival of the fittest." + +He had no qualms about arguing with his uncle. + +"So did Archimedes disappear," he answered with a smile. "The nameless +Roman soldier remained. That was hardly the survival of the fittest." + +He thought it the tragedy of the world that Rome had conquered Greece, +imposing her lower ideals upon the race. Rome should have been the +servant of Greece: the hands directed by the brain. She would have made +roads and harbours, conducted the traffic, reared the market place. She +knew of the steam engine, employed it for pumping water in the age of the +Antonines. Sooner or later, she would have placed it on rails, and in +ships. Rome should have been the policeman, keeping the world in order, +making it a fit habitation. Her mistake was in regarding these things as +an end in themselves, dreaming of nothing beyond. From her we had +inherited the fallacy that man was made for the world, not the world for +man. Rome organized only for man's body. Greece would have legislated +for his soul. + +They went into the drawing-room. Her father asked her to sing and Arthur +opened the piano for her and lit the candles. She chose some ballads and +a song of Herrick's, playing her own accompaniment while Arthur turned +the leaves. She had a good voice, a low contralto. The room was high +and dimly lighted. It looked larger than it really was. Her father sat +in his usual chair beside the fire and listened with half-closed eyes. +Glancing now and then across at him, she was reminded of Orchardson's +picture. She was feeling sentimental, a novel sensation to her. She +rather enjoyed it. + +She finished with one of Burns's lyrics; and then told Arthur that it was +now his turn, and that she would play for him. He shook his head, +pleading that he was out of practice. + +"I wish it," she said, speaking low. And it pleased her that he made no +answer but to ask her what he should sing. He had a light tenor voice. +It was wobbly at first, but improved as he went on. They ended with a +duet. + +The next morning she went into town with them. She never seemed to have +any time in London, and wanted to do some shopping. They joined her +again for lunch and afterwards, at her father's suggestion, she and +Arthur went for a walk. They took the tram out of the city and struck +into the country. The leaves still lingered brown and red upon the +trees. He carried her cloak and opened gates for her and held back +brambles while she passed. She had always been indifferent to these +small gallantries; but to-day she welcomed them. She wished to feel her +power to attract and command. They avoided all subjects on which they +could differ, even in words. They talked of people and places they had +known together. They remembered their common love of animals and told of +the comedies and tragedies that had befallen their pets. Joan's regret +was that she had not now even a dog, thinking it cruel to keep them in +London. She hated the women she met, dragging the poor little depressed +beasts about at the end of a string: savage with them, if they dared to +stop for a moment to exchange a passing wag of the tail with some other +little lonely sufferer. It was as bad as keeping a lark in a cage. She +had tried a cat: but so often she did not get home till late and that was +just the time when the cat wanted to be out; so that they seldom met. He +suggested a parrot. His experience of them was that they had no regular +hours and would willingly sit up all night, if encouraged, and talk all +the time. Joan's objection to running a parrot was that it stamped you +as an old maid; and she wasn't that, at least, not yet. She wondered if +she could make an owl really happy. Minerva had an owl. + +He told her how one spring, walking across a common, after a fire, he had +found a mother thrush burnt to death upon her nest, her charred wings +spread out in a vain endeavour to protect her brood. He had buried her +there among the blackened thorn and furze, and placed a little cross of +stones above her. + +"I hope nobody saw me," he said with a laugh. "But I couldn't bear to +leave her there, unhonoured." + +"It's one of the things that make me less certain than I want to be of a +future existence," said Joan: "the thought that animals can have no part +in it; that all their courage and love and faithfulness dies with them +and is wasted." + +"Are you sure it is?" he answered. "It would be so unreasonable." + +They had tea at an old-fashioned inn beside a stream. It was a favourite +resort in summer time, but now they had it to themselves. The wind had +played pranks with her hair and he found a mirror and knelt before her, +holding it. + +She stood erect, looking down at him while seeming to be absorbed in the +rearrangement of her hair, feeling a little ashamed of herself. She was +"encouraging" him. There was no other word for it. She seemed to have +developed a sudden penchant for this sort of thing. It would end in his +proposing to her; and then she would have to tell him that she cared for +him only in a cousinly sort of way--whatever that might mean--and that +she could never marry him. She dared not ask herself why. She must +manoeuvre to put it off as long as possible; and meanwhile some opening +might occur to enlighten him. She would talk to him about her work; and +explain to him how she had determined to devote her life to it to the +exclusion of all other distractions. If, then, he chose to go on loving +her--or if he couldn't help it--that would not be her fault. After all, +it did him no harm. She could always be gracious and kind to him. It +was not as if she had tricked him. He had always loved her. Kneeling +before her, serving her: it was evident it made him supremely happy. It +would be cruel of her to end it. + +The landlady entered unexpectedly with the tea; but he did not rise till +Joan turned away, nor did he seem disconcerted. Neither did the +landlady. She was an elderly, quiet-eyed woman, and had served more than +one generation of young people with their teas. + +They returned home by train. Joan insisted on travelling third class, +and selected a compartment containing a stout woman and two children. +Arthur had to be at the works. An important contract had got behindhand +and they were working overtime. She and her father dined alone. He made +her fulfil her promise to talk about herself, and she told him all she +thought would interest him. She passed lightly over her acquaintanceship +with Phillips. He would regard it as highly undesirable, she told +herself, and it would trouble him. He was reading her articles in the +_Sunday Post_, as also her Letters from Clorinda: and of the two +preferred the latter as being less subversive of law and order. Also he +did not like seeing her photograph each week, displayed across two +columns with her name beneath in one inch type. He supposed he was old- +fashioned. She was getting rather tired of it herself. + +"The Editor insisted upon it," she explained. "It was worth it for the +opportunity it gives me. I preach every Sunday to a congregation of over +a million souls. It's better than being a Bishop. Besides," she added, +"the men are just as bad. You see their silly faces everywhere." + +"That's like you women," he answered with a smile. "You pretend to be +superior; and then you copy us." + +She laughed. But the next moment she was serious. + +"No, we don't," she said, "not those of us who think. We know we shall +never oust man from his place. He will always be the greater. We want +to help him; that's all." + +"But wasn't that the Lord's idea," he said; "when He gave Eve to Adam to +be his helpmeet?" + +"Yes, that was all right," she answered. "He fashioned Eve for Adam and +saw that Adam got her. The ideal marriage might have been the ideal +solution. If the Lord had intended that, he should have kept the match- +making in His own hands: not have left it to man. Somewhere in Athens +there must have been the helpmeet God had made for Socrates. When they +met, it was Xanthippe that she kissed." + +A servant brought the coffee and went out again. Her father lighted a +cigar and handed her the cigarettes. + +"Will it shock you, Dad?" she asked. + +"Rather late in the day for you to worry yourself about that, isn't it?" +he answered with a smile. + +He struck a match and held it for her. Joan sat with her elbows on the +table and smoked in silence. She was thinking. + +Why had he never "brought her up," never exacted obedience from her, +never even tried to influence her? It could not have been mere weakness. +She stole a sidelong glance at the tired, lined face with its steel-blue +eyes. She had never seen them other than calm, but they must have been +able to flash. Why had he always been so just and kind and patient with +her? Why had he never scolded her and bullied her and teased her? Why +had he let her go away, leaving him lonely in his empty, voiceless house? +Why had he never made any claim upon her? The idea came to her as an +inspiration. At least, it would ease her conscience. "Why don't you let +Arthur live here," she said, "instead of going back to his lodgings? It +would be company for you." + +He did not answer for some time. She had begun to wonder if he had +heard. + +"What do you think of him?" he said, without looking at her. + +"Oh, he's quite a nice lad," she answered. + +It was some while again before he spoke. "He will be the last of the +Allways," he said. "I should like to think of the name being continued; +and he's a good business man, in spite of his dreaminess. Perhaps he +would get on better with the men." + +She seized at the chance of changing the subject. + +"It was a foolish notion," she said, "that of the Manchester school: that +men and women could be treated as mere figures in a sum." + +To her surprise, he agreed with her. "The feudal system had a fine idea +in it," he said, "if it had been honestly carried out. A master should +be the friend, the helper of his men. They should be one family." + +She looked at him a little incredulously, remembering the bitter periods +of strikes and lock-outs. + +"Did you ever try, Dad?" she asked. + +"Oh, yes," he answered. "But I tried the wrong way." "The right way +might be found," he added, "by the right man, and woman." + +She felt that he was watching her through his half-closed eyes. "There +are those cottages," he continued, "just before you come to the bridge. +They might be repaired and a club house added. The idea is catching on, +they tell me. Garden villages, they call them now. It gets the men and +women away from the dirty streets; and gives the children a chance." + +She knew the place. A sad group of dilapidated little houses forming +three sides of a paved quadrangle, with a shattered fountain and withered +trees in the centre. Ever since she could remember, they had stood there +empty, ghostly, with creaking doors and broken windows, their gardens +overgrown with weeds. + +"Are they yours?" she asked. She had never connected them with the +works, some half a mile away. Though had she been curious, she might +have learnt that they were known as "Allway's Folly." + +"Your mother's," he answered. "I built them the year I came back from +America and gave them to her. I thought it would interest her. Perhaps +it would, if I had left her to her own ways." + +"Why didn't they want them?" she asked. + +"They did, at first," he answered. "The time-servers and the hypocrites +among them. I made it a condition that they should be teetotallers, and +chapel goers, and everything else that I thought good for them. I +thought that I could save their souls by bribing them with cheap rents +and share of profits. And then the Union came, and that of course +finished it." + +So he, too, had thought to build Jerusalem. + +"Yes," he said. "I'll sound him about giving up his lodgings." + +Joan lay awake for a long while that night. The moon looked in at the +window. It seemed to have got itself entangled in the tops of the tall +pines. Would it not be her duty to come back--make her father happy, to +say nothing of the other. He was a dear, sweet, lovable lad. Together, +they might realize her father's dream: repair the blunders, plant gardens +where the weeds now grew, drive out the old sad ghosts with living +voices. It had been a fine thought, a "King's thought." Others had +followed, profiting by his mistakes. But might it not be carried further +than even they had gone, shaped into some noble venture that should serve +the future. + +Was not her America here? Why seek it further? What was this unknown +Force, that, against all sense and reason, seemed driving her out into +the wilderness to preach. Might it not be mere vanity, mere egoism. +Almost she had convinced herself. + +And then there flashed remembrance of her mother. She, too, had laid +aside herself; had thought that love and duty could teach one to be other +than one was. The Ego was the all important thing, entrusted to us as +the talents of silver to the faithful servant: to be developed, not for +our own purposes, but for the service of the Master. + +One did no good by suppressing one's nature. In the end it proved too +strong. Marriage with Arthur would be only repeating the mistake. To be +worshipped, to be served. It would be very pleasant, when one was in the +mood. But it would not satisfy her. There was something strong and +fierce and primitive in her nature--something that had come down to her +through the generations from some harness-girded ancestress--something +impelling her instinctively to choose the fighter; to share with him the +joy of battle, healing his wounds, giving him of her courage, exulting +with him in the victory. + +The moon had risen clear of the entangling pines. It rode serene and +free. + +Her father came to the station with her in the morning. The train was +not in: and they walked up and down and talked. Suddenly she remembered: +it had slipped her mind. + +"Could I, as a child, have known an old clergyman?" she asked him. "At +least he wouldn't have been old then. I dropped into Chelsea Church one +evening and heard him preach; and on the way home I passed him again in +the street. It seemed to me that I had seen his face before. But not +for many years. I meant to write you about it, but forgot." + +He had to turn aside for a moment to speak to an acquaintance about +business. + +"Oh, it's possible," he answered on rejoining her. "What was his name?" + +"I do not know," she answered. "He was not the regular Incumbent. But +it was someone that I seemed to know quite well--that I must have been +familiar with." + +"It may have been," he answered carelessly, "though the gulf was wider +then than it is now. I'll try and think. Perhaps it is only your +fancy." + +The train drew in, and he found her a corner seat, and stood talking by +the window, about common things. + +"What did he preach about?" he asked her unexpectedly. + +She was puzzled for the moment. "Oh, the old clergyman," she answered, +recollecting. "Oh, Calvary. All roads lead to Calvary, he thought. It +was rather interesting." + +She looked back at the end of the platform. He had not moved. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +A pile of correspondence was awaiting her and, standing by the desk, she +began to open and read it. Suddenly she paused, conscious that someone +had entered the room and, turning, she saw Hilda. She must have left the +door ajar, for she had heard no sound. The child closed the door +noiselessly and came across, holding out a letter. + +"Papa told me to give you this the moment you came in," she said. Joan +had not yet taken off her things. The child must have been keeping a +close watch. Save for the signature it contained but one line: "I have +accepted." + +Joan replaced the letter in its envelope, and laid it down upon the desk. +Unconsciously a smile played about her lips. + +The child was watching her. "I'm glad you persuaded him," she said. + +Joan felt a flush mount to her face. She had forgotten Hilda for the +instant. + +She forced a laugh. "Oh, I only persuaded him to do what he had made up +his mind to do," she explained. "It was all settled." + +"No, it wasn't," answered the child. "Most of them were against it. And +then there was Mama," she added in a lower tone. + +"What do you mean," asked Joan. "Didn't she wish it?" + +The child raised her eyes. There was a dull anger in them. "Oh, what's +the good of pretending," she said. "He's so great. He could be the +Prime Minister of England if he chose. But then he would have to visit +kings and nobles, and receive them at his house, and Mama--" She broke +off with a passionate gesture of the small thin hands. + +Joan was puzzled what to say. She knew exactly what she ought to say: +what she would have said to any ordinary child. But to say it to this +uncannily knowing little creature did not promise much good. + +"Who told you I persuaded him?" she asked. + +"Nobody," answered the child. "I knew." + +Joan seated herself, and drew the child towards her. + +"It isn't as terrible as you think," she said. "Many men who have risen +and taken a high place in the world were married to kind, good women +unable to share their greatness. There was Shakespeare, you know, who +married Anne Hathaway and had a clever daughter. She was just a nice, +homely body a few years older than himself. And he seems to have been +very fond of her; and was always running down to Stratford to be with +her." + +"Yes, but he didn't bring her up to London," answered the child. "Mama +would have wanted to come; and Papa would have let her, and wouldn't have +gone to see Queen Elizabeth unless she had been invited too." + +Joan wished she had not mentioned Shakespeare. There had surely been +others; men who had climbed up and carried their impossible wives with +them. But she couldn't think of one, just then. + +"We must help her," she answered somewhat lamely. "She's anxious to +learn, I know." + +The child shook her head. "She doesn't understand," she said. "And Papa +won't tell her. He says it would only hurt her and do no good." The +small hands were clenched. "I shall hate her if she spoils his life." + +The atmosphere was becoming tragic. Joan felt the need of escaping from +it. She sprang up. + +"Oh, don't be nonsensical," she said. "Your father isn't the only man +married to a woman not as clever as himself. He isn't going to let that +stop him. And your mother's going to learn to be the wife of a great man +and do the best she can. And if they don't like her they've got to put +up with her. I shall talk to the both of them." A wave of motherliness +towards the entire Phillips family passed over her. It included Hilda. +She caught the child to her and gave her a hug. "You go back to school," +she said, "and get on as fast as you can, so that you'll be able to be +useful to him." + +The child flung her arms about her. "You're so beautiful and wonderful," +she said. "You can do anything. I'm so glad you came." + +Joan laughed. It was surprising how easily the problem had been solved. +She would take Mrs. Phillips in hand at once. At all events she should +be wholesome and unobtrusive. It would be a delicate mission, but Joan +felt sure of her own tact. She could see his boyish eyes turned upon her +with wonder and gratitude. + +"I was so afraid you would not be back before I went," said the child. "I +ought to have gone this afternoon, but Papa let me stay till the +evening." + +"You will help?" she added, fixing on Joan her great, grave eyes. + +Joan promised, and the child went out. She looked pretty when she +smiled. She closed the door behind her noiselessly. + +It occurred to Joan that she would like to talk matters over with +Greyson. There was "Clorinda's" attitude to be decided upon; and she was +interested to know what view he himself would take. Of course he would +be on P---'s side. The _Evening Gazette_ had always supported the "gas +and water school" of socialism; and to include the people's food was +surely only an extension of the principle. She rang him up and Miss +Greyson answered, asking her to come round to dinner: they would be +alone. And she agreed. + +The Greysons lived in a small house squeezed into an angle of the Outer +Circle, overlooking Regent's Park. It was charmingly furnished, chiefly +with old Chippendale. The drawing-room made quite a picture. It was +home-like and restful with its faded colouring, and absence of all show +and overcrowding. They sat there after dinner and discussed Joan's news. +Miss Greyson was repairing a piece of old embroidery she had brought back +with her from Italy; and Greyson sat smoking, with his hands behind his +head, and his long legs stretched out towards the fire. + +"Carleton will want him to make his food policy include Tariff Reform," +he said. "If he prove pliable, and is willing to throw over his free +trade principles, all well and good." + +"What's Carleton got to do with it?" demanded Joan with a note of +indignation. + +He turned his head towards her with an amused raising of the eyebrows. +"Carleton owns two London dailies," he answered, "and is in treaty for a +third: together with a dozen others scattered about the provinces. Most +politicians find themselves, sooner or later, convinced by his arguments. +Phillips may prove the exception." + +"It would be rather interesting, a fight between them," said Joan. +"Myself I should back Phillips." + +"He might win through," mused Greyson. "He's the man to do it, if +anybody could. But the odds will be against him." + +"I don't see it," said Joan, with decision. + +"I'm afraid you haven't yet grasped the power of the Press," he answered +with a smile. "Phillips speaks occasionally to five thousand people. +Carleton addresses every day a circle of five million readers." + +"Yes, but when Phillips does speak, he speaks to the whole country," +retorted Joan. + +"Through the medium of Carleton and his like; and just so far as they +allow his influence to permeate beyond the platform," answered Greyson. + +"But they report his speeches. They are bound to," explained Joan. + +"It doesn't read quite the same," he answered. "Phillips goes home under +the impression that he has made a great success and has roused the +country. He and millions of other readers learn from the next morning's +headlines that it was 'A Tame Speech' that he made. What sounded to him +'Loud Cheers' have sunk to mild 'Hear, Hears.' That five minutes' +hurricane of applause, during which wildly excited men and women leapt +upon the benches and roared themselves hoarse, and which he felt had +settled the whole question, he searches for in vain. A few silly +interjections, probably pre-arranged by Carleton's young lions, become +'renewed interruptions.' The report is strictly truthful; but the +impression produced is that Robert Phillips has failed to carry even his +own people with him. And then follow leaders in fourteen +widely-circulated Dailies, stretching from the Clyde to the Severn, +foretelling how Mr. Robert Phillips could regain his waning popularity by +the simple process of adopting Tariff Reform: or whatever the pet panacea +of Carleton and Co. may, at the moment, happen to be." + +"Don't make us out all alike," pleaded his sister with a laugh. "There +are still a few old-fashioned papers that do give their opponents fair +play." + +"They are not increasing in numbers," he answered, "and the Carleton +group is. There is no reason why in another ten years he should not +control the entire popular press of the country. He's got the genius and +he's got the means." + +"The cleverest thing he has done," he continued, turning to Joan, "is +your _Sunday Post_. Up till then, the working classes had escaped him. +With the _Sunday Post_, he has solved the problem. They open their +mouths; and he gives them their politics wrapped up in pictures and +gossipy pars." + +Miss Greyson rose and put away her embroidery. "But what's his object?" +she said. "He must have more money than he can spend; and he works like +a horse. I could understand it, if he had any beliefs." + +"Oh, we can all persuade ourselves that we are the Heaven-ordained +dictator of the human race," he answered. "Love of power is at the +bottom of it. Why do our Rockefellers and our Carnegies condemn +themselves to the existence of galley slaves, ruining their digestions so +that they never can enjoy a square meal. It isn't the money; it's the +trouble of their lives how to get rid of that. It is the notoriety, the +power that they are out for. In Carleton's case, it is to feel himself +the power behind the throne; to know that he can make and unmake +statesmen; has the keys of peace and war in his pocket; is able to +exclaim: Public opinion? It is I." + +"It can be a respectable ambition," suggested Joan. + +"It has been responsible for most of man's miseries," he answered. "Every +world's conqueror meant to make it happy after he had finished knocking +it about. We are all born with it, thanks to the devil." He shifted his +position and regarded her with critical eyes. "You've got it badly," he +said. "I can see it in the tilt of your chin and the quivering of your +nostrils. You beware of it." + +Miss Greyson left them. She had to finish an article. They debated +"Clorinda's" views; and agreed that, as a practical housekeeper, she +would welcome attention being given to the question of the nation's food. +The _Evening Gazette_ would support Phillips in principle, while +reserving to itself the right of criticism when it came to details. + +"What's he like in himself?" he asked her. "You've been seeing something +of him, haven't you?" + +"Oh, a little," she answered. "He's absolutely sincere; and he means +business. He won't stop at the bottom of the ladder now he's once got +his foot upon it." + +"But he's quite common, isn't he?" he asked again. "I've only met him in +public." + +"No, that's precisely what he isn't," answered Joan. "You feel that he +belongs to no class, but his own. The class of the Abraham Lincolns, and +the Dantons." + +"England's a different proposition," he mused. "Society counts for so +much with us. I doubt if we should accept even an Abraham Lincoln: +unless in some supreme crisis. His wife rather handicaps him, too, +doesn't she?" + +"She wasn't born to be the chatelaine of Downing Street," Joan admitted. +"But it's not an official position." + +"I'm not so sure that it isn't," he laughed. "It's the dinner-table that +rules in England. We settle everything round a dinner-table." + +She was sitting in front of the fire in a high-backed chair. She never +cared to loll, and the shaded light from the electric sconces upon the +mantelpiece illumined her. + +"If the world were properly stage-managed, that's what you ought to be," +he said, "the wife of a Prime Minister. I can see you giving such an +excellent performance." + +"I must talk to Mary," he added, "see if we can't get you off on some +promising young Under Secretary." + +"Don't give me ideas above my station," laughed Joan. "I'm a +journalist." + +"That's the pity of it," he said. "You're wasting the most important +thing about you, your personality. You would do more good in a drawing- +room, influencing the rulers, than you will ever do hiding behind a pen. +It was the drawing-room that made the French Revolution." + +The firelight played about her hair. "I suppose every woman dreams of +reviving the old French Salon," she answered. "They must have been +gloriously interesting." He was leaning forward with clasped hands. "Why +shouldn't she?" he said. "The reason that our drawing-rooms have ceased +to lead is that our beautiful women are generally frivolous and our +clever women unfeminine. What we are waiting for is an English Madame +Roland." + +Joan laughed. "Perhaps I shall some day," she answered. + +He insisted on seeing her as far as the bus. It was a soft, mild night; +and they walked round the Circle to Gloucester Gate. He thought there +would be more room in the buses at that point. + +"I wish you would come oftener," he said. "Mary has taken such a liking +to you. If you care to meet people, we can always whip up somebody of +interest." + +She promised that she would. She always felt curiously at home with the +Greysons. + +They were passing the long sweep of Chester Terrace. "I like this +neighbourhood with its early Victorian atmosphere," she said. "It always +makes me feel quiet and good. I don't know why." + +"I like the houses, too," he said. "There's a character about them. You +don't often find such fine drawing-rooms in London." + +"Don't forget your promise," he reminded her, when they parted. "I shall +tell Mary she may write to you." + +She met Carleton by chance a day or two later, as she was entering the +office. "I want to see you," he said; and took her up with him into his +room. + +"We must stir the people up about this food business," he said, plunging +at once into his subject. "Phillips is quite right. It overshadows +everything. We must make the country self-supporting. It can be done +and must. If a war were to be sprung upon us we could be starved out in +a month. Our navy, in face of these new submarines, is no longer able to +secure us. France is working day and night upon them. It may be a +bogey, or it may not. If it isn't, she would have us at her mercy; and +it's too big a risk to run. You live in the same house with him, don't +you? Do you often see him?" + +"Not often," she answered. + +He was reading a letter. "You were dining there on Friday night, weren't +you?" he asked her, without looking up. + +Joan flushed. What did he mean by cross-examining her in this way? She +was not at all used to impertinence from the opposite sex. + +"Your information is quite correct," she answered. + +Her anger betrayed itself in her tone; and he shot a swift glance at her. + +"I didn't mean to offend you," he said. "A mutual friend, a Mr. Airlie, +happened to be of the party, and he mentioned you." + +He threw aside the letter. "I'll tell you what I want you to do," he +said. "It's nothing to object to. Tell him that you've seen me and had +a talk. I understand his scheme to be that the country should grow more +and more food until it eventually becomes self-supporting; and that the +Government should control the distribution. Tell him that with that I'm +heart and soul in sympathy; and would like to help him." He pushed aside +a pile of papers and, leaning across the desk, spoke with studied +deliberation. "If he can see his way to making his policy dependent upon +Protection, we can work together." + +"And if he can't?" suggested Joan. + +He fixed his large, colourless eyes upon her. "That's where you can help +him," he answered. "If he and I combine forces, we can pull this through +in spite of the furious opposition that it is going to arouse. Without a +good Press he is helpless; and where is he going to get his Press backing +if he turns me down? From half a dozen Socialist papers whose support +will do him more harm than good. If he will bring the working class over +to Protection I will undertake that the Tariff Reformers and the +Agricultural Interest shall accept his Socialism. It will be a victory +for both of us. + +"If he gain his end, what do the means matter?" he continued, as Joan did +not answer. "Food may be dearer; the Unions can square that by putting +up wages; while the poor devil of a farm labourer will at last get fair +treatment. We can easily insist upon that. What do you think, +yourself?" + +"About Protection," she answered. "It's one of the few subjects I +haven't made up my mind about." + +He laughed. "You will find all your pet reforms depend upon it, when you +come to work them out," he said. "You can't have a minimum wage without +a minimum price." + +They had risen. + +"I'll give him your message," said Joan. "But I don't see him exchanging +his principles even for your support. I admit it's important." + +"Talk it over with him," he said. "And bear this in mind for your own +guidance." He took a step forward, which brought his face quite close to +hers: "If he fails, and all his life's work goes for nothing, I shall be +sorry; but I shan't break my heart. He will." + +Joan dropped a note into Phillips's letter-box on her return home, saying +briefly that she wished to see him; and he sent up answer asking her if +she would come to the gallery that evening, and meet him after his +speech, which would be immediately following the dinner hour. + +It was the first time he had risen since his appointment, and he was +received with general cheers. He stood out curiously youthful against +the background of grey-haired and bald-headed men behind him; and there +was youth also in his clear, ringing voice that not even the vault-like +atmosphere of that shadowless chamber could altogether rob of its +vitality. He spoke simply and good-humouredly, without any attempt at +rhetoric, relying chiefly upon a crescendo of telling facts that +gradually, as he proceeded, roused the House to that tense stillness that +comes to it when it begins to think. + +"A distinctly dangerous man," Joan overheard a little old lady behind her +comment to a friend. "If I didn't hate him, I should like him." + +He met her in the corridor, and they walked up and down and talked, too +absorbed to be aware of the curious eyes that were turned upon them. Joan +gave him Carleton's message. + +"It was clever of him to make use of you," he said. "If he'd sent it +through anybody else, I'd have published it." + +"You don't think it even worth considering?" suggested Joan. + +"Protection?" he flashed out scornfully. "Yes, I've heard of that. I've +listened, as a boy, while the old men told of it to one another, in thin, +piping voices, round the fireside; how the labourers were flung eight-and- +sixpence a week to die on, and the men starved in the towns; while the +farmers kept their hunters, and got drunk each night on fine old crusted +port. Do you know what their toast was in the big hotels on market day, +with the windows open to the street: 'To a long war and a bloody one.' It +would be their toast to-morrow, if they had their way. Does he think I +am going to be a party to the putting of the people's neck again under +their pitiless yoke?" + +"But the people are more powerful now," argued Joan. "If the farmer +demanded higher prices, they could demand higher wages." + +"They would never overtake the farmer," he answered, with a laugh. "And +the last word would always be with him. I am out to get rid of the +landlords," he continued, "not to establish them as the permanent rulers +of the country, as they are in Germany. The people are more +powerful--just a little, because they are no longer dependent on the +land. They can say to the farmer, 'All right, my son, if that's your +figure, I'm going to the shop next door--to South America, to Canada, to +Russia.' It isn't a satisfactory solution. I want to see England happy +and healthy before I bother about the Argentine. It drives our men into +the slums when they might be living fine lives in God's fresh air. In +the case of war it might be disastrous. There, I agree with him. We +must be able to shut our door without fear of having to open it ourselves +to ask for bread. How would Protection accomplish that? Did he tell +you?" + +"Don't eat me," laughed Joan. "I haven't been sent to you as a +missionary. I'm only a humble messenger. I suppose the argument is +that, good profits assured to him, the farmer would bustle up and produce +more." + +"Can you see him bustling up?" he answered with a laugh; "organizing +himself into a body, and working the thing out from the point of view of +the public weal? I'll tell you what nine-tenths of him would do: grow +just as much or little as suited his own purposes; and then go to sleep. +And Protection would be his security against ever being awakened." + +"I'm afraid you don't like him," Joan commented. + +"He will be all right in his proper place," he answered: "as the servant +of the public: told what to do, and turned out of his job if he doesn't +do it. My scheme does depend upon Protection. You can tell him that. +But this time, it's going to be Protection for the people." + +They were at the far end of the corridor; and the few others still +promenading were some distance away. She had not delivered the whole of +her message. She crossed to a seat, and he followed her. She spoke with +her face turned away from him. + +"You have got to consider the cost of refusal," she said. "His offer +wasn't help or neutrality: it was help or opposition by every means in +his power. He left me in no kind of doubt as to that. He's not used to +being challenged and he won't be squeamish. You will have the whole of +his Press against you, and every other journalistic and political +influence that he possesses. He's getting a hold upon the working +classes. The _Sunday Post_ has an enormous sale in the manufacturing +towns; and he's talking of starting another. Are you strong enough to +fight him?" + +She very much wanted to look at him, but she would not. It seemed to her +quite a time before he replied. + +"Yes," he answered, "I'm strong enough to fight him. Shall rather enjoy +doing it. And it's time that somebody did. Whether I'm strong enough to +win has got to be seen." + +She turned and looked at him then. She wondered why she had ever thought +him ugly. + +"You can face it," she said: "the possibility of all your life's work +being wasted?" + +"It won't be wasted," he answered. "The land is there. I've seen it +from afar and it's a good land, a land where no man shall go hungry. If +not I, another shall lead the people into it. I shall have prepared the +way." + +She liked him for that touch of exaggeration. She was so tired of the +men who make out all things little, including themselves and their own +work. After all, was it exaggeration? Might he not have been chosen to +lead the people out of bondage to a land where there should be no more +fear. + +"You're not angry with me?" he asked. "I haven't been rude, have I?" + +"Abominably rude," she answered, "you've defied my warnings, and treated +my embassy with contempt." She turned to him and their eyes met. "I +should have despised you, if you hadn't," she added. + +There was a note of exultation in her voice; and, as if in answer, +something leapt into his eyes that seemed to claim her. Perhaps it was +well that just then the bell rang for a division; and the moment passed. + +He rose and held out his hand. "We will fight him," he said. "And you +can tell him this, if he asks, that I'm going straight for him. +Parliament may as well close down if a few men between them are to be +allowed to own the entire Press of the country, and stifle every voice +that does not shout their bidding. We haven't dethroned kings to put up +a newspaper Boss. He shall have all the fighting he wants." + +They met more often from that day, for Joan was frankly using her two +columns in the _Sunday Post_ to propagate his aims. Carleton, to her +surprise, made no objection. Nor did he seek to learn the result of his +ultimatum. It looked, they thought, as if he had assumed acceptance; and +was willing for Phillips to choose his own occasion. Meanwhile replies +to her articles reached Joan in weekly increasing numbers. There seemed +to be a wind arising, blowing towards Protection. Farm labourers, +especially, appeared to be enthusiastic for its coming. From their ill- +spelt, smeared epistles, one gathered that, after years of doubt and +hesitation, they had--however reluctantly--arrived at the conclusion that +without it there could be no hope for them. Factory workers, miners, +engineers--more fluent, less apologetic--wrote as strong supporters of +Phillips's scheme; but saw clearly how upon Protection its success +depended. Shopmen, clerks--only occasionally ungrammatical--felt sure +that Robert Phillips, the tried friend of the poor, would insist upon the +boon of Protection being no longer held back from the people. Wives and +mothers claimed it as their children's birthright. Similar views got +themselves at the same time, into the correspondence columns of +Carleton's other numerous papers. Evidently Democracy had been throbbing +with a passion for Protection hitherto unknown, even to itself. + +"He means it kindly," laughed Phillips. "He is offering me an excuse to +surrender gracefully. We must have a public meeting or two after +Christmas, and clear the ground." They had got into the habit of +speaking in the plural. + +Mrs. Phillips's conversion Joan found more difficult than she had +anticipated. She had persuaded Phillips to take a small house and let +her furnish it upon the hire system. Joan went with her to the widely +advertised "Emporium" in the City Road, meaning to advise her. But, in +the end, she gave it up out of sheer pity. Nor would her advice have +served much purpose, confronted by the "rich and varied choice" provided +for his patrons by Mr. Krebs, the "Furnisher for Connoisseurs." + +"We've never had a home exactly," explained Mrs. Phillips, during their +journey in the tram. "It's always been lodgings, up to now. Nice +enough, some of them; but you know what I mean; everybody else's taste +but your own. I've always fancied a little house with one's own things +in it. You know, things that you can get fond of." + +Oh, the things she was going to get fond of! The things that her poor, +round foolish eyes gloated upon the moment that she saw them! Joan tried +to enlist the shopman on her side, descending even to flirtation. +Unfortunately he was a young man with a high sense of duty, convinced +that his employer's interests lay in his support of Mrs. Phillips. The +sight of the furniture that, between them, they selected for the dining- +room gave Joan a quite distinct internal pain. They ascended to the +floor above, devoted to the exhibition of "_Recherche_ drawing-room +suites." Mrs. Phillips's eye instinctively fastened with passionate +desire upon the most atrocious. Joan grew vehement. It was impossible. + +"I always was a one for cheerful colours," explained Mrs. Phillips. + +Even the shopman wavered. Joan pressed her advantage; directed Mrs. +Phillips's attention to something a little less awful. Mrs. Phillips +yielded. + +"Of course you know best, dear," she admitted. "Perhaps I am a bit too +fond of bright things." + +The victory was won. Mrs. Phillips had turned away. The shopman was +altering the order. Joan moved towards the door, and accidentally caught +sight of Mrs. Phillips's face. The flabby mouth was trembling. A tear +was running down the painted cheek. + +Joan slipped her hand through the other's arm. + +"I'm not so sure you're not right after all," she said, fixing a critical +eye upon the rival suites. "It is a bit mousey, that other." + +The order was once more corrected. Joan had the consolation of +witnessing the childish delight that came again into the foolish face; +but felt angry with herself at her own weakness. + +It was the woman's feebleness that irritated her. If only she had shown +a spark of fight, Joan could have been firm. Poor feckless creature, +what could have ever been her attraction for Phillips! + +She followed, inwardly fuming, while Mrs. Phillips continued to pile +monstrosity upon monstrosity. What would Phillips think? And what would +Hilda's eyes say when they looked upon that _recherche_ drawing-room +suite? Hilda, who would have had no sentimental compunctions! The woman +would be sure to tell them both that she, Joan, had accompanied her and +helped in the choosing. The whole ghastly house would be exhibited to +every visitor as the result of their joint taste. She could hear Mr. +Airlie's purring voice congratulating her. + +She ought to have insisted on their going to a decent shop. The mere +advertisement ought to have forewarned her. It was the posters that had +captured Mrs. Phillips: those dazzling apartments where bejewelled +society reposed upon the "high-class but inexpensive designs" of Mr. +Krebs. Artists ought to have more self-respect than to sell their +talents for such purposes. + +The contract was concluded in Mr. Krebs' private office: a very stout +gentleman with a very thin voice, whose dream had always been to one day +be of service to the renowned Mr. Robert Phillips. He was clearly under +the impression that he had now accomplished it. Even as Mrs. Phillips +took up the pen to sign, the wild idea occurred to Joan of snatching the +paper away from her, hustling her into a cab, and in some quiet street or +square making the woman see for herself that she was a useless fool; that +the glowing dreams and fancies she had cherished in her silly head for +fifteen years must all be given up; that she must stand aside, knowing +herself of no account. + +It could be done. She felt it. If only one could summon up the needful +brutality. If only one could stifle that still, small voice of Pity. + +Mrs. Phillips signed amid splutterings and blots. Joan added her +signature as witness. + +She did effect an improvement in the poor lady's dress. On Madge's +advice she took her to a voluble little woman in the Earl's Court Road +who was struck at once by Madame Phillips's remarkable resemblance to the +Baroness von Stein. Had not Joan noticed it? Whatever suited the +Baroness von Stein--allowed by common consent to be one of the +best-dressed women in London--was bound to show up Madame Phillips to +equal advantage. By curious coincidence a costume for the Baroness had +been put in hand only the day before. It was sent for and pinned upon +the delighted Madame Phillips. Perfection! As the Baroness herself +would always say: "My frock must be a framework for my personality. It +must never obtrude." The supremely well-dressed woman! One never +notices what she has on: that is the test. It seemed it was what Mrs. +Phillips had always felt herself. Joan could have kissed the voluble, +emphatic little woman. + +But the dyed hair and the paint put up a fight for themselves. + +"I want you to do something very brave," said Joan. She had invited +herself to tea with Mrs. Phillips, and they were alone in the small white- +panelled room that they were soon to say good-bye to. The new house +would be ready at Christmas. "It will be a little hard at first," +continued Joan, "but afterwards you will be glad that you have done it. +It is a duty you owe to your position as the wife of a great leader of +the people." + +The firelight showed to Joan a comically frightened face, with round, +staring eyes and an open mouth. + +"What is it you want me to do?" she faltered + +"I want you to be just yourself," said Joan; "a kind, good woman of the +people, who will win their respect, and set them an example." She moved +across and seating herself on the arm of Mrs. Phillips's chair, touched +lightly with her hand the flaxen hair and the rouged cheek. "I want you +to get rid of all this," she whispered. "It isn't worthy of you. Leave +it to the silly dolls and the bad women." + +There was a long silence. Joan felt the tears trickling between her +fingers. + +"You haven't seen me," came at last in a thin, broken voice. + +Joan bent down and kissed her. "Let's try it," she whispered. + +A little choking sound was the only answer. But the woman rose and, Joan +following, they stole upstairs into the bedroom and Mrs. Phillips turned +the key. + +It took a long time, and Joan, seated on the bed, remembered a night when +she had taken a trapped mouse (if only he had been a quiet mouse!) into +the bathroom and had waited while it drowned. It was finished at last, +and Mrs Phillips stood revealed with her hair down, showing streaks of +dingy brown. + +Joan tried to enthuse; but the words came haltingly. She suggested to +Joan a candle that some wind had suddenly blown out. The paint and +powder had been obvious, but at least it had given her the mask of youth. +She looked old and withered. The life seemed to have gone out of her. + +"You see, dear, I began when I was young," she explained; "and he has +always seen me the same. I don't think I could live like this." + +The painted doll that the child fancied! the paint washed off and the +golden hair all turned to drab? Could one be sure of "getting used to +it," of "liking it better?" And the poor bewildered doll itself! How +could one expect to make of it a statue: "The Woman of the People." One +could only bruise it. + +It ended in Joan's promising to introduce her to discreet theatrical +friends who would tell her of cosmetics less injurious to the skin, and +advise her generally in the ancient and proper art of "making up." + +It was not the end she had looked for. Joan sighed as she closed her +door behind her. What was the meaning of it? On the one hand that +unimpeachable law, the greatest happiness of the greatest number; the +sacred cause of Democracy; the moral Uplift of the people; Sanity, +Wisdom, Truth, the higher Justice; all the forces on which she was +relying for the regeneration of the world--all arrayed in stern demand +that the flabby, useless Mrs. Phillips should be sacrificed for the +general good. Only one voice had pleaded for foolish, helpless Mrs. +Phillips--and had conquered. The still, small voice of Pity. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Arthur sprang himself upon her a little before Christmas. He was full of +a great project. It was that she and her father should spend Christmas +with his people at Birmingham. Her father thought he would like to see +his brother; they had not often met of late, and Birmingham would be +nearer for her than Liverpool. + +Joan had no intention of being lured into the Birmingham parlour. She +thought she could see in it a scheme for her gradual entanglement. +Besides, she was highly displeased. She had intended asking her father +to come to Brighton with her. As a matter of fact, she had forgotten all +about Christmas; and the idea only came into her head while explaining to +Arthur how his impulsiveness had interfered with it. Arthur, +crestfallen, suggested telegrams. It would be quite easy to alter +everything; and of course her father would rather be with her, wherever +it was. But it seemed it was too late. She ought to have been +consulted. A sudden sense of proprietorship in her father came to her +assistance and added pathos to her indignation. Of course, now, she +would have to spend Christmas alone. She was far too busy to think of +Birmingham. She could have managed Brighton. Argument founded on the +length of journey to Birmingham as compared with the journey to Brighton +she refused to be drawn into. Her feelings had been too deeply wounded +to permit of descent into detail. + +But the sinner, confessing his fault, is entitled to forgiveness, and, +having put him back into his proper place, she let him kiss her hand. She +even went further and let him ask her out to dinner. As the result of +her failure to reform Mrs. Phillips she was feeling dissatisfied with +herself. It was an unpleasant sensation and somewhat new to her +experience. An evening spent in Arthur's company might do her good. The +experiment proved successful. He really was quite a dear boy. Eyeing +him thoughtfully through the smoke of her cigarette, it occurred to her +how like he was to Guido's painting of St. Sebastian; those soft, dreamy +eyes and that beautiful, almost feminine, face! There always had been a +suspicion of the saint about him even as a boy: nothing one could lay +hold of: just that odd suggestion of a shadow intervening between him and +the world. + +It seemed a favourable opportunity to inform him of that fixed +determination of hers: never--in all probability--to marry: but to devote +her life to her work. She was feeling very kindly towards him; and was +able to soften her decision with touches of gentle regret. He did not +appear in the least upset. But 'thought' that her duty might demand, +later on, that she should change her mind: that was if fate should offer +her some noble marriage, giving her wider opportunity. + +She was a little piqued at his unexpected attitude of aloofness. What +did he mean by a "noble marriage"--to a Duke, or something of that sort? + +He did not think the candidature need be confined to Dukes, though he had +no objection to a worthy Duke. He meant any really great man who would +help her and whom she could help. + +She promised, somewhat shortly, to consider the matter, whenever the +Duke, or other class of nobleman, should propose to her. At present no +sign of him had appeared above the horizon. Her own idea was that, if +she lived long enough, she would become a spinster. Unless someone took +pity on her when she was old and decrepit and past her work. + +There was a little humorous smile about his mouth. But his eyes were +serious and pleading. + +"When shall I know that you are old and decrepit?" he asked. + +She was not quite sure. She thought it would be when her hair was +grey--or rather white. She had been informed by experts that her +peculiar shade of hair went white, not grey. + +"I shall ask you to marry me when your hair is white," he said. "May I?" + +It did not suggest any overwhelming impatience. "Yes," she answered. "In +case you haven't married yourself, and forgotten all about me." + +"I shall keep you to your promise," he said quite gravely. + +She felt the time had come to speak seriously. "I want you to marry," +she said, "and be happy. I shall be troubled if you don't." + +He was looking at her with those shy, worshipping eyes of his that always +made her marvel at her own wonderfulness. + +"It need not do that," he answered. "It would be beautiful to be with +you always so that I might serve you. But I am quite happy, loving you. +Let me see you now and then: touch you and hear your voice." + +Behind her drawn-down lids, she offered up a little prayer that she might +always be worthy of his homage. She didn't know it would make no +difference to him. + +She walked with him to Euston and saw him into the train. He had given +up his lodgings and was living with her father at The Pines. They were +busy on a plan for securing the co-operation of the workmen, and she +promised to run down and hear all about it. She would not change her +mind about Birmingham, but sent everyone her love. + +She wished she had gone when it came to Christmas Day. This feeling of +loneliness was growing upon her. The Phillips had gone up north; and the +Greysons to some relations of theirs: swell country people in Hampshire. +Flossie was on a sea voyage with Sam and his mother, and even Madge had +been struck homesick. It happened to be a Sunday, too, of all days in +the week, and London in a drizzling rain was just about the limit. She +worked till late in the afternoon, but, sitting down to her solitary cup +of tea, she felt she wanted to howl. From the basement came faint sounds +of laughter. Her landlord and lady were entertaining guests. If they +had not been, she would have found some excuse for running down and +talking to them, if only for a few minutes. + +Suddenly the vision of old Chelsea Church rose up before her with its +little motherly old pew-opener. She had so often been meaning to go and +see her again, but something had always interfered. She hunted through +her drawers and found a comparatively sober-coloured shawl, and tucked it +under her cloak. The service was just commencing when she reached the +church. Mary Stopperton showed her into a seat and evidently remembered +her. "I want to see you afterwards," she whispered; and Mary Stopperton +had smiled and nodded. The service, with its need for being continually +upon the move, bored her; she was not in the mood for it. And the +sermon, preached by a young curate who had not yet got over his Oxford +drawl, was uninteresting. She had half hoped that the wheezy old +clergyman, who had preached about Calvary on the evening she had first +visited the church, would be there again. She wondered what had become +of him, and if it were really a fact that she had known him when she was +a child, or only her fancy. It was strange how vividly her memory of him +seemed to pervade the little church. She had the feeling he was watching +her from the shadows. She waited for Mary in the vestibule, and gave her +the shawl, making her swear on the big key of the church door that she +would wear it herself and not give it away. The little old pew-opener's +pink and white face flushed with delight as she took it, and the thin, +work-worn hands fingered it admiringly. "But I may lend it?" she +pleaded. + +They turned up Church Street. Joan confided to Mary what a rotten +Christmas she had had, all by herself, without a soul to speak to except +her landlady, who had brought her meals and had been in such haste to get +away. + +"I don't know what made me think of you," she said. "I'm so glad I did." +She gave the little old lady a hug. Mary laughed. "Where are you going +now, dearie?" she asked. + +"Oh, I don't mind so much now," answered Joan. "Now that I've seen a +friendly face, I shall go home and go to bed early." + +They walked a little way in silence. Mary slipped her hand into Joan's. +"You wouldn't care to come home and have a bit of supper with me, would +you, dearie?" she asked. + +"Oh, may I?" answered Joan. + +Mary's hand gave Joan's a little squeeze. "You won't mind if anybody +drops in?" she said. "They do sometimes of a Sunday evening." + +"You don't mean a party?" asked Joan. + +"No, dear," answered Mary. "It's only one or two who have nowhere else +to go." + +Joan laughed. She thought she would be a fit candidate. + +"You see, it makes company for me," explained Mary. + +Mary lived in a tiny house behind a strip of garden. It stood in a +narrow side street between two public-houses, and was covered with ivy. +It had two windows above and a window and a door below. The upstairs +rooms belonged to the churchwardens and were used as a storehouse for old +parish registers, deemed of little value. Mary Stopperton and her +bedridden husband lived in the two rooms below. Mary unlocked the door, +and Joan passed in and waited. Mary lit a candle that was standing on a +bracket and turned to lead the way. + +"Shall I shut the door?" suggested Joan. + +Mary blushed like a child that has been found out just as it was hoping +that it had not been noticed. + +"It doesn't matter, dearie," she explained. "They know, if they find it +open, that I'm in." + +The little room looked very cosy when Mary had made up the fire and +lighted the lamp. She seated Joan in the worn horsehair easy-chair; out +of which one had to be careful one did not slip on to the floor; and +spread her handsome shawl over the back of the dilapidated sofa. + +"You won't mind my running away for a minute," she said. "I shall only +be in the next room." + +Through the thin partition, Joan heard a constant shrill, complaining +voice. At times, it rose into an angry growl. Mary looked in at the +door. + +"I'm just running round to the doctor's," she whispered. "His medicine +hasn't come. I shan't be long." + +Joan offered to go in and sit with the invalid. But Mary feared the +exertion of talking might be too much for him. "He gets so excited," she +explained. She slipped out noiselessly. + +It seemed, in spite of its open door, a very silent little house behind +its strip of garden. Joan had the feeling that it was listening. + +Suddenly she heard a light step in the passage, and the room door opened. +A girl entered. She was wearing a large black hat and a black boa round +her neck. Between them her face shone unnaturally white. She carried a +small cloth bag. She started, on seeing Joan, and seemed about to +retreat. + +"Oh, please don't go," cried Joan. "Mrs. Stopperton has just gone round +to the doctor's. She won't be long. I'm a friend of hers." + +The girl took stock of her and, apparently reassured, closed the door +behind her. + +"What's he like to-night?" she asked, with a jerk of her head in the +direction of the next room. She placed her bag carefully upon the sofa, +and examined the new shawl as she did so. + +"Well, I gather he's a little fretful," answered Joan with a smile. + +"That's a bad sign," said the girl. "Means he's feeling better." She +seated herself on the sofa and fingered the shawl. "Did you give it +her?" she asked. + +"Yes," admitted Joan. "I rather fancied her in it." + +"She'll only pawn it," said the girl, "to buy him grapes and port wine." + +"I felt a bit afraid of her," laughed Joan, "so I made her promise not to +part with it. Is he really very ill, her husband?" + +"Oh, yes, there's no make-believe this time," answered the girl. "A bad +thing for her if he wasn't." + +"Oh, it's only what's known all over the neighbourhood," continued the +girl. "She's had a pretty rough time with him. Twice I've found her +getting ready to go to sleep for the night by sitting on the bare floor +with her back against the wall. Had sold every stick in the place and +gone off. But she'd always some excuse for him. It was sure to be half +her fault and the other half he couldn't help. Now she's got her +'reward' according to her own account. Heard he was dying in a +doss-house, and must fetch him home and nurse him back to life. Seems +he's getting fonder of her every day. Now that he can't do anything +else." + +"It doesn't seem to depress her spirits," mused Joan. + +"Oh, she! She's all right," agreed the girl. "Having the time of her +life: someone to look after for twenty-four hours a day that can't help +themselves." + +She examined Joan awhile in silence. "Are you on the stage?" she asked. + +"No," answered Joan. "But my mother was. Are you?" + +"Thought you looked a bit like it," said the girl. "I'm in the chorus. +It's better than being in service or in a shop: that's all you can say +for it." + +"But you'll get out of that," suggested Joan. "You've got the actress +face." + +The girl flushed with pleasure. It was a striking face, with intelligent +eyes and a mobile, sensitive mouth. "Oh, yes," she said, "I could act +all right. I feel it. But you don't get out of the chorus. Except at a +price." + +Joan looked at her. "I thought that sort of thing was dying out," she +said. + +The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Not in my shop," she answered. +"Anyhow, it was the only chance I ever had. Wish sometimes I'd taken it. +It was quite a good part." + +"They must have felt sure you could act," said Joan. "Next time it will +be a clean offer." + +The girl shook her head. "There's no next time," she said; "once you're +put down as one of the stand-offs. Plenty of others to take your place." + +"Oh, I don't blame them," she added. "It isn't a thing to be dismissed +with a toss of your head. I thought it all out. Don't know now what +decided me. Something inside me, I suppose." + +Joan found herself poking the fire. "Have you known Mary Stopperton +long?" she asked. + +"Oh, yes," answered the girl. "Ever since I've been on my own." + +"Did you talk it over with her?" asked Joan. + +"No," answered the girl. "I may have just told her. She isn't the sort +that gives advice." + +"I'm glad you didn't do it," said Joan: "that you put up a fight for all +women." + +The girl gave a short laugh. "Afraid I wasn't thinking much about that," +she said. + +"No," said Joan. "But perhaps that's the way the best fights are +fought--without thinking." + +Mary peeped round the door. She had been lucky enough to find the doctor +in. She disappeared again, and they talked about themselves. The girl +was a Miss Ensor. She lived by herself in a room in Lawrence Street. + +"I'm not good at getting on with people," she explained. + +Mary joined them, and went straight to Miss Ensor's bag and opened it. +She shook her head at the contents, which consisted of a small, flabby- +looking meat pie in a tin dish, and two pale, flat mince tarts. + +"It doesn't nourish you, dearie," complained Mary. "You could have +bought yourself a nice bit of meat with the same money." + +"And you would have had all the trouble of cooking it," answered the +girl. "That only wants warming up." + +"But I like cooking, you know, dearie," grumbled Mary. "There's no +interest in warming things up." + +The girl laughed. "You don't have to go far for your fun," she said. +"I'll bring a sole next time; and you shall do it _au gratin_." + +Mary put the indigestible-looking pasties into the oven, and almost +banged the door. Miss Ensor proceeded to lay the table. "How many, do +you think?" she asked. Mary was doubtful. She hoped that, it being +Christmas Day, they would have somewhere better to go. + +"I passed old 'Bubble and Squeak,' just now, spouting away to three men +and a dog outside the World's End. I expect he'll turn up," thought Miss +Ensor. She laid for four, leaving space for more if need be. "I call it +the 'Cadger's Arms,'" she explained, turning to Joan. "We bring our own +victuals, and Mary cooks them for us and waits on us; and the more of us +the merrier. You look forward to your Sunday evening parties, don't +you?" she asked of Mary. + +Mary laughed. She was busy in a corner with basins and a saucepan. "Of +course I do, dearie," she answered. "I've always been fond of company." + +There came another opening of the door. A little hairy man entered. He +wore spectacles and was dressed in black. He carried a paper parcel +which he laid upon the table. He looked a little doubtful at Joan. Mary +introduced them. His name was Julius Simson. He shook hands as if under +protest. + +"As friends of Mary Stopperton," he said, "we meet on neutral ground. But +in all matters of moment I expect we are as far asunder as the poles. I +stand for the People." + +"We ought to be comrades," answered Joan, with a smile. "I, too, am +trying to help the People." + +"You and your class," said Mr. Simson, "are friends enough to the People, +so long as they remember that they are the People, and keep their proper +place--at the bottom. I am for putting the People at the top." + +"Then they will be the Upper Classes," suggested Joan. "And I may still +have to go on fighting for the rights of the lower orders." + +"In this world," explained Mr. Simson, "someone has got to be Master. The +only question is who." + +Mary had unwrapped the paper parcel. It contained half a sheep's head. +"How would you like it done?" she whispered. + +Mr. Simson considered. There came a softer look into his eyes. "How did +you do it last time?" he asked. "It came up brown, I remember, with +thick gravy." + +"Braised," suggested Mary. + +"That's the word," agreed Mr. Simson. "Braised." He watched while Mary +took things needful from the cupboard, and commenced to peel an onion. + +"That's the sort that makes me despair of the People," said Mr. Simson. +Joan could not be sure whether he was addressing her individually or +imaginary thousands. "Likes working for nothing. Thinks she was born to +be everybody's servant." He seated himself beside Miss Ensor on the +antiquated sofa. It gave a complaining groan but held out. + +"Did you have a good house?" the girl asked him. "Saw you from the +distance, waving your arms about. Hadn't time to stop." + +"Not many," admitted Mr. Simson. "A Christmassy lot. You know. Sort of +crowd that interrupts you and tries to be funny. Dead to their own +interests. It's slow work." + +"Why do you do it?" asked Miss Ensor. + +"Damned if I know," answered Mr. Simson, with a burst of candour. "Can't +help it, I suppose. Lost me job again." + +"The old story?" suggested Miss Ensor. + +"The old story," sighed Mr. Simson. "One of the customers happened to be +passing last Wednesday when I was speaking on the Embankment. Heard my +opinion of the middle classes?" + +"Well, you can't expect 'em to like it, can you?" submitted Miss Ensor. + +"No," admitted Mr. Simson with generosity. "It's only natural. It's a +fight to the finish between me and the Bourgeois. I cover them with +ridicule and contempt and they hit back at me in the only way they know." + +"Take care they don't get the best of you," Miss Ensor advised him. + +"Oh, I'm not afraid," he answered. "I'll get another place all right: +give me time. The only thing I'm worried about is my young woman." + +"Doesn't agree with you?" inquired Miss Ensor. + +"Oh, it isn't that," he answered. "But she's frightened. You know. Says +life with me is going to be a bit too uncertain for her. Perhaps she's +right." + +"Oh, why don't you chuck it," advised Miss Ensor, "give the Bourgeois a +rest." + +Mr. Simson shook his head. "Somebody's got to tackle them," he said. +"Tell them the truth about themselves, to their faces." + +"Yes, but it needn't be you," suggested Miss Ensor. + +Mary was leaning over the table. Miss Ensor's four-penny veal and ham +pie was ready. Mary arranged it in front of her. "Eat it while it's +hot, dearie," she counselled. "It won't be so indigestible." + +Miss Ensor turned to her. "Oh, you talk to him," she urged. "Here, he's +lost his job again, and is losing his girl: all because of his silly +politics. Tell him he's got to have sense and stop it." + +Mary seemed troubled. Evidently, as Miss Ensor had stated, advice was +not her line. "Perhaps he's got to do it, dearie," she suggested. + +"What do you mean by got to do it?" exclaimed Miss Ensor. "Who's making +him do it, except himself?" + +Mary flushed. She seemed to want to get back to her cooking. "It's +something inside us, dearie," she thought: "that nobody hears but +ourselves." + +"That tells him to talk all that twaddle?" demanded Miss Ensor. "Have +you heard him?" + +"No, dearie," Mary admitted. "But I expect it's got its purpose. Or he +wouldn't have to do it." + +Miss Ensor gave a gesture of despair and applied herself to her pie. The +hirsute face of Mr. Simson had lost the foolish aggressiveness that had +irritated Joan. He seemed to be pondering matters. + +Mary hoped that Joan was hungry. Joan laughed and admitted that she was. +"It's the smell of all the nice things," she explained. Mary promised it +should soon be ready, and went back to her corner. + +A short, dark, thick-set man entered and stood looking round the room. +The frame must once have been powerful, but now it was shrunken and +emaciated. The shabby, threadbare clothes hung loosely from the stooping +shoulders. Only the head seemed to have retained its vigour. The face, +from which the long black hair was brushed straight back, was ghastly +white. Out of it, deep set beneath great shaggy, overhanging brows, +blazed the fierce, restless eyes of a fanatic. The huge, thin-lipped +mouth seemed to have petrified itself into a savage snarl. He gave Joan +the idea, as he stood there glaring round him, of a hunted beast at bay. + +Miss Ensor, whose bump of reverence was undeveloped, greeted him +cheerfully as Boanerges. Mr. Simson, more respectful, rose and offered +his small, grimy hand. Mary took his hat and cloak away from him and +closed the door behind him. She felt his hands, and put him into a chair +close to the fire. And then she introduced him to Joan. + +Joan started on hearing his name. It was one well known. + +"The Cyril Baptiste?" she asked. She had often wondered what he might be +like. + +"The Cyril Baptiste," he answered, in a low, even, passionate voice, that +he flung at her almost like a blow. "The atheist, the gaol bird, the +pariah, the blasphemer, the anti-Christ. I've hoofs instead of feet. +Shall I take off my boots and show them to you? I tuck my tail inside my +coat. You can't see my horns. I've cut them off close to my head. +That's why I wear my hair long: to hide the stumps." + +Mary had been searching in the pockets of his cloak. She had found a +paper bag. "You mustn't get excited," she said, laying her little work- +worn hand upon his shoulder; "or you'll bring on the bleeding." + +"Aye," he answered, "I must be careful I don't die on Christmas Day. It +would make a fine text, that, for their sermons." + +He lapsed into silence: his almost transparent hands stretched out +towards the fire. + +Mr. Simson fidgeted. The quiet of the room, broken only by Mary's +ministering activities, evidently oppressed him. + +"Paper going well, sir?" he asked. "I often read it myself." + +"It still sells," answered the proprietor, and editor and publisher, and +entire staff of _The Rationalist_. + +"I like the articles you are writing on the History of Superstition. +Quite illuminating," remarked Mr. Simson. + +"It's many a year, I am afraid, to the final chapter," thought their +author. + +"They afford much food for reflection," thought Mr. Simson, "though I +cannot myself go as far as you do in including Christianity under that +heading." + +Mary frowned at him; but Mr. Simson, eager for argument or not noticing, +blundered on:-- + +"Whether we accept the miraculous explanation of Christ's birth," +continued Mr. Simson, in his best street-corner voice, "or whether, with +the great French writer whose name for the moment escapes me, we regard +Him merely as a man inspired, we must, I think, admit that His teaching +has been of help: especially to the poor." + +The fanatic turned upon him so fiercely that Mr. Simson's arm +involuntarily assumed the posture of defence. + +"To the poor?" the old man almost shrieked. "To the poor that he has +robbed of all power of resistance to oppression by his vile, submissive +creed! that he has drugged into passive acceptance of every evil done to +them by his false promises that their sufferings here shall win for them +some wonderful reward when they are dead. What has been his teaching to +the poor? Bow your backs to the lash, kiss the rod that scars your +flesh. Be ye humble, oh, my people. Be ye poor in spirit. Let Wrong +rule triumphant through the world. Raise no hand against it, lest ye +suffer my eternal punishments. Learn from me to be meek and lowly. Learn +to be good slaves and give no trouble to your taskmasters. Let them turn +the world into a hell for you. The grave--the grave shall be your gate +to happiness. + +"Helpful to the poor? Helpful to their rulers, to their owners. They +take good care that Christ shall be well taught. Their fat priests shall +bear his message to the poor. The rod may be broken, the prison door be +forced. It is Christ that shall bind the people in eternal fetters. +Christ, the lackey, the jackal of the rich." + +Mr. Simson was visibly shocked. Evidently he was less familiar with the +opinions of _The Rationalist_ than he had thought. + +"I really must protest," exclaimed Mr. Simson. "To whatever wrong uses +His words may have been twisted, Christ Himself I regard as divine, and +entitled to be spoken of with reverence. His whole life, His +sufferings--" + +But the old fanatic's vigour had not yet exhausted itself. + +"His sufferings!" he interrupted. "Does suffering entitle a man to be +regarded as divine? If so, so also am I a God. Look at me!" He +stretched out his long, thin arms with their claw-like hands, thrusting +forward his great savage head that the bony, wizened throat seemed hardly +strong enough to bear. "Wealth, honour, happiness: I had them once. I +had wife, children and a home. Now I creep an outcast, keeping to the +shadows, and the children in the street throw stones at me. Thirty years +I have starved that I might preach. They shut me in their prisons, they +hound me into garrets. They jibe at me and mock me, but they cannot +silence me. What of my life? Am I divine?" + +Miss Ensor, having finished her supper, sat smoking. + +"Why must you preach?" she asked. "It doesn't seem to pay you." There +was a curious smile about the girl's lips as she caught Joan's eye. + +He turned to her with his last flicker of passion. + +"Because to this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the +world, that I should bear witness unto the truth," he answered. + +He sank back a huddled heap upon the chair. There was foam about his +mouth, great beads of sweat upon his forehead. Mary wiped them away with +a corner of her apron, and felt again his trembling hands. "Oh, please +don't talk to him any more," she pleaded, "not till he's had his supper." +She fetched her fine shawl, and pinned it round him. His eyes followed +her as she hovered about him. For the first time, since he had entered +the room, they looked human. + +They gathered round the table. Mr. Baptiste was still pinned up in +Mary's bright shawl. It lent him a curious dignity. He might have been +some ancient prophet stepped from the pages of the Talmud. Miss Ensor +completed her supper with a cup of tea and some little cakes: "just to +keep us all company," as Mary had insisted. + +The old fanatic's eyes passed from face to face. There was almost the +suggestion of a smile about the savage mouth. + +"A strange supper-party," he said. "Cyril the Apostate; and Julius who +strove against the High Priests and the Pharisees; and Inez a dancer +before the people; and Joanna a daughter of the rulers, gathered together +in the house of one Mary a servant of the Lord." + +"Are you, too, a Christian?" he asked of Joan. + +"Not yet," answered Joan. "But I hope to be, one day." She spoke +without thinking, not quite knowing what she meant. But it came back to +her in after years. + +The talk grew lighter under the influence of Mary's cooking. Mr. +Baptiste could be interesting when he got away from his fanaticism; and +even the apostolic Mr. Simson had sometimes noticed humour when it had +chanced his way. + +A message came for Mary about ten o'clock, brought by a scared little +girl, who whispered it to her at the door. Mary apologized. She had to +go out. The party broke up. Mary disappeared into the next room and +returned in a shawl and bonnet, carrying a small brown paper parcel. Joan +walked with her as far as the King's Road. + +"A little child is coming," she confided to Joan. She was quite excited +about it. + +Joan thought. "It's curious," she said, "one so seldom hears of anybody +being born on Christmas Day." + +They were passing a lamp. Joan had never seen a face look quite so happy +as Mary's looked, just then. + +"It always seems to me Christ's birthday," she said, "whenever a child is +born." + +They had reached the corner. Joan could see her bus in the distance. + +She stooped and kissed the little withered face. + +"Don't stop," she whispered. + +Mary gave her a hug, and almost ran away. Joan watched the little child- +like figure growing smaller. It glided in and out among the people. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +In the spring, Joan, at Mrs. Denton's request, undertook a mission. It +was to go to Paris. Mrs. Denton had meant to go herself, but was laid up +with sciatica; and the matter, she considered, would not brook of any +delay. + +"It's rather a delicate business," she told Joan. She was lying on a +couch in her great library, and Joan was seated by her side. "I want +someone who can go into private houses and mix with educated people on +their own level; and especially I want you to see one or two women: they +count in France. You know French pretty well, don't you?" + +"Oh, sufficiently," Joan answered. The one thing her mother had done for +her had been to talk French with her when she was a child; and at Girton +she had chummed on with a French girl, and made herself tolerably +perfect. + +"You will not go as a journalist," continued Mrs. Denton; "but as a +personal friend of mine, whose discretion I shall vouch for. I want you +to find out what the people I am sending you among are thinking +themselves, and what they consider ought to be done. If we are not very +careful on both sides we shall have the newspapers whipping us into war." + +The perpetual Egyptian trouble had cropped up again and the Carleton +papers, in particular, were already sounding the tocsin. Carleton's +argument was that we ought to fall upon France and crush her, before she +could develop her supposed submarine menace. His flaming posters were at +every corner. Every obscure French newspaper was being ransacked for +"Insults and Pinpricks." + +"A section of the Paris Press is doing all it can to help him, of +course," explained Mrs. Denton. "It doesn't seem to matter to them that +Germany is only waiting her opportunity, and that, if Russia comes in, it +is bound to bring Austria. Europe will pay dearly one day for the luxury +of a free Press." + +"But you're surely not suggesting any other kind of Press, at this period +of the world's history?" exclaimed Joan. + +"Oh, but I am," answered the old lady with a grim tightening of the lips. +"Not even Carleton would be allowed to incite to murder or arson. I +would have him prosecuted for inciting a nation to war." + +"Why is the Press always so eager for war?" mused Joan. "According to +their own account, war doesn't pay them." + +"I don't suppose it does: not directly," answered Mrs. Denton. "But it +helps them to establish their position and get a tighter hold upon the +public. War does pay the newspaper in the long run. The daily newspaper +lives on commotion, crime, lawlessness in general. If people no longer +enjoyed reading about violence and bloodshed half their occupation, and +that the most profitable half would be gone. It is the interest of the +newspaper to keep alive the savage in human nature; and war affords the +readiest means of doing this. You can't do much to increase the number +of gruesome murders and loathsome assaults, beyond giving all possible +advertisement to them when they do occur. But you can preach war, and +cover yourself with glory, as a patriot, at the same time." + +"I wonder how many of my ideals will be left to me," sighed Joan. "I +always used to regard the Press as the modern pulpit." + +"The old pulpit became an evil, the moment it obtained unlimited power," +answered Mrs. Denton. "It originated persecution and inflamed men's +passions against one another. It, too, preached war for its own ends, +taught superstition, and punished thought as a crime. The Press of to- +day is stepping into the shoes of the medieval priest. It aims at +establishing the worst kind of tyranny: the tyranny over men's minds. +They pretend to fight among themselves, but it's rapidly becoming a close +corporation. The Institute of Journalists will soon be followed by the +Union of Newspaper Proprietors and the few independent journals will be +squeezed out. Already we have German shareholders on English papers; and +English capital is interested in the St. Petersburg Press. It will one +day have its International Pope and its school of cosmopolitan +cardinals." + +Joan laughed. "I can see Carleton rather fancying himself in a tiara," +she said. "I must tell Phillips what you say. He's out for a fight with +him. Government by Parliament or Government by Press is going to be his +war cry." + +"Good man," said Mrs. Denton. "I'm quite serious. You tell him from me +that the next revolution has got to be against the Press. And it will be +the stiffest fight Democracy has ever had." + +The old lady had tired herself. Joan undertook the mission. She thought +she would rather enjoy it, and Mrs. Denton promised to let her have full +instructions. She would write to her friends in Paris and prepare them +for Joan's coming. + +Joan remembered Folk, the artist she had met at Flossie's party, who had +promised to walk with her on the terrace at St. Germain, and tell her +more about her mother. She looked up his address on her return home, and +wrote to him, giving him the name of the hotel in the Rue de Grenelle +where Mrs. Denton had arranged that she should stay. She found a note +from him awaiting her when she arrived there. He thought she would like +to be quiet after her journey. He would call round in the morning. He +had presumed on the privilege of age to send her some lilies. They had +been her mother's favourite flower. "Monsieur Folk, the great artist," +had brought them himself, and placed them in her dressing-room, so Madame +informed her. + +It was one of the half-dozen old hotels still left in Paris, and was +built round a garden famous for its mighty mulberry tree. She +breakfasted underneath it, and was reading there when Folk appeared +before her, smiling and with his hat in his hand. He excused himself for +intruding upon her so soon, thinking from what she had written him that +her first morning might be his only chance. He evidently considered her +remembrance of him a feather in his cap. + +"We old fellows feel a little sadly, at times, how unimportant we are," +he explained. "We are grateful when Youth throws us a smile." + +"You told me my coming would take you back thirty-three years," Joan +reminded him. "It makes us about the same age. I shall treat you as +just a young man." + +He laughed. "Don't be surprised," he said, "if I make a mistake +occasionally and call you Lena." + +Joan had no appointment till the afternoon. They drove out to St. +Germain, and had _dejeuner_ at a small restaurant opposite the Chateau; +and afterwards they strolled on to the terrace. + +"What was my mother doing in Paris?" asked Joan, + +"She was studying for the stage," he answered. "Paris was the only +school in those days. I was at Julien's studio. We acted together for +some charity. I had always been fond of it. An American manager who was +present offered us both an engagement, and I thought it would be a change +and that I could combine the two arts." + +"And it was here that you proposed to her," said Joan. + +"Just by that tree that leans forward," he answered, pointing with his +cane a little way ahead. "I thought that in America I'd get another +chance. I might have if your father hadn't come along. I wonder if he +remembers me." + +"Did you ever see her again, after her marriage?" asked Joan. + +"No," he answered. "We used to write to one another until she gave it +up. She had got into the habit of looking upon me as a harmless sort of +thing to confide in and ask advice of--which she never took." + +"Forgive me," he said. "You must remember that I am still her lover." +They had reached the tree that leant a little forward beyond its fellows, +and he had halted and turned so that he was facing her. "Did she and +your father get on together. Was she happy?" + +"I don't think she was happy," answered Joan. "She was at first. As a +child, I can remember her singing and laughing about the house, and she +liked always to have people about her. Until her illness came. It +changed her very much. But my father was gentleness itself, to the end." + +They had resumed their stroll. It seemed to her that he looked at her +once or twice a little oddly without speaking. "What caused your +mother's illness?" he asked, abruptly. + +The question troubled her. It struck her with a pang of self-reproach +that she had always been indifferent to her mother's illness, regarding +it as more or less imaginary. "It was mental rather than physical, I +think," she answered. "I never knew what brought it about." + +Again he looked at her with that odd, inquisitive expression. "She never +got over it?" he asked. + +"Oh, there were times," answered Joan, "when she was more like her old +self again. But I don't think she ever quite got over it. Unless it was +towards the end," she added. "They told me she seemed much better for a +little while before she died. I was away at Cambridge at the time." + +"Poor dear lady," he said, "all those years! And poor Jack Allway." He +seemed to be talking to himself. Suddenly he turned to her. "How is the +dear fellow?" he asked. + +Again the question troubled her. She had not seen her father since that +week-end, nearly six months ago, when she had ran down to see him because +she wanted something from him. "He felt my mother's death very deeply," +she answered. "But he's well enough in health." + +"Remember me to him," he said. "And tell him I thank him for all those +years of love and gentleness. I don't think he will be offended." + +He drove her back to Paris, and she promised to come and see him in his +studio and let him introduce her to his artist friends. + +"I shall try to win you over, I warn you," he said. "Politics will never +reform the world. They appeal only to men's passions and hatreds. They +divide us. It is Art that is going to civilize mankind; broaden his +sympathies. Art speaks to him the common language of his loves, his +dreams, reveals to him the universal kinship." + +Mrs. Denton's friends called upon her, and most of them invited her to +their houses. A few were politicians, senators or ministers. Others +were bankers, heads of business houses, literary men and women. There +were also a few quiet folk with names that were historical. They all +thought that war between France and England would be a world disaster, +but were not very hopeful of averting it. She learnt that Carleton was +in Berlin trying to secure possession of a well-known German daily that +happened at the moment to be in low water. He was working for an +alliance between Germany and England. In France, the Royalists had come +to an understanding with the Clericals, and both were evidently making +ready to throw in their lot with the war-mongers, hoping that out of the +troubled waters the fish would come their way. Of course everything +depended on the people. If the people only knew it! But they didn't. +They stood about in puzzled flocks, like sheep, wondering which way the +newspaper dog was going to hound them. They took her to the great music +halls. Every allusion to war was greeted with rapturous applause. The +Marseillaise was demanded and encored till the orchestra rebelled from +sheer exhaustion. Joan's patience was sorely tested. She had to listen +with impassive face to coarse jests and brutal gibes directed against +England and everything English; to sit unmoved while the vast audience +rocked with laughter at senseless caricatures of supposed English +soldiers whose knees always gave way at the sight of a French uniform. +Even in the eyes of her courteous hosts, Joan's quick glance would +occasionally detect a curious glint. The fools! Had they never heard of +Waterloo and Trafalgar? Even if their memories might be excused for +forgetting Crecy and Poictiers and the campaigns of Marlborough. One +evening--it had been a particularly trying one for Joan--there stepped +upon the stage a wooden-looking man in a kilt with bagpipes under his +arm. How he had got himself into the programme Joan could not +understand. Managerial watchfulness must have gone to sleep for once. He +played Scotch melodies, and the Parisians liked them, and when he had +finished they called him back. Joan and her friends occupied a box close +to the stage. The wooden-looking Scot glanced up at her, and their eyes +met. And as the applause died down there rose the first low warning +strains of the Pibroch. Joan sat up in her chair and her lips parted. +The savage music quickened. It shrilled and skrealed. The blood came +surging through her veins. + +And suddenly something lying hidden there leaped to life within her +brain. A mad desire surged hold of her to rise and shout defiance at +those three thousand pairs of hostile eyes confronting her. She clutched +at the arms of her chair and so kept her seat. The pibroch ended with +its wild sad notes of wailing, and slowly the mist cleared from her eyes, +and the stage was empty. A strange hush had fallen on the house. + +She was not aware that her hostess had been watching her. She was a +sweet-faced, white-haired lady. She touched Joan lightly on the hand. +"That's the trouble," she whispered. "It's in our blood." + +Could we ever hope to eradicate it? Was not the survival of this +fighting instinct proof that war was still needful to us? In the +sculpture-room of an exhibition she came upon a painted statue of +Bellona. Its grotesqueness shocked her at first sight, the red streaming +hair, the wild eyes filled with fury, the wide open mouth--one could +almost hear it screaming--the white uplifted arms with outstretched +hands! Appalling! Terrible! And yet, as she gazed at it, gradually the +thing grew curiously real to her. She seemed to hear the gathering of +the chariots, the neighing of the horses, the hurrying of many feet, the +sound of an armouring multitude, the shouting, and the braying of the +trumpets. + +These cold, thin-lipped calculators, arguing that "War doesn't pay"; +those lank-haired cosmopolitans, preaching their "International," as if +the only business of mankind were wages! War still was the stern school +where men learnt virtue, duty, forgetfulness of self, faithfulness unto +death. + +This particular war, of course, must be stopped: if it were not already +too late. It would be a war for markets; for spheres of commercial +influence; a sordid war that would degrade the people. War, the supreme +test of a nation's worth, must be reserved for great ideals. Besides, +she wanted to down Carleton. + +One of the women on her list, and the one to whom Mrs. Denton appeared to +attach chief importance, a Madame de Barante, disappointed Joan. She +seemed to have so few opinions of her own. She had buried her young +husband during the Franco-Prussian war. He had been a soldier. And she +had remained unmarried. She was still beautiful. + +"I do not think we women have the right to discuss war," she confided to +Joan in her gentle, high-bred voice. "I suppose you think that out of +date. I should have thought so myself forty years ago. We talk of +'giving' our sons and lovers, as if they were ours to give. It makes me +a little angry when I hear pampered women speak like that. It is the men +who have to suffer and die. It is for them to decide." + +"But perhaps I can arrange a meeting for you with a friend," she added, +"who will be better able to help you, if he is in Paris. I will let you +know." + +She told Joan what she remembered herself of 1870. She had turned her +country house into a hospital and had seen a good deal of the fighting. + +"It would not do to tell the truth, or we should have our children +growing up to hate war," she concluded. + +She was as good as her word, and sent Joan round a message the next +morning to come and see her in the afternoon. Joan was introduced to a +Monsieur de Chaumont. He was a soldierly-looking gentleman, with a grey +moustache, and a deep scar across his face. + +"Hanged if I can see how we are going to get out of it," he answered Joan +cheerfully. "The moment there is any threat of war, it becomes a point +of honour with every nation to do nothing to avoid it. I remember my old +duelling days. The quarrel may have been about the silliest trifle +imaginable. A single word would have explained the whole thing away. But +to utter it would have stamped one as a coward. This Egyptian Tra-la-la! +It isn't worth the bones of a single grenadier, as our friends across the +Rhine would say. But I expect, before it's settled, there will be men's +bones sufficient, bleaching on the desert, to build another Pyramid. It's +so easily started: that's the devil of it. A mischievous boy can throw a +lighted match into a powder magazine, and then it becomes every patriot's +business to see that it isn't put out. I hate war. It accomplishes +nothing, and leaves everything in a greater muddle than it was before. +But if the idea ever catches fire, I shall have to do all I can to fan +the conflagration. Unless I am prepared to be branded as a poltroon. +Every professional soldier is supposed to welcome war. Most of us do: +it's our opportunity. There's some excuse for us. But these +men--Carleton and their lot: I regard them as nothing better than the +Menades of the Commune. They care nothing if the whole of Europe blazes. +They cannot personally get harmed whatever happens. It's fun to them." + +"But the people who can get harmed," argued Joan. "The men who will be +dragged away from their work, from their business, used as 'cannon +fodder.'" + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, they are always eager enough for it, at +first," he answered. "There is the excitement. The curiosity. You must +remember that life is a monotonous affair to the great mass of the +people. There's the natural craving to escape from it; to court +adventure. They are not so enthusiastic about it after they have tasted +it. Modern warfare, they soon find, is about as dull a business as +science ever invented." + +There was only one hope that he could see: and that was to switch the +people's mind on to some other excitement. His advices from London told +him that a parliamentary crisis was pending. Could not Mrs. Denton and +her party do something to hasten it? He, on his side, would consult with +the Socialist leaders, who might have something to suggest. + +He met Joan, radiant, a morning or two later. The English Government had +resigned and preparations for a general election were already on foot. + +"And God has been good to us, also," he explained. + +A well-known artist had been found murdered in his bed and grave +suspicion attached to his beautiful young wife. + +"She deserves the Croix de Guerre, if it is proved that she did it," he +thought. "She will have saved many thousands of lives--for the present." + +Folk had fixed up a party at his studio to meet her. She had been there +once or twice; but this was a final affair. She had finished her +business in Paris and would be leaving the next morning. To her +surprise, she found Phillips there. He had come over hurriedly to attend +a Socialist conference, and Leblanc, the editor of _Le Nouveau Monde_, +had brought him along. + +"I took Smedley's place at the last moment," he whispered to her. "I've +never been abroad before. You don't mind, do you?" + +It didn't strike her as at all odd that a leader of a political party +should ask her "if she minded" his being in Paris to attend a political +conference. He was wearing a light grey suit and a blue tie. There was +nothing about him, at that moment, suggesting that he was a leader of any +sort. He might have been just any man, but for his eyes. + +"No," she whispered. "Of course not. I don't like your tie." It seemed +to depress him, that. + +She felt elated at the thought that he would see her for the first time +amid surroundings where she would shine. Folk came forward to meet her +with that charming air of protective deference that he had adopted +towards her. He might have been some favoured minister of state kissing +the hand of a youthful Queen. She glanced down the long studio, ending +in its fine window overlooking the park. Some of the most distinguished +men in Paris were there, and the immediate stir of admiration that her +entrance had created was unmistakable. Even the women turned pleased +glances at her; as if willing to recognize in her their representative. A +sense of power came to her that made her feel kind to all the world. +There was no need for her to be clever: to make any effort to attract. +Her presence, her sympathy, her approval seemed to be all that was needed +of her. She had the consciousness that by the mere exercise of her will +she could sway the thoughts and actions of these men: that sovereignty +had been given to her. It reflected itself in her slightly heightened +colour, in the increased brilliance of her eyes, in the confident case of +all her movements. It added a compelling softness to her voice. + +She never quite remembered what the talk was about. Men were brought up +and presented to her, and hung about her words, and sought to please her. +She had spoken her own thoughts, indifferent whether they expressed +agreement or not; and the argument had invariably taken another plane. It +seemed so important that she should be convinced. Some had succeeded, +and had been strengthened. Others had failed, and had departed +sorrowful, conscious of the necessity of "thinking it out again." + +Guests with other engagements were taking their leave. A piquante little +woman, outrageously but effectively dressed--she looked like a drawing by +Beardsley--drew her aside. "I've always wished I were a man," she said. +"It seemed to me that they had all the power. From this afternoon, I +shall be proud of belonging to the governing sex." + +She laughed and slipped away. + +Phillips was waiting for her in the vestibule. She had forgotten him; +but now she felt glad of his humble request to be allowed to see her +home. It would have been such a big drop from her crowded hour of +triumph to the long lonely cab ride and the solitude of the hotel. She +resolved to be gracious, feeling a little sorry for her neglect of +him--but reflecting with satisfaction that he had probably been watching +her the whole time. + +"What's the matter with my tie?" he asked. "Wrong colour?" + +She laughed. "Yes," she answered. "It ought to be grey to match your +suit. And so ought your socks." + +"I didn't know it was going to be such a swell affair, or I shouldn't +have come," he said. + +She touched his hand lightly. + +"I want you to get used to it," she said. "It's part of your work. Put +your brain into it, and don't be afraid." + +"I'll try," he said. + +He was sitting on the front seat, facing her. "I'm glad I went," he said +with sudden vehemence. "I loved watching you, moving about among all +those people. I never knew before how beautiful you are." + +Something in his eyes sent a slight thrill of fear through her. It was +not an unpleasant sensation--rather exhilarating. She watched the +passing street till she felt that his eyes were no longer devouring her. + +"You're not offended?" he asked. "At my thinking you beautiful?" he +added, in case she hadn't understood. + +She laughed. Her confidence had returned to her. "It doesn't generally +offend a woman," she answered. + +He seemed relieved. "That's what's so wonderful about you," he said. +"I've met plenty of clever, brilliant women, but one could forget that +they were women. You're everything." + +He pleaded, standing below her on the steps of the hotel, that she would +dine with him. But she shook her head. She had her packing to do. She +could have managed it; but something prudent and absurd had suddenly got +hold of her; and he went away with much the same look in his eyes that +comes to a dog when he finds that his master cannot be persuaded into an +excursion. + +She went up to her room. There really was not much to do. She could +quite well finish her packing in the morning. She sat down at the desk +and set to work to arrange her papers. It was a warm spring evening, and +the window was open. A crowd of noisy sparrows seemed to be delighted +about something. From somewhere, unseen, a blackbird was singing. She +read over her report for Mrs. Denton. The blackbird seemed never to have +heard of war. He sang as if the whole world were a garden of languor and +love. Joan looked at her watch. The first gong would sound in a few +minutes. She pictured the dreary, silent dining-room with its few +scattered occupants, and her heart sank at the prospect. To her relief +came remembrance of a cheerful but entirely respectable restaurant near +to the Louvre to which she had been taken a few nights before. She had +noticed quite a number of women dining there alone. She closed her +dispatch case with a snap and gave a glance at herself in the great +mirror. The blackbird was still singing. + +She walked up the Rue des Sts. Peres, enjoying the delicious air. Half +way across the bridge she overtook a man, strolling listlessly in front +of her. There was something familiar about him. He was wearing a grey +suit and had his hands in his pockets. Suddenly the truth flashed upon +her. She stopped. If he strolled on, she would be able to slip back. +Instead of which he abruptly turned to look down at a passing steamer, +and they were face to face. + +It made her mad, the look of delight that came into his eyes. She could +have boxed his ears. Hadn't he anything else to do but hang about the +streets. + +He explained that he had been listening to the band in the gardens, +returning by the Quai d'Orsay. + +"Do let me come with you," he said. "I kept myself free this evening, +hoping. And I'm feeling so lonesome." + +Poor fellow! She had come to understand that feeling. After all, it +wasn't altogether his fault that they had met. And she had been so cross +to him! + +He was reading every expression on her face. + +"It's such a lovely evening," he said. "Couldn't we go somewhere and +dine under a tree?" + +It would be rather pleasant. There was a little place at Meudon, she +remembered. The plane trees would just be in full leaf. + +A passing cab had drawn up close to them. The chauffeur was lighting his +pipe. + +Even Mrs. Grundy herself couldn't object to a journalist dining with a +politician! + +The stars came out before they had ended dinner. She had made him talk +about himself. It was marvellous what he had accomplished with his +opportunities. Ten hours a day in the mines had earned for him his +living, and the night had given him his leisure. An attic, lighted by a +tallow candle, with a shelf of books that left him hardly enough for +bread, had been his Alma Mater. History was his chief study. There was +hardly an authority Joan could think of with which he was not familiar. +_Julius Caesar_ was his favourite play. He seemed to know it by heart. +At twenty-three he had been elected a delegate, and had entered +Parliament at twenty-eight. It had been a life of hardship, of +privation, of constant strain; but she found herself unable to pity him. +It was a tale of strength, of struggle, of victory, that he told her. + +Strength! The shaded lamplight fell upon his fearless kindly face with +its flashing eyes and its humorous mouth. He ought to have been drinking +out of a horn, not a wine glass that his well-shaped hand could have +crushed by a careless pressure. In a winged helmet and a coat of mail he +would have looked so much more fitly dressed than in that soft felt hat +and ridiculous blue tie. + +She led him to talk on about the future. She loved to hear his clear, +confident voice with its touch of boyish boastfulness. What was there to +stop him? Why should he not climb from power to power till he had +reached the end! + +And as he talked and dreamed there grew up in her heart a fierce anger. +What would her own future be? She would marry probably some man of her +own class, settle down to the average woman's "life"; be allowed, like a +spoilt child, to still "take an interest" in public affairs: hold +"drawing-rooms" attended by cranks and political nonentities: be +President, perhaps, of the local Woman's Liberal League. The +alternative: to spend her days glued to a desk, penning exhortations to +the people that Carleton and his like might or might not allow them to +read; while youth and beauty slipped away from her, leaving her one of +the ten thousand other lonely, faded women, forcing themselves unwelcome +into men's jobs. There came to her a sense of having been robbed of what +was hers by primitive eternal law. Greyson had been right. She did love +power--power to serve and shape the world. She would have earned it and +used it well. She could have helped him, inspired him. They would have +worked together: he the force and she the guidance. She would have +supplied the things he lacked. It was to her he came for counsel, as it +was. But for her he would never have taken the first step. What right +had this poor brainless lump of painted flesh to share his wounds, his +triumphs? What help could she give him when the time should come that he +should need it? + +Suddenly he broke off. "What a fool I'm making of myself," he said. "I +always was a dreamer." + +She forced a laugh. "Why shouldn't it come true?" she asked. + +They had the little garden to themselves. The million lights of Paris +shone below them. + +"Because you won't be there," he answered, "and without you I can't do +it. You think I'm always like I am to-night, bragging, confident. So I +am when you are with me. You give me back my strength. The plans and +hopes and dreams that were slipping from me come crowding round me, +laughing and holding out their hands. They are like the children. They +need two to care for them. I want to talk about them to someone who +understands them and loves them, as I do. I want to feel they are dear +to someone else, as well as to myself: that I must work for them for her +sake, as well as for my own. I want someone to help me to bring them +up." + +There were tears in his eyes. He brushed them angrily away. "Oh, I know +I ought to be ashamed of myself," he said. "It wasn't her fault. She +wasn't to know that a hot-blooded young chap of twenty hasn't all his +wits about him, any more than I was. If I had never met you, it wouldn't +have mattered. I'd have done my bit of good, and have stopped there, +content. With you beside me"--he looked away from her to where the +silent city peeped through its veil of night--"I might have left the +world better than I found it." + +The blood had mounted to her face. She drew back into the shadow, beyond +the tiny sphere of light made by the little lamp. + +"Men have accomplished great things without a woman's help," she said. + +"Some men," he answered. "Artists and poets. They have the woman within +them. Men like myself--the mere fighter: we are incomplete in ourselves. +Male and female created He them. We are lost without our mate." + +He was thinking only of himself. Had he no pity for her. So was she, +also, useless without her mate. Neither was she of those, here and +there, who can stand alone. Her task was that of the eternal woman: to +make a home: to cleanse the world of sin and sorrow, make it a kinder +dwelling-place for the children that should come. This man was her true +helpmeet. He would have been her weapon, her dear servant; and she could +have rewarded him as none other ever could. The lamplight fell upon his +ruddy face, his strong white hands resting on the flimsy table. He +belonged to an older order than her own. That suggestion about him of +something primitive, of something not yet altogether tamed. She felt +again that slight thrill of fear that so strangely excited her. A mist +seemed to be obscuring all things. He seemed to be coming towards her. +Only by keeping her eyes fixed on his moveless hands, still resting on +the table, could she convince herself that his arms were not closing +about her, that she was not being drawn nearer and nearer to him, +powerless to resist. + +Suddenly, out of the mist, she heard voices. The waiter was standing +beside him with the bill. She reached out her hand and took it. The +usual few mistakes had occurred. She explained them, good temperedly, +and the waiter, with profuse apologies, went back to have it corrected. + +He turned to her as the man went. "Try and forgive me," he said in a low +voice. "It all came tumbling out before I thought what I was saying." + +The blood was flowing back into her veins. "Oh, it wasn't your fault," +she answered. "We must make the best we can of it." + +He bent forward so that he could see into her eyes. + +"Tell me," he said. There was a note of fierce exultation in his voice. +"I'll promise never to speak of it again. If I had been a free man, +could I have won you?" + +She had risen while he was speaking. She moved to him and laid her hands +upon his shoulders. + +"Will you serve me and fight for me against all my enemies?" she asked. + +"So long as I live," he answered. + +She glanced round. There was no sign of the returning waiter. She bent +over him and kissed him. + +"Don't come with me," she said. "There's a cab stand in the Avenue. I +shall walk to Sevres and take the train." + +She did not look back. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +She reached home in the evening. The Phillips's old rooms had been twice +let since Christmas, but were now again empty. The McKean with his +silent ways and his everlasting pipe had gone to America to superintend +the production of one of his plays. The house gave her the feeling of +being haunted. She had her dinner brought up to her and prepared for a +long evening's work; but found herself unable to think--except on the one +subject that she wanted to put off thinking about. To her relief the +last post brought her a letter from Arthur. He had been called to Lisbon +to look after a contract, and would be away for a fortnight. Her father +was not as well as he had been. + +It seemed to just fit in. She would run down and spend a few quiet days +at Liverpool. In her old familiar room where the moon peeped in over the +tops of the tall pines she would be able to reason things out. Perhaps +her father would be able to help her. She had lost her childish +conception of him as of someone prim and proper, with cut and dried +formulas for all occasions. That glimpse he had shown her of himself had +established a fellowship between them. He, too, had wrestled with life's +riddles, not sure of his own answers. She found him suffering from his +old heart trouble, but more cheerful than she had known him for years. +Arthur seemed to be doing wonders with the men. They were coming to +trust him. + +"The difficulty I have always been up against," explained her father, +"has been their suspicion. 'What's the cunning old rascal up to now? +What's his little game?' That is always what I have felt they were +thinking to themselves whenever I have wanted to do anything for them. It +isn't anything he says to them. It seems to be just he, himself." + +He sketched out their plans to her. It seemed to be all going in at one +ear and out at the other. What was the matter with her? Perhaps she was +tired without knowing it. She would get him to tell her all about it to- +morrow. Also, to-morrow, she would tell him about Phillips, and ask his +advice. It was really quite late. If he talked any more now, it would +give her a headache. She felt it coming on. + +She made her "good-night" extra affectionate, hoping to disguise her +impatience. She wanted to get up to her own room. + +But even that did not help her. It seemed in some mysterious way to be +no longer her room, but the room of someone she had known and half +forgotten: who would never come back. It gave her the same feeling she +had experienced on returning to the house in London: that the place was +haunted. The high cheval glass from her mother's dressing-room had been +brought there for her use. The picture of an absurdly small child--the +child to whom this room had once belonged--standing before it naked, rose +before her eyes. She had wanted to see herself. She had thought that +only her clothes stood in the way. If we could but see ourselves, as in +some magic mirror? All the garments usage and education has dressed us +up in laid aside. What was she underneath her artificial niceties, her +prim moralities, her laboriously acquired restraints, her unconscious +pretences and hypocrisies? She changed her clothes for a loose robe, and +putting out the light drew back the curtains. The moon peeped in over +the top of the tall pines, but it only stared at her, indifferent. It +seemed to be looking for somebody else. + +Suddenly, and intensely to her own surprise, she fell into a passionate +fit of weeping. There was no reason for it, and it was altogether so +unlike her. But for quite a while she was unable to control it. +Gradually, and of their own accord, her sobs lessened, and she was able +to wipe her eyes and take stock of herself in the long glass. She +wondered for the moment whether it was really her own reflection that she +saw there or that of some ghostly image of her mother. She had so often +seen the same look in her mother's eyes. Evidently the likeness between +them was more extensive than she had imagined. For the first time she +became conscious of an emotional, hysterical side to her nature of which +she had been unaware. Perhaps it was just as well that she had +discovered it. She would have to keep a stricter watch upon herself. +This question of her future relationship with Phillips: it would have to +be thought out coldly, dispassionately. Nothing unexpected must be +allowed to enter into it. + +It was some time before she fell asleep. The high glass faced her as she +lay in bed. She could not get away from the idea that it was her +mother's face that every now and then she saw reflected there. + +She woke late the next morning. Her father had already left for the +works. She was rather glad to have no need of talking. She would take a +long walk into the country, and face the thing squarely with the help of +the cheerful sun and the free west wind that was blowing from the sea. +She took the train up north and struck across the hills. Her spirits +rose as she walked. + +It was only the intellectual part of him she wanted--the spirit, not the +man. She would be taking nothing away from the woman, nothing that had +ever belonged to her. All the rest of him: his home life, the benefits +that would come to her from his improved means, from his social position: +all that the woman had ever known or cared for in him would still be +hers. He would still remain to her the kind husband and father. What +more was the woman capable of understanding? What more had she any right +to demand? + +It was not of herself she was thinking. It was for his work's sake that +she wanted to be near to him always: that she might counsel him, +encourage him. For this she was prepared to sacrifice herself, give up +her woman's claim on life. They would be friends, comrades--nothing +more. That little lurking curiosity of hers, concerning what it would be +like to feel his strong arms round her, pressing her closer and closer to +him: it was only a foolish fancy. She could easily laugh that out of +herself. Only bad women had need to be afraid of themselves. She would +keep guard for both of them. Their purity of motive, their high purpose, +would save them from the danger of anything vulgar or ridiculous. + +Of course they would have to be careful. There must be no breath of +gossip, no food for evil tongues. About that she was determined even +more for his sake than her own. It would be fatal to his career. She +was quite in agreement with the popular demand, supposed to be peculiarly +English, that a public man's life should be above reproach. Of what use +these prophets without self-control; these social reformers who could not +shake the ape out of themselves? Only the brave could give courage to +others. Only through the pure could God's light shine upon men. + +It was vexing his having moved round the corner, into North Street. Why +couldn't the silly woman have been content where she was. Living under +one roof, they could have seen one another as often as was needful +without attracting attention. Now, she supposed, she would have to be +more than ever the bosom friend of Mrs. Phillips--spend hours amid that +hideous furniture, surrounded by those bilious wallpapers. Of course he +could not come to her. She hoped he would appreciate the sacrifice she +would be making for him. Fortunately Mrs. Phillips would give no +trouble. She would not even understand. + +What about Hilda? No hope of hiding their secret from those sharp eyes. +But Hilda would approve. They could trust Hilda. The child might prove +helpful. + +It cast a passing shadow upon her spirits, this necessary descent into +details. It brought with it the suggestion of intrigue, of deceit: +robbing the thing, to a certain extent, of its fineness. Still, what was +to be done? If women were coming into public life these sort of +relationships with men would have to be faced and worked out. Sex must +no longer be allowed to interfere with the working together of men and +women for common ends. It was that had kept the world back. They would +be the pioneers of the new order. Casting aside their earthly passions, +humbly with pure hearts they would kneel before God's altar. He should +bless their union. + +A lark was singing. She stood listening. Higher and higher he rose, +pouring out his song of worship; till the tiny, fragile body disappeared +as if fallen from him, leaving his sweet soul still singing. The happy +tears came to her eyes, and she passed on. She did not hear that little +last faint sob with which he sank exhausted back to earth beside a hidden +nest among the furrows. + +She had forgotten the time. It was already late afternoon. Her long +walk and the keen air had made her hungry. She had a couple of eggs with +her tea at a village inn, and was fortunate enough to catch a train that +brought her back in time for dinner. A little ashamed of her +unresponsiveness the night before, she laid herself out to be sympathetic +to her father's talk. She insisted on hearing again all that he and +Arthur were doing, opposing him here and there with criticism just +sufficient to stimulate him; careful in the end to let him convince her. + +These small hypocrisies were new to her. She hoped she was not damaging +her character. But it was good, watching him slyly from under drawn-down +lids, to see the flash of triumph that would come into his tired eyes in +answer to her half-protesting: "Yes, I see your point, I hadn't thought +of that," her half reluctant admission that "perhaps" he was right, +there; that "perhaps" she was wrong. It was delightful to see him young +again, eager, boyishly pleased with himself. It seemed there was a joy +she had not dreamed of in yielding victory as well as in gaining it. A +new tenderness was growing up in her. How considerate, how patient, how +self-forgetful he had always been. She wanted to mother him. To take +him in her arms and croon over him, hushing away remembrance of the old +sad days. + +Folk's words came back to her: "And poor Jack Allway. Tell him I thank +him for all those years of love and gentleness." She gave him the +message. + +Folk had been right. He was not offended. "Dear old chap," he said. +"That was kind of him. He was always generous." + +He was silent for a while, with a quiet look on his face. + +"Give him our love," he said. "Tell him we came together, at the end." + +It was on her tongue to ask him, as so often she had meant to do of late, +what had been the cause of her mother's illness--if illness it was: what +it was that had happened to change both their lives. But always +something had stopped her--something ever present, ever watchful, that +seemed to shape itself out of the air, bending towards her with its +finger on its lips. + +She stayed over the week-end; and on the Saturday, at her suggestion, +they took a long excursion into the country. It was the first time she +had ever asked him to take her out. He came down to breakfast in a new +suit, and was quite excited. In the car his hand had sought hers shyly, +and, feeling her responsive pressure, he had continued to hold it; and +they had sat for a long time in silence. She decided not to tell him +about Phillips, just yet. He knew of him only from the Tory newspapers +and would form a wrong idea. She would bring them together and leave +Phillips to make his own way. He would like Phillips when he knew him, +she felt sure. He, too, was a people's man. The torch passed down to +him from his old Ironside ancestors, it still glowed. More than once she +had seen it leap to flame. In congenial atmosphere, it would burn clear +and steadfast. It occurred to her what a delightful solution of her +problem, if later on her father could be persuaded to leave Arthur in +charge of the works, and come to live with her in London. There was a +fine block of flats near Chelsea Church with long views up and down the +river. How happy they could be there; the drawing-room in the Adams +style with wine-coloured curtains! He was a father any young woman could +be proud to take about. Unconsciously she gave his hand an impulsive +squeeze. They lunched at an old inn upon the moors; and the landlady, +judging from his shy, attentive ways, had begun by addressing her as +Madame. + +"You grow wonderfully like your mother," he told her that evening at +dinner. "There used to be something missing. But I don't feel that, +now." + +She wrote to Phillips to meet her, if possible, at Euston. There were +things she wanted to talk to him about. There was the question whether +she should go on writing for Carleton, or break with him at once. Also +one or two points that were worrying her in connection with tariff +reform. He was waiting for her on the platform. It appeared he, too, +had much to say. He wanted her advice concerning his next speech. He +had not dined and suggested supper. They could not walk about the +streets. Likely enough, it was only her imagination, but it seemed to +her that people in the restaurant had recognized him, and were whispering +to one another: he was bound to be well known. Likewise her own +appearance, she felt, was against them as regarded their desire to avoid +observation. She would have to take to those mousey colours that did not +suit her, and wear a veil. She hated the idea of a veil. It came from +the East and belonged there. Besides, what would be the use? Unless he +wore one too. "Who is the veiled woman that Phillips goes about with?" +That is what they would ask. It was going to be very awkward, the whole +thing. Viewed from the distance, it had looked quite fine. "Dedicating +herself to the service of Humanity" was how it had presented itself to +her in the garden at Meudon, the twinkling labyrinth of Paris at her +feet, its sordid by-ways hidden beneath its myriad lights. She had not +bargained for the dedication involving the loss of her self-respect. + +They did not talk as much as they had thought they would. He was not +very helpful on the Carleton question. There was so much to be said both +for and against. It might be better to wait and see how circumstances +shaped themselves. She thought his speech excellent. It was difficult +to discover any argument against it. + +He seemed to be more interested in looking at her when he thought she was +not noticing. That little faint vague fear came back to her and stayed +with her, but brought no quickening of her pulse. It was a fear of +something ugly. She had the feeling they were both acting, that +everything depended upon their not forgetting their parts. In handing +things to one another, they were both of them so careful that their hands +should not meet and touch. + +They walked together back to Westminster and wished each other a short +good-night upon what once had been their common doorstep. With her +latchkey in her hand, she turned and watched his retreating figure, and +suddenly a wave of longing seized her to run after him and call him +back--to see his eyes light up and feel the pressure of his hands. It +was only by clinging to the railings and counting till she was sure he +had entered his own house round the corner and closed the door behind +him, that she restrained herself. + +It was a frightened face that looked at her out of the glass, as she +stood before it taking off her hat. + +She decided that their future meetings should be at his own house. Mrs. +Phillips's only complaint was that she knocked at the door too seldom. + +"I don't know what I should do without you, I really don't," confessed +the grateful lady. "If ever I become a Prime Minister's wife, it's you I +shall have to thank. You've got so much courage yourself, you can put +the heart into him. I never had any pluck to spare myself." + +She concluded by giving Joan a hug, accompanied by a sloppy but heartfelt +kiss. + +She would stand behind Phillips's chair with her fat arms round his neck, +nodding her approval and encouragement; while Joan, seated opposite, +would strain every nerve to keep her brain fixed upon the argument, never +daring to look at poor Phillips's wretched face, with its pleading, +apologetic eyes, lest she should burst into hysterical laughter. She +hoped she was being helpful and inspiring! Mrs. Phillips would assure +her afterwards that she had been wonderful. As for herself, there were +periods when she hadn't the faintest idea about what she was talking. + +Sometimes Mrs. Phillips, called away by domestic duty, would leave them; +returning full of excuses just as they had succeeded in forgetting her. +It was evident she was under the impression that her presence was useful +to them, making it easier for them to open up their minds to one another. + +"Don't you be put off by his seeming a bit unresponsive," Mrs. Phillips +would explain. "He's shy with women. What I'm trying to do is to make +him feel you are one of the family." + +"And don't you take any notice of me," further explained the good woman, +"when I seem to be in opposition, like. I chip in now and then on +purpose, just to keep the ball rolling. It stirs him up, a bit of +contradictoriness. You have to live with a man before you understand +him." + +One morning Joan received a letter from Phillips, marked immediate. He +informed her that his brain was becoming addled. He intended that +afternoon to give it a draught of fresh air. He would be at the Robin +Hood gate in Richmond Park at three o'clock. Perhaps the gods would be +good to him. He would wait there for half an hour to give them a chance, +anyway. + +She slipped the letter unconsciously into the bosom of her dress, and sat +looking out of the window. It promised to be a glorious day, and London +was stifling and gritty. Surely no one but an unwholesome-minded prude +could jib at a walk across a park. Mrs. Phillips would be delighted to +hear that she had gone. For the matter of that, she would tell her--when +next they met. + +Phillips must have seen her getting off the bus, for he came forward at +once from the other side of the gate, his face radiant with boyish +delight. A young man and woman, entering the park at the same time, +looked at them and smiled sympathetically. + +Joan had no idea the park contained such pleasant by-ways. But for an +occasional perambulator they might have been in the heart of the country. +The fallow deer stole near to them with noiseless feet, regarding them +out of their large gentle eyes with looks of comradeship. They paused +and listened while a missal thrush from a branch close to them poured out +his song of hope and courage. From quite a long way off they could still +hear his clear voice singing, telling to the young and brave his gallant +message. It seemed too beautiful a day for politics. After all, +politics--one has them always with one; but the spring passes. + +He saw her on to a bus at Kingston, and himself went back by train. They +agreed they would not mention it to Mrs. Phillips. Not that she would +have minded. The danger was that she would want to come, too; honestly +thinking thereby to complete their happiness. It seemed to be tacitly +understood there would be other such excursions. + +The summer was propitious. Phillips knew his London well, and how to get +away from it. There were winding lanes in Hertfordshire, Surrey hills +and commons, deep, cool, bird-haunted woods in Buckingham. Each week +there was something to look forward to, something to plan for and +manoeuvre. The sense of adventure, a spice of danger, added zest. She +still knocked frequently, as before, at the door of the +hideously-furnished little house in North Street; but Mrs. Phillips no +longer oppressed her as some old man of the sea she could never hope to +shake off from her shoulders. The flabby, foolish face, robbed of its +terrors, became merely pitiful. She found herself able to be quite +gentle and patient with Mrs. Phillips. Even the sloppy kisses she came +to bear without a shudder down her spine. + +"I know you are only doing it because you sympathize with his aims and +want him to win," acknowledged the good lady. "But I can't help feeling +grateful to you. I don't feel how useless I am while I've got you to run +to." + +They still discussed their various plans for the amelioration and +improvement of humanity; but there seemed less need for haste than they +had thought. The world, Joan discovered, was not so sad a place as she +had judged it. There were chubby, rogue-eyed children; whistling lads +and smiling maidens; kindly men with ruddy faces; happy mothers crooning +over gurgling babies. There was no call to be fretful and vehement. They +would work together in patience and in confidence. God's sun was +everywhere. It needed only that dark places should be opened up and it +would enter. + +Sometimes, seated on a lichened log, or on the short grass of some +sloping hillside, looking down upon some quiet valley, they would find +they had been holding hands while talking. It was but as two happy, +thoughtless children might have done. They would look at one another +with frank, clear eyes and smile. + +Once, when their pathway led through a littered farm-yard, he had taken +her up in his arms and carried her and she had felt a glad pride in him +that he had borne her lightly as if she had been a child, looking up at +her and laughing. + +An old bent man paused from his work and watched them. "Lean more over +him, missie," he advised her. "That's the way. Many a mile I've carried +my lass like that, in flood time; and never felt her weight." + +Often on returning home, not knowing why, she would look into the glass. +It seemed to her that the girlhood she had somehow missed was awakening +in her, taking possession of her, changing her. The lips she had always +seen pressed close and firm were growing curved, leaving a little +parting, as though they were not quite so satisfied with one another. The +level brows were becoming slightly raised. It gave her a questioning +look that was new to her. The eyes beneath were less confident. They +seemed to be seeking something. + +One evening, on her way home from a theatre, she met Flossie. "Can't +stop now," said Flossie, who was hurrying. "But I want to see you: most +particular. Was going to look you up. Will you be at home to-morrow +afternoon at tea-time?" + +There was a distinct challenge in Flossie's eye as she asked the +question. Joan felt herself flush, and thought a moment. + +"Yes," she answered. "Will you be coming alone?" + +"That's the idea," answered Flossie; "a heart to heart talk between you +and me, and nobody else. Half-past four. Don't forget." + +Joan walked on slowly. She had the worried feeling with which, once or +twice, when a schoolgirl, she had crawled up the stairs to bed after the +head mistress had informed her that she would see her in her private room +at eleven o'clock the next morning, leaving her to guess what about. It +occurred to her, in Trafalgar Square, that she had promised to take tea +with the Greysons the next afternoon, to meet some big pot from America. +She would have to get out of that. She felt it wouldn't do to put off +Flossie. + +She went to bed wakeful. It was marvellously like being at school again. +What could Flossie want to see her about that was so important? She +tried to pretend to herself that she didn't know. After all, perhaps it +wasn't that. + +But she knew that it was the instant Flossie put up her hands in order to +take off her hat. Flossie always took off her hat when she meant to be +unpleasant. It was her way of pulling up her sleeves. They had their +tea first. They seemed both agreed that that would be best. And then +Flossie pushed back her chair and sat up. + +She had just the head mistress expression. Joan wasn't quite sure she +oughtn't to stand. But, controlling the instinct, leant back in her +chair, and tried to look defiant without feeling it. + +"How far are you going?" demanded Flossie. + +Joan was not in a comprehending mood. + +"If you're going the whole hog, that's something I can understand," +continued Flossie. "If not, you'd better pull up." + +"What do you mean by the whole hog?" requested Joan, assuming dignity. + +"Oh, don't come the kid," advised Flossie. "If you don't mind being +talked about yourself, you might think of him. If Carleton gets hold of +it, he's done for." + +"'A little bird whispers to me that Robert Phillips was seen walking +across Richmond Park the other afternoon in company with Miss Joan +Allway, formerly one of our contributors.' Is that going to end his +political career?" retorted Joan with fine sarcasm. + +Flossie fixed a relentless eye upon her. "He'll wait till the bird has +got a bit more than that to whisper to him," she suggested. + +"There'll be nothing more," explained Joan. "So long as my friendship is +of any assistance to Robert Phillips in his work, he's going to have it. +What use are we going to be in politics--what's all the fuss about, if +men and women mustn't work together for their common aims and help one +another?" + +"Why can't you help him in his own house, instead of wandering all about +the country?" Flossie wanted to know. + +"So I do," Joan defended herself. "I'm in and out there till I'm sick of +the hideous place. You haven't seen the inside. And his wife knows all +about it, and is only too glad." + +"Does she know about Richmond Park--and the other places?" asked Flossie. + +"She wouldn't mind if she did," explained Joan. "And you know what she's +like! How can one think what one's saying with that silly, goggle-eyed +face in front of one always." + +Flossie, since she had become engaged, had acquired quite a matronly +train of thought. She spoke kindly, with a little grave shake of her +head. "My dear," she said, "the wife is always in the way. You'd feel +just the same whatever her face was like." + +Joan grew angry. "If you choose to suspect evil, of course you can," she +answered with hauteur. "But you might have known me better. I admire +the man and sympathize with him. All the things I dream of are the +things he is working for. I can do more good by helping and inspiring +him"--she wished she had not let slip that word "inspire." She knew that +Flossie would fasten upon it--"than I can ever accomplish by myself. And +I mean to do it." She really did feel defiant, now. + +"I know, dear," agreed Flossie, "you've both of you made up your minds it +shall always remain a beautiful union of twin spirits. Unfortunately +you've both got bodies--rather attractive bodies." + +"We'll keep it off that plane, if you don't mind," answered Joan with a +touch of severity. + +"I'm willing enough," answered Flossie. "But what about Old Mother +Nature? She's going to be in this, you know." + +"Take off your glasses, and look at it straight," she went on, without +giving Joan time to reply. "What is it in us that 'inspires' men? If +it's only advice and sympathy he's after, what's wrong with dear old Mrs. +Denton? She's a good walker, except now and then, when she's got the +lumbago. Why doesn't he get her to 'inspire' him?" + +"It isn't only that," explained Joan. "I give him courage. I always did +have more of that than is any use to a woman. He wants to be worthy of +my belief in him. What is the harm if he does admire me--if a smile from +me or a touch of the hand can urge him to fresh effort? Suppose he does +love me--" + +Flossie interrupted. "How about being quite frank?" she suggested. +"Suppose we do love one another. How about putting it that way?" + +"And suppose we do?" agreed Joan, her courage rising. "Why should we +shun one another, as if we were both of us incapable of decency or self- +control? Why must love be always assumed to make us weak and +contemptible, as if it were some subtle poison? Why shouldn't it +strengthen and ennoble us?" + +"Why did the apple fall?" answered Flossie. "Why, when it escapes from +its bonds, doesn't it soar upward? If it wasn't for the irritating law +of gravity, we could skip about on the brink of precipices without +danger. Things being what they are, sensible people keep as far away +from the edge as possible." + +"I'm sorry," she continued; "awfully sorry, old girl. It's a bit of +rotten bad luck for both of you. You were just made for one another. And +Fate, knowing what was coming, bustles round and gets hold of poor, silly +Mrs. Phillips so as to be able to say 'Yah.'" + +"Unless it all comes right in the end," she added musingly; "and the poor +old soul pegs out. I wouldn't give much for her liver." + +"That's not bringing me up well," suggested Joan: "putting those ideas +into my head." + +"Oh, well, one can't help one's thoughts," explained Flossie. "It would +be a blessing all round." + +They had risen. Joan folded her hands. "Thank you for your scolding, +ma'am," she said. "Shall I write out a hundred lines of Greek? Or do +you think it will be sufficient if I promise never to do it again?" + +"You mean it?" said Flossie. "Of course you will go on seeing +him--visiting them, and all that. But you won't go gadding about, so +that people can talk?" + +"Only through the bars, in future," she promised. "With the gaoler +between us." She put her arms round Flossie and bent her head, so that +her face was hidden. + +Flossie still seemed troubled. She held on to Joan. + +"You are sure of yourself?" she asked. "We're only the female of the +species. We get hungry and thirsty, too. You know that, kiddy, don't +you?" + +Joan laughed without raising her face. "Yes, ma'am, I know that," she +answered. "I'll be good." + +She sat in the dusk after Flossie had gone; and the laboured breathing of +the tired city came to her through the open window. She had rather +fancied that martyr's crown. It had not looked so very heavy, the thorns +not so very alarming--as seen through the window. She would wear it +bravely. It would rather become her. + +Facing the mirror of the days to come, she tried it on. It was going to +hurt. There was no doubt of that. She saw the fatuous, approving face +of the eternal Mrs. Phillips, thrust ever between them, against the +background of that hideous furniture, of those bilious wall papers--the +loneliness that would ever walk with her, sit down beside her in the +crowded restaurant, steal up the staircase with her, creep step by step +with her from room to room--the ever unsatisfied yearning for a tender +word, a kindly touch. Yes, it was going to hurt. + +Poor Robert! It would be hard on him, too. She could not help feeling +consolation in the thought that he also would be wearing that invisible +crown. + +She must write to him. The sooner it was done, the better. Half a dozen +contradictory moods passed over her during the composing of that letter; +but to her they seemed but the unfolding of a single thought. On one +page it might have been his mother writing to him; an experienced, +sagacious lady; quite aware, in spite of her affection for him, of his +faults and weaknesses; solicitous that he should avoid the dangers of an +embarrassing entanglement; his happiness being the only consideration of +importance. On others it might have been a queen laying her immutable +commands upon some loyal subject, sworn to her service. Part of it might +have been written by a laughing philosopher who had learnt the folly of +taking life too seriously, knowing that all things pass: that the tears +of to-day will be remembered with a smile. And a part of it was the +unconsidered language of a loving woman. And those were the pages that +he kissed. + +His letter in answer was much shorter. Of course he would obey her +wishes. He had been selfish, thinking only of himself. As for his +political career, he did not see how that was going to suffer by his +being occasionally seen in company with one of the most brilliantly +intellectual women in London, known to share his views. And he didn't +care if it did. But inasmuch as she valued it, all things should be +sacrificed to it. It was hers to do what she would with. It was the +only thing he had to offer her. + +Their meetings became confined, as before, to the little house in North +Street. But it really seemed as if the gods, appeased by their +submission, had decided to be kind. Hilda was home for the holidays; and +her piercing eyes took in the situation at a flash. She appeared to have +returned with a new-born and exacting affection for her mother, that +astonished almost as much as it delighted the poor lady. Feeling sudden +desire for a walk or a bus ride, or to be taken to an entertainment, no +one was of any use to Hilda but her mother. Daddy had his silly politics +to think and talk about. He must worry them out alone; or with the +assistance of Miss Allway. That was what she was there for. Mrs. +Phillips, torn between her sense of duty and fear of losing this new +happiness, would yield to the child's coaxing. Often they would be left +alone to discuss the nation's needs uninterrupted. Conscientiously they +would apply themselves to the task. Always to find that, sooner or +later, they were looking at one another, in silence. + +One day Phillips burst into a curious laugh. They had been discussing +the problem of the smallholder. Joan had put a question to him, and with +a slight start he had asked her to repeat it. But it seemed she had +forgotten it. + +"I had to see our solicitor one morning," he explained, "when I was +secretary to a miners' union up north. A point had arisen concerning the +legality of certain payments. It was a matter of vast importance to us; +but he didn't seem to be taking any interest, and suddenly he jumped up. +'I'm sorry, Phillips,' he said, 'but I've got a big trouble of my own on +at home--I guess you know what--and I don't seem to care a damn about +yours. You'd better see Delauny, if you're in a hurry.' And I did." + +He turned and leant over his desk. "I guess they'll have to find another +leader if they're in a hurry," he added. "I don't seem able to think +about turnips and cows." + +"Don't make me feel I've interfered with your work only to spoil it," +said Joan. + +"I guess I'm spoiling yours, too," he answered. "I'm not worth it. I +might have done something to win you and keep you. I'm not going to do +much without you." + +"You mean my friendship is going to be of no use to you?" asked Joan. + +He raised his eyes and fixed them on her with a pleading, dog-like look. + +"For God's sake don't take even that away from me," he said. "Unless you +want me to go to pieces altogether. A crust does just keep one alive. +One can't help thinking what a fine, strong chap one might be if one +wasn't always hungry." + +She felt so sorry for him. He looked such a boy, with the angry tears in +his clear blue eyes, and that little childish quivering of the kind, +strong, sulky mouth. + +She rose and took his head between her hands and turned his face towards +her. She had meant to scold him, but changed her mind and laid his head +against her breast and held it there. + +He clung to her, as a troubled child might, with his arms clasped round +her, and his head against her breast. And a mist rose up before her, and +strange, commanding voices seemed calling to her. + +He could not see her face. She watched it herself with dim half +consciousness as it changed before her in the tawdry mirror above the +mantelpiece, half longing that he might look up and see it, half +terrified lest he should. + +With an effort that seemed to turn her into stone, she regained command +over herself. + +"I must go now," she said in a harsh voice, and he released her. + +"I'm afraid I'm an awful nuisance to you," he said. "I get these moods +at times. You're not angry with me?" + +"No," she answered with a smile. "But it will hurt me if you fail. +Remember that." + +She turned down the Embankment after leaving the house. She always found +the river strong and restful. So it was not only bad women that needed +to be afraid of themselves--even to the most high-class young woman, with +letters after her name, and altruistic interests: even to her, also, the +longing for the lover's clasp. Flossie had been right. Mother Nature +was not to be flouted of her children--not even of her new daughters; to +them, likewise, the family trait. + +She would have run away if she could, leaving him to guess at her real +reason--if he were smart enough. But that would have meant excuses and +explanations all round. She was writing a daily column of notes for +Greyson now, in addition to the weekly letter from Clorinda; and Mrs. +Denton, having compromised with her first dreams, was delegating to Joan +more and more of her work. She wrote to Mrs. Phillips that she was +feeling unwell and would be unable to lunch with them on the Sunday, as +had been arranged. Mrs. Phillips, much disappointed, suggested +Wednesday; but it seemed on Wednesday she was no better. And so it +drifted on for about a fortnight, without her finding the courage to come +to any decision; and then one morning, turning the corner into Abingdon +Street, she felt a slight pull at her sleeve; and Hilda was beside her. +The child had shown an uncanny intuition in not knocking at the door. +Joan had been fearing that, and would have sent down word that she was +out. But it had to be faced. + +"Are you never coming again?" asked the child. + +"Of course," answered Joan, "when I'm better. I'm not very well just +now. It's the weather, I suppose." + +The child turned her head as they walked and looked at her. Joan felt +herself smarting under that look, but persisted. + +"I'm very much run down," she said. "I may have to go away." + +"You promised to help him," said the child. + +"I can't if I'm ill," retorted Joan. "Besides, I am helping him. There +are other ways of helping people than by wasting their time talking to +them." + +"He wants you," said the child. "It's your being there that helps him." + +Joan stopped and turned. "Did he send you?" she asked. + +"No," the child answered. "Mama had a headache this morning, and I +slipped out. You're not keeping your promise." + +Palace Yard, save for a statuesque policeman, was empty. + +"How do you know that my being with him helps him?" asked Joan. + +"You know things when you love anybody," explained the child. "You feel +them. You will come again, soon?" + +Joan did not answer. + +"You're frightened," the child continued in a passionate, low voice. "You +think that people will talk about you and look down upon you. You +oughtn't to think about yourself. You ought to think only about him and +his work. Nothing else matters." + +"I am thinking about him and his work," Joan answered. Her hand sought +Hilda's and held it. "There are things you don't understand. Men and +women can't help each other in the way you think. They may try to, and +mean no harm in the beginning, but the harm comes, and then not only the +woman but the man also suffers, and his work is spoilt and his life +ruined." + +The small, hot hand clasped Joan's convulsively. + +"But he won't be able to do his work if you keep away and never come back +to him," she persisted. "Oh, I know it. It all depends upon you. He +wants you." + +"And I want him, if that's any consolation to you," Joan answered with a +short laugh. It wasn't much of a confession. The child was cute enough +to have found that out for herself. "Only you see I can't have him. And +there's an end of it." + +They had reached the Abbey. Joan turned and they retraced their steps +slowly. + +"I shall be going away soon, for a little while," she said. The talk had +helped her to decision. "When I come back I will come and see you all. +And you must all come and see me, now and then. I expect I shall have a +flat of my own. My father may be coming to live with me. Good-bye. Do +all you can to help him." + +She stooped and kissed the child, straining her to her almost fiercely. +But the child's lips were cold. She did not look back. + +Miss Greyson was sympathetic towards her desire for a longish holiday and +wonderfully helpful; and Mrs. Denton also approved, and, to Joan's +surprise, kissed her; Mrs. Denton was not given to kissing. She wired to +her father, and got his reply the same evening. He would be at her rooms +on the day she had fixed with his travelling bag, and at her Ladyship's +orders. "With love and many thanks," he had added. She waited till the +day before starting to run round and say good-bye to the Phillipses. She +felt it would be unwise to try and get out of doing that. Both Phillips +and Hilda, she was thankful, were out; and she and Mrs. Phillips had tea +alone together. The talk was difficult, so far as Joan was concerned. If +the woman had been possessed of ordinary intuition, she might have +arrived at the truth. Joan almost wished she would. It would make her +own future task the easier. But Mrs. Phillips, it was clear, was going +to be no help to her. + +For her father's sake, she made pretence of eagerness, but as the sea +widened between her and the harbour lights it seemed as if a part of +herself were being torn away from her. + +They travelled leisurely through Holland and the Rhine land, and that +helped a little: the new scenes and interests; and in Switzerland they +discovered a delightful little village in an upland valley with just one +small hotel, and decided to stay there for a while, so as to give +themselves time to get their letters. They took long walks and climbs, +returning tired and hungry, looking forward to their dinner and the +evening talk with the few other guests on the veranda. The days passed +restfully in that hidden valley. The great white mountains closed her +in. They seemed so strong and clean. + +It was on the morning they were leaving that a telegram was put into her +hands. Mrs. Phillips was ill at lodgings in Folkestone. She hoped that +Joan, on her way back, would come to see her. + +She showed the telegram to her father. "Do you mind, Dad, if we go +straight back?" she asked. + +"No, dear," he answered, "if you wish it." + +"I would like to go back," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in an easy chair near the heavily-curtained +windows when Joan arrived. It was a pleasant little house in the old +part of the town, and looked out upon the harbour. She was startlingly +thin by comparison with what she had been; but her face was still +painted. Phillips would run down by the afternoon train whenever he +could get away. She never knew when he was coming, so she explained; and +she could not bear the idea of his finding her "old and ugly." She had +fought against his wish that she should go into a nursing home; and Joan, +who in the course of her work upon the _Nursing Times_ had acquired some +knowledge of them as a whole, was inclined to agree with her. She was +quite comfortable where she was. The landlady, according to her account, +was a dear. She had sent the nurse out for a walk on getting Joan's +wire, so that they could have a cosy chat. She didn't really want much +attendance. It was her heart. It got feeble now and then, and she had +to keep very still; that was all. Joan told how her father had suffered +for years from much the same complaint. So long as you were careful +there was no danger. She must take things easily and not excite herself. + +Mrs. Phillips acquiesced. "It's turning me into a lazy-bones," she said +with a smile. "I can sit here by the hour, just watching the bustle. I +was always one for a bit of life." + +The landlady entered with Joan's tea. Joan took an instinctive dislike +to her. She was a large, flashy woman, wearing a quantity of cheap +jewellery. Her familiarity had about it something almost threatening. +Joan waited till she heard the woman's heavy tread descending the stairs, +before she expressed her opinion. + +"I think she only means to be cheerful," explained Mrs. Phillips. "She's +quite a good sort, when you know her." The subject seemed in some way to +trouble her, and Joan dropped it. + +They watched the loading of a steamer while Joan drank her tea. + +"He will come this afternoon, I fancy," said Mrs. Phillips. "I seem to +feel it. He will be able to see you home." + +Joan started. She had been thinking about Phillips, wondering what she +should say to him when they met. + +"What does he think," she asked, "about your illness?" + +"Oh, it worries him, of course, poor dear," Mrs. Phillips answered. "You +see, I've always been such a go-ahead, as a rule. But I think he's +getting more hopeful. As I tell him, I'll be all right by the autumn. It +was that spell of hot weather that knocked me over." + +Joan was still looking out of the window. She didn't quite know what to +say. The woman's altered appearance had shocked her. Suddenly she felt +a touch upon her hand. + +"You'll look after him if anything does happen, won't you?" The woman's +eyes were pleading with her. They seemed to have grown larger. "You +know what I mean, dear, don't you?" she continued. "It will be such a +comfort to me to know that it's all right." + +In answer the tears sprang to Joan's eyes. She knelt down and put her +arms about the woman. + +"Don't be so silly," she cried. "There's nothing going to happen. You're +going to get fat and well again; and live to see him Prime Minister." + +"I am getting thin, ain't I?" she said. "I always wanted to be thin." +They both laughed. + +"But I shan't see him that, even if I do live," she went on. "He'll +never be that, without you. And I'd be so proud to think that he would. +I shouldn't mind going then," she added. + +Joan did not answer. There seemed no words that would come. + +"You will promise, won't you?" she persisted, in a whisper. "It's only +'in case'--just that I needn't worry myself." + +Joan looked up. There was something in the eyes looking down upon her +that seemed to be compelling her. + +"If you'll promise to try and get better," she answered. + +Mrs. Phillips stooped and kissed her. "Of course, dear," she said. +"Perhaps I shall, now that my mind is easier." + +Phillips came, as Mrs. Phillips had predicted. He was surprised at +seeing Joan. He had not thought she could get back so soon. He brought +an evening paper with him. It contained a paragraph to the effect that +Mrs. Phillips, wife of the Rt. Hon. Robert Phillips, M.P., was +progressing favourably and hoped soon to be sufficiently recovered to +return to her London residence. It was the first time she had had a +paragraph all to herself, headed with her name. She flushed with +pleasure; and Joan noticed that, after reading it again, she folded the +paper up small and slipped it into her pocket. The nurse came in from +her walk a little later and took Joan downstairs with her. + +"She ought not to talk to more than one person at a time," the nurse +explained, with a shake of the head. She was a quiet, business-like +woman. She would not express a definite opinion. + +"It's her mental state that is the trouble," was all that she would say. +"She ought to be getting better. But she doesn't." + +"You're not a Christian Scientist, by any chance?" she asked Joan +suddenly. + +"No," answered Joan. "Surely you're not one?" + +"I don't know," answered the woman. "I believe that would do her more +good than anything else. If she would listen to it. She seems to have +lost all will-power." + +The nurse left her; and the landlady came in to lay the table. She +understood that Joan would be dining with Mr. Phillips. There was no +train till the eight-forty. She kept looking at Joan as she moved about +the room. Joan was afraid she would begin to talk, but she must have +felt Joan's antagonism for she remained silent. Once their eyes met, and +the woman leered at her. + +Phillips came down looking more cheerful. He had detected improvement in +Mrs. Phillips. She was more hopeful in herself. They talked in low +tones during the meal, as people do whose thoughts are elsewhere. It +happened quite suddenly, Phillips explained. They had come down a few +days after the rising of Parliament. There had been a spell of hot +weather; but nothing remarkable. The first attack had occurred about +three weeks ago. It was just after Hilda had gone back to school. He +wasn't sure whether he ought to send for Hilda, or not. Her mother +didn't want him to--not just yet. Of course, if she got worse, he would +have to. What did Joan think?--did she think there was any real danger? + +Joan could not say. So much depended upon the general state of health. +There was the case of her own father. Of course she would always be +subject to attacks. But this one would have warned her to be careful. + +Phillips thought that living out of town might be better for her, in the +future--somewhere in Surrey, where he could easily get up and down. He +could sleep himself at the club on nights when he had to be late. + +They talked without looking at one another. They did not speak about +themselves. + +Mrs. Phillips was in bed when Joan went up to say good-bye. "You'll come +again soon?" she asked, and Joan promised. "You've made me so happy," +she whispered. The nurse was in the room. + +They discussed politics in the train. Phillips had found more support +for his crusade against Carleton than he had expected. He was going to +open the attack at once, thus forestalling Carleton's opposition to his +land scheme. + +"It isn't going to be the _Daily This_ and the _Daily That_ and the +_Weekly the Other_ all combined to down me. I'm going to tell the people +that it's Carleton and only Carleton--Carleton here, Carleton there, +Carleton everywhere, against them. I'm going to drag him out into the +open and make him put up his own fists." + +Joan undertook to sound Greyson. She was sure Greyson would support him, +in his balanced, gentlemanly way, that could nevertheless be quite +deadly. + +They grew less and less afraid of looking at one another as they felt +that darkened room further and further behind them. + +They parted at Charing Cross. Joan would write. They agreed it would be +better to choose separate days for their visits to Folkestone. + +She ran against Madge in the morning, and invited herself to tea. Her +father had returned to Liverpool, and her own rooms, for some reason, +depressed her. Flossie was there with young Halliday. They were both +off the next morning to his people's place in Devonshire, from where they +were going to get married, and had come to say good-bye. Flossie put Sam +in the passage and drew-to the door. + +"Have you seen her?" she asked. "How is she?" + +"Oh, she's changed a good deal," answered Joan. "But I think she'll get +over it all right, if she's careful." + +"I shall hope for the best," answered Flossie. "Poor old soul, she's had +a good time. Don't send me a present; and then I needn't send you +one--when your time comes. It's a silly custom. Besides, I've nowhere +to put it. Shall be in a ship for the next six months. Will let you +know when we're back." + +She gave Joan a hug and a kiss, and was gone. Joan joined Madge in the +kitchen, where she was toasting buns. + +"I suppose she's satisfied herself that he's brainy," she laughed. + +"Oh, brains aren't everything," answered Madge. "Some of the worst +rotters the world has ever been cursed with have been brainy enough--men +and women. We make too much fuss about brains; just as once upon a time +we did about mere brute strength, thinking that was all that was needed +to make a man great. Brain is only muscle translated into civilization. +That's not going to save us." + +"You've been thinking," Joan accused her. "What's put all that into your +head?" + +Madge laughed. "Mixing with so many brainy people, perhaps," she +suggested; "and wondering what's become of their souls." + +"Be good, sweet child. And let who can be clever," Joan quoted. "Would +that be your text?" + +Madge finished buttering her buns. "Kant, wasn't it," she answered, "who +marvelled chiefly at two things: the starry firmament above him and the +moral law within him. And they're one and the same, if he'd only thought +it out. It's rather big to be good." + +They carried their tea into the sitting-room. + +"Do you really think she'll get over it?" asked Madge. "Or is it one of +those things one has to say?" + +"I think she could," answered Joan, "if she would pull herself together. +It's her lack of will-power that's the trouble." + +Madge did not reply immediately. She was watching the rooks settling +down for the night in the elm trees just beyond the window. There seemed +to be much need of coming and going, of much cawing. + +"I met her pretty often during those months that Helen Lavery was running +her round," she said at length. "It always seemed to me to have a touch +of the heroic, that absurd effort she was making to 'qualify' herself, so +that she might be of use to him. I can see her doing something quite +big, if she thought it would help him." + +The cawing of the rooks grew fainter. One by one they folded their +wings. + +Neither spoke for a while. Later on, they talked about the coming +election. If the Party got back, Phillips would go to the Board of +Trade. It would afford him a better platform for the introduction of his +land scheme. + +"What do you gather is the general opinion?" Joan asked. "That he will +succeed?" + +"The general opinion seems to be that his star is in the ascendant," +Madge answered with a smile; "that all things are working together for +his good. It's rather a useful atmosphere to have about one, that. It +breeds friendship and support!" + +Joan looked at her watch. She had an article to finish. Madge stood on +tiptoe and kissed her. + +"Don't think me unsympathetic," she said. "No one will rejoice more than +I shall if God sees fit to call you to good work. But I can't help +letting fall my little tear of fellowship with the weeping." + +"And mind your p's and q's," she added. "You're in a difficult position. +And not all the eyes watching you are friendly." + +Joan bore the germ of worry in her breast as she crossed the Gray's Inn +Garden. It was a hard law, that of the world: knowing only winners and +losers. Of course, the woman was to be pitied. No one could feel more +sorry for her than Joan herself. But what had Madge exactly meant by +those words: that she could "see her doing something really big," if she +thought it would help him? There was no doubt about her affection for +him. It was almost dog-like. And the child, also! There must be +something quite exceptional about him to have won the devotion of two +such opposite beings. Especially Hilda. It would be hard to imagine any +lengths to which Hilda's blind idolatry would not lead her. + +She ran down twice to Folkestone during the following week. Her visits +made her mind easier. Mrs. Phillips seemed so placid, so contented. +There was no suggestion of suffering, either mental or physical. + +She dined with the Greysons the Sunday after, and mooted the question of +the coming fight with Carleton. Greyson thought Phillips would find +plenty of journalistic backing. The concentration of the Press into the +hands of a few conscienceless schemers was threatening to reduce the +journalist to a mere hireling, and the better-class men were becoming +seriously alarmed. He found in his desk the report of a speech made by a +well-known leader writer at a recent dinner of the Press Club. The man +had risen to respond to the toast of his own health and had taken the +opportunity to unpack his heart. + +"I am paid a thousand a year," so Greyson read to them, "for keeping my +own opinions out of my paper. Some of you, perhaps, earn more, and +others less; but you're getting it for writing what you're told. If I +were to be so foolish as to express my honest opinion, I'd be on the +street, the next morning, looking for another job." + +"The business of the journalist," the man had continued, "is to destroy +the truth, to lie, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn at the feet of Mammon, +to sell his soul for his daily bread. We are the tools and vassals of +rich men behind the scenes. We are the jumping-jacks. They pull the +strings and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities, our lives are the +property of other men." + +"We tried to pretend it was only one of Jack's little jokes," explained +Greyson as he folded up the cutting; "but it wouldn't work. It was too +near the truth." + +"I don't see what you are going to do," commented Mary. "So long as men +are not afraid to sell their souls, there will always be a Devil's market +for them." + +Greyson did not so much mind there being a Devil's market, provided he +could be assured of an honest market alongside, so that a man could take +his choice. What he feared was the Devil's steady encroachment, that +could only end by the closing of the independent market altogether. His +remedy was the introduction of the American trust law, forbidding any one +man being interested in more than a limited number of journals. + +"But what's the difference," demanded Joan, "between a man owning one +paper with a circulation of, say, six millions; or owning six with a +circulation of a million apiece? By concentrating all his energies on +one, a man with Carleton's organizing genius might easily establish a +single journal that would cover the whole field." + +"Just all the difference," answered Greyson, "between Pooh Bah as +Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Lord High Admiral, or Chief Executioner, +whichever he preferred to be, and Pooh Bah as all the Officers of State +rolled into one. Pooh Bah may be a very able statesman, entitled to +exert his legitimate influence. But, after all, his opinion is only the +opinion of one old gentleman, with possible prejudices and preconceived +convictions. The Mikado--or the people, according to locality--would +like to hear the views of others of his ministers. He finds that the +Lord Chancellor and the Lord Chief Justice and the Groom of the +Bedchamber and the Attorney-General--the whole entire Cabinet, in short, +are unanimously of the same opinion as Pooh Bah. He doesn't know it's +only Pooh Bah speaking from different corners of the stage. The +consensus of opinion convinces him. One statesman, however eminent, +might err in judgment. But half a score of statesmen, all of one mind! +One must accept their verdict." + +Mary smiled. "But why shouldn't the good newspaper proprietor hurry up +and become a multi-proprietor?" she suggested. "Why don't you persuade +Lord Sutcliffe to buy up three or four papers, before they're all gone?" + +"Because I don't want the Devil to get hold of him," answered Greyson. + +"You've got to face this unalterable law," he continued. "That power +derived from worldly sources can only be employed for worldly purposes. +The power conferred by popularity, by wealth, by that ability to make use +of other men that we term organization--sooner or later the man who +wields that power becomes the Devil's servant. So long as Kingship was +merely a force struggling against anarchy, it was a holy weapon. As it +grew in power so it degenerated into an instrument of tyranny. The +Church, so long as it remained a scattered body of meek, lowly men, did +the Lord's work. Enthroned at Rome, it thundered its edicts against +human thought. The Press is in danger of following precisely the same +history. When it wrote in fear of the pillory and of the jail, it fought +for Liberty. Now it has become the Fourth Estate, it fawns--as Jack +Swinton said of it--at the feet of Mammon. My Proprietor, good fellow, +allows me to cultivate my plot amid the wilderness for other purposes +than those of quick returns. If he were to become a competitor with the +Carletons and the Bloomfields, he would have to look upon it as a +business proposition. The Devil would take him up on to the high +mountain, and point out to him the kingdom of huge circulations and vast +profits, whispering to him: 'All this will I give thee, if thou wilt fall +down and worship me.' I don't want the dear good fellow to be tempted." + +"Is it impossible, then, to combine duty and success?" questioned Joan. + +"The combination sometimes happens, by chance," admitted Greyson. "But +it's dangerous to seek it. It is so easy to persuade ourselves that it's +our duty to succeed." + +"But we must succeed to be of use," urged Mary. "Must God's servants +always remain powerless?" + +"Powerless to rule. Powerful only to serve," he answered. "Powerful as +Christ was powerful; not as Caesar was powerful--powerful as those who +have suffered and have failed, leaders of forlorn hopes--powerful as +those who have struggled on, despised and vilified; not as those of whom +all men speak well--powerful as those who have fought lone battles and +have died, not knowing their own victory. It is those that serve, not +those that rule, shall conquer." + +Joan had never known him quite so serious. Generally there was a touch +of irony in his talk, a suggestion of aloofness that had often irritated +her. + +"I wish you would always be yourself, as you are now," she said, "and +never pose." + +"Do I pose?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. + +"That shows how far it has gone," she told him, "that you don't even know +it. You pretend to be a philosopher. But you're really a man." + +He laughed. "It isn't always a pose," he explained. "It's some men's +way of saying: Thy will be done." + +"Ask Phillips to come and see me," he said. "I can be of more help, if I +know exactly his views." + +He walked with her to the bus. They passed a corner house that he had +more than once pointed out to her. It had belonged, years ago, to a well- +known artist, who had worked out a wonderful scheme of decoration in the +drawing-room. A board was up, announcing that the house was for sale. A +gas lamp, exactly opposite, threw a flood of light upon the huge white +lettering. + +Joan stopped. "Why, it's the house you are always talking about," she +said. "Are you thinking of taking it?" + +"I did go over it," he answered. "But it would be rather absurd for just +Mary and me." + +She looked up Phillips at the House, and gave him Greyson's message. He +had just returned from Folkestone, and was worried. + +"She was so much better last week," he explained. "But it never lasts." + +"Poor old girl!" he added. "I believe she'd have been happier if I'd +always remained plain Bob Phillips." + +Joan had promised to go down on the Friday; but finding, on the Thursday +morning, that it would be difficult, decided to run down that afternoon +instead. She thought at first of sending a wire. But in Mrs. Phillips's +state of health, telegrams were perhaps to be avoided. It could make no +difference. The front door of the little house was standing half open. +She called down the kitchen stairs to the landlady, but received no +answer. The woman had probably run out on some short errand. She went +up the stairs softly. The bedroom door, she knew, would be open. Mrs. +Phillips had a feeling against being "shut off," as she called it. She +meant to tap lightly and walk straight in, as usual. But what she saw +through the opening caused her to pause. Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in +bed with her box of cosmetics in front of her. She was sensitive of +anyone seeing her make-up; and Joan, knowing this, drew back a step. But +for some reason, she couldn't help watching. Mrs. Phillips dipped a +brush into one of the compartments and then remained with it in her hand, +as if hesitating. Suddenly she stuck out her tongue and passed the brush +over it. At least, so it seemed to Joan. It was only a side view of +Mrs. Phillips's face that she was obtaining, and she may have been +mistaken. It might have been the lips. The woman gave a little gasp and +sat still for a moment. Then, putting away the brush, she closed the box +and slipped it under the pillow. + +Joan felt her knees trembling. A cold, creeping fear was taking +possession of her. Why, she could not understand. She must have been +mistaken. People don't make-up their tongues. It must have been the +lips. And even if not--if the woman had licked the brush! It was a +silly trick people do. Perhaps she liked the taste. She pulled herself +together and tapped at the door. + +Mrs. Phillips gave a little start at seeing her; but was glad that she +had come. Phillips had not been down for two days and she had been +feeling lonesome. She persisted in talking more than Joan felt was good +for her. She was feeling so much better, she explained. Joan was +relieved when the nurse came back from her walk and insisted on her lying +down. She dropped to sleep while Joan and the nurse were having their +tea. + +Joan went back by the early train. She met some people at the station +that she knew and travelled up with them. That picture of Mrs. +Phillips's tongue just showing beyond the line of Mrs. Phillips's cheek +remained at the back of her mind; but it was not until she was alone in +her own rooms that she dared let her thoughts return to it. + +The suggestion that was forcing itself into her brain was +monstrous--unthinkable. That, never possessed of any surplus vitality, +and suffering from the added lassitude of illness, the woman should have +become indifferent--willing to let a life that to her was full of fears +and difficulties slip peacefully away from her, that was possible. But +that she should exercise thought and ingenuity--that she should have +reasoned the thing out and deliberately laid her plans, calculating at +every point on their success; it was inconceivable. + +Besides, what could have put the idea into her head? It was laughable, +the presumption that she was a finished actress, capable of deceiving +everyone about her. If she had had an inkling of the truth, Joan, with +every nerve on the alert, almost hoping for it, would have detected it. +She had talked with her alone the day before she had left England, and +the woman had been full of hopes and projects for the future. + +That picture of Mrs. Phillips, propped up against the pillows, with her +make-up box upon her knees was still before her when she went to bed. All +night long it haunted her: whether thinking or dreaming of it, she could +not tell. + +Suddenly, she sat up with a stifled cry. It seemed as if a flash of +light had been turned upon her, almost blinding her. + +Hilda! Why had she never thought of it? The whole thing was so obvious. +"You ought not to think about yourself. You ought to think only of him +and of his work. Nothing else matters." If she could say that to Joan, +what might she not have said to her mother who, so clearly, she divined +to be the incubus--the drag upon her father's career? She could hear the +child's dry, passionate tones--could see Mrs. Phillips's flabby cheeks +grow white--the frightened, staring eyes. Where her father was concerned +the child had neither conscience nor compassion. She had waited her +time. It was a few days after Hilda's return to school that Mrs. +Phillips had been first taken ill. + +She flung herself from the bed and drew the blind. A chill, grey light +penetrated the room. It was a little before five. She would go round to +Phillips, wake him up. He must be told. + +With her hat in her hands, she paused. No. That would not do. Phillips +must never know. They must keep the secret to themselves. She would go +down and see the woman; reason with her, insist. She went into the other +room. It was lighter there. The "A.B.C." was standing in its usual +place upon her desk. There was a train to Folkestone at six-fifteen. She +had plenty of time. It would be wise to have a cup of tea and something +to eat. There would be no sense in arriving there with a headache. She +would want her brain clear. + +It was half-past five when she sat down with her tea in front of her. It +was only ten minutes' walk to Charing Cross--say a quarter of an hour. +She might pick up a cab. She grew calmer as she ate and drank. Her +reason seemed to be returning to her. There was no such violent hurry. +Hadn't she better think things over, in the clear daylight? The woman +had been ill now for nearly six weeks: a few hours--a day or two--could +make no difference. It might alarm the poor creature, her unexpected +appearance at such an unusual hour--cause a relapse. Suppose she had +been mistaken? Hadn't she better make a few inquiries first--feel her +way? One did harm more often than good, acting on impulse. After all, +had she the right to interfere? Oughtn't the thing to be thought over as +a whole? Mightn't there be arguments, worth considering, against her +interference? Her brain was too much in a whirl. Hadn't she better wait +till she could collect and arrange her thoughts? + +The silver clock upon her desk struck six. It had been a gift from her +father when she was at Girton. It never obtruded. Its voice was a faint +musical chime that she need not hear unless she cared to listen. She +turned and looked at it. It seemed to be a little face looking back at +her out of its two round, blinkless eyes. For the first time during all +the years that it had watched beside her, she heard its quick, impatient +tick. + +She sat motionless, staring at it. The problem, in some way, had +simplified itself into a contest between herself, demanding time to +think, and the little insistent clock, shouting to her to act upon blind +impulse. If she could remain motionless for another five minutes, she +would have won. + +The ticking of the little clock was filling the room. The thing seemed +to have become alive--to be threatening to burst its heart. But the +thin, delicate indicator moved on. + +Suddenly its ticking ceased. It had become again a piece of lifeless +mechanism. The hands pointed to six minutes past. Joan took off her hat +and laid it aside. + +She must think the whole thing over quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +She could help him. Without her, he would fail. The woman herself saw +that, and wished it. Why should she hesitate? It was not as if she had +only herself to consider. The fate--the happiness of millions was at +stake. He looked to her for aid--for guidance. It must have been +intended. All roads had led to it. Her going to the house. She +remembered now, it was the first door at which she had knocked. Her +footsteps had surely been directed. Her meeting with Mrs. Phillips in +Madge's rooms; and that invitation to dinner, coinciding with that crisis +in his life. It was she who had persuaded him to accept. But for her he +would have doubted, wavered, let his opportunities slip by. He had +confessed it to her. + +And she had promised him. He needed her. The words she had spoken to +Madge, not dreaming then of their swift application. They came back to +her. "God has called me. He girded His sword upon me." What right had +she to leave it rusting in its scabbard, turning aside from the pathway +pointed out to her because of one weak, useless life, crouching in her +way. It was not as if she were being asked to do evil herself that good +might come. The decision had been taken out of her hands. All she had +to do was to remain quiescent, not interfering, awaiting her orders. Her +business was with her own part, not with another's. To be willing to +sacrifice oneself: that was at the root of all service. Sometimes it was +one's own duty, sometimes that of another. Must one never go forward +because another steps out of one's way, voluntarily? Besides, she might +have been mistaken. That picture, ever before her, of the woman pausing +with the brush above her tongue--that little stilled gasp! It may have +been but a phantasm, born of her own fevered imagination. She clung to +that, desperately. + +It was the task that had been entrusted to her. How could he hope to +succeed without her. With her, he would be all powerful--accomplish the +end for which he had been sent into the world. Society counts for so +much in England. What public man had ever won through without its +assistance. As Greyson had said: it is the dinner-table that rules. She +could win it over to his side. That mission to Paris that she had +undertaken for Mrs. Denton, that had brought her into contact with +diplomatists, politicians, the leaders and the rulers, the bearers of +names known and honoured in history. They had accepted her as one of +themselves. She had influenced them, swayed them. That afternoon at +Folk's studio, where all eyes had followed her, where famous men and +women had waited to attract her notice, had hung upon her words. Even at +school, at college, she had always commanded willing homage. As Greyson +had once told her, it was herself--her personality that was her greatest +asset. Was it to be utterly wasted? There were hundreds of impersonal, +sexless women, equipped for nothing else, with pens as keen if not keener +than hers. That was not the talent with which she had been entrusted--for +which she would have to account. It was her beauty, her power to charm, +to draw after her--to compel by the mere exercise of her will. Hitherto +Beauty had been content to barter itself for mere coin of the realm--for +ease and luxury and pleasure. She only asked to be allowed to spend it +in service. As his wife, she could use it to fine ends. By herself she +was helpless. One must take the world as one finds it. It gives the +unmated woman no opportunity to employ the special gifts with which God +has endowed her--except for evil. As the wife of a rising statesman, she +could be a force for progress. She could become another Madame Roland; +gather round her all that was best of English social life; give back to +it its lost position in the vanguard of thought. + +She could strengthen him, give him courage. Without her, he would always +remain the mere fighter, doubtful of himself. The confidence, the +inspiration, necessary for leadership, she alone could bring to him. Each +by themselves was incomplete. Together, they would be the whole. They +would build the city of their dreams. + +She seemed to have become a wandering spirit rather than a living being. +She had no sense of time or place. Once she had started, hearing herself +laugh. She was seated at a table, and was talking. And then she had +passed back into forgetfulness. Now, from somewhere, she was gazing +downward. Roofs, domes and towers lay stretched before her, emerging +from a sea of shadows. She held out her arms towards them and the tears +came to her eyes. The poor tired people were calling to her to join with +him to help them. Should she fail them--turn deaf ears to the myriad +because of pity for one useless, feeble life? + +She had been fashioned to be his helpmate, as surely as if she had been +made of the same bone. Nature was at one with God. Spirit and body both +yearned for him. It was not position--power for herself that she craved. +The marriage market--if that had been her desire: it had always been open +to her. She had the gold that buys these things. Wealth, ambition: they +had been offered to her--spread out temptingly before her eyes. They +were always within her means, if ever she chose to purchase them. It was +this man alone to whom she had ever felt drawn--this man of the people, +with that suggestion about him of something primitive, untamed, causing +her always in his presence that faint, compelling thrill of fear, who +stirred her blood as none of the polished men of her own class had ever +done. His kind, strong, ugly face: it moved beside her: its fearless, +tender eyes now pleading, now commanding. + +He needed her. She heard his passionate, low voice, as she had heard it +in the little garden above Meudon: "Because you won't be there; and +without you I can do nothing." What right had this poor, worn-out shadow +to stand between them, to the end? Had love and life no claims, but only +weakness? She had taken all, had given nothing. It was but reparation +she was making. Why stop her? + +She was alone in a maze of narrow, silent streets that ended always in a +high blank wall. It seemed impossible to get away from this blank wall. +Whatever way she turned she was always coming back to it. + +What was she to do? Drag the woman back to life against her will--lead +her back to him to be a chain about his feet until the end? Then leave +him to fight the battle alone? + +And herself? All her world had been watching and would know. She had +counted her chickens before they were dead. She had set her cap at the +man, reckoning him already widowed; and his wife had come to life and +snatched it from her head. She could hear the laughter--the half amused, +half contemptuous pity for her "rotten bad luck." She would be their +standing jest, till she was forgotten. + +What would life leave to her? A lonely lodging and a pot of ink that she +would come to hate the smell of. She could never marry. It would be but +her body that she could give to any other man. Not even for the sake of +her dreams could she bring herself to that. It might have been possible +before, but not now. She could have won the victory over herself, but +for hope, that had kindled the smouldering embers of her passion into +flame. What cunning devil had flung open this door, showing her all her +heart's desire, merely that she should be called upon to slam it to in +her own face? + +A fierce anger blazed up in her brain. Why should she listen? Why had +reason been given to us if we were not to use it--weigh good and evil in +the balance and decide for ourselves where lay the nobler gain? Were we +to be led hither and thither like blind children? What was right--what +wrong, but what our own God-given judgment told us? Was it wrong of the +woman to perform this act of self-renunciation, yielding up all things to +love? No, it was great--heroic of her. It would be her cross of +victory, her crown. + +If the gift were noble, so also it could not be ignoble to accept it. + +To reject it would be to dishonour it. + +She would accept it. The wonder of it should cast out her doubts and +fears. She would seek to make herself worthy of it. Consecrate it with +her steadfastness, her devotion. + +She thought it ended. But yet she sat there motionless. + +What was plucking at her sleeve--still holding her? + +Unknowing, she had entered a small garden. It formed a passage between +two streets, and was left open day and night. It was but a narrow strip +of rank grass and withered shrubs with an asphalte pathway widening to a +circle in the centre, where stood a gas lamp and two seats, facing one +another. + +And suddenly it came to her that this was her Garden of Gethsemane; and a +dull laugh broke from her that she could not help. It was such a +ridiculous apology for Gethsemane. There was not a corner in which one +could possibly pray. Only these two iron seats, one each side of the +gaunt gas lamp that glared down upon them. Even the withered shrubs were +fenced off behind a railing. A ragged figure sprawled upon the bench +opposite to her. It snored gently, and its breath came laden with the +odour of cheap whisky. + +But it was her Gethsemane: the best that Fate had been able to do for +her. It was here that her choice would be made. She felt that. + +And there rose before her the vision of that other Garden of Gethsemane +with, below it, the soft lights of the city shining through the trees; +and above, clear against the starlit sky, the cold, dark cross. + +It was only a little cross, hers, by comparison. She could see that. +They seemed to be standing side by side. But then she was only a +woman--little more than a girl. And her courage was so small. She +thought He ought to know that. For her, it was quite a big cross. She +wondered if He had been listening to all her arguments. There was really +a good deal of sense in some of them. Perhaps He would understand. Not +all His prayer had come down to us. He, too, had put up a fight for +life. He, too, was young. For Him, also, life must have seemed but just +beginning. Perhaps He, too, had felt that His duty still lay among the +people--teaching, guiding, healing them. To Him, too, life must have +been sweet with its noble work, its loving comradeship. Even from Him +the words had to be wrung: "Thy will, not Mine, be done." + +She whispered them at last. Not bravely, at all. Feebly, haltingly, +with a little sob: her forehead pressed against the cold iron seat, as if +that could help her. + +She thought that even then God might reconsider it--see her point of +view. Perhaps He would send her a sign. + +The ragged figure on the bench opposite opened its eyes, stared at her; +then went to sleep again. A prowling cat paused to rub itself against +her foot, but meeting no response, passed on. Through an open window, +somewhere near, filtered the sound of a child's low whimpering. + +It was daylight when she awoke. She was cold and her limbs ached. Slowly +her senses came back to her. The seat opposite was vacant. The gas lamp +showed but a faint blue point of flame. Her dress was torn, her boots +soiled and muddy. Strands of her hair had escaped from underneath her +hat. + +She looked at her watch. Fortunately it was still early. She would be +able to let herself in before anyone was up. It was but a little way. +She wondered, while rearranging her hair, what day it was. She would +find out, when she got home, from the newspaper. + +In the street she paused a moment and looked back through the railings. +It seemed even still more sordid in the daylight: the sooty grass and the +withered shrubs and the asphalte pathway strewn with dirty paper. And +again a laugh she could not help broke from her. Her Garden of +Gethsemane! + +She sent a brief letter round to Phillips, and a telegram to the nurse, +preparing them for what she meant to do. She had just time to pack a +small trunk and catch the morning train. At Folkestone, she drove first +to a house where she herself had once lodged and fixed things to her +satisfaction. The nurse was waiting for her in the downstairs room, and +opened the door to her. She was opposed to Joan's interference. But +Joan had come prepared for that. "Let me have a talk with her," she +said. "I think I've found out what it is that is causing all the +trouble." + +The nurse shot her a swift glance. "I'm glad of that," she said dryly. +She let Joan go upstairs. + +Mrs. Phillips was asleep. Joan seated herself beside the bed and waited. +She had not yet made herself up for the day and the dyed hair was hidden +beneath a white, close-fitting cap. The pale, thin face with its closed +eyes looked strangely young. Suddenly the thin hands clasped, and her +lips moved, as if she were praying in her sleep. Perhaps she also was +dreaming of Gethsemane. It must be quite a crowded garden, if only we +could see it. + +After a while, her eyes opened. Joan drew her chair nearer and slipped +her arm in under her, and their eyes met. + +"You're not playing the game," whispered Joan, shaking her head. "I only +promised on condition that you would try to get well." + +The woman made no attempt to deny. Something told her that Joan had +learned her secret. She glanced towards the door. Joan had closed it. + +"Don't drag me back," she whispered. "It's all finished." She raised +herself up and put her arms about Joan's neck. "It was hard at first, +and I hated you. And then it came to me that this was what I had been +wanting to do, all my life--something to help him, that nobody else could +do. Don't take it from me." + +"I know," whispered Joan. "I've been there, too. I knew you were doing +it, though I didn't quite know how--till the other day. I wouldn't +think. I wanted to pretend that I didn't. I know all you can say. I've +been listening to it. It was right of you to want to give it all up to +me for his sake. But it would be wrong of me to take it. I don't quite +see why. I can't explain it. But I mustn't. So you see it would be no +good." + +"But I'm so useless," pleaded the woman. + +"I said that," answered Joan. "I wanted to do it and I talked and +talked, so hard. I said everything I could think of. But that was the +only answer: I mustn't do it." + +They remained for a while with their arms round one another. It struck +Joan as curious, even at the time, that all feeling of superiority had +gone out of her. They might have been two puzzled children that had met +one another on a path that neither knew. But Joan was the stronger +character. + +"I want you to give me up that box," she said, "and to come away with me +where I can be with you and take care of you until you are well." + +Mrs. Phillips made yet another effort. "Have you thought about him?" she +asked. + +Joan answered with a faint smile. "Oh, yes," she said. "I didn't forget +that argument in case it hadn't occurred to the Lord." + +"Perhaps," she added, "the helpmate theory was intended to apply only to +our bodies. There was nothing said about our souls. Perhaps God doesn't +have to work in pairs. Perhaps we were meant to stand alone." + +Mrs. Phillips's thin hands were playing nervously with the bed clothes. +There still seemed something that she had to say. As if Joan hadn't +thought of everything. Her eyes were fixed upon the narrow strip of +light between the window curtains. + +"You don't think you could, dear," she whispered, "if I didn't do +anything wicked any more. But just let things take their course." + +"You see, dear," she went on, her face still turned away, "I thought it +all finished. It will be hard for me to go back to him, knowing as I do +now that he doesn't want me. I shall always feel that I am in his way. +And Hilda," she added after a pause, "she will hate me." + +Joan looked at the white patient face and was silent. What would be the +use of senseless contradiction. The woman knew. It would only seem an +added stab of mockery. She knelt beside the bed, and took the thin hands +in hers. + +"I think God must want you very badly," she said, "or He wouldn't have +laid so heavy a cross upon you. You will come?" + +The woman did not answer in words. The big tears were rolling down her +cheeks. There was no paint to mingle with and mar them. She drew the +little metal box from under the pillow and gave it into Joan's hands. + +Joan crept out softly from the room. + +The nurse was standing by the window. She turned sharply on Joan's +entrance. Joan slipped the box into her hands. + +The nurse raised the lid. "What a fool I've been," she said. "I never +thought of that." + +She held out a large strong hand and gave Joan a longish grip. "You're +right," she said, "we must get her out of this house at once. Forgive +me." + +Phillips had been called up north and wired that he would not be able to +get down till the Wednesday evening. Joan met him at the station. + +"She won't be expecting you, just yet," she explained. "We might have a +little walk." + +She waited till they had reached a quiet road leading to the hills. + +"You will find her changed," she said. "Mentally, I mean. Though she +will try not to show it. She was dying for your sake--to set you free. +Hilda seems to have had a talk with her and to have spared her no part of +the truth. Her great love for you made the sacrifice possible and even +welcome. It was the one gift she had in her hands. She was giving it +gladly, proudly. So far as she was concerned, it would have been kinder +to let her make an end of it. But during the last few days I have come +to the conclusion there is a law within us that we may not argue with. +She is coming back to life, knowing you no longer want her, that she is +only in the way. Perhaps you may be able to think of something to say or +do that will lessen her martyrdom. I can't." + +They had paused where a group of trees threw a blot of shadow across the +moonlit road. + +"You mean she was killing herself?" he asked. + +"Quite cleverly. So as to avoid all danger of after discovery: that +might have hurt us," she answered. + +They walked in silence, and coming to a road that led back into the town, +he turned down it. She had the feeling she was following him without his +knowing it. A cab was standing outside the gate of a house, having just +discharged its fare. He seemed to have suddenly recollected her. + +"Do you mind?" he said. "We shall get there so much quicker." + +"You go," she said. "I'll stroll on quietly." + +"You're sure?" he said. + +"I would rather," she answered. + +It struck her that he was relieved. He gave the man the address, +speaking hurriedly, and jumped in. + +She had gone on. She heard the closing of the door behind her, and the +next moment the cab passed her. + +She did not see him again that night. They met in the morning at +breakfast. A curious strangeness to each other seemed to have grown up +between them, as if they had known one another long ago, and had half +forgotten. When they had finished she rose to leave; but he asked her to +stop, and, after the table had been cleared, he walked up and down the +room, while she sat sideways on the window seat from where she could +watch the little ships moving to and fro across the horizon, like painted +figures in a show. + +"I had a long talk with Nan last night," he said. "And, trying to +explain it to her, I came a little nearer to understanding it myself. My +love for you would have been strong enough to ruin both of us. I see +that now. It would have dominated every other thought in me. It would +have swallowed up my dreams. It would have been blind, unscrupulous. +Married to you, I should have aimed only at success. It would not have +been your fault. You would not have known. About mere birth I should +never have troubled myself. I've met daughters of a hundred earls--more +or less: clever, jolly little women I could have chucked under the chin +and have been chummy with. Nature creates her own ranks, and puts her +ban upon misalliances. Every time I took you in my arms I should have +felt that you had stepped down from your proper order to mate yourself +with me and that it was up to me to make the sacrifice good to you by +giving you power--position. Already within the last few weeks, when it +looked as if this thing was going to be possible, I have been thinking +against my will of a compromise with Carleton that would give me his +support. This coming election was beginning to have terrors for me that +I have never before felt. The thought of defeat--having to go back to +comparative poverty, to comparative obscurity, with you as my wife, was +growing into a nightmare. I should have wanted wealth, fame, victory, +for your sake--to see you honoured, courted, envied, finely dressed and +finely housed--grateful to me for having won for you these things. It +wasn't honest, healthy love--the love that unites, that makes a man +willing to take as well as to give, that I felt for you; it was worship +that separates a man from a woman, that puts fear between them. It isn't +good that man should worship a woman. He can't serve God and woman. +Their interests are liable to clash. Nan's my helpmate--just a loving +woman that the Lord brought to me and gave me when I was alone--that I +still love. I didn't know it till last night. She will never stand in +my way. I haven't to put her against my duty. She will leave me free to +obey the voice that calls to me. And no man can hear that voice but +himself." + +He had been speaking in a clear, self-confident tone, as if at last he +saw his road before him to the end; and felt that nothing else mattered +but that he should go forward hopefully, unfalteringly. Now he paused, +and his eyes wandered. But the lines about his strong mouth deepened. + +"Perhaps, I am not of the stuff that conquerors are made," he went on. +"Perhaps, if I were, I should be thinking differently. It comes to me +sometimes that I may be one of those intended only to prepare the +way--that for me there may be only the endless struggle. I may have to +face unpopularity, abuse, failure. She won't mind." + +"Nor would you," he added, turning to her suddenly for the first time, "I +know that. But I should be afraid--for you." + +She had listened to him without interrupting, and even now she did not +speak for a while. + +It was hard not to. She wanted to tell him that he was all wrong--at +least, so far as she was concerned. It. was not the conqueror she loved +in him; it was the fighter. Not in the hour of triumph but in the hour +of despair she would have yearned to put her arms about him. +"Unpopularity, abuse, failure," it was against the fear of such that she +would have guarded him. Yes, she had dreamed of leadership, influence, +command. But it was the leadership of the valiant few against the hosts +of the oppressors that she claimed. Wealth, honours! Would she have +given up a life of ease, shut herself off from society, if these had been +her standards? "_Mesalliance_!" Had the male animal no instinct, +telling it when it was loved with all a woman's being, so that any other +union would be her degradation. + +It was better for him he should think as he did. She rose and held out +her hand. + +"I will stay with her for a little while," she said. "Till I feel there +is no more need. Then I must get back to work." + +He looked into her eyes, holding her hand, and she felt his body +trembling. She knew he was about to speak, and held up a warning hand. + +"That's all, my lad," she said with a smile. "My love to you, and God +speed you." + +Mrs. Phillips progressed slowly but steadily. Life was returning to her, +but it was not the same. Out of those days there had come to her a +gentle dignity, a strengthening and refining. The face, now pale and +drawn, had lost its foolishness. Under the thin, white hair, and in +spite of its deep lines, it had grown younger. A great patience, a child- +like thoughtfulness had come into the quiet eyes. + +She was sitting by the window, her hands folded. Joan had been reading +to her, and the chapter finished, she had closed the book and her +thoughts had been wandering. Mrs. Phillips's voice recalled them. + +"Do you remember that day, my dear," she said, "when we went furnishing +together. And I would have all the wrong things. And you let me." + +"Yes," answered Joan with a laugh. "They were pretty awful, some of +them." + +"I was just wondering," she went on. "It was a pity, wasn't it? I was +silly and began to cry." + +"I expect that was it," Joan confessed. "It interferes with our reason +at times." + +"It was only a little thing, of course, that," she answered. "But I've +been thinking it must be that that's at the bottom of it all; and that is +why God lets there be weak things--children and little animals and men +and women in pain, that we feel sorry for, so that people like you and +Robert and so many others are willing to give up all your lives to +helping them. And that is what He wants." + +"Perhaps God cannot help there being weak things," answered Joan. +"Perhaps He, too, is sorry for them." + +"It comes to the same thing, doesn't it, dear?" she answered. "They are +there, anyhow. And that is how He knows those who are willing to serve +Him: by their being pitiful." + +They fell into a silence. Joan found herself dreaming. + +Yes, it was true. It must have been the beginning of all things. Man, +pitiless, deaf, blind, groping in the darkness, knowing not even himself. +And to her vision, far off, out of the mist, he shaped himself before +her: that dim, first standard-bearer of the Lord, the man who first felt +pity. Savage, brutish, dumb--lonely there amid the desolation, staring +down at some hurt creature, man or beast it mattered not, his dull eyes +troubled with a strange new pain he understood not. + +And suddenly, as he stooped, there must have come a great light into his +eyes. + +Man had heard God's voice across the deep, and had made answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +The years that followed--till, like some shipwrecked swimmer to whom +returning light reveals the land, she felt new life and hopes come back +to her--always remained in her memory vague, confused; a jumble of +events, thoughts, feelings, without sequence or connection. + +She had gone down to Liverpool, intending to persuade her father to leave +the control of the works to Arthur, and to come and live with her in +London; but had left without broaching the subject. There were nights +when she would trapse the streets till she would almost fall exhausted, +rather than face the solitude awaiting her in her own rooms. But so also +there were moods when, like some stricken animal, her instinct was to +shun all living things. At such times his presence, for all his loving +patience, would have been as a knife in her wound. Besides, he would +always be there, when escape from herself for a while became an absolute +necessity. More and more she had come to regard him as her comforter. +Not from anything he ever said or did. Rather, it seemed to her, because +that with him she felt no need of words. + +The works, since Arthur had shared the management, had gradually been +regaining their position; and he had urged her to let him increase her +allowance. + +"It will give you greater freedom," he had suggested with fine assumption +of propounding a mere business proposition; "enabling you to choose your +work entirely for its own sake. I have always wanted to take a hand in +helping things on. It will come to just the same, your doing it for me." + +She had suppressed a smile, and had accepted. "Thanks, Dad," she had +answered. "It will be nice, having you as my backer." + +Her admiration of the independent woman had undergone some modification +since she had come in contact with her. Woman was intended to be +dependent upon man. It was the part appointed to him in the social +scheme. Woman had hers, no less important. Earning her own living did +not improve her. It was one of the drawbacks of civilization that so +many had to do it of necessity. It developed her on the wrong +lines--against her nature. This cry of the unsexed: that woman must +always be the paid servant instead of the helper of man--paid for being +mother, paid for being wife! Why not carry it to its logical conclusion, +and insist that she should be paid for her embraces? That she should +share in man's labour, in his hopes, that was the true comradeship. What +mattered it, who held the purse-strings! + +Her room was always kept ready for her. Often she would lie there, +watching the moonlight creep across the floor; and a curious feeling +would come to her of being something wandering, incomplete. She would +see as through a mist the passionate, restless child with the rebellious +eyes to whom the room had once belonged; and later the strangely self- +possessed girl with that impalpable veil of mystery around her who would +stand with folded hands, there by the window, seeming always to be +listening. And she, too, had passed away. The tears would come into her +eyes, and she would stretch out yearning arms towards their shadowy +forms. But they would only turn upon her eyes that saw not, and would +fade away. + +In the day-time, when Arthur and her father were at the works, she would +move through the high, square, stiffly-furnished rooms, or about the +great formal garden, with its ordered walks and level lawns. And as with +knowledge we come to love some old, stern face our childish eyes had +thought forbidding, and would not have it changed, there came to her with +the years a growing fondness for the old, plain brick-built house. +Generations of Allways had lived and died there: men and women somewhat +narrow, unsympathetic, a little hard of understanding; but at least +earnest, sincere, seeking to do their duty in their solid, unimaginative +way. Perhaps there were other ways besides those of speech and pen. +Perhaps one did better, keeping to one's own people; the very qualities +that separated us from them being intended for their need. What mattered +the colours, so that one followed the flag? Somewhere, all roads would +meet. + +Arthur had to be in London generally once or twice a month, and it came +to be accepted that he should always call upon her and "take her out." +She had lost the self-sufficiency that had made roaming about London by +herself a pleasurable adventure; and a newly-born fear of what people +were saying and thinking about her made her shy even of the few friends +she still clung to, so that his visits grew to be of the nature of +childish treats to which she found herself looking forward--counting the +days. Also, she came to be dependent upon him for the keeping alight +within her of that little kindly fire of self-conceit at which we warm +our hands in wintry days. It is not good that a young woman should +remain for long a stranger to her mirror--above her frocks, indifferent +to the angle of her hat. She had met the women superior to feminine +vanities. Handsome enough, some of them must once have been; now sunk in +slovenliness, uncleanliness, in disrespect to womanhood. It would not be +fair to him. The worshipper has his rights. The goddess must remember +always that she is a goddess--must pull herself together and behave as +such, appearing upon her pedestal becomingly attired; seeing to it that +in all things she is at her best; not allowing private grief to render +her neglectful of this duty. + +She had not told him of the Phillips episode. But she felt instinctively +that he knew. It was always a little mysterious to her, his perception +in matters pertaining to herself. + +"I want your love," she said to him one day. "It helps me. I used to +think it was selfish of me to take it, knowing I could never return +it--not that love. But I no longer feel that now. Your love seems to me +a fountain from which I can drink without hurting you." + +"I should love to be with you always," he answered, "if you wished it. +You won't forget your promise?" + +She remembered it then. "No," she answered with a smile. "I shall keep +watch. Perhaps I shall be worthy of it by that time." + +She had lost her faith in journalism as a drum for the rousing of the +people against wrong. Its beat had led too often to the trickster's +booth, to the cheap-jack's rostrum. It had lost its rallying power. The +popular Press had made the newspaper a byword for falsehood. Even its +supporters, while reading it because it pandered to their passions, +tickled their vices, and flattered their ignorance, despised and +disbelieved it. Here and there, an honest journal advocated a reform, +pleaded for the sweeping away of an injustice. The public shrugged its +shoulders. Another newspaper stunt! A bid for popularity, for +notoriety: with its consequent financial kudos. + +She still continued to write for Greyson, but felt she was labouring for +the doomed. Lord Sutcliffe had died suddenly and his holding in the +_Evening Gazette_ had passed to his nephew, a gentleman more interested +in big game shooting than in politics. Greyson's support of Phillips had +brought him within the net of Carleton's operations, and negotiations for +purchase had already been commenced. She knew that, sooner or later, +Greyson would be offered the alternative of either changing his opinions +or of going. And she knew that he would go. Her work for Mrs. Denton +was less likely to be interfered with. It appealed only to the few, and +aimed at informing and explaining rather than directly converting. Useful +enough work in its way, no doubt; but to put heart into it seemed to +require longer views than is given to the eyes of youth. + +Besides, her pen was no longer able to absorb her attention, to keep her +mind from wandering. The solitude of her desk gave her the feeling of a +prison. Her body made perpetual claims upon her, as though it were some +restless, fretful child, dragging her out into the streets without +knowing where it wanted to go, discontented with everything it did: then +hurrying her back to fling itself upon a chair, weary, but still +dissatisfied. + +If only she could do something. She was sick of thinking. + +These physical activities into which women were throwing themselves! +Where one used one's body as well as one's brain--hastened to +appointments; gathered round noisy tables; met fellow human beings, +argued with them, walked with them, laughing and talking; forced one's +way through crowds; cheered, shouted; stood up on platforms before a sea +of faces; roused applause, filling and emptying one's lungs; met +interruptions with swift flash of wit or anger, faced opposition, +danger--felt one's blood surging through one's veins, felt one's nerves +quivering with excitement; felt the delirious thrill of passion; felt the +mad joy of the loosened animal. + +She threw herself into the suffrage movement. It satisfied her for a +while. She had the rare gift of public speaking, and enjoyed her +triumphs. She was temperate, reasonable; persuasive rather than +aggressive; feeling her audience as she went, never losing touch with +them. She had the magnetism that comes of sympathy. Medical students +who came intending to tell her to go home and mind the baby, remained to +wonder if man really was the undoubted sovereign of the world, born to +look upon woman as his willing subject; to wonder whether under some +unwritten whispered law it might not be the other way about. Perhaps she +had the right--with or without the baby--to move about the kingdom, +express her wishes for its care and management. Possibly his doubts may +not have been brought about solely by the force and logic of her +arguments. Possibly the voice of Nature is not altogether out of place +in discussions upon Humanity's affairs. + +She wanted votes for women. But she wanted them clean--won without +dishonour. These "monkey tricks"--this apish fury and impatience! +Suppose it did hasten by a few months, more or less, the coming of the +inevitable. Suppose, by unlawful methods, one could succeed in dragging +a reform a little prematurely from the womb of time, did not one endanger +the child's health? Of what value was woman's influence on public +affairs going to be, if she was to boast that she had won the right to +exercise it by unscrupulousness and brutality? + +They were to be found at every corner: the reformers who could not reform +themselves. The believers in universal brotherhood who hated half the +people. The denouncers of tyranny demanding lamp-posts for their +opponents. The bloodthirsty preachers of peace. The moralists who had +persuaded themselves that every wrong was justified provided one were +fighting for the right. The deaf shouters for justice. The excellent +intentioned men and women labouring for reforms that could only be hoped +for when greed and prejudice had yielded place to reason, and who sought +to bring about their ends by appeals to passion and self-interest. + +And the insincere, the self-seekers, the self-advertisers! Those who +were in the business for even coarser profit! The lime-light lovers who +would always say and do the clever, the unexpected thing rather than the +useful and the helpful thing: to whom paradox was more than principle. + +Ought there not to be a school for reformers, a training college where +could be inculcated self-examination, patience, temperance, subordination +to duty; with lectures on the fundamental laws, within which all progress +must be accomplished, outside which lay confusion and explosions; with +lectures on history, showing how improvements had been brought about and +how failure had been invited, thus avoiding much waste of reforming zeal; +with lectures on the properties and tendencies of human nature, +forbidding the attempt to treat it as a sum in rule of three? + +There were the others. The men and women not in the lime-light. The +lone, scattered men and women who saw no flag but Pity's ragged skirt; +who heard no drum but the world's low cry of pain; who fought with feeble +hands against the wrong around them; who with aching heart and troubled +eyes laboured to make kinder the little space about them. The great army +of the nameless reformers uncheered, unparagraphed, unhonoured. The +unknown sowers of the seed. Would the reapers of the harvest remember +them? + +Beyond giving up her visits to the house, she had made no attempt to +avoid meeting Phillips; and at public functions and at mutual friends +they sometimes found themselves near to one another. It surprised her +that she could see him, talk to him, and even be alone with him without +its troubling her. He seemed to belong to a part of her that lay dead +and buried--something belonging to her that she had thrust away with her +own hands: that she knew would never come back to her. + +She was still interested in his work and keen to help him. It was going +to be a stiff fight. He himself, in spite of Carleton's opposition, had +been returned with an increased majority; but the Party as a whole had +suffered loss, especially in the counties. The struggle centred round +the agricultural labourer. If he could be won over the Government would +go ahead with Phillips's scheme. Otherwise there was danger of its being +shelved. The difficulty was the old problem of how to get at the men of +the scattered villages, the lonely cottages. The only papers that they +ever saw were those, chiefly of the Carleton group, that the farmers and +the gentry took care should come within their reach; that were handed to +them at the end of their day's work as a kindly gift; given to the school +children to take home with them; supplied in ample numbers to all the +little inns and public-houses. In all these, Phillips was held up as +their arch enemy, his proposal explained as a device to lower their +wages, decrease their chances of employment, and rob them of the produce +of their gardens and allotments. No arguments were used. A daily stream +of abuse, misrepresentation and deliberate lies, set forth under flaming +headlines, served their simple purpose. The one weekly paper that had +got itself established among them, that their fathers had always taken, +that dimly they had come to look upon as their one friend, Carleton had +at last succeeded in purchasing. When that, too, pictured Phillips's +plan as a diabolical intent to take from them even the little that they +had, and give it to the loafing socialist and the bloated foreigner, no +room for doubt was left to them. + +He had organized volunteer cycle companies of speakers from the towns, +young working-men and women and students, to go out on summer evenings +and hold meetings on the village greens. They were winning their way. +But it was slow work. And Carleton was countering their efforts by a +hired opposition that followed them from place to place, and whose +interruptions were made use of to represent the whole campaign as a +fiasco. + +"He's clever," laughed Phillips. "I'd enjoy the fight, if I'd only +myself to think of, and life wasn't so short." + +The laugh died away and a shadow fell upon his face. + +"If I could get a few of the big landlords to come in on my side," he +continued, "it would make all the difference in the world. They're +sensible men, some of them; and the whole thing could be carried out +without injury to any legitimate interest. I could make them see that, +if I could only get them quietly into a corner." + +"But they're frightened of me," he added, with a shrug of his broad +shoulders, "and I don't seem to know how to tackle them." + +Those drawing-rooms? Might not something of the sort be possible? Not, +perhaps, the sumptuous salon of her imagination, thronged with the fair +and famous, suitably attired. Something, perhaps, more homely, more +immediately attainable. Some of the women dressed, perhaps, a little +dowdily; not all of them young and beautiful. The men wise, perhaps, +rather than persistently witty; a few of them prosy, maybe a trifle +ponderous; but solid and influential. Mrs. Denton's great empty house in +Gower Street? A central situation and near to the tube. Lords and +ladies had once ruffled there; trod a measure on its spacious floors; +filled its echoing stone hall with their greetings and their partings. +The gaping sconces, where their link-boys had extinguished their torches, +still capped its grim iron railings. + +Seated in the great, sombre library, Joan hazarded the suggestion. Mrs. +Denton might almost have been waiting for it. It would be quite easy. A +little opening of long fastened windows; a lighting of chill grates; a +little mending of moth-eaten curtains, a sweeping away of long-gathered +dust and cobwebs. + +Mrs. Denton knew just the right people. They might be induced to bring +their sons and daughters--it might be their grandchildren, youth being +there to welcome them. For Joan, of course, would play her part. + +The lonely woman touched her lightly on the hand. There shot a pleading +look from the old stern eyes. + +"You will have to imagine yourself my daughter," she said. "You are +taller, but the colouring was the same. You won't mind, will you?" + +The right people did come: Mrs. Denton being a personage that a landed +gentry, rendered jumpy by the perpetual explosion of new ideas under +their very feet, and casting about eagerly for friends, could not afford +to snub. A kindly, simple folk, quite intelligent, some of them, as +Phillips had surmised. Mrs. Denton made no mystery of why she had +invited them. Why should all questions be left to the politicians and +the journalists? Why should not the people interested take a hand; meet +and talk over these little matters with quiet voices and attentive ears, +amid surroundings where the unwritten law would restrain ladies and +gentlemen from addressing other ladies and gentlemen as blood-suckers or +anarchists, as grinders of the faces of the poor or as oily-tongued +rogues; arguments not really conducive to mutual understanding and the +bridging over of differences. The latest Russian dancer, the last new +musical revue, the marvellous things that can happen at golf, the curious +hands that one picks up at bridge, the eternal fox, the sacred bird! +Excellent material for nine-tenths of our conversation. But the +remaining tenth? Would it be such excruciatingly bad form for us to be +intelligent, occasionally; say, on one or two Fridays during the season? +Mrs. Denton wrapped it up tactfully; but that was her daring suggestion. + +It took them aback at first. There were people who did this sort of +thing. People of no class, who called themselves names and took up +things. But for people of social standing to talk about serious +subjects--except, perhaps, in bed to one's wife! It sounded so +un-English. + +With the elders it was sense of duty that prevailed. That, at all +events, was English. The country must be saved. To their sons and +daughters it was the originality, the novelty that gradually appealed. +Mrs. Denton's Fridays became a new sensation. It came to be the chic and +proper thing to appear at them in shades of mauve or purple. A pushing +little woman in Hanover Street designed the "Denton" bodice, with hanging +sleeves and square-cut neck. The younger men inclined towards a coat +shaped to the waist with a roll collar. + +Joan sighed. It looked as if the word had been passed round to treat the +whole thing as a joke. Mrs. Denton took a different view. + +"Nothing better could have happened," she was of opinion. "It means that +their hearts are in it." + +The stone hall was still vibrating to the voices of the last departed +guests. Joan was seated on a footstool before the fire in front of Mrs. +Denton's chair. + +"It's the thing that gives me greatest hope," she continued. "The +childishness of men and women. It means that the world is still young, +still teachable." + +"But they're so slow at their lessons," grumbled Joan. "One repeats it +and repeats it; and then, when one feels that surely now at least one has +drummed it into their heads, one finds they have forgotten all that one +has ever said." + +"Not always forgotten," answered Mrs. Denton; "mislaid, it may be, for +the moment. An Indian student, the son of an old Rajah, called on me a +little while ago. He was going back to organize a system of education +among his people. 'My father heard you speak when you were over in +India,' he told me. 'He has always been thinking about it.' Thirty +years ago it must have been, that I undertook that mission to India. I +had always looked back upon it as one of my many failures." + +"But why leave it to his son," argued Joan. "Why couldn't the old man +have set about it himself, instead of wasting thirty precious years?" + +"I should have preferred it, myself," agreed Mrs. Denton. "I remember +when I was a very little girl my mother longing for a tree upon the lawn +underneath which she could sit. I found an acorn and planted it just in +the right spot. I thought I would surprise her. I happened to be in the +neighbourhood last summer, and I walked over. There was such a nice old +lady sitting under it, knitting stockings. So you see it wasn't wasted." + +"I wouldn't mind the waiting," answered Joan, "if it were not for the +sorrow and the suffering that I see all round me. I want to get rid of +it right away, now. I could be patient for myself, but not for others." + +The little old lady straightened herself. There came a hardening of the +thin, firm mouth. + +"And those that have gone before?" she demanded. "Those that have won +the ground from where we are fighting. Had they no need of patience? Was +the cry never wrung from their lips: 'How long, oh Lord, how long?' Is +it for us to lay aside the sword that they bequeath us because we cannot +hope any more than they to see the far-off victory? Fifty years I have +fought, and what, a few years hence, will my closing eyes still see but +the banners of the foe still waving, fresh armies pouring to his +standard?" + +She flung back her head and the grim mouth broke into a smile. + +"But I've won," she said. "I'm dying further forward. I've helped +advance the line." + +She put out her hands and drew Joan to her. + +"Let me think of you," she said, "as taking my place, pushing the +outposts a little further on." + +Joan did not meet Hilda again till the child had grown into a +woman--practically speaking. She had always been years older than her +age. It was at a reception given in the Foreign Office. Joan's dress +had been trodden on and torn. She had struggled out of the crowd into an +empty room, and was examining the damage somewhat ruefully, when she +heard a voice behind her, proffering help. It was a hard, cold voice, +that yet sounded familiar, and she turned. + +There was no forgetting those deep, burning eyes, though the face had +changed. The thin red lips still remained its one touch of colour; but +the unhealthy whiteness of the skin had given place to a delicate pallor; +and the features that had been indistinct had shaped themselves in fine, +firm lines. It was a beautiful, arresting face, marred only by the +sullen callousness of the dark, clouded eyes. + +Joan was glad of the assistance. Hilda produced pins. + +"I always come prepared to these scrimmages," she explained. "I've got +some Hazeline in my bag. They haven't kicked you, have they?" + +"No," laughed Joan. "At least, I don't think so." + +"They do sometimes," answered Hilda, "if you happen to be in the way, +near the feeding troughs. If they'd only put all the refreshments into +one room, one could avoid it. But they will scatter them about so that +one never knows for certain whether one is in the danger zone or not. I +hate a mob." + +"Why do you come?" asked Joan. + +"Oh, I!" answered the girl. "I go everywhere where there's a chance of +picking up a swell husband. They've got to come to these shows, they +can't help themselves. One never knows what incident may give one one's +opportunity." + +Joan shot a glance. The girl was evidently serious. + +"You think it would prove a useful alliance?" she suggested. + +"It would help, undoubtedly," the girl answered. "I don't see any other +way of getting hold of them." + +Joan seated herself on one of the chairs ranged round the walls, and drew +the girl down beside her. Through the closed door, the mingled voices of +the Foreign Secretary's guests sounded curiously like the buzzing of +flies. + +"It's quite easy," said Joan, "with your beauty. Especially if you're +not going to be particular. But isn't there danger of your devotion to +your father leading you too far? A marriage founded on a lie--no matter +for what purpose!--mustn't it degrade a woman--smirch her soul for all +time? We have a right to give up the things that belong to ourselves, +but not the things that belong to God: our truth, our sincerity, our +cleanliness of mind and body; the things that He may one day want of us. +It led you into evil once before. Don't think I'm judging you. I was no +better than you. I argued just as you must have done. Something stopped +me just in time. That was the only difference between us." + +The girl turned her dark eyes full upon Joan. "What did stop you?" she +demanded. + +"Does it matter what we call it?" answered Joan. "It was a voice." + +"It told me to do it," answered the girl. + +"Did no other voice speak to you?" asked Joan. + +"Yes," answered the girl. "The voice of weakness." + +There came a fierce anger into the dark eyes. "Why did you listen to +it?" she demanded. "All would have been easy if you hadn't." + +"You mean," answered Joan quietly, "that if I had let your mother die and +had married your father, that he and I would have loved each other to the +end; that I should have helped him and encouraged him in all things, so +that his success would have been certain. Is that the argument?" + +"Didn't you love him?" asked the girl, staring. "Wouldn't you have +helped him?" + +"I can't tell," answered Joan. "I should have meant to. Many men and +women have loved, and have meant to help each other all their lives; and +with the years have drifted asunder; coming even to be against one +another. We change and our thoughts change; slight differences of +temperament grow into barriers between us; unguessed antagonisms widen +into gulfs. Accidents come into our lives. A friend was telling me the +other day of a woman who practically proposed to and married a musical +genius, purely and solely to be of use to him. She earned quite a big +income, drawing fashions; and her idea was to relieve him of the +necessity of doing pot-boilers for a living, so that he might devote his +whole time to his real work. And a few weeks after they were married she +ran the point of a lead pencil through her eye and it set up inflammation +of her brain. And now all the poor fellow has to think of is how to make +enough to pay for her keep at a private lunatic asylum. I don't mean to +be flippant. It's the very absurdity of it all that makes the mystery of +life--that renders it so hopeless for us to attempt to find our way +through it by our own judgment. It is like the ants making all their +clever, laborious plans, knowing nothing of chickens and the gardener's +spade. That is why we have to cling to the life we can order for +ourselves--the life within us. Truth, Justice, Pity. They are the +strong things, the eternal things, the things we've got to sacrifice +ourselves for--serve with our bodies and our souls. + +"Don't think me a prig," she pleaded. "I'm talking as if I knew all +about it. I don't really. I grope in the dark; and now and then--at +least so it seems to me--I catch a glint of light. We are powerless in +ourselves. It is only God working through us that enables us to be of +any use. All we can do is to keep ourselves kind and clean and free from +self, waiting for Him to come to us." + +The girl rose. "I must be getting back," she said. "Dad will be +wondering where I've got to." + +She paused with the door in her hand, and a faint smile played round the +thin red lips. + +"Tell me," she said. "What is God?" + +"A Labourer, together with man, according to Saint Paul," Joan answered. + +The girl turned and went. Joan watched her as she descended the great +staircase. She moved with a curious, gliding motion, pausing at times +for the people to make way for her. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +It was a summer's evening; Joan had dropped in at the Greysons and had +found Mary alone, Francis not having yet returned from a bachelor dinner +at his uncle's, who was some big pot in the Navy. They sat in the +twilight, facing the open French windows, through which one caught a +glimpse of the park. A great stillness seemed to be around them. + +The sale and purchase of the _Evening Gazette_ had been completed a few +days before. Greyson had been offered the alternative of gradually and +gracefully changing his opinions, or getting out; and had, of course, +chosen dismissal. He was taking a holiday, as Mary explained with a +short laugh. + +"He had some shares in it himself, hadn't he?" Joan asked. + +"Oh, just enough to be of no use," Mary answered. "Carleton was rather +decent, so far as that part of it was concerned, and insisted on paying +him a fair price. The market value would have been much less; and he +wanted to be out of it." + +Joan remained silent. It made her mad, that a man could be suddenly +robbed of fifteen years' labour: the weapon that his heart and brain had +made keen wrested from his hand by a legal process, and turned against +the very principles for which all his life he had been fighting. + +"I'm almost more sorry for myself than for him," said Mary, making a +whimsical grimace. "He will start something else, so soon as he's got +over his first soreness; but I'm too old to dream of another child." + +He came in a little later and, seating himself between them, filled and +lighted his pipe. Looking back, Joan remembered that curiously none of +them had spoken. Mary had turned at the sound of his key in the door. +She seemed to be watching him intently; but it was too dark to notice her +expression. He pulled at his pipe till it was well alight and then +removed it. + +"It's war," he said. + +The words made no immediate impression upon Joan. There had been +rumours, threatenings and alarms, newspaper talk. But so there had been +before. It would come one day: the world war that one felt was gathering +in the air; that would burst like a second deluge on the nations. But it +would not be in our time: it was too big. A way out would be found. + +"Is there no hope?" asked Mary. + +"Yes," he answered. "The hope that a miracle may happen. The Navy's got +its orders." + +And suddenly--as years before in a Paris music hall--there leapt to life +within Joan's brain a little impish creature that took possession of her. +She hoped the miracle would not happen. The little impish creature +within her brain was marching up and down beating a drum. She wished he +would stop a minute. Someone was trying to talk to her, telling her she +ought to be tremendously shocked and grieved. He--or she, or whatever it +was that was trying to talk to her, appeared concerned about Reason and +Pity and Universal Brotherhood and Civilization's clock--things like +that. But the little impish drummer was making such a din, she couldn't +properly hear. Later on, perhaps, he would get tired; and then she would +be able to listen to this humane and sensible person, whoever it might +be. + +Mary argued that England could and should keep out of it; but Greyson was +convinced it would be impossible, not to say dishonourable: a sentiment +that won the enthusiastic approval of the little drummer in Joan's brain. +He played "Rule Britannia" and "God Save the King," the "Marseillaise" +and the Russian National hymn, all at the same time. He would have +included "Deutschland uber Alles," if Joan hadn't made a supreme effort +and stopped him. Evidently a sporting little devil. He took himself off +into a corner after a time, where he played quietly to himself; and Joan +was able to join in the conversation. + +Greyson spoke with an enthusiasm that was unusual to him. So many of our +wars had been mean wars--wars for the wrong; sordid wars for territory, +for gold mines; wars against the weak at the bidding of our traders, our +financiers. "Shouldering the white man's burden," we called it. Wars +for the right of selling opium; wars to perpetuate the vile rule of the +Turk because it happened to serve our commercial interests. This time, +we were out to play the knight; to save the smaller peoples; to rescue +our once "sweet enemy," fair France. Russia was the disturbing thought. +It somewhat discounted the knight-errant idea, riding stirrup to stirrup +beside that barbarian horseman. But there were possibilities about +Russia. Idealism lay hid within that sleeping brain. It would be a holy +war for the Kingdom of the Peoples. With Germany freed from the monster +of blood and iron that was crushing out her soul, with Russia awakened to +life, we would build the United States of Europe. Even his voice was +changed. Joan could almost fancy it was some excited schoolboy that was +talking. + +Mary had been clasping and unclasping her hands, a habit of hers when +troubled. Could good ever come out of evil? That was her doubt. Did +war ever do anything but sow the seeds of future violence; substitute one +injustice for another; change wrong for wrong. Did it ever do anything +but add to the world's sum of evil, making God's task the heavier? + +Suddenly, while speaking, she fell into a passionate fit of weeping. She +went on through her tears: + +"It will be terrible," she said. "It will last longer than you say. +Every nation will be drawn into it. There will be no voice left to speak +for reason. Every day we shall grow more brutalized, more pitiless. It +will degrade us, crush the soul out of us. Blood and iron! It will +become our God too: the God of all the world. You say we are going into +it with clean hands, this time. How long will they keep clean? The +people who only live for making money: how long do you think they will +remain silent? What has been all the talk of the last ten years but of +capturing German trade. We shall be told that we owe it to our dead to +make a profit out of them; that otherwise they will have died in vain. +Who will care for the people but to use them for killing one another--to +hound them on like dogs. In every country nothing but greed and hatred +will be preached. Horrible men and women will write to the papers crying +out for more blood, more cruelty. Everything that can make for anger and +revenge will be screamed from every newspaper. Every plea for humanity +will be jeered at as 'sickly sentimentality.' Every man and woman who +remembers the ideals with which we started will be shrieked at as a +traitor. The people who are doing well out of it, they will get hold of +the Press, appeal to the passions of the mob. Nobody else will be +allowed to speak. It always has been so in war. It always will be. This +will be no exception merely because it's bigger. Every country will be +given over to savagery. There will be no appeal against it. The whole +world will sink back into the beast." + +She ended by rising abruptly and wishing them good-night. Her outburst +had silenced Joan's impish drummer, for the time. He appeared to be +nervous and depressed, but bucked up again on the way to the bus. Greyson +walked with her as usual. They took the long way round by the outer +circle. + +"Poor Mary!" he said. "I should not have talked before her if I had +thought. Her horror of war is almost physical. She will not even read +about them. It has the same effect upon her as stories of cruelty." + +"But there's truth in a good deal that she says," he added. "War can +bring out all that is best in a people; but also it brings out the worst. +We shall have to take care that the ideals are not lost sight of." + +"I wish this wretched business of the paper hadn't come just at this +time," said Joan: "just when your voice is most needed. + +"Couldn't you get enough money together to start something quickly," she +continued, the idea suddenly coming to her. "I think I could help you. +It wouldn't matter its being something small to begin with. So long as +it was entirely your own, and couldn't be taken away from you. You'd +soon work it up." + +"Thanks," he answered. "I may ask you to later on. But just now--" He +paused. + +Of course. For war you wanted men, to fight. She had been thinking of +them in the lump: hurrying masses such as one sees on cinema screens, +blurred but picturesque. Of course, when you came to think of it, they +would have to be made up of individuals--gallant-hearted, boyish sort of +men who would pass through doors, one at a time, into little rooms; give +their name and address to a soldier man seated at a big deal table. Later +on, one would say good-bye to them on crowded platforms, wave a +handkerchief. Not all of them would come back. "You can't make +omelettes without breaking eggs," she told herself. + +It annoyed her, that silly saying having come into her mind. She could +see them lying there, with their white faces to the night. Surely she +might have thought of some remark less idiotic to make to herself, at +such a time. + +He was explaining to her things about the air service. It seemed he had +had experience in flying--some relation of his with whom he had spent a +holiday last summer. + +It would mean his getting out quickly. He seemed quite eager to be gone. + +"Isn't it rather dangerous work?" she asked. She felt it was a footling +question even as she asked it. Her brain had become stodgy. + +"Nothing like as dangerous as being in the Infantry," he answered. "And +that would be my only other alternative. Besides I get out of the +drilling." He laughed. "I should hate being shouted at and ordered +about by a husky old sergeant." + +They neither spoke again till they came to the bridge, from the other +side of which the busses started. + +"I may not see you again before I go," he said. "Look after Mary. I +shall try to persuade her to go down to her aunt in Hampshire. It's +rather a bit of luck, as it turns out, the paper being finished with. I +shouldn't have quite known what to do." + +He had stopped at the corner. They were still beneath the shadow of the +trees. Quite unconsciously she put her face up; and as if it had always +been the custom at their partings, he drew her to him and kissed her; +though it really was for the first time. + +She walked home instead of taking the bus. She wanted to think. A day +or two would decide the question. She determined that if the miracle did +not happen, she would go down to Liverpool. Her father was on the +committee of one of the great hospitals; and she knew one or two of the +matrons. She would want to be doing something--to get out to the front, +if possible. Maybe, her desire to serve was not altogether free from +curiosity--from the craving for adventure. There's a spice of the man +even in the best of women. + +Her conscience plagued her when she thought of Mrs. Denton. For some +time now, they had been very close together; and the old lady had come to +depend upon her. She waited till all doubt was ended before calling to +say good-bye. Mrs. Denton was seated before an old bureau that had long +stood locked in a corner of the library. The drawers were open and books +and papers were scattered about. + +Joan told her plans. "You'll be able to get along without me for a +little while?" she asked doubtfully. + +Mrs. Denton laughed. "I haven't much more to do," she answered. "Just +tidying up, as you see; and two or three half-finished things I shall try +to complete. After that, I'll perhaps take a rest." + +She took from among the litter a faded photograph and handed it to Joan. +"Odd," she said. "I've just turned it out." + +It represented a long, thin line of eminently respectable ladies and +gentlemen in early Victorian costume. The men in peg-top trousers and +silk stocks, the women in crinolines and poke bonnets. Among them, +holding the hand of a benevolent-looking, stoutish gentleman, was a mere +girl. The terminating frills of a white unmentionable garment showed +beneath her skirts. She wore a porkpie hat with a feather in it. + +"My first public appearance," explained Mrs. Denton. "I teased my father +into taking me with him. We represented Great Britain and Ireland. I +suppose I'm the only one left." + +"I shouldn't have recognized you," laughed Joan. "What was the +occasion?" + +"The great International Peace Congress at Paris," explained Mrs. Denton; +"just after the Crimean war. It made quite a stir at the time. The +Emperor opened our proceedings in person, and the Pope and the Archbishop +of Canterbury both sent us their blessing. We had a copy of the speeches +presented to us on leaving, in every known language in Europe, bound in +vellum. I'm hoping to find it. And the Press was enthusiastic. There +were to be Acts of Parliament, Courts of Arbitration, International Laws, +Diplomatic Treaties. A Sub-Committee was appointed to prepare a special +set of prayers and a Palace of Peace was to be erected. There was only +one thing we forgot, and that was the foundation." + +"I may not be here," she continued, "when the new plans are submitted. +Tell them not to forget the foundation this time. Tell them to teach the +children." + +Joan dined at a popular restaurant that evening. She fancied it might +cheer her up. But the noisy patriotism of the over-fed crowd only +irritated her. These elderly, flabby men, these fleshy women, who would +form the spectators, who would loll on their cushioned seats protected +from the sun, munching contentedly from their well-provided baskets while +listening to the dying groans rising upwards from the drenched arena. She +glanced from one podgy thumb to another and a feeling of nausea crept +over her. + +Suddenly the band struck up "God Save the King." Three commonplace +enough young men, seated at a table near to her, laid down their napkins +and stood up. Yes, there was something to be said for war, she felt, as +she looked at their boyish faces, transfigured. Not for them Business as +usual, the Capture of German Trade. Other visions those young eyes were +seeing. The little imp within her brain had seized his drum again. +"Follow me"--so he seemed to beat--"I teach men courage, duty, the laying +down of self. I open the gates of honour. I make heroes out of dust. +Isn't it worth my price?" + +A figure was loitering the other side of the street when she reached +home. She thought she somehow recognized it, and crossed over. It was +McKean, smoking his everlasting pipe. Success having demanded some such +change, he had migrated to "The Albany," and she had not seen him for +some time. He had come to have a last look at the house--in case it +might happen to be the last. He was off to Scotland the next morning, +where he intended to "join up." + +"But are you sure it's your particular duty?" suggested Joan. "I'm told +you've become a household word both in Germany and France. If we really +are out to end war and establish the brotherhood of nations, the work you +are doing is of more importance than even the killing of Germans. It +isn't as if there wouldn't be enough without you." + +"To tell the truth," he answered, "that's exactly what I've been saying +to myself. I shan't be any good. I don't see myself sticking a bayonet +into even a German. Unless he happened to be abnormally clumsy. I tried +to shoot a rabbit once. I might have done it if the little beggar, +instead of running away, hadn't turned and looked at me." + +"I should keep out of it if I were you," laughed Joan. + +"I can't," he answered. "I'm too great a coward." + +"An odd reason for enlisting," thought Joan. + +"I couldn't face it," he went on; "the way people would be looking at me +in trains and omnibuses; the things people would say of me, the things I +should imagine they were saying; what my valet would be thinking of me. +Oh, I'm ashamed enough of myself. It's the artistic temperament, I +suppose. We must always be admired, praised. We're not the stuff that +martyrs are made of. We must for ever be kow-towing to the cackling +geese around us. We're so terrified lest they should hiss us." + +The street was empty. They were pacing it slowly, up and down. + +"I've always been a coward," he continued. "I fell in love with you the +first day I met you on the stairs. But I dared not tell you." + +"You didn't give me that impression," answered Joan. + +She had always found it difficult to know when to take him seriously and +when not. + +"I was so afraid you would find it out," he explained. + +"You thought I would take advantage of it," she suggested. + +"One can never be sure of a woman," he answered. "And it would have been +so difficult. There was a girl down in Scotland, one of the village +girls. It wasn't anything really. We had just been children together. +But they all thought I had gone away to make my fortune so as to come +back and marry her--even my mother. It would have looked so mean if +after getting on I had married a fine London lady. I could never have +gone home again." + +"But you haven't married her--or have you?" asked Joan. + +"No," he answered. "She wrote me a beautiful letter that I shall always +keep, begging me to forgive her, and hoping I might be happy. She had +married a young farmer, and was going out to Canada. My mother will +never allow her name to be mentioned in our house." + +They had reached the end of the street again. Joan held out her hand +with a laugh. + +"Thanks for the compliment," she said. "Though I notice you wait till +you're going away before telling me." + +"But quite seriously," she added, "give it a little more thought--the +enlisting, I mean. The world isn't too rich in kind influences. It +needs men like you. Come, pull yourself together and show a little +pluck." She laughed. + +"I'll try," he promised, "but it won't be any use; I shall drift about +the streets, seeking to put heart into myself, but all the while my +footsteps will be bearing me nearer and nearer to the recruiting office; +and outside the door some girl in the crowd will smile approval or some +old fool will pat me on the shoulder and I shall sneak in and it will +close behind me. It must be fine to have courage." + +He wrote her two days later from Ayr, giving her the name of his +regiment, and again some six months later from Flanders. But there would +have been no sense in her replying to that last. + +She lingered in the street by herself, a little time, after he had turned +the corner. It had been a house of sorrow and disappointment to her; but +so also she had dreamed her dreams there, seen her visions. She had +never made much headway with her landlord and her landlady: a worthy +couple, who had proved most excellent servants, but who prided +themselves, to use their own expression, on knowing their place and +keeping themselves to themselves. Joan had given them notice that +morning, and had been surprised at the woman's bursting into tears. + +"I felt it just the same when young Mr. McKean left us," she explained +with apologies. "He had been with us five years. He was like you, miss, +so unpracticable. I'd got used to looking after him." + +Mary Greyson called on her in the morning, while she was still at +breakfast. She had come from seeing Francis off by an early train from +Euston. He had sent Joan a ring. + +"He is so afraid you may not be able to wear it--that it will not fit +you," said Mary, "but I told him I was sure it would." + +Joan held our her hand for the letter. "I was afraid he had forgotten +it," she answered, with a smile. + +She placed the ring on her finger and held out her hand. "I might have +been measured for it," she said. "I wonder how he knew." + +"You left a glove behind you, the first day you ever came to our house," +Mary explained. "And I kept it." + +She was following his wishes and going down into the country. They did +not meet again until after the war. + +Madge dropped in on her during the week and brought Flossie with her. +Flossie's husband, Sam, had departed for the Navy; and Niel Singleton, +who had offered and been rejected for the Army, had joined a Red Cross +unit. Madge herself was taking up canteen work. Joan rather expected +Flossie to be in favour of the war, and Madge against it. Instead of +which, it turned out the other way round. It seemed difficult to +forecast opinion in this matter. + +Madge thought that England, in particular, had been too much given up to +luxury and pleasure. There had been too much idleness and empty +laughter: Hitchicoo dances and women undressing themselves upon the +stage. Even the working classes seemed to think of nothing else but +cinemas and beer. She dreamed of a United Kingdom purified by suffering, +cleansed by tears; its people drawn together by memory of common +sacrifice; class antagonism buried in the grave where Duke's son and +cook's son would lie side by side: of a new-born Europe rising from the +ashes of the old. With Germany beaten, her lust of war burnt out, her +hideous doctrine of Force proved to be false, the world would breathe a +freer air. Passion and hatred would fall from man's eyes. The people +would see one another and join hands. + +Flossie was sceptical. "Why hasn't it done it before?" she wanted to +know. "Good Lord! There's been enough of it." + +"Why didn't we all kiss and be friends after the Napoleonic wars?" she +demanded, "instead of getting up Peterloo massacres, and anti-Corn Law +riots, and breaking the Duke of Wellington's windows?" + +"All this talk of downing Militarism," she continued. "It's like trying +to do away with the other sort of disorderly house. You don't stamp out +a vice by chivying it round the corner. When men and women have become +decent there will be no more disorderly houses. But it won't come +before. Suppose we do knock Militarism out of Germany, like we did out +of France, not so very long ago? It will only slip round the corner into +Russia or Japan. Come and settle over here, as likely as not, especially +if we have a few victories and get to fancy ourselves." + +Madge was of opinion that the world would have had enough of war. Not +armies but whole peoples would be involved this time. The lesson would +be driven home. + +"Oh, yes, we shall have had enough of it," agreed Flossie, "by the time +we've paid up. There's no doubt of that. What about our children? I've +just left young Frank strutting all over the house and flourishing a +paper knife. And the servants have had to bar the kitchen door to +prevent his bursting in every five minutes and attacking them. What's he +going to say when I tell him, later on, that his father and myself have +had all the war we want, and have decided there shall be no more? The +old folks have had their fun. Why shouldn't I have mine? That will be +his argument." + +"You can't do it," she concluded, "unless you are prepared to keep half +the world's literature away from the children, scrap half your music, +edit your museums and your picture galleries; bowdlerize your Old +Testament and rewrite your histories. And then you'll have to be careful +for twenty-four hours a day that they never see a dog-fight." + +Madge still held to her hope. God would make a wind of reason to pass +over the earth. He would not smite again his people. + +"I wish poor dear Sam could have been kept out of it," said Flossie. She +wiped her eyes and finished her tea. + +Joan had arranged to leave on the Monday. She ran down to see Mary +Stopperton on the Saturday afternoon. Mr. Stopperton had died the year +before, and Mary had been a little hurt, divining insincerity in the +condolences offered to her by most of her friends. + +"You didn't know him, dear," she had said to Joan. "All his faults were +on the outside." + +She did not want to talk about the war. + +"Perhaps it's wrong of me," she said. "But it makes me so sad. And I +can do nothing." + +She had been busy at her machine when Joan had entered; and a pile of +delicate white work lay folded on a chair beside her. + +"What are you making?" asked Joan. + +The little withered face lighted up. "Guess," she said, as she unfolded +and displayed a tiny garment. + +"I so love making them," she said. "I say to myself, 'It will all come +right. God will send more and more of His Christ babies; till at last +there will be thousands and thousands of them everywhere; and their love +will change the world!'" + +Her bright eyes had caught sight of the ring upon Joan's hand. She +touched it with her little fragile fingers. + +"You will let me make one for you, dearie, won't you?" she said. "I feel +sure it will be a little Christ baby." + +Arthur was still away when she arrived home. He had gone to Norway on +business. Her father was afraid he would find it difficult to get back. +Telegraphic communication had been stopped, and they had had no news of +him. Her father was worried. A big Government contract had come in, +while many of his best men had left to enlist. + +"I've fixed you up all right at the hospital," he said. "It was good of +you to think of coming home. Don't go away, for a bit." It was the +first time he had asked anything of her. + +Another fortnight passed before they heard from Arthur, and then he wrote +them both from Hull. He would be somewhere in the North Sea, mine +sweeping, when they read his letters. He had hoped to get a day or two +to run across and say good-bye; but the need for men was pressing and he +had not liked to plead excuses. The boat by which he had managed to +leave Bergen had gone down. He and a few others had been picked up, but +the sights that he had seen were haunting him. He felt sure his uncle +would agree that he ought to be helping, and this was work for England he +could do with all his heart. He hoped he was not leaving his uncle in +the lurch; but he did not think the war would last long, and he would +soon be back. + +"Dear lad," said her father, "he would take the most dangerous work that +he could find. But I wish he hadn't been quite so impulsive. He could +have been of more use helping me with this War Office contract. I +suppose he never got my letter, telling him about it." + +In his letter to Joan he went further. He had received his uncle's +letter, so he confided to her. Perhaps she would think him a crank, but +he couldn't help it. He hated this killing business, this making of +machinery for slaughtering men in bulk, like they killed pigs in Chicago. +Out on the free, sweet sea, helping to keep it clean from man's +abominations, he would be away from it all. + +She saw the vision of him that night, as, leaning from her window, she +looked out beyond the pines: the little lonely ship amid the waste of +waters; his beautiful, almost womanish, face, and the gentle dreamy eyes +with their haunting suggestion of a shadow. + +Her little drummer played less and less frequently to her as the months +passed by. It didn't seem to be the war he had looked forward to. The +illustrated papers continued to picture it as a sort of glorified picnic +where smiling young men lolled luxuriously in cosy dug-outs, reading +their favourite paper. By curious coincidence, it generally happened to +be the journal publishing the photograph. Occasionally, it appeared, +they came across the enemy, who then put up both hands and shouted +"Kamerad." But the weary, wounded men she talked to told another story. + +She grew impatient of the fighters with their mouths; the savage old +baldheads heroically prepared to sacrifice the last young man; the sleek, +purring women who talked childish nonsense about killing every man, woman +and child in Germany, but quite meant it; the shrieking journalists who +had decided that their place was the home front; the press-spurred mobs, +the spy hunters, chasing terrified old men and sobbing children through +the streets. It was a relief to enter the quiet ward and close the door +behind her. The camp-followers: the traders and pedlars, the +balladmongers, and the mountebanks, the ghoulish sightseers! War brought +out all that was worst in them. But the givers of their blood, the lads +who suffered, who had made the sacrifice: war had taught them chivalry, +manhood. She heard no revilings of hatred and revenge from those drawn +lips. Patience, humour, forgiveness, they had learnt from war. They +told her kindly stories even of Hans and Fritz. + +The little drummer in her brain would creep out of his corner, play to +her softly while she moved about among them. + +One day she received a letter from Folk. He had come to London at the +request of the French Government to consult with English artists on a +matter he must not mention. He would not have the time, he told her, to +run down to Liverpool. Could she get a couple of days' leave and dine +with him in London. + +She found him in the uniform of a French Colonel. He had quite a +military bearing and seemed pleased with himself. He kissed her hand, +and then held her out at arms' length. + +"It's wonderful how like you are to your mother," he said, "I wish I were +as young as I feel." + +She had written him at the beginning of the war, telling him of her wish +to get out to the front, and he thought that now he might be able to help +her. + +"But perhaps you've changed your mind," he said. "It isn't quite as +pretty as it's painted." + +"I want to," she answered. "It isn't all curiosity. I think it's time +for women to insist on seeing war with their own eyes, not trust any +longer to the pictures you men paint." She smiled. + +"But I've got to give it up," she added. "I can't leave Dad." + +They were sitting in the hall of the hotel. It was the dressing hour and +the place was almost empty. He shot a swift glance at her. + +"Arthur is still away," she explained, "and I feel that he wants me. I +should be worrying myself, thinking of him all alone with no one to look +after him. It's the mother instinct I suppose. It always has hampered +woman." She laughed. + +"Dear old boy," he said. He was watching her with a little smile. "I'm +glad he's got some luck at last." + +They dined in the great restaurant belonging to the hotel. He was still +vastly pleased with himself as he marched up the crowded room with Joan +upon his arm. He held himself upright and talked and laughed perhaps +louder than an elderly gentleman should. "Swaggering old beggar," he +must have overheard a young sub. mutter as they passed. But he did not +seem to mind it. + +They lingered over the meal. Folk was a brilliant talker. Most of the +men whose names were filling the newspapers had sat to him at one time or +another. He made them seem quite human. Joan was surprised at the time. + +"Come up to my rooms, will you?" he asked. "There's something I want to +say to you. And then I'll walk back with you." She was staying at a +small hotel off Jermyn Street. + +He sat her down by the fire and went into the next room. He had a letter +in his hand when he returned. Joan noticed that the envelope was written +upon across the corner, but she was not near enough to distinguish the +handwriting. He placed it on the mantelpiece and sat down opposite her. + +"So you have come to love the dear old chap," he said. + +"I have always loved him," Joan answered. "It was he didn't love me, for +a time, as I thought. But I know now that he does." + +He was silent for a few moments, and then he leant across and took her +hands in his. + +"I am going," he said, "where there is just the possibility of an +accident: one never knows. I wanted to be sure that all was well with +you." + +He was looking at the ring upon her hand. + +"A soldier boy?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered. "If he comes back." There was a little catch in +her voice. + +"I know he'll come back," he said. "I won't tell you why I am so sure. +Perhaps you wouldn't believe." He was still holding her hands, looking +into her eyes. + +"Tell me," he said, "did you see your mother before she died. Did she +speak to you?" + +"No," Joan answered. "I was too late. She had died the night before. I +hardly recognized her when I saw her. She looked so sweet and young." + +"She loved you very dearly," he said. "Better than herself. All those +years of sorrow: they came to her because of that. I thought it foolish +of her at the time, but now I know she was wise. I want you always to +love and honour her. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't right." + +She looked at him and smiled. "It's quite easy," she answered. "I +always see her as she lay there with all the sorrow gone from her. She +looked so beautiful and kind." + +He rose and took the letter from where he had placed it on the +mantelpiece. He stooped and held it out above the fire and a little +flame leaped up and seemed to take it from his hand. + +They neither spoke during the short walk between the two hotels. But at +the door she turned and held out her hands to him. + +"Thank you," she said, "for being so kind--and wise. I shall always love +and honour her." + +He kissed her, promising to take care of himself. + +She ran against Phillips, the next day, at one of the big stores where +she was shopping. He had obtained a commission early in the war and was +now a captain. He had just come back from the front on leave. The +alternative had not appealed to him, of being one of those responsible +for sending other men to death while remaining himself in security and +comfort. + +"It's a matter of temperament," he said. "Somebody's got to stop behind +and do the patriotic speechifying. I'm glad I didn't. Especially after +what I've seen." + +He had lost interest in politics. + +"There's something bigger coming," he said. "Here everything seems to be +going on much the same, but over there you feel it. Something growing +silently out of all this blood and mud. I find myself wondering what the +men are staring at, but when I look there's nothing as far as my field- +glasses will reach but waste and desolation. And it isn't only on the +faces of our own men. It's in the eyes of the prisoners too. As if they +saw something. A funny ending to the war, if the people began to think." + +Mrs. Phillips was running a Convalescent Home in Folkestone, he told her; +and had even made a speech. Hilda was doing relief work among the ruined +villages of France. + +"It's a new world we shall be called upon to build," he said. "We must +pay more heed to the foundation this time." + +She seldom discussed the war with her father. At the beginning, he had +dreamed with Greyson of a short and glorious campaign that should weld +all classes together, and after which we should forgive our enemies and +shape with them a better world. But as the months went by, he appeared +to grow indifferent; and Joan, who got about twelve hours a day of it +outside, welcomed other subjects. + +It surprised her when one evening after dinner he introduced it himself. + +"What are you going to do when it's over?" he asked her. "You won't give +up the fight, will you, whatever happens?" She had not known till then +that he had been taking any interest in her work. + +"No," she answered with a laugh, "no matter what happens, I shall always +want to be in it." + +"Good lad," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "It will be an ugly +world that will come out of all this hate and anger. The Lord will want +all the help that He can get." + +"And you don't forget our compact, do you?" he continued, "that I am to +be your backer. I want to be in it too." + +She shot a glance at him. He was looking at the portrait of that old +Ironside Allway who had fought and died to make a nobler England, as he +had dreamed. A grim, unprepossessing gentleman, unless the artist had +done him much injustice, with high, narrow forehead, and puzzled, staring +eyes. + +She took the cigarette from her lips and her voice trembled a little. + +"I want you to be something more to me than that, sir," she said. "I +want to feel that I'm an Allway, fighting for the things we've always had +at heart. I'll try and be worthy of the name." + +Her hand stole out to him across the table, but she kept her face away +from him. Until she felt his grasp grow tight, and then she turned and +their eyes met. + +"You'll be the last of the name," he said. "Something tells me that. I'm +glad you're a fighter. I always prayed my child might be a fighter." + +Arthur had not been home since the beginning of the war. Twice he had +written them to expect him, but the little fleet of mine sweepers had +been hard pressed, and on both occasions his leave had been stopped at +the last moment. One afternoon he turned up unexpectedly at the +hospital. It was a few weeks after the Conscription Act had been passed. + +Joan took him into her room at the end of the ward, from where, through +the open door, she could still keep watch. They spoke in low tones. + +"It's done you good," said Joan. "You look every inch the jolly Jack +Tar." He was hard and tanned, and his eyes were marvellously bright. + +"Yes," he said, "I love the sea. It's clean and strong." + +A fear was creeping over her. "Why have you come back?" she asked. + +He hesitated, keeping his eyes upon the ground. + +"I don't suppose you will agree with me," he said. "Somehow I felt I had +to." + +A Conscientious Objector. She might have guessed it. A "Conchy," as +they would call him in the Press: all the spiteful screamers who had +never risked a scratch, themselves, denouncing him as a coward. The +local Dogberrys of the tribunals would fire off their little stock of +gibes and platitudes upon him, propound with owlish solemnity the new +Christianity, abuse him and condemn him, without listening to him. +Jeering mobs would follow him through the streets. More than once, of +late, she had encountered such crowds made up of shrieking girls and foul- +mouthed men, surging round some white-faced youngster while the +well-dressed passers-by looked on and grinned. + +She came to him and stood over him with her hands upon his shoulders. + +"Must you, dear?" she said. "Can't you reconcile it to yourself--to go +on with your work of mercy, of saving poor folks' lives?" + +He raised his eyes to hers. The shadow that, to her fancy, had always +rested there seemed to have departed. A light had come to them. + +"There are more important things than saving men's bodies. You think +that, don't you?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered. "I won't try to hold you back, dear, if you think +you can do that." + +He caught her hands and held them. + +"I wanted to be a coward," he said, "to keep out of the fight. I thought +of the shame, of the petty persecutions--that even you might despise me. +But I couldn't. I was always seeing His face before me with His +beautiful tender eyes, and the blood drops on His brow. It is He alone +can save the world. It is perishing for want of love; and by a little +suffering I might be able to help Him. And then one night--I suppose it +was a piece of driftwood--there rose up out of the sea a little cross +that seemed to call to me to stretch out my hand and grasp it, and gird +it to my side." + +He had risen. "Don't you see," he said. "It is only by suffering that +one can help Him. It is the sword that He has chosen--by which one day +He will conquer the world. And this is such a splendid opportunity to +fight for Him. It would be like deserting Him on the eve of a great +battle." + +She looked into his eager, hopeful eyes. Yes, it had always been so--it +always would be, to the end. Not priests and prophets, but ever that +little scattered band of glad sufferers for His sake would be His army. +His weapon still the cross, till the victory should be won. + +She glanced through the open door to where the poor, broken fellows she +always thought of as "her boys" lay so patient, and then held out her +hand to him with a smile, though the tears were in her eyes. + +"So you're like all the rest of them, lad," she said. "It's for King and +country. Good luck to you." + +After the war was over and the men, released from their long terms of +solitary confinement, came back to life injured in mind and body, she was +almost glad he had escaped. But at the time it filled her soul with +darkness. + +It was one noonday. He had been down to the tribunal and his case had +been again adjourned. She was returning from a lecture, and, crossing a +street in the neighbourhood of the docks, found herself suddenly faced by +an oncoming crowd. It was yelping and snarling, curiously suggestive of +a pack of hungry wolves. A couple of young soldiers were standing back +against a wall. + +"Better not go on, nurse," said one of them. "It's some poor devil of a +Conchy, I expect. Must have a damned sight more pluck than I should." + +It was the fear that had been haunting her. She did not know how white +she had turned. + +"I think it is someone I know," she said. "Won't you help me?" + +The crowd gave way to them, and they had all but reached him. He was +hatless and bespattered, but his tender eyes had neither fear nor anger +in them. She reached out her arms and called to him. Another step and +she would have been beside him, but at the moment a slim, laughing girl +darted in front of him and slipped her foot between his legs and he went +down. + +She heard the joyous yell and the shrill laughter as she struggled wildly +to force her way to him. And then for a moment there was a space and a +man with bent body and clenched hands was rushing forward as if upon a +football field, and there came a little sickening thud and then the crowd +closed in again. + +Her strength was gone and she could only wait. More soldiers had come up +and were using their fists freely, and gradually the crowd retired, still +snarling; and they lifted him up and brought him to her. + +"There's a chemist's shop in the next street. We'd better take him +there," suggested the one who had first spoken to her. And she thanked +them and followed them. + +They made a bed for him with their coats upon the floor, and some of them +kept guard outside the shop, while one, putting aside the frightened, +useless little chemist, waited upon her, bringing things needful, while +she cleansed the foulness from his smooth young face, and washed the +matted blood from his fair hair, and closed the lids upon his tender +eyes, and, stooping, kissed the cold, quiet lips. + +There had been whispered talk among the men, and when she rose the one +who had first spoken to her came forward. He was nervous and stood +stiffly. + +"Beg pardon, nurse," he said, "but we've sent for a stretcher, as the +police don't seem in any hurry. Would you like us to take him. Or would +it upset him, do you think, if he knew?" + +"Thank you," she answered. "He would think it kind of you, I know." + +She had the feeling that he was being borne by comrades. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +It was from a small operating hospital in a village of the Argonne that +she first saw the war with her own eyes. + +Her father had wished her to go. Arthur's death had stirred in him the +old Puritan blood with its record of long battle for liberty of +conscience. If war claimed to be master of a man's soul, then the new +warfare must be against war. He remembered the saying of a Frenchwoman +who had been through the Franco-Prussian war. Joan, on her return from +Paris some years before, had told him of her, repeating her words: "But, +of course, it would not do to tell the truth," the old lady had said, "or +we should have our children growing up to hate war." + +"I'll be lonely and anxious till you come back," he said. "But that will +have to be my part of the fight." + +She had written to Folk. No female nurses were supposed to be allowed +within the battle zone; but under pressure of shortage the French staff +were relaxing the rule, and Folk had pledged himself to her discretion. +"I am not doing you any kindness," he had written. "You will have to +share the common hardships and privations, and the danger is real. If I +didn't feel instinctively that underneath your mask of sweet +reasonableness you are one of the most obstinate young women God ever +made, and that without me you would probably get yourself into a still +worse hole, I'd have refused." And then followed a list of the things +she was to be sure to take with her, including a pound or two of +Keating's insect powder, and a hint that it might save her trouble, if +she had her hair cut short. + +There was but one other woman at the hospital. It had been a farmhouse. +The man and both sons had been killed during the first year of the war, +and the woman had asked to be allowed to stay on. Her name was Madame +Lelanne. She was useful by reason of her great physical strength. She +could take up a man as he lay and carry him on her outstretched arms. It +was an expressionless face, with dull, slow-moving eyes that never +changed. She and Joan shared a small _grenier_ in one of the barns. Joan +had brought with her a camp bedstead; but the woman, wrapping a blanket +round her, would creep into a hole she had made for herself among the +hay. She never took off her clothes, except the great wooden-soled +boots, so far as Joan could discover. + +The medical staff consisted of a Dr. Poujoulet and two assistants. The +authorities were always promising to send him more help, but it never +arrived. One of the assistants, a Monsieur Dubos, a little man with a +remarkably big beard, was a chemist, who, at the outbreak of the war, had +been on the verge, as he made sure, of an important discovery in +connection with colour photography. Almost the first question he asked +Joan was could she speak German. Finding that she could, he had hurried +her across the yard into a small hut where patients who had borne their +operation successfully awaited their turn to be moved down to one of the +convalescent hospitals at the base. Among them was a German prisoner, an +elderly man, belonging to the Landwehr; in private life a photographer. +He also had been making experiments in the direction of colour +photography. Chance had revealed to the two men their common interest, +and they had been exchanging notes. The German talked a little French, +but not sufficient; and on the day of Joan's arrival they had reached an +impasse that was maddening to both of them. Joan found herself up +against technical terms that rendered her task difficult, but fortunately +had brought a dictionary with her, and was able to make them understand +one another. But she had to be firm with both of them, allowing them +only ten minutes together at a time. The little Frenchman would kneel by +the bedside, holding the German at an angle where he could talk with +least danger to his wound. It seemed that each was the very man the +other had been waiting all his life to meet. They shed tears on one +another's neck when they parted, making all arrangements to write to one +another. + +"And you will come and stay with me," persisted the little Frenchman, +"when this affair is finished"--he made an impatient gesture with his +hands. "My wife takes much interest. She will be delighted." + +And the big German, again embracing the little Frenchman, had promised, +and had sent his compliments to Madame. + +The other was a young priest. He wore the regulation Red Cross uniform, +but kept his cassock hanging on a peg behind his bed. He had pretty +frequent occasion to take it down. These small emergency hospitals, +within range of the guns, were reserved for only dangerous cases: men +whose wounds would not permit of their being carried further; and there +never was much more than a sporting chance of saving them. They were +always glad to find there was a priest among the staff. Often it was the +first question they would ask on being lifted out of the ambulance. Even +those who professed to no religion seemed comforted by the idea. He went +by the title of "Monsieur le Pretre:" Joan never learned his name. It +was he who had laid out the little cemetery on the opposite side of the +village street. It had once been an orchard, and some of the trees were +still standing. In the centre, rising out of a pile of rockwork, he had +placed a crucifix that had been found upon the roadside and had +surrounded it with flowers. It formed the one bright spot of colour in +the village; and at night time, when all other sounds were hushed, the +iron wreaths upon its little crosses, swaying against one another in the +wind, would make a low, clear, tinkling music. Joan would sometimes lie +awake listening to it. In some way she could not explain it always +brought the thought of children to her mind. + +The doctor himself was a broad-shouldered, bullet-headed man, clean +shaven, with close-cropped, bristly hair. He had curiously square hands, +with short, squat fingers. He had been head surgeon in one of the Paris +hospitals, and had been assigned his present post because of his +marvellous quickness with the knife. The hospital was the nearest to a +hill of great strategical importance, and the fighting in the +neighbourhood was almost continuous. Often a single ambulance would +bring in three or four cases, each one demanding instant attention. Dr. +Poujoulet, with his hairy arms bare to the shoulder, would polish them +off one after another, with hardly a moment's rest between, not allowing +time even for the washing of the table. Joan would have to summon all +her nerve to keep herself from collapsing. At times the need for haste +was such that it was impossible to wait for the anaesthetic to take +effect. The one redeeming feature was the extraordinary heroism of the +men, though occasionally there was nothing for it but to call in the +orderlies to hold some poor fellow down, and to deafen one's ears. + +One day, after a successful operation, she was tending a young sergeant. +He was a well-built, handsome man, with skin as white as a woman's. He +watched her with curious indifference in his eyes as she busied herself, +trying to make him comfortable, and did nothing to help her. + +"Has Mam'selle ever seen a bull fight?" he asked her. + +"No," she answered. "I've seen all the horror and cruelty I want to for +the rest of my life." + +"Ah," he said, "you would understand if you had. When one of the horses +goes down gored, his entrails lying out upon the sand, you know what they +do, don't you? They put a rope round him, and drag him, groaning, into +the shambles behind. And once there, kind people like you and Monsieur +le Medecin tend him and wash him, and put his entrails back, and sew him +up again. He thinks it so kind of them--the first time. But the second! +He understands. He will be sent back into the arena to be ripped up +again, and again after that. This is the third time I have been wounded, +and as soon as you've all patched me up and I've got my breath again, +they'll send me back into it. Mam'selle will forgive my not feeling +grateful to her." He gave a short laugh that brought the blood into his +mouth. + +The village consisted of one long straggling street, following the course +of a small stream between two lines of hills. It was on one of the great +lines of communication: and troops and war material passed through it, +going and coming, in almost endless procession. It served also as a camp +of rest. Companies from the trenches would arrive there, generally +towards the evening, weary, listless, dull-eyed, many of them staggering +like over-driven cattle beneath their mass of burdens. They would fling +their accoutrements from them and stand in silent groups till the +sergeants and corporals returned to lead them to the barns and out-houses +that had been assigned to them, the houses still habitable being mostly +reserved for the officers. Like those of most French villages, they were +drab, plaster-covered buildings without gardens; but some of them were +covered with vines, hiding their ugliness; and the village as a whole, +with its groups, here and there, of fine sycamore trees and its great +stone fountain in the centre, was picturesque enough. It had twice +changed hands, and a part of it was in ruins. From one or two of the +more solidly built houses merely the front had fallen, leaving the rooms +just as they had always been: the furniture in its accustomed place, the +pictures on the walls. They suggested doll's houses standing open. One +wondered when the giant child would come along and close them up. The +iron spire of the little church had been hit twice. It stood above the +village, twisted into the form of a note of interrogation. In the +churchyard many of the graves had been ripped open. Bones and skulls lay +scattered about among the shattered tombstones. But, save for a couple +of holes in the roof, the body was still intact, and every afternoon a +faint, timid-sounding bell called a few villagers and a sprinkling of +soldiers to Mass. Most of the inhabitants had fled, but the farmers and +shopkeepers had remained. At intervals, the German batteries, searching +round with apparent aimlessness, would drop a score or so of shells about +the neighbourhood; but the peasant, with an indifference that was almost +animal, would still follow his ox-drawn plough; the old, bent crone, +muttering curses, still ply the hoe. The proprietors of the tiny +_epiceries_ must have been rapidly making their fortunes, considering the +prices that they charged the unfortunate _poilu_, dreaming of some small +luxury out of his five sous a day. But as one of them, a stout, smiling +lady, explained to Joan, with a gesture: "It is not often that one has a +war." + +Joan had gone out in September, and for a while the weather was pleasant. +The men, wrapped up in their great-coats, would sleep for preference +under the great sycamore trees. Through open doorways she would catch +glimpses of picturesque groups of eager card-players, crowded round a +flickering candle. From the darkness there would steal the sound of +flute or zither, of voices singing. Occasionally it would be some +strident ditty of the Paris music-halls, but more often it was sad and +plaintive. But early in October the rains commenced and the stream +became a roaring torrent, and a clammy mist lay like a white river +between the wooded hills. + +Mud! that seemed to be the one word with which to describe modern war. +Mud everywhere! Mud ankle-deep upon the roads; mud into which you sank +up to your knees the moment you stepped off it; tents and huts to which +you waded through the mud, avoiding the slimy gangways on which you +slipped and fell; mud-bespattered men, mud-bespattered horses, little +donkeys, looking as if they had been sculptured out of mud, struggling up +and down the light railways that every now and then would disappear and +be lost beneath the mud; guns and wagons groaning through the mud; +lorries and ambulances, that in the darkness had swerved from the +straight course, overturned and lying abandoned in the mud, +motor-cyclists ploughing swift furrows through the mud, rolling it back +in liquid streams each side of them; staff cars rushing screaming through +the mud, followed by a rushing fountain of mud; serried ranks of muddy +men stamping through the mud with steady rhythm, moving through a rain of +mud, rising upward from the ground; long lines of motor-buses filled with +a mass of muddy humanity packed shoulder to shoulder, rumbling ever +through the endless mud. + +Men sitting by the roadside in the mud, gnawing at unsavoury food; men +squatting by the ditches, examining their sores, washing their bleeding +feet in the muddy water, replacing the muddy rags about their wounds. + +A world without colour. No other colour to be seen beneath the sky but +mud. The very buttons on the men's coats painted to make them look like +mud. + +Mud and dirt! Dirty faces, dirty hands, dirty clothes, dirty food, dirty +beds; dirty interiors, from which there was never time to wash the mud; +dirty linen hanging up to dry, beneath which dirty children played, while +dirty women scolded. Filth and desolation all around. Shattered +farmsteads half buried in the mud; shattered gardens trampled into mud. A +weary land of foulness, breeding foulness; tangled wire the only harvest +of the fields; mile after mile of gaping holes, filled with muddy water; +stinking carcases of dead horses; birds of prey clinging to broken +fences, flapping their great wings. + +A land where man died, and vermin increased and multiplied. Vermin on +your body, vermin in your head, vermin in your food, vermin waiting for +you in your bed; vermin the only thing that throve, the only thing that +looked at you with bright eyes; vermin the only thing to which the joy of +life had still been left. + +Joan had found a liking gradually growing up in her for the quick-moving, +curt-tongued doctor. She had dismissed him at first as a mere butcher: +his brutal haste, his indifference apparently to the suffering he was +causing, his great, strong, hairy hands, with their squat fingers, his +cold grey eyes. But she learnt as time went by, that his callousness was +a thing that he put on at the same time that he tied his white apron +round his waist, and rolled up his sleeves. + +She was resting, after a morning of grim work, on a bench outside the +hospital, struggling with clenched, quivering hands against a craving to +fling herself upon the ground and sob. And he had found her there; and +had sat down beside her. + +"So you wanted to see it with your own eyes," he said. He laid his hand +upon her shoulder, and she had some difficulty in not catching hold of +him and clinging to him. She was feeling absurdly womanish just at that +moment. + +"Yes," she answered. "And I'm glad that I did it," she added, defiantly. + +"So am I," he said. "Tell your children what you have seen. Tell other +women." + +"It's you women that make war," he continued. "Oh, I don't mean that you +do it on purpose, but it's in your blood. It comes from the days when to +live it was needful to kill. When a man who was swift and strong to kill +was the only thing that could save a woman and her brood. Every other +man that crept towards them through the grass was an enemy, and her only +hope was that her man might kill him, while she watched and waited. And +later came the tribe; and instead of the one man creeping through the +grass, the everlasting warfare was against all other tribes. So you +loved only the men ever ready and willing to fight, lest you and your +children should be carried into slavery: then it was the only way. You +brought up your boys to be fighters. You told them stories of their +gallant sires. You sang to them the songs of battle: the glory of +killing and of conquering. You have never unlearnt the lesson. Man has +learnt comradeship--would have travelled further but for you. But woman +is still primitive. She would still have her man the hater and the +killer. To the woman the world has never changed." + +"Tell the other women," he said. "Open their eyes. Tell them of their +sons that you have seen dead and dying in the foolish quarrel for which +there was no need. Tell them of the foulness, of the cruelty, of the +senselessness of it all. Set the women against War. That is the only +way to end it." + +It was a morning or two later that, knocking at the door of her loft, he +asked her if she would care to come with him to the trenches. He had +brought an outfit for her which he handed to her with a grin. She had +followed Folk's advice and had cut her hair; and when she appeared before +him for inspection in trousers and overcoat, the collar turned up about +her neck, and reaching to her helmet, he had laughingly pronounced the +experiment safe. + +A motor carried them to where the road ended, and from there, a little +one-horse ambulance took them on to almost the last trees of the forest. +There was no life to be seen anywhere. During the last mile, they had +passed through a continuous double line of graves; here and there a group +of tiny crosses keeping one another company; others standing singly, +looking strangely lonesome amid the torn-up earth and shattered trees. +But even these had ceased. Death itself seemed to have been frightened +away from this terror-haunted desert. + +Looking down, she could see thin wreaths of smoke, rising from the +ground. From underneath her feet there came a low, faint, ceaseless +murmur. + +"Quick," said the doctor. He pushed her in front of him, and she almost +fell down a flight of mud-covered steps that led into the earth. She +found herself in a long, low gallery, lighted by a dim oil lamp, +suspended from the blackened roof. A shelf ran along one side of it, +covered with straw. Three men lay there. The straw was soaked with +their blood. They had been brought in the night before by the stretcher- +bearers. A young surgeon was rearranging their splints and bandages, and +redressing their wounds. They would lie there for another hour or so, +and then start for their twenty kilometre drive over shell-ridden roads +to one or another of the great hospitals at the base. While she was +there, two more cases were brought in. The doctor gave but a glance at +the first one and then made a sign; and the bearers passed on with him to +the further end of the gallery. He seemed to understand, for he gave a +low, despairing cry and the tears sprang to his eyes. He was but a boy. +The other had a foot torn off. One of the orderlies gave him two round +pieces of wood to hold in his hands while the young surgeon cut away the +hanging flesh and bound up the stump. + +The doctor had been whispering to one of the bearers. He had the face of +an old man, but his shoulders were broad and he looked sturdy. He +nodded, and beckoned Joan to follow him up the slippery steps. + +"It is breakfast time," he explained, as they emerged into the air. "We +leave each other alone for half an hour--even the snipers. But we must +be careful." She followed in his footsteps, stooping so low that her +hands could have touched the ground. They had to be sure that they did +not step off the narrow track marked with white stones, lest they should +be drowned in the mud. They passed the head of a dead horse. It looked +as if it had been cut off and laid there; the body was below it in the +mud. + +They spoke in whispers, and Joan at first had made an effort to disguise +her voice. But her conductor had smiled. "They shall be called the +brothers and the sisters of the Lord," he had said. "Mademoiselle is +brave for her Brothers' sake." He was a priest. There were many priests +among the stretcher-bearers. + +Crouching close to the ground, behind the spreading roots of a giant oak, +she raised her eyes. Before her lay a sea of smooth, soft mud nearly a +mile wide. From the centre rose a solitary tree, from which all had been +shot away but two bare branches like outstretched arms above the silence. +Beyond, the hills rose again. There was something unearthly in the +silence that seemed to brood above that sea of mud. The old priest told +her of the living men, French and German, who had stood there day and +night sunk in it up to their waists, screaming hour after hour, and +waving their arms, sinking into it lower and lower, none able to help +them: until at last only their screaming heads were left, and after a +time these, too, would disappear: and the silence come again. + +She saw the ditches, like long graves dug for the living, where the +weary, listless men stood knee-deep in mud, hoping for wounds that would +relieve them from the ghastly monotony of their existence; the holes of +muddy water where the dead things lay, to which they crept out in the +night to wash a little of the filth from their clammy bodies and their +stinking clothes; the holes dug out of the mud in which they ate and +slept and lived year after year: till brain and heart and soul seemed to +have died out of them, and they remembered with an effort that they once +were men. + +* * * * * + +After a time, the care of the convalescents passed almost entirely into +Joan's hands, Madame Lelanne being told off to assist her. By dint of +much persistence she had succeeded in getting the leaky roof repaired, +and in place of the smoky stove that had long been her despair she had +one night procured a fine calorifere by the simple process of stealing +it. Madame Lelanne had heard about it from the gossips. It had been +brought to a lonely house at the end of the village by a major of +engineers. He had returned to the trenches the day before, and the place +for the time being was empty. The thieves were never discovered. The +sentry was positive that no one had passed him but two women, one of them +carrying a baby. Madame Lelanne had dressed it up in a child's cloak and +hood, and had carried it in her arms. As it must have weighed nearly a +couple of hundred-weight suspicion had not attached to them. + +Space did not allow of any separation; broken Frenchmen and broken +Germans would often lie side by side. Joan would wonder, with a grim +smile to herself, what the patriotic Press of the different countries +would have thought had they been there to have overheard the +conversations. Neither France nor Germany appeared to be the enemy, but +a thing called "They," a mysterious power that worked its will upon them +both from a place they always spoke of as "Back there." One day the talk +fell on courage. A young French soldier was holding forth when Joan +entered the hut. + +"It makes me laugh," he was saying, "all this newspaper talk. Every +nation, properly led, fights bravely. It is the male instinct. Women go +into hysterics about it, because it has not been given them. I have the +Croix de Guerre with all three leaves, and I haven't half the courage of +my dog, who weighs twelve kilos, and would face a regiment by himself. +Why, a game cock has got more than the best of us. It's the man who +doesn't think, who can't think, who has the most courage--who imagines +nothing, but just goes forward with his head down, like a bull. There +is, of course, a real courage. When you are by yourself, and have to do +something in cold blood. But the courage required for rushing forward, +shouting and yelling with a lot of other fellows--why, it would take a +hundred times more pluck to turn back." + +"They know that," chimed in the man lying next to him; "or they would not +drug us. Why, when we stormed La Haye I knew nothing until an +ugly-looking German spat a pint of blood into my face and woke me up." + +A middle-aged sergeant, who had a wound in the stomach and was sitting up +in his bed, looked across. "There was a line of Germans came upon us," +he said, "at Bras. I thought I must be suffering from a nightmare when I +saw them. They had thrown away their rifles and had all joined hands. +They came dancing towards us just like a row of ballet girls. They were +shrieking and laughing, and they never attempted to do anything. We just +waited until they were close up and then shot them down. It was like +killing a lot of kids who had come to have a game with us. The one I +potted got his arms round me before he coughed himself out, calling me +his 'liebe Elsa,' and wanting to kiss me. Lord! You can guess how the +Boche ink-slingers spread themselves over that business: 'Sonderbar! +Colossal! Unvergessliche Helden.' Poor devils!" + +"They'll give us ginger before it is over," said another. He had had +both his lips torn away, and appeared to be always laughing. "Stuff it +into us as if we were horses at a fair. That will make us run forward, +right enough." + +"Oh, come," struck in a youngster who was lying perfectly flat, face +downwards on his bed: it was the position in which he could breathe +easiest. He raised his head a couple of inches and twisted it round so +as to get his mouth free. "It isn't as bad as all that. Why, the Thirty- +third swarmed into Fort Malmaison of their own accord, though 'twas like +jumping into a boiling furnace, and held it for three days against pretty +nearly a division. There weren't a dozen of them left when we relieved +them. They had no ammunition left. They'd just been filling up the gaps +with their bodies. And they wouldn't go back even then. We had to drag +them away. 'They shan't pass,' 'They shan't pass!'--that's all they kept +saying." His voice had sunk to a thin whisper. + +A young officer was lying in a corner behind a screen. He leant forward +and pushed it aside. + +"Oh, give the devil his due, you fellows," he said. "War isn't a pretty +game, but it does make for courage. We all know that. And things even +finer than mere fighting pluck. There was a man in my company, a Jacques +Decrusy. He was just a stupid peasant lad. We were crowded into one end +of the trench, about a score of us. The rest of it had fallen in, and we +couldn't move. And a bomb dropped into the middle of us; and the same +instant that it touched the ground Decrusy threw himself flat down upon +it and took the whole of it into his body. There was nothing left of him +but scraps. But the rest of us got off. Nobody had drugged him to do +that. There isn't one of us who was in that trench that will not be a +better man to the end of his days, remembering how Jacques Decrusy gave +his life for ours." + +"I'll grant you all that, sir," answered the young soldier who had first +spoken. He had long, delicate hands and eager, restless eyes. "War does +bring out heroism. So does pestilence and famine. Read Defoe's account +of the Plague of London. How men and women left their safe homes, to +serve in the pest-houses, knowing that sooner or later they were doomed. +Read of the mothers in India who die of slow starvation, never allowing a +morsel of food to pass their lips so that they may save up their own +small daily portion to add it to their children's. Why don't we pray to +God not to withhold from us His precious medicine of pestilence and +famine? So is shipwreck a fine school for courage. Look at the chance +it gives the captain to set a fine example. And the engineers who stick +to their post with the water pouring in upon them. We don't reconcile +ourselves to shipwrecks as a necessary school for sailors. We do our +best to lessen them. So did persecution bring out heroism. It made +saints and martyrs. Why have we done away with it? If this game of +killing and being killed is the fine school for virtue it is made out to +be, then all our efforts towards law and order have been a mistake. We +never ought to have emerged from the jungle." + +He took a note-book from under his pillow and commenced to scribble. + +An old-looking man spoke. He lay with his arms folded across his breast, +addressing apparently the smoky rafters. He was a Russian, a teacher of +languages in Paris at the outbreak of the war, and had joined the French +Army. + +"It is not only courage," he said, "that War brings out. It brings out +vile things too. Oh, I'm not thinking merely of the Boches. That's the +cant of every nation: that all the heroism is on one side and all the +brutality on the other. Take men from anywhere and some of them will be +devils. War gives them their opportunity, brings out the beast. Can you +wonder at it? You teach a man to plunge a bayonet into the writhing +flesh of a fellow human being, and twist it round and round and jamb it +further in, while the blood is spurting from him like a fountain. What +are you making of him but a beast? A man's got to be a beast before he +can bring himself to do it. I have seen things done by our own men in +cold blood, the horror of which will haunt my memory until I die. But of +course, we hush it up when it happens to be our own people." + +He ceased speaking. No one seemed inclined to break the silence. + +They remained confused in her memory, these talks among the wounded men +in the low, dimly lighted hut that had become her world. At times it was +but two men speaking to one another in whispers, at others every creaking +bed would be drawn into the argument. + +One topic that never lost its interest was: Who made wars? Who hounded +the people into them, and kept them there, tearing at one another's +throats? They never settled it. + +"God knows I didn't want it, speaking personally," said a German prisoner +one day, with a laugh. "I had been working at a printing business +sixteen hours a day for seven years. It was just beginning to pay me, +and now my wife writes me that she has had to shut the place up and sell +the machinery to keep them all from starving." + +"But couldn't you have done anything to stop it?" demanded a Frenchman, +lying next to him. "All your millions of Socialists, what were they up +to? What went wrong with the Internationale, the Universal Brotherhood +of Labour, and all that Tra-la-la?" + +The German laughed again. "Oh, they know their business," he answered. +"You have your glass of beer and go to bed, and when you wake up in the +morning you find that war has been declared; and you keep your mouth +shut--unless you want to be shot for a traitor. Not that it would have +made much difference," he added. "I admit that. The ground had been too +well prepared. England was envious of our trade. King Edward had been +plotting our destruction. Our papers were full of translations from +yours, talking about '_La Revanche_!' We were told that you had been +lending money to Russia to enable her to build railways, and that when +they were complete France and Russia would fall upon us suddenly. 'The +Fatherland in danger!' It may be lies or it may not; what is one to do? +What would you have done--even if you could have done anything?" + +"He's right," said a dreamy-eyed looking man, laying down the book he had +been reading. "We should have done just the same. 'My country, right or +wrong.' After all, it is an ideal." + +A dark, black-bearded man raised himself painfully upon his elbow. He +was a tailor in the Rue Parnesse, and prided himself on a decided +resemblance to Victor Hugo. + +"It's a noble ideal," he said. "_La Patrie_! The great Mother. Right +or wrong, who shall dare to harm her? Yes, if it was she who rose up in +her majesty and called to us." He laughed. "What does it mean in +reality: Germania, Italia, La France, Britannia? Half a score of pompous +old muddlers with their fat wives egging them on: sons of the fools +before them; talkers who have wormed themselves into power by making +frothy speeches and fine promises. My Country!" he laughed again. "Look +at them. Can't you see their swelling paunches and their flabby faces? +Half a score of ambitious politicians, gouty old financiers, bald-headed +old toffs, with their waxed moustaches and false teeth. That's what we +mean when we talk about 'My Country': a pack of selfish, soulless, muddle- +headed old men. And whether they're right or whether they're wrong, our +duty is to fight at their bidding--to bleed for them, to die for them, +that they may grow more sleek and prosperous." He sank back on his +pillow with another laugh. + +Sometimes they agreed it was the newspapers that made war--that fanned +every trivial difference into a vital question of national honour--that, +whenever there was any fear of peace, re-stoked the fires of hatred with +their never-failing stories of atrocities. At other times they decided +it was the capitalists, the traders, scenting profit for themselves. Some +held it was the politicians, dreaming of going down to history as +Richelieus or as Bismarcks. A popular theory was that cause for war was +always discovered by the ruling classes whenever there seemed danger that +the workers were getting out of hand. In war, you put the common people +back in their place, revived in them the habits of submission and +obedience. Napoleon the Little, it was argued, had started the war of +1870 with that idea. Russia had welcomed the present war as an answer to +the Revolution that was threatening Czardom. Others contended it was the +great munition industries, aided by the military party, the officers +impatient for opportunities of advancement, the strategists eager to put +their theories to the test. A few of the more philosophical shrugged +their shoulders. It was the thing itself that sooner or later was bound +to go off of its own accord. Half every country's energy, half every +country's time and money was spent in piling up explosives. In every +country envy and hatred of every other country was preached as a +religion. They called it patriotism. Sooner or later the spark fell. + +A wizened little man had been listening to it all one day. He had a +curiously rat-like face, with round, red, twinkling eyes, and a long, +pointed nose that twitched as he talked. + +"I'll tell you who makes all the wars," he said. "It's you and me, my +dears: we make the wars. We love them. That's why we open our mouths +and swallow all the twaddle that the papers give us; and cheer the fine, +black-coated gentlemen when they tell us it's our sacred duty to kill +Germans, or Italians, or Russians, or anybody else. We are just crazy to +kill something: it doesn't matter what. If it's to be Germans, we shout +'_A Berlin_!'; and if it's to be Russians we cheer for Liberty. I was in +Paris at the time of the Fashoda trouble. How we hissed the English in +the cafes! And how they glared back at us! They were just as eager to +kill us. Who makes a dog fight? Why, the dog. Anybody can do it. Who +could make us fight each other, if we didn't want to? Not all the king's +horses and all the King's men. No, my dears, it's we make the wars. You +and me, my dears." + +There came a day in early spring. All night long the guns had never +ceased. It sounded like the tireless barking of ten thousand giant dogs. +Behind the hills, the whole horizon, like a fiery circle, was ringed with +flashing light. Shapeless forms, bent beneath burdens, passed in endless +procession through the village. Masses of rushing men swept like shadowy +phantoms through the fitfully-illumined darkness. Beneath that +everlasting barking, Joan would hear, now the piercing wail of a child; +now a clap of thunder that for the moment would drown all other sounds, +followed by a faint, low, rumbling crash, like the shooting of coals into +a cellar. The wounded on their beds lay with wide-open, terrified eyes, +moving feverishly from side to side. + +At dawn the order came that the hospital was to be evacuated. The +ambulances were already waiting in the street. Joan flew up the ladder +to her loft, the other side of the yard. Madame Lelanne was already +there. She had thrown a few things into a bundle, and her foot was again +upon the ladder, when it seemed to her that someone struck her, hurling +her back upon the floor, and the house the other side of the yard rose up +into the air, and then fell quite slowly, and a cloud of dust hid it from +her sight. + +Madame Lelanne must have carried her down the ladder. She was standing +in the yard, and the dust was choking her. Across the street, beyond the +ruins of the hospital, swarms of men were running about like ants when +their nest has been disturbed. Some were running this way, and some +that. And then they would turn and run back again, making dancing +movements round one another and jostling one another. The guns had +ceased; and instead, it sounded as if all the babies in the world were +playing with their rattles. Suddenly Madame Lelanne reappeared out of +the dust, and seizing Joan, dragged her through a dark opening and down a +flight of steps, and then left her. She was in a great vaulted cellar. A +faint light crept in through a grated window at the other end. There was +a long table against the wall, and in front of it a bench. She staggered +to it and sat down, leaning against the damp wall. The place was very +silent. Suddenly she began to laugh. She tried to stop herself, but +couldn't. And then she heard footsteps descending, and her memory came +back to her with a rush. They were German footsteps, she felt sure by +the sound: they were so slow and heavy. They should not find her in +hysterics, anyhow. She fixed her teeth into the wooden table in front of +her and held on to it with clenched hands. She had recovered herself +before the footsteps had finished their descent. With a relief that made +it difficult for her not to begin laughing again, she found it was Madame +Lelanne and Monsieur Dubos. They were carrying something between them. +She hardly recognized Dubos at first. His beard was gone, and a line of +flaming scars had taken its place. They laid their burden on the table. +It was one of the wounded men from the hut. They told her they were +bringing down two more. The hut itself had not been hit, but the roof +had been torn off by the force of the explosion, and the others had been +killed by the falling beams. Joan wanted to return with them, but Madame +Lelanne had assumed an air of authority, and told her she would be more +useful where she was. From the top of the steps they threw down bundles +of straw, on which they laid the wounded men, and Joan tended them, while +Madame Lelanne and the little chemist went up and down continuously. +Before evening the place, considering all things, was fairly habitable. +Madame Lelanne brought down the great stove from the hut; and breaking a +pane of glass in the barred window, they fixed it up with its chimney and +lighted it. From time to time the turmoil above them would break out +again: the rattling, and sometimes a dull rumbling as of rushing water. +But only a faint murmur of it penetrated into the cellar. Towards night +it became quiet again. + +How long Joan remained there she was never quite sure. There was little +difference between day and night. After it had been quiet for an hour or +so, Madame Lelanne would go out, to return a little later with a wounded +man upon her back; and when one died, she would throw him across her +shoulder and disappear again up the steps. Sometimes it was a Frenchman +and sometimes a German she brought in. One gathered that the fight for +the village still continued. There was but little they could do for them +beyond dressing their wounds and easing their pain. Joan and the little +chemist took it in turns to relieve one another. If Madame Lelanne ever +slept, it was when she would sit in the shadow behind the stove, her +hands upon her knees. Dubos had been in the house when it had fallen. +Madame Lelanne had discovered him pinned against a wall underneath a +great oak beam that had withstood the falling debris. His beard had been +burnt off, but otherwise he had been unharmed. + +She seemed to be living in a dream. She could not shake from her the +feeling that it was not bodies but souls that she was tending. The men +themselves gave colour to this fancy of hers. Stripped of their poor, +stained, tattered uniforms, they were neither French nor Germans. Friend +or foe! it was already but a memory. Often, awakening out of a sleep, +they would look across at one another and smile as to a comrade. A great +peace seemed to have entered there. Faint murmurs as from some distant +troubled world would steal at times into the silence. It brought a pang +of pity, but it did not drive away the quiet that dwelt there. + +Once, someone who must have known the place and had descended the steps +softly, sat there among them and talked with them. Joan could not +remember seeing him enter. Perhaps unknowing, she had fallen to sleep +for a few minutes. Madame Lelanne was seated by the stove, her great +coarse hands upon her knees, her patient, dull, slow-moving eyes fixed +upon the speaker's face. Dubos was half standing, half resting against +the table, his arms folded upon his breast. The wounded men had raised +themselves upon the straw and were listening. Some leant upon their +elbows, some sat with their hands clasped round their knees, and one, +with head bent down, remained with his face hidden in his hands. + +The speaker sat a little way apart. The light from the oil lamp, +suspended from the ceiling, fell upon his face. He wore a peasant's +blouse. It seemed to her a face she knew. Possibly she had passed him +in the village street and had looked at him without remembering. It was +his eyes that for long years afterwards still haunted her. She did not +notice at the time what language he was speaking. But there were none +who did not understand him. + +"You think of God as of a great King," he said, "a Ruler who orders all +things: who could change all things in the twinkling of an eye. You see +the cruelty and the wrong around you. And you say to yourselves: 'He has +ordered it. If He would, He could have willed it differently.' So that +in your hearts you are angry with Him. How could it be otherwise? What +father, loving his children, would see them suffer wrong, when by +stretching out a hand he could protect them: turn their tears to +gladness? What father would see his children doing evil to one another +and not check them: would see them following ways leading to their +destruction, and not pluck them back? If God has ordered all things, why +has He created evil, making His creatures weak and sinful? Does a father +lay snares for his children: leading them into temptation: delivering +them unto evil?" + +"There is no God, apart from Man." + +"God is a spirit. His dwelling-place is in man's heart. We are His +fellow-labourers. It is through man that He shall one day rule the +world." + +"God is knocking at your heart, but you will not open to Him. You have +filled your hearts with love of self. There is no room for Him to enter +in." + +"God whispers to you: 'Be pitiful. Be merciful. Be just.' But you +answer Him: 'If I am pitiful, I lose my time and money. If I am +merciful, I forego advantage to myself. If I am just, I lessen my own +profit, and another passes me in the race.'" + +"And yet in your inmost thoughts you know that you are wrong: that love +of self brings you no peace. Who is happier than the lover, thinking +only how to serve? Who is the more joyous: he who sits alone at the +table, or he who shares his meal with a friend? It is more blessed to +give than to receive. How can you doubt it? For what do you toil and +strive but that you may give to your children, to your loved ones, +reaping the harvest of their good?" + +"Who among you is the more honoured? The miser or the giver: he who +heaps up riches for himself or he who labours for others?" + +"Who is the true soldier? He who has put away self. His own ease and +comfort, even his own needs, his own safety: they are but as a feather in +the balance when weighed against his love for his comrades, for his +country. The true soldier is not afraid to love. He gives his life for +his friend. Do you jeer at him? Do you say he is a fool for his pains? +No, it is his honour, his glory." + +"God is love. Why are you afraid to let Him in? Hate knocks also at +your door and to him you open wide. Why are you afraid of love? All +things are created by love. Hate can but destroy. Why choose you death +instead of life? God pleads to you. He is waiting for your help." + +And one answered him. + +"We are but poor men," he said. "What can we do? Of what use are such +as we?" + +The young man looked at him and smiled. + +"You can ask that," he said: "you, a soldier? Does the soldier say: 'I +am of no use. I am but a poor man of no account. Who has need of such +as I?' God has need of all. There is none that shall not help to win +the victory. It is with his life the soldier serves. Who were they +whose teaching moved the world more than it has ever yet been moved by +the teaching of the wisest? They were men of little knowledge, of but +little learning, poor and lowly. It was with their lives they taught." + +"Cast out self, and God shall enter in, and you shall be One with God. +For there is none so lowly that he may not become the Temple of God: +there is none so great that he shall be greater than this." + +The speaker ceased. There came a faint sound at which she turned her +head; and when she looked again he was gone. + +The wounded men had heard it also. Dubos had moved forward. Madame +Lelanne had risen. It came again, the thin, faint shrill of a distant +bugle. Footsteps were descending the stairs. French soldiers, laughing, +shouting, were crowding round them. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Her father met her at Waterloo. He had business in London, and they +stayed on for a few days. Reading between the lines of his later +letters, she had felt that all was not well with him. His old heart +trouble had come back; and she noticed that he walked to meet her very +slowly. It would be all right, now that she had returned, he explained: +he had been worrying himself about her. + +Mrs. Denton had died. She had left Joan her library, together with her +wonderful collection of note books. She had brought them all up-to-date +and indexed them. They would be invaluable to Francis when he started +the new paper upon which they had determined. He was still in the +hospital at Breganze, near to where his machine had been shot down. She +had tried to get to him; but it would have meant endless delays; and she +had been anxious about her father. The Italian surgeons were very proud +of him, he wrote. They had had him X-rayed before and after; and beyond +a slight lameness which gave him, he thought, a touch of distinction, +there was no flaw that the most careful scrutiny would be likely to +detect. Any day, now, he expected to be discharged. Mary had married an +old sweetheart. She had grown restless in the country with nothing to +do, and, at the suggestion of some friends, had gone to Bristol to help +in a children's hospital; and there they had met once more. + +Neil Singleton, after serving two years in a cholera hospital at Baghdad, +had died of the flu in Dover twenty-fours hours after landing. Madge was +in Palestine. She had been appointed secretary to a committee for the +establishment of native schools. She expected to be there for some +years, she wrote. The work was interesting, and appealed to her. + +Flossie 'phoned her from Paddington Station, the second day, and by luck +she happened to be in. Flossie had just come up from Devonshire. Sam +had "got through," and she was on her way to meet him at Hull. She had +heard of Joan's arrival in London from one of Carleton's illustrated +dailies. She brought the paper with her. They had used the old +photograph that once had adorned each week the _Sunday Post_. Joan +hardly recognized herself in the serene, self-confident young woman who +seemed to be looking down upon a world at her feet. The world was strong +and cruel, she had discovered; and Joans but small and weak. One had to +pretend that one was not afraid of it. + +Flossie had joined every society she could hear of that was working for +the League of Nations. Her hope was that it would get itself established +before young Frank grew up. + +"Not that I really believe it will," she confessed. "A draw might have +disgusted us all with fighting. As it is, half the world is dancing at +Victory balls, exhibiting captured guns on every village green, and +hanging father's helmet above the mantelpiece; while the other half is +nursing its revenge. Young Frank only cares for life because he is +looking forward to one day driving a tank. I've made up my mind to burn +Sam's uniform; but I expect it will end in my wrapping it up in lavender +and hiding it away in a drawer. And then there will be all the books and +plays. No self-respecting heroine, for the next ten years will dream of +marrying anyone but a soldier." + +Joan laughed. "Difficult to get anything else, just at present," she +said. "It's the soldiers I'm looking to for help. I don't think the men +who have been there will want their sons to go. It's the women I'm +afraid of." + +Flossie caught sight of the clock and jumped up. "Who was it said that +woman would be the last thing man would civilize?" she asked. + +"It sounds like Meredith," suggested Joan. "I am not quite sure." + +"Well, he's wrong, anyhow," retorted Flossie. "It's no good our waiting +for man. He is too much afraid of us to be of any real help to us. We +shall have to do it ourselves." She gave Joan a hug and was gone. + +Phillips was still abroad with the Army of Occupation. He had tried to +get out of it, but had not succeeded. He held it to be gaoler's work; +and the sight of the starving populace was stirring in him a fierce +anger. + +He would not put up again for Parliament. He was thinking of going back +to his old work upon the Union. "Parliament is played out," he had +written her. "Kings and Aristocracies have served their purpose and have +gone, and now the Ruling Classes, as they call themselves, must be +content to hear the bell toll for them also. Parliament was never +anything more than an instrument in their hands, and never can be. What +happens? Once in every five years you wake the people up: tell them the +time has come for them to exercise their Heaven-ordained privilege of +putting a cross against the names of some seven hundred gentlemen who +have kindly expressed their willingness to rule over them. After that, +you send the people back to sleep; and for the next five years these +seven hundred gentlemen, consulting no one but themselves, rule over the +country as absolutely as ever a Caesar ruled over Rome. What sort of +Democracy is that? Even a Labour Government--supposing that in spite of +the Press it did win through--what would be its fate? Separated from its +base, imprisoned within those tradition-haunted walls, it would lose +touch with the people, would become in its turn a mere oligarchy. If the +people are ever to govern they must keep their hand firmly upon the +machine; not remain content with pulling a lever and then being shown the +door." + +She had sent a note by messenger to Mary Stopperton to say she was +coming. Mary had looked very fragile the last time she had seen her, +just before leaving for France; and she had felt a fear. Mary had +answered in her neat, thin, quavering writing, asking her to come early +in the morning. Sometimes she was a little tired and had to lie down +again. She had been waiting for Joan. She had a present for her. + +The morning promised to be fair, and she decided to walk by way of the +Embankment. The great river with its deep, strong patience had always +been a friend to her. It was Sunday and the city was still sleeping. The +pale December sun rose above the mist as she reached the corner of +Westminster Bridge, turning the river into silver and flooding the silent +streets with a soft, white, tender light. + +The tower of Chelsea Church brought back to her remembrance of the wheezy +old clergyman who had preached there that Sunday evening, that now seemed +so long ago, when her footsteps had first taken her that way by chance. +Always she had intended making inquiries and discovering his name. Why +had she never done so? It would surely have been easy. He was someone +she had known as a child. She had become quite convinced of that. She +could see his face close to hers as if he had lifted her up in his arms +and was smiling at her. But pride and power had looked out of his eyes +then. + +It was earlier than the time she had fixed in her own mind and, pausing +with her elbows resting on the granite parapet, she watched the ceaseless +waters returning to the sea, bearing their burden of impurities. + +"All roads lead to Calvary." It was curious how the words had dwelt with +her, till gradually they had become a part of her creed. She remembered +how at first they had seemed to her a threat chilling her with fear. They +had grown to be a promise, a hope held out to all. The road to Calvary! +It was the road to life. By the giving up of self we gained God. + +And suddenly a great peace came to her. One was not alone in the fight, +God was with us: the great Comrade. The evil and the cruelty all round +her: she was no longer afraid of it. God was coming. Beyond the menace +of the passing day, black with the war's foul aftermath of evil dreams +and hatreds, she saw the breaking of the distant dawn. The devil should +not always triumph. God was gathering His labourers. + +God was conquering. Unceasing through the ages, God's voice had crept +round man, seeking entry. Through the long darkness of that dim +beginning, when man knew no law but self, unceasing God had striven: +until at last one here and there, emerging from the brute, had heard--had +listened to the voice of love and pity, and in that hour, unknowing, had +built to God a temple in the wilderness. + +Labourers together with God. The mighty host of those who through the +ages had heard the voice of God and had made answer. The men and women +in all lands who had made room in their hearts for God. Still nameless, +scattered, unknown to one another: still powerless as yet against the +world's foul law of hate, they should continue to increase and multiply, +until one day they should speak with God's voice and should be heard. And +a new world should be created. + +God. The tireless Spirit of eternal creation, the Spirit of Love. What +else was it that out of formlessness had shaped the spheres, had planned +the orbits of the suns. The law of gravity we named it. What was it but +another name for Love, the yearning of like for like, the calling to one +another of the stars. What else but Love had made the worlds, had +gathered together the waters, had fashioned the dry land. The cohesion +of elements, so we explained it. The clinging of like to like. The +brotherhood of the atoms. + +God. The Eternal Creator. Out of matter, lifeless void, he had moulded +His worlds, had ordered His endless firmament. It was finished. The +greater task remained: the Universe of mind, of soul. Out of man it +should be created. God in man and man in God: made in like image: fellow +labourers together with one another: together they should build it. Out +of the senseless strife and discord, above the chaos and the tumult +should be heard the new command: "Let there be Love." + +The striking of the old church clock recalled her to herself. But she +had only a few minutes' walk before her. Mary had given up her Church +work. It included the cleaning, and she had found it beyond her failing +strength. But she still lived in the tiny cottage behind its long strip +of garden. The door yielded to Joan's touch: it was seldom fast closed. +And knowing Mary's ways, she entered without knocking and pushed it to +behind her, leaving it still ajar. + +And as she did so, it seemed to her that someone passing breathed upon +her lips a little kiss: and for a while she did not move. Then, treading +softly, she looked into the room. + +It welcomed her, as always, with its smile of cosy neatness. The +spotless curtains that were Mary's pride: the gay flowers in the window, +to which she had given children's names: the few poor pieces of +furniture, polished with much loving labour: the shining grate: the +foolish china dogs and the little china house between them on the +mantelpiece. The fire was burning brightly, and the kettle was singing +on the hob. + +Mary's work was finished. She sat upright in her straight-backed chair +before the table, her eyes half closed. It seemed so odd to see those +little work-worn hands idle upon her lap. + +Joan's present lay on the table near to her, as if she had just folded it +and placed it there: the little cap and the fine robe of lawn: as if for +a king's child. + +Joan had never thought that Death could be so beautiful. It was as if +some friend had looked in at the door, and, seeing her so tired, had +taken the work gently from her hands, and had folded them upon her lap. +And she had yielded with a smile. + +Joan heard a faint rustle and looked up. A woman had entered. It was +the girl she had met there on a Christmas Day, a Miss Ensor. Joan had +met her once or twice since then. She was still in the chorus. Neither +of them spoke for a few minutes. + +"I have been expecting every morning to find her gone," said the girl. "I +think she only waited to finish this." She gently unfolded the fine lawn +robe, and they saw the delicate insertion and the wonderful, embroidery. + +"I asked her once," said the girl, "why she wasted so much work on them. +They were mostly only for poor people. 'One never knows, dearie,' she +answered, with that childish smile of hers. 'It may be for a little +Christ.'" + +They would not let less loving hands come near her. + +* * * * * + +Her father had completed his business, and both were glad to leave +London. She had a sense of something sinister, foreboding, casting its +shadow on the sordid, unclean streets, the neglected buildings falling +into disrepair. A lurking savagery, a half-veiled enmity seemed to be +stealing among the people. The town's mad lust for pleasure: its fierce, +unjoyous laughter: its desire ever to be in crowds as if afraid of +itself: its orgies of eating and drinking: its animal-like indifference +to the misery and death that lay but a little way beyond its own horizon! +She dared not remember history. Perhaps it would pass. + +The long, slow journey tried her father's strength, and assuming an +authority to which he yielded obedience tempered by grumbling, Joan sent +him to bed, and would not let him come down till Christmas Day. The big, +square house was on the outskirts of the town where it was quiet, and in +the afternoon they walked in the garden sheltered behind its high brick +wall. + +He told her of what had been done at the works. Arthur's plan had +succeeded. It might not be the last word, but at least it was on the +road to the right end. The men had been brought into it and shared the +management. And the disasters predicted had proved groundless. + +"You won't be able to indulge in all your mad schemes," he laughed, "but +there'll be enough to help on a few. And you will be among friends. +Arthur told me he had explained it to you and that you had agreed." + +"Yes," she answered. "It was the last time he came to see me in London. +And I could not help feeling a bit jealous. He was doing things while I +was writing and talking. But I was glad he was an Allway. It will be +known as the Allway scheme. New ways will date from it." + +She had thought it time for him to return indoors, but he pleaded for a +visit to his beloved roses. He prided himself on being always able to +pick roses on Christmas Day. + +"This young man of yours," he asked, "what is he like?" + +"Oh, just a Christian gentleman," she answered. "You will love him when +you know him." + +He laughed. "And this new journal of his?" he asked. "It's got to be +published in London, hasn't it?" + +She gave a slight start, for in their letters to one another they had +been discussing this very point. + +"No," she answered, "it could be circulated just as well from, say, +Birmingham or Manchester." + +He was choosing his roses. They held their petals wrapped tight round +them, trying to keep the cold from their brave hearts. In the warmth +they would open out and be gay, until the end. + +"Not Liverpool?" he suggested. + +"Or even Liverpool," she laughed. + +They looked at one another, and then beyond the sheltering evergreens and +the wide lawns to where the great square house seemed to be listening. + +"It's an ugly old thing," he said. + +"No, it isn't," she contradicted. "It's simple and big and kind. I +always used to feel it disapproved of me. I believe it has come to love +me, in its solemn old brick way." + +"It was built by Kent in seventeen-forty for your great-great +grandfather," he explained. He was regarding it more affectionately. +"Solid respectability was the dream, then." + +"I think that's why I love it," she said: "for it's dear, old-fashioned +ways. We will teach it the new dreams, too. It will be so shocked, at +first." + +They dined in state in the great dining-room. + +"I was going to buy you a present," he grumbled. "But you wouldn't let +me get up." + +"I want to give you something quite expensive, Dad," she said. "I've had +my eye on it for years." + +She slipped her hand in his. "I want you to give me that Dream of yours; +that you built for my mother, and that all went wrong. They call it +Allway's Folly; and it makes me so mad. I want to make it all come true. +May I try?" + +* * * * * + +It was there that he came to her. + +She stood beneath the withered trees, beside the shattered fountain. The +sad-faced ghosts peeped out at her from the broken windows of the little +silent houses. + +She wondered later why she had not been surprised to see him. But at the +time it seemed to be in the order of things that she should look up and +find him there. + +She went to him with outstretched arms. + +"I'm so glad you've come," she said. "I was just wanting you." + +They sat on the stone step of the fountain, where they were sheltered +from the wind; and she buttoned his long coat about him. + +"Do you think you will go on doing it?" he asked, with a laugh. + +"I'm so afraid," she answered gravely. "That I shall come to love you +too much: the home, the children and you. I shall have none left over." + +"There is an old Hindoo proverb," he said: "That when a man and woman +love they dig a fountain down to God." + +"This poor, little choked-up thing," he said, "against which we are +sitting; it's for want of men and women drawing water, of children +dabbling their hands in it and making themselves all wet, that it has run +dry." + +She took his hands in hers to keep them warm. The nursing habit seemed +to have taken root in her. + +"I see your argument," she said. "The more I love you, the deeper will +be the fountain. So that the more Love I want to come to me, the more I +must love you." + +"Don't you see it for yourself?" he demanded. + +She broke into a little laugh. + +"Perhaps you are right," she admitted. "Perhaps that is why He made us +male and female: to teach us to love." + +A robin broke into a song of triumph. He had seen the sad-faced ghosts +steal silently away. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL ROADS LEAD TO CALVARY*** + + +******* This file should be named 2231.txt or 2231.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/3/2231 + + + +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. 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"Old London Churches: +Their Social and Historical Associations." It would be easy to +collect anecdotes of the famous people who had attended them. She +might fix up a series for one of the religious papers. It promised +quite exceptional material, this particular specimen, rich in tombs +and monuments. There was character about it, a scent of bygone +days. She pictured the vanished congregations in their powdered +wigs and stiff brocades. How picturesque must have been the +marriages that had taken place there, say in the reign of Queen +Anne or of the early Georges. The church would have been ancient +even then. With its air of faded grandeur, its sculptured recesses +and dark niches, the tattered banners hanging from its roof, it +must have made an admirable background. Perhaps an historical +novel in the Thackeray vein? She could see her heroine walking up +the aisle on the arm of her proud old soldier father. Later on, +when her journalistic position was more established, she might +think of it. It was still quite early. There would be nearly half +an hour before the first worshippers would be likely to arrive: +just time enough to jot down a few notes. If she did ever take to +literature it would be the realistic school, she felt, that would +appeal to her. The rest, too, would be pleasant after her long +walk from Westminster. She would find a secluded seat in one of +the high, stiff pews, and let the atmosphere of the place sink into +her. + +And then the pew-opener had stolen up unobserved, and had taken it +so for granted that she would like to be shown round, and had +seemed so pleased and eager, that she had not the heart to repel +her. A curious little old party with a smooth, peach-like +complexion and white soft hair that the fading twilight, stealing +through the yellow glass, turned to gold. So that at first sight +Joan took her for a child. The voice, too, was so absurdly +childish--appealing, and yet confident. Not until they were +crossing the aisle, where the clearer light streamed in through the +open doors, did Joan see that she was very old and feeble, with +about her figure that curious patient droop that comes to the work- +worn. She proved to be most interesting and full of helpful +information. Mary Stopperton was her name. She had lived in the +neighbourhood all her life; had as a girl worked for the Leigh +Hunts and had "assisted" Mrs. Carlyle. She had been very +frightened of the great man himself, and had always hidden herself +behind doors or squeezed herself into corners and stopped breathing +whenever there had been any fear of meeting him upon the stairs. +Until one day having darted into a cupboard to escape from him and +drawn the door to after her, it turned out to be the cupboard in +which Carlyle was used to keep his boots. So that there was quite +a struggle between them; she holding grimly on to the door inside +and Carlyle equally determined to open it and get his boots. It +had ended in her exposure, with trembling knees and scarlet face, +and Carlyle had addressed her as "woman," and had insisted on +knowing what she was doing there. And after that she had lost all +terror of him. And he had even allowed her with a grim smile to +enter occasionally the sacred study with her broom and pan. It had +evidently made a lasting impression upon her, that privilege. + +"They didn't get on very well together, Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle?" Joan +queried, scenting the opportunity of obtaining first-class +evidence. + +"There wasn't much difference, so far as I could see, between them +and most of us," answered the little old lady. "You're not +married, dear," she continued, glancing at Joan's ungloved hand, +"but people must have a deal of patience when they have to live +with us for twenty-four hours a day. You see, little things we do +and say without thinking, and little ways we have that we do not +notice ourselves, may all the time be irritating to other people." + +"What about the other people irritating us?" suggested Joan. + +"Yes, dear, and of course that can happen too," agreed the little +old lady. + +"Did he, Carlyle, ever come to this church?" asked Joan. + +Mary Stopperton was afraid he never had, in spite of its being so +near. "And yet he was a dear good Christian--in his way," Mary +Stopperton felt sure. + +"How do you mean 'in his way'?" demanded Joan. It certainly, if +Froude was to be trusted, could not have been the orthodox way. + +"Well, you see, dear," explained the little old lady, "he gave up +things. He could have ridden in his carriage"--she was quoting, it +seemed, the words of the Carlyles' old servant--"if he'd written +the sort of lies that people pay for being told, instead of +throwing the truth at their head." + +"But even that would not make him a Christian," argued Joan. + +"It is part of it, dear, isn't it?" insisted Mary Stopperton. "To +suffer for one's faith. I think Jesus must have liked him for +that." + +They had commenced with the narrow strip of burial ground lying +between the south side of the church and Cheyne Walk. And there +the little pew-opener had showed her the grave of Anna, afterwards +Mrs. Spragg. "Who long declining wedlock and aspiring above her +sex fought under her brother with arms and manly attire in a +flagship against the French." As also of Mary Astell, her +contemporary, who had written a spirited "Essay in Defence of the +Fair Sex." So there had been a Suffrage Movement as far back as in +the days of Pope and Swift. + +Returning to the interior, Joan had duly admired the Cheyne +monument, but had been unable to disguise her amusement before the +tomb of Mrs. Colvile, whom the sculptor had represented as a +somewhat impatient lady, refusing to await the day of resurrection, +but pushing through her coffin and starting for Heaven in her +grave-clothes. Pausing in front of the Dacre monument, Joan +wondered if the actor of that name, who had committed suicide in +Australia, and whose London address she remembered had been Dacre +House just round the corner, was descended from the family; +thinking that, if so, it would give an up-to-date touch to the +article. She had fully decided now to write it. But Mary +Stopperton could not inform her. They had ended up in the chapel +of Sir Thomas More. He, too, had "given up things," including his +head. Though Mary Stopperton, siding with Father Morris, was +convinced he had now got it back, and that with the remainder of +his bones it rested in the tomb before them. + +There, the little pew-opener had left her, having to show the +early-comers to their seats; and Joan had found an out-of-the-way +pew from where she could command a view of the whole church. They +were chiefly poor folk, the congregation; with here and there a +sprinkling of faded gentility. They seemed in keeping with the +place. The twilight faded and a snuffy old man shuffled round and +lit the gas. + +It was all so sweet and restful. Religion had never appealed to +her before. The business-like service in the bare cold chapel +where she had sat swinging her feet and yawning as a child had only +repelled her. She could recall her father, aloof and awe-inspiring +in his Sunday black, passing round the bag. Her mother, always +veiled, sitting beside her, a thin, tall woman with passionate eyes +and ever restless hands; the women mostly overdressed, and the +sleek, prosperous men trying to look meek. At school and at +Girton, chapel, which she had attended no oftener than she was +obliged, had had about it the same atmosphere of chill compulsion. +But here was poetry. She wondered if, after all, religion might +not have its place in the world--in company with the other arts. +It would be a pity for it to die out. There seemed nothing to take +its place. All these lovely cathedrals, these dear little old +churches, that for centuries had been the focus of men's thoughts +and aspirations. The harbour lights, illumining the troubled +waters of their lives. What could be done with them? They could +hardly be maintained out of the public funds as mere mementoes of +the past. Besides, there were too many of them. The tax-payer +would naturally grumble. As Town Halls, Assembly Rooms? The idea +was unthinkable. It would be like a performance of Barnum's Circus +in the Coliseum at Rome. Yes, they would disappear. Though not, +she was glad to think, in her time. In towns, the space would be +required for other buildings. Here and there some gradually +decaying specimen would be allowed to survive, taking its place +with the feudal castles and walled cities of the Continent: the +joy of the American tourist, the text-book of the antiquary. A +pity! Yes, but then from the aesthetic point of view it was a pity +that the groves of ancient Greece had ever been cut down and +replanted with currant bushes, their altars scattered; that the +stones of the temples of Isis should have come to be the shelter of +the fisher of the Nile; and the corn wave in the wind above the +buried shrines of Mexico. All these dead truths that from time to +time had encumbered the living world. Each in its turn had had to +be cleared away. + +And yet was it altogether a dead truth: this passionate belief in +a personal God who had ordered all things for the best: who could +be appealed to for comfort, for help? Might it not be as good an +explanation as any other of the mystery surrounding us? It had +been so universal. She was not sure where, but somewhere she had +come across an analogy that had strongly impressed her. "The fact +that a man feels thirsty--though at the time he may be wandering +through the Desert of Sahara--proves that somewhere in the world +there is water." Might not the success of Christianity in +responding to human needs be evidence in its favour? The Love of +God, the Fellowship of the Holy Ghost, the Grace of Our Lord Jesus +Christ. Were not all human needs provided for in that one +comprehensive promise: the desperate need of man to be convinced +that behind all the seeming muddle was a loving hand guiding +towards good; the need of the soul in its loneliness for +fellowship, for strengthening; the need of man in his weakness for +the kindly grace of human sympathy, of human example. + +And then, as fate would have it, the first lesson happened to be +the story of Jonah and the whale. Half a dozen shocked faces +turned suddenly towards her told Joan that at some point in the +thrilling history she must unconsciously have laughed. Fortunately +she was alone in the pew, and feeling herself scarlet, squeezed +herself into its farthest corner and drew down her veil. + +No, it would have to go. A religion that solemnly demanded of +grown men and women in the twentieth century that they should sit +and listen with reverential awe to a prehistoric edition of +"Grimm's Fairy Stories," including Noah and his ark, the adventures +of Samson and Delilah, the conversations between Balaam and his +ass, and culminating in what if it were not so appallingly wicked +an idea would be the most comical of them all: the conception of +an elaborately organized Hell, into which the God of the Christians +plunged his creatures for all eternity! Of what use was such a +religion as that going to be to the world of the future? + +She must have knelt and stood mechanically, for the service was +ended. The pulpit was occupied by an elderly uninteresting-looking +man with a troublesome cough. But one sentence he had let fall had +gripped her attention. For a moment she could not remember it, and +then it came to her: "All Roads lead to Calvary." It struck her +as rather good. Perhaps he was going to be worth listening to. +"To all of us, sooner or later," he was saying, "comes a choosing +of two ways: either the road leading to success, the gratification +of desires, the honour and approval of our fellow-men--or the path +to Calvary." + +And then he had wandered off into a maze of detail. The tradesman, +dreaming perhaps of becoming a Whiteley, having to choose whether +to go forward or remain for all time in the little shop. The +statesman--should he abide by the faith that is in him and suffer +loss of popularity, or renounce his God and enter the Cabinet? The +artist, the writer, the mere labourer--there were too many of them. +A few well-chosen examples would have sufficed. And then that +irritating cough! + +And yet every now and then he would be arresting. In his prime, +Joan felt, he must have been a great preacher. Even now, decrepit +and wheezy, he was capable of flashes of magnetism, of eloquence. +The passage where he pictured the Garden of Gethsemane. The fair +Jerusalem, only hidden from us by the shadows. So easy to return +to. Its soft lights shining through the trees, beckoning to us; +its mingled voices stealing to us through the silence, whispering +to us of its well-remembered ways, its pleasant places, its open +doorways, friends and loved ones waiting for us. And above, the +rock-strewn Calvary: and crowning its summit, clear against the +starlit sky, the cold, dark cross. "Not perhaps to us the bleeding +hands and feet, but to all the bitter tears. Our Calvary may be a +very little hill compared with the mountains where Prometheus +suffered, but to us it is steep and lonely." + +There he should have stopped. It would have been a good note on +which to finish. But it seemed there was another point he wished +to make. Even to the sinner Calvary calls. To Judas--even to him +the gates of the life-giving Garden of Gethsemane had not been +closed. "With his thirty pieces of silver he could have stolen +away. In some distant crowded city of the Roman Empire have lived +unknown, forgotten. Life still had its pleasures, its rewards. To +him also had been given the choice. The thirty pieces of silver +that had meant so much to him! He flings them at the feet of his +tempters. They would not take them back. He rushes out and hangs +himself. Shame and death. With his own hands he will build his +own cross, none to help him. He, too--even Judas, climbs his +Calvary. Enters into the fellowship of those who through all ages +have trod its stony pathway." + +Joan waited till the last of the congregation had disappeared, and +then joined the little pew-opener who was waiting to close the +doors. Joan asked her what she had thought of the sermon, but Mary +Stopperton, being a little deaf, had not heard it. + +"It was quite good--the matter of it," Joan told her. "All Roads +lead to Calvary. The idea is that there comes a time to all of us +when we have to choose. Whether, like your friend Carlyle, we will +'give up things' for our faith's sake. Or go for the carriage and +pair." + +Mary Stopperton laughed. "He is quite right, dear," she said. "It +does seem to come, and it is so hard. You have to pray and pray +and pray. And even then we cannot always do it." She touched with +her little withered fingers Joan's fine white hand. "But you are +so strong and brave," she continued, with another little laugh. +"It won't be so difficult for you." + +It was not until well on her way home that Joan, recalling the +conversation, found herself smiling at Mary Stopperton's literal +acceptation of the argument. At the time, she remembered, the +shadow of a fear had passed over her. + +Mary Stopperton did not know the name of the preacher. It was +quite common for chance substitutes to officiate there, especially +in the evening. Joan had insisted on her acceptance of a shilling, +and had made a note of her address, feeling instinctively that the +little old woman would "come in useful" from a journalistic point +of view. + +Shaking hands with her, she had turned eastward, intending to walk +to Sloane Square and there take the bus. At the corner of Oakley +Street she overtook him. He was evidently a stranger to the +neighbourhood, and was peering up through his glasses to see the +name of the street; and Joan caught sight of his face beneath a gas +lamp. + +And suddenly it came to her that it was a face she knew. In the +dim-lit church she had not seen him clearly. He was still peering +upward. Joan stole another glance. Yes, she had met him +somewhere. He was very changed, quite different, but she was sure +of it. It was a long time ago. She must have been quite a child. + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +One of Joan's earliest recollections was the picture of herself +standing before the high cheval glass in her mother's dressing- +room. Her clothes lay scattered far and wide, falling where she +had flung them; not a shred of any kind of covering was left to +her. She must have been very small, for she could remember looking +up and seeing high above her head the two brass knobs by which the +glass was fastened to its frame. Suddenly, out of the upper +portion of the glass, there looked a scared red face. It hovered +there a moment, and over it in swift succession there passed the +expressions, first of petrified amazement, secondly of shocked +indignation, and thirdly of righteous wrath. And then it swooped +down upon her, and the image in the glass became a confusion of +small naked arms and legs mingled with green cotton gloves and +purple bonnet strings. + +"You young imp of Satan!" demanded Mrs. Munday--her feelings of +outraged virtue exaggerating perhaps her real sentiments. "What +are you doing?" + +"Go away. I'se looking at myself," had explained Joan, struggling +furiously to regain the glass. + +"But where are your clothes?" was Mrs. Munday's wonder. + +"I'se tooked them off," explained Joan. A piece of information +that really, all things considered, seemed unnecessary. + +"But can't you see yourself, you wicked child, without stripping +yourself as naked as you were born?" + +"No," maintained Joan stoutly. "I hate clothes." As a matter of +fact she didn't, even in those early days. On the contrary, one of +her favourite amusements was "dressing up." This sudden +overmastering desire to arrive at the truth about herself had been +a new conceit. + +"I wanted to see myself. Clothes ain't me," was all she would or +could vouchsafe; and Mrs. Munday had shook her head, and had freely +confessed that there were things beyond her and that Joan was one +of them; and had succeeded, partly by force, partly by persuasion, +in restoring to Joan once more the semblance of a Christian child. + +It was Mrs. Munday, poor soul, who all unconsciously had planted +the seeds of disbelief in Joan's mind. Mrs. Munday's God, from +Joan's point of view, was a most objectionable personage. He +talked a lot--or rather Mrs. Munday talked for Him--about His love +for little children. But it seemed He only loved them when they +were good. Joan was under no delusions about herself. If those +were His terms, well, then, so far as she could see, He wasn't +going to be of much use to her. Besides, if He hated naughty +children, why did He make them naughty? At a moderate estimate +quite half Joan's wickedness, so it seemed to Joan, came to her +unbidden. Take for example that self-examination before the cheval +glass. The idea had come into her mind. It had never occurred to +her that it was wicked. If, as Mrs. Munday explained, it was the +Devil that had whispered it to her, then what did God mean by +allowing the Devil to go about persuading little girls to do +indecent things? God could do everything. Why didn't He smash the +Devil? It seemed to Joan a mean trick, look at it how you would. +Fancy leaving a little girl to fight the Devil all by herself. And +then get angry because the Devil won! Joan came to cordially +dislike Mrs. Munday's God. + +Looking back it was easy enough to smile, but the agony of many +nights when she had lain awake for hours battling with her childish +terrors had left a burning sense of anger in Joan's heart. Poor +mazed, bewildered Mrs. Munday, preaching the eternal damnation of +the wicked--who had loved her, who had only thought to do her duty, +the blame was not hers. But that a religion capable of inflicting +such suffering upon the innocent should still be preached; +maintained by the State! That its educated followers no longer +believed in a physical Hell, that its more advanced clergy had +entered into a conspiracy of silence on the subject was no answer. +The great mass of the people were not educated. Official +Christendom in every country still preached the everlasting torture +of the majority of the human race as a well thought out part of the +Creator's scheme. No leader had been bold enough to come forward +and denounce it as an insult to his God. As one grew older, kindly +mother Nature, ever seeking to ease the self-inflicted burdens of +her foolish brood, gave one forgetfulness, insensibility. The +condemned criminal puts the thought of the gallows away from him as +long as may be: eats, and sleeps and even jokes. Man's soul grows +pachydermoid. But the children! Their sensitive brains exposed to +every cruel breath. No philosophic doubt permitted to them. No +learned disputation on the relationship between the literal and the +allegorical for the easing of their frenzied fears. How many +million tiny white-faced figures scattered over Christian Europe +and America, stared out each night into a vision of black horror; +how many million tiny hands clutched wildly at the bedclothes. The +Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, if they had done +their duty, would have prosecuted before now the Archbishop of +Canterbury. + +Of course she would go to Hell. As a special kindness some +generous relative had, on Joan's seventh birthday, given her an +edition of Dante's "Inferno," with illustrations by Dore. From it +she was able to form some notion of what her eternity was likely to +be. And God all the while up in His Heaven, surrounded by that +glorious band of praise-trumpeting angels, watching her out of the +corner of His eye. Her courage saved her from despair. Defiance +came to her aid. Let Him send her to Hell! She was not going to +pray to Him and make up to Him. He was a wicked God. Yes, He was: +a cruel, wicked God. And one night she told Him so to His face. + +It had been a pretty crowded day, even for so busy a sinner as +little Joan. It was springtime, and they had gone into the country +for her mother's health. Maybe it was the season: a stirring of +the human sap, conducing to that feeling of being "too big for +one's boots," as the saying is. A dangerous period of the year. +Indeed, on the principle that prevention is better than cure, Mrs. +Munday had made it a custom during April and May to administer to +Joan a cooling mixture; but on this occasion had unfortunately come +away without it. Joan, dressed for use rather than show, and +without either shoes or stockings, had stolen stealthily +downstairs: something seemed to be calling to her. Silently-- +"like a thief in the night," to adopt Mrs. Munday's metaphor--had +slipped the heavy bolts; had joined the thousand creatures of the +wood--had danced and leapt and shouted; had behaved, in short, more +as if she had been a Pagan nymph than a happy English child. She +had regained the house unnoticed, as she thought, the Devil, no +doubt, assisting her; and had hidden her wet clothes in the bottom +of a mighty chest. Deceitfulness in her heart, she had greeted +Mrs. Munday in sleepy tones from beneath the sheets; and before +breakfast, assailed by suspicious questions, had told a deliberate +lie. Later in the morning, during an argument with an active young +pig who was willing enough to play at Red Riding Hood so far as +eating things out of a basket was concerned, but who would not wear +a night-cap, she had used a wicked word. In the afternoon she +"might have killed" the farmer's only son and heir. They had had a +row. In one of those sad lapses from the higher Christian +standards into which Satan was always egging her, she had pushed +him; and he had tumbled head over heels into the horse-pond. The +reason, that instead of lying there and drowning he had got up and +walked back to the house howling fit to wake the Seven Sleepers, +was that God, watching over little children, had arranged for the +incident taking place on that side of the pond where it was +shallow. Had the scrimmage occurred on the opposite bank, beneath +which the water was much deeper, Joan in all probability would have +had murder on her soul. It seemed to Joan that if God, all- +powerful and all-foreseeing, had been so careful in selecting the +site, He might with equal ease have prevented the row from ever +taking place. Why couldn't the little beast have been guided back +from school through the orchard, much the shorter way, instead of +being brought round by the yard, so as to come upon her at a moment +when she was feeling a bit short-tempered, to put it mildly? And +why had God allowed him to call her "Carrots"? That Joan should +have "put it" this way, instead of going down on her knees and +thanking the Lord for having saved her from a crime, was proof of +her inborn evil disposition. In the evening was reached the +culminating point. Just before going to bed she had murdered old +George the cowman. For all practical purposes she might just as +well have been successful in drowning William Augustus earlier in +the day. It seemed to be one of those things that had to be. Mr. +Hornflower still lived, it was true, but that was not Joan's fault. +Joan, standing in white night-gown beside her bed, everything +around her breathing of innocence and virtue: the spotless +bedclothes, the chintz curtains, the white hyacinths upon the +window-ledge, Joan's Bible, a present from Aunt Susan; her prayer- +book, handsomely bound in calf, a present from Grandpapa, upon +their little table; Mrs. Munday in evening black and cameo brooch +(pale red with tomb and weeping willow in white relief) sacred to +the memory of the departed Mr. Munday--Joan standing there erect, +with pale, passionate face, defying all these aids to +righteousness, had deliberately wished Mr. Hornflower dead. Old +George Hornflower it was who, unseen by her, had passed her that +morning in the wood. Grumpy old George it was who had overheard +the wicked word with which she had cursed the pig; who had met +William Augustus on his emergence from the pond. To Mr. George +Hornflower, the humble instrument in the hands of Providence, +helping her towards possible salvation, she ought to have been +grateful. And instead of that she had flung into the agonized face +of Mrs. Munday these awful words: + +"I wish he was dead!" + +"He who in his heart--" there was verse and chapter for it. Joan +was a murderess. Just as well, so far as Joan was concerned, might +she have taken a carving-knife and stabbed Deacon Hornflower to the +heart. + +Joan's prayers that night, to the accompaniment of Mrs. Munday's +sobs, had a hopeless air of unreality about them. Mrs. Munday's +kiss was cold. + +How long Joan lay and tossed upon her little bed she could not +tell. Somewhere about the middle of the night, or so it seemed to +her, the frenzy seized her. Flinging the bedclothes away she rose +to her feet. It is difficult to stand upon a spring mattress, but +Joan kept her balance. Of course He was there in the room with +her. God was everywhere, spying upon her. She could distinctly +hear His measured breathing. Face to face with Him, she told Him +what she thought of Him. She told Him He was a cruel, wicked God. + +There are no Victoria Crosses for sinners, or surely little Joan +that night would have earned it. It was not lack of imagination +that helped her courage. God and she alone, in the darkness. He +with all the forces of the Universe behind Him. He armed with His +eternal pains and penalties, and eight-year-old Joan: the creature +that He had made in His Own Image that He could torture and +destroy. Hell yawned beneath her, but it had to be said. Somebody +ought to tell Him. + +"You are a wicked God," Joan told Him. "Yes, You are. A cruel, +wicked God." + +And then that she might not see the walls of the room open before +her, hear the wild laughter of the thousand devils that were coming +to bear her off, she threw herself down, her face hidden in the +pillow, and clenched her hands and waited. + +And suddenly there burst a song. It was like nothing Joan had ever +heard before. So clear and loud and near that all the night seemed +filled with harmony. It sank into a tender yearning cry throbbing +with passionate desire, and then it rose again in thrilling +ecstasy: a song of hope, of victory. + +Joan, trembling, stole from her bed and drew aside the blind. +There was nothing to be seen but the stars and the dim shape of the +hills. But still that song, filling the air with its wild, +triumphant melody. + +Years afterwards, listening to the overture to Tannhauser, there +came back to her the memory of that night. Ever through the mad +Satanic discords she could hear, now faint, now conquering, the +Pilgrims' onward march. So through the jangled discords of the +world one heard the Song of Life. Through the dim aeons of man's +savage infancy; through the centuries of bloodshed and of horror; +through the dark ages of tyranny and superstition; through wrong, +through cruelty, through hate; heedless of doom, heedless of death, +still the nightingale's song: "I love you. I love you. I love +you. We will build a nest. We will rear our brood. I love you. +I love you. Life shall not die." + +Joan crept back into bed. A new wonder had come to her. And from +that night Joan's belief in Mrs. Munday's God began to fade, +circumstances helping. + +Firstly there was the great event of going to school. She was glad +to get away from home, a massive, stiffly furnished house in a +wealthy suburb of Liverpool. Her mother, since she could remember, +had been an invalid, rarely leaving her bedroom till the afternoon. +Her father, the owner of large engineering works, she only saw, as +a rule, at dinner-time, when she would come down to dessert. It +had been different when she was very young, before her mother had +been taken ill. Then she had been more with them both. She had +dim recollections of her father playing with her, pretending to be +a bear and growling at her from behind the sofa. And then he would +seize and hug her and they would both laugh, while he tossed her +into the air and caught her. He had looked so big and handsome. +All through her childhood there had been the desire to recreate +those days, to spring into the air and catch her arms about his +neck. She could have loved him dearly if he had only let her. +Once, seeking explanation, she had opened her heart a little to +Mrs. Munday. It was disappointment, Mrs. Munday thought, that she +had not been a boy; and with that Joan had to content herself. +Maybe also her mother's illness had helped to sadden him. Or +perhaps it was mere temperament, as she argued to herself later, +for which they were both responsible. Those little tricks of +coaxing, of tenderness, of wilfulness, by means of which other +girls wriggled their way so successfully into a warm nest of cosy +affection: she had never been able to employ them. Beneath her +self-confidence was a shyness, an immovable reserve that had always +prevented her from expressing her emotions. She had inherited it, +doubtless enough, from him. Perhaps one day, between them, they +would break down the barrier, the strength of which seemed to lie +in its very flimsiness, its impalpability. + +And then during college vacations, returning home with growing +notions and views of her own, she had found herself so often in +antagonism with him. His fierce puritanism, so opposed to all her +enthusiasms. Arguing with him, she might almost have been +listening to one of his Cromwellian ancestors risen from the dead. +There had been disputes between him and his work-people, and Joan +had taken the side of the men. He had not been angry with her, but +coldly contemptuous. And yet, in spite of it all, if he had only +made a sign! She wanted to fling herself crying into his arms and +shake him--make him listen to her wisdom, sitting on his knee with +her hands clasped round his neck. He was not really intolerant and +stupid. That had been proved by his letting her go to a Church of +England school. Her mother had expressed no wish. It was he who +had selected it. + +Of her mother she had always stood somewhat in fear, never knowing +when the mood of passionate affection would give place to a chill +aversion that seemed almost like hate. Perhaps it had been good +for her, so she told herself in after years, her lonely, unguided +childhood. It had forced her to think and act for herself. At +school she reaped the benefit. Self-reliant, confident, original, +leadership was granted to her as a natural prerogative. Nature had +helped her. Nowhere does a young girl rule more supremely by +reason of her beauty than among her fellows. Joan soon grew +accustomed to having her boots put on and taken off for her; all +her needs of service anticipated by eager slaves, contending with +one another for the privilege. By giving a command, by bestowing a +few moments of her conversation, it was within her power to make +some small adoring girl absurdly happy for the rest of the day; +while her displeasure would result in tears, in fawning pleadings +for forgiveness. The homage did not spoil her. Rather it helped +to develop her. She accepted it from the beginning as in the order +of things. Power had been given to her. It was her duty to see to +it that she did not use it capriciously, for her own gratification. +No conscientious youthful queen could have been more careful in the +distribution of her favours--that they should be for the +encouragement of the deserving, the reward of virtue; more sparing +of her frowns, reserving them for the rectification of error. + +At Girton it was more by force of will, of brain, that she had to +make her position. There was more competition. Joan welcomed it, +as giving more zest to life. But even there her beauty was by no +means a negligible quantity. Clever, brilliant young women, +accustomed to sweep aside all opposition with a blaze of rhetoric, +found themselves to their irritation sitting in front of her +silent, not so much listening to her as looking at her. It puzzled +them for a time. Because a girl's features are classical and her +colouring attractive, surely that has nothing to do with the value +of her political views? Until one of them discovered by chance +that it has. + +"Well, what does Beauty think about it?" this one had asked, +laughing. She had arrived at the end of a discussion just as Joan +was leaving the room. And then she gave a long low whistle, +feeling that she had stumbled upon the explanation. Beauty, that +mysterious force that from the date of creation has ruled the +world, what does It think? Dumb, passive, as a rule, exercising +its influence unconsciously. But if it should become intelligent, +active! A Philosopher has dreamed of the vast influence that could +be exercised by a dozen sincere men acting in unity. Suppose a +dozen of the most beautiful women in the world could form +themselves into a league! Joan found them late in the evening +still discussing it. + +Her mother died suddenly during her last term, and Joan hurried +back to attend the funeral. Her father was out when she reached +home. Joan changed her travel-dusty clothes, and then went into +the room where her mother lay, and closed the door. She must have +been a beautiful woman. Now that the fret and the restlessness had +left her it had come back to her. The passionate eyes were closed. +Joan kissed the marble lids, and drawing a chair to the bedside, +sat down. It grieved her that she had never loved her mother--not +as one ought to love one's mother, unquestioningly, unreasoningly, +as a natural instinct. For a moment a strange thought came to her, +and swiftly, almost guiltily, she stole across, and drawing back a +corner of the blind, examined closely her own features in the +glass, comparing them with the face of the dead woman, thus called +upon to be a silent witness for or against the living. Joan drew a +sigh of relief and let fall the blind. There could be no +misreading the evidence. Death had smoothed away the lines, given +back youth. It was almost uncanny, the likeness between them. It +might have been her drowned sister lying there. And they had never +known one another. Had this also been temperament again, keeping +them apart? Why did it imprison us each one as in a moving cell, +so that we never could stretch out our arms to one another, except +when at rare intervals Love or Death would unlock for a while the +key? Impossible that two beings should have been so alike in +feature without being more or less alike in thought and feeling. +Whose fault had it been? Surely her own; she was so hideously +calculating. Even Mrs. Munday, because the old lady had been fond +of her and had shown it, had been of more service to her, more a +companion, had been nearer to her than her own mother. In self- +excuse she recalled the two or three occasions when she had tried +to win her mother. But fate seemed to have decreed that their +moods should never correspond. Her mother's sudden fierce +outbursts of love, when she would be jealous, exacting, almost +cruel, had frightened her when she was a child, and later on had +bored her. Other daughters would have shown patience, +unselfishness, but she had always been so self-centred. Why had +she never fallen in love like other girls? There had been a boy at +Brighton when she was at school there--quite a nice boy, who had +written her wildly extravagant love-letters. It must have cost him +half his pocket-money to get them smuggled in to her. Why had she +only been amused at them? They might have been beautiful if only +one had read them with sympathy. One day he had caught her alone +on the Downs. Evidently he had made it his business to hang about +every day waiting for some such chance. He had gone down on his +knees and kissed her feet, and had been so abject, so pitiful that +she had given him some flowers she was wearing. And he had sworn +to dedicate the rest of his life to being worthy of her +condescension. Poor lad! She wondered--for the first time since +that afternoon--what had become of him. There had been others; a +third cousin who still wrote to her from Egypt, sending her +presents that perhaps he could ill afford, and whom she answered +about once a year. And promising young men she had met at +Cambridge, ready, the felt instinctively, to fall down and worship +her. And all the use she had had for them was to convert them to +her views--a task so easy as to be quite uninteresting--with a +vague idea that they might come in handy in the future, when she +might need help in shaping that world of the future. + +Only once had she ever thought of marriage. And that was in favour +of a middle-aged, rheumatic widower with three children, a +professor of chemistry, very learned and justly famous. For about +a month she had thought herself in love. She pictured herself +devoting her life to him, rubbing his poor left shoulder where it +seemed he suffered most, and brushing his picturesque hair, +inclined to grey. Fortunately his eldest daughter was a young +woman of resource, or the poor gentleman, naturally carried off his +feet by this adoration of youth and beauty, might have made an ass +of himself. But apart from this one episode she had reached the +age of twenty-three heart-whole. + +She rose and replaced the chair. And suddenly a wave of pity +passed over her for the dead woman, who had always seemed so lonely +in the great stiffly-furnished house, and the tears came. + +She was glad she had been able to cry. She had always hated +herself for her lack of tears; it was so unwomanly. Even as a +child she had rarely cried. + +Her father had always been very tender, very patient towards her +mother, but she had not expected to find him so changed. He had +aged and his shoulders drooped. She had been afraid that he would +want her to stay with him and take charge of the house. It had +worried her considerably. It would be so difficult to refuse, and +yet she would have to. But when he never broached the subject she +was hurt. He had questioned her about her plans the day after the +funeral, and had seemed only anxious to assist them. She proposed +continuing at Cambridge till the end of the term. She had taken +her degree the year before. After that, she would go to London and +commence her work. + +"Let me know what allowance you would like me to make you, when you +have thought it out. Things are not what they were at the works, +but there will always be enough to keep you in comfort," he had +told her. She had fixed it there and then at two hundred a year. +She would not take more, and that only until she was in a position +to keep herself. + +"I want to prove to myself," she explained, "that I am capable of +earning my own living. I am going down into the market-place. If +I'm no good, if I can't take care of even one poor woman, I'll come +back and ask you to keep me." She was sitting on the arm of his +chair, and laughing, she drew his head towards her and pressed it +against her. "If I succeed, if I am strong enough to fight the +world for myself and win, that will mean I am strong enough and +clever enough to help others." + +"I am only at the end of a journey when you need me," he had +answered, and they had kissed. And next morning she returned to +her own life. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +It was at Madge Singleton's rooms that the details of Joan's entry +into journalistic London were arranged. "The Coming of Beauty," +was Flora Lessing's phrase for designating the event. Flora +Lessing, known among her associates as "Flossie," was the girl who +at Cambridge had accidentally stumbled upon the explanation of +Joan's influence. In appearance she was of the Fluffy Ruffles +type, with childish innocent eyes, and the "unruly curls" beloved +of the Family Herald novelist. At the first, these latter had been +the result of a habit of late rising and consequent hurried toilet +operations; but on the discovery that for the purposes of her +profession they possessed a market value they had been sedulously +cultivated. Editors of the old order had ridiculed the idea of her +being of any use to them, when two years previously she had, by +combination of cheek and patience, forced herself into their +sanctum; had patted her paternally upon her generally ungloved +hand, and told her to go back home and get some honest, worthy +young man to love and cherish her. + +It was Carleton of the Daily Dispatch group who had first divined +her possibilities. With a swift glance on his way through, he had +picked her out from a line of depressed-looking men and women +ranged against the wall of the dark entrance passage; and with a +snap of his fingers had beckoned to her to follow him. Striding in +front of her up to his room, he had pointed to a chair and had left +her sitting there for three-quarters of an hour, while he held +discussion with a stream of subordinates, managers and editors of +departments, who entered and departed one after another, evidently +in prearranged order. All of them spoke rapidly, without ever +digressing by a single word from the point, giving her the +impression of their speeches having been rehearsed beforehand. + +Carleton himself never interrupted them. Indeed, one might have +thought he was not listening, so engrossed he appeared to be in the +pile of letters and telegrams that lay waiting for him on his desk. +When they had finished he would ask them questions, still with his +attention fixed apparently upon the paper in his hand. Then, +looking up for the first time, he would run off curt instructions, +much in the tone of a Commander-in-Chief giving orders for an +immediate assault; and, finishing abruptly, return to his +correspondence. When the last, as it transpired, had closed the +door behind him, he swung his chair round and faced her. + +"What have you been doing?" he asked her. + +"Wasting my time and money hanging about newspaper offices, +listening to silly talk from old fossils," she told him. + +"And having learned that respectable journalism has no use for +brains, you come to me," he answered her. "What do you think you +can do?" + +"Anything that can be done with a pen and ink," she told him. + +"Interviewing?" he suggested. + +"I've always been considered good at asking awkward questions," she +assured him. + +He glanced at the clock. "I'll give you five minutes," he said. +"Interview me." + +She moved to a chair beside the desk, and, opening her bag, took +out a writing-block. + +"What are your principles?" she asked him. "Have you got any?" + +He looked at her sharply across the corner of the desk. + +"I mean," she continued, "to what fundamental rule of conduct do +you attribute your success?" + +She leant forward, fixing her eyes on him. "Don't tell me," she +persisted, "that you had none. That life is all just mere blind +chance. Think of the young men who are hanging on your answer. +Won't you send them a message?" + +"Yes," he answered musingly. "It's your baby face that does the +trick. In the ordinary way I should have known you were pulling my +leg, and have shown you the door. As it was, I felt half inclined +for the moment to reply with some damned silly platitude that would +have set all Fleet Street laughing at me. Why do my 'principles' +interest you?" + +"As a matter of fact they don't," she explained. "But it's what +people talk about whenever they discuss you." + +"What do they say?" he demanded. + +"Your friends, that you never had any. And your enemies, that they +are always the latest," she informed him. + +"You'll do," he answered with a laugh. "With nine men out of ten +that speech would have ended your chances. You sized me up at a +glance, and knew it would only interest me. And your instinct is +right," he added. "What people are saying: always go straight for +that." + +He gave her a commission then and there for a heart to heart talk +with a gentleman whom the editor of the Home News Department of the +Daily Dispatch would have referred to as a "Leading Literary +Luminary," and who had just invented a new world in two volumes. +She had asked him childish questions and had listened with wide- +open eyes while he, sitting over against her, and smiling +benevolently, had laid bare to her all the seeming intricacies of +creation, and had explained to her in simple language the necessary +alterations and improvements he was hoping to bring about in human +nature. He had the sensation that his hair must be standing on end +the next morning after having read in cold print what he had said. +Expanding oneself before the admiring gaze of innocent simplicity +and addressing the easily amused ear of an unsympathetic public are +not the same thing. He ought to have thought of that. + +It consoled him, later, that he was not the only victim. The Daily +Dispatch became famous for its piquant interviews; especially with +elderly celebrities of the masculine gender. + +"It's dirty work," Flossie confided one day to Madge Singleton. "I +trade on my silly face. Don't see that I'm much different to any +of these poor devils." They were walking home in the evening from +a theatre. "If I hadn't been stony broke I'd never have taken it +up. I shall get out of it as soon as I can afford to." + +"I should make it a bit sooner than that," suggested the elder +woman. "One can't always stop oneself just where one wants to when +sliding down a slope. It has a knack of getting steeper and +steeper as one goes on." + +Madge had asked Joan to come a little earlier so that they could +have a chat together before the others arrived. + +"I've only asked a few," she explained, as she led Joan into the +restful white-panelled sitting-room that looked out upon the +gardens. Madge shared a set of chambers in Gray's Inn with her +brother who was an actor. "But I have chosen them with care." + +Joan murmured her thanks. + +"I haven't asked any men," she added, as she fixed Joan in an easy +chair before the fire. "I was afraid of its introducing the wrong +element." + +"Tell me," asked Joan, "am I likely to meet with much of that sort +of thing?" + +"Oh, about as much as there always is wherever men and women work +together," answered Madge. "It's a nuisance, but it has to be +faced." + +"Nature appears to have only one idea in her head," she continued +after a pause, "so far as we men and women are concerned. She's +been kinder to the lower animals." + +"Man has more interests," Joan argued, "a thousand other +allurements to distract him; we must cultivate his finer +instincts." + +"It doesn't seem to answer," grumbled Madge. "One is always told +it is the artist--the brain worker, the very men who have these +fine instincts, who are the most sexual." + +She made a little impatient movement with her hands that was +characteristic of her. "Personally, I like men," she went on. "It +is so splendid the way they enjoy life: just like a dog does, +whether it's wet or fine. We are always blinking up at the clouds +and worrying about our hat. It would be so nice to be able to have +friendship with them. + +"I don't mean that it's all their fault," she continued. "We do +all we can to attract them--the way we dress. Who was it said that +to every woman every man is a potential lover. We can't get it out +of our minds. It's there even when we don't know it. We will +never succeed in civilizing Nature." + +"We won't despair of her," laughed Joan. "She's creeping up, poor +lady, as Whistler said of her. We have passed the phase when +everything she did was right in our childish eyes. Now we dare to +criticize her. That shows we are growing up. She will learn from +us, later on. She's a dear old thing, at heart." + +"She's been kind enough to you," replied Madge, somewhat +irrelevantly. There was a note of irritation in her tone. "I +suppose you know you are supremely beautiful. You seem so +indifferent to it, I wonder sometimes if you do." + +"I'm not indifferent to it," answered Joan. "I'm reckoning on it +to help me." + +"Why not?" she continued, with a flash of defiance, though Madge +had not spoken. "It is a weapon like any other--knowledge, +intellect, courage. God has given me beauty. I shall use it in +His service." + +They formed a curious physical contrast, these two women in this +moment. Joan, radiant, serene, sat upright in her chair, her head +slightly thrown back, her fine hands clasping one another so +strongly that the delicate muscles could be traced beneath the +smooth white skin. Madge, with puckered brows, leant forward in a +crouching attitude, her thin nervous hands stretched out towards +the fire. + +"How does one know when one is serving God?" she asked after a +pause, apparently rather of herself than of Joan. "It seems so +difficult." + +"One feels it," explained Joan. + +"Yes, but didn't they all feel it," Madge suggested. She still +seemed to be arguing with herself rather than with Joan. +"Nietzsche. I have been reading him. They are forming a Nietzsche +Society to give lectures about him--propagate him over here. +Eleanor's in it up to the neck. It seems to me awful. Every fibre +in my being revolts against him. Yet they're all cocksure that he +is the coming prophet. He must have convinced himself that he is +serving God. If I were a fighter I should feel I was serving God +trying to down Him. How do I know which of us is right? +Torquemada--Calvin," she went on, without giving Joan the chance of +a reply. "It's easy enough to see they were wrong now. But at the +time millions of people believed in them--felt it was God's voice +speaking through them. Joan of Arc! Fancy dying to put a thing +like that upon a throne. It would be funny if it wasn't so tragic. +You can say she drove out the English--saved France. But for what? +The Bartholomew massacres. The ruin of the Palatinate by Louis +XIV. The horrors of the French Revolution, ending with Napoleon +and all the misery and degeneracy that he bequeathed to Europe. +History might have worked itself out so much better if the poor +child had left it alone and minded her sheep." + +"Wouldn't that train of argument lead to nobody ever doing +anything?" suggested Joan. + +"I suppose it would mean stagnation," admitted Madge. "And yet I +don't know. Are there not forces moving towards right that are +crying to us to help them, not by violence, which only interrupts-- +delays them, but by quietly preparing the way for them? You know +what I mean. Erasmus always said that Luther had hindered the +Reformation by stirring up passion and hate." She broke off +suddenly. There were tears in her eyes. "Oh, if God would only +say what He wants of us," she almost cried; "call to us in trumpet +tones that would ring through the world, compelling us to take +sides. Why can't He speak?" + +"He does," answered Joan. "I hear His voice. There are things +I've got to do. Wrongs that I must fight against. Rights that I +must never dare to rest till they are won." Her lips were parted. +Her breasts heaving. "He does call to us. He has girded His sword +upon me." + +Madge looked at her in silence for quite a while. "How confident +you are," she said. "How I envy you." + +They talked for a time about domestic matters. Joan had +established herself in furnished rooms in a quiet street of +pleasant Georgian houses just behind the Abbey; a member of +Parliament and his wife occupied the lower floors, the landlord, a +retired butler, and his wife, an excellent cook, confining +themselves to the basement and the attics. The remaining floor was +tenanted by a shy young man--a poet, so the landlady thought, but +was not sure. Anyhow he had long hair, lived with a pipe in his +mouth, and burned his lamp long into the night. Joan had omitted +to ask his name. She made a note to do so. + +They discussed ways and means. Joan calculated she could get +through on two hundred a year, putting aside fifty for dress. +Madge was doubtful if this would be sufficient. Joan urged that +she was "stock size" and would be able to pick up "models" at +sales; but Madge, measuring her against herself, was sure she was +too full. + +"You will find yourself expensive to dress," she told her, "cheap +things won't go well on you; and it would be madness, even from a +business point of view, for you not to make the best of yourself." + +"Men stand more in awe of a well-dressed woman than they do even of +a beautiful woman," Madge was of opinion. "If you go into an +office looking dowdy they'll beat you down. Tell them the price +they are offering you won't keep you in gloves for a week and +they'll be ashamed of themselves. There's nothing infra dig. in +being mean to the poor; but not to sympathize with the rich stamps +you as middle class." She laughed. + +Joan was worried. "I told Dad I should only ask him for enough to +make up two hundred a year," she explained. "He'll laugh at me for +not knowing my own mind." + +"I should let him," advised Madge. She grew thoughtful again. "We +cranky young women, with our new-fangled, independent ways, I guess +we hurt the old folks quite enough as it is." + +The bell rang and Madge opened the door herself. It turned out to +be Flossie. Joan had not seen her since they had been at Girton +together, and was surprised at Flossie's youthful "get up." +Flossie explained, and without waiting for any possible attack flew +to her own defence. + +"The revolution that the world is waiting for," was Flossie's +opinion, "is the providing of every man and woman with a hundred +and fifty a year. Then we shall all be able to afford to be noble +and high-minded. As it is, nine-tenths of the contemptible things +we do comes from the necessity of our having to earn our living. A +hundred and fifty a year would deliver us from evil." + +"Would there not still be the diamond dog-collar and the motor car +left to tempt us?" suggested Madge. + +"Only the really wicked," contended Flossie. "It would classify +us. We should know then which were the sheep and which the goats. +At present we're all jumbled together: the ungodly who sin out of +mere greed and rapacity, and the just men compelled to sell their +birthright of fine instincts for a mess of meat and potatoes." + +"Yah, socialist," commented Madge, who was busy with the tea +things. + +Flossie seemed struck by an idea. + +"By Jove," she exclaimed. "Why did I never think of it. With a +red flag and my hair down, I'd be in all the illustrated papers. +It would put up my price no end. And I'd be able to get out of +this silly job of mine. I can't go on much longer. I'm getting +too well known. I do believe I'll try it. The shouting's easy +enough." She turned to Joan. "Are you going to take up +socialism?" she demanded. + +"I may," answered Joan. "Just to spank it, and put it down again. +I'm rather a believer in temptation--the struggle for existence. I +only want to make it a finer existence, more worth the struggle, in +which the best man shall rise to the top. Your 'universal +security'--that will be the last act of the human drama, the cue +for ringing down the curtain." + +"But do not all our Isms work towards that end?" suggested Madge. + +Joan was about to reply when the maid's announcement of "Mrs. +Denton" postponed the discussion. + +Mrs. Denton was a short, grey-haired lady. Her large strong +features must have made her, when she was young, a hard-looking +woman; but time and sorrow had strangely softened them; while about +the corners of the thin firm mouth lurked a suggestion of humour +that possibly had not always been there. Joan, waiting to be +introduced, towered head and shoulders above her; yet when she took +the small proffered hand and felt those steely blue eyes surveying +her, she had the sensation of being quite insignificant. Mrs. +Denton seemed to be reading her, and then still retaining Joan's +hand she turned to Madge with a smile. + +"So this is our new recruit," she said. "She is come to bring +healing to the sad, sick world--to right all the old, old wrongs." + +She patted Joan's hand and spoke gravely. "That is right, dear. +That is youth's metier; to take the banner from our failing hands, +bear it still a little onward." Her small gloved hand closed on +Joan's with a pressure that made Joan wince. + +"And you must not despair," she continued; "because in the end it +will seem to you that you have failed. It is the fallen that win +the victories." + +She released Joan's hand abruptly. "Come and see me to-morrow +morning at my office," she said. "We will fix up something that +shall be serviceable to us both." + +Madge flashed Joan a look. She considered Joan's position already +secured. Mrs. Denton was the doyen of women journalists. She +edited a monthly review and was leader writer of one of the most +important dailies, besides being the controlling spirit of various +social movements. Anyone she "took up" would be assured of steady +work. The pay might not be able to compete with the prices paid +for more popular journalism, but it would afford a foundation, and +give to Joan that opportunity for influence which was her main +ambition. + +Joan expressed her thanks. She would like to have had more talk +with the stern old lady, but was prevented by the entrance of two +new comers. The first was Miss Lavery, a handsome, loud-toned +young woman. She ran a nursing paper, but her chief interest was +in the woman's suffrage question, just then coming rapidly to the +front. She had heard Joan speak at Cambridge and was eager to +secure her adherence, being wishful to surround herself with a +group of young and good-looking women who should take the movement +out of the hands of the "frumps," as she termed them. Her doubt +was whether Joan would prove sufficiently tractable. She intended +to offer her remunerative work upon the Nursing News without saying +anything about the real motive behind, trusting to gratitude to +make her task the easier. + +The second was a clumsy-looking, over-dressed woman whom Miss +Lavery introduced as "Mrs. Phillips, a very dear friend of mine, +who is going to be helpful to us all," adding in a hurried aside to +Madge, "I simply had to bring her. Will explain to you another +time." An apology certainly seemed to be needed. The woman was +absurdly out of her place. She stood there panting and slightly +perspiring. She was short and fat, with dyed hair. As a girl she +had possibly been pretty in a dimpled, giggling sort of way. Joan +judged her, in spite of her complexion, to be about forty. + +Joan wondered if she could be the wife of the Member of Parliament +who occupied the rooms below her in Cowley Street. His name, so +the landlady had told her, was Phillips. She put the suggestion in +a whisper to Flossie. + +"Quite likely," thought Flossie; "just the type that sort of man +does marry. A barmaid, I expect." + +Others continued to arrive until altogether there must have been +about a dozen women present. One of them turned out to be an old +schoolfellow of Joan's and two had been with her at Girton. Madge +had selected those who she knew would be sympathetic, and all +promised help: those who could not give it direct undertaking to +provide introductions and recommendations, though some of them were +frankly doubtful of journalism affording Joan anything more than +the means--not always, too honest--of earning a living. + +"I started out to preach the gospel: all that sort of thing," +drawled a Miss Simmonds from beneath a hat that, if she had paid +for it, would have cost her five guineas. "Now my chief purpose in +life is to tickle silly women into spending twice as much upon +their clothes as their husbands can afford, bamboozling them into +buying any old thing that our Advertising Manager instructs me to +boom." + +"They talk about the editor's opinions," struck in a fiery little +woman who was busy flinging crumbs out of the window to a crowd of +noisy sparrows. "It's the Advertiser edits half the papers. Write +anything that three of them object to, and your proprietor tells +you to change your convictions or go. Most of us change." She +jerked down the window with a slam. + +"It's the syndicates that have done it," was a Mrs. Elliot's +opinion. She wrote "Society Notes" for a Labour weekly. "When one +man owned a paper he wanted it to express his views. A company is +only out for profit. Your modern newspaper is just a shop. It's +only purpose is to attract customers. Look at the Methodist +Herald, owned by the same syndicate of Jews that runs the Racing +News. They work it as far as possible with the same staff." + +"We're a pack of hirelings," asserted the fiery little woman. "Our +pens are for sale to the highest bidder. I had a letter from +Jocelyn only two days ago. He was one of the original staff of the +Socialist. He writes me that he has gone as leader writer to a +Conservative paper at twice his former salary. Expected me to +congratulate him." + +"One of these days somebody will start a Society for the +Reformation of the Press," thought Flossie. "I wonder how the +papers will take it?" + +"Much as Rome took Savonarola," thought Madge. + +Mrs. Denton had risen. + +"They are right to a great extent," she said to Joan. "But not all +the temple has been given over to the hucksters. You shall place +your preaching stool in some quiet corner, where the passing feet +shall pause awhile to listen." + +Her going was the signal for the breaking up of the party. In a +short time Joan and Madge found themselves left with only Flossie. + +"What on earth induced Helen to bring that poor old Dutch doll +along with her?" demanded Flossie. "The woman never opened her +mouth all the time. Did she tell you?" + +"No," answered Madge, "but I think I can guess. She hopes--or +perhaps 'fears' would be more correct--that her husband is going to +join the Cabinet, and is trying to fit herself by suddenly studying +political and social questions. For a month she's been clinging +like a leech to Helen Lavery, who takes her to meetings and +gatherings. I suppose they've struck up some sort of a bargain. +It's rather pathetic." + +"Good Heavens! What a tragedy for the man," commented Flossie. + +"What is he like?" asked Joan. + +"Not much to look at, if that's what you mean," answered Madge. +"Began life as a miner, I believe. Looks like ending as Prime +Minister." + +"I heard him at the Albert Hall last week," said Flossie. "He's +quite wonderful." + +"In what way?" questioned Joan. + +"Oh, you know," explained Flossie. "Like a volcano compressed into +a steam engine." + +They discussed Joan's plans. It looked as if things were going to +be easy for her. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +Yet in the end it was Carleton who opened the door for her. + +Mrs. Denton was helpful, and would have been more so, if Joan had +only understood. Mrs. Denton lived alone in an old house in Gower +Street, with a high stone hall that was always echoing to sounds +that no one but itself could ever hear. Her son had settled, it +was supposed, in one of the Colonies. No one knew what had become +of him, and Mrs. Denton herself never spoke of him; while her +daughter, on whom she had centred all her remaining hopes, had died +years ago. To those who remembered the girl, with her weak eyes +and wispy ginger coloured hair, it would have seemed comical, the +idea that Joan resembled her. But Mrs. Denton's memory had lost +itself in dreams; and to her the likeness had appeared quite +wonderful. The gods had given her child back to her, grown strong +and brave and clever. Life would have a new meaning for her. Her +work would not die with her. + +She thought she could harness Joan's enthusiasm to her own wisdom. +She would warn her of the errors and pitfalls into which she +herself had fallen: for she, too, had started as a rebel. Youth +should begin where age left off. Had the old lady remembered a +faded dogs-eared volume labelled "Oddments" that for many years had +rested undisturbed upon its shelf in her great library, and opening +it had turned to the letter E, she would have read recorded there, +in her own precise thin penmanship, this very wise reflection: + +"Experience is a book that all men write, but no man reads." + +To which she would have found added, by way of complement, +"Experience is untranslatable. We write it in the cipher of our +sufferings, and the key is hidden in our memories." + +And turning to the letter Y, she might have read: + +"Youth comes to teach. Age remains to listen," and underneath the +following: + +"The ability to learn is the last lesson we acquire." + +Mrs. Denton had long ago given up the practice of jotting down her +thoughts, experience having taught her that so often, when one +comes to use them, one finds that one has changed them. But in the +case of Joan the recollection of these twin "oddments" might have +saved her disappointment. Joan knew of a new road that avoided +Mrs. Denton's pitfalls. She grew impatient of being perpetually +pulled back. + +For the Nursing Times she wrote a series of condensed biographies, +entitled "Ladies of the Lamp," commencing with Elizabeth Fry. They +formed a record of good women who had battled for the weak and +suffering, winning justice for even the uninteresting. Miss Lavery +was delighted with them. But when Joan proposed exposing the +neglect and even cruelty too often inflicted upon the helpless +patients of private Nursing Homes, Miss Lavery shook her head. + +"I know," she said. "One does hear complaints about them. +Unfortunately it is one of the few businesses managed entirely by +women; and just now, in particular, if we were to say anything, it +would be made use of by our enemies to injure the Cause." + +There was a summer years ago--it came back to Joan's mind--when she +had shared lodgings with a girl chum at a crowded sea-side +watering-place. The rooms were shockingly dirty; and tired of +dropping hints she determined one morning to clean them herself. +She climbed a chair and started on a row of shelves where lay the +dust of ages. It was a jerry-built house, and the result was that +she brought the whole lot down about her head, together with a +quarter of a hundred-weight of plaster. + +"Yes, I thought you'd do some mischief," had commented the +landlady, wearily. + +It seemed typical. A jerry-built world, apparently. With the best +intentions it seemed impossible to move in it without doing more +harm than good to it, bringing things down about one that one had +not intended. + +She wanted to abolish steel rabbit-traps. She had heard the little +beggars cry. It had struck her as such a harmless reform. But +they told her there were worthy people in the neighbourhood of +Wolverhampton--quite a number of them--who made their living by the +manufacture of steel rabbit-traps. If, thinking only of the +rabbits, you prohibited steel rabbit-traps, then you condemned all +these worthy people to slow starvation. The local Mayor himself +wrote in answer to her article. He drew a moving picture of the +sad results that might follow such an ill-considered agitation: +hundreds of grey-haired men, too old to learn new jobs, begging +from door to door; shoals of little children, white-faced and +pinched; sobbing women. Her editor was sorry for the rabbits. Had +often spent a pleasant day with them himself. But, after all, the +Human Race claimed our first sympathies. + +She wanted to abolish sweating. She had climbed the rotting +stairways, seen the famished creatures in their holes. But it +seemed that if you interfered with the complicated system based on +sweating then you dislocated the entire structure of the British +export clothing trade. Not only would these poor creatures lose +their admittedly wretched living--but still a living--but thousands +of other innocent victims would also be involved in the common +ruin. All very sad, but half a loaf--or even let us frankly say a +thin slice--is better than no bread at all. + +She wanted board school children's heads examined. She had +examined one or two herself. It seemed to her wrong that healthy +children should be compelled to sit for hours within jumping +distance of the diseased. She thought it better that the dirty +should be made fit company for the clean than the clean should be +brought down to the level of the dirty. It seemed that in doing +this you were destroying the independence of the poor. Opposition +reformers, in letters scintillating with paradox, bristling with +classical allusion, denounced her attempt to impose middle-class +ideals upon a too long suffering proletariat. Better far a few +lively little heads than a broken-spirited people robbed of their +parental rights. + +Through Miss Lavery she obtained an introduction to the great Sir +William. He owned a group of popular provincial newspapers, and +was most encouraging. Sir William had often said to himself: + +"What can I do for God who has done so much for me?" It seemed +only fair. + +He asked her down to his "little place in Hampshire," to talk plans +over. The "little place," it turned out, ran to forty bedrooms, +and was surrounded by three hundred acres of park. God had +evidently done his bit quite handsomely. + +It was in a secluded corner of the park that Sir William had gone +down upon one knee and gallantly kissed her hand. His idea was +that if she could regard herself as his "Dear Lady," and allow him +the honour and privilege of being her "True Knight," that, between +them, they might accomplish something really useful. There had +been some difficulty about his getting up again, Sir William being +an elderly gentleman subject to rheumatism, and Joan had had to +expend no small amount of muscular effort in assisting him; so that +the episode which should have been symbolical ended by leaving them +both red and breathless. + +He referred to the matter again the same evening in the library +while Lady William slept peacefully in the blue drawing-room; but +as it appeared necessary that the compact should be sealed by a +knightly kiss Joan had failed to ratify it. + +She blamed herself on her way home. The poor old gentleman could +easily have been kept in his place. The suffering of an occasional +harmless caress would have purchased for her power and opportunity. +Had it not been somewhat selfish of her? Should she write to him-- +see him again? + +She knew that she never would. It was something apart from her +reason. It would not even listen to her. It bade or forbade as if +one were a child without any right to a will of one's own. It was +decidedly exasperating. + +There were others. There were the editors who frankly told her +that the business of a newspaper was to write what its customers +wanted to read; and that the public, so far as they could judge, +was just about fed up with plans for New Jerusalems at their +expense. And the editors who were prepared to take up any number +of reforms, insisting only that they should be new and original and +promise popularity. + +And then she met Greyson. + +It was at a lunch given by Mrs. Denton. Greyson was a bachelor and +lived with an unmarried sister, a few years older than himself. He +was editor and part proprietor of an evening paper. It had ideals +and was, in consequence, regarded by the general public with +suspicion; but by reason of sincerity and braininess was rapidly +becoming a power. He was a shy, reserved man with an aristocratic +head set upon stooping shoulders. The face was that of a dreamer, +but about the mouth there was suggestion of the fighter. Joan felt +at her ease with him in spite of the air of detachment that seemed +part of his character. Mrs. Denton had paired them off together; +and, during the lunch, one of them--Joan could not remember which-- +had introduced the subject of reincarnation. + +Greyson was unable to accept the theory because of the fact that, +in old age, the mind in common with the body is subject to decay. + +"Perhaps by the time I am forty--or let us say fifty," he argued, +"I shall be a bright, intelligent being. If I die then, well and +good. I select a likely baby and go straight on. But suppose I +hang about till eighty and die a childish old gentleman with a mind +all gone to seed. What am I going to do then? I shall have to +begin all over again: perhaps worse off than I was before. That's +not going to help us much." + +Joan explained it to him: that old age might be likened to an +illness. A genius lies upon a bed of sickness and babbles childish +nonsense. But with returning life he regains his power, goes on +increasing it. The mind, the soul, has not decayed. It is the +lines of communication that old age has destroyed. + +"But surely you don't believe it?" he demanded. + +"Why not?" laughed Joan. "All things are possible. It was the +possession of a hand that transformed monkeys into men. We used to +take things up, you know, and look at them, and wonder and wonder +and wonder, till at last there was born a thought and the world +became visible. It is curiosity that will lead us to the next +great discovery. We must take things up; and think and think and +think till one day there will come knowledge, and we shall see the +universe." + +Joan always avoided getting excited when she thought of it. + +"I love to make you excited," Flossie had once confessed to her in +the old student days. "You look so ridiculously young and you are +so pleased with yourself, laying down the law." + +She did not know she had given way to it. He was leaning back in +his chair, looking at her; and the tired look she had noticed in +his eyes, when she had been introduced to him in the drawing-room, +had gone out of them. + +During the coffee, Mrs. Denton beckoned him to come to her; and +Miss Greyson crossed over and took his vacant chair. She had been +sitting opposite to them. + +"I've been hearing so much about you," she said. "I can't help +thinking that you ought to suit my brother's paper. He has all +your ideas. Have you anything that you could send him?" + +Joan considered a moment. + +"Nothing very startling," she answered. "I was thinking of a +series of articles on the old London Churches--touching upon the +people connected with them and the things they stood for. I've +just finished the first one." + +"It ought to be the very thing," answered Miss Greyson. She was a +thin, faded woman with a soft, plaintive voice. "It will enable +him to judge your style. He's particular about that. Though I'm +confident he'll like it," she hastened to add. "Address it to me, +will you. I assist him as much as I can." + +Joan added a few finishing touches that evening, and posted it; and +a day or two later received a note asking her to call at the +office. + +"My sister is enthusiastic about your article on Chelsea Church and +insists on my taking the whole series," Greyson informed her. "She +says you have the Stevensonian touch." + +Joan flushed with pleasure. + +"And you," she asked, "did you think it had the Stevensonian +touch?" + +"No," he answered, "it seemed to me to have more of your touch." + +"What's that like?" she demanded. + +"They couldn't suppress you," he explained. "Sir Thomas More with +his head under his arm, bloody old Bluebeard, grim Queen Bess, +snarling old Swift, Pope, Addison, Carlyle--the whole grisly crowd +of them! I could see you holding your own against them all, +explaining things to them, getting excited." He laughed. + +His sister joined them, coming in from the next room. She had a +proposal to make. It was that Joan should take over the weekly +letter from "Clorinda." It was supposed to give the views of a-- +perhaps unusually--sane and thoughtful woman upon the questions of +the day. Miss Greyson had hitherto conducted it herself, but was +wishful as she explained to be relieved of it; so that she might +have more time for home affairs. It would necessitate Joan's +frequent attendance at the office; for there would be letters from +the public to be answered, and points to be discussed with her +brother. She was standing behind his chair with her hands upon his +head. There was something strangely motherly about her whole +attitude. + +Greyson was surprised, for the Letter had been her own conception, +and had grown into a popular feature. But she was evidently in +earnest; and Joan accepted willingly. "Clorinda" grew younger, +more self-assertive; on the whole more human. But still so +eminently "sane" and reasonable. + +"We must not forget that she is quite a respectable lady, +connected--according to her own account--with the higher political +circles," Joan's editor would insist, with a laugh. + +Miss Greyson, working in the adjoining room, would raise her head +and listen. She loved to hear him laugh. + +"It's absurd," Flossie told her one morning, as having met by +chance they were walking home together along the Embankment. +"You're not 'Clorinda'; you ought to be writing letters to her, not +from her, waking her up, telling her to come off her perch, and +find out what the earth feels like. I'll tell you what I'll do: +I'll trot you round to Carleton. If you're out for stirring up +strife and contention, well, that's his game, too. He'll use you +for his beastly sordid ends. He'd have roped in John the Baptist +if he'd been running the 'Jerusalem Star' at the time, and have +given him a daily column for so long as the boom lasted. What's +that matter, if he's willing to give you a start?" + +Joan jibbed at first. But in the end Flossie's arguments +prevailed. One afternoon, a week later, she was shown into +Carleton's private room, and the door closed behind her. The light +was dim, and for a moment she could see no one; until Carleton, who +had been standing near one of the windows, came forward and placed +a chair for her. And they both sat down. + +"I've glanced through some of your things," he said. "They're all +right. They're alive. What's your idea?" + +Remembering Flossie's counsel, she went straight to the point. She +wanted to talk to the people. She wanted to get at them. If she +had been a man, she would have taken a chair and gone to Hyde Park. +As it was, she hadn't the nerve for Hyde Park. At least she was +afraid she hadn't. It might have to come to that. There was a +trembling in her voice that annoyed her. She was so afraid she +might cry. She wasn't out for anything crazy. She wanted only +those things done that could be done if the people would but lift +their eyes, look into one another's faces, see the wrong and the +injustice that was all around them, and swear that they would never +rest till the pain and the terror had been driven from the land. +She wanted soldiers--men and women who would forget their own sweet +selves, not counting their own loss, thinking of the greater gain; +as in times of war and revolution, when men gave even their lives +gladly for a dream, for a hope - + +Without warning he switched on the electric lamp that stood upon +the desk, causing her to draw back with a start. + +"All right," he said. "Go ahead. You shall have your tub, and a +weekly audience of a million readers for as long as you can keep +them interested. Up with anything you like, and down with +everything you don't. Be careful not to land me in a libel suit. +Call the whole Bench of Bishops hypocrites, and all the ground +landlords thieves, if you will: but don't mention names. And +don't get me into trouble with the police. Beyond that, I shan't +interfere with you." + +She was about to speak. + +"One stipulation," he went on, "that every article is headed with +your photograph." + +He read the sudden dismay in her eyes. + +"How else do you think you are going to attract their attention?" +he asked her. "By your eloquence! Hundreds of men and women as +eloquent as you could ever be are shouting to them every day. Who +takes any notice of them? Why should they listen any the more to +you--another cranky highbrow: some old maid, most likely, with a +bony throat and a beaky nose. If Woman is going to come into the +fight she will have to use her own weapons. If she is prepared to +do that she'll make things hum with a vengeance. She's the biggest +force going, if she only knew it." + +He had risen and was pacing the room. + +"The advertiser has found that out, and is showing the way." He +snatched at an illustrated magazine, fresh from the press, that had +been placed upon his desk, and opened it at the first page. +"Johnson's Blacking," he read out, "advertised by a dainty little +minx, showing her ankles. Who's going to stop for a moment to read +about somebody's blacking? If a saucy little minx isn't there to +trip him up with her ankles!" + +He turned another page. "Do you suffer from gout? Classical lady +preparing to take a bath and very nearly ready. The old Johnny in +the train stops to look at her. Reads the advertisement because +she seems to want him to. Rubber heels. Save your boot leather! +Lady in evening dress--jolly pretty shoulders--waves them in front +of your eyes. Otherwise you'd never think of them." + +He fluttered the pages. Then flung the thing across to her. + +"Look at it," he said. "Fountain pens--Corn plasters--Charitable +appeals--Motor cars--Soaps--Grand pianos. It's the girl in tights +and spangles outside the show that brings them trooping in." + +"Let them see you," he continued. "You say you want soldiers. +Throw off your veil and call for them. Your namesake of France! +Do you think if she had contented herself with writing stirring +appeals that Orleans would have fallen? She put on a becoming suit +of armour and got upon a horse where everyone could see her. +Chivalry isn't dead. You modern women are ashamed of yourselves-- +ashamed of your sex. You don't give it a chance. Revive it. Stir +the young men's blood. Their souls will follow." + +He reseated himself and leant across towards her. + +"I'm not talking business," he said. "This thing's not going to +mean much to me one way or the other. I want you to win. Farm +labourers bringing up families on twelve and six a week. Shirt +hands working half into the night for three farthings an hour. +Stinking dens for men to live in. Degraded women. Half fed +children. It's damnable. Tell them it's got to stop. That the +Eternal Feminine has stepped out of the poster and commands it." + +A dapper young man opened the door and put his head into the room. + +"Railway smash in Yorkshire," he announced. + +Carleton sat up. "Much of a one?" he asked. + +The dapper gentleman shrugged his shoulders. "Three killed, eight +injured, so far," he answered. + +Carleton's interest appeared to collapse. + +"Stop press column?" asked the dapper gentleman. + +"Yes, I suppose so." replied Carleton. "Unless something better +turns up." + +The dapper young gentleman disappeared. Joan had risen. + +"May I talk it over with a friend?" she asked. "Myself, I'm +inclined to accept." + +"You will, if you're in earnest," he answered. "I'll give you +twenty-four hours. Look in to-morrow afternoon, and see Finch. It +will be for the Sunday Post--the Inset. We use surfaced paper for +that and can do you justice. Finch will arrange about the +photograph." He held out his hand. "Shall be seeing you again," +he said. + +It was but a stone's throw to the office of the Evening Gazette. +She caught Greyson just as he was leaving and put the thing before +him. His sister was with him. + +He did not answer at first. He was walking to and fro; and, +catching his foot in the waste paper basket, he kicked it savagely +out of his way, so that the contents were scattered over the room. + +"Yes, he's right," he said. "It was the Virgin above the altar +that popularized Christianity. Her face has always been woman's +fortune. If she's going to become a fighter, it will have to be +her weapon." + +He had used almost the same words that Carleton had used. + +"I so want them to listen to me," she said. "After all, it's only +like having a very loud voice." + +He looked at her and smiled. "Yes," he said, "it's a voice men +will listen to." + +Mary Greyson was standing by the fire. She had not spoken +hitherto. + +"You won't give up 'Clorinda'?" she asked. + +Joan had intended to do so, but something in Mary's voice caused +her, against her will, to change her mind. + +"Of course not," she answered. "I shall run them both. It will be +like writing Jekyll and Hyde." + +"What will you sign yourself?" he asked. + +"My own name, I think," she said. "Joan Allway." + +Miss Greyson suggested her coming home to dinner with them; but +Joan found an excuse. She wanted to be alone. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +The twilight was fading as she left the office. She turned +northward, choosing a broad, ill-lighted road. It did not matter +which way she took. She wanted to think; or, rather, to dream. + +It would all fall out as she had intended. She would commence by +becoming a power in journalism. She was reconciled now to the +photograph idea--was even keen on it herself. She would be taken +full face so that she would be looking straight into the eyes of +her readers as she talked to them. It would compel her to be +herself; just a hopeful, loving woman: a little better educated +than the majority, having had greater opportunity: a little +further seeing, maybe, having had more leisure for thought: but +otherwise, no whit superior to any other young, eager woman of the +people. This absurd journalistic pose of omniscience, of +infallibility--this non-existent garment of supreme wisdom that, +like the King's clothes in the fairy story, was donned to hide his +nakedness by every strutting nonentity of Fleet Street! She would +have no use for it. It should be a friend, a comrade, a fellow- +servant of the great Master, taking counsel with them, asking their +help. Government by the people for the people! It must be made +real. These silent, thoughtful-looking workers, hurrying homewards +through the darkening streets; these patient, shrewd-planning +housewives casting their shadows on the drawn-down blinds: it was +they who should be shaping the world, not the journalists to whom +all life was but so much "copy." This monstrous conspiracy, once +of the Sword, of the Church, now of the Press, that put all +Government into the hands of a few stuffy old gentlemen, +politicians, leader writers, without sympathy or understanding: it +was time that it was swept away. She would raise a new standard. +It should be, not "Listen to me, oh ye dumb," but, "Speak to me. +Tell me your hidden hopes, your fears, your dreams. Tell me your +experience, your thoughts born of knowledge, of suffering." + +She would get into correspondence with them, go among them, talk to +them. The difficulty, at first, would be in getting them to write +to her, to open their minds to her. These voiceless masses that +never spoke, but were always being spoken for by self-appointed +"leaders," "representatives," who immediately they had climbed into +prominence took their place among the rulers, and then from press +and platform shouted to them what they were to think and feel. It +was as if the Drill-Sergeant were to claim to be the "leader," the +"representative" of his squad; or the sheep-dog to pose as the +"delegate" of the sheep. Dealt with always as if they were mere +herds, mere flocks, they had almost lost the power of individual +utterance. One would have to teach them, encourage them. + +She remembered a Sunday class she had once conducted; and how for a +long time she had tried in vain to get the children to "come in," +to take a hand. That she might get in touch with them, understand +their small problems, she had urged them to ask questions. And +there had fallen such long silences. Until, at last, one cheeky +ragamuffin had piped out: + +"Please, Miss, have you got red hair all over you? Or only on your +head?" + +For answer she had rolled up her sleeve, and let them examine her +arm. And then, in her turn, had insisted on rolling up his sleeve, +revealing the fact that his arms above the wrists had evidently not +too recently been washed; and the episode had ended in laughter and +a babel of shrill voices. And, at once, they were a party of +chums, discussing matters together. + +They were but children, these tired men and women, just released +from their day's toil, hastening homeward to their play, or to +their evening tasks. A little humour, a little understanding, a +recognition of the wonderful likeness of us all to one another +underneath our outward coverings was all that was needed to break +down the barrier, establish comradeship. She stood aside a moment +to watch them streaming by. Keen, strong faces were among them, +high, thoughtful brows, kind eyes; they must learn to think, to +speak for themselves. + +She would build again the Forum. The people's business should no +longer be settled for them behind lackey-guarded doors. The good +of the farm labourer should be determined not exclusively by the +squire and his relations. The man with the hoe, the man with the +bent back and the patient ox-like eyes: he, too, should be invited +to the Council board. Middle-class domestic problems should be +solved not solely by fine gentlemen from Oxford; the wife of the +little clerk should be allowed her say. War or peace, it should no +longer be regarded as a question concerning only the aged rich. +The common people--the cannon fodder, the men who would die, and +the women who would weep: they should be given something more than +the privilege of either cheering platform patriots or being +summoned for interrupting public meetings. + +From a dismal side street there darted past her a small, shapeless +figure in crumpled cap and apron: evidently a member of that lazy, +over-indulged class, the domestic servant. Judging from the talk +of the drawing-rooms, the correspondence in the papers, a +singularly unsatisfactory body. They toiled not, lived in luxury +and demanded grand pianos. Someone had proposed doing something +for them. They themselves--it seemed that even they had a sort of +conscience--were up in arms against it. Too much kindness even +they themselves perceived was bad for them. They were holding a +meeting that night to explain how contented they were. Six +peeresses had consented to attend, and speak for them. + +Likely enough that there were good-for-nothing, cockered menials +imposing upon incompetent mistresses. There were pampered slaves +in Rome. But these others. These poor little helpless sluts. +There were thousands such in every city, over-worked and under-fed, +living lonely, pleasureless lives. They must be taught to speak in +other voices than the dulcet tones of peeresses. By the light of +the guttering candles, from their chill attics, they should write +to her their ill-spelt visions. + +She had reached a quiet, tree-bordered road, surrounding a great +park. Lovers, furtively holding hands, passed her by, whispering. + +She would write books. She would choose for her heroine a woman of +the people. How full of drama, of tragedy must be their stories: +their problems the grim realities of life, not only its mere +sentimental embroideries. The daily struggle for bare existence, +the ever-shadowing menace of unemployment, of illness, leaving them +helpless amid the grinding forces crushing them down on every side. +The ceaseless need for courage, for cunning. For in the kingdom of +the poor the tyrant and the oppressor still sit in the high places, +the robber still rides fearless. + +In a noisy, flaring street, a thin-clad woman passed her, carrying +a netted bag showing two loaves. In a flash, it came to her what +it must mean to the poor; this daily bread that in comfortable +homes had come to be regarded as a thing like water; not to be +considered, to be used without stint, wasted, thrown about. Borne +by those feeble, knotted hands, Joan saw it revealed as something +holy: hallowed by labour; sanctified by suffering, by sacrifice; +worshipped with fear and prayer. + +In quiet streets of stately houses, she caught glimpses through +uncurtained windows of richly-laid dinner-tables about which +servants moved noiselessly, arranging flowers and silver. She +wondered idly if she would every marry. A gracious hostess, +gathering around her brilliant men and women, statesmen, writers, +artists, captains of industry: counselling them, even learning +from them: encouraging shy genius. Perhaps, in a perfectly +harmless way, allowing it the inspiration derivable from a well- +regulated devotion to herself. A salon that should be the nucleus +of all those forces that influence influences, over which she would +rule with sweet and wise authority. The idea appealed to her. + +Into the picture, slightly to the background, she unconsciously +placed Greyson. His tall, thin figure with its air of distinction +seemed to fit in; Greyson would be very restful. She could see his +handsome, ascetic face flush with pleasure as, after the guests +were gone, she would lean over the back of his chair and caress for +a moment his dark, soft hair tinged here and there with grey. He +would always adore her, in that distant, undemonstrative way of his +that would never be tiresome or exacting. They would have +children. But not too many. That would make the house noisy and +distract her from her work. They would be beautiful and clever; +unless all the laws of heredity were to be set aside for her +especial injury. She would train them, shape them to be the heirs +of her labour, bearing her message to the generations that should +follow. + +At a corner where the trams and buses stopped she lingered for a +while, watching the fierce struggle; the weak and aged being pushed +back time after time, hardly seeming to even resent it, regarding +it as in the natural order of things. It was so absurd, apart from +the injustice, the brutality of it! The poor, fighting among +themselves! She felt as once when watching a crowd of birds to +whom she had thrown a handful of crumbs in winter time. As if they +had not enemies enough: cats, weasels, rats, hawks, owls, the +hunger and the cold. And added to all, they must needs make the +struggle yet harder for one another: pecking at each other's eyes, +joining with one another to attack the fallen. These tired men, +these weary women, pale-faced lads and girls, why did they not +organize among themselves some system that would do away with this +daily warfare of each against all. If only they could be got to +grasp the fact that they were one family, bound together by +suffering. Then, and not till then, would they be able to make +their power felt? That would have to come first: the Esprit de +Corps of the Poor. + +In the end she would go into Parliament. It would be bound to come +soon, the woman's vote. And after that the opening of all doors +would follow. She would wear her college robes. It would be far +more fitting than a succession of flimsy frocks that would have no +meaning in them. What pity it was that the art of dressing--its +relation to life--was not better understood. What beauty-hating +devil had prompted the workers to discard their characteristic +costumes that had been both beautiful and serviceable for these +hateful slop-shop clothes that made them look like walking +scarecrows. Why had the coming of Democracy coincided seemingly +with the spread of ugliness: dull towns, mean streets, paper- +strewn parks, corrugated iron roofs, Christian chapels that would +be an insult to a heathen idol; hideous factories (Why need they be +hideous!); chimney-pot hats, baggy trousers, vulgar advertisements, +stupid fashions for women that spoilt every line of their figure: +dinginess, drabness, monotony everywhere. It was ugliness that was +strangling the soul of the people; stealing from them all dignity, +all self-respect, all honour for one another; robbing them of hope, +of reverence, of joy in life. + +Beauty. That was the key to the riddle. All Nature: its golden +sunsets and its silvery dawns; the glory of piled-up clouds, the +mystery of moon-lit glades; its rivers winding through the meadows; +the calling of its restless seas; the tender witchery of Spring; +the blazonry of autumn woods; its purple moors and the wonder of +its silent mountains; its cobwebs glittering with a thousand +jewels; the pageantry of starry nights. Form, colour, music! The +feathered choristers of bush and brake raising their matin and +their evensong, the whispering of the leaves, the singing of the +waters, the voices of the winds. Beauty and grace in every living +thing, but man. The leaping of the hares, the grouping of cattle, +the flight of swallows, the dainty loveliness of insects' wings, +the glossy skin of horses rising and falling to the play of mighty +muscles. Was it not seeking to make plain to us that God's +language was beauty. Man must learn beauty that he may understand +God. + +She saw the London of the future. Not the vision popular just +then: a soaring whirl of machinery in motion, of moving pavements +and flying omnibuses; of screaming gramophones and standardized +"homes": a city where Electricity was King and man its soulless +slave. But a city of peace, of restful spaces, of leisured men and +women; a city of fine streets and pleasant houses, where each could +live his own life, learning freedom, individuality; a city of noble +schools; of workshops that should be worthy of labour, filled with +light and air; smoke and filth driven from the land: science, no +longer bound to commercialism, having discovered cleaner forces; a +city of gay playgrounds where children should learn laughter; of +leafy walks where the creatures of the wood and field should be as +welcome guests helping to teach sympathy and kindliness: a city of +music, of colour, of gladness. Beauty worshipped as religion; +ugliness banished as a sin: no ugly slums, no ugly cruelty, no +slatternly women and brutalized men, no ugly, sobbing children; no +ugly vice flaunting in every highway its insult to humanity: a +city clad in beauty as with a living garment where God should walk +with man. + +She had reached a neighbourhood of narrow, crowded streets. The +women were mostly without hats; and swarthy men, rolling +cigarettes, lounged against doorways. The place had a quaint +foreign flavour. Tiny cafes, filled with smoke and noise, and +clean, inviting restaurants abounded. She was feeling hungry, and, +choosing one the door of which stood open, revealing white +tablecloths and a pleasant air of cheerfulness, she entered. It +was late and the tables were crowded. Only at one, in a far +corner, could she detect a vacant place, opposite to a slight, +pretty-looking girl very quietly dressed. She made her way across +and the girl, anticipating her request, welcomed her with a smile. +They ate for a while in silence, divided only by the narrow table, +their heads, when they leant forward, almost touching. Joan +noticed the short, white hands, the fragrance of some delicate +scent. There was something odd about her. She seemed to be +unnecessarily conscious of being alone. Suddenly she spoke. + +"Nice little restaurant, this," she said. "One of the few places +where you can depend upon not being annoyed." + +Joan did not understand. "In what way?" she asked. + +"Oh, you know, men," answered the girl. "They come and sit down +opposite to you, and won't leave you alone. At most of the places, +you've got to put up with it or go outside. Here, old Gustav never +permits it." + +Joan was troubled. She was rather looking forward to occasional +restaurant dinners, where she would be able to study London's +Bohemia. + +"You mean," she asked, "that they force themselves upon you, even +if you make it plain--" + +"Oh, the plainer you make it that you don't want them, the more +sport they think it," interrupted the girl with a laugh. + +Joan hoped she was exaggerating. "I must try and select a table +where there is some good-natured girl to keep me in countenance," +she said with a smile. + +"Yes, I was glad to see you," answered the girl. "It's hateful, +dining by oneself. Are you living alone?" + +"Yes," answered Joan. "I'm a journalist." + +"I thought you were something," answered the girl. "I'm an artist. +Or, rather, was," she added after a pause. + +"Why did you give it up?" asked Joan. + +"Oh, I haven't given it up, not entirely," the girl answered. "I +can always get a couple of sovereigns for a sketch, if I want it, +from one or another of the frame-makers. And they can generally +sell them for a fiver. I've seen them marked up. Have you been +long in London?" + +"No," answered Joan. "I'm a Lancashire lass." + +"Curious," said the girl, "so am I. My father's a mill manager +near Bolton. You weren't educated there?" + +"No," Joan admitted. "I went to Rodean at Brighton when I was ten +years old, and so escaped it. Nor were you," she added with a +smile, "judging from your accent." + +"No," answered the other, "I was at Hastings--Miss Gwyn's. Funny +how we seem to have always been near to one another. Dad wanted me +to be a doctor. But I'd always been mad about art." + +Joan had taken a liking to the girl. It was a spiritual, vivacious +face with frank eyes and a firm mouth; and the voice was low and +strong. + +"Tell me," she said, "what interfered with it?" Unconsciously she +was leaning forward, her chin supported by her hands. Their faces +were very near to one another. + +The girl looked up. She did not answer for a moment. There came a +hardening of the mouth before she spoke. + +"A baby," she said. "Oh, it was my own fault," she continued. "I +wanted it. It was all the talk at the time. You don't remember. +Our right to children. No woman complete without one. Maternity, +woman's kingdom. All that sort of thing. As if the storks brought +them. Don't suppose it made any real difference; but it just +helped me to pretend that it was something pretty and high-class. +'Overmastering passion' used to be the explanation, before that. I +guess it's all much of a muchness: just natural instinct." + +The restaurant had been steadily emptying. Monsieur Gustav and his +ample-bosomed wife were seated at a distant table, eating their own +dinner. + +"Why couldn't you have married?" asked Joan. + +The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Who was there for me to marry?" +she answered. "The men who wanted me: clerks, young tradesmen, +down at home--I wasn't taking any of that lot. And the men I might +have fancied were all of them too poor. There was one student. +He's got on since. Easy enough for him to talk about waiting. +Meanwhile. Well, it's like somebody suggesting dinner to you the +day after to-morrow. All right enough, if you're not troubled with +an appetite." + +The waiter came to clear the table. They were almost the last +customers left. The man's tone and manner jarred upon Joan. She +had not noticed it before. Joan ordered coffee and the girl, +exchanging a joke with the waiter, added a liqueur. + +"But why should you give up your art?" persisted Joan. It was that +was sticking in her mind. "I should have thought that, if only for +the sake of the child, you would have gone on with it." + +"Oh, I told myself all that," answered the girl. "Was going to +devote my life to it. Did for nearly two years. Till I got sick +of living like a nun: never getting a bit of excitement. You see, +I've got the poison in me. Or, maybe, it had always been there." + +"What's become of it?" asked Joan. "The child?" + +"Mother's got it," answered the girl. "Seemed best for the poor +little beggar. I'm supposed to be dead, and my husband gone +abroad." She gave a short, dry laugh. "Mother brings him up to +see me once a year. They've got quite fond of him." + +"What are you doing now?" asked Joan, in a low tone. + +"Oh, you needn't look so scared," laughed the girl, "I haven't come +down to that." Her voice had changed. It had a note of +shrillness. In some indescribable way she had grown coarse. "I'm +a kept woman," she explained. "What else is any woman?" + +She reached for her jacket; and the waiter sprang forward and +helped her on with it, prolonging the business needlessly. She +wished him "Good evening" in a tone of distant hauteur, and led the +way to the door. Outside the street was dim and silent. Joan held +out her hand. + +"No hope of happy endings," she said with a forced laugh. +"Couldn't marry him I suppose?" + +"He has asked me," answered the girl with a swagger. "Not sure +that it would suit me now. They're not so nice to you when they've +got you fixed up. So long." + +She turned abruptly and walked rapidly away. Joan moved +instinctively in the opposite direction, and after a few minutes +found herself in a broad well-lighted thoroughfare. A newsboy was +shouting his wares. + +"'Orrible murder of a woman. Shockin' details. Speshul," +repeating it over and over again in a hoarse, expressionless +monotone. + +He was selling the papers like hot cakes; the purchasers too eager +to even wait for their change. She wondered, with a little lump in +her throat, how many would have stopped to buy had he been calling +instead: "Discovery of new sonnet by Shakespeare. Extra special." + +Through swinging doors, she caught glimpses of foul interiors, +crowded with men and women released from their toil, taking their +evening pleasure. From coloured posters outside the great theatres +and music halls, vulgarity and lewdness leered at her, side by side +with announcements that the house was full. From every roaring +corner, scintillating lights flared forth the merits of this public +benefactor's whisky, of this other celebrity's beer: it seemed the +only message the people cared to hear. Even among the sirens of +the pavement, she noticed that the quiet and merely pretty were +hardly heeded. It was everywhere the painted and the overdressed +that drew the roving eyes. + +She remembered a pet dog that someone had given her when she was a +girl, and how one afternoon she had walked with the tears streaming +down her face because, in spite of her scoldings and her pleadings, +it would keep stopping to lick up filth from the roadway. A kindly +passer-by had laughed and told her not to mind. + +"Why, that's a sign of breeding, that is, Missie," the man had +explained. "It's the classy ones that are always the worst." + +It had come to her afterwards craving with its soft brown, troubled +eyes for forgiveness. But she had never been able to break it of +the habit. + +Must man for ever be chained by his appetites to the unclean: ever +be driven back, dragged down again into the dirt by his own +instincts: ever be rendered useless for all finer purposes by the +baseness of his own desires? + +The City of her Dreams! The mingled voices of the crowd shaped +itself into a mocking laugh. + +It seemed to her that it was she that they were laughing at, +pointing her out to one another, jeering at her, reviling her, +threatening her. + +She hurried onward with bent head, trying to escape them. She felt +so small, so helpless. Almost she cried out in her despair. + +She must have walked mechanically. Looking up she found herself in +her own street. And as she reached her doorway the tears came +suddenly. + +She heard a quick step behind her, and turning, she saw a man with +a latch key in his hand. He passed her and opened the door; and +then, facing round, stood aside for her to enter. He was a sturdy, +thick-set man with a strong, massive face. It would have been ugly +but for the deep, flashing eyes. There was tenderness and humour +in them. + +"We are next floor neighbours," he said. "My name's Phillips." + +Joan thanked him. As he held the door open for her their hands +accidentally touched. Joan wished him good-night and went up the +stairs. There was no light in her room: only the faint reflection +of the street lamp outside. + +She could still see him: the boyish smile. And his voice that had +sent her tears back again as if at the word of command. + +She hoped he had not seen them. What a little fool she was. + +A little laugh escaped her. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +One day Joan, lunching at the club, met Madge Singleton. + +"I've had such a funny letter from Flossie," said Joan, "begging me +almost with tears in her ink to come to her on Sunday evening to +meet a 'gentleman friend' of hers, as she calls him, and give her +my opinion of him. What on earth is she up to?" + +"It's all right," answered Madge. "She doesn't really want our +opinion of him--or rather she doesn't want our real opinion of him. +She only wants us to confirm hers. She's engaged to him." + +"Flossie engaged!" Joan seemed surprised. + +"Yes," answered Madge. "It used to be a custom. Young men used to +ask young women to marry them. And if they consented it was called +' being engaged.' Still prevails, so I am told, in certain +classes." + +"Thanks," said Joan. "I have heard of it." + +"I thought perhaps you hadn't from your tone," explained Madge. + +"But if she's already engaged to him, why risk criticism of him," +argued Joan, ignoring Madge's flippancy. "It's too late." + +"Oh, she's going to break it off unless we all assure her that we +find him brainy," Madge explained with a laugh. "It seems her +father wasn't brainy and her mother was. Or else it was the other +way about: I'm not quite sure. But whichever it was, it led to +ructions. Myself, if he's at all possible and seems to care for +her, I intend to find him brilliant." + +"And suppose she repeats her mother's experience," suggested Joan. + +"There were the Norton-Browns," answered Madge. "Impossible to +have found a more evenly matched pair. They both write novels-- +very good novels, too; and got jealous of one another; and threw +press-notices at one another's head all breakfast-time; until they +separated. Don't know of any recipe myself for being happy ever +after marriage, except not expecting it." + +"Or keeping out of it altogether," added Joan. + +"Ever spent a day at the Home for Destitute Gentlewomen at East +Sheen?" demanded Madge. + +"Not yet," admitted Joan. "May have to, later on." + +"It ought to be included in every woman's education," Madge +continued. "It is reserved for spinsters of over forty-five. +Susan Fleming wrote an article upon it for the Teacher's Friend; +and spent an afternoon and evening there. A month later she +married a grocer with five children. The only sound suggestion for +avoiding trouble that I ever came across was in a burlesque of the +Blue Bird. You remember the scene where the spirits of the +children are waiting to go down to earth and be made into babies? +Someone had stuck up a notice at the entrance to the gangway: +'Don't get born. It only means worry.'" + +Flossie had her dwelling-place in a second floor bed-sitting-room +of a lodging house in Queen's Square, Bloomsbury; but the drawing- +room floor being for the moment vacant, Flossie had persuaded her +landlady to let her give her party there; it seemed as if fate +approved of the idea. The room was fairly full when Joan arrived. +Flossie took her out on the landing, and closed the door behind +them. + +"You will be honest with me, won't you?" pleaded Flossie, "because +it's so important, and I don't seem able to think for myself. As +they say, no man can be his own solicitor, can he? Of course I +like him, and all that--very much. And I really believe he loves +me. We were children together when Mummy was alive; and then he +had to go abroad; and has only just come back. Of course, I've got +to think of him, too, as he says. But then, on the other hand, I +don't want to make a mistake. That would be so terrible, for both +of us; and of course I am clever; and there was poor Mummy and +Daddy. I'll tell you all about them one day. It was so awfully +sad. Get him into a corner and talk to him. You'll be able to +judge in a moment, you're so wonderful. He's quiet on the outside, +but I think there's depth in him. We must go in now." + +She had talked so rapidly Joan felt as if her hat were being blown +away. She had difficulty in recognizing Flossie. All the cock- +sure pertness had departed. She seemed just a kid. + +Joan promised faithfully; and Flossie, standing on tiptoe, suddenly +kissed her and then bustled her in. + +Flossie's young man was standing near the fire talking, or rather +listening, to a bird-like little woman in a short white frock and +blue ribbons. A sombre lady just behind her, whom Joan from the +distance took to be her nurse, turned out to be her secretary, +whose duty it was to be always at hand, prepared to take down any +happy idea that might occur to the bird-like little woman in the +course of conversation. The bird-like little woman was Miss Rose +Tolley, a popular novelist. She was explaining to Flossie's young +man, whose name was Sam Halliday, the reason for her having written +"Running Waters," her latest novel. + +"It is daring," she admitted. "I must be prepared for opposition. +But it had to be stated." + +"I take myself as typical," she continued. "When I was twenty I +could have loved you. You were the type of man I did love." + +Mr. Halliday, who had been supporting the weight of his body upon +his right leg, transferred the burden to his left. + +"But now I'm thirty-five; and I couldn't love you if I tried." She +shook her curls at him. "It isn't your fault. It is that I have +changed. Suppose I'd married you?" + +"Bit of bad luck for both of us," suggested Mr. Halliday. + +"A tragedy," Miss Tolley corrected him. "There are millions of +such tragedies being enacted around us at this moment. Sensitive +women compelled to suffer the embraces of men that they have come +to loathe. What's to be done?" + +Flossie, who had been hovering impatient, broke in. + +"Oh, don't you believe her," she advised Mr. Halliday. "She loves +you still. She's only teasing you. This is Joan." + +She introduced her. Miss Tolley bowed; and allowed herself to be +drawn away by a lank-haired young man who had likewise been waiting +for an opening. He represented the Uplift Film Association of +Chicago, and was wishful to know if Miss Tolley would consent to +altering the last chapter and so providing "Running Waters" with a +happy ending. He pointed out the hopelessness of it in its present +form, for film purposes. + +The discussion was brief. "Then I'll send your agent the contract +to-morrow," Joan overheard him say a minute later. + +Mr. Sam Halliday she liked at once. He was a clean-shaven, square- +jawed young man, with quiet eyes and a pleasant voice. + +"Try and find me brainy," he whispered to her, as soon as Flossie +was out of earshot. "Talk to me about China. I'm quite +intelligent on China." + +They both laughed, and then shot a guilty glance in Flossie's +direction. + +"Do the women really crush their feet?" asked Joan. + +"Yes," he answered. "All those who have no use for them. About +one per cent. of the population. To listen to Miss Tolley you +would think that half the women wanted a new husband every ten +years. It's always the one per cent. that get themselves talked +about. The other ninety-nine are too busy." + +"You are young for a philosopher," said Joan. + +He laughed. "I told you I'd be all right if you started me on +China," he said. + +"Why are you marrying. Flossie?" Joan asked him. She thought his +point of view would be interesting. + +"Not sure I am yet," he answered with a grin. "It depends upon how +I get through this evening." He glanced round the room. "Have I +got to pass all this crowd, I wonder?" he added. + +Joan's eyes followed. It was certainly an odd collection. +Flossie, in her hunt for brains, had issued her invitations +broadcast; and her fate had been that of the Charity concert. Not +all the stars upon whom she had most depended had turned up. On +the other hand not a single freak had failed her. At the moment, +the centre of the room was occupied by a gentleman and two ladies +in classical drapery. They were holding hands in an attitude +suggestive of a bas-relief. Joan remembered them, having seen them +on one or two occasions wandering in the King's Road, Chelsea; +still maintaining, as far as the traffic would allow, the bas- +relief suggestion; and generally surrounded by a crowd of children, +ever hopeful that at the next corner they would stop and do +something really interesting. They belonged to a society whose +object was to lure the London public by the force of example +towards the adoption of the early Greek fashions and the simpler +Greek attitudes. A friend of Flossie's had thrown in her lot with +them, but could never be induced to abandon her umbrella. They +also, as Joan told herself, were reformers. Near to them was a +picturesque gentleman with a beard down to his waist whose "stunt"- +-as Flossie would have termed it--was hygienic clothing; it seemed +to contain an undue proportion of fresh air. There were ladies in +coats and stand-up collars, and gentlemen with ringlets. More than +one of the guests would have been better, though perhaps not +happier, for a bath. + +"I fancy that's the idea," said Joan. "What will you do if you +fail? Go back to China?" + +"Yes," he answered. "And take her with me. Poor little girl." + +Joan rather resented his tone. + +"We are not all alike," she remarked. "Some of us are quite sane." + +He looked straight into her eyes. "You are," he said. "I have +been reading your articles. They are splendid. I'm going to +help." + +"How can you?" she said. "I mean, how will you?" + +"Shipping is my business," he said. "I'm going to help sailor men. +See that they have somewhere decent to go to, and don't get robbed. +And then there are the Lascars, poor devils. Nobody ever takes +their part." + +"How did you come across them?" she asked. "The articles, I mean. +Did Flo give them to you?" + +"No," he answered. "Just chance. Caught sight of your photo." + +"Tell me," she said. "If it had been the photo of a woman with a +bony throat and a beaky nose would you have read them?" + +He thought a moment. "Guess not," he answered. "You're just as +bad," he continued. "Isn't it the pale-faced young clergyman with +the wavy hair and the beautiful voice that you all flock to hear? +No getting away from nature. But it wasn't only that." He +hesitated. + +"I want to know," she said. + +"You looked so young," he answered. "I had always had the idea +that it was up to the old people to put the world to rights--that +all I had to do was to look after myself. It came to me suddenly +while you were talking to me--I mean while I was reading you: that +if you were worrying yourself about it, I'd got to come in, too-- +that it would be mean of me not to. It wasn't like being preached +to. It was somebody calling for help." + +Instinctively she held out her hand and he grasped it. + +Flossie came up at the same instant. She wanted to introduce him +to Miss Lavery, who had just arrived. + +"Hullo!" she said. "Are you two concluding a bargain?" + +"Yes," said Joan. "We are founding the League of Youth. You've +got to be in it. We are going to establish branches all round the +world." + +Flossie's young man was whisked away. Joan, who had seated herself +in a small chair, was alone for a few minutes. + +Miss Tolley had chanced upon a Human Document, with the help of +which she was hopeful of starting a "Press Controversy" concerning +the morality, or otherwise, of "Running Waters." The secretary +stood just behind her, taking notes. They had drifted quite close. +Joan could not help overhearing. + +"It always seemed to me immoral, the marriage ceremony," the Human +Document was explaining. She was a thin, sallow woman, with an +untidy head and restless eyes that seemed to be always seeking +something to look at and never finding it. "How can we pledge the +future? To bind oneself to live with a man when perhaps we have +ceased to care for him; it's hideous." + +Miss Tolley murmured agreement. + +"Our love was beautiful," continued the Human Document, eager, +apparently, to relate her experience for the common good; "just +because it was a free gift. We were not fettered to one another. +At any moment either of us could have walked out of the house. The +idea never occurred to us; not for years--five, to be exact." + +The secretary, at a sign from Miss Tolley, made a memorandum of it. + +"And then did your feelings towards him change suddenly?" +questioned Miss Tolley. + +"No," explained the Human Document, in the same quick, even tones; +"so far as I was concerned, I was not conscious of any alteration +in my own attitude. But he felt the need of more solitude--for his +development. We parted quite good friends." + +"Oh," said Miss Tolley. "And were there any children?" + +"Only two," answered the Human Document, "both girls." + +"What has become of them?" persisted Miss Tolley. + +The Human Document looked offended. "You do not think I would have +permitted any power on earth to separate them from me, do you?" she +answered. "I said to him, 'They are mine, mine. Where I go, they +go. Where I stay, they stay.' He saw the justice of my argument." + +"And they are with you now?" concluded Miss Tolley. + +"You must come and see them," the Human Document insisted. "Such +dear, magnetic creatures. I superintend their entire education +myself. We have a cottage in Surrey. It's rather a tight fit. +You see, there are seven of us now. But the three girls can easily +turn in together for a night, Abner will be delighted." + +"Abner is your second?" suggested Miss Tolley. + +"My third," the Human Document corrected her. "After Eustace, I +married Ivanoff. I say 'married' because I regard it as the +holiest form of marriage. He had to return to his own country. +There was a political movement on foot. He felt it his duty to go. +I want you particularly to meet the boy. He will interest you." + +Miss Tolley appeared to be getting muddled. "Whose boy?" she +demanded. + +"Ivanoff's," explained the Human Document. "He was our only +child." + +Flossie appeared, towing a white-haired, distinguished-looking man, +a Mr. Folk. She introduced him and immediately disappeared. Joan +wished she had been left alone a little longer. She would like to +have heard more. Especially was she curious concerning Abner, the +lady's third. Would the higher moral law compel him, likewise, to +leave the poor lady saddled with another couple of children? Or +would she, on this occasion, get in--or rather, get off, first? +Her own fancy was to back Abner. She did catch just one sentence +before Miss Tolley, having obtained more food for reflection than +perhaps she wanted, signalled to her secretary that the note-book +might be closed. + +"Woman's right to follow the dictates of her own heart, +uncontrolled by any law," the Human Document was insisting: "That +is one of the first things we must fight for." + +Mr. Folk was a well-known artist. He lived in Paris. "You are +wonderfully like your mother," he told Joan. "In appearance, I +mean," he added. "I knew her when she was Miss Caxton. I acted +with her in America." + +Joan made a swift effort to hide her surprise. She had never heard +of her mother having been upon the stage. + +"I did not know that you had been an actor," she answered. + +"I wasn't really," explained Mr. Folk. "I just walked and talked +naturally. It made rather a sensation at the time. Your mother +was a genius. You have never thought of going on the stage +yourself?" + +"No," said Joan. "I don't think I've got what you call the +artistic temperament. I have never felt drawn towards anything of +that sort." + +"I wonder," he said. "You could hardly be your mother's daughter +without it." + +"Tell me," said Joan. "What was my mother like? I can only +remember her as more or less of an invalid." + +He did not reply to her question. "Master or Mistress Eminent +Artist," he said; "intends to retire from his or her particular +stage, whatever it may be. That paragraph ought always to be put +among the obituary notices." + +"What's your line?" he asked her. "I take it you have one by your +being here. Besides, I am sure you have. I am an old fighter. I +can tell the young soldier. What's your regiment?" + +Joan laughed. "I'm a drummer boy," she answered. "I beat my drum +each week in a Sunday newspaper, hoping the lads will follow." + +"You feel you must beat that drum," he suggested. "Beat it louder +and louder and louder till all the world shall hear it." + +"Yes," Joan agreed, "I think that does describe me." + +He nodded. "I thought you were an artist," he said. "Don't let +them ever take your drum away from you. You'll go to pieces and +get into mischief without it." + +"I know an old actress," he continued. "She's the mother of four. +They are all on the stage and they've all made their mark. The +youngest was born in her dressing-room, just after the curtain had +fallen. She was playing the Nurse to your mother's Juliet. She is +still the best Nurse that I know. 'Jack's always worrying me to +chuck it and devote myself to the children,' she confided to me one +evening, while she was waiting for her cue. 'But, as I tell him, +I'm more helpful to them being with them half the day alive than +all the day dead.' That's an anecdote worth remembering, when your +time comes. If God gives woman a drum he doesn't mean man to take +it away from her. She hasn't got to be playing it for twenty-four +hours a day. I'd like you to have seen your mother's Cordelia." + +Flossie was tacking her way towards them. Joan acted on impulse. +"I wish you'd give me your address," she said "where I could write +to you. Or perhaps you would not mind my coming and seeing you one +day. I would like you to tell me more about my mother." + +He gave her his address in Paris where he was returning almost +immediately. + +"Do come," he said. "It will take me back thirty-three years. I +proposed to your mother on La Grande Terrasse at St. Germain. We +will walk there. I'm still a bachelor." He laughed, and, kissing +her hand, allowed himself to be hauled away by Flossie, in exchange +for Mrs. Phillips, for whom Miss Lavery had insisted on an +invitation. + +Joan had met Mrs. Phillips several times; and once, on the stairs, +had stopped and spoken to her; but had never been introduced to her +formally till now. + +"We have been meaning to call on you so often," panted Mrs. +Phillips. The room was crowded and the exertion of squeezing her +way through had winded the poor lady. "We take so much interest in +your articles. My husband--" she paused for a second, before +venturing upon the word, and the aitch came out somewhat over- +aspirated--"reads them most religiously. You must come and dine +with us one evening." + +Joan answered that she would be very pleased. + +"I will find out when Robert is free and run up and let you know," +she continued. "Of course, there are so many demands upon him, +especially during this period of national crisis, that I spare him +all the social duties that I can. But I shall insist on his making +an exception in your case." + +Joan murmured her sense of favour, but hoped she would not be +allowed to interfere with more pressing calls upon Mr. Phillips's +time. + +"It will do him good," answered Mrs. Phillips; "getting away from +them all for an hour or two. I don't see much of him myself." + +She glanced round and lowered her voice. "They tell me," she said, +"that you're a B.A." + +"Yes," answered Joan. "One goes in for it more out of vanity, I'm +afraid, than for any real purpose that it serves." + +"I took one or two prizes myself," said Mrs. Phillips. "But, of +course, one forgets things. I was wondering if you would mind if I +ran up occasionally to ask you a question. Of course, as you know, +my 'usband 'as 'ad so few advantages"--the lady's mind was +concerned with more important matters, and the aspirates, on this +occasion, got themselves neglected--"It is wonderful what he 'as +done without them. But if, now and then, I could 'elp him--" + +There was something about the poor, foolish painted face, as it +looked up pleadingly, that gave it a momentary touch of beauty. + +"Do," said Joan, speaking earnestly. "I shall be so very pleased +if you will." + +"Thank you," said the woman. Miss Lavery came up in a hurry to +introduce her to Miss Tolley. "I am telling all my friends to read +your articles," she added, resuming the gracious patroness, as she +bowed her adieus. + +Joan was alone again for a while. A handsome girl, with her hair +cut short and parted at the side, was discussing diseases of the +spine with a curly-headed young man in a velvet suit. The +gentleman was describing some of the effects in detail. Joan felt +there was danger of her being taken ill if she listened any longer; +and seeing Madge's brother near the door, and unoccupied, she made +her way across to him. + +Niel Singleton, or Keeley, as he called himself upon the stage, was +quite unlike his sister. He was short and plump, with a +preternaturally solemn face, contradicted by small twinkling eyes. +He motioned Joan to a chair and told her to keep quiet and not +disturb the meeting. + +"Is he brainy?" he whispered after a minute. + +"I like him," said Joan. + +"I didn't ask you if you liked him," he explained to her. "I asked +you if he was brainy. I'm not too sure that you like brainy men." + +"Yes, I do," said Joan. "I like you, sometimes." + +"Now, none of that," he said severely. "It's no good your thinking +of me. I'm wedded to my art. We are talking about Mr. Halliday." + +"What does Madge think of him?" asked Joan. + +"Madge has fallen in love with him, and her judgment is not to be +relied upon," he said. "I suppose you couldn't answer a straight +question, if you tried." + +"Don't be so harsh with me," pleaded Joan meekly. "I'm trying to +think. Yes," she continued, "decidedly he's got brains." + +"Enough for the two of them?" demanded Mr. Singleton. "Because he +will want them. Now think before you speak." + +Joan considered. "Yes," she answered. "I should say he's just the +man to manage her." + +"Then it's settled," he said. "We must save her." + +"Save her from what?" demanded Joan. + +"From his saying to himself: 'This is Flossie's idea of a party. +This is the sort of thing that, if I marry her, I am letting myself +in for.' If he hasn't broken off the engagement already, we may be +in time." + +He led the way to the piano. "Tell Madge I want her," he +whispered. He struck a few notes; and then in a voice that drowned +every other sound in the room, struck up a comic song. + +The effect was magical. + +He followed it up with another. This one with a chorus, consisting +chiefly of "Umpty Umpty Umpty Umpty Ay," which was vociferously +encored. + +By the time it was done with, Madge had discovered a girl who could +sing "Three Little Pigs;" and a sad, pale-faced gentleman who told +stories. At the end of one of them Madge's brother spoke to Joan +in a tone more of sorrow than of anger. + +"Hardly the sort of anecdote that a truly noble and high-minded +young woman would have received with laughter," he commented. + +"Did I laugh?" said Joan. + +"Your having done so unconsciously only makes the matter worse," +observed Mr. Singleton. "I had hoped it emanated from politeness, +not enjoyment." + +"Don't tease her," said Madge. "She's having an evening off." + +Joan and the Singletons were the last to go. They promised to show +Mr. Halliday a short cut to his hotel in Holborn. + +"Have you thanked Miss Lessing for a pleasant evening?" asked Mr. +Singleton, turning to Mr. Halliday. + +He laughed and put his arm round her. "Poor little woman," he +said. "You're looking so tired. It was jolly at the end." He +kissed her. + +He had passed through the swing doors; and they were standing on +the pavement waiting for Joan's bus. + +"Why did we all like him?" asked Joan. "Even Miss Lavery. There's +nothing extraordinary about him." + +"Oh yes there is," said Madge. "Love has lent him gilded armour. +From his helmet waves her crest," she quoted. "Most men look fine +in that costume. Pity they can't always wear it." + +The conductor seemed impatient. Joan sprang upon the step and +waved her hand. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +Joan was making herself a cup of tea when there came a tap at the +door. It was Mrs. Phillips. + +"I heard you come in," she said. "You're not busy, are you?" + +"No," answered Joan. "I hope you're not. I'm generally in about +this time; and it's always nice to gossip over a dish of tea." + +"Why do you say 'dish' of tea!" asked Mrs. Phillips, as she lowered +herself with evident satisfaction into the easy chair Joan placed +for her. + +"Oh, I don't know," laughed Joan. "Dr. Johnson always talked of a +'dish' of tea. Gives it a literary flavour." + +"I've heard of him," said Mrs. Phillips. "He's worth reading, +isn't he?" + +"Well, he talked more amusingly than he wrote," explained Joan. +"Get Boswell's Life of him. Or I'll lend you mine," she added, "if +you'll be careful of it. You'll find all the passages marked that +are best worth remembering. At least, I think so." + +"Thanks," said Mrs. Phillips. "You see, as the wife of a public +man, I get so little time for study." + +"Is it settled yet?" asked Joan. "Are they going to make room for +him in the Cabinet? + +"I'm afraid so," answered Mrs. Phillips. "Oh, of course, I want +him to," she corrected herself. "And he must, of course, if the +King insists upon it. But I wish it hadn't all come with such a +whirl. What shall I have to do, do you think?" + +Joan was pouring out the tea. "Oh, nothing," she answered, "but +just be agreeable to the right people. He'll tell you who they +are. And take care of him." + +"I wish I'd taken more interest in politics when I was young," said +Mrs. Phillips. "Of course, when I was a girl, women weren't +supposed to." + +"Do you know, I shouldn't worry about them, if I were you," Joan +advised her. "Let him forget them when he's with you. A man can +have too much of a good thing," she laughed. + +"I wonder if you're right," mused Mrs. Phillips. "He does often +say that he'd just as soon I didn't talk about them." + +Joan shot a glance from over her cup. The poor puzzled face was +staring into the fire. Joan could almost hear him saying it. + +"I'm sure I am," she said. "Make home-coming a change to him. As +you said yourself the other evening. It's good for him to get away +from it all, now and then." + +"I must try," agreed Mrs. Phillips, looking up. "What sort of +things ought I to talk to him about, do you think?" + +Joan gave an inward sigh. Hadn't the poor lady any friends of her +own. "Oh, almost anything," she answered vaguely: "so long as +it's cheerful and non-political. What used you to talk about +before he became a great man?" + +There came a wistful look into the worried eyes. "Oh, it was all +so different then," she said. "'E just liked to--you know. We +didn't seem to 'ave to talk. 'E was a rare one to tease. I didn't +know 'ow clever 'e was, then." + +It seemed a difficult case to advise upon. "How long have you been +married?" Joan asked. + +"Fifteen years," she answered. "I was a bit older than 'im. But +I've never looked my age, they tell me. Lord, what a boy 'e was! +Swept you off your feet, like. 'E wasn't the only one. I'd got a +way with me, I suppose. Anyhow, the men seemed to think so. There +was always a few 'anging about. Like flies round a 'oney-pot, +Mother used to say." She giggled. "But 'e wouldn't take No for an +answer. And I didn't want to give it 'im, neither. I was gone on +'im, right enough. No use saying I wasn't." + +"You must be glad you didn't say No," suggested Joan. + +"Yes," she answered, "'E's got on. I always think of that little +poem, 'Lord Burleigh,'" she continued; "whenever I get worrying +about myself. Ever read it?" + +"Yes," answered Joan. "He was a landscape painter, wasn't he?" + +"That's the one," said Mrs. Phillips. "I little thought I was +letting myself in for being the wife of a big pot when Bob Phillips +came along in 'is miner's jacket." + +"You'll soon get used to it," Joan told her. "The great thing is +not to be afraid of one's fate, whatever it is; but just to do +one's best." It was rather like talking to a child. + +"You're the right sort to put 'eart into a body. I'm glad I came +up," said Mrs. Phillips. "I get a bit down in the mouth sometimes +when 'e goes off into one of 'is brown studies, and I don't seem to +know what 'e's thinking about. But it don't last long. I was +always one of the light-'earted ones." + +They discussed life on two thousand a year; the problems it would +present; and Mrs. Phillips became more cheerful. Joan laid herself +out to be friendly. She hoped to establish an influence over Mrs. +Phillips that should be for the poor lady's good; and, as she felt +instinctively, for poor Phillips's also. It was not an unpleasing +face. Underneath the paint, it was kind and womanly. Joan was +sure he would like it better clean. A few months' attention to +diet would make a decent figure of her and improve her wind. Joan +watched her spreading the butter a quarter of an inch thick upon +her toast and restrained with difficulty the impulse to take it +away from her. And her clothes! Joan had seen guys carried +through the streets on the fifth of November that were less +obtrusive. + +She remembered, as she was taking her leave, what she had come for: +which was to invite Joan to dinner on the following Friday. + +"It's just a homely affair," she explained. She had recovered her +form and was now quite the lady again. "Two other guests beside +yourself: a Mr. Airlie--I am sure you will like him. He's so +dilletanty--and Mr. McKean. He's the young man upstairs. Have you +met him?" + +Joan hadn't: except once on the stairs when, to avoid having to +pass her, he had gone down again and out into the street. From the +doorstep she had caught sight of his disappearing coat-tails round +the corner. Yielding to impishness, she had run after him, and his +expression of blank horror when, glancing over his shoulder, he +found her walking abstractedly three yards behind him, had +gladdened all her evening. + +Joan recounted the episode--so far as the doorstep. + +"He tried to be shy with me," said Mrs. Phillips, "but I wouldn't +let him. I chipped him out of it. If he's going to write plays, +as I told him, he will have to get over his fear of a petticoat." + +She offered her cheek, and Joan kissed it, somewhat gingerly. + +"You won't mind Robert not wearing evening dress," she said. "He +never will if he can help it. I shall just slip on a semi-toilette +myself." + +Joan had difficulty in deciding on her own frock. Her four evening +dresses, as she walked round them, spread out upon the bed, all +looked too imposing, for what Mrs. Phillips had warned her would be +a "homely affair." She had one other, a greyish-fawn, with sleeves +to the elbow, that she had had made expressly for public dinners +and political At Homes. But that would be going to the opposite +extreme, and might seem discourteous--to her hostess. Besides, +"mousey" colours didn't really suit her. They gave her a curious +sense of being affected. In the end she decided to risk a black +crepe-de-chine, square cut, with a girdle of gold embroidery. +There couldn't be anything quieter than black, and the gold +embroidery was of the simplest. She would wear it without any +jewellery whatever: except just a star in her hair. The result, +as she viewed the effect in the long glass, quite satisfied her. +Perhaps the jewelled star did scintillate rather. It had belonged +to her mother. But her hair was so full of shadows: it wanted +something to relieve it. Also she approved the curved line of her +bare arms. It was certainly very beautiful, a woman's arm. She +took her gloves in her hand and went down. + +Mr. Phillips was not yet in the room. Mrs. Phillips, in apple- +green with an ostrich feather in her hair, greeted her effusively, +and introduced her to her fellow guests. Mr. Airlie was a slight, +elegant gentleman of uncertain age, with sandy hair and beard cut +Vandyke fashion. He asked Joan's permission to continue his +cigarette. + +"You have chosen the better part," he informed her, on her granting +it. "When I'm not smoking, I'm talking." + +Mr. McKean shook her hand vigorously without looking at her. + +"And this is Hilda," concluded Mrs. Phillips. "She ought to be in +bed if she hadn't a naughty Daddy who spoils her." + +A lank, black-haired girl, with a pair of burning eyes looking out +of a face that, but for the thin line of the lips, would have been +absolutely colourless, rose suddenly from behind a bowl of +artificial flowers. Joan could not suppress a slight start; she +had not noticed her on entering. The girl came slowly forward, and +Joan felt as if the uncanny eyes were eating her up. She made an +effort and held out her hand with a smile, and the girl's long thin +fingers closed on it in a pressure that hurt. She did not speak. + +"She only came back yesterday for the half-term," explained Mrs. +Phillips. "There's no keeping her away from her books. 'Twas her +own wish to be sent to boarding-school. How would you like to go +to Girton and be a B.A. like Miss Allway?" she asked, turning to +the child. + +Phillips's entrance saved the need of a reply. To the evident +surprise of his wife he was in evening clothes. + +"Hulloa. You've got 'em on," she said. + +He laughed. "I shall have to get used to them sooner or later," he +said. + +Joan felt relieved--she hardly knew why--that he bore the test. It +was a well-built, athletic frame, and he had gone to a good tailor. +He looked taller in them; and the strong, clean-shaven face less +rugged. + +Joan sat next to him at the round dinner-table with the child the +other side of him. She noticed that he ate as far as possible with +his right hand--his hands were large, but smooth and well shaped-- +his left remaining under the cloth, beneath which the child's right +hand, when free, would likewise disappear. For a while the +conversation consisted chiefly of anecdotes by Mr. Airlie. There +were few public men and women about whom he did not know something +to their disadvantage. Joan, listening, found herself repeating +the experience of a night or two previous, when, during a +performance of Hamlet, Niel Singleton, who was playing the grave- +digger, had taken her behind the scenes. Hamlet, the King of +Denmark and the Ghost were sharing a bottle of champagne in the +Ghost's dressing-room: it happened to be the Ghost's birthday. On +her return to the front of the house, her interest in the play was +gone. It was absurd that it should be so; but the fact remained. + +Mr. Airlie had lunched the day before with a leonine old gentleman +who every Sunday morning thundered forth Social Democracy to +enthusiastic multitudes on Tower Hill. Joan had once listened to +him and had almost been converted: he was so tremendously in +earnest. She now learnt that he lived in Curzon Street, Mayfair, +and filled, in private life, the perfectly legitimate calling of a +company promoter in partnership with a Dutch Jew. His latest +prospectus dwelt upon the profits to be derived from an +amalgamation of the leading tanning industries: by means of which +the price of leather could be enormously increased. + +It was utterly illogical; but her interest in the principles of +Social Democracy was gone. + +A very little while ago, Mr. Airlie, in his capacity of second +cousin to one of the ladies concerned, a charming girl but +impulsive, had been called upon to attend a family council of a +painful nature. The gentleman's name took Joan's breath away: it +was the name of one of her heroes, an eminent writer: one might +almost say prophet. She had hitherto read his books with grateful +reverence. They pictured for her the world made perfect; and +explained to her just precisely how it was to be accomplished. +But, as far as his own particular corner of it was concerned, he +seemed to have made a sad mess of it. Human nature of quite an +old-fashioned pattern had crept in and spoilt all his own theories. + +Of course it was unreasonable. The sign-post may remain embedded +in weeds: it notwithstanding points the way to the fair city. She +told herself this, but it left her still short-tempered. She +didn't care which way it pointed. She didn't believe there was any +fair city. + +There was a famous preacher. He lived the simple life in a small +house in Battersea, and consecrated all his energies to the service +of the poor. Almost, by his unselfish zeal, he had persuaded Joan +of the usefulness of the church. Mr. Airlie frequently visited +him. They interested one another. What struck Mr. Airlie most was +the self-sacrificing devotion with which the reverend gentleman's +wife and family surrounded him. It was beautiful to see. The +calls upon his moderate purse, necessitated by his wide-spread and +much paragraphed activities, left but a narrow margin for domestic +expenses: with the result that often the only fire in the house +blazed brightly in the study where Mr. Airlie and the reverend +gentleman sat talking: while mother and children warmed themselves +with sense of duty in the cheerless kitchen. And often, as Mr. +Airlie, who was of an inquiring turn of mind, had convinced +himself, the only evening meal that resources would permit was the +satisfying supper for one brought by the youngest daughter to her +father where he sat alone in the small dining-room. + +Mr. Airlie, picking daintily at his food, continued his stories: +of philanthropists who paid starvation wages: of feminists who +were a holy terror to their women folk: of socialists who +travelled first-class and spent their winters in Egypt or Monaco: +of stern critics of public morals who preferred the society of +youthful affinities to the continued company of elderly wives: of +poets who wrote divinely about babies' feet and whose children +hated them. + +"Do you think it's all true?" Joan whispered to her host. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "No reason why it shouldn't be," he +said. "I've generally found him right." + +"I've never been able myself," he continued, "to understand the +Lord's enthusiasm for David. I suppose it was the Psalms that did +it." + +Joan was about to offer comment, but was struck dumb with +astonishment on hearing McKean's voice: it seemed he could talk. +He was telling of an old Scotch peasant farmer. A mean, +cantankerous old cuss whose curious pride it was that he had never +given anything away. Not a crust, nor a sixpence, nor a rag; and +never would. Many had been the attempts to make him break his +boast: some for the joke of the thing and some for the need; but +none had ever succeeded. It was his one claim to distinction and +he guarded it. + +One evening it struck him that the milk-pail, standing just inside +the window, had been tampered with. Next day he marked with a +scratch the inside of the pan and, returning later, found the level +of the milk had sunk half an inch. So he hid himself and waited; +and at twilight the next day the window was stealthily pushed open, +and two small, terror-haunted eyes peered round the room. They +satisfied themselves that no one was about and a tiny hand +clutching a cracked jug was thrust swiftly in and dipped into the +pan; and the window softly closed. + +He knew the thief, the grandchild of an old bed-ridden dame who +lived some miles away on the edge of the moor. The old man stood +long, watching the small cloaked figure till it was lost in the +darkness. It was not till he lay upon his dying bed that he +confessed it. But each evening, from that day, he would steal into +the room and see to it himself that the window was left ajar. + +After the coffee, Mrs. Phillips proposed their adjourning to the +"drawing-room" the other side of the folding doors, which had been +left open. Phillips asked her to leave Joan and himself where they +were. He wanted to talk to her. He promised not to bore her for +more than ten minutes. + +The others rose and moved away. Hilda came and stood before Joan +with her hands behind her. + +"I am going to bed now," she said. "I wanted to see you from what +Papa told me. May I kiss you?" + +It was spoken so gravely that Joan did not ask her, as in lighter +mood she might have done, what it was that Phillips had said. She +raised her face quietly, and the child bent forward and kissed her, +and went out without looking back at either of them, leaving Joan +more serious than there seemed any reason for. Phillips filled his +pipe and lighted it. + +"I wish I had your pen," he said, suddenly breaking the silence. +"I'm all right at talking; but I want to get at the others: the +men and women who never come, thinking it has nothing to do with +them. I'm shy and awkward when I try to write. There seems a +barrier in front of me. You break through it. One hears your +voice. Tell me," he said, "are you getting your way? Do they +answer you?" + +"Yes," said Joan. "Not any great number of them, not yet. But +enough to show that I really am interesting them. It grows every +week." + +"Tell them that," he said. "Let them hear each other. It's the +same at a meeting. You wait ten minutes sometimes before one man +will summon up courage to put a question; but once one or two have +ventured they spring up all round you. I was wondering," he added, +"if you would help me; let me use you, now and again." + +"It is what I should love," she answered. "Tell me what to do." +She was not conscious of the low, vibrating tone in which she +spoke. + +"I want to talk to them," he said, "about their stomachs. I want +them to see the need of concentrating upon the food problem: +insisting that it shall be solved. The other things can follow." + +"There was an old Egyptian chap," he said, "a governor of one of +their provinces, thousands of years before the Pharaohs were ever +heard of. They dug up his tomb a little while ago. It bore this +inscription: 'In my time no man went hungry.' I'd rather have +that carved upon my gravestone than the boastings of all the +robbers and the butchers of history. Think what it must have meant +in that land of drought and famine: only a narrow strip of river +bank where a grain of corn would grow; and that only when old Nile +was kind. If not, your nearest supplies five hundred miles away +across the desert, your only means of transport the slow-moving +camel. Your convoy must be guarded against attack, provided with +provisions and water for a two months' journey. Yet he never +failed his people. Fat year and lean year: 'In my time no man +went hungry.' And here, to-day, with our steamships and our +railways, with the granaries of the world filled to overflowing, +one third of our population lives on the border line of want. In +India they die by the roadside. What's the good of it all: your +science and your art and your religion! How can you help men's +souls if their bodies are starving? A hungry man's a hungry beast. + +"I spent a week at Grimsby, some years ago, organizing a +fisherman's union. They used to throw the fish back into the sea, +tons upon tons of it, that men had risked their lives to catch, +that would have fed half London's poor. There was a 'glut' of it, +they said. The 'market' didn't want it. Funny, isn't it, a 'glut' +of food: and the kiddies can't learn their lessons for want of it. +I was talking with a farmer down in Kent. The plums were rotting +on his trees. There were too many of them: that was the trouble. +The railway carriage alone would cost him more than he could get +for them. They were too cheap. So nobody could have them. It's +the muddle of the thing that makes me mad--the ghastly muddle- +headed way the chief business of the world is managed. There's +enough food could be grown in this country to feed all the people +and then of the fragments each man might gather his ten basketsful. +There's no miracle needed. I went into the matter once with Dalroy +of the Board of Agriculture. He's the best man they've got, if +they'd only listen to him. It's never been organized: that's all. +It isn't the fault of the individual. It ought not to be left to +the individual. The man who makes a corner in wheat in Chicago and +condemns millions to privation--likely enough, he's a decent sort +of fellow in himself: a kind husband and father--would be upset +for the day if he saw a child crying for bread. My dog's a decent +enough little chap, as dogs go, but I don't let him run my larder. + +"It could be done with a little good will all round," he continued, +"and nine men out of every ten would be the better off. But they +won't even let you explain. Their newspapers shout you down. It's +such a damned fine world for the few: never mind the many. My +father was a farm labourer: and all his life he never earned more +than thirteen and sixpence a week. I left when I was twelve and +went into the mines. There were six of us children; and my mother +brought us up healthy and decent. She fed us and clothed us and +sent us to school; and when she died we buried her with the money +she had put by for the purpose; and never a penny of charity had +ever soiled her hands. I can see them now. Talk of your +Chancellors of the Exchequer and their problems! She worked +herself to death, of course. Well, that's all right. One doesn't +mind that where one loves. If they would only let you. She had no +opposition to contend with--no thwarting and hampering at every +turn--the very people you are working for hounded on against you. +The difficulty of a man like myself, who wants to do something, who +could do something, is that for the best part of his life he is +fighting to be allowed to do it. By the time I've lived down their +lies and got my chance, my energy will be gone." + +He knocked the ashes from his pipe and relit it. + +"I've no quarrel with the rich," he said. "I don't care how many +rich men there are, so long as there are no poor. Who does? I was +riding on a bus the other day, and there was a man beside me with a +bandaged head. He'd been hurt in that railway smash at Morpeth. +He hadn't claimed damages from the railway company and wasn't going +to. 'Oh, it's only a few scratches,' he said. 'They'll be hit +hard enough as it is.' If he'd been a poor devil on eighteen +shillings a week it would have been different. He was an engineer +earning good wages; so he wasn't feeling sore and bitter against +half the world. Suppose you tried to run an army with your men +half starved while your officers had more than they could eat. +It's been tried and what's been the result? See that your soldiers +have their proper rations, and the General can sit down to his six- +course dinner, if he will. They are not begrudging it to him. + +"A nation works on its stomach. Underfeed your rank and file, and +what sort of a fight are you going to put up against your rivals. +I want to see England going ahead. I want to see her workers +properly fed. I want to see the corn upon her unused acres, the +cattle grazing on her wasted pastures. I object to the food being +thrown into the sea--left to rot upon the ground while men are +hungry--side-tracked in Chicago, while the children grow up +stunted. I want the commissariat properly organized." + +He had been staring through her rather than at her, so it had +seemed to Joan. Suddenly their eyes met, and he broke into a +smile. + +"I'm so awfully sorry," he said. "I've been talking to you as if +you were a public meeting. I'm afraid I'm more used to them than I +am to women. Please forgive me." + +The whole man had changed. The eyes had a timid pleading in them. + +Joan laughed. "I've been feeling as if I were the King of +Bavaria," she said. + +"How did he feel?" he asked her, leaning forward. + +"He had his own private theatre," Joan explained, "where Wagner +gave his operas. And the King was the sole audience." + +"I should have hated that," he said, "if I had been Wagner." + +He looked at her, and a flush passed over his boyish face. + +"All right," he said, "if it had been a queen." + +Joan found herself tracing patterns with her spoon upon the +tablecloth. "But you have won now," she said, still absorbed +apparently with her drawing, "you are going to get your chance." + +He gave a short laugh. "A trick," he said, "to weaken me. They +think to shave my locks; show me to the people bound by their red +tape. To put it another way, a rat among the terriers." + +Joan laughed. "You don't somehow suggest the rat," she said: +"rather another sort of beast." + +"What do you advise me?" he asked. "I haven't decided yet." + +They were speaking in whispered tones. Through the open doors they +could see into the other room. Mrs. Phillips, under Airlie's +instructions, was venturing upon a cigarette. + +"To accept," she answered. "They won't influence you--the +terriers, as you call them. You are too strong. It is you who +will sway them. It isn't as if you were a mere agitator. Take +this opportunity of showing them that you can build, plan, +organize; that you were meant to be a ruler. You can't succeed +without them, as things are. You've got to win them over. Prove +to them that they can trust you." + +He sat for a minute tattooing with his fingers on the table, before +speaking. + +"It's the frills and flummery part of it that frightens me," he +said. "You wouldn't think that sensitiveness was my weak point. +But it is. I've stood up to a Birmingham mob that was waiting to +lynch me and enjoyed the experience; but I'd run ten miles rather +than face a drawing-room of well-dressed people with their masked +faces and ironic courtesies. It leaves me for days feeling like a +lobster that has lost its shell." + +"I wouldn't say it, if I didn't mean it," answered Joan; "but you +haven't got to trouble yourself about that . . . You're quite +passable." She smiled. It seemed to her that most women would +find him more than passable. + +He shook his head. "With you," he said. "There's something about +you that makes one ashamed of worrying about the little things. +But the others: the sneering women and the men who wink over their +shoulder while they talk to you, I shall never be able to get away +from them, and, of course, wherever I go--" + +He stopped abruptly with a sudden tightening of the lips. Joan +followed his eyes. Mrs. Phillips had swallowed the smoke and was +giggling and spluttering by turns. The yellow ostrich feather had +worked itself loose and was rocking to and fro as if in a fit of +laughter of its own. + +He pushed back his chair and rose. "Shall we join the others?" he +said. + +He moved so that he was between her and the other room, his back to +the open doors. "You think I ought to?" he said. + +"Yes," she answered firmly, as if she were giving a command. But +he read pity also in her eyes. + +"Well, have you two settled the affairs of the kingdom? Is it all +decided?" asked Airlie. + +"Yes," he answered, laughing. "We are going to say to the people, +'Eat, drink and be wise.'" + +He rearranged his wife's feather and smoothed her tumbled hair. +She looked up at him and smiled. + +Joan set herself to make McKean talk, and after a time succeeded. +They had a mutual friend, a raw-boned youth she had met at +Cambridge. He was engaged to McKean's sister. His eyes lighted up +when he spoke of his sister Jenny. The Little Mother, he called +her. + +"She's the most beautiful body in all the world," he said. "Though +merely seeing her you mightn't know it." + +He saw her "home"; and went on up the stairs to his own floor. + +Joan stood for a while in front of the glass before undressing; but +felt less satisfied with herself. She replaced the star in its +case, and took off the regal-looking dress with the golden girdle +and laid it carelessly aside. She seemed to be growing smaller. + +In her white night dress, with her hair in two long plaits, she +looked at herself once more. She seemed to be no one of any +importance at all: just a long little girl going to bed. With no +one to kiss her good night. + +She blew out the candle and climbed into the big bed, feeling very +lonesome as she used to when a child. It had not troubled her +until to-night. Suddenly she sat up again. She needn't be back in +London before Tuesday evening, and to-day was only Friday. She +would run down home and burst in upon her father. He would be so +pleased to see her. + +She would make him put his arms around her. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +She reached home in the evening. She thought to find her father in +his study. But they told her that, now, he usually sat alone in +the great drawing-room. She opened the door softly. The room was +dark save for a flicker of firelight; she could see nothing. Nor +was there any sound. + +"Dad," she cried, "are you here?" + +He rose slowly from a high-backed chair beside the fire. + +"It is you," he said. He seemed a little dazed. + +She ran to him and, seizing his listless arms, put them round her. + +"Give me a hug, Dad," she commanded. "A real hug." + +He held her to him for what seemed a long while. There was +strength in his arms, in spite of the bowed shoulders and white +hair. + +"I was afraid you had forgotten how to do it," she laughed, when at +last he released her. "Do you know, you haven't hugged me, Dad, +since I was five years old. That's nineteen years ago. You do +love me, don't you?" + +"Yes," he answered. "I have always loved you." + +She would not let him light the gas. "I have dined--in the train," +she explained. "Let us talk by the firelight." + +She forced him gently back into his chair, and seated herself upon +the floor between his knees. "What were you thinking of when I +came in?" she asked. "You weren't asleep, were you?" + +"No," he answered. "Not that sort of sleep." She could not see +his face. But she guessed his meaning. + +"Am I very like her?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered. "Marvellously like her as she used to be: +except for just one thing. Perhaps that will come to you later. I +thought, for the moment, as you stood there by the door . . . " He +did not finish the sentence. + +"Tell me about her," she said. "I never knew she had been an +actress." + +He did not ask her how she had learnt it. "She gave it up when we +were married," he said. "The people she would have to live among +would have looked askance at her if they had known. There seemed +no reason why they should." + +"How did it all happen?" she persisted. "Was it very beautiful, in +the beginning?" She wished she had not added that last. The words +had slipped from her before she knew. + +"Very beautiful," he answered, "in the beginning." + +"It was my fault," he went on, "that it was not beautiful all +through. I ought to have let her take up her work again, as she +wished to, when she found what giving it up meant to her. The +world was narrower then than it is now; and I listened to the +world. I thought it another voice." + +"It's difficult to tell, isn't it?" she said. "I wonder how one +can?" + +He did not answer; and they sat for a time in silence. + +"Did you ever see her act?" asked Joan. + +"Every evening for about six months," he answered. A little flame +shot up and showed a smile upon his face. + +"I owe to her all the charity and tenderness I know. She taught it +to me in those months. I might have learned more if I had let her +go on teaching. It was the only way she knew." + +Joan watched her as gradually she shaped herself out of the +shadows: the poor, thin, fretful lady of the ever restless hands, +with her bursts of jealous passion, her long moods of sullen +indifference: all her music turned to waste. + +"How did she come to fall in love with you?" asked Joan. "I don't +mean to be uncomplimentary, Dad." She laughed, taking his hand in +hers and stroking it. "You must have been ridiculously handsome, +when you were young. And you must always have been strong and +brave and clever. I can see such a lot of women falling in love +with you. But not the artistic woman." + +"It wasn't so incongruous at the time," he answered. "My father +had sent me out to America to superintend a contract. It was the +first time I had ever been away from home, though I was nearly +thirty; and all my pent-up youth rushed out of me at once. It was +a harum-scarum fellow, mad with the joy of life, that made love to +her; not the man who went out, nor the man who came back. It was +at San Francisco that I met her. She was touring the Western +States; and I let everything go to the wind and followed her. It +seemed to me that Heaven had opened up to me. I fought a duel in +Colorado with a man who had insulted her. The law didn't run there +in those days; and three of his hired gunmen, as they called them, +held us up that night in the train and gave her the alternative of +going back with them and kissing him or seeing me dead at her feet. +I didn't give her time to answer, nor for them to finish. It +seemed a fine death anyhow, that. And I'd have faced Hell itself +for the chance of fighting for her. Though she told me afterwards +that if I'd died she'd have gone back with them, and killed him." + +Joan did not speak for a time. She could see him grave--a little +pompous, in his Sunday black, his footsteps creaking down the +stone-flagged aisle, the silver-edged collecting bag held stiffly +in his hand. + +"Couldn't you have saved a bit, Daddy?" she asked, "of all that +wealth of youth--just enough to live on?" + +"I might," he answered, "if I had known the value of it. I found a +cable waiting for me in New York. My father had been dead a month; +and I had to return immediately." + +"And so you married her and took her drum away from her," said +Joan. "Oh, the thing God gives to some of us," she explained, "to +make a little noise with, and set the people marching." + +The little flame died out. She could feel his body trembling. + +"But you still loved her, didn't you, Dad?" she asked. "I was very +little at the time, but I can just remember. You seemed so happy +together. Till her illness came." + +"It was more than love," he answered. "It was idolatry. God +punished me for it. He was a hard God, my God." + +She raised herself, putting her hands upon his shoulders so that +her face was very close to his. "What has become of Him, Dad?" she +said. She spoke in a cold voice, as one does of a false friend. + +"I do not know," he answered her. "I don't seem to care." + +"He must be somewhere," she said: "the living God of love and +hope: the God that Christ believed in." + +"They were His last words, too," he answered: "'My God, my God, +why hast Thou forsaken me?'" + +"No, not His last," said Joan: "'Lo, I am with you always, even +unto the end of the world.' Love was Christ's God. He will help +us to find Him." + +Their arms were about one another. Joan felt that a new need had +been born in her: the need of loving and of being loved. It was +good to lay her head upon his breast and know that he was glad of +her coming. + +He asked her questions about herself. But she could see that he +was tired; so she told him it was too important a matter to start +upon so late. She would talk about herself to-morrow. It would be +Sunday. + +"Do you still go to the chapel?" she asked him a little +hesitatingly. + +"Yes," he answered. "One lives by habit." + +"It is the only Temple I know," he continued after a moment. +"Perhaps God, one day, will find me there." + +He rose and lit the gas, and a letter on the mantelpiece caught his +eye. + +"Have you heard from Arthur?" he asked, suddenly turning to her. + +"No. Not since about a month," she answered. "Why?" + +"He will be pleased to find you here, waiting for him," he said +with a smile, handing her the letter. "He will be here some time +to-morrow." + +Arthur Allway was her cousin, the son of a Nonconformist Minister. +Her father had taken him into the works and for the last three +years he had been in Egypt, helping in the laying of a tramway +line. He was in love with her: at least so they all told her; and +his letters were certainly somewhat committal. Joan replied to +them--when she did not forget to do so--in a studiously sisterly +vein; and always reproved him for unnecessary extravagance whenever +he sent her a present. The letter announced his arrival at +Southampton. He would stop at Birmingham, where his parents lived, +for a couple of days, and be in Liverpool on Sunday evening, so as +to be able to get straight to business on Monday morning. Joan +handed back the letter. It contained nothing else. + +"It only came an hour or two ago," her father explained. "If he +wrote to you by the same post, you may have left before it +arrived." + +"So long as he doesn't think that I came down specially to see him, +I don't mind," said Joan. + +They both laughed. "He's a good lad," said her father. + +They kissed good night, and Joan went up to her own room. She +found it just as she had left it. A bunch of roses stood upon the +dressing-table. Her father would never let anyone cut his roses +but himself. + +Young Allway arrived just as Joan and her father had sat down to +supper. A place had been laid for him. He flushed with pleasure +at seeing her; but was not surprised. + +"I called at your diggings," he said. "I had to go through London. +They told me you had started. It is good of you." + +"No, it isn't," said Joan. "I came down to see Dad. I didn't know +you were back." She spoke with some asperity; and his face fell. + +"How are you?" she added, holding out her hand. "You've grown +quite good-looking. I like your moustache." And he flushed again +with pleasure. + +He had a sweet, almost girlish face, with delicate skin that the +Egyptian sun had deepened into ruddiness; with soft, dreamy eyes +and golden hair. He looked lithe and agile rather than strong. He +was shy at first, but once set going, talked freely, and was +interesting. + +His work had taken him into the Desert, far from the beaten tracks. +He described the life of the people, very little different from +what it must have been in Noah's time. For months he had been the +only white man there, and had lived among them. What had struck +him was how little he had missed all the paraphernalia of +civilization, once he had got over the first shock. He had learnt +their sports and games; wrestled and swum and hunted with them. +Provided one was a little hungry and tired with toil, a stew of +goat's flesh with sweet cakes and fruits, washed down with wine out +of a sheep's skin, made a feast; and after, there was music and +singing and dancing, or the travelling story-teller would gather +round him his rapt audience. Paris had only robbed women of their +grace and dignity. He preferred the young girls in their costume +of the fourteenth dynasty. Progress, he thought, had tended only +to complicate life and render it less enjoyable. All the +essentials of happiness--love, courtship, marriage, the home, +children, friendship, social intercourse, and play, were +independent of it; had always been there for the asking. + +Joan thought his mistake lay in regarding man's happiness as more +important to him than his self-development. It was not what we got +out of civilization but what we put into it that was our gain. Its +luxuries and ostentations were, in themselves, perhaps bad for us. +But the pursuit of them was good. It called forth thought and +effort, sharpened our wits, strengthened our brains. Primitive +man, content with his necessities, would never have produced +genius. Art, literature, science would have been stillborn. + +He hesitated before replying, glancing at her furtively while +crumbling his bread. When he did, it was in the tone that one of +her younger disciples might have ventured into a discussion with +Hypatia. But he stuck to his guns. + +How did she account for David and Solomon, Moses and the Prophets? +They had sprung from a shepherd race. Yet surely there was genius, +literature. Greece owed nothing to progress. She had preceded it. +Her thinkers, her poets, her scientists had draws their inspiration +from nature, not civilization. Her art had sprung full grown out +of the soil. We had never surpassed it. + +"But the Greek ideal could not have been the right one, or Greece +would not so utterly have disappeared," suggested Mr. Allway. +"Unless you reject the law of the survival of the fittest." + +He had no qualms about arguing with his uncle. + +"So did Archimedes disappear," he answered with a smile. "The +nameless Roman soldier remained. That was hardly the survival of +the fittest." + +He thought it the tragedy of the world that Rome had conquered +Greece, imposing her lower ideals upon the race. Rome should have +been the servant of Greece: the hands directed by the brain. She +would have made roads and harbours, conducted the traffic, reared +the market place. She knew of the steam engine, employed it for +pumping water in the age of the Antonines. Sooner or later, she +would have placed it on rails, and in ships. Rome should have been +the policeman, keeping the world in order, making it a fit +habitation. Her mistake was in regarding these things as an end in +themselves, dreaming of nothing beyond. From her we had inherited +the fallacy that man was made for the world, not the world for man. +Rome organized only for man's body. Greece would have legislated +for his soul. + +They went into the drawing-room. Her father asked her to sing and +Arthur opened the piano for her and lit the candles. She chose +some ballads and a song of Herrick's, playing her own accompaniment +while Arthur turned the leaves. She had a good voice, a low +contralto. The room was high and dimly lighted. It looked larger +than it really was. Her father sat in his usual chair beside the +fire and listened with half-closed eyes. Glancing now and then +across at him, she was reminded of Orchardson's picture. She was +feeling sentimental, a novel sensation to her. She rather enjoyed +it. + +She finished with one of Burns's lyrics; and then told Arthur that +it was now his turn, and that she would play for him. He shook his +head, pleading that he was out of practice. + +"I wish it," she said, speaking low. And it pleased her that he +made no answer but to ask her what he should sing. He had a light +tenor voice. It was wobbly at first, but improved as he went on. +They ended with a duet. + +The next morning she went into town with them. She never seemed to +have any time in London, and wanted to do some shopping. They +joined her again for lunch and afterwards, at her father's +suggestion, she and Arthur went for a walk. They took the tram out +of the city and struck into the country. The leaves still lingered +brown and red upon the trees. He carried her cloak and opened +gates for her and held back brambles while she passed. She had +always been indifferent to these small gallantries; but to-day she +welcomed them. She wished to feel her power to attract and +command. They avoided all subjects on which they could differ, +even in words. They talked of people and places they had known +together. They remembered their common love of animals and told of +the comedies and tragedies that had befallen their pets. Joan's +regret was that she had not now even a dog, thinking it cruel to +keep them in London. She hated the women she met, dragging the +poor little depressed beasts about at the end of a string: savage +with them, if they dared to stop for a moment to exchange a passing +wag of the tail with some other little lonely sufferer. It was as +bad as keeping a lark in a cage. She had tried a cat: but so +often she did not get home till late and that was just the time +when the cat wanted to be out; so that they seldom met. He +suggested a parrot. His experience of them was that they had no +regular hours and would willingly sit up all night, if encouraged, +and talk all the time. Joan's objection to running a parrot was +that it stamped you as an old maid; and she wasn't that, at least, +not yet. She wondered if she could make an owl really happy. +Minerva had an owl. + +He told her how one spring, walking across a common, after a fire, +he had found a mother thrush burnt to death upon her nest, her +charred wings spread out in a vain endeavour to protect her brood. +He had buried her there among the blackened thorn and furze, and +placed a little cross of stones above her. + +"I hope nobody saw me," he said with a laugh. "But I couldn't bear +to leave her there, unhonoured." + +"It's one of the things that make me less certain than I want to be +of a future existence," said Joan: "the thought that animals can +have no part in it; that all their courage and love and +faithfulness dies with them and is wasted." + +"Are you sure it is?" he answered. "It would be so unreasonable." + +They had tea at an old-fashioned inn beside a stream. It was a +favourite resort in summer time, but now they had it to themselves. +The wind had played pranks with her hair and he found a mirror and +knelt before her, holding it. + +She stood erect, looking down at him while seeming to be absorbed +in the rearrangement of her hair, feeling a little ashamed of +herself. She was "encouraging" him. There was no other word for +it. She seemed to have developed a sudden penchant for this sort +of thing. It would end in his proposing to her; and then she would +have to tell him that she cared for him only in a cousinly sort of +way--whatever that might mean--and that she could never marry him. +She dared not ask herself why. She must manoeuvre to put it off as +long as possible; and meanwhile some opening might occur to +enlighten him. She would talk to him about her work; and explain +to him how she had determined to devote her life to it to the +exclusion of all other distractions. If, then, he chose to go on +loving her--or if he couldn't help it--that would not be her fault. +After all, it did him no harm. She could always be gracious and +kind to him. It was not as if she had tricked him. He had always +loved her. Kneeling before her, serving her: it was evident it +made him supremely happy. It would be cruel of her to end it. + +The landlady entered unexpectedly with the tea; but he did not rise +till Joan turned away, nor did he seem disconcerted. Neither did +the landlady. She was an elderly, quiet-eyed woman, and had served +more than one generation of young people with their teas. + +They returned home by train. Joan insisted on travelling third +class, and selected a compartment containing a stout woman and two +children. Arthur had to be at the works. An important contract +had got behindhand and they were working overtime. She and her +father dined alone. He made her fulfil her promise to talk about +herself, and she told him all she thought would interest him. She +passed lightly over her acquaintanceship with Phillips. He would +regard it as highly undesirable, she told herself, and it would +trouble him. He was reading her articles in the Sunday Post, as +also her Letters from Clorinda: and of the two preferred the +latter as being less subversive of law and order. Also he did not +like seeing her photograph each week, displayed across two columns +with her name beneath in one inch type. He supposed he was old- +fashioned. She was getting rather tired of it herself. + +"The Editor insisted upon it," she explained. "It was worth it for +the opportunity it gives me. I preach every Sunday to a +congregation of over a million souls. It's better than being a +Bishop. Besides," she added, "the men are just as bad. You see +their silly faces everywhere." + +"That's like you women," he answered with a smile. "You pretend to +be superior; and then you copy us." + +She laughed. But the next moment she was serious. + +"No, we don't," she said, "not those of us who think. We know we +shall never oust man from his place. He will always be the +greater. We want to help him; that's all." + +"But wasn't that the Lord's idea," he said; "when He gave Eve to +Adam to be his helpmeet?" + +"Yes, that was all right," she answered. "He fashioned Eve for +Adam and saw that Adam got her. The ideal marriage might have been +the ideal solution. If the Lord had intended that, he should have +kept the match-making in His own hands: not have left it to man. +Somewhere in Athens there must have been the helpmeet God had made +for Socrates. When they met, it was Xanthippe that she kissed." + +A servant brought the coffee and went out again. Her father +lighted a cigar and handed her the cigarettes. + +"Will it shock you, Dad?" she asked. + +"Rather late in the day for you to worry yourself about that, isn't +it?" he answered with a smile. + +He struck a match and held it for her. Joan sat with her elbows on +the table and smoked in silence. She was thinking. + +Why had he never "brought her up," never exacted obedience from +her, never even tried to influence her? It could not have been +mere weakness. She stole a sidelong glance at the tired, lined +face with its steel-blue eyes. She had never seen them other than +calm, but they must have been able to flash. Why had he always +been so just and kind and patient with her? Why had he never +scolded her and bullied her and teased her? Why had he let her go +away, leaving him lonely in his empty, voiceless house? Why had he +never made any claim upon her? The idea came to her as an +inspiration. At least, it would ease her conscience. "Why don't +you let Arthur live here," she said, "instead of going back to his +lodgings? It would be company for you." + +He did not answer for some time. She had begun to wonder if he had +heard. + +"What do you think of him?" he said, without looking at her. + +"Oh, he's quite a nice lad," she answered. + +It was some while again before he spoke. "He will be the last of +the Allways," he said. "I should like to think of the name being +continued; and he's a good business man, in spite of his +dreaminess. Perhaps he would get on better with the men." + +She seized at the chance of changing the subject. + +"It was a foolish notion," she said, "that of the Manchester +school: that men and women could be treated as mere figures in a +sum." + +To her surprise, he agreed with her. "The feudal system had a fine +idea in it," he said, "if it had been honestly carried out. A +master should be the friend, the helper of his men. They should be +one family." + +She looked at him a little incredulously, remembering the bitter +periods of strikes and lock-outs. + +"Did you ever try, Dad?" she asked. + +"Oh, yes," he answered. "But I tried the wrong way." "The right +way might be found," he added, "by the right man, and woman." + +She felt that he was watching her through his half-closed eyes. +"There are those cottages," he continued, "just before you come to +the bridge. They might be repaired and a club house added. The +idea is catching on, they tell me. Garden villages, they call them +now. It gets the men and women away from the dirty streets; and +gives the children a chance." + +She knew the place. A sad group of dilapidated little houses +forming three sides of a paved quadrangle, with a shattered +fountain and withered trees in the centre. Ever since she could +remember, they had stood there empty, ghostly, with creaking doors +and broken windows, their gardens overgrown with weeds. + +"Are they yours?" she asked. She had never connected them with the +works, some half a mile away. Though had she been curious, she +might have learnt that they were known as "Allway's Folly." + +"Your mother's," he answered. "I built them the year I came back +from America and gave them to her. I thought it would interest +her. Perhaps it would, if I had left her to her own ways." + +"Why didn't they want them?" she asked. + +"They did, at first," he answered. "The time-servers and the +hypocrites among them. I made it a condition that they should be +teetotallers, and chapel goers, and everything else that I thought +good for them. I thought that I could save their souls by bribing +them with cheap rents and share of profits. And then the Union +came, and that of course finished it." + +So he, too, had thought to build Jerusalem. + +"Yes," he said. "I'll sound him about giving up his lodgings." + +Joan lay awake for a long while that night. The moon looked in at +the window. It seemed to have got itself entangled in the tops of +the tall pines. Would it not be her duty to come back--make her +father happy, to say nothing of the other. He was a dear, sweet, +lovable lad. Together, they might realize her father's dream: +repair the blunders, plant gardens where the weeds now grew, drive +out the old sad ghosts with living voices. It had been a fine +thought, a "King's thought." Others had followed, profiting by his +mistakes. But might it not be carried further than even they had +gone, shaped into some noble venture that should serve the future. + +Was not her America here? Why seek it further? What was this +unknown Force, that, against all sense and reason, seemed driving +her out into the wilderness to preach. Might it not be mere +vanity, mere egoism. Almost she had convinced herself. + +And then there flashed remembrance of her mother. She, too, had +laid aside herself; had thought that love and duty could teach one +to be other than one was. The Ego was the all important thing, +entrusted to us as the talents of silver to the faithful servant: +to be developed, not for our own purposes, but for the service of +the Master. + +One did no good by suppressing one's nature. In the end it proved +too strong. Marriage with Arthur would be only repeating the +mistake. To be worshipped, to be served. It would be very +pleasant, when one was in the mood. But it would not satisfy her. +There was something strong and fierce and primitive in her nature-- +something that had come down to her through the generations from +some harness-girded ancestress--something impelling her +instinctively to choose the fighter; to share with him the joy of +battle, healing his wounds, giving him of her courage, exulting +with him in the victory. + +The moon had risen clear of the entangling pines. It rode serene +and free. + +Her father came to the station with her in the morning. The train +was not in: and they walked up and down and talked. Suddenly she +remembered: it had slipped her mind. + +"Could I, as a child, have known an old clergyman?" she asked him. +"At least he wouldn't have been old then. I dropped into Chelsea +Church one evening and heard him preach; and on the way home I +passed him again in the street. It seemed to me that I had seen +his face before. But not for many years. I meant to write you +about it, but forgot." + +He had to turn aside for a moment to speak to an acquaintance about +business. + +"Oh, it's possible," he answered on rejoining her. "What was his +name?" + +"I do not know," she answered. "He was not the regular Incumbent. +But it was someone that I seemed to know quite well--that I must +have been familiar with." + +"It may have been," he answered carelessly, "though the gulf was +wider then than it is now. I'll try and think. Perhaps it is only +your fancy." + +The train drew in, and he found her a corner seat, and stood +talking by the window, about common things. + +"What did he preach about?" he asked her unexpectedly. + +She was puzzled for the moment. "Oh, the old clergyman," she +answered, recollecting. "Oh, Calvary. All roads lead to Calvary, +he thought. It was rather interesting." + +She looked back at the end of the platform. He had not moved. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + +A pile of correspondence was awaiting her and, standing by the +desk, she began to open and read it. Suddenly she paused, +conscious that someone had entered the room and, turning, she saw +Hilda. She must have left the door ajar, for she had heard no +sound. The child closed the door noiselessly and came across, +holding out a letter. + +"Papa told me to give you this the moment you came in," she said. +Joan had not yet taken off her things. The child must have been +keeping a close watch. Save for the signature it contained but one +line: "I have accepted." + +Joan replaced the letter in its envelope, and laid it down upon the +desk. Unconsciously a smile played about her lips. + +The child was watching her. "I'm glad you persuaded him," she +said. + +Joan felt a flush mount to her face. She had forgotten Hilda for +the instant. + +She forced a laugh. "Oh, I only persuaded him to do what he had +made up his mind to do," she explained. "It was all settled." + +"No, it wasn't," answered the child. "Most of them were against +it. And then there was Mama," she added in a lower tone. + +"What do you mean," asked Joan. "Didn't she wish it?" + +The child raised her eyes. There was a dull anger in them. "Oh, +what's the good of pretending," she said. "He's so great. He +could be the Prime Minister of England if he chose. But then he +would have to visit kings and nobles, and receive them at his +house, and Mama--" She broke off with a passionate gesture of the +small thin hands. + +Joan was puzzled what to say. She knew exactly what she ought to +say: what she would have said to any ordinary child. But to say +it to this uncannily knowing little creature did not promise much +good. + +"Who told you I persuaded him?" she asked. + +"Nobody," answered the child. "I knew." + +Joan seated herself, and drew the child towards her. + +"It isn't as terrible as you think," she said. "Many men who have +risen and taken a high place in the world were married to kind, +good women unable to share their greatness. There was Shakespeare, +you know, who married Anne Hathaway and had a clever daughter. She +was just a nice, homely body a few years older than himself. And +he seems to have been very fond of her; and was always running down +to Stratford to be with her." + +"Yes, but he didn't bring her up to London," answered the child. +"Mama would have wanted to come; and Papa would have let her, and +wouldn't have gone to see Queen Elizabeth unless she had been +invited too." + +Joan wished she had not mentioned Shakespeare. There had surely +been others; men who had climbed up and carried their impossible +wives with them. But she couldn't think of one, just then. + +"We must help her," she answered somewhat lamely. "She's anxious +to learn, I know." + +The child shook her head. "She doesn't understand," she said. +"And Papa won't tell her. He says it would only hurt her and do no +good." The small hands were clenched. "I shall hate her if she +spoils his life." + +The atmosphere was becoming tragic. Joan felt the need of escaping +from it. She sprang up. + +"Oh, don't be nonsensical," she said. "Your father isn't the only +man married to a woman not as clever as himself. He isn't going to +let that stop him. And your mother's going to learn to be the wife +of a great man and do the best she can. And if they don't like her +they've got to put up with her. I shall talk to the both of them." +A wave of motherliness towards the entire Phillips family passed +over her. It included Hilda. She caught the child to her and gave +her a hug. "You go back to school," she said, "and get on as fast +as you can, so that you'll be able to be useful to him." + +The child flung her arms about her. "You're so beautiful and +wonderful," she said. "You can do anything. I'm so glad you +came." + +Joan laughed. It was surprising how easily the problem had been +solved. She would take Mrs. Phillips in hand at once. At all +events she should be wholesome and unobtrusive. It would be a +delicate mission, but Joan felt sure of her own tact. She could +see his boyish eyes turned upon her with wonder and gratitude. + +"I was so afraid you would not be back before I went," said the +child. "I ought to have gone this afternoon, but Papa let me stay +till the evening." + +"You will help?" she added, fixing on Joan her great, grave eyes. + +Joan promised, and the child went out. She looked pretty when she +smiled. She closed the door behind her noiselessly. + +It occurred to Joan that she would like to talk matters over with +Greyson. There was "Clorinda's" attitude to be decided upon; and +she was interested to know what view he himself would take. Of +course he would be on P-'s side. The Evening Gazette had always +supported the "gas and water school" of socialism; and to include +the people's food was surely only an extension of the principle. +She rang him up and Miss Greyson answered, asking her to come round +to dinner: they would be alone. And she agreed. + +The Greysons lived in a small house squeezed into an angle of the +Outer Circle, overlooking Regent's Park. It was charmingly +furnished, chiefly with old Chippendale. The drawing-room made +quite a picture. It was home-like and restful with its faded +colouring, and absence of all show and overcrowding. They sat +there after dinner and discussed Joan's news. Miss Greyson was +repairing a piece of old embroidery she had brought back with her +from Italy; and Greyson sat smoking, with his hands behind his +head, and his long legs stretched out towards the fire. + +"Carleton will want him to make his food policy include Tariff +Reform," he said. "If he prove pliable, and is willing to throw +over his free trade principles, all well and good." + +"What's Carleton got to do with it?" demanded Joan with a note of +indignation. + +He turned his head towards her with an amused raising of the +eyebrows. "Carleton owns two London dailies," he answered, "and is +in treaty for a third: together with a dozen others scattered +about the provinces. Most politicians find themselves, sooner or +later, convinced by his arguments. Phillips may prove the +exception." + +"It would be rather interesting, a fight between them," said Joan. +"Myself I should back Phillips." + +"He might win through," mused Greyson. "He's the man to do it, if +anybody could. But the odds will be against him." + +"I don't see it," said Joan, with decision. + +"I'm afraid you haven't yet grasped the power of the Press," he +answered with a smile. "Phillips speaks occasionally to five +thousand people. Carleton addresses every day a circle of five +million readers." + +"Yes, but when Phillips does speak, he speaks to the whole +country," retorted Joan. + +"Through the medium of Carleton and his like; and just so far as +they allow his influence to permeate beyond the platform," answered +Greyson. + +"But they report his speeches. They are bound to," explained Joan. + +"It doesn't read quite the same," he answered. "Phillips goes home +under the impression that he has made a great success and has +roused the country. He and millions of other readers learn from +the next morning's headlines that it was 'A Tame Speech' that he +made. What sounded to him 'Loud Cheers' have sunk to mild 'Hear, +Hears.' That five minutes' hurricane of applause, during which +wildly excited men and women leapt upon the benches and roared +themselves hoarse, and which he felt had settled the whole +question, he searches for in vain. A few silly interjections, +probably pre-arranged by Carleton's young lions, become 'renewed +interruptions.' The report is strictly truthful; but the +impression produced is that Robert Phillips has failed to carry +even his own people with him. And then follow leaders in fourteen +widely-circulated Dailies, stretching from the Clyde to the Severn, +foretelling how Mr. Robert Phillips could regain his waning +popularity by the simple process of adopting Tariff Reform: or +whatever the pet panacea of Carleton and Co. may, at the moment, +happen to be." + +"Don't make us out all alike," pleaded his sister with a laugh. +"There are still a few old-fashioned papers that do give their +opponents fair play." + +"They are not increasing in numbers," he answered, "and the +Carleton group is. There is no reason why in another ten years he +should not control the entire popular press of the country. He's +got the genius and he's got the means." + +"The cleverest thing he has done," he continued, turning to Joan, +"is your Sunday Post. Up till then, the working classes had +escaped him. With the Sunday Post, he has solved the problem. +They open their mouths; and he gives them their politics wrapped up +in pictures and gossipy pars." + +Miss Greyson rose and put away her embroidery. "But what's his +object?" she said. "He must have more money than he can spend; and +he works like a horse. I could understand it, if he had any +beliefs." + +"Oh, we can all persuade ourselves that we are the Heaven-ordained +dictator of the human race," he answered. "Love of power is at the +bottom of it. Why do our Rockefellers and our Carnegies condemn +themselves to the existence of galley slaves, ruining their +digestions so that they never can enjoy a square meal. It isn't +the money; it's the trouble of their lives how to get rid of that. +It is the notoriety, the power that they are out for. In +Carleton's case, it is to feel himself the power behind the throne; +to know that he can make and unmake statesmen; has the keys of +peace and war in his pocket; is able to exclaim: Public opinion? +It is I." + +"It can be a respectable ambition," suggested Joan. + +"It has been responsible for most of man's miseries," he answered. +"Every world's conqueror meant to make it happy after he had +finished knocking it about. We are all born with it, thanks to the +devil." He shifted his position and regarded her with critical +eyes. "You've got it badly," he said. "I can see it in the tilt +of your chin and the quivering of your nostrils. You beware of +it." + +Miss Greyson left them. She had to finish an article. They +debated "Clorinda's" views; and agreed that, as a practical +housekeeper, she would welcome attention being given to the +question of the nation's food. The Evening Gazette would support +Phillips in principle, while reserving to itself the right of +criticism when it came to details. + +"What's he like in himself?" he asked her. "You've been seeing +something of him, haven't you?" + +"Oh, a little," she answered. "He's absolutely sincere; and he +means business. He won't stop at the bottom of the ladder now he's +once got his foot upon it." + +"But he's quite common, isn't he?" he asked again. "I've only met +him in public." + +"No, that's precisely what he isn't," answered Joan. "You feel +that he belongs to no class, but his own. The class of the Abraham +Lincolns, and the Dantons." + +"England's a different proposition," he mused. "Society counts for +so much with us. I doubt if we should accept even an Abraham +Lincoln: unless in some supreme crisis. His wife rather handicaps +him, too, doesn't she?" + +"She wasn't born to be the chatelaine of Downing Street," Joan +admitted. "But it's not an official position." + +"I'm not so sure that it isn't," he laughed. "It's the dinner- +table that rules in England. We settle everything round a dinner- +table." + +She was sitting in front of the fire in a high-backed chair. She +never cared to loll, and the shaded light from the electric sconces +upon the mantelpiece illumined her. + +"If the world were properly stage-managed, that's what you ought to +be," he said, "the wife of a Prime Minister. I can see you giving +such an excellent performance." + +"I must talk to Mary," he added, "see if we can't get you off on +some promising young Under Secretary." + +"Don't give me ideas above my station," laughed Joan. "I'm a +journalist." + +"That's the pity of it," he said. "You're wasting the most +important thing about you, your personality. You would do more +good in a drawing-room, influencing the rulers, than you will ever +do hiding behind a pen. It was the drawing-room that made the +French Revolution." + +The firelight played about her hair. "I suppose every woman dreams +of reviving the old French Salon," she answered. "They must have +been gloriously interesting." He was leaning forward with clasped +hands. "Why shouldn't she?" he said. "The reason that our +drawing-rooms have ceased to lead is that our beautiful women are +generally frivolous and our clever women unfeminine. What we are +waiting for is an English Madame Roland." + +Joan laughed. "Perhaps I shall some day," she answered. + +He insisted on seeing her as far as the bus. It was a soft, mild +night; and they walked round the Circle to Gloucester Gate. He +thought there would be more room in the buses at that point. + +"I wish you would come oftener," he said. "Mary has taken such a +liking to you. If you care to meet people, we can always whip up +somebody of interest." + +She promised that she would. She always felt curiously at home +with the Greysons. + +They were passing the long sweep of Chester Terrace. "I like this +neighbourhood with its early Victorian atmosphere," she said. "It +always makes me feel quiet and good. I don't know why." + +"I like the houses, too," he said. "There's a character about +them. You don't often find such fine drawing-rooms in London." + +"Don't forget your promise," he reminded her, when they parted. "I +shall tell Mary she may write to you." + +She met Carleton by chance a day or two later, as she was entering +the office. "I want to see you," he said; and took her up with him +into his room. + +"We must stir the people up about this food business," he said, +plunging at once into his subject. "Phillips is quite right. It +overshadows everything. We must make the country self-supporting. +It can be done and must. If a war were to be sprung upon us we +could be starved out in a month. Our navy, in face of these new +submarines, is no longer able to secure us. France is working day +and night upon them. It may be a bogey, or it may not. If it +isn't, she would have us at her mercy; and it's too big a risk to +run. You live in the same house with him, don't you? Do you often +see him?" + +"Not often," she answered. + +He was reading a letter. "You were dining there on Friday night, +weren't you?" he asked her, without looking up. + +Joan flushed. What did he mean by cross-examining her in this way? +She was not at all used to impertinence from the opposite sex. + +"Your information is quite correct," she answered. + +Her anger betrayed itself in her tone; and he shot a swift glance +at her. + +"I didn't mean to offend you," he said. "A mutual friend, a Mr. +Airlie, happened to be of the party, and he mentioned you." + +He threw aside the letter. "I'll tell you what I want you to do," +he said. "It's nothing to object to. Tell him that you've seen me +and had a talk. I understand his scheme to be that the country +should grow more and more food until it eventually becomes self- +supporting; and that the Government should control the +distribution. Tell him that with that I'm heart and soul in +sympathy; and would like to help him." He pushed aside a pile of +papers and, leaning across the desk, spoke with studied +deliberation. "If he can see his way to making his policy +dependent upon Protection, we can work together." + +"And if he can't?" suggested Joan. + +He fixed his large, colourless eyes upon her. "That's where you +can help him," he answered. "If he and I combine forces, we can +pull this through in spite of the furious opposition that it is +going to arouse. Without a good Press he is helpless; and where is +he going to get his Press backing if he turns me down? From half a +dozen Socialist papers whose support will do him more harm than +good. If he will bring the working class over to Protection I will +undertake that the Tariff Reformers and the Agricultural Interest +shall accept his Socialism. It will be a victory for both of us. + +"If he gain his end, what do the means matter?" he continued, as +Joan did not answer. "Food may be dearer; the Unions can square +that by putting up wages; while the poor devil of a farm labourer +will at last get fair treatment. We can easily insist upon that. +What do you think, yourself?" + +"About Protection," she answered. "It's one of the few subjects I +haven't made up my mind about." + +He laughed. "You will find all your pet reforms depend upon it, +when you come to work them out," he said. "You can't have a +minimum wage without a minimum price." + +They had risen. + +"I'll give him your message," said Joan. "But I don't see him +exchanging his principles even for your support. I admit it's +important." + +"Talk it over with him," he said. "And bear this in mind for your +own guidance." He took a step forward, which brought his face +quite close to hers: "If he fails, and all his life's work goes +for nothing, I shall be sorry; but I shan't break my heart. He +will." + +Joan dropped a note into Phillips's letter-box on her return home, +saying briefly that she wished to see him; and he sent up answer +asking her if she would come to the gallery that evening, and meet +him after his speech, which would be immediately following the +dinner hour. + +It was the first time he had risen since his appointment, and he +was received with general cheers. He stood out curiously youthful +against the background of grey-haired and bald-headed men behind +him; and there was youth also in his clear, ringing voice that not +even the vault-like atmosphere of that shadowless chamber could +altogether rob of its vitality. He spoke simply and good- +humouredly, without any attempt at rhetoric, relying chiefly upon a +crescendo of telling facts that gradually, as he proceeded, roused +the House to that tense stillness that comes to it when it begins +to think. + +"A distinctly dangerous man," Joan overheard a little old lady +behind her comment to a friend. "If I didn't hate him, I should +like him." + +He met her in the corridor, and they walked up and down and talked, +too absorbed to be aware of the curious eyes that were turned upon +them. Joan gave him Carleton's message. + +"It was clever of him to make use of you," he said. "If he'd sent +it through anybody else, I'd have published it." + +"You don't think it even worth considering?" suggested Joan. + +"Protection?" he flashed out scornfully. "Yes, I've heard of that. +I've listened, as a boy, while the old men told of it to one +another, in thin, piping voices, round the fireside; how the +labourers were flung eight-and-sixpence a week to die on, and the +men starved in the towns; while the farmers kept their hunters, and +got drunk each night on fine old crusted port. Do you know what +their toast was in the big hotels on market day, with the windows +open to the street: 'To a long war and a bloody one.' It would be +their toast to-morrow, if they had their way. Does he think I am +going to be a party to the putting of the people's neck again under +their pitiless yoke?" + +"But the people are more powerful now," argued Joan. "If the +farmer demanded higher prices, they could demand higher wages." + +"They would never overtake the farmer," he answered, with a laugh. +"And the last word would always be with him. I am out to get rid +of the landlords," he continued, "not to establish them as the +permanent rulers of the country, as they are in Germany. The +people are more powerful--just a little, because they are no longer +dependent on the land. They can say to the farmer, 'All right, my +son, if that's your figure, I'm going to the shop next door--to +South America, to Canada, to Russia.' It isn't a satisfactory +solution. I want to see England happy and healthy before I bother +about the Argentine. It drives our men into the slums when they +might be living fine lives in God's fresh air. In the case of war +it might be disastrous. There, I agree with him. We must be able +to shut our door without fear of having to open it ourselves to ask +for bread. How would Protection accomplish that? Did he tell +you?" + +"Don't eat me," laughed Joan. "I haven't been sent to you as a +missionary. I'm only a humble messenger. I suppose the argument +is that, good profits assured to him, the farmer would bustle up +and produce more." + +"Can you see him bustling up?" he answered with a laugh; +"organizing himself into a body, and working the thing out from the +point of view of the public weal? I'll tell you what nine-tenths +of him would do: grow just as much or little as suited his own +purposes; and then go to sleep. And Protection would be his +security against ever being awakened." + +"I'm afraid you don't like him," Joan commented. + +"He will be all right in his proper place," he answered: "as the +servant of the public: told what to do, and turned out of his job +if he doesn't do it. My scheme does depend upon Protection. You +can tell him that. But this time, it's going to be Protection for +the people." + +They were at the far end of the corridor; and the few others still +promenading were some distance away. She had not delivered the +whole of her message. She crossed to a seat, and he followed her. +She spoke with her face turned away from him. + +"You have got to consider the cost of refusal," she said. "His +offer wasn't help or neutrality: it was help or opposition by +every means in his power. He left me in no kind of doubt as to +that. He's not used to being challenged and he won't be squeamish. +You will have the whole of his Press against you, and every other +journalistic and political influence that he possesses. He's +getting a hold upon the working classes. The Sunday Post has an +enormous sale in the manufacturing towns; and he's talking of +starting another. Are you strong enough to fight him?" + +She very much wanted to look at him, but she would not. It seemed +to her quite a time before he replied. + +"Yes," he answered, "I'm strong enough to fight him. Shall rather +enjoy doing it. And it's time that somebody did. Whether I'm +strong enough to win has got to be seen." + +She turned and looked at him then. She wondered why she had ever +thought him ugly. + +"You can face it," she said: "the possibility of all your life's +work being wasted?" + +"It won't be wasted," he answered. "The land is there. I've seen +it from afar and it's a good land, a land where no man shall go +hungry. If not I, another shall lead the people into it. I shall +have prepared the way." + +She liked him for that touch of exaggeration. She was so tired of +the men who make out all things little, including themselves and +their own work. After all, was it exaggeration? Might he not have +been chosen to lead the people out of bondage to a land where there +should be no more fear. + +"You're not angry with me?" he asked. "I haven't been rude, have +I?" + +"Abominably rude," she answered, "you've defied my warnings, and +treated my embassy with contempt." She turned to him and their +eyes met. "I should have despised you, if you hadn't," she added. + +There was a note of exultation in her voice; and, as if in answer, +something leapt into his eyes that seemed to claim her. Perhaps it +was well that just then the bell rang for a division; and the +moment passed. + +He rose and held out his hand. "We will fight him," he said. "And +you can tell him this, if he asks, that I'm going straight for him. +Parliament may as well close down if a few men between them are to +be allowed to own the entire Press of the country, and stifle every +voice that does not shout their bidding. We haven't dethroned +kings to put up a newspaper Boss. He shall have all the fighting +he wants." + +They met more often from that day, for Joan was frankly using her +two columns in the Sunday Post to propagate his aims. Carleton, to +her surprise, made no objection. Nor did he seek to learn the +result of his ultimatum. It looked, they thought, as if he had +assumed acceptance; and was willing for Phillips to choose his own +occasion. Meanwhile replies to her articles reached Joan in weekly +increasing numbers. There seemed to be a wind arising, blowing +towards Protection. Farm labourers, especially, appeared to be +enthusiastic for its coming. From their ill-spelt, smeared +epistles, one gathered that, after years of doubt and hesitation, +they had--however reluctantly--arrived at the conclusion that +without it there could be no hope for them. Factory workers, +miners, engineers--more fluent, less apologetic--wrote as strong +supporters of Phillips's scheme; but saw clearly how upon +Protection its success depended. Shopmen, clerks--only +occasionally ungrammatical--felt sure that Robert Phillips, the +tried friend of the poor, would insist upon the boon of Protection +being no longer held back from the people. Wives and mothers +claimed it as their children's birthright. Similar views got +themselves at the same time, into the correspondence columns of +Carleton's other numerous papers. Evidently Democracy had been +throbbing with a passion for Protection hitherto unknown, even to +itself. + +"He means it kindly," laughed Phillips. "He is offering me an +excuse to surrender gracefully. We must have a public meeting or +two after Christmas, and clear the ground." They had got into the +habit of speaking in the plural. + +Mrs. Phillips's conversion Joan found more difficult than she had +anticipated. She had persuaded Phillips to take a small house and +let her furnish it upon the hire system. Joan went with her to the +widely advertised "Emporium" in the City Road, meaning to advise +her. But, in the end, she gave it up out of sheer pity. Nor would +her advice have served much purpose, confronted by the "rich and +varied choice" provided for his patrons by Mr. Krebs, the +"Furnisher for Connoisseurs." + +"We've never had a home exactly," explained Mrs. Phillips, during +their journey in the tram. "It's always been lodgings, up to now. +Nice enough, some of them; but you know what I mean; everybody +else's taste but your own. I've always fancied a little house with +one's own things in it. You know, things that you can get fond +of." + +Oh, the things she was going to get fond of! The things that her +poor, round foolish eyes gloated upon the moment that she saw them! +Joan tried to enlist the shopman on her side, descending even to +flirtation. Unfortunately he was a young man with a high sense of +duty, convinced that his employer's interests lay in his support of +Mrs. Phillips. The sight of the furniture that, between them, they +selected for the dining-room gave Joan a quite distinct internal +pain. They ascended to the floor above, devoted to the exhibition +of "Recherche drawing-room suites." Mrs. Phillips's eye +instinctively fastened with passionate desire upon the most +atrocious. Joan grew vehement. It was impossible. + +"I always was a one for cheerful colours," explained Mrs. Phillips. + +Even the shopman wavered. Joan pressed her advantage; directed +Mrs. Phillips's attention to something a little less awful. Mrs. +Phillips yielded. + +"Of course you know best, dear," she admitted. "Perhaps I am a bit +too fond of bright things." + +The victory was won. Mrs. Phillips had turned away. The shopman +was altering the order. Joan moved towards the door, and +accidentally caught sight of Mrs. Phillips's face. The flabby +mouth was trembling. A tear was running down the painted cheek. + +Joan slipped her hand through the other's arm. + +"I'm not so sure you're not right after all," she said, fixing a +critical eye upon the rival suites. "It is a bit mousey, that +other." + +The order was once more corrected. Joan had the consolation of +witnessing the childish delight that came again into the foolish +face; but felt angry with herself at her own weakness. + +It was the woman's feebleness that irritated her. If only she had +shown a spark of fight, Joan could have been firm. Poor feckless +creature, what could have ever been her attraction for Phillips! + +She followed, inwardly fuming, while Mrs. Phillips continued to +pile monstrosity upon monstrosity. What would Phillips think? And +what would Hilda's eyes say when they looked upon that recherche +drawing-room suite? Hilda, who would have had no sentimental +compunctions! The woman would be sure to tell them both that she, +Joan, had accompanied her and helped in the choosing. The whole +ghastly house would be exhibited to every visitor as the result of +their joint taste. She could hear Mr. Airlie's purring voice +congratulating her. + +She ought to have insisted on their going to a decent shop. The +mere advertisement ought to have forewarned her. It was the +posters that had captured Mrs. Phillips: those dazzling apartments +where bejewelled society reposed upon the "high-class but +inexpensive designs" of Mr. Krebs. Artists ought to have more +self-respect than to sell their talents for such purposes. + +The contract was concluded in Mr. Krebs' private office: a very +stout gentleman with a very thin voice, whose dream had always been +to one day be of service to the renowned Mr. Robert Phillips. He +was clearly under the impression that he had now accomplished it. +Even as Mrs. Phillips took up the pen to sign, the wild idea +occurred to Joan of snatching the paper away from her, hustling her +into a cab, and in some quiet street or square making the woman see +for herself that she was a useless fool; that the glowing dreams +and fancies she had cherished in her silly head for fifteen years +must all be given up; that she must stand aside, knowing herself of +no account. + +It could be done. She felt it. If only one could summon up the +needful brutality. If only one could stifle that still, small +voice of Pity. + +Mrs. Phillips signed amid splutterings and blots. Joan added her +signature as witness. + +She did effect an improvement in the poor lady's dress. On Madge's +advice she took her to a voluble little woman in the Earl's Court +Road who was struck at once by Madame Phillips's remarkable +resemblance to the Baroness von Stein. Had not Joan noticed it? +Whatever suited the Baroness von Stein--allowed by common consent +to be one of the best-dressed women in London--was bound to show up +Madame Phillips to equal advantage. By curious coincidence a +costume for the Baroness had been put in hand only the day before. +It was sent for and pinned upon the delighted Madame Phillips. +Perfection! As the Baroness herself would always say: "My frock +must be a framework for my personality. It must never obtrude." +The supremely well-dressed woman! One never notices what she has +on: that is the test. It seemed it was what Mrs. Phillips had +always felt herself. Joan could have kissed the voluble, emphatic +little woman. + +But the dyed hair and the paint put up a fight for themselves. + +"I want you to do something very brave," said Joan. She had +invited herself to tea with Mrs. Phillips, and they were alone in +the small white-panelled room that they were soon to say good-bye +to. The new house would be ready at Christmas. "It will be a +little hard at first," continued Joan, "but afterwards you will be +glad that you have done it. It is a duty you owe to your position +as the wife of a great leader of the people." + +The firelight showed to Joan a comically frightened face, with +round, staring eyes and an open mouth. + +"What is it you want me to do?" she faltered + +"I want you to be just yourself," said Joan; "a kind, good woman of +the people, who will win their respect, and set them an example." +She moved across and seating herself on the arm of Mrs. Phillips's +chair, touched lightly with her hand the flaxen hair and the rouged +cheek. "I want you to get rid of all this," she whispered. "It +isn't worthy of you. Leave it to the silly dolls and the bad +women." + +There was a long silence. Joan felt the tears trickling between +her fingers. + +"You haven't seen me," came at last in a thin, broken voice. + +Joan bent down and kissed her. "Let's try it," she whispered. + +A little choking sound was the only answer. But the woman rose +and, Joan following, they stole upstairs into the bedroom and Mrs. +Phillips turned the key. + +It took a long time, and Joan, seated on the bed, remembered a +night when she had taken a trapped mouse (if only he had been a +quiet mouse!) into the bathroom and had waited while it drowned. +It was finished at last, and Mrs Phillips stood revealed with her +hair down, showing streaks of dingy brown. + +Joan tried to enthuse; but the words came haltingly. She suggested +to Joan a candle that some wind had suddenly blown out. The paint +and powder had been obvious, but at least it had given her the mask +of youth. She looked old and withered. The life seemed to have +gone out of her. + +"You see, dear, I began when I was young," she explained; "and he +has always seen me the same. I don't think I could live like +this." + +The painted doll that the child fancied! the paint washed off and +the golden hair all turned to drab? Could one be sure of "getting +used to it," of "liking it better?" And the poor bewildered doll +itself! How could one expect to make of it a statue: "The Woman +of the People." One could only bruise it. + +It ended in Joan's promising to introduce her to discreet +theatrical friends who would tell her of cosmetics less injurious +to the skin, and advise her generally in the ancient and proper art +of "making up." + +It was not the end she had looked for. Joan sighed as she closed +her door behind her. What was the meaning of it? On the one hand +that unimpeachable law, the greatest happiness of the greatest +number; the sacred cause of Democracy; the moral Uplift of the +people; Sanity, Wisdom, Truth, the higher Justice; all the forces +on which she was relying for the regeneration of the world--all +arrayed in stern demand that the flabby, useless Mrs. Phillips +should be sacrificed for the general good. Only one voice had +pleaded for foolish, helpless Mrs. Phillips--and had conquered. +The still, small voice of Pity. + + + +CHAPTER X + + + +Arthur sprang himself upon her a little before Christmas. He was +full of a great project. It was that she and her father should +spend Christmas with his people at Birmingham. Her father thought +he would like to see his brother; they had not often met of late, +and Birmingham would be nearer for her than Liverpool. + +Joan had no intention of being lured into the Birmingham parlour. +She thought she could see in it a scheme for her gradual +entanglement. Besides, she was highly displeased. She had +intended asking her father to come to Brighton with her. As a +matter of fact, she had forgotten all about Christmas; and the idea +only came into her head while explaining to Arthur how his +impulsiveness had interfered with it. Arthur, crestfallen, +suggested telegrams. It would be quite easy to alter everything; +and of course her father would rather be with her, wherever it was. +But it seemed it was too late. She ought to have been consulted. +A sudden sense of proprietorship in her father came to her +assistance and added pathos to her indignation. Of course, now, +she would have to spend Christmas alone. She was far too busy to +think of Birmingham. She could have managed Brighton. Argument +founded on the length of journey to Birmingham as compared with the +journey to Brighton she refused to be drawn into. Her feelings had +been too deeply wounded to permit of descent into detail. + +But the sinner, confessing his fault, is entitled to forgiveness, +and, having put him back into his proper place, she let him kiss +her hand. She even went further and let him ask her out to dinner. +As the result of her failure to reform Mrs. Phillips she was +feeling dissatisfied with herself. It was an unpleasant sensation +and somewhat new to her experience. An evening spent in Arthur's +company might do her good. The experiment proved successful. He +really was quite a dear boy. Eyeing him thoughtfully through the +smoke of her cigarette, it occurred to her how like he was to +Guido's painting of St. Sebastian; those soft, dreamy eyes and that +beautiful, almost feminine, face! There always had been a +suspicion of the saint about him even as a boy: nothing one could +lay hold of: just that odd suggestion of a shadow intervening +between him and the world. + +It seemed a favourable opportunity to inform him of that fixed +determination of hers: never--in all probability--to marry: but +to devote her life to her work. She was feeling very kindly +towards him; and was able to soften her decision with touches of +gentle regret. He did not appear in the least upset. But +'thought' that her duty might demand, later on, that she should +change her mind: that was if fate should offer her some noble +marriage, giving her wider opportunity. + +She was a little piqued at his unexpected attitude of aloofness. +What did he mean by a "noble marriage"--to a Duke, or something of +that sort? + +He did not think the candidature need be confined to Dukes, though +he had no objection to a worthy Duke. He meant any really great +man who would help her and whom she could help. + +She promised, somewhat shortly, to consider the matter, whenever +the Duke, or other class of nobleman, should propose to her. At +present no sign of him had appeared above the horizon. Her own +idea was that, if she lived long enough, she would become a +spinster. Unless someone took pity on her when she was old and +decrepit and past her work. + +There was a little humorous smile about his mouth. But his eyes +were serious and pleading. + +"When shall I know that you are old and decrepit?" he asked. + +She was not quite sure. She thought it would be when her hair was +grey--or rather white. She had been informed by experts that her +peculiar shade of hair went white, not grey. + +"I shall ask you to marry me when your hair is white," he said. +"May I?" + +It did not suggest any overwhelming impatience. "Yes," she +answered. "In case you haven't married yourself, and forgotten all +about me." + +"I shall keep you to your promise," he said quite gravely. + +She felt the time had come to speak seriously. "I want you to +marry," she said, "and be happy. I shall be troubled if you +don't." + +He was looking at her with those shy, worshipping eyes of his that +always made her marvel at her own wonderfulness. + +"It need not do that," he answered. "It would be beautiful to be +with you always so that I might serve you. But I am quite happy, +loving you. Let me see you now and then: touch you and hear your +voice." + +Behind her drawn-down lids, she offered up a little prayer that she +might always be worthy of his homage. She didn't know it would +make no difference to him. + +She walked with him to Euston and saw him into the train. He had +given up his lodgings and was living with her father at The Pines. +They were busy on a plan for securing the co-operation of the +workmen, and she promised to run down and hear all about it. She +would not change her mind about Birmingham, but sent everyone her +love. + +She wished she had gone when it came to Christmas Day. This +feeling of loneliness was growing upon her. The Phillips had gone +up north; and the Greysons to some relations of theirs: swell +country people in Hampshire. Flossie was on a sea voyage with Sam +and his mother, and even Madge had been struck homesick. It +happened to be a Sunday, too, of all days in the week, and London +in a drizzling rain was just about the limit. She worked till late +in the afternoon, but, sitting down to her solitary cup of tea, she +felt she wanted to howl. From the basement came faint sounds of +laughter. Her landlord and lady were entertaining guests. If they +had not been, she would have found some excuse for running down and +talking to them, if only for a few minutes. + +Suddenly the vision of old Chelsea Church rose up before her with +its little motherly old pew-opener. She had so often been meaning +to go and see her again, but something had always interfered. She +hunted through her drawers and found a comparatively sober-coloured +shawl, and tucked it under her cloak. The service was just +commencing when she reached the church. Mary Stopperton showed her +into a seat and evidently remembered her. "I want to see you +afterwards," she whispered; and Mary Stopperton had smiled and +nodded. The service, with its need for being continually upon the +move, bored her; she was not in the mood for it. And the sermon, +preached by a young curate who had not yet got over his Oxford +drawl, was uninteresting. She had half hoped that the wheezy old +clergyman, who had preached about Calvary on the evening she had +first visited the church, would be there again. She wondered what +had become of him, and if it were really a fact that she had known +him when she was a child, or only her fancy. It was strange how +vividly her memory of him seemed to pervade the little church. She +had the feeling he was watching her from the shadows. She waited +for Mary in the vestibule, and gave her the shawl, making her swear +on the big key of the church door that she would wear it herself +and not give it away. The little old pew-opener's pink and white +face flushed with delight as she took it, and the thin, work-worn +hands fingered it admiringly. "But I may lend it?" she pleaded. + +They turned up Church Street. Joan confided to Mary what a rotten +Christmas she had had, all by herself, without a soul to speak to +except her landlady, who had brought her meals and had been in such +haste to get away. + +"I don't know what made me think of you," she said. "I'm so glad I +did." She gave the little old lady a hug. Mary laughed. "Where +are you going now, dearie?" she asked. + +"Oh, I don't mind so much now," answered Joan. "Now that I've seen +a friendly face, I shall go home and go to bed early." + +They walked a little way in silence. Mary slipped her hand into +Joan's. "You wouldn't care to come home and have a bit of supper +with me, would you, dearie?" she asked. + +"Oh, may I?" answered Joan. + +Mary's hand gave Joan's a little squeeze. "You won't mind if +anybody drops in?" she said. "They do sometimes of a Sunday +evening." + +"You don't mean a party?" asked Joan. + +"No, dear," answered Mary. "It's only one or two who have nowhere +else to go." + +Joan laughed. She thought she would be a fit candidate. + +"You see, it makes company for me," explained Mary. + +Mary lived in a tiny house behind a strip of garden. It stood in a +narrow side street between two public-houses, and was covered with +ivy. It had two windows above and a window and a door below. The +upstairs rooms belonged to the churchwardens and were used as a +storehouse for old parish registers, deemed of little value. Mary +Stopperton and her bedridden husband lived in the two rooms below. +Mary unlocked the door, and Joan passed in and waited. Mary lit a +candle that was standing on a bracket and turned to lead the way. + +"Shall I shut the door?" suggested Joan. + +Mary blushed like a child that has been found out just as it was +hoping that it had not been noticed. + +"It doesn't matter, dearie," she explained. "They know, if they +find it open, that I'm in." + +The little room looked very cosy when Mary had made up the fire and +lighted the lamp. She seated Joan in the worn horsehair easy- +chair; out of which one had to be careful one did not slip on to +the floor; and spread her handsome shawl over the back of the +dilapidated sofa. + +"You won't mind my running away for a minute," she said. "I shall +only be in the next room." + +Through the thin partition, Joan heard a constant shrill, +complaining voice. At times, it rose into an angry growl. Mary +looked in at the door. + +"I'm just running round to the doctor's," she whispered. "His +medicine hasn't come. I shan't be long." + +Joan offered to go in and sit with the invalid. But Mary feared +the exertion of talking might be too much for him. "He gets so +excited," she explained. She slipped out noiselessly. + +It seemed, in spite of its open door, a very silent little house +behind its strip of garden. Joan had the feeling that it was +listening. + +Suddenly she heard a light step in the passage, and the room door +opened. A girl entered. She was wearing a large black hat and a +black boa round her neck. Between them her face shone unnaturally +white. She carried a small cloth bag. She started, on seeing +Joan, and seemed about to retreat. + +"Oh, please don't go," cried Joan. "Mrs. Stopperton has just gone +round to the doctor's. She won't be long. I'm a friend of hers." + +The girl took stock of her and, apparently reassured, closed the +door behind her. + +"What's he like to-night?" she asked, with a jerk of her head in +the direction of the next room. She placed her bag carefully upon +the sofa, and examined the new shawl as she did so. + +"Well, I gather he's a little fretful," answered Joan with a smile. + +"That's a bad sign," said the girl. "Means he's feeling better." +She seated herself on the sofa and fingered the shawl. "Did you +give it her?" she asked. + +"Yes," admitted Joan. "I rather fancied her in it." + +"She'll only pawn it," said the girl, "to buy him grapes and port +wine." + +"I felt a bit afraid of her," laughed Joan, "so I made her promise +not to part with it. Is he really very ill, her husband?" + +"Oh, yes, there's no make-believe this time," answered the girl. +"A bad thing for her if he wasn't." + +"Oh, it's only what's known all over the neighbourhood," continued +the girl. "She's had a pretty rough time with him. Twice I've +found her getting ready to go to sleep for the night by sitting on +the bare floor with her back against the wall. Had sold every +stick in the place and gone off. But she'd always some excuse for +him. It was sure to be half her fault and the other half he +couldn't help. Now she's got her 'reward' according to her own +account. Heard he was dying in a doss-house, and must fetch him +home and nurse him back to life. Seems he's getting fonder of her +every day. Now that he can't do anything else." + +"It doesn't seem to depress her spirits," mused Joan. + +"Oh, she! She's all right," agreed the girl. "Having the time of +her life: someone to look after for twenty-four hours a day that +can't help themselves." + +She examined Joan awhile in silence. "Are you on the stage?" she +asked. + +"No," answered Joan. "But my mother was. Are you?" + +"Thought you looked a bit like it," said the girl. "I'm in the +chorus. It's better than being in service or in a shop: that's +all you can say for it." + +"But you'll get out of that," suggested Joan. "You've got the +actress face." + +The girl flushed with pleasure. It was a striking face, with +intelligent eyes and a mobile, sensitive mouth. "Oh, yes," she +said, "I could act all right. I feel it. But you don't get out of +the chorus. Except at a price." + +Joan looked at her. "I thought that sort of thing was dying out," +she said. + +The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Not in my shop," she answered. +"Anyhow, it was the only chance I ever had. Wish sometimes I'd +taken it. It was quite a good part." + +"They must have felt sure you could act," said Joan. "Next time it +will be a clean offer." + +The girl shook her head. "There's no next time," she said; "once +you're put down as one of the stand-offs. Plenty of others to take +your place." + +"Oh, I don't blame them," she added. "It isn't a thing to be +dismissed with a toss of your head. I thought it all out. Don't +know now what decided me. Something inside me, I suppose." + +Joan found herself poking the fire. "Have you known Mary +Stopperton long?" she asked. + +"Oh, yes," answered the girl. "Ever since I've been on my own." + +"Did you talk it over with her?" asked Joan. + +"No," answered the girl. "I may have just told her. She isn't the +sort that gives advice." + +"I'm glad you didn't do it," said Joan: "that you put up a fight +for all women." + +The girl gave a short laugh. "Afraid I wasn't thinking much about +that," she said. + +"No," said Joan. "But perhaps that's the way the best fights are +fought--without thinking." + +Mary peeped round the door. She had been lucky enough to find the +doctor in. She disappeared again, and they talked about +themselves. The girl was a Miss Ensor. She lived by herself in a +room in Lawrence Street. + +"I'm not good at getting on with people," she explained. + +Mary joined them, and went straight to Miss Ensor's bag and opened +it. She shook her head at the contents, which consisted of a +small, flabby-looking meat pie in a tin dish, and two pale, flat +mince tarts. + +"It doesn't nourish you, dearie," complained Mary. "You could have +bought yourself a nice bit of meat with the same money." + +"And you would have had all the trouble of cooking it," answered +the girl. "That only wants warming up." + +"But I like cooking, you know, dearie," grumbled Mary. "There's no +interest in warming things up." + +The girl laughed. "You don't have to go far for your fun," she +said. "I'll bring a sole next time; and you shall do it au +gratin." + +Mary put the indigestible-looking pasties into the oven, and almost +banged the door. Miss Ensor proceeded to lay the table. "How +many, do you think?" she asked. Mary was doubtful. She hoped +that, it being Christmas Day, they would have somewhere better to +go. + +"I passed old 'Bubble and Squeak,' just now, spouting away to three +men and a dog outside the World's End. I expect he'll turn up," +thought Miss Ensor. She laid for four, leaving space for more if +need be. "I call it the 'Cadger's Arms,'" she explained, turning +to Joan. "We bring our own victuals, and Mary cooks them for us +and waits on us; and the more of us the merrier. You look forward +to your Sunday evening parties, don't you?" she asked of Mary. + +Mary laughed. She was busy in a corner with basins and a saucepan. +"Of course I do, dearie," she answered. "I've always been fond of +company." + +There came another opening of the door. A little hairy man +entered. He wore spectacles and was dressed in black. He carried +a paper parcel which he laid upon the table. He looked a little +doubtful at Joan. Mary introduced them. His name was Julius +Simson. He shook hands as if under protest. + +"As friends of Mary Stopperton," he said, "we meet on neutral +ground. But in all matters of moment I expect we are as far +asunder as the poles. I stand for the People." + +"We ought to be comrades," answered Joan, with a smile. "I, too, +am trying to help the People." + +"You and your class," said Mr. Simson, "are friends enough to the +People, so long as they remember that they are the People, and keep +their proper place--at the bottom. I am for putting the People at +the top." + +"Then they will be the Upper Classes," suggested Joan. "And I may +still have to go on fighting for the rights of the lower orders." + +"In this world," explained Mr. Simson, "someone has got to be +Master. The only question is who." + +Mary had unwrapped the paper parcel. It contained half a sheep's +head. "How would you like it done?" she whispered. + +Mr. Simson considered. There came a softer look into his eyes. +"How did you do it last time?" he asked. "It came up brown, I +remember, with thick gravy." + +"Braised," suggested Mary. + +"That's the word," agreed Mr. Simson. "Braised." He watched while +Mary took things needful from the cupboard, and commenced to peel +an onion. + +"That's the sort that makes me despair of the People," said Mr. +Simson. Joan could not be sure whether he was addressing her +individually or imaginary thousands. "Likes working for nothing. +Thinks she was born to be everybody's servant." He seated himself +beside Miss Ensor on the antiquated sofa. It gave a complaining +groan but held out. + +"Did you have a good house?" the girl asked him. "Saw you from the +distance, waving your arms about. Hadn't time to stop." + +"Not many," admitted Mr. Simson. "A Christmassy lot. You know. +Sort of crowd that interrupts you and tries to be funny. Dead to +their own interests. It's slow work." + +"Why do you do it?" asked Miss Ensor. + +"Damned if I know," answered Mr. Simson, with a burst of candour. +"Can't help it, I suppose. Lost me job again." + +"The old story?" suggested Miss Ensor. + +"The old story," sighed Mr. Simson. "One of the customers happened +to be passing last Wednesday when I was speaking on the Embankment. +Heard my opinion of the middle classes?" + +"Well, you can't expect 'em to like it, can you?" submitted Miss +Ensor. + +"No," admitted Mr. Simson with generosity. "It's only natural. +It's a fight to the finish between me and the Bourgeois. I cover +them with ridicule and contempt and they hit back at me in the only +way they know." + +"Take care they don't get the best of you," Miss Ensor advised him. + +"Oh, I'm not afraid," he answered. "I'll get another place all +right: give me time. The only thing I'm worried about is my young +woman." + +"Doesn't agree with you?" inquired Miss Ensor. + +"Oh, it isn't that," he answered. "But she's frightened. You +know. Says life with me is going to be a bit too uncertain for +her. Perhaps she's right." + +"Oh, why don't you chuck it," advised Miss Ensor, "give the +Bourgeois a rest." + +Mr. Simson shook his head. "Somebody's got to tackle them," he +said. "Tell them the truth about themselves, to their faces." + +"Yes, but it needn't be you," suggested Miss Ensor. + +Mary was leaning over the table. Miss Ensor's four-penny veal and +ham pie was ready. Mary arranged it in front of her. "Eat it +while it's hot, dearie," she counselled. "It won't be so +indigestible." + +Miss Ensor turned to her. "Oh, you talk to him," she urged. +"Here, he's lost his job again, and is losing his girl: all +because of his silly politics. Tell him he's got to have sense and +stop it." + +Mary seemed troubled. Evidently, as Miss Ensor had stated, advice +was not her line. "Perhaps he's got to do it, dearie," she +suggested. + +"What do you mean by got to do it?" exclaimed Miss Ensor. "Who's +making him do it, except himself?" + +Mary flushed. She seemed to want to get back to her cooking. +"It's something inside us, dearie," she thought: "that nobody +hears but ourselves." + +"That tells him to talk all that twaddle?" demanded Miss Ensor. +"Have you heard him?" + +"No, dearie," Mary admitted. "But I expect it's got its purpose. +Or he wouldn't have to do it." + +Miss Ensor gave a gesture of despair and applied herself to her +pie. The hirsute face of Mr. Simson had lost the foolish +aggressiveness that had irritated Joan. He seemed to be pondering +matters. + +Mary hoped that Joan was hungry. Joan laughed and admitted that +she was. "It's the smell of all the nice things," she explained. +Mary promised it should soon be ready, and went back to her corner. + +A short, dark, thick-set man entered and stood looking round the +room. The frame must once have been powerful, but now it was +shrunken and emaciated. The shabby, threadbare clothes hung +loosely from the stooping shoulders. Only the head seemed to have +retained its vigour. The face, from which the long black hair was +brushed straight back, was ghastly white. Out of it, deep set +beneath great shaggy, overhanging brows, blazed the fierce, +restless eyes of a fanatic. The huge, thin-lipped mouth seemed to +have petrified itself into a savage snarl. He gave Joan the idea, +as he stood there glaring round him, of a hunted beast at bay. + +Miss Ensor, whose bump of reverence was undeveloped, greeted him +cheerfully as Boanerges. Mr. Simson, more respectful, rose and +offered his small, grimy hand. Mary took his hat and cloak away +from him and closed the door behind him. She felt his hands, and +put him into a chair close to the fire. And then she introduced +him to Joan. + +Joan started on hearing his name. It was one well known. + +"The Cyril Baptiste?" she asked. She had often wondered what he +might be like. + +"The Cyril Baptiste," he answered, in a low, even, passionate +voice, that he flung at her almost like a blow. "The atheist, the +gaol bird, the pariah, the blasphemer, the anti-Christ. I've hoofs +instead of feet. Shall I take off my boots and show them to you? +I tuck my tail inside my coat. You can't see my horns. I've cut +them off close to my head. That's why I wear my hair long: to +hide the stumps." + +Mary had been searching in the pockets of his cloak. She had found +a paper bag. "You mustn't get excited," she said, laying her +little work-worn hand upon his shoulder; "or you'll bring on the +bleeding." + +"Aye," he answered, "I must be careful I don't die on Christmas +Day. It would make a fine text, that, for their sermons." + +He lapsed into silence: his almost transparent hands stretched out +towards the fire. + +Mr. Simson fidgeted. The quiet of the room, broken only by Mary's +ministering activities, evidently oppressed him. + +"Paper going well, sir?" he asked. "I often read it myself." + +"It still sells," answered the proprietor, and editor and +publisher, and entire staff of The Rationalist. + +"I like the articles you are writing on the History of +Superstition. Quite illuminating," remarked Mr. Simson. + +"It's many a year, I am afraid, to the final chapter," thought +their author. + +"They afford much food for reflection," thought Mr. Simson, "though +I cannot myself go as far as you do in including Christianity under +that heading." + +Mary frowned at him; but Mr. Simson, eager for argument or not +noticing, blundered on:- + +"Whether we accept the miraculous explanation of Christ's birth," +continued Mr. Simson, in his best street-corner voice, "or whether, +with the great French writer whose name for the moment escapes me, +we regard Him merely as a man inspired, we must, I think, admit +that His teaching has been of help: especially to the poor." + +The fanatic turned upon him so fiercely that Mr. Simson's arm +involuntarily assumed the posture of defence. + +"To the poor?" the old man almost shrieked. "To the poor that he +has robbed of all power of resistance to oppression by his vile, +submissive creed! that he has drugged into passive acceptance of +every evil done to them by his false promises that their sufferings +here shall win for them some wonderful reward when they are dead. +What has been his teaching to the poor? Bow your backs to the +lash, kiss the rod that scars your flesh. Be ye humble, oh, my +people. Be ye poor in spirit. Let Wrong rule triumphant through +the world. Raise no hand against it, lest ye suffer my eternal +punishments. Learn from me to be meek and lowly. Learn to be good +slaves and give no trouble to your taskmasters. Let them turn the +world into a hell for you. The grave--the grave shall be your gate +to happiness. + +"Helpful to the poor? Helpful to their rulers, to their owners. +They take good care that Christ shall be well taught. Their fat +priests shall bear his message to the poor. The rod may be broken, +the prison door be forced. It is Christ that shall bind the people +in eternal fetters. Christ, the lackey, the jackal of the rich." + +Mr. Simson was visibly shocked. Evidently he was less familiar +with the opinions of The Rationalist than he had thought. + +"I really must protest," exclaimed Mr. Simson. "To whatever wrong +uses His words may have been twisted, Christ Himself I regard as +divine, and entitled to be spoken of with reverence. His whole +life, His sufferings--" + +But the old fanatic's vigour had not yet exhausted itself. + +"His sufferings!" he interrupted. "Does suffering entitle a man to +be regarded as divine? If so, so also am I a God. Look at me!" +He stretched out his long, thin arms with their claw-like hands, +thrusting forward his great savage head that the bony, wizened +throat seemed hardly strong enough to bear. "Wealth, honour, +happiness: I had them once. I had wife, children and a home. Now +I creep an outcast, keeping to the shadows, and the children in the +street throw stones at me. Thirty years I have starved that I +might preach. They shut me in their prisons, they hound me into +garrets. They jibe at me and mock me, but they cannot silence me. +What of my life? Am I divine?" + +Miss Ensor, having finished her supper, sat smoking. + +"Why must you preach?" she asked. "It doesn't seem to pay you." +There was a curious smile about the girl's lips as she caught +Joan's eye. + +He turned to her with his last flicker of passion. + +"Because to this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the +world, that I should bear witness unto the truth," he answered. + +He sank back a huddled heap upon the chair. There was foam about +his mouth, great beads of sweat upon his forehead. Mary wiped them +away with a corner of her apron, and felt again his trembling +hands. "Oh, please don't talk to him any more," she pleaded, "not +till he's had his supper." She fetched her fine shawl, and pinned +it round him. His eyes followed her as she hovered about him. For +the first time, since he had entered the room, they looked human. + +They gathered round the table. Mr. Baptiste was still pinned up in +Mary's bright shawl. It lent him a curious dignity. He might have +been some ancient prophet stepped from the pages of the Talmud. +Miss Ensor completed her supper with a cup of tea and some little +cakes: "just to keep us all company," as Mary had insisted. + +The old fanatic's eyes passed from face to face. There was almost +the suggestion of a smile about the savage mouth. + +"A strange supper-party," he said. "Cyril the Apostate; and Julius +who strove against the High Priests and the Pharisees; and Inez a +dancer before the people; and Joanna a daughter of the rulers, +gathered together in the house of one Mary a servant of the Lord." + +"Are you, too, a Christian?" he asked of Joan. + +"Not yet," answered Joan. "But I hope to be, one day." She spoke +without thinking, not quite knowing what she meant. But it came +back to her in after years. + +The talk grew lighter under the influence of Mary's cooking. Mr. +Baptiste could be interesting when he got away from his fanaticism; +and even the apostolic Mr. Simson had sometimes noticed humour when +it had chanced his way. + +A message came for Mary about ten o'clock, brought by a scared +little girl, who whispered it to her at the door. Mary apologized. +She had to go out. The party broke up. Mary disappeared into the +next room and returned in a shawl and bonnet, carrying a small +brown paper parcel. Joan walked with her as far as the King's +Road. + +"A little child is coming," she confided to Joan. She was quite +excited about it. + +Joan thought. "It's curious," she said, "one so seldom hears of +anybody being born on Christmas Day." + +They were passing a lamp. Joan had never seen a face look quite so +happy as Mary's looked, just then. + +"It always seems to me Christ's birthday," she said, "whenever a +child is born." + +They had reached the corner. Joan could see her bus in the +distance. + +She stooped and kissed the little withered face. + +"Don't stop," she whispered. + +Mary gave her a hug, and almost ran away. Joan watched the little +child-like figure growing smaller. It glided in and out among the +people. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + +In the spring, Joan, at Mrs. Denton's request, undertook a mission. +It was to go to Paris. Mrs. Denton had meant to go herself, but +was laid up with sciatica; and the matter, she considered, would +not brook of any delay. + +"It's rather a delicate business," she told Joan. She was lying on +a couch in her great library, and Joan was seated by her side. "I +want someone who can go into private houses and mix with educated +people on their own level; and especially I want you to see one or +two women: they count in France. You know French pretty well, +don't you?" + +"Oh, sufficiently," Joan answered. The one thing her mother had +done for her had been to talk French with her when she was a child; +and at Girton she had chummed on with a French girl, and made +herself tolerably perfect. + +"You will not go as a journalist," continued Mrs. Denton; "but as a +personal friend of mine, whose discretion I shall vouch for. I +want you to find out what the people I am sending you among are +thinking themselves, and what they consider ought to be done. If +we are not very careful on both sides we shall have the newspapers +whipping us into war." + +The perpetual Egyptian trouble had cropped up again and the +Carleton papers, in particular, were already sounding the tocsin. +Carleton's argument was that we ought to fall upon France and crush +her, before she could develop her supposed submarine menace. His +flaming posters were at every corner. Every obscure French +newspaper was being ransacked for "Insults and Pinpricks." + +"A section of the Paris Press is doing all it can to help him, of +course," explained Mrs. Denton. "It doesn't seem to matter to them +that Germany is only waiting her opportunity, and that, if Russia +comes in, it is bound to bring Austria. Europe will pay dearly one +day for the luxury of a free Press." + +"But you're surely not suggesting any other kind of Press, at this +period of the world's history?" exclaimed Joan. + +"Oh, but I am," answered the old lady with a grim tightening of the +lips. "Not even Carleton would be allowed to incite to murder or +arson. I would have him prosecuted for inciting a nation to war." + +"Why is the Press always so eager for war?" mused Joan. "According +to their own account, war doesn't pay them." + +"I don't suppose it does: not directly," answered Mrs. Denton. +"But it helps them to establish their position and get a tighter +hold upon the public. War does pay the newspaper in the long run. +The daily newspaper lives on commotion, crime, lawlessness in +general. If people no longer enjoyed reading about violence and +bloodshed half their occupation, and that the most profitable half +would be gone. It is the interest of the newspaper to keep alive +the savage in human nature; and war affords the readiest means of +doing this. You can't do much to increase the number of gruesome +murders and loathsome assaults, beyond giving all possible +advertisement to them when they do occur. But you can preach war, +and cover yourself with glory, as a patriot, at the same time." + +"I wonder how many of my ideals will be left to me," sighed Joan. +"I always used to regard the Press as the modern pulpit." + +"The old pulpit became an evil, the moment it obtained unlimited +power," answered Mrs. Denton. "It originated persecution and +inflamed men's passions against one another. It, too, preached war +for its own ends, taught superstition, and punished thought as a +crime. The Press of to-day is stepping into the shoes of the +medieval priest. It aims at establishing the worst kind of +tyranny: the tyranny over men's minds. They pretend to fight +among themselves, but it's rapidly becoming a close corporation. +The Institute of Journalists will soon be followed by the Union of +Newspaper Proprietors and the few independent journals will be +squeezed out. Already we have German shareholders on English +papers; and English capital is interested in the St. Petersburg +Press. It will one day have its International Pope and its school +of cosmopolitan cardinals." + +Joan laughed. "I can see Carleton rather fancying himself in a +tiara," she said. "I must tell Phillips what you say. He's out +for a fight with him. Government by Parliament or Government by +Press is going to be his war cry." + +"Good man," said Mrs. Denton. "I'm quite serious. You tell him +from me that the next revolution has got to be against the Press. +And it will be the stiffest fight Democracy has ever had." + +The old lady had tired herself. Joan undertook the mission. She +thought she would rather enjoy it, and Mrs. Denton promised to let +her have full instructions. She would write to her friends in +Paris and prepare them for Joan's coming. + +Joan remembered Folk, the artist she had met at Flossie's party, +who had promised to walk with her on the terrace at St. Germain, +and tell her more about her mother. She looked up his address on +her return home, and wrote to him, giving him the name of the hotel +in the Rue de Grenelle where Mrs. Denton had arranged that she +should stay. She found a note from him awaiting her when she +arrived there. He thought she would like to be quiet after her +journey. He would call round in the morning. He had presumed on +the privilege of age to send her some lilies. They had been her +mother's favourite flower. "Monsieur Folk, the great artist," had +brought them himself, and placed them in her dressing-room, so +Madame informed her. + +It was one of the half-dozen old hotels still left in Paris, and +was built round a garden famous for its mighty mulberry tree. She +breakfasted underneath it, and was reading there when Folk appeared +before her, smiling and with his hat in his hand. He excused +himself for intruding upon her so soon, thinking from what she had +written him that her first morning might be his only chance. He +evidently considered her remembrance of him a feather in his cap. + +"We old fellows feel a little sadly, at times, how unimportant we +are," he explained. "We are grateful when Youth throws us a +smile." + +"You told me my coming would take you back thirty-three years," +Joan reminded him. "It makes us about the same age. I shall treat +you as just a young man." + +He laughed. "Don't be surprised," he said, "if I make a mistake +occasionally and call you Lena." + +Joan had no appointment till the afternoon. They drove out to St. +Germain, and had dejeuner at a small restaurant opposite the +Chateau; and afterwards they strolled on to the terrace. + +"What was my mother doing in Paris?" asked Joan, + +"She was studying for the stage," he answered. "Paris was the only +school in those days. I was at Julien's studio. We acted together +for some charity. I had always been fond of it. An American +manager who was present offered us both an engagement, and I +thought it would be a change and that I could combine the two +arts." + +"And it was here that you proposed to her," said Joan. + +"Just by that tree that leans forward," he answered, pointing with +his cane a little way ahead. "I thought that in America I'd get +another chance. I might have if your father hadn't come along. I +wonder if he remembers me." + +"Did you ever see her again, after her marriage?" asked Joan. + +"No," he answered. "We used to write to one another until she gave +it up. She had got into the habit of looking upon me as a harmless +sort of thing to confide in and ask advice of--which she never +took." + +"Forgive me," he said. "You must remember that I am still her +lover." They had reached the tree that leant a little forward +beyond its fellows, and he had halted and turned so that he was +facing her. "Did she and your father get on together. Was she +happy?" + +"I don't think she was happy," answered Joan. "She was at first. +As a child, I can remember her singing and laughing about the +house, and she liked always to have people about her. Until her +illness came. It changed her very much. But my father was +gentleness itself, to the end." + +They had resumed their stroll. It seemed to her that he looked at +her once or twice a little oddly without speaking. "What caused +your mother's illness?" he asked, abruptly. + +The question troubled her. It struck her with a pang of self- +reproach that she had always been indifferent to her mother's +illness, regarding it as more or less imaginary. "It was mental +rather than physical, I think," she answered. "I never knew what +brought it about." + +Again he looked at her with that odd, inquisitive expression. "She +never got over it?" he asked. + +"Oh, there were times," answered Joan, "when she was more like her +old self again. But I don't think she ever quite got over it. +Unless it was towards the end," she added. "They told me she +seemed much better for a little while before she died. I was away +at Cambridge at the time." + +"Poor dear lady," he said, "all those years! And poor Jack +Allway." He seemed to be talking to himself. Suddenly he turned +to her. "How is the dear fellow?" he asked. + +Again the question troubled her. She had not seen her father since +that week-end, nearly six months ago, when she had ran down to see +him because she wanted something from him. "He felt my mother's +death very deeply," she answered. "But he's well enough in +health." + +"Remember me to him," he said. "And tell him I thank him for all +those years of love and gentleness. I don't think he will be +offended." + +He drove her back to Paris, and she promised to come and see him in +his studio and let him introduce her to his artist friends. + +"I shall try to win you over, I warn you," he said. "Politics will +never reform the world. They appeal only to men's passions and +hatreds. They divide us. It is Art that is going to civilize +mankind; broaden his sympathies. Art speaks to him the common +language of his loves, his dreams, reveals to him the universal +kinship." + +Mrs. Denton's friends called upon her, and most of them invited her +to their houses. A few were politicians, senators or ministers. +Others were bankers, heads of business houses, literary men and +women. There were also a few quiet folk with names that were +historical. They all thought that war between France and England +would be a world disaster, but were not very hopeful of averting +it. She learnt that Carleton was in Berlin trying to secure +possession of a well-known German daily that happened at the moment +to be in low water. He was working for an alliance between Germany +and England. In France, the Royalists had come to an understanding +with the Clericals, and both were evidently making ready to throw +in their lot with the war-mongers, hoping that out of the troubled +waters the fish would come their way. Of course everything +depended on the people. If the people only knew it! But they +didn't. They stood about in puzzled flocks, like sheep, wondering +which way the newspaper dog was going to hound them. They took her +to the great music halls. Every allusion to war was greeted with +rapturous applause. The Marseillaise was demanded and encored till +the orchestra rebelled from sheer exhaustion. Joan's patience was +sorely tested. She had to listen with impassive face to coarse +jests and brutal gibes directed against England and everything +English; to sit unmoved while the vast audience rocked with +laughter at senseless caricatures of supposed English soldiers +whose knees always gave way at the sight of a French uniform. Even +in the eyes of her courteous hosts, Joan's quick glance would +occasionally detect a curious glint. The fools! Had they never +heard of Waterloo and Trafalgar? Even if their memories might be +excused for forgetting Crecy and Poictiers and the campaigns of +Marlborough. One evening--it had been a particularly trying one +for Joan--there stepped upon the stage a wooden-looking man in a +kilt with bagpipes under his arm. How he had got himself into the +programme Joan could not understand. Managerial watchfulness must +have gone to sleep for once. He played Scotch melodies, and the +Parisians liked them, and when he had finished they called him +back. Joan and her friends occupied a box close to the stage. The +wooden-looking Scot glanced up at her, and their eyes met. And as +the applause died down there rose the first low warning strains of +the Pibroch. Joan sat up in her chair and her lips parted. The +savage music quickened. It shrilled and skrealed. The blood came +surging through her veins. + +And suddenly something lying hidden there leaped to life within her +brain. A mad desire surged hold of her to rise and shout defiance +at those three thousand pairs of hostile eyes confronting her. She +clutched at the arms of her chair and so kept her seat. The +pibroch ended with its wild sad notes of wailing, and slowly the +mist cleared from her eyes, and the stage was empty. A strange +hush had fallen on the house. + +She was not aware that her hostess had been watching her. She was +a sweet-faced, white-haired lady. She touched Joan lightly on the +hand. "That's the trouble," she whispered. "It's in our blood." + +Could we ever hope to eradicate it? Was not the survival of this +fighting instinct proof that war was still needful to us? In the +sculpture-room of an exhibition she came upon a painted statue of +Bellona. Its grotesqueness shocked her at first sight, the red +streaming hair, the wild eyes filled with fury, the wide open +mouth--one could almost hear it screaming--the white uplifted arms +with outstretched hands! Appalling! Terrible! And yet, as she +gazed at it, gradually the thing grew curiously real to her. She +seemed to hear the gathering of the chariots, the neighing of the +horses, the hurrying of many feet, the sound of an armouring +multitude, the shouting, and the braying of the trumpets. + +These cold, thin-lipped calculators, arguing that "War doesn't +pay"; those lank-haired cosmopolitans, preaching their +"International," as if the only business of mankind were wages! +War still was the stern school where men learnt virtue, duty, +forgetfulness of self, faithfulness unto death. + +This particular war, of course, must be stopped: if it were not +already too late. It would be a war for markets; for spheres of +commercial influence; a sordid war that would degrade the people. +War, the supreme test of a nation's worth, must be reserved for +great ideals. Besides, she wanted to down Carleton. + +One of the women on her list, and the one to whom Mrs. Denton +appeared to attach chief importance, a Madame de Barante, +disappointed Joan. She seemed to have so few opinions of her own. +She had buried her young husband during the Franco-Prussian war. +He had been a soldier. And she had remained unmarried. She was +still beautiful. + +"I do not think we women have the right to discuss war," she +confided to Joan in her gentle, high-bred voice. "I suppose you +think that out of date. I should have thought so myself forty +years ago. We talk of 'giving' our sons and lovers, as if they +were ours to give. It makes me a little angry when I hear pampered +women speak like that. It is the men who have to suffer and die. +It is for them to decide." + +"But perhaps I can arrange a meeting for you with a friend," she +added, "who will be better able to help you, if he is in Paris. I +will let you know." + +She told Joan what she remembered herself of 1870. She had turned +her country house into a hospital and had seen a good deal of the +fighting. + +"It would not do to tell the truth, or we should have our children +growing up to hate war," she concluded. + +She was as good as her word, and sent Joan round a message the next +morning to come and see her in the afternoon. Joan was introduced +to a Monsieur de Chaumont. He was a soldierly-looking gentleman, +with a grey moustache, and a deep scar across his face. + +"Hanged if I can see how we are going to get out of it," he +answered Joan cheerfully. "The moment there is any threat of war, +it becomes a point of honour with every nation to do nothing to +avoid it. I remember my old duelling days. The quarrel may have +been about the silliest trifle imaginable. A single word would +have explained the whole thing away. But to utter it would have +stamped one as a coward. This Egyptian Tra-la-la! It isn't worth +the bones of a single grenadier, as our friends across the Rhine +would say. But I expect, before it's settled, there will be men's +bones sufficient, bleaching on the desert, to build another +Pyramid. It's so easily started: that's the devil of it. A +mischievous boy can throw a lighted match into a powder magazine, +and then it becomes every patriot's business to see that it isn't +put out. I hate war. It accomplishes nothing, and leaves +everything in a greater muddle than it was before. But if the idea +ever catches fire, I shall have to do all I can to fan the +conflagration. Unless I am prepared to be branded as a poltroon. +Every professional soldier is supposed to welcome war. Most of us +do: it's our opportunity. There's some excuse for us. But these +men--Carleton and their lot: I regard them as nothing better than +the Menades of the Commune. They care nothing if the whole of +Europe blazes. They cannot personally get harmed whatever happens. +It's fun to them." + +"But the people who can get harmed," argued Joan. "The men who +will be dragged away from their work, from their business, used as +'cannon fodder.'" + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, they are always eager enough for +it, at first," he answered. "There is the excitement. The +curiosity. You must remember that life is a monotonous affair to +the great mass of the people. There's the natural craving to +escape from it; to court adventure. They are not so enthusiastic +about it after they have tasted it. Modern warfare, they soon +find, is about as dull a business as science ever invented." + +There was only one hope that he could see: and that was to switch +the people's mind on to some other excitement. His advices from +London told him that a parliamentary crisis was pending. Could not +Mrs. Denton and her party do something to hasten it? He, on his +side, would consult with the Socialist leaders, who might have +something to suggest. + +He met Joan, radiant, a morning or two later. The English +Government had resigned and preparations for a general election +were already on foot. + +"And God has been good to us, also," he explained. + +A well-known artist had been found murdered in his bed and grave +suspicion attached to his beautiful young wife. + +"She deserves the Croix de Guerre, if it is proved that she did +it," he thought. "She will have saved many thousands of lives--for +the present." + +Folk had fixed up a party at his studio to meet her. She had been +there once or twice; but this was a final affair. She had finished +her business in Paris and would be leaving the next morning. To +her surprise, she found Phillips there. He had come over hurriedly +to attend a Socialist conference, and Leblanc, the editor of Le +Nouveau Monde, had brought him along. + +"I took Smedley's place at the last moment," he whispered to her. +"I've never been abroad before. You don't mind, do you?" + +It didn't strike her as at all odd that a leader of a political +party should ask her "if she minded" his being in Paris to attend a +political conference. He was wearing a light grey suit and a blue +tie. There was nothing about him, at that moment, suggesting that +he was a leader of any sort. He might have been just any man, but +for his eyes. + +"No," she whispered. "Of course not. I don't like your tie." It +seemed to depress him, that. + +She felt elated at the thought that he would see her for the first +time amid surroundings where she would shine. Folk came forward to +meet her with that charming air of protective deference that he had +adopted towards her. He might have been some favoured minister of +state kissing the hand of a youthful Queen. She glanced down the +long studio, ending in its fine window overlooking the park. Some +of the most distinguished men in Paris were there, and the +immediate stir of admiration that her entrance had created was +unmistakable. Even the women turned pleased glances at her; as if +willing to recognize in her their representative. A sense of power +came to her that made her feel kind to all the world. There was no +need for her to be clever: to make any effort to attract. Her +presence, her sympathy, her approval seemed to be all that was +needed of her. She had the consciousness that by the mere exercise +of her will she could sway the thoughts and actions of these men: +that sovereignty had been given to her. It reflected itself in her +slightly heightened colour, in the increased brilliance of her +eyes, in the confident case of all her movements. It added a +compelling softness to her voice. + +She never quite remembered what the talk was about. Men were +brought up and presented to her, and hung about her words, and +sought to please her. She had spoken her own thoughts, indifferent +whether they expressed agreement or not; and the argument had +invariably taken another plane. It seemed so important that she +should be convinced. Some had succeeded, and had been +strengthened. Others had failed, and had departed sorrowful, +conscious of the necessity of "thinking it out again." + +Guests with other engagements were taking their leave. A piquante +little woman, outrageously but effectively dressed--she looked like +a drawing by Beardsley--drew her aside. "I've always wished I were +a man," she said. "It seemed to me that they had all the power. +From this afternoon, I shall be proud of belonging to the governing +sex." + +She laughed and slipped away. + +Phillips was waiting for her in the vestibule. She had forgotten +him; but now she felt glad of his humble request to be allowed to +see her home. It would have been such a big drop from her crowded +hour of triumph to the long lonely cab ride and the solitude of the +hotel. She resolved to be gracious, feeling a little sorry for her +neglect of him--but reflecting with satisfaction that he had +probably been watching her the whole time. + +"What's the matter with my tie?" he asked. "Wrong colour?" + +She laughed. "Yes," she answered. "It ought to be grey to match +your suit. And so ought your socks." + +"I didn't know it was going to be such a swell affair, or I +shouldn't have come," he said. + +She touched his hand lightly. + +"I want you to get used to it," she said. "It's part of your work. +Put your brain into it, and don't be afraid." + +"I'll try," he said. + +He was sitting on the front seat, facing her. "I'm glad I went," +he said with sudden vehemence. "I loved watching you, moving about +among all those people. I never knew before how beautiful you +are." + +Something in his eyes sent a slight thrill of fear through her. It +was not an unpleasant sensation--rather exhilarating. She watched +the passing street till she felt that his eyes were no longer +devouring her. + +"You're not offended?" he asked. "At my thinking you beautiful?" +he added, in case she hadn't understood. + +She laughed. Her confidence had returned to her. "It doesn't +generally offend a woman," she answered. + +He seemed relieved. "That's what's so wonderful about you," he +said. "I've met plenty of clever, brilliant women, but one could +forget that they were women. You're everything." + +He pleaded, standing below her on the steps of the hotel, that she +would dine with him. But she shook her head. She had her packing +to do. She could have managed it; but something prudent and absurd +had suddenly got hold of her; and he went away with much the same +look in his eyes that comes to a dog when he finds that his master +cannot be persuaded into an excursion. + +She went up to her room. There really was not much to do. She +could quite well finish her packing in the morning. She sat down +at the desk and set to work to arrange her papers. It was a warm +spring evening, and the window was open. A crowd of noisy sparrows +seemed to be delighted about something. From somewhere, unseen, a +blackbird was singing. She read over her report for Mrs. Denton. +The blackbird seemed never to have heard of war. He sang as if the +whole world were a garden of languor and love. Joan looked at her +watch. The first gong would sound in a few minutes. She pictured +the dreary, silent dining-room with its few scattered occupants, +and her heart sank at the prospect. To her relief came remembrance +of a cheerful but entirely respectable restaurant near to the +Louvre to which she had been taken a few nights before. She had +noticed quite a number of women dining there alone. She closed her +dispatch case with a snap and gave a glance at herself in the great +mirror. The blackbird was still singing. + +She walked up the Rue des Sts. Peres, enjoying the delicious air. +Half way across the bridge she overtook a man, strolling listlessly +in front of her. There was something familiar about him. He was +wearing a grey suit and had his hands in his pockets. Suddenly the +truth flashed upon her. She stopped. If he strolled on, she would +be able to slip back. Instead of which he abruptly turned to look +down at a passing steamer, and they were face to face. + +It made her mad, the look of delight that came into his eyes. She +could have boxed his ears. Hadn't he anything else to do but hang +about the streets. + +He explained that he had been listening to the band in the gardens, +returning by the Quai d'Orsay. + +"Do let me come with you," he said. "I kept myself free this +evening, hoping. And I'm feeling so lonesome." + +Poor fellow! She had come to understand that feeling. After all, +it wasn't altogether his fault that they had met. And she had been +so cross to him! + +He was reading every expression on her face. + +"It's such a lovely evening," he said. "Couldn't we go somewhere +and dine under a tree?" + +It would be rather pleasant. There was a little place at Meudon, +she remembered. The plane trees would just be in full leaf. + +A passing cab had drawn up close to them. The chauffeur was +lighting his pipe. + +Even Mrs. Grundy herself couldn't object to a journalist dining +with a politician! + +The stars came out before they had ended dinner. She had made him +talk about himself. It was marvellous what he had accomplished +with his opportunities. Ten hours a day in the mines had earned +for him his living, and the night had given him his leisure. An +attic, lighted by a tallow candle, with a shelf of books that left +him hardly enough for bread, had been his Alma Mater. History was +his chief study. There was hardly an authority Joan could think of +with which he was not familiar. Julius Caesar was his favourite +play. He seemed to know it by heart. At twenty-three he had been +elected a delegate, and had entered Parliament at twenty-eight. It +had been a life of hardship, of privation, of constant strain; but +she found herself unable to pity him. It was a tale of strength, +of struggle, of victory, that he told her. + +Strength! The shaded lamplight fell upon his fearless kindly face +with its flashing eyes and its humorous mouth. He ought to have +been drinking out of a horn, not a wine glass that his well-shaped +hand could have crushed by a careless pressure. In a winged helmet +and a coat of mail he would have looked so much more fitly dressed +than in that soft felt hat and ridiculous blue tie. + +She led him to talk on about the future. She loved to hear his +clear, confident voice with its touch of boyish boastfulness. What +was there to stop him? Why should he not climb from power to power +till he had reached the end! + +And as he talked and dreamed there grew up in her heart a fierce +anger. What would her own future be? She would marry probably +some man of her own class, settle down to the average woman's +"life"; be allowed, like a spoilt child, to still "take an +interest" in public affairs: hold "drawing-rooms" attended by +cranks and political nonentities: be President, perhaps, of the +local Woman's Liberal League. The alternative: to spend her days +glued to a desk, penning exhortations to the people that Carleton +and his like might or might not allow them to read; while youth and +beauty slipped away from her, leaving her one of the ten thousand +other lonely, faded women, forcing themselves unwelcome into men's +jobs. There came to her a sense of having been robbed of what was +hers by primitive eternal law. Greyson had been right. She did +love power--power to serve and shape the world. She would have +earned it and used it well. She could have helped him, inspired +him. They would have worked together: he the force and she the +guidance. She would have supplied the things he lacked. It was to +her he came for counsel, as it was. But for her he would never +have taken the first step. What right had this poor brainless lump +of painted flesh to share his wounds, his triumphs? What help +could she give him when the time should come that he should need +it? + +Suddenly he broke off. "What a fool I'm making of myself," he +said. "I always was a dreamer." + +She forced a laugh. "Why shouldn't it come true?" she asked. + +They had the little garden to themselves. The million lights of +Paris shone below them. + +"Because you won't be there," he answered, "and without you I can't +do it. You think I'm always like I am to-night, bragging, +confident. So I am when you are with me. You give me back my +strength. The plans and hopes and dreams that were slipping from +me come crowding round me, laughing and holding out their hands. +They are like the children. They need two to care for them. I +want to talk about them to someone who understands them and loves +them, as I do. I want to feel they are dear to someone else, as +well as to myself: that I must work for them for her sake, as well +as for my own. I want someone to help me to bring them up." + +There were tears in his eyes. He brushed them angrily away. "Oh, +I know I ought to be ashamed of myself," he said. "It wasn't her +fault. She wasn't to know that a hot-blooded young chap of twenty +hasn't all his wits about him, any more than I was. If I had never +met you, it wouldn't have mattered. I'd have done my bit of good, +and have stopped there, content. With you beside me"--he looked +away from her to where the silent city peeped through its veil of +night--"I might have left the world better than I found it." + +The blood had mounted to her face. She drew back into the shadow, +beyond the tiny sphere of light made by the little lamp. + +"Men have accomplished great things without a woman's help," she +said. + +"Some men," he answered. "Artists and poets. They have the woman +within them. Men like myself--the mere fighter: we are incomplete +in ourselves. Male and female created He them. We are lost +without our mate." + +He was thinking only of himself. Had he no pity for her. So was +she, also, useless without her mate. Neither was she of those, +here and there, who can stand alone. Her task was that of the +eternal woman: to make a home: to cleanse the world of sin and +sorrow, make it a kinder dwelling-place for the children that +should come. This man was her true helpmeet. He would have been +her weapon, her dear servant; and she could have rewarded him as +none other ever could. The lamplight fell upon his ruddy face, his +strong white hands resting on the flimsy table. He belonged to an +older order than her own. That suggestion about him of something +primitive, of something not yet altogether tamed. She felt again +that slight thrill of fear that so strangely excited her. A mist +seemed to be obscuring all things. He seemed to be coming towards +her. Only by keeping her eyes fixed on his moveless hands, still +resting on the table, could she convince herself that his arms were +not closing about her, that she was not being drawn nearer and +nearer to him, powerless to resist. + +Suddenly, out of the mist, she heard voices. The waiter was +standing beside him with the bill. She reached out her hand and +took it. The usual few mistakes had occurred. She explained them, +good temperedly, and the waiter, with profuse apologies, went back +to have it corrected. + +He turned to her as the man went. "Try and forgive me," he said in +a low voice. "It all came tumbling out before I thought what I was +saying." + +The blood was flowing back into her veins. "Oh, it wasn't your +fault," she answered. "We must make the best we can of it." + +He bent forward so that he could see into her eyes. + +"Tell me," he said. There was a note of fierce exultation in his +voice. "I'll promise never to speak of it again. If I had been a +free man, could I have won you?" + +She had risen while he was speaking. She moved to him and laid her +hands upon his shoulders. + +"Will you serve me and fight for me against all my enemies?" she +asked. + +"So long as I live," he answered. + +She glanced round. There was no sign of the returning waiter. She +bent over him and kissed him. + +"Don't come with me," she said. "There's a cab stand in the +Avenue. I shall walk to Sevres and take the train." + +She did not look back. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + +She reached home in the evening. The Phillips's old rooms had been +twice let since Christmas, but were now again empty. The McKean +with his silent ways and his everlasting pipe had gone to America +to superintend the production of one of his plays. The house gave +her the feeling of being haunted. She had her dinner brought up to +her and prepared for a long evening's work; but found herself +unable to think--except on the one subject that she wanted to put +off thinking about. To her relief the last post brought her a +letter from Arthur. He had been called to Lisbon to look after a +contract, and would be away for a fortnight. Her father was not as +well as he had been. + +It seemed to just fit in. She would run down and spend a few quiet +days at Liverpool. In her old familiar room where the moon peeped +in over the tops of the tall pines she would be able to reason +things out. Perhaps her father would be able to help her. She had +lost her childish conception of him as of someone prim and proper, +with cut and dried formulas for all occasions. That glimpse he had +shown her of himself had established a fellowship between them. +He, too, had wrestled with life's riddles, not sure of his own +answers. She found him suffering from his old heart trouble, but +more cheerful than she had known him for years. Arthur seemed to +be doing wonders with the men. They were coming to trust him. + +"The difficulty I have always been up against," explained her +father, "has been their suspicion. 'What's the cunning old rascal +up to now? What's his little game?' That is always what I have +felt they were thinking to themselves whenever I have wanted to do +anything for them. It isn't anything he says to them. It seems to +be just he, himself." + +He sketched out their plans to her. It seemed to be all going in +at one ear and out at the other. What was the matter with her? +Perhaps she was tired without knowing it. She would get him to +tell her all about it to-morrow. Also, to-morrow, she would tell +him about Phillips, and ask his advice. It was really quite late. +If he talked any more now, it would give her a headache. She felt +it coming on. + +She made her "good-night" extra affectionate, hoping to disguise +her impatience. She wanted to get up to her own room. + +But even that did not help her. It seemed in some mysterious way +to be no longer her room, but the room of someone she had known and +half forgotten: who would never come back. It gave her the same +feeling she had experienced on returning to the house in London: +that the place was haunted. The high cheval glass from her +mother's dressing-room had been brought there for her use. The +picture of an absurdly small child--the child to whom this room had +once belonged--standing before it naked, rose before her eyes. She +had wanted to see herself. She had thought that only her clothes +stood in the way. If we could but see ourselves, as in some magic +mirror? All the garments usage and education has dressed us up in +laid aside. What was she underneath her artificial niceties, her +prim moralities, her laboriously acquired restraints, her +unconscious pretences and hypocrisies? She changed her clothes for +a loose robe, and putting out the light drew back the curtains. +The moon peeped in over the top of the tall pines, but it only +stared at her, indifferent. It seemed to be looking for somebody +else. + +Suddenly, and intensely to her own surprise, she fell into a +passionate fit of weeping. There was no reason for it, and it was +altogether so unlike her. But for quite a while she was unable to +control it. Gradually, and of their own accord, her sobs lessened, +and she was able to wipe her eyes and take stock of herself in the +long glass. She wondered for the moment whether it was really her +own reflection that she saw there or that of some ghostly image of +her mother. She had so often seen the same look in her mother's +eyes. Evidently the likeness between them was more extensive than +she had imagined. For the first time she became conscious of an +emotional, hysterical side to her nature of which she had been +unaware. Perhaps it was just as well that she had discovered it. +She would have to keep a stricter watch upon herself. This +question of her future relationship with Phillips: it would have +to be thought out coldly, dispassionately. Nothing unexpected must +be allowed to enter into it. + +It was some time before she fell asleep. The high glass faced her +as she lay in bed. She could not get away from the idea that it +was her mother's face that every now and then she saw reflected +there. + +She woke late the next morning. Her father had already left for +the works. She was rather glad to have no need of talking. She +would take a long walk into the country, and face the thing +squarely with the help of the cheerful sun and the free west wind +that was blowing from the sea. She took the train up north and +struck across the hills. Her spirits rose as she walked. + +It was only the intellectual part of him she wanted--the spirit, +not the man. She would be taking nothing away from the woman, +nothing that had ever belonged to her. All the rest of him: his +home life, the benefits that would come to her from his improved +means, from his social position: all that the woman had ever known +or cared for in him would still be hers. He would still remain to +her the kind husband and father. What more was the woman capable +of understanding? What more had she any right to demand? + +It was not of herself she was thinking. It was for his work's sake +that she wanted to be near to him always: that she might counsel +him, encourage him. For this she was prepared to sacrifice +herself, give up her woman's claim on life. They would be friends, +comrades--nothing more. That little lurking curiosity of hers, +concerning what it would be like to feel his strong arms round her, +pressing her closer and closer to him: it was only a foolish +fancy. She could easily laugh that out of herself. Only bad women +had need to be afraid of themselves. She would keep guard for both +of them. Their purity of motive, their high purpose, would save +them from the danger of anything vulgar or ridiculous. + +Of course they would have to be careful. There must be no breath +of gossip, no food for evil tongues. About that she was determined +even more for his sake than her own. It would be fatal to his +career. She was quite in agreement with the popular demand, +supposed to be peculiarly English, that a public man's life should +be above reproach. Of what use these prophets without self- +control; these social reformers who could not shake the ape out of +themselves? Only the brave could give courage to others. Only +through the pure could God's light shine upon men. + +It was vexing his having moved round the corner, into North Street. +Why couldn't the silly woman have been content where she was. +Living under one roof, they could have seen one another as often as +was needful without attracting attention. Now, she supposed, she +would have to be more than ever the bosom friend of Mrs. Phillips-- +spend hours amid that hideous furniture, surrounded by those +bilious wallpapers. Of course he could not come to her. She hoped +he would appreciate the sacrifice she would be making for him. +Fortunately Mrs. Phillips would give no trouble. She would not +even understand. + +What about Hilda? No hope of hiding their secret from those sharp +eyes. But Hilda would approve. They could trust Hilda. The child +might prove helpful. + +It cast a passing shadow upon her spirits, this necessary descent +into details. It brought with it the suggestion of intrigue, of +deceit: robbing the thing, to a certain extent, of its fineness. +Still, what was to be done? If women were coming into public life +these sort of relationships with men would have to be faced and +worked out. Sex must no longer be allowed to interfere with the +working together of men and women for common ends. It was that had +kept the world back. They would be the pioneers of the new order. +Casting aside their earthly passions, humbly with pure hearts they +would kneel before God's altar. He should bless their union. + +A lark was singing. She stood listening. Higher and higher he +rose, pouring out his song of worship; till the tiny, fragile body +disappeared as if fallen from him, leaving his sweet soul still +singing. The happy tears came to her eyes, and she passed on. She +did not hear that little last faint sob with which he sank +exhausted back to earth beside a hidden nest among the furrows. + +She had forgotten the time. It was already late afternoon. Her +long walk and the keen air had made her hungry. She had a couple +of eggs with her tea at a village inn, and was fortunate enough to +catch a train that brought her back in time for dinner. A little +ashamed of her unresponsiveness the night before, she laid herself +out to be sympathetic to her father's talk. She insisted on +hearing again all that he and Arthur were doing, opposing him here +and there with criticism just sufficient to stimulate him; careful +in the end to let him convince her. + +These small hypocrisies were new to her. She hoped she was not +damaging her character. But it was good, watching him slyly from +under drawn-down lids, to see the flash of triumph that would come +into his tired eyes in answer to her half-protesting: "Yes, I see +your point, I hadn't thought of that," her half reluctant admission +that "perhaps" he was right, there; that "perhaps" she was wrong. +It was delightful to see him young again, eager, boyishly pleased +with himself. It seemed there was a joy she had not dreamed of in +yielding victory as well as in gaining it. A new tenderness was +growing up in her. How considerate, how patient, how self- +forgetful he had always been. She wanted to mother him. To take +him in her arms and croon over him, hushing away remembrance of the +old sad days. + +Folk's words came back to her: "And poor Jack Allway. Tell him I +thank him for all those years of love and gentleness." She gave +him the message. + +Folk had been right. He was not offended. "Dear old chap," he +said. "That was kind of him. He was always generous." + +He was silent for a while, with a quiet look on his face. + +"Give him our love," he said. "Tell him we came together, at the +end." + +It was on her tongue to ask him, as so often she had meant to do of +late, what had been the cause of her mother's illness--if illness +it was: what it was that had happened to change both their lives. +But always something had stopped her--something ever present, ever +watchful, that seemed to shape itself out of the air, bending +towards her with its finger on its lips. + +She stayed over the week-end; and on the Saturday, at her +suggestion, they took a long excursion into the country. It was +the first time she had ever asked him to take her out. He came +down to breakfast in a new suit, and was quite excited. In the car +his hand had sought hers shyly, and, feeling her responsive +pressure, he had continued to hold it; and they had sat for a long +time in silence. She decided not to tell him about Phillips, just +yet. He knew of him only from the Tory newspapers and would form a +wrong idea. She would bring them together and leave Phillips to +make his own way. He would like Phillips when he knew him, she +felt sure. He, too, was a people's man. The torch passed down to +him from his old Ironside ancestors, it still glowed. More than +once she had seen it leap to flame. In congenial atmosphere, it +would burn clear and steadfast. It occurred to her what a +delightful solution of her problem, if later on her father could be +persuaded to leave Arthur in charge of the works, and come to live +with her in London. There was a fine block of flats near Chelsea +Church with long views up and down the river. How happy they could +be there; the drawing-room in the Adams style with wine-coloured +curtains! He was a father any young woman could be proud to take +about. Unconsciously she gave his hand an impulsive squeeze. They +lunched at an old inn upon the moors; and the landlady, judging +from his shy, attentive ways, had begun by addressing her as +Madame. + +"You grow wonderfully like your mother," he told her that evening +at dinner. "There used to be something missing. But I don't feel +that, now." + +She wrote to Phillips to meet her, if possible, at Euston. There +were things she wanted to talk to him about. There was the +question whether she should go on writing for Carleton, or break +with him at once. Also one or two points that were worrying her in +connection with tariff reform. He was waiting for her on the +platform. It appeared he, too, had much to say. He wanted her +advice concerning his next speech. He had not dined and suggested +supper. They could not walk about the streets. Likely enough, it +was only her imagination, but it seemed to her that people in the +restaurant had recognized him, and were whispering to one another: +he was bound to be well known. Likewise her own appearance, she +felt, was against them as regarded their desire to avoid +observation. She would have to take to those mousey colours that +did not suit her, and wear a veil. She hated the idea of a veil. +It came from the East and belonged there. Besides, what would be +the use? Unless he wore one too. "Who is the veiled woman that +Phillips goes about with?" That is what they would ask. It was +going to be very awkward, the whole thing. Viewed from the +distance, it had looked quite fine. "Dedicating herself to the +service of Humanity" was how it had presented itself to her in the +garden at Meudon, the twinkling labyrinth of Paris at her feet, its +sordid by-ways hidden beneath its myriad lights. She had not +bargained for the dedication involving the loss of her self- +respect. + +They did not talk as much as they had thought they would. He was +not very helpful on the Carleton question. There was so much to be +said both for and against. It might be better to wait and see how +circumstances shaped themselves. She thought his speech excellent. +It was difficult to discover any argument against it. + +He seemed to be more interested in looking at her when he thought +she was not noticing. That little faint vague fear came back to +her and stayed with her, but brought no quickening of her pulse. +It was a fear of something ugly. She had the feeling they were +both acting, that everything depended upon their not forgetting +their parts. In handing things to one another, they were both of +them so careful that their hands should not meet and touch. + +They walked together back to Westminster and wished each other a +short good-night upon what once had been their common doorstep. +With her latchkey in her hand, she turned and watched his +retreating figure, and suddenly a wave of longing seized her to run +after him and call him back--to see his eyes light up and feel the +pressure of his hands. It was only by clinging to the railings and +counting till she was sure he had entered his own house round the +corner and closed the door behind him, that she restrained herself. + +It was a frightened face that looked at her out of the glass, as +she stood before it taking off her hat. + +She decided that their future meetings should be at his own house. +Mrs. Phillips's only complaint was that she knocked at the door too +seldom. + +"I don't know what I should do without you, I really don't," +confessed the grateful lady. "If ever I become a Prime Minister's +wife, it's you I shall have to thank. You've got so much courage +yourself, you can put the heart into him. I never had any pluck to +spare myself." + +She concluded by giving Joan a hug, accompanied by a sloppy but +heartfelt kiss. + +She would stand behind Phillips's chair with her fat arms round his +neck, nodding her approval and encouragement; while Joan, seated +opposite, would strain every nerve to keep her brain fixed upon the +argument, never daring to look at poor Phillips's wretched face, +with its pleading, apologetic eyes, lest she should burst into +hysterical laughter. She hoped she was being helpful and +inspiring! Mrs. Phillips would assure her afterwards that she had +been wonderful. As for herself, there were periods when she hadn't +the faintest idea about what she was talking. + +Sometimes Mrs. Phillips, called away by domestic duty, would leave +them; returning full of excuses just as they had succeeded in +forgetting her. It was evident she was under the impression that +her presence was useful to them, making it easier for them to open +up their minds to one another. + +"Don't you be put off by his seeming a bit unresponsive," Mrs. +Phillips would explain. "He's shy with women. What I'm trying to +do is to make him feel you are one of the family." + +"And don't you take any notice of me," further explained the good +woman, "when I seem to be in opposition, like. I chip in now and +then on purpose, just to keep the ball rolling. It stirs him up, a +bit of contradictoriness. You have to live with a man before you +understand him." + +One morning Joan received a letter from Phillips, marked immediate. +He informed her that his brain was becoming addled. He intended +that afternoon to give it a draught of fresh air. He would be at +the Robin Hood gate in Richmond Park at three o'clock. Perhaps the +gods would be good to him. He would wait there for half an hour to +give them a chance, anyway. + +She slipped the letter unconsciously into the bosom of her dress, +and sat looking out of the window. It promised to be a glorious +day, and London was stifling and gritty. Surely no one but an +unwholesome-minded prude could jib at a walk across a park. Mrs. +Phillips would be delighted to hear that she had gone. For the +matter of that, she would tell her--when next they met. + +Phillips must have seen her getting off the bus, for he came +forward at once from the other side of the gate, his face radiant +with boyish delight. A young man and woman, entering the park at +the same time, looked at them and smiled sympathetically. + +Joan had no idea the park contained such pleasant by-ways. But for +an occasional perambulator they might have been in the heart of the +country. The fallow deer stole near to them with noiseless feet, +regarding them out of their large gentle eyes with looks of +comradeship. They paused and listened while a missal thrush from a +branch close to them poured out his song of hope and courage. From +quite a long way off they could still hear his clear voice singing, +telling to the young and brave his gallant message. It seemed too +beautiful a day for politics. After all, politics--one has them +always with one; but the spring passes. + +He saw her on to a bus at Kingston, and himself went back by train. +They agreed they would not mention it to Mrs. Phillips. Not that +she would have minded. The danger was that she would want to come, +too; honestly thinking thereby to complete their happiness. It +seemed to be tacitly understood there would be other such +excursions. + +The summer was propitious. Phillips knew his London well, and how +to get away from it. There were winding lanes in Hertfordshire, +Surrey hills and commons, deep, cool, bird-haunted woods in +Buckingham. Each week there was something to look forward to, +something to plan for and manoeuvre. The sense of adventure, a +spice of danger, added zest. She still knocked frequently, as +before, at the door of the hideously-furnished little house in +North Street; but Mrs. Phillips no longer oppressed her as some old +man of the sea she could never hope to shake off from her +shoulders. The flabby, foolish face, robbed of its terrors, became +merely pitiful. She found herself able to be quite gentle and +patient with Mrs. Phillips. Even the sloppy kisses she came to +bear without a shudder down her spine. + +"I know you are only doing it because you sympathize with his aims +and want him to win," acknowledged the good lady. "But I can't +help feeling grateful to you. I don't feel how useless I am while +I've got you to run to." + +They still discussed their various plans for the amelioration and +improvement of humanity; but there seemed less need for haste than +they had thought. The world, Joan discovered, was not so sad a +place as she had judged it. There were chubby, rogue-eyed +children; whistling lads and smiling maidens; kindly men with ruddy +faces; happy mothers crooning over gurgling babies. There was no +call to be fretful and vehement. They would work together in +patience and in confidence. God's sun was everywhere. It needed +only that dark places should be opened up and it would enter. + +Sometimes, seated on a lichened log, or on the short grass of some +sloping hillside, looking down upon some quiet valley, they would +find they had been holding hands while talking. It was but as two +happy, thoughtless children might have done. They would look at +one another with frank, clear eyes and smile. + +Once, when their pathway led through a littered farm-yard, he had +taken her up in his arms and carried her and she had felt a glad +pride in him that he had borne her lightly as if she had been a +child, looking up at her and laughing. + +An old bent man paused from his work and watched them. "Lean more +over him, missie," he advised her. "That's the way. Many a mile +I've carried my lass like that, in flood time; and never felt her +weight." + +Often on returning home, not knowing why, she would look into the +glass. It seemed to her that the girlhood she had somehow missed +was awakening in her, taking possession of her, changing her. The +lips she had always seen pressed close and firm were growing +curved, leaving a little parting, as though they were not quite so +satisfied with one another. The level brows were becoming slightly +raised. It gave her a questioning look that was new to her. The +eyes beneath were less confident. They seemed to be seeking +something. + +One evening, on her way home from a theatre, she met Flossie. +"Can't stop now," said Flossie, who was hurrying. "But I want to +see you: most particular. Was going to look you up. Will you be +at home to-morrow afternoon at tea-time?" + +There was a distinct challenge in Flossie's eye as she asked the +question. Joan felt herself flush, and thought a moment. + +"Yes," she answered. "Will you be coming alone?" + +"That's the idea," answered Flossie; "a heart to heart talk between +you and me, and nobody else. Half-past four. Don't forget." + +Joan walked on slowly. She had the worried feeling with which, +once or twice, when a schoolgirl, she had crawled up the stairs to +bed after the head mistress had informed her that she would see her +in her private room at eleven o'clock the next morning, leaving her +to guess what about. It occurred to her, in Trafalgar Square, that +she had promised to take tea with the Greysons the next afternoon, +to meet some big pot from America. She would have to get out of +that. She felt it wouldn't do to put off Flossie. + +She went to bed wakeful. It was marvellously like being at school +again. What could Flossie want to see her about that was so +important? She tried to pretend to herself that she didn't know. +After all, perhaps it wasn't that. + +But she knew that it was the instant Flossie put up her hands in +order to take off her hat. Flossie always took off her hat when +she meant to be unpleasant. It was her way of pulling up her +sleeves. They had their tea first. They seemed both agreed that +that would be best. And then Flossie pushed back her chair and sat +up. + +She had just the head mistress expression. Joan wasn't quite sure +she oughtn't to stand. But, controlling the instinct, leant back +in her chair, and tried to look defiant without feeling it. + +"How far are you going?" demanded Flossie. + +Joan was not in a comprehending mood. + +"If you're going the whole hog, that's something I can understand," +continued Flossie. "If not, you'd better pull up." + +"What do you mean by the whole hog?" requested Joan, assuming +dignity. + +"Oh, don't come the kid," advised Flossie. "If you don't mind +being talked about yourself, you might think of him. If Carleton +gets hold of it, he's done for." + +"'A little bird whispers to me that Robert Phillips was seen +walking across Richmond Park the other afternoon in company with +Miss Joan Allway, formerly one of our contributors.' Is that going +to end his political career?" retorted Joan with fine sarcasm. + +Flossie fixed a relentless eye upon her. "He'll wait till the bird +has got a bit more than that to whisper to him," she suggested. + +"There'll be nothing more," explained Joan. "So long as my +friendship is of any assistance to Robert Phillips in his work, +he's going to have it. What use are we going to be in politics-- +what's all the fuss about, if men and women mustn't work together +for their common aims and help one another?" + +"Why can't you help him in his own house, instead of wandering all +about the country?" Flossie wanted to know. + +"So I do," Joan defended herself. "I'm in and out there till I'm +sick of the hideous place. You haven't seen the inside. And his +wife knows all about it, and is only too glad." + +"Does she know about Richmond Park--and the other places?" asked +Flossie. + +"She wouldn't mind if she did," explained Joan. "And you know what +she's like! How can one think what one's saying with that silly, +goggle-eyed face in front of one always." + +Flossie, since she had become engaged, had acquired quite a +matronly train of thought. She spoke kindly, with a little grave +shake of her head. "My dear," she said, "the wife is always in the +way. You'd feel just the same whatever her face was like." + +Joan grew angry. "If you choose to suspect evil, of course you +can," she answered with hauteur. "But you might have known me +better. I admire the man and sympathize with him. All the things +I dream of are the things he is working for. I can do more good by +helping and inspiring him"--she wished she had not let slip that +word "inspire." She knew that Flossie would fasten upon it--"than +I can ever accomplish by myself. And I mean to do it." She really +did feel defiant, now. + +"I know, dear," agreed Flossie, "you've both of you made up your +minds it shall always remain a beautiful union of twin spirits. +Unfortunately you've both got bodies--rather attractive bodies." + +"We'll keep it off that plane, if you don't mind," answered Joan +with a touch of severity. + +"I'm willing enough," answered Flossie. "But what about Old Mother +Nature? She's going to be in this, you know." + +"Take off your glasses, and look at it straight," she went on, +without giving Joan time to reply. "What is it in us that +'inspires' men? If it's only advice and sympathy he's after, +what's wrong with dear old Mrs. Denton? She's a good walker, +except now and then, when she's got the lumbago. Why doesn't he +get her to 'inspire' him?" + +"It isn't only that," explained Joan. "I give him courage. I +always did have more of that than is any use to a woman. He wants +to be worthy of my belief in him. What is the harm if he does +admire me--if a smile from me or a touch of the hand can urge him +to fresh effort? Suppose he does love me--" + +Flossie interrupted. "How about being quite frank?" she suggested. +"Suppose we do love one another. How about putting it that way?" + +"And suppose we do?" agreed Joan, her courage rising. "Why should +we shun one another, as if we were both of us incapable of decency +or self-control? Why must love be always assumed to make us weak +and contemptible, as if it were some subtle poison? Why shouldn't +it strengthen and ennoble us?" + +"Why did the apple fall?" answered Flossie. "Why, when it escapes +from its bonds, doesn't it soar upward? If it wasn't for the +irritating law of gravity, we could skip about on the brink of +precipices without danger. Things being what they are, sensible +people keep as far away from the edge as possible." + +"I'm sorry," she continued; "awfully sorry, old girl. It's a bit +of rotten bad luck for both of you. You were just made for one +another. And Fate, knowing what was coming, bustles round and gets +hold of poor, silly Mrs. Phillips so as to be able to say 'Yah.'" + +"Unless it all comes right in the end," she added musingly; "and +the poor old soul pegs out. I wouldn't give much for her liver." + +"That's not bringing me up well," suggested Joan: "putting those +ideas into my head." + +"Oh, well, one can't help one's thoughts," explained Flossie. "It +would be a blessing all round." + +They had risen. Joan folded her hands. "Thank you for your +scolding, ma'am," she said. "Shall I write out a hundred lines of +Greek? Or do you think it will be sufficient if I promise never to +do it again?" + +"You mean it?" said Flossie. "Of course you will go on seeing him- +-visiting them, and all that. But you won't go gadding about, so +that people can talk?" + +"Only through the bars, in future," she promised. "With the gaoler +between us." She put her arms round Flossie and bent her head, so +that her face was hidden. + +Flossie still seemed troubled. She held on to Joan. + +"You are sure of yourself?" she asked. "We're only the female of +the species. We get hungry and thirsty, too. You know that, +kiddy, don't you?" + +Joan laughed without raising her face. "Yes, ma'am, I know that," +she answered. "I'll be good." + +She sat in the dusk after Flossie had gone; and the laboured +breathing of the tired city came to her through the open window. +She had rather fancied that martyr's crown. It had not looked so +very heavy, the thorns not so very alarming--as seen through the +window. She would wear it bravely. It would rather become her. + +Facing the mirror of the days to come, she tried it on. It was +going to hurt. There was no doubt of that. She saw the fatuous, +approving face of the eternal Mrs. Phillips, thrust ever between +them, against the background of that hideous furniture, of those +bilious wall papers--the loneliness that would ever walk with her, +sit down beside her in the crowded restaurant, steal up the +staircase with her, creep step by step with her from room to room-- +the ever unsatisfied yearning for a tender word, a kindly touch. +Yes, it was going to hurt. + +Poor Robert! It would be hard on him, too. She could not help +feeling consolation in the thought that he also would be wearing +that invisible crown. + +She must write to him. The sooner it was done, the better. Half a +dozen contradictory moods passed over her during the composing of +that letter; but to her they seemed but the unfolding of a single +thought. On one page it might have been his mother writing to him; +an experienced, sagacious lady; quite aware, in spite of her +affection for him, of his faults and weaknesses; solicitous that he +should avoid the dangers of an embarrassing entanglement; his +happiness being the only consideration of importance. On others it +might have been a queen laying her immutable commands upon some +loyal subject, sworn to her service. Part of it might have been +written by a laughing philosopher who had learnt the folly of +taking life too seriously, knowing that all things pass: that the +tears of to-day will be remembered with a smile. And a part of it +was the unconsidered language of a loving woman. And those were +the pages that he kissed. + +His letter in answer was much shorter. Of course he would obey her +wishes. He had been selfish, thinking only of himself. As for his +political career, he did not see how that was going to suffer by +his being occasionally seen in company with one of the most +brilliantly intellectual women in London, known to share his views. +And he didn't care if it did. But inasmuch as she valued it, all +things should be sacrificed to it. It was hers to do what she +would with. It was the only thing he had to offer her. + +Their meetings became confined, as before, to the little house in +North Street. But it really seemed as if the gods, appeased by +their submission, had decided to be kind. Hilda was home for the +holidays; and her piercing eyes took in the situation at a flash. +She appeared to have returned with a new-born and exacting +affection for her mother, that astonished almost as much as it +delighted the poor lady. Feeling sudden desire for a walk or a bus +ride, or to be taken to an entertainment, no one was of any use to +Hilda but her mother. Daddy had his silly politics to think and +talk about. He must worry them out alone; or with the assistance +of Miss Allway. That was what she was there for. Mrs. Phillips, +torn between her sense of duty and fear of losing this new +happiness, would yield to the child's coaxing. Often they would be +left alone to discuss the nation's needs uninterrupted. +Conscientiously they would apply themselves to the task. Always to +find that, sooner or later, they were looking at one another, in +silence. + +One day Phillips burst into a curious laugh. They had been +discussing the problem of the smallholder. Joan had put a question +to him, and with a slight start he had asked her to repeat it. But +it seemed she had forgotten it. + +"I had to see our solicitor one morning," he explained, "when I was +secretary to a miners' union up north. A point had arisen +concerning the legality of certain payments. It was a matter of +vast importance to us; but he didn't seem to be taking any +interest, and suddenly he jumped up. 'I'm sorry, Phillips,' he +said, 'but I've got a big trouble of my own on at home--I guess you +know what--and I don't seem to care a damn about yours. You'd +better see Delauny, if you're in a hurry.' And I did." + +He turned and leant over his desk. "I guess they'll have to find +another leader if they're in a hurry," he added. "I don't seem +able to think about turnips and cows." + +"Don't make me feel I've interfered with your work only to spoil +it," said Joan. + +"I guess I'm spoiling yours, too," he answered. "I'm not worth it. +I might have done something to win you and keep you. I'm not going +to do much without you." + +"You mean my friendship is going to be of no use to you?" asked +Joan. + +He raised his eyes and fixed them on her with a pleading, dog-like +look. + +"For God's sake don't take even that away from me," he said. +"Unless you want me to go to pieces altogether. A crust does just +keep one alive. One can't help thinking what a fine, strong chap +one might be if one wasn't always hungry." + +She felt so sorry for him. He looked such a boy, with the angry +tears in his clear blue eyes, and that little childish quivering of +the kind, strong, sulky mouth. + +She rose and took his head between her hands and turned his face +towards her. She had meant to scold him, but changed her mind and +laid his head against her breast and held it there. + +He clung to her, as a troubled child might, with his arms clasped +round her, and his head against her breast. And a mist rose up +before her, and strange, commanding voices seemed calling to her. + +He could not see her face. She watched it herself with dim half +consciousness as it changed before her in the tawdry mirror above +the mantelpiece, half longing that he might look up and see it, +half terrified lest he should. + +With an effort that seemed to turn her into stone, she regained +command over herself. + +"I must go now," she said in a harsh voice, and he released her. + +"I'm afraid I'm an awful nuisance to you," he said. "I get these +moods at times. You're not angry with me?" + +"No," she answered with a smile. "But it will hurt me if you fail. +Remember that." + +She turned down the Embankment after leaving the house. She always +found the river strong and restful. So it was not only bad women +that needed to be afraid of themselves--even to the most high-class +young woman, with letters after her name, and altruistic interests: +even to her, also, the longing for the lover's clasp. Flossie had +been right. Mother Nature was not to be flouted of her children-- +not even of her new daughters; to them, likewise, the family trait. + +She would have run away if she could, leaving him to guess at her +real reason--if he were smart enough. But that would have meant +excuses and explanations all round. She was writing a daily column +of notes for Greyson now, in addition to the weekly letter from +Clorinda; and Mrs. Denton, having compromised with her first +dreams, was delegating to Joan more and more of her work. She +wrote to Mrs. Phillips that she was feeling unwell and would be +unable to lunch with them on the Sunday, as had been arranged. +Mrs. Phillips, much disappointed, suggested Wednesday; but it +seemed on Wednesday she was no better. And so it drifted on for +about a fortnight, without her finding the courage to come to any +decision; and then one morning, turning the corner into Abingdon +Street, she felt a slight pull at her sleeve; and Hilda was beside +her. The child had shown an uncanny intuition in not knocking at +the door. Joan had been fearing that, and would have sent down +word that she was out. But it had to be faced. + +"Are you never coming again?" asked the child. + +"Of course," answered Joan, "when I'm better. I'm not very well +just now. It's the weather, I suppose." + +The child turned her head as they walked and looked at her. Joan +felt herself smarting under that look, but persisted. + +"I'm very much run down," she said. "I may have to go away." + +"You promised to help him," said the child. + +"I can't if I'm ill," retorted Joan. "Besides, I am helping him. +There are other ways of helping people than by wasting their time +talking to them." + +"He wants you," said the child. "It's your being there that helps +him." + +Joan stopped and turned. "Did he send you?" she asked. + +"No," the child answered. "Mama had a headache this morning, and I +slipped out. You're not keeping your promise." + +Palace Yard, save for a statuesque policeman, was empty. + +"How do you know that my being with him helps him?" asked Joan. + +"You know things when you love anybody," explained the child. "You +feel them. You will come again, soon?" + +Joan did not answer. + +"You're frightened," the child continued in a passionate, low +voice. "You think that people will talk about you and look down +upon you. You oughtn't to think about yourself. You ought to +think only about him and his work. Nothing else matters." + +"I am thinking about him and his work," Joan answered. Her hand +sought Hilda's and held it. "There are things you don't +understand. Men and women can't help each other in the way you +think. They may try to, and mean no harm in the beginning, but the +harm comes, and then not only the woman but the man also suffers, +and his work is spoilt and his life ruined." + +The small, hot hand clasped Joan's convulsively. + +"But he won't be able to do his work if you keep away and never +come back to him," she persisted. "Oh, I know it. It all depends +upon you. He wants you." + +"And I want him, if that's any consolation to you," Joan answered +with a short laugh. It wasn't much of a confession. The child was +cute enough to have found that out for herself. "Only you see I +can't have him. And there's an end of it." + +They had reached the Abbey. Joan turned and they retraced their +steps slowly. + +"I shall be going away soon, for a little while," she said. The +talk had helped her to decision. "When I come back I will come and +see you all. And you must all come and see me, now and then. I +expect I shall have a flat of my own. My father may be coming to +live with me. Good-bye. Do all you can to help him." + +She stooped and kissed the child, straining her to her almost +fiercely. But the child's lips were cold. She did not look back. + +Miss Greyson was sympathetic towards her desire for a longish +holiday and wonderfully helpful; and Mrs. Denton also approved, +and, to Joan's surprise, kissed her; Mrs. Denton was not given to +kissing. She wired to her father, and got his reply the same +evening. He would be at her rooms on the day she had fixed with +his travelling bag, and at her Ladyship's orders. "With love and +many thanks," he had added. She waited till the day before +starting to run round and say good-bye to the Phillipses. She felt +it would be unwise to try and get out of doing that. Both Phillips +and Hilda, she was thankful, were out; and she and Mrs. Phillips +had tea alone together. The talk was difficult, so far as Joan was +concerned. If the woman had been possessed of ordinary intuition, +she might have arrived at the truth. Joan almost wished she would. +It would make her own future task the easier. But Mrs. Phillips, +it was clear, was going to be no help to her. + +For her father's sake, she made pretence of eagerness, but as the +sea widened between her and the harbour lights it seemed as if a +part of herself were being torn away from her. + +They travelled leisurely through Holland and the Rhine land, and +that helped a little: the new scenes and interests; and in +Switzerland they discovered a delightful little village in an +upland valley with just one small hotel, and decided to stay there +for a while, so as to give themselves time to get their letters. +They took long walks and climbs, returning tired and hungry, +looking forward to their dinner and the evening talk with the few +other guests on the veranda. The days passed restfully in that +hidden valley. The great white mountains closed her in. They +seemed so strong and clean. + +It was on the morning they were leaving that a telegram was put +into her hands. Mrs. Phillips was ill at lodgings in Folkestone. +She hoped that Joan, on her way back, would come to see her. + +She showed the telegram to her father. "Do you mind, Dad, if we go +straight back?" she asked. + +"No, dear," he answered, "if you wish it." + +"I would like to go back," she said. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + + +Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in an easy chair near the heavily- +curtained windows when Joan arrived. It was a pleasant little +house in the old part of the town, and looked out upon the harbour. +She was startlingly thin by comparison with what she had been; but +her face was still painted. Phillips would run down by the +afternoon train whenever he could get away. She never knew when he +was coming, so she explained; and she could not bear the idea of +his finding her "old and ugly." She had fought against his wish +that she should go into a nursing home; and Joan, who in the course +of her work upon the Nursing Times had acquired some knowledge of +them as a whole, was inclined to agree with her. She was quite +comfortable where she was. The landlady, according to her account, +was a dear. She had sent the nurse out for a walk on getting +Joan's wire, so that they could have a cosy chat. She didn't +really want much attendance. It was her heart. It got feeble now +and then, and she had to keep very still; that was all. Joan told +how her father had suffered for years from much the same complaint. +So long as you were careful there was no danger. She must take +things easily and not excite herself. + +Mrs. Phillips acquiesced. "It's turning me into a lazy-bones," she +said with a smile. "I can sit here by the hour, just watching the +bustle. I was always one for a bit of life." + +The landlady entered with Joan's tea. Joan took an instinctive +dislike to her. She was a large, flashy woman, wearing a quantity +of cheap jewellery. Her familiarity had about it something almost +threatening. Joan waited till she heard the woman's heavy tread +descending the stairs, before she expressed her opinion. + +"I think she only means to be cheerful," explained Mrs. Phillips. +"She's quite a good sort, when you know her." The subject seemed +in some way to trouble her, and Joan dropped it. + +They watched the loading of a steamer while Joan drank her tea. + +"He will come this afternoon, I fancy," said Mrs. Phillips. "I +seem to feel it. He will be able to see you home." + +Joan started. She had been thinking about Phillips, wondering what +she should say to him when they met. + +"What does he think," she asked, "about your illness?" + +"Oh, it worries him, of course, poor dear," Mrs. Phillips answered. +"You see, I've always been such a go-ahead, as a rule. But I think +he's getting more hopeful. As I tell him, I'll be all right by the +autumn. It was that spell of hot weather that knocked me over." + +Joan was still looking out of the window. She didn't quite know +what to say. The woman's altered appearance had shocked her. +Suddenly she felt a touch upon her hand. + +"You'll look after him if anything does happen, won't you?" The +woman's eyes were pleading with her. They seemed to have grown +larger. "You know what I mean, dear, don't you?" she continued. +"It will be such a comfort to me to know that it's all right." + +In answer the tears sprang to Joan's eyes. She knelt down and put +her arms about the woman. + +"Don't be so silly," she cried. "There's nothing going to happen. +You're going to get fat and well again; and live to see him Prime +Minister." + +"I am getting thin, ain't I?" she said. "I always wanted to be +thin." They both laughed. + +"But I shan't see him that, even if I do live," she went on. +"He'll never be that, without you. And I'd be so proud to think +that he would. I shouldn't mind going then," she added. + +Joan did not answer. There seemed no words that would come. + +"You will promise, won't you?" she persisted, in a whisper. "It's +only 'in case'--just that I needn't worry myself." + +Joan looked up. There was something in the eyes looking down upon +her that seemed to be compelling her. + +"If you'll promise to try and get better," she answered. + +Mrs. Phillips stooped and kissed her. "Of course, dear," she said. +"Perhaps I shall, now that my mind is easier." + +Phillips came, as Mrs. Phillips had predicted. He was surprised at +seeing Joan. He had not thought she could get back so soon. He +brought an evening paper with him. It contained a paragraph to the +effect that Mrs. Phillips, wife of the Rt. Hon. Robert Phillips, +M.P., was progressing favourably and hoped soon to be sufficiently +recovered to return to her London residence. It was the first time +she had had a paragraph all to herself, headed with her name. She +flushed with pleasure; and Joan noticed that, after reading it +again, she folded the paper up small and slipped it into her +pocket. The nurse came in from her walk a little later and took +Joan downstairs with her. + +"She ought not to talk to more than one person at a time," the +nurse explained, with a shake of the head. She was a quiet, +business-like woman. She would not express a definite opinion. + +"It's her mental state that is the trouble," was all that she would +say. "She ought to be getting better. But she doesn't." + +"You're not a Christian Scientist, by any chance?" she asked Joan +suddenly. + +"No," answered Joan. "Surely you're not one?" + +"I don't know," answered the woman. "I believe that would do her +more good than anything else. If she would listen to it. She +seems to have lost all will-power." + +The nurse left her; and the landlady came in to lay the table. She +understood that Joan would be dining with Mr. Phillips. There was +no train till the eight-forty. She kept looking at Joan as she +moved about the room. Joan was afraid she would begin to talk, but +she must have felt Joan's antagonism for she remained silent. Once +their eyes met, and the woman leered at her. + +Phillips came down looking more cheerful. He had detected +improvement in Mrs. Phillips. She was more hopeful in herself. +They talked in low tones during the meal, as people do whose +thoughts are elsewhere. It happened quite suddenly, Phillips +explained. They had come down a few days after the rising of +Parliament. There had been a spell of hot weather; but nothing +remarkable. The first attack had occurred about three weeks ago. +It was just after Hilda had gone back to school. He wasn't sure +whether he ought to send for Hilda, or not. Her mother didn't want +him to--not just yet. Of course, if she got worse, he would have +to. What did Joan think?--did she think there was any real danger? + +Joan could not say. So much depended upon the general state of +health. There was the case of her own father. Of course she would +always be subject to attacks. But this one would have warned her +to be careful. + +Phillips thought that living out of town might be better for her, +in the future--somewhere in Surrey, where he could easily get up +and down. He could sleep himself at the club on nights when he had +to be late. + +They talked without looking at one another. They did not speak +about themselves. + +Mrs. Phillips was in bed when Joan went up to say good-bye. +"You'll come again soon?" she asked, and Joan promised. "You've +made me so happy," she whispered. The nurse was in the room. + +They discussed politics in the train. Phillips had found more +support for his crusade against Carleton than he had expected. He +was going to open the attack at once, thus forestalling Carleton's +opposition to his land scheme. + +"It isn't going to be the Daily This and the Daily That and the +Weekly the Other all combined to down me. I'm going to tell the +people that it's Carleton and only Carleton--Carleton here, +Carleton there, Carleton everywhere, against them. I'm going to +drag him out into the open and make him put up his own fists." + +Joan undertook to sound Greyson. She was sure Greyson would +support him, in his balanced, gentlemanly way, that could +nevertheless be quite deadly. + +They grew less and less afraid of looking at one another as they +felt that darkened room further and further behind them. + +They parted at Charing Cross. Joan would write. They agreed it +would be better to choose separate days for their visits to +Folkestone. + +She ran against Madge in the morning, and invited herself to tea. +Her father had returned to Liverpool, and her own rooms, for some +reason, depressed her. Flossie was there with young Halliday. +They were both off the next morning to his people's place in +Devonshire, from where they were going to get married, and had come +to say good-bye. Flossie put Sam in the passage and drew-to the +door. + +"Have you seen her?" she asked. "How is she?" + +"Oh, she's changed a good deal," answered Joan. "But I think +she'll get over it all right, if she's careful." + +"I shall hope for the best," answered Flossie. "Poor old soul, +she's had a good time. Don't send me a present; and then I needn't +send you one--when your time comes. It's a silly custom. Besides, +I've nowhere to put it. Shall be in a ship for the next six +months. Will let you know when we're back." + +She gave Joan a hug and a kiss, and was gone. Joan joined Madge in +the kitchen, where she was toasting buns. + +"I suppose she's satisfied herself that he's brainy," she laughed. + +"Oh, brains aren't everything," answered Madge. "Some of the worst +rotters the world has ever been cursed with have been brainy +enough--men and women. We make too much fuss about brains; just as +once upon a time we did about mere brute strength, thinking that +was all that was needed to make a man great. Brain is only muscle +translated into civilization. That's not going to save us." + +"You've been thinking," Joan accused her. "What's put all that +into your head?" + +Madge laughed. "Mixing with so many brainy people, perhaps," she +suggested; "and wondering what's become of their souls." + +"Be good, sweet child. And let who can be clever," Joan quoted. +"Would that be your text?" + +Madge finished buttering her buns. "Kant, wasn't it," she +answered, "who marvelled chiefly at two things: the starry +firmament above him and the moral law within him. And they're one +and the same, if he'd only thought it out. It's rather big to be +good." + +They carried their tea into the sitting-room. + +"Do you really think she'll get over it?" asked Madge. "Or is it +one of those things one has to say?" + +"I think she could," answered Joan, "if she would pull herself +together. It's her lack of will-power that's the trouble." + +Madge did not reply immediately. She was watching the rooks +settling down for the night in the elm trees just beyond the +window. There seemed to be much need of coming and going, of much +cawing. + +"I met her pretty often during those months that Helen Lavery was +running her round," she said at length. "It always seemed to me to +have a touch of the heroic, that absurd effort she was making to +'qualify' herself, so that she might be of use to him. I can see +her doing something quite big, if she thought it would help him." + +The cawing of the rooks grew fainter. One by one they folded their +wings. + +Neither spoke for a while. Later on, they talked about the coming +election. If the Party got back, Phillips would go to the Board of +Trade. It would afford him a better platform for the introduction +of his land scheme. + +"What do you gather is the general opinion?" Joan asked. "That he +will succeed?" + +"The general opinion seems to be that his star is in the +ascendant," Madge answered with a smile; "that all things are +working together for his good. It's rather a useful atmosphere to +have about one, that. It breeds friendship and support!" + +Joan looked at her watch. She had an article to finish. Madge +stood on tiptoe and kissed her. + +"Don't think me unsympathetic," she said. "No one will rejoice +more than I shall if God sees fit to call you to good work. But I +can't help letting fall my little tear of fellowship with the +weeping." + +"And mind your p's and q's," she added. "You're in a difficult +position. And not all the eyes watching you are friendly." + +Joan bore the germ of worry in her breast as she crossed the Gray's +Inn Garden. It was a hard law, that of the world: knowing only +winners and losers. Of course, the woman was to be pitied. No one +could feel more sorry for her than Joan herself. But what had +Madge exactly meant by those words: that she could "see her doing +something really big," if she thought it would help him? There was +no doubt about her affection for him. It was almost dog-like. And +the child, also! There must be something quite exceptional about +him to have won the devotion of two such opposite beings. +Especially Hilda. It would be hard to imagine any lengths to which +Hilda's blind idolatry would not lead her. + +She ran down twice to Folkestone during the following week. Her +visits made her mind easier. Mrs. Phillips seemed so placid, so +contented. There was no suggestion of suffering, either mental or +physical. + +She dined with the Greysons the Sunday after, and mooted the +question of the coming fight with Carleton. Greyson thought +Phillips would find plenty of journalistic backing. The +concentration of the Press into the hands of a few conscienceless +schemers was threatening to reduce the journalist to a mere +hireling, and the better-class men were becoming seriously alarmed. +He found in his desk the report of a speech made by a well-known +leader writer at a recent dinner of the Press Club. The man had +risen to respond to the toast of his own health and had taken the +opportunity to unpack his heart. + +"I am paid a thousand a year," so Greyson read to them, "for +keeping my own opinions out of my paper. Some of you, perhaps, +earn more, and others less; but you're getting it for writing what +you're told. If I were to be so foolish as to express my honest +opinion, I'd be on the street, the next morning, looking for +another job." + +"The business of the journalist," the man had continued, "is to +destroy the truth, to lie, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn at the +feet of Mammon, to sell his soul for his daily bread. We are the +tools and vassals of rich men behind the scenes. We are the +jumping-jacks. They pull the strings and we dance. Our talents, +our possibilities, our lives are the property of other men." + +"We tried to pretend it was only one of Jack's little jokes," +explained Greyson as he folded up the cutting; "but it wouldn't +work. It was too near the truth." + +"I don't see what you are going to do," commented Mary. "So long +as men are not afraid to sell their souls, there will always be a +Devil's market for them." + +Greyson did not so much mind there being a Devil's market, provided +he could be assured of an honest market alongside, so that a man +could take his choice. What he feared was the Devil's steady +encroachment, that could only end by the closing of the independent +market altogether. His remedy was the introduction of the American +trust law, forbidding any one man being interested in more than a +limited number of journals. + +"But what's the difference," demanded Joan, "between a man owning +one paper with a circulation of, say, six millions; or owning six +with a circulation of a million apiece? By concentrating all his +energies on one, a man with Carleton's organizing genius might +easily establish a single journal that would cover the whole +field." + +"Just all the difference," answered Greyson, "between Pooh Bah as +Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Lord High Admiral, or Chief +Executioner, whichever he preferred to be, and Pooh Bah as all the +Officers of State rolled into one. Pooh Bah may be a very able +statesman, entitled to exert his legitimate influence. But, after +all, his opinion is only the opinion of one old gentleman, with +possible prejudices and preconceived convictions. The Mikado--or +the people, according to locality--would like to hear the views of +others of his ministers. He finds that the Lord Chancellor and the +Lord Chief Justice and the Groom of the Bedchamber and the +Attorney-General--the whole entire Cabinet, in short, are +unanimously of the same opinion as Pooh Bah. He doesn't know it's +only Pooh Bah speaking from different corners of the stage. The +consensus of opinion convinces him. One statesman, however +eminent, might err in judgment. But half a score of statesmen, all +of one mind! One must accept their verdict." + +Mary smiled. "But why shouldn't the good newspaper proprietor +hurry up and become a multi-proprietor?" she suggested. "Why don't +you persuade Lord Sutcliffe to buy up three or four papers, before +they're all gone?" + +"Because I don't want the Devil to get hold of him," answered +Greyson. + +"You've got to face this unalterable law," he continued. "That +power derived from worldly sources can only be employed for worldly +purposes. The power conferred by popularity, by wealth, by that +ability to make use of other men that we term organization--sooner +or later the man who wields that power becomes the Devil's servant. +So long as Kingship was merely a force struggling against anarchy, +it was a holy weapon. As it grew in power so it degenerated into +an instrument of tyranny. The Church, so long as it remained a +scattered body of meek, lowly men, did the Lord's work. Enthroned +at Rome, it thundered its edicts against human thought. The Press +is in danger of following precisely the same history. When it +wrote in fear of the pillory and of the jail, it fought for +Liberty. Now it has become the Fourth Estate, it fawns--as Jack +Swinton said of it--at the feet of Mammon. My Proprietor, good +fellow, allows me to cultivate my plot amid the wilderness for +other purposes than those of quick returns. If he were to become a +competitor with the Carletons and the Bloomfields, he would have to +look upon it as a business proposition. The Devil would take him +up on to the high mountain, and point out to him the kingdom of +huge circulations and vast profits, whispering to him: 'All this +will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.' I don't +want the dear good fellow to be tempted." + +"Is it impossible, then, to combine duty and success?" questioned +Joan. + +"The combination sometimes happens, by chance," admitted Greyson. +"But it's dangerous to seek it. It is so easy to persuade +ourselves that it's our duty to succeed." + +"But we must succeed to be of use," urged Mary. "Must God's +servants always remain powerless?" + +"Powerless to rule. Powerful only to serve," he answered. +"Powerful as Christ was powerful; not as Caesar was powerful-- +powerful as those who have suffered and have failed, leaders of +forlorn hopes--powerful as those who have struggled on, despised +and vilified; not as those of whom all men speak well--powerful as +those who have fought lone battles and have died, not knowing their +own victory. It is those that serve, not those that rule, shall +conquer." + +Joan had never known him quite so serious. Generally there was a +touch of irony in his talk, a suggestion of aloofness that had +often irritated her. + +"I wish you would always be yourself, as you are now," she said, +"and never pose." + +"Do I pose?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. + +"That shows how far it has gone," she told him, "that you don't +even know it. You pretend to be a philosopher. But you're really +a man." + +He laughed. "It isn't always a pose," he explained. "It's some +men's way of saying: Thy will be done." + +"Ask Phillips to come and see me," he said. "I can be of more +help, if I know exactly his views." + +He walked with her to the bus. They passed a corner house that he +had more than once pointed out to her. It had belonged, years ago, +to a well-known artist, who had worked out a wonderful scheme of +decoration in the drawing-room. A board was up, announcing that +the house was for sale. A gas lamp, exactly opposite, threw a +flood of light upon the huge white lettering. + +Joan stopped. "Why, it's the house you are always talking about," +she said. "Are you thinking of taking it?" + +"I did go over it," he answered. "But it would be rather absurd +for just Mary and me." + +She looked up Phillips at the House, and gave him Greyson's +message. He had just returned from Folkestone, and was worried. + +"She was so much better last week," he explained. "But it never +lasts." + +"Poor old girl!" he added. "I believe she'd have been happier if +I'd always remained plain Bob Phillips." + +Joan had promised to go down on the Friday; but finding, on the +Thursday morning, that it would be difficult, decided to run down +that afternoon instead. She thought at first of sending a wire. +But in Mrs. Phillips's state of health, telegrams were perhaps to +be avoided. It could make no difference. The front door of the +little house was standing half open. She called down the kitchen +stairs to the landlady, but received no answer. The woman had +probably run out on some short errand. She went up the stairs +softly. The bedroom door, she knew, would be open. Mrs. Phillips +had a feeling against being "shut off," as she called it. She +meant to tap lightly and walk straight in, as usual. But what she +saw through the opening caused her to pause. Mrs. Phillips was +sitting up in bed with her box of cosmetics in front of her. She +was sensitive of anyone seeing her make-up; and Joan, knowing this, +drew back a step. But for some reason, she couldn't help watching. +Mrs. Phillips dipped a brush into one of the compartments and then +remained with it in her hand, as if hesitating. Suddenly she stuck +out her tongue and passed the brush over it. At least, so it +seemed to Joan. It was only a side view of Mrs. Phillips's face +that she was obtaining, and she may have been mistaken. It might +have been the lips. The woman gave a little gasp and sat still for +a moment. Then, putting away the brush, she closed the box and +slipped it under the pillow. + +Joan felt her knees trembling. A cold, creeping fear was taking +possession of her. Why, she could not understand. She must have +been mistaken. People don't make-up their tongues. It must have +been the lips. And even if not--if the woman had licked the brush! +It was a silly trick people do. Perhaps she liked the taste. She +pulled herself together and tapped at the door. + +Mrs. Phillips gave a little start at seeing her; but was glad that +she had come. Phillips had not been down for two days and she had +been feeling lonesome. She persisted in talking more than Joan +felt was good for her. She was feeling so much better, she +explained. Joan was relieved when the nurse came back from her +walk and insisted on her lying down. She dropped to sleep while +Joan and the nurse were having their tea. + +Joan went back by the early train. She met some people at the +station that she knew and travelled up with them. That picture of +Mrs. Phillips's tongue just showing beyond the line of Mrs. +Phillips's cheek remained at the back of her mind; but it was not +until she was alone in her own rooms that she dared let her +thoughts return to it. + +The suggestion that was forcing itself into her brain was +monstrous--unthinkable. That, never possessed of any surplus +vitality, and suffering from the added lassitude of illness, the +woman should have become indifferent--willing to let a life that to +her was full of fears and difficulties slip peacefully away from +her, that was possible. But that she should exercise thought and +ingenuity--that she should have reasoned the thing out and +deliberately laid her plans, calculating at every point on their +success; it was inconceivable. + +Besides, what could have put the idea into her head? It was +laughable, the presumption that she was a finished actress, capable +of deceiving everyone about her. If she had had an inkling of the +truth, Joan, with every nerve on the alert, almost hoping for it, +would have detected it. She had talked with her alone the day +before she had left England, and the woman had been full of hopes +and projects for the future. + +That picture of Mrs. Phillips, propped up against the pillows, with +her make-up box upon her knees was still before her when she went +to bed. All night long it haunted her: whether thinking or +dreaming of it, she could not tell. + +Suddenly, she sat up with a stifled cry. It seemed as if a flash +of light had been turned upon her, almost blinding her. + +Hilda! Why had she never thought of it? The whole thing was so +obvious. "You ought not to think about yourself. You ought to +think only of him and of his work. Nothing else matters." If she +could say that to Joan, what might she not have said to her mother +who, so clearly, she divined to be the incubus--the drag upon her +father's career? She could hear the child's dry, passionate tones- +-could see Mrs. Phillips's flabby cheeks grow white--the +frightened, staring eyes. Where her father was concerned the child +had neither conscience nor compassion. She had waited her time. +It was a few days after Hilda's return to school that Mrs. Phillips +had been first taken ill. + +She flung herself from the bed and drew the blind. A chill, grey +light penetrated the room. It was a little before five. She would +go round to Phillips, wake him up. He must be told. + +With her hat in her hands, she paused. No. That would not do. +Phillips must never know. They must keep the secret to themselves. +She would go down and see the woman; reason with her, insist. She +went into the other room. It was lighter there. The "A.B.C." was +standing in its usual place upon her desk. There was a train to +Folkestone at six-fifteen. She had plenty of time. It would be +wise to have a cup of tea and something to eat. There would be no +sense in arriving there with a headache. She would want her brain +clear. + +It was half-past five when she sat down with her tea in front of +her. It was only ten minutes' walk to Charing Cross--say a quarter +of an hour. She might pick up a cab. She grew calmer as she ate +and drank. Her reason seemed to be returning to her. There was no +such violent hurry. Hadn't she better think things over, in the +clear daylight? The woman had been ill now for nearly six weeks: +a few hours--a day or two--could make no difference. It might +alarm the poor creature, her unexpected appearance at such an +unusual hour--cause a relapse. Suppose she had been mistaken? +Hadn't she better make a few inquiries first--feel her way? One +did harm more often than good, acting on impulse. After all, had +she the right to interfere? Oughtn't the thing to be thought over +as a whole? Mightn't there be arguments, worth considering, +against her interference? Her brain was too much in a whirl. +Hadn't she better wait till she could collect and arrange her +thoughts? + +The silver clock upon her desk struck six. It had been a gift from +her father when she was at Girton. It never obtruded. Its voice +was a faint musical chime that she need not hear unless she cared +to listen. She turned and looked at it. It seemed to be a little +face looking back at her out of its two round, blinkless eyes. For +the first time during all the years that it had watched beside her, +she heard its quick, impatient tick. + +She sat motionless, staring at it. The problem, in some way, had +simplified itself into a contest between herself, demanding time to +think, and the little insistent clock, shouting to her to act upon +blind impulse. If she could remain motionless for another five +minutes, she would have won. + +The ticking of the little clock was filling the room. The thing +seemed to have become alive--to be threatening to burst its heart. +But the thin, delicate indicator moved on. + +Suddenly its ticking ceased. It had become again a piece of +lifeless mechanism. The hands pointed to six minutes past. Joan +took off her hat and laid it aside. + +She must think the whole thing over quietly. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + + +She could help him. Without her, he would fail. The woman herself +saw that, and wished it. Why should she hesitate? It was not as +if she had only herself to consider. The fate--the happiness of +millions was at stake. He looked to her for aid--for guidance. It +must have been intended. All roads had led to it. Her going to +the house. She remembered now, it was the first door at which she +had knocked. Her footsteps had surely been directed. Her meeting +with Mrs. Phillips in Madge's rooms; and that invitation to dinner, +coinciding with that crisis in his life. It was she who had +persuaded him to accept. But for her he would have doubted, +wavered, let his opportunities slip by. He had confessed it to +her. + +And she had promised him. He needed her. The words she had spoken +to Madge, not dreaming then of their swift application. They came +back to her. "God has called me. He girded His sword upon me." +What right had she to leave it rusting in its scabbard, turning +aside from the pathway pointed out to her because of one weak, +useless life, crouching in her way. It was not as if she were +being asked to do evil herself that good might come. The decision +had been taken out of her hands. All she had to do was to remain +quiescent, not interfering, awaiting her orders. Her business was +with her own part, not with another's. To be willing to sacrifice +oneself: that was at the root of all service. Sometimes it was +one's own duty, sometimes that of another. Must one never go +forward because another steps out of one's way, voluntarily? +Besides, she might have been mistaken. That picture, ever before +her, of the woman pausing with the brush above her tongue--that +little stilled gasp! It may have been but a phantasm, born of her +own fevered imagination. She clung to that, desperately. + +It was the task that had been entrusted to her. How could he hope +to succeed without her. With her, he would be all powerful-- +accomplish the end for which he had been sent into the world. +Society counts for so much in England. What public man had ever +won through without its assistance. As Greyson had said: it is +the dinner-table that rules. She could win it over to his side. +That mission to Paris that she had undertaken for Mrs. Denton, that +had brought her into contact with diplomatists, politicians, the +leaders and the rulers, the bearers of names known and honoured in +history. They had accepted her as one of themselves. She had +influenced them, swayed them. That afternoon at Folk's studio, +where all eyes had followed her, where famous men and women had +waited to attract her notice, had hung upon her words. Even at +school, at college, she had always commanded willing homage. As +Greyson had once told her, it was herself--her personality that was +her greatest asset. Was it to be utterly wasted? There were +hundreds of impersonal, sexless women, equipped for nothing else, +with pens as keen if not keener than hers. That was not the talent +with which she had been entrusted--for which she would have to +account. It was her beauty, her power to charm, to draw after her- +-to compel by the mere exercise of her will. Hitherto Beauty had +been content to barter itself for mere coin of the realm--for ease +and luxury and pleasure. She only asked to be allowed to spend it +in service. As his wife, she could use it to fine ends. By +herself she was helpless. One must take the world as one finds it. +It gives the unmated woman no opportunity to employ the special +gifts with which God has endowed her--except for evil. As the wife +of a rising statesman, she could be a force for progress. She +could become another Madame Roland; gather round her all that was +best of English social life; give back to it its lost position in +the vanguard of thought. + +She could strengthen him, give him courage. Without her, he would +always remain the mere fighter, doubtful of himself. The +confidence, the inspiration, necessary for leadership, she alone +could bring to him. Each by themselves was incomplete. Together, +they would be the whole. They would build the city of their +dreams. + +She seemed to have become a wandering spirit rather than a living +being. She had no sense of time or place. Once she had started, +hearing herself laugh. She was seated at a table, and was talking. +And then she had passed back into forgetfulness. Now, from +somewhere, she was gazing downward. Roofs, domes and towers lay +stretched before her, emerging from a sea of shadows. She held out +her arms towards them and the tears came to her eyes. The poor +tired people were calling to her to join with him to help them. +Should she fail them--turn deaf ears to the myriad because of pity +for one useless, feeble life? + +She had been fashioned to be his helpmate, as surely as if she had +been made of the same bone. Nature was at one with God. Spirit +and body both yearned for him. It was not position--power for +herself that she craved. The marriage market--if that had been her +desire: it had always been open to her. She had the gold that +buys these things. Wealth, ambition: they had been offered to +her--spread out temptingly before her eyes. They were always +within her means, if ever she chose to purchase them. It was this +man alone to whom she had ever felt drawn--this man of the people, +with that suggestion about him of something primitive, untamed, +causing her always in his presence that faint, compelling thrill of +fear, who stirred her blood as none of the polished men of her own +class had ever done. His kind, strong, ugly face: it moved beside +her: its fearless, tender eyes now pleading, now commanding. + +He needed her. She heard his passionate, low voice, as she had +heard it in the little garden above Meudon: "Because you won't be +there; and without you I can do nothing." What right had this +poor, worn-out shadow to stand between them, to the end? Had love +and life no claims, but only weakness? She had taken all, had +given nothing. It was but reparation she was making. Why stop +her? + +She was alone in a maze of narrow, silent streets that ended always +in a high blank wall. It seemed impossible to get away from this +blank wall. Whatever way she turned she was always coming back to +it. + +What was she to do? Drag the woman back to life against her will-- +lead her back to him to be a chain about his feet until the end? +Then leave him to fight the battle alone? + +And herself? All her world had been watching and would know. She +had counted her chickens before they were dead. She had set her +cap at the man, reckoning him already widowed; and his wife had +come to life and snatched it from her head. She could hear the +laughter--the half amused, half contemptuous pity for her "rotten +bad luck." She would be their standing jest, till she was +forgotten. + +What would life leave to her? A lonely lodging and a pot of ink +that she would come to hate the smell of. She could never marry. +It would be but her body that she could give to any other man. Not +even for the sake of her dreams could she bring herself to that. +It might have been possible before, but not now. She could have +won the victory over herself, but for hope, that had kindled the +smouldering embers of her passion into flame. What cunning devil +had flung open this door, showing her all her heart's desire, +merely that she should be called upon to slam it to in her own +face? + +A fierce anger blazed up in her brain. Why should she listen? Why +had reason been given to us if we were not to use it--weigh good +and evil in the balance and decide for ourselves where lay the +nobler gain? Were we to be led hither and thither like blind +children? What was right--what wrong, but what our own God-given +judgment told us? Was it wrong of the woman to perform this act of +self-renunciation, yielding up all things to love? No, it was +great--heroic of her. It would be her cross of victory, her crown. + +If the gift were noble, so also it could not be ignoble to accept +it. + +To reject it would be to dishonour it. + +She would accept it. The wonder of it should cast out her doubts +and fears. She would seek to make herself worthy of it. +Consecrate it with her steadfastness, her devotion. + +She thought it ended. But yet she sat there motionless. + +What was plucking at her sleeve--still holding her? + +Unknowing, she had entered a small garden. It formed a passage +between two streets, and was left open day and night. It was but a +narrow strip of rank grass and withered shrubs with an asphalte +pathway widening to a circle in the centre, where stood a gas lamp +and two seats, facing one another. + +And suddenly it came to her that this was her Garden of Gethsemane; +and a dull laugh broke from her that she could not help. It was +such a ridiculous apology for Gethsemane. There was not a corner +in which one could possibly pray. Only these two iron seats, one +each side of the gaunt gas lamp that glared down upon them. Even +the withered shrubs were fenced off behind a railing. A ragged +figure sprawled upon the bench opposite to her. It snored gently, +and its breath came laden with the odour of cheap whisky. + +But it was her Gethsemane: the best that Fate had been able to do +for her. It was here that her choice would be made. She felt +that. + +And there rose before her the vision of that other Garden of +Gethsemane with, below it, the soft lights of the city shining +through the trees; and above, clear against the star-lit sky, the +cold, dark cross. + +It was only a little cross, hers, by comparison. She could see +that. They seemed to be standing side by side. But then she was +only a woman--little more than a girl. And her courage was so +small. She thought He ought to know that. For her, it was quite a +big cross. She wondered if He had been listening to all her +arguments. There was really a good deal of sense in some of them. +Perhaps He would understand. Not all His prayer had come down to +us. He, too, had put up a fight for life. He, too, was young. +For Him, also, life must have seemed but just beginning. Perhaps +He, too, had felt that His duty still lay among the people-- +teaching, guiding, healing them. To Him, too, life must have been +sweet with its noble work, its loving comradeship. Even from Him +the words had to be wrung: "Thy will, not Mine, be done." + +She whispered them at last. Not bravely, at all. Feebly, +haltingly, with a little sob: her forehead pressed against the +cold iron seat, as if that could help her. + +She thought that even then God might reconsider it--see her point +of view. Perhaps He would send her a sign. + +The ragged figure on the bench opposite opened its eyes, stared at +her; then went to sleep again. A prowling cat paused to rub itself +against her foot, but meeting no response, passed on. Through an +open window, somewhere near, filtered the sound of a child's low +whimpering. + +It was daylight when she awoke. She was cold and her limbs ached. +Slowly her senses came back to her. The seat opposite was vacant. +The gas lamp showed but a faint blue point of flame. Her dress was +torn, her boots soiled and muddy. Strands of her hair had escaped +from underneath her hat. + +She looked at her watch. Fortunately it was still early. She +would be able to let herself in before anyone was up. It was but a +little way. She wondered, while rearranging her hair, what day it +was. She would find out, when she got home, from the newspaper. + +In the street she paused a moment and looked back through the +railings. It seemed even still more sordid in the daylight: the +sooty grass and the withered shrubs and the asphalte pathway strewn +with dirty paper. And again a laugh she could not help broke from +her. Her Garden of Gethsemane! + +She sent a brief letter round to Phillips, and a telegram to the +nurse, preparing them for what she meant to do. She had just time +to pack a small trunk and catch the morning train. At Folkestone, +she drove first to a house where she herself had once lodged and +fixed things to her satisfaction. The nurse was waiting for her in +the downstairs room, and opened the door to her. She was opposed +to Joan's interference. But Joan had come prepared for that. "Let +me have a talk with her," she said. "I think I've found out what +it is that is causing all the trouble." + +The nurse shot her a swift glance. "I'm glad of that," she said +dryly. She let Joan go upstairs. + +Mrs. Phillips was asleep. Joan seated herself beside the bed and +waited. She had not yet made herself up for the day and the dyed +hair was hidden beneath a white, close-fitting cap. The pale, thin +face with its closed eyes looked strangely young. Suddenly the +thin hands clasped, and her lips moved, as if she were praying in +her sleep. Perhaps she also was dreaming of Gethsemane. It must +be quite a crowded garden, if only we could see it. + +After a while, her eyes opened. Joan drew her chair nearer and +slipped her arm in under her, and their eyes met. + +"You're not playing the game," whispered Joan, shaking her head. +"I only promised on condition that you would try to get well." + +The woman made no attempt to deny. Something told her that Joan +had learned her secret. She glanced towards the door. Joan had +closed it. + +"Don't drag me back," she whispered. "It's all finished." She +raised herself up and put her arms about Joan's neck. "It was hard +at first, and I hated you. And then it came to me that this was +what I had been wanting to do, all my life--something to help him, +that nobody else could do. Don't take it from me." + +"I know," whispered Joan. "I've been there, too. I knew you were +doing it, though I didn't quite know how--till the other day. I +wouldn't think. I wanted to pretend that I didn't. I know all you +can say. I've been listening to it. It was right of you to want +to give it all up to me for his sake. But it would be wrong of me +to take it. I don't quite see why. I can't explain it. But I +mustn't. So you see it would be no good." + +"But I'm so useless," pleaded the woman. + +"I said that," answered Joan. "I wanted to do it and I talked and +talked, so hard. I said everything I could think of. But that was +the only answer: I mustn't do it." + +They remained for a while with their arms round one another. It +struck Joan as curious, even at the time, that all feeling of +superiority had gone out of her. They might have been two puzzled +children that had met one another on a path that neither knew. But +Joan was the stronger character. + +"I want you to give me up that box," she said, "and to come away +with me where I can be with you and take care of you until you are +well." + +Mrs. Phillips made yet another effort. "Have you thought about +him?" she asked. + +Joan answered with a faint smile. "Oh, yes," she said. "I didn't +forget that argument in case it hadn't occurred to the Lord." + +"Perhaps," she added, "the helpmate theory was intended to apply +only to our bodies. There was nothing said about our souls. +Perhaps God doesn't have to work in pairs. Perhaps we were meant +to stand alone." + +Mrs. Phillips's thin hands were playing nervously with the bed +clothes. There still seemed something that she had to say. As if +Joan hadn't thought of everything. Her eyes were fixed upon the +narrow strip of light between the window curtains. + +"You don't think you could, dear," she whispered, "if I didn't do +anything wicked any more. But just let things take their course." + +"You see, dear," she went on, her face still turned away, "I +thought it all finished. It will be hard for me to go back to him, +knowing as I do now that he doesn't want me. I shall always feel +that I am in his way. And Hilda," she added after a pause, "she +will hate me." + +Joan looked at the white patient face and was silent. What would +be the use of senseless contradiction. The woman knew. It would +only seem an added stab of mockery. She knelt beside the bed, and +took the thin hands in hers. + +"I think God must want you very badly," she said, "or He wouldn't +have laid so heavy a cross upon you. You will come?" + +The woman did not answer in words. The big tears were rolling down +her cheeks. There was no paint to mingle with and mar them. She +drew the little metal box from under the pillow and gave it into +Joan's hands. + +Joan crept out softly from the room. + +The nurse was standing by the window. She turned sharply on Joan's +entrance. Joan slipped the box into her hands. + +The nurse raised the lid. "What a fool I've been," she said. "I +never thought of that." + +She held out a large strong hand and gave Joan a longish grip. +"You're right," she said, "we must get her out of this house at +once. Forgive me." + +Phillips had been called up north and wired that he would not be +able to get down till the Wednesday evening. Joan met him at the +station. + +"She won't be expecting you, just yet," she explained. "We might +have a little walk." + +She waited till they had reached a quiet road leading to the hills. + +"You will find her changed," she said. "Mentally, I mean. Though +she will try not to show it. She was dying for your sake--to set +you free. Hilda seems to have had a talk with her and to have +spared her no part of the truth. Her great love for you made the +sacrifice possible and even welcome. It was the one gift she had +in her hands. She was giving it gladly, proudly. So far as she +was concerned, it would have been kinder to let her make an end of +it. But during the last few days I have come to the conclusion +there is a law within us that we may not argue with. She is coming +back to life, knowing you no longer want her, that she is only in +the way. Perhaps you may be able to think of something to say or +do that will lessen her martyrdom. I can't." + +They had paused where a group of trees threw a blot of shadow +across the moonlit road. + +"You mean she was killing herself?" he asked. + +"Quite cleverly. So as to avoid all danger of after discovery: +that might have hurt us," she answered. + +They walked in silence, and coming to a road that led back into the +town, he turned down it. She had the feeling she was following him +without his knowing it. A cab was standing outside the gate of a +house, having just discharged its fare. He seemed to have suddenly +recollected her. + +"Do you mind?" he said. "We shall get there so much quicker." + +"You go," she said. "I'll stroll on quietly." + +"You're sure?" he said. + +"I would rather," she answered. + +It struck her that he was relieved. He gave the man the address, +speaking hurriedly, and jumped in. + +She had gone on. She heard the closing of the door behind her, and +the next moment the cab passed her. + +She did not see him again that night. They met in the morning at +breakfast. A curious strangeness to each other seemed to have +grown up between them, as if they had known one another long ago, +and had half forgotten. When they had finished she rose to leave; +but he asked her to stop, and, after the table had been cleared, he +walked up and down the room, while she sat sideways on the window +seat from where she could watch the little ships moving to and fro +across the horizon, like painted figures in a show. + +"I had a long talk with Nan last night," he said. "And, trying to +explain it to her, I came a little nearer to understanding it +myself. My love for you would have been strong enough to ruin both +of us. I see that now. It would have dominated every other +thought in me. It would have swallowed up my dreams. It would +have been blind, unscrupulous. Married to you, I should have aimed +only at success. It would not have been your fault. You would not +have known. About mere birth I should never have troubled myself. +I've met daughters of a hundred earls--more or less: clever, jolly +little women I could have chucked under the chin and have been +chummy with. Nature creates her own ranks, and puts her ban upon +misalliances. Every time I took you in my arms I should have felt +that you had stepped down from your proper order to mate yourself +with me and that it was up to me to make the sacrifice good to you +by giving you power--position. Already within the last few weeks, +when it looked as if this thing was going to be possible, I have +been thinking against my will of a compromise with Carleton that +would give me his support. This coming election was beginning to +have terrors for me that I have never before felt. The thought of +defeat--having to go back to comparative poverty, to comparative +obscurity, with you as my wife, was growing into a nightmare. I +should have wanted wealth, fame, victory, for your sake--to see you +honoured, courted, envied, finely dressed and finely housed-- +grateful to me for having won for you these things. It wasn't +honest, healthy love--the love that unites, that makes a man +willing to take as well as to give, that I felt for you; it was +worship that separates a man from a woman, that puts fear between +them. It isn't good that man should worship a woman. He can't +serve God and woman. Their interests are liable to clash. Nan's +my helpmate--just a loving woman that the Lord brought to me and +gave me when I was alone--that I still love. I didn't know it till +last night. She will never stand in my way. I haven't to put her +against my duty. She will leave me free to obey the voice that +calls to me. And no man can hear that voice but himself." + +He had been speaking in a clear, self-confident tone, as if at last +he saw his road before him to the end; and felt that nothing else +mattered but that he should go forward hopefully, unfalteringly. +Now he paused, and his eyes wandered. But the lines about his +strong mouth deepened. + +"Perhaps, I am not of the stuff that conquerors are made," he went +on. "Perhaps, if I were, I should be thinking differently. It +comes to me sometimes that I may be one of those intended only to +prepare the way--that for me there may be only the endless +struggle. I may have to face unpopularity, abuse, failure. She +won't mind." + +"Nor would you," he added, turning to her suddenly for the first +time, "I know that. But I should be afraid--for you." + +She had listened to him without interrupting, and even now she did +not speak for a while. + +It was hard not to. She wanted to tell him that he was all wrong-- +at least, so far as she was concerned. It. was not the conqueror +she loved in him; it was the fighter. Not in the hour of triumph +but in the hour of despair she would have yearned to put her arms +about him. "Unpopularity, abuse, failure," it was against the fear +of such that she would have guarded him. Yes, she had dreamed of +leadership, influence, command. But it was the leadership of the +valiant few against the hosts of the oppressors that she claimed. +Wealth, honours! Would she have given up a life of ease, shut +herself off from society, if these had been her standards? +"Mesalliance!" Had the male animal no instinct, telling it when it +was loved with all a woman's being, so that any other union would +be her degradation. + +It was better for him he should think as he did. She rose and held +out her hand. + +"I will stay with her for a little while," she said. "Till I feel +there is no more need. Then I must get back to work." + +He looked into her eyes, holding her hand, and she felt his body +trembling. She knew he was about to speak, and held up a warning +hand. + +"That's all, my lad," she said with a smile. "My love to you, and +God speed you." + +Mrs. Phillips progressed slowly but steadily. Life was returning +to her, but it was not the same. Out of those days there had come +to her a gentle dignity, a strengthening and refining. The face, +now pale and drawn, had lost its foolishness. Under the thin, +white hair, and in spite of its deep lines, it had grown younger. +A great patience, a child-like thoughtfulness had come into the +quiet eyes. + +She was sitting by the window, her hands folded. Joan had been +reading to her, and the chapter finished, she had closed the book +and her thoughts had been wandering. Mrs. Phillips's voice +recalled them. + +"Do you remember that day, my dear," she said, "when we went +furnishing together. And I would have all the wrong things. And +you let me." + +"Yes," answered Joan with a laugh. "They were pretty awful, some +of them." + +"I was just wondering," she went on. "It was a pity, wasn't it? I +was silly and began to cry." + +"I expect that was it," Joan confessed. "It interferes with our +reason at times." + +"It was only a little thing, of course, that," she answered. "But +I've been thinking it must be that that's at the bottom of it all; +and that is why God lets there be weak things--children and little +animals and men and women in pain, that we feel sorry for, so that +people like you and Robert and so many others are willing to give +up all your lives to helping them. And that is what He wants." + +"Perhaps God cannot help there being weak things," answered Joan. +"Perhaps He, too, is sorry for them." + +"It comes to the same thing, doesn't it, dear?" she answered. +"They are there, anyhow. And that is how He knows those who are +willing to serve Him: by their being pitiful." + +They fell into a silence. Joan found herself dreaming. + +Yes, it was true. It must have been the beginning of all things. +Man, pitiless, deaf, blind, groping in the darkness, knowing not +even himself. And to her vision, far off, out of the mist, he +shaped himself before her: that dim, first standard-bearer of the +Lord, the man who first felt pity. Savage, brutish, dumb--lonely +there amid the desolation, staring down at some hurt creature, man +or beast it mattered not, his dull eyes troubled with a strange new +pain he understood not. + +And suddenly, as he stooped, there must have come a great light +into his eyes. + +Man had heard God's voice across the deep, and had made answer. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + + +The years that followed--till, like some shipwrecked swimmer to +whom returning light reveals the land, she felt new life and hopes +come back to her--always remained in her memory vague, confused; a +jumble of events, thoughts, feelings, without sequence or +connection. + +She had gone down to Liverpool, intending to persuade her father to +leave the control of the works to Arthur, and to come and live with +her in London; but had left without broaching the subject. There +were nights when she would trapse the streets till she would almost +fall exhausted, rather than face the solitude awaiting her in her +own rooms. But so also there were moods when, like some stricken +animal, her instinct was to shun all living things. At such times +his presence, for all his loving patience, would have been as a +knife in her wound. Besides, he would always be there, when escape +from herself for a while became an absolute necessity. More and +more she had come to regard him as her comforter. Not from +anything he ever said or did. Rather, it seemed to her, because +that with him she felt no need of words. + +The works, since Arthur had shared the management, had gradually +been regaining their position; and he had urged her to let him +increase her allowance. + +"It will give you greater freedom," he had suggested with fine +assumption of propounding a mere business proposition; "enabling +you to choose your work entirely for its own sake. I have always +wanted to take a hand in helping things on. It will come to just +the same, your doing it for me." + +She had suppressed a smile, and had accepted. "Thanks, Dad," she +had answered. "It will be nice, having you as my backer." + +Her admiration of the independent woman had undergone some +modification since she had come in contact with her. Woman was +intended to be dependent upon man. It was the part appointed to +him in the social scheme. Woman had hers, no less important. +Earning her own living did not improve her. It was one of the +drawbacks of civilization that so many had to do it of necessity. +It developed her on the wrong lines--against her nature. This cry +of the unsexed: that woman must always be the paid servant instead +of the helper of man--paid for being mother, paid for being wife! +Why not carry it to its logical conclusion, and insist that she +should be paid for her embraces? That she should share in man's +labour, in his hopes, that was the true comradeship. What mattered +it, who held the purse-strings! + +Her room was always kept ready for her. Often she would lie there, +watching the moonlight creep across the floor; and a curious +feeling would come to her of being something wandering, incomplete. +She would see as through a mist the passionate, restless child with +the rebellious eyes to whom the room had once belonged; and later +the strangely self-possessed girl with that impalpable veil of +mystery around her who would stand with folded hands, there by the +window, seeming always to be listening. And she, too, had passed +away. The tears would come into her eyes, and she would stretch +out yearning arms towards their shadowy forms. But they would only +turn upon her eyes that saw not, and would fade away. + +In the day-time, when Arthur and her father were at the works, she +would move through the high, square, stiffly-furnished rooms, or +about the great formal garden, with its ordered walks and level +lawns. And as with knowledge we come to love some old, stern face +our childish eyes had thought forbidding, and would not have it +changed, there came to her with the years a growing fondness for +the old, plain brick-built house. Generations of Allways had lived +and died there: men and women somewhat narrow, unsympathetic, a +little hard of understanding; but at least earnest, sincere, +seeking to do their duty in their solid, unimaginative way. +Perhaps there were other ways besides those of speech and pen. +Perhaps one did better, keeping to one's own people; the very +qualities that separated us from them being intended for their +need. What mattered the colours, so that one followed the flag? +Somewhere, all roads would meet. + +Arthur had to be in London generally once or twice a month, and it +came to be accepted that he should always call upon her and "take +her out." She had lost the self-sufficiency that had made roaming +about London by herself a pleasurable adventure; and a newly-born +fear of what people were saying and thinking about her made her shy +even of the few friends she still clung to, so that his visits grew +to be of the nature of childish treats to which she found herself +looking forward--counting the days. Also, she came to be dependent +upon him for the keeping alight within her of that little kindly +fire of self-conceit at which we warm our hands in wintry days. It +is not good that a young woman should remain for long a stranger to +her mirror--above her frocks, indifferent to the angle of her hat. +She had met the women superior to feminine vanities. Handsome +enough, some of them must once have been; now sunk in slovenliness, +uncleanliness, in disrespect to womanhood. It would not be fair to +him. The worshipper has his rights. The goddess must remember +always that she is a goddess--must pull herself together and behave +as such, appearing upon her pedestal becomingly attired; seeing to +it that in all things she is at her best; not allowing private +grief to render her neglectful of this duty. + +She had not told him of the Phillips episode. But she felt +instinctively that he knew. It was always a little mysterious to +her, his perception in matters pertaining to herself. + +"I want your love," she said to him one day. "It helps me. I used +to think it was selfish of me to take it, knowing I could never +return it--not that love. But I no longer feel that now. Your +love seems to me a fountain from which I can drink without hurting +you." + +"I should love to be with you always," he answered, "if you wished +it. You won't forget your promise?" + +She remembered it then. "No," she answered with a smile. "I shall +keep watch. Perhaps I shall be worthy of it by that time." + +She had lost her faith in journalism as a drum for the rousing of +the people against wrong. Its beat had led too often to the +trickster's booth, to the cheap-jack's rostrum. It had lost its +rallying power. The popular Press had made the newspaper a byword +for falsehood. Even its supporters, while reading it because it +pandered to their passions, tickled their vices, and flattered +their ignorance, despised and disbelieved it. Here and there, an +honest journal advocated a reform, pleaded for the sweeping away of +an injustice. The public shrugged its shoulders. Another +newspaper stunt! A bid for popularity, for notoriety: with its +consequent financial kudos. + +She still continued to write for Greyson, but felt she was +labouring for the doomed. Lord Sutcliffe had died suddenly and his +holding in the Evening Gazette had passed to his nephew, a +gentleman more interested in big game shooting than in politics. +Greyson's support of Phillips had brought him within the net of +Carleton's operations, and negotiations for purchase had already +been commenced. She knew that, sooner or later, Greyson would be +offered the alternative of either changing his opinions or of +going. And she knew that he would go. Her work for Mrs. Denton +was less likely to be interfered with. It appealed only to the +few, and aimed at informing and explaining rather than directly +converting. Useful enough work in its way, no doubt; but to put +heart into it seemed to require longer views than is given to the +eyes of youth. + +Besides, her pen was no longer able to absorb her attention, to +keep her mind from wandering. The solitude of her desk gave her +the feeling of a prison. Her body made perpetual claims upon her, +as though it were some restless, fretful child, dragging her out +into the streets without knowing where it wanted to go, +discontented with everything it did: then hurrying her back to +fling itself upon a chair, weary, but still dissatisfied. + +If only she could do something. She was sick of thinking. + +These physical activities into which women were throwing +themselves! Where one used one's body as well as one's brain-- +hastened to appointments; gathered round noisy tables; met fellow +human beings, argued with them, walked with them, laughing and +talking; forced one's way through crowds; cheered, shouted; stood +up on platforms before a sea of faces; roused applause, filling and +emptying one's lungs; met interruptions with swift flash of wit or +anger, faced opposition, danger--felt one's blood surging through +one's veins, felt one's nerves quivering with excitement; felt the +delirious thrill of passion; felt the mad joy of the loosened +animal. + +She threw herself into the suffrage movement. It satisfied her for +a while. She had the rare gift of public speaking, and enjoyed her +triumphs. She was temperate, reasonable; persuasive rather than +aggressive; feeling her audience as she went, never losing touch +with them. She had the magnetism that comes of sympathy. Medical +students who came intending to tell her to go home and mind the +baby, remained to wonder if man really was the undoubted sovereign +of the world, born to look upon woman as his willing subject; to +wonder whether under some unwritten whispered law it might not be +the other way about. Perhaps she had the right--with or without +the baby--to move about the kingdom, express her wishes for its +care and management. Possibly his doubts may not have been brought +about solely by the force and logic of her arguments. Possibly the +voice of Nature is not altogether out of place in discussions upon +Humanity's affairs. + +She wanted votes for women. But she wanted them clean--won without +dishonour. These "monkey tricks"--this apish fury and impatience! +Suppose it did hasten by a few months, more or less, the coming of +the inevitable. Suppose, by unlawful methods, one could succeed in +dragging a reform a little prematurely from the womb of time, did +not one endanger the child's health? Of what value was woman's +influence on public affairs going to be, if she was to boast that +she had won the right to exercise it by unscrupulousness and +brutality? + +They were to be found at every corner: the reformers who could not +reform themselves. The believers in universal brotherhood who +hated half the people. The denouncers of tyranny demanding lamp- +posts for their opponents. The bloodthirsty preachers of peace. +The moralists who had persuaded themselves that every wrong was +justified provided one were fighting for the right. The deaf +shouters for justice. The excellent intentioned men and women +labouring for reforms that could only be hoped for when greed and +prejudice had yielded place to reason, and who sought to bring +about their ends by appeals to passion and self-interest. + +And the insincere, the self-seekers, the self-advertisers! Those +who were in the business for even coarser profit! The lime-light +lovers who would always say and do the clever, the unexpected thing +rather than the useful and the helpful thing: to whom paradox was +more than principle. + +Ought there not to be a school for reformers, a training college +where could be inculcated self-examination, patience, temperance, +subordination to duty; with lectures on the fundamental laws, +within which all progress must be accomplished, outside which lay +confusion and explosions; with lectures on history, showing how +improvements had been brought about and how failure had been +invited, thus avoiding much waste of reforming zeal; with lectures +on the properties and tendencies of human nature, forbidding the +attempt to treat it as a sum in rule of three? + +There were the others. The men and women not in the lime-light. +The lone, scattered men and women who saw no flag but Pity's ragged +skirt; who heard no drum but the world's low cry of pain; who +fought with feeble hands against the wrong around them; who with +aching heart and troubled eyes laboured to make kinder the little +space about them. The great army of the nameless reformers +uncheered, unparagraphed, unhonoured. The unknown sowers of the +seed. Would the reapers of the harvest remember them? + +Beyond giving up her visits to the house, she had made no attempt +to avoid meeting Phillips; and at public functions and at mutual +friends they sometimes found themselves near to one another. It +surprised her that she could see him, talk to him, and even be +alone with him without its troubling her. He seemed to belong to a +part of her that lay dead and buried--something belonging to her +that she had thrust away with her own hands: that she knew would +never come back to her. + +She was still interested in his work and keen to help him. It was +going to be a stiff fight. He himself, in spite of Carleton's +opposition, had been returned with an increased majority; but the +Party as a whole had suffered loss, especially in the counties. +The struggle centred round the agricultural labourer. If he could +be won over the Government would go ahead with Phillips's scheme. +Otherwise there was danger of its being shelved. The difficulty +was the old problem of how to get at the men of the scattered +villages, the lonely cottages. The only papers that they ever saw +were those, chiefly of the Carleton group, that the farmers and the +gentry took care should come within their reach; that were handed +to them at the end of their day's work as a kindly gift; given to +the school children to take home with them; supplied in ample +numbers to all the little inns and public-houses. In all these, +Phillips was held up as their arch enemy, his proposal explained as +a device to lower their wages, decrease their chances of +employment, and rob them of the produce of their gardens and +allotments. No arguments were used. A daily stream of abuse, +misrepresentation and deliberate lies, set forth under flaming +headlines, served their simple purpose. The one weekly paper that +had got itself established among them, that their fathers had +always taken, that dimly they had come to look upon as their one +friend, Carleton had at last succeeded in purchasing. When that, +too, pictured Phillips's plan as a diabolical intent to take from +them even the little that they had, and give it to the loafing +socialist and the bloated foreigner, no room for doubt was left to +them. + +He had organized volunteer cycle companies of speakers from the +towns, young working-men and women and students, to go out on +summer evenings and hold meetings on the village greens. They were +winning their way. But it was slow work. And Carleton was +countering their efforts by a hired opposition that followed them +from place to place, and whose interruptions were made use of to +represent the whole campaign as a fiasco. + +"He's clever," laughed Phillips. "I'd enjoy the fight, if I'd only +myself to think of, and life wasn't so short." + +The laugh died away and a shadow fell upon his face. + +"If I could get a few of the big landlords to come in on my side," +he continued, "it would make all the difference in the world. +They're sensible men, some of them; and the whole thing could be +carried out without injury to any legitimate interest. I could +make them see that, if I could only get them quietly into a +corner." + +"But they're frightened of me," he added, with a shrug of his broad +shoulders, "and I don't seem to know how to tackle them." + +Those drawing-rooms? Might not something of the sort be possible? +Not, perhaps, the sumptuous salon of her imagination, thronged with +the fair and famous, suitably attired. Something, perhaps, more +homely, more immediately attainable. Some of the women dressed, +perhaps, a little dowdily; not all of them young and beautiful. +The men wise, perhaps, rather than persistently witty; a few of +them prosy, maybe a trifle ponderous; but solid and influential. +Mrs. Denton's great empty house in Gower Street? A central +situation and near to the tube. Lords and ladies had once ruffled +there; trod a measure on its spacious floors; filled its echoing +stone hall with their greetings and their partings. The gaping +sconces, where their link-boys had extinguished their torches, +still capped its grim iron railings. + +Seated in the great, sombre library, Joan hazarded the suggestion. +Mrs. Denton might almost have been waiting for it. It would be +quite easy. A little opening of long fastened windows; a lighting +of chill grates; a little mending of moth-eaten curtains, a +sweeping away of long-gathered dust and cobwebs. + +Mrs. Denton knew just the right people. They might be induced to +bring their sons and daughters--it might be their grandchildren, +youth being there to welcome them. For Joan, of course, would play +her part. + +The lonely woman touched her lightly on the hand. There shot a +pleading look from the old stern eyes. + +"You will have to imagine yourself my daughter," she said. "You +are taller, but the colouring was the same. You won't mind, will +you?" + +The right people did come: Mrs. Denton being a personage that a +landed gentry, rendered jumpy by the perpetual explosion of new +ideas under their very feet, and casting about eagerly for friends, +could not afford to snub. A kindly, simple folk, quite +intelligent, some of them, as Phillips had surmised. Mrs. Denton +made no mystery of why she had invited them. Why should all +questions be left to the politicians and the journalists? Why +should not the people interested take a hand; meet and talk over +these little matters with quiet voices and attentive ears, amid +surroundings where the unwritten law would restrain ladies and +gentlemen from addressing other ladies and gentlemen as blood- +suckers or anarchists, as grinders of the faces of the poor or as +oily-tongued rogues; arguments not really conducive to mutual +understanding and the bridging over of differences. The latest +Russian dancer, the last new musical revue, the marvellous things +that can happen at golf, the curious hands that one picks up at +bridge, the eternal fox, the sacred bird! Excellent material for +nine-tenths of our conversation. But the remaining tenth? Would +it be such excruciatingly bad form for us to be intelligent, +occasionally; say, on one or two Fridays during the season? Mrs. +Denton wrapped it up tactfully; but that was her daring suggestion. + +It took them aback at first. There were people who did this sort +of thing. People of no class, who called themselves names and took +up things. But for people of social standing to talk about serious +subjects--except, perhaps, in bed to one's wife! It sounded so un- +English. + +With the elders it was sense of duty that prevailed. That, at all +events, was English. The country must be saved. To their sons and +daughters it was the originality, the novelty that gradually +appealed. Mrs. Denton's Fridays became a new sensation. It came +to be the chic and proper thing to appear at them in shades of +mauve or purple. A pushing little woman in Hanover Street designed +the "Denton" bodice, with hanging sleeves and square-cut neck. The +younger men inclined towards a coat shaped to the waist with a roll +collar. + +Joan sighed. It looked as if the word had been passed round to +treat the whole thing as a joke. Mrs. Denton took a different +view. + +"Nothing better could have happened," she was of opinion. "It +means that their hearts are in it." + +The stone hall was still vibrating to the voices of the last +departed guests. Joan was seated on a footstool before the fire in +front of Mrs. Denton's chair. + +"It's the thing that gives me greatest hope," she continued. "The +childishness of men and women. It means that the world is still +young, still teachable." + +"But they're so slow at their lessons," grumbled Joan. "One +repeats it and repeats it; and then, when one feels that surely now +at least one has drummed it into their heads, one finds they have +forgotten all that one has ever said." + +"Not always forgotten," answered Mrs. Denton; "mislaid, it may be, +for the moment. An Indian student, the son of an old Rajah, called +on me a little while ago. He was going back to organize a system +of education among his people. 'My father heard you speak when you +were over in India,' he told me. 'He has always been thinking +about it.' Thirty years ago it must have been, that I undertook +that mission to India. I had always looked back upon it as one of +my many failures." + +"But why leave it to his son," argued Joan. "Why couldn't the old +man have set about it himself, instead of wasting thirty precious +years?" + +"I should have preferred it, myself," agreed Mrs. Denton. "I +remember when I was a very little girl my mother longing for a tree +upon the lawn underneath which she could sit. I found an acorn and +planted it just in the right spot. I thought I would surprise her. +I happened to be in the neighbourhood last summer, and I walked +over. There was such a nice old lady sitting under it, knitting +stockings. So you see it wasn't wasted." + +"I wouldn't mind the waiting," answered Joan, "if it were not for +the sorrow and the suffering that I see all round me. I want to +get rid of it right away, now. I could be patient for myself, but +not for others." + +The little old lady straightened herself. There came a hardening +of the thin, firm mouth. + +"And those that have gone before?" she demanded. "Those that have +won the ground from where we are fighting. Had they no need of +patience? Was the cry never wrung from their lips: 'How long, oh +Lord, how long?' Is it for us to lay aside the sword that they +bequeath us because we cannot hope any more than they to see the +far-off victory? Fifty years I have fought, and what, a few years +hence, will my closing eyes still see but the banners of the foe +still waving, fresh armies pouring to his standard?" + +She flung back her head and the grim mouth broke into a smile. + +"But I've won," she said. "I'm dying further forward. I've helped +advance the line." + +She put out her hands and drew Joan to her. + +"Let me think of you," she said, "as taking my place, pushing the +outposts a little further on." + +Joan did not meet Hilda again till the child had grown into a +woman--practically speaking. She had always been years older than +her age. It was at a reception given in the Foreign Office. +Joan's dress had been trodden on and torn. She had struggled out +of the crowd into an empty room, and was examining the damage +somewhat ruefully, when she heard a voice behind her, proffering +help. It was a hard, cold voice, that yet sounded familiar, and +she turned. + +There was no forgetting those deep, burning eyes, though the face +had changed. The thin red lips still remained its one touch of +colour; but the unhealthy whiteness of the skin had given place to +a delicate pallor; and the features that had been indistinct had +shaped themselves in fine, firm lines. It was a beautiful, +arresting face, marred only by the sullen callousness of the dark, +clouded eyes. + +Joan was glad of the assistance. Hilda produced pins. + +"I always come prepared to these scrimmages," she explained. "I've +got some Hazeline in my bag. They haven't kicked you, have they?" + +"No," laughed Joan. "At least, I don't think so." + +"They do sometimes," answered Hilda, "if you happen to be in the +way, near the feeding troughs. If they'd only put all the +refreshments into one room, one could avoid it. But they will +scatter them about so that one never knows for certain whether one +is in the danger zone or not. I hate a mob." + +"Why do you come?" asked Joan. + +"Oh, I!" answered the girl. "I go everywhere where there's a +chance of picking up a swell husband. They've got to come to these +shows, they can't help themselves. One never knows what incident +may give one one's opportunity." + +Joan shot a glance. The girl was evidently serious. + +"You think it would prove a useful alliance?" she suggested. + +"It would help, undoubtedly," the girl answered. "I don't see any +other way of getting hold of them." + +Joan seated herself on one of the chairs ranged round the walls, +and drew the girl down beside her. Through the closed door, the +mingled voices of the Foreign Secretary's guests sounded curiously +like the buzzing of flies. + +"It's quite easy," said Joan, "with your beauty. Especially if +you're not going to be particular. But isn't there danger of your +devotion to your father leading you too far? A marriage founded on +a lie--no matter for what purpose!--mustn't it degrade a woman-- +smirch her soul for all time? We have a right to give up the +things that belong to ourselves, but not the things that belong to +God: our truth, our sincerity, our cleanliness of mind and body; +the things that He may one day want of us. It led you into evil +once before. Don't think I'm judging you. I was no better than +you. I argued just as you must have done. Something stopped me +just in time. That was the only difference between us." + +The girl turned her dark eyes full upon Joan. "What did stop you?" +she demanded. + +"Does it matter what we call it?" answered Joan. "It was a voice." + +"It told me to do it," answered the girl. + +"Did no other voice speak to you?" asked Joan. + +"Yes," answered the girl. "The voice of weakness." + +There came a fierce anger into the dark eyes. "Why did you listen +to it?" she demanded. "All would have been easy if you hadn't." + +"You mean," answered Joan quietly, "that if I had let your mother +die and had married your father, that he and I would have loved +each other to the end; that I should have helped him and encouraged +him in all things, so that his success would have been certain. Is +that the argument?" + +"Didn't you love him?" asked the girl, staring. "Wouldn't you have +helped him?" + +"I can't tell," answered Joan. "I should have meant to. Many men +and women have loved, and have meant to help each other all their +lives; and with the years have drifted asunder; coming even to be +against one another. We change and our thoughts change; slight +differences of temperament grow into barriers between us; unguessed +antagonisms widen into gulfs. Accidents come into our lives. A +friend was telling me the other day of a woman who practically +proposed to and married a musical genius, purely and solely to be +of use to him. She earned quite a big income, drawing fashions; +and her idea was to relieve him of the necessity of doing pot- +boilers for a living, so that he might devote his whole time to his +real work. And a few weeks after they were married she ran the +point of a lead pencil through her eye and it set up inflammation +of her brain. And now all the poor fellow has to think of is how +to make enough to pay for her keep at a private lunatic asylum. I +don't mean to be flippant. It's the very absurdity of it all that +makes the mystery of life--that renders it so hopeless for us to +attempt to find our way through it by our own judgment. It is like +the ants making all their clever, laborious plans, knowing nothing +of chickens and the gardener's spade. That is why we have to cling +to the life we can order for ourselves--the life within us. Truth, +Justice, Pity. They are the strong things, the eternal things, the +things we've got to sacrifice ourselves for--serve with our bodies +and our souls. + +"Don't think me a prig," she pleaded. "I'm talking as if I knew +all about it. I don't really. I grope in the dark; and now and +then--at least so it seems to me--I catch a glint of light. We are +powerless in ourselves. It is only God working through us that +enables us to be of any use. All we can do is to keep ourselves +kind and clean and free from self, waiting for Him to come to us." + +The girl rose. "I must be getting back," she said. "Dad will be +wondering where I've got to." + +She paused with the door in her hand, and a faint smile played +round the thin red lips. + +"Tell me," she said. "What is God?" + +"A Labourer, together with man, according to Saint Paul," Joan +answered. + +The girl turned and went. Joan watched her as she descended the +great staircase. She moved with a curious, gliding motion, pausing +at times for the people to make way for her. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + + +It was a summer's evening; Joan had dropped in at the Greysons and +had found Mary alone, Francis not having yet returned from a +bachelor dinner at his uncle's, who was some big pot in the Navy. +They sat in the twilight, facing the open French windows, through +which one caught a glimpse of the park. A great stillness seemed +to be around them. + +The sale and purchase of the Evening Gazette had been completed a +few days before. Greyson had been offered the alternative of +gradually and gracefully changing his opinions, or getting out; and +had, of course, chosen dismissal. He was taking a holiday, as Mary +explained with a short laugh. + +"He had some shares in it himself, hadn't he?" Joan asked. + +"Oh, just enough to be of no use," Mary answered. "Carleton was +rather decent, so far as that part of it was concerned, and +insisted on paying him a fair price. The market value would have +been much less; and he wanted to be out of it." + +Joan remained silent. It made her mad, that a man could be +suddenly robbed of fifteen years' labour: the weapon that his +heart and brain had made keen wrested from his hand by a legal +process, and turned against the very principles for which all his +life he had been fighting. + +"I'm almost more sorry for myself than for him," said Mary, making +a whimsical grimace. "He will start something else, so soon as +he's got over his first soreness; but I'm too old to dream of +another child." + +He came in a little later and, seating himself between them, filled +and lighted his pipe. Looking back, Joan remembered that curiously +none of them had spoken. Mary had turned at the sound of his key +in the door. She seemed to be watching him intently; but it was +too dark to notice her expression. He pulled at his pipe till it +was well alight and then removed it. + +"It's war," he said. + +The words made no immediate impression upon Joan. There had been +rumours, threatenings and alarms, newspaper talk. But so there had +been before. It would come one day: the world war that one felt +was gathering in the air; that would burst like a second deluge on +the nations. But it would not be in our time: it was too big. A +way out would be found. + +"Is there no hope?" asked Mary. + +"Yes," he answered. "The hope that a miracle may happen. The +Navy's got its orders." + +And suddenly--as years before in a Paris music hall--there leapt to +life within Joan's brain a little impish creature that took +possession of her. She hoped the miracle would not happen. The +little impish creature within her brain was marching up and down +beating a drum. She wished he would stop a minute. Someone was +trying to talk to her, telling her she ought to be tremendously +shocked and grieved. He--or she, or whatever it was that was +trying to talk to her, appeared concerned about Reason and Pity and +Universal Brotherhood and Civilization's clock--things like that. +But the little impish drummer was making such a din, she couldn't +properly hear. Later on, perhaps, he would get tired; and then she +would be able to listen to this humane and sensible person, whoever +it might be. + +Mary argued that England could and should keep out of it; but +Greyson was convinced it would be impossible, not to say +dishonourable: a sentiment that won the enthusiastic approval of +the little drummer in Joan's brain. He played "Rule Britannia" and +"God Save the King," the "Marseillaise" and the Russian National +hymn, all at the same time. He would have included "Deutschland +uber Alles," if Joan hadn't made a supreme effort and stopped him. +Evidently a sporting little devil. He took himself off into a +corner after a time, where he played quietly to himself; and Joan +was able to join in the conversation. + +Greyson spoke with an enthusiasm that was unusual to him. So many +of our wars had been mean wars--wars for the wrong; sordid wars for +territory, for gold mines; wars against the weak at the bidding of +our traders, our financiers. "Shouldering the white man's burden," +we called it. Wars for the right of selling opium; wars to +perpetuate the vile rule of the Turk because it happened to serve +our commercial interests. This time, we were out to play the +knight; to save the smaller peoples; to rescue our once "sweet +enemy," fair France. Russia was the disturbing thought. It +somewhat discounted the knight-errant idea, riding stirrup to +stirrup beside that barbarian horseman. But there were +possibilities about Russia. Idealism lay hid within that sleeping +brain. It would be a holy war for the Kingdom of the Peoples. +With Germany freed from the monster of blood and iron that was +crushing out her soul, with Russia awakened to life, we would build +the United States of Europe. Even his voice was changed. Joan +could almost fancy it was some excited schoolboy that was talking. + +Mary had been clasping and unclasping her hands, a habit of hers +when troubled. Could good ever come out of evil? That was her +doubt. Did war ever do anything but sow the seeds of future +violence; substitute one injustice for another; change wrong for +wrong. Did it ever do anything but add to the world's sum of evil, +making God's task the heavier? + +Suddenly, while speaking, she fell into a passionate fit of +weeping. She went on through her tears: + +"It will be terrible," she said. "It will last longer than you +say. Every nation will be drawn into it. There will be no voice +left to speak for reason. Every day we shall grow more brutalized, +more pitiless. It will degrade us, crush the soul out of us. +Blood and iron! It will become our God too: the God of all the +world. You say we are going into it with clean hands, this time. +How long will they keep clean? The people who only live for making +money: how long do you think they will remain silent? What has +been all the talk of the last ten years but of capturing German +trade. We shall be told that we owe it to our dead to make a +profit out of them; that otherwise they will have died in vain. +Who will care for the people but to use them for killing one +another--to hound them on like dogs. In every country nothing but +greed and hatred will be preached. Horrible men and women will +write to the papers crying out for more blood, more cruelty. +Everything that can make for anger and revenge will be screamed +from every newspaper. Every plea for humanity will be jeered at as +'sickly sentimentality.' Every man and woman who remembers the +ideals with which we started will be shrieked at as a traitor. The +people who are doing well out of it, they will get hold of the +Press, appeal to the passions of the mob. Nobody else will be +allowed to speak. It always has been so in war. It always will +be. This will be no exception merely because it's bigger. Every +country will be given over to savagery. There will be no appeal +against it. The whole world will sink back into the beast." + +She ended by rising abruptly and wishing them goodnight. Her +outburst had silenced Joan's impish drummer, for the time. He +appeared to be nervous and depressed, but bucked up again on the +way to the bus. Greyson walked with her as usual. They took the +long way round by the outer circle. + +"Poor Mary!" he said. "I should not have talked before her if I +had thought. Her horror of war is almost physical. She will not +even read about them. It has the same effect upon her as stories +of cruelty." + +"But there's truth in a good deal that she says," he added. "War +can bring out all that is best in a people; but also it brings out +the worst. We shall have to take care that the ideals are not lost +sight of." + +"I wish this wretched business of the paper hadn't come just at +this time," said Joan: "just when your voice is most needed. + +"Couldn't you get enough money together to start something +quickly," she continued, the idea suddenly coming to her. "I think +I could help you. It wouldn't matter its being something small to +begin with. So long as it was entirely your own, and couldn't be +taken away from you. You'd soon work it up." + +"Thanks," he answered. "I may ask you to later on. But just now-- +" He paused. + +Of course. For war you wanted men, to fight. She had been +thinking of them in the lump: hurrying masses such as one sees on +cinema screens, blurred but picturesque. Of course, when you came +to think of it, they would have to be made up of individuals-- +gallant-hearted, boyish sort of men who would pass through doors, +one at a time, into little rooms; give their name and address to a +soldier man seated at a big deal table. Later on, one would say +good-bye to them on crowded platforms, wave a handkerchief. Not +all of them would come back. "You can't make omelettes without +breaking eggs," she told herself. + +It annoyed her, that silly saying having come into her mind. She +could see them lying there, with their white faces to the night. +Surely she might have thought of some remark less idiotic to make +to herself, at such a time. + +He was explaining to her things about the air service. It seemed +he had had experience in flying--some relation of his with whom he +had spent a holiday last summer. + +It would mean his getting out quickly. He seemed quite eager to be +gone. + +"Isn't it rather dangerous work?" she asked. She felt it was a +footling question even as she asked it. Her brain had become +stodgy. + +"Nothing like as dangerous as being in the Infantry," he answered. +"And that would be my only other alternative. Besides I get out of +the drilling." He laughed. "I should hate being shouted at and +ordered about by a husky old sergeant." + +They neither spoke again till they came to the bridge, from the +other side of which the busses started. + +"I may not see you again before I go," he said. "Look after Mary. +I shall try to persuade her to go down to her aunt in Hampshire. +It's rather a bit of luck, as it turns out, the paper being +finished with. I shouldn't have quite known what to do." + +He had stopped at the corner. They were still beneath the shadow +of the trees. Quite unconsciously she put her face up; and as if +it had always been the custom at their partings, he drew her to him +and kissed her; though it really was for the first time. + +She walked home instead of taking the bus. She wanted to think. A +day or two would decide the question. She determined that if the +miracle did not happen, she would go down to Liverpool. Her father +was on the committee of one of the great hospitals; and she knew +one or two of the matrons. She would want to be doing something-- +to get out to the front, if possible. Maybe, her desire to serve +was not altogether free from curiosity--from the craving for +adventure. There's a spice of the man even in the best of women. + +Her conscience plagued her when she thought of Mrs. Denton. For +some time now, they had been very close together; and the old lady +had come to depend upon her. She waited till all doubt was ended +before calling to say good-bye. Mrs. Denton was seated before an +old bureau that had long stood locked in a corner of the library. +The drawers were open and books and papers were scattered about. + +Joan told her plans. "You'll be able to get along without me for a +little while?" she asked doubtfully. + +Mrs. Denton laughed. "I haven't much more to do," she answered. +"Just tidying up, as you see; and two or three half-finished things +I shall try to complete. After that, I'll perhaps take a rest." + +She took from among the litter a faded photograph and handed it to +Joan. "Odd," she said. "I've just turned it out." + +It represented a long, thin line of eminently respectable ladies +and gentlemen in early Victorian costume. The men in peg-top +trousers and silk stocks, the women in crinolines and poke bonnets. +Among them, holding the hand of a benevolent-looking, stoutish +gentleman, was a mere girl. The terminating frills of a white +unmentionable garment showed beneath her skirts. She wore a +porkpie hat with a feather in it. + +"My first public appearance," explained Mrs. Denton. "I teased my +father into taking me with him. We represented Great Britain and +Ireland. I suppose I'm the only one left." + +"I shouldn't have recognized you," laughed Joan. "What was the +occasion?" + +"The great International Peace Congress at Paris," explained Mrs. +Denton; "just after the Crimean war. It made quite a stir at the +time. The Emperor opened our proceedings in person, and the Pope +and the Archbishop of Canterbury both sent us their blessing. We +had a copy of the speeches presented to us on leaving, in every +known language in Europe, bound in vellum. I'm hoping to find it. +And the Press was enthusiastic. There were to be Acts of +Parliament, Courts of Arbitration, International Laws, Diplomatic +Treaties. A Sub-Committee was appointed to prepare a special set +of prayers and a Palace of Peace was to be erected. There was only +one thing we forgot, and that was the foundation." + +"I may not be here," she continued, "when the new plans are +submitted. Tell them not to forget the foundation this time. Tell +them to teach the children." + +Joan dined at a popular restaurant that evening. She fancied it +might cheer her up. But the noisy patriotism of the over-fed crowd +only irritated her. These elderly, flabby men, these fleshy women, +who would form the spectators, who would loll on their cushioned +seats protected from the sun, munching contentedly from their well- +provided baskets while listening to the dying groans rising upwards +from the drenched arena. She glanced from one podgy thumb to +another and a feeling of nausea crept over her. + +Suddenly the band struck up "God Save the King." Three commonplace +enough young men, seated at a table near to her, laid down their +napkins and stood up. Yes, there was something to be said for war, +she felt, as she looked at their boyish faces, transfigured. Not +for them Business as usual, the Capture of German Trade. Other +visions those young eyes were seeing. The little imp within her +brain had seized his drum again. "Follow me"--so he seemed to +beat--"I teach men courage, duty, the laying down of self. I open +the gates of honour. I make heroes out of dust. Isn't it worth my +price?" + +A figure was loitering the other side of the street when she +reached home. She thought she somehow recognized it, and crossed +over. It was McKean, smoking his everlasting pipe. Success having +demanded some such change, he had migrated to "The Albany," and she +had not seen him for some time. He had come to have a last look at +the house--in case it might happen to be the last. He was off to +Scotland the next morning, where he intended to "join up." + +"But are you sure it's your particular duty?" suggested Joan. "I'm +told you've become a household word both in Germany and France. If +we really are out to end war and establish the brotherhood of +nations, the work you are doing is of more importance than even the +killing of Germans. It isn't as if there wouldn't be enough +without you." + +"To tell the truth," he answered, "that's exactly what I've been +saying to myself. I shan't be any good. I don't see myself +sticking a bayonet into even a German. Unless he happened to be +abnormally clumsy. I tried to shoot a rabbit once. I might have +done it if the little beggar, instead of running away, hadn't +turned and looked at me." + +"I should keep out of it if I were you," laughed Joan. + +"I can't," he answered. "I'm too great a coward." + +"An odd reason for enlisting," thought Joan. + +"I couldn't face it," he went on; "the way people would be looking +at me in trains and omnibuses; the things people would say of me, +the things I should imagine they were saying; what my valet would +be thinking of me. Oh, I'm ashamed enough of myself. It's the +artistic temperament, I suppose. We must always be admired, +praised. We're not the stuff that martyrs are made of. We must +for ever be kow-towing to the cackling geese around us. We're so +terrified lest they should hiss us." + +The street was empty. They were pacing it slowly, up and down. + +"I've always been a coward," he continued. "I fell in love with +you the first day I met you on the stairs. But I dared not tell +you." + +"You didn't give me that impression," answered Joan. + +She had always found it difficult to know when to take him +seriously and when not. + +"I was so afraid you would find it out," he explained. + +"You thought I would take advantage of it," she suggested. + +"One can never be sure of a woman," he answered. "And it would +have been so difficult. There was a girl down in Scotland, one of +the village girls. It wasn't anything really. We had just been +children together. But they all thought I had gone away to make my +fortune so as to come back and marry her--even my mother. It would +have looked so mean if after getting on I had married a fine London +lady. I could never have gone home again." + +"But you haven't married her--or have you?" asked Joan. + +"No," he answered. "She wrote me a beautiful letter that I shall +always keep, begging me to forgive her, and hoping I might be +happy. She had married a young farmer, and was going out to +Canada. My mother will never allow her name to be mentioned in our +house." + +They had reached the end of the street again. Joan held out her +hand with a laugh. + +"Thanks for the compliment," she said. "Though I notice you wait +till you're going away before telling me." + +"But quite seriously," she added, "give it a little more thought-- +the enlisting, I mean. The world isn't too rich in kind +influences. It needs men like you. Come, pull yourself together +and show a little pluck." She laughed. + +"I'll try," he promised, "but it won't be any use; I shall drift +about the streets, seeking to put heart into myself, but all the +while my footsteps will be bearing me nearer and nearer to the +recruiting office; and outside the door some girl in the crowd will +smile approval or some old fool will pat me on the shoulder and I +shall sneak in and it will close behind me. It must be fine to +have courage." + +He wrote her two days later from Ayr, giving her the name of his +regiment, and again some six months later from Flanders. But there +would have been no sense in her replying to that last. + +She lingered in the street by herself, a little time, after he had +turned the corner. It had been a house of sorrow and +disappointment to her; but so also she had dreamed her dreams +there, seen her visions. She had never made much headway with her +landlord and her landlady: a worthy couple, who had proved most +excellent servants, but who prided themselves, to use their own +expression, on knowing their place and keeping themselves to +themselves. Joan had given them notice that morning, and had been +surprised at the woman's bursting into tears. + +"I felt it just the same when young Mr. McKean left us," she +explained with apologies. "He had been with us five years. He was +like you, miss, so unpracticable. I'd got used to looking after +him." + +Mary Greyson called on her in the morning, while she was still at +breakfast. She had come from seeing Francis off by an early train +from Euston. He had sent Joan a ring. + +"He is so afraid you may not be able to wear it--that it will not +fit you," said Mary, "but I told him I was sure it would." + +Joan held our her hand for the letter. "I was afraid he had +forgotten it," she answered, with a smile. + +She placed the ring on her finger and held out her hand. "I might +have been measured for it," she said. "I wonder how he knew." + +"You left a glove behind you, the first day you ever came to our +house," Mary explained. "And I kept it." + +She was following his wishes and going down into the country. They +did not meet again until after the war. + +Madge dropped in on her during the week and brought Flossie with +her. Flossie's husband, Sam, had departed for the Navy; and Niel +Singleton, who had offered and been rejected for the Army, had +joined a Red Cross unit. Madge herself was taking up canteen work. +Joan rather expected Flossie to be in favour of the war, and Madge +against it. Instead of which, it turned out the other way round. +It seemed difficult to forecast opinion in this matter. + +Madge thought that England, in particular, had been too much given +up to luxury and pleasure. There had been too much idleness and +empty laughter: Hitchicoo dances and women undressing themselves +upon the stage. Even the working classes seemed to think of +nothing else but cinemas and beer. She dreamed of a United Kingdom +purified by suffering, cleansed by tears; its people drawn together +by memory of common sacrifice; class antagonism buried in the grave +where Duke's son and cook's son would lie side by side: of a new- +born Europe rising from the ashes of the old. With Germany beaten, +her lust of war burnt out, her hideous doctrine of Force proved to +be false, the world would breathe a freer air. Passion and hatred +would fall from man's eyes. The people would see one another and +join hands. + +Flossie was sceptical. "Why hasn't it done it before?" she wanted +to know. "Good Lord! There's been enough of it." + +"Why didn't we all kiss and be friends after the Napoleonic wars?" +she demanded, "instead of getting up Peterloo massacres, and anti- +Corn Law riots, and breaking the Duke of Wellington's windows?" + +"All this talk of downing Militarism," she continued. "It's like +trying to do away with the other sort of disorderly house. You +don't stamp out a vice by chivying it round the corner. When men +and women have become decent there will be no more disorderly +houses. But it won't come before. Suppose we do knock Militarism +out of Germany, like we did out of France, not so very long ago? +It will only slip round the corner into Russia or Japan. Come and +settle over here, as likely as not, especially if we have a few +victories and get to fancy ourselves." + +Madge was of opinion that the world would have had enough of war. +Not armies but whole peoples would be involved this time. The +lesson would be driven home. + +"Oh, yes, we shall have had enough of it," agreed Flossie, "by the +time we've paid up. There's no doubt of that. What about our +children? I've just left young Frank strutting all over the house +and flourishing a paper knife. And the servants have had to bar +the kitchen door to prevent his bursting in every five minutes and +attacking them. What's he going to say when I tell him, later on, +that his father and myself have had all the war we want, and have +decided there shall be no more? The old folks have had their fun. +Why shouldn't I have mine? That will be his argument." + +"You can't do it," she concluded, "unless you are prepared to keep +half the world's literature away from the children, scrap half your +music, edit your museums and your picture galleries; bowdlerize +your Old Testament and rewrite your histories. And then you'll +have to be careful for twenty-four hours a day that they never see +a dog-fight." + +Madge still held to her hope. God would make a wind of reason to +pass over the earth. He would not smite again his people. + +"I wish poor dear Sam could have been kept out of it," said +Flossie. She wiped her eyes and finished her tea. + +Joan had arranged to leave on the Monday. She ran down to see Mary +Stopperton on the Saturday afternoon. Mr. Stopperton had died the +year before, and Mary had been a little hurt, divining insincerity +in the condolences offered to her by most of her friends. + +"You didn't know him, dear," she had said to Joan. "All his faults +were on the outside." + +She did not want to talk about the war. + +"Perhaps it's wrong of me," she said. "But it makes me so sad. +And I can do nothing." + +She had been busy at her machine when Joan had entered; and a pile +of delicate white work lay folded on a chair beside her. + +"What are you making?" asked Joan. + +The little withered face lighted up. "Guess," she said, as she +unfolded and displayed a tiny garment. + +"I so love making them," she said. "I say to myself, 'It will all +come right. God will send more and more of His Christ babies; till +at last there will be thousands and thousands of them everywhere; +and their love will change the world!'" + +Her bright eyes had caught sight of the ring upon Joan's hand. She +touched it with her little fragile fingers. + +"You will let me make one for you, dearie, won't you?" she said. +"I feel sure it will be a little Christ baby." + +Arthur was still away when she arrived home. He had gone to Norway +on business. Her father was afraid he would find it difficult to +get back. Telegraphic communication had been stopped, and they had +had no news of him. Her father was worried. A big Government +contract had come in, while many of his best men had left to +enlist. + +"I've fixed you up all right at the hospital," he said. "It was +good of you to think of coming home. Don't go away, for a bit." +It was the first time he had asked anything of her. + +Another fortnight passed before they heard from Arthur, and then he +wrote them both from Hull. He would be somewhere in the North Sea, +mine sweeping, when they read his letters. He had hoped to get a +day or two to run across and say good-bye; but the need for men was +pressing and he had not liked to plead excuses. The boat by which +he had managed to leave Bergen had gone down. He and a few others +had been picked up, but the sights that he had seen were haunting +him. He felt sure his uncle would agree that he ought to be +helping, and this was work for England he could do with all his +heart. He hoped he was not leaving his uncle in the lurch; but he +did not think the war would last long, and he would soon be back. + +"Dear lad," said her father, "he would take the most dangerous work +that he could find. But I wish he hadn't been quite so impulsive. +He could have been of more use helping me with this War Office +contract. I suppose he never got my letter, telling him about it." + +In his letter to Joan he went further. He had received his uncle's +letter, so he confided to her. Perhaps she would think him a +crank, but he couldn't help it. He hated this killing business, +this making of machinery for slaughtering men in bulk, like they +killed pigs in Chicago. Out on the free, sweet sea, helping to +keep it clean from man's abominations, he would be away from it +all. + +She saw the vision of him that night, as, leaning from her window, +she looked out beyond the pines: the little lonely ship amid the +waste of waters; his beautiful, almost womanish, face, and the +gentle dreamy eyes with their haunting suggestion of a shadow. + +Her little drummer played less and less frequently to her as the +months passed by. It didn't seem to be the war he had looked +forward to. The illustrated papers continued to picture it as a +sort of glorified picnic where smiling young men lolled luxuriously +in cosy dug-outs, reading their favourite paper. By curious +coincidence, it generally happened to be the journal publishing the +photograph. Occasionally, it appeared, they came across the enemy, +who then put up both hands and shouted "Kamerad." But the weary, +wounded men she talked to told another story. + +She grew impatient of the fighters with their mouths; the savage +old baldheads heroically prepared to sacrifice the last young man; +the sleek, purring women who talked childish nonsense about killing +every man, woman and child in Germany, but quite meant it; the +shrieking journalists who had decided that their place was the home +front; the press-spurred mobs, the spy hunters, chasing terrified +old men and sobbing children through the streets. It was a relief +to enter the quiet ward and close the door behind her. The camp- +followers: the traders and pedlars, the balladmongers, and the +mountebanks, the ghoulish sightseers! War brought out all that was +worst in them. But the givers of their blood, the lads who +suffered, who had made the sacrifice: war had taught them +chivalry, manhood. She heard no revilings of hatred and revenge +from those drawn lips. Patience, humour, forgiveness, they had +learnt from war. They told her kindly stories even of Hans and +Fritz. + +The little drummer in her brain would creep out of his corner, play +to her softly while she moved about among them. + +One day she received a letter from Folk. He had come to London at +the request of the French Government to consult with English +artists on a matter he must not mention. He would not have the +time, he told her, to run down to Liverpool. Could she get a +couple of days' leave and dine with him in London. + +She found him in the uniform of a French Colonel. He had quite a +military bearing and seemed pleased with himself. He kissed her +hand, and then held her out at arms' length. + +"It's wonderful how like you are to your mother," he said, "I wish +I were as young as I feel." + +She had written him at the beginning of the war, telling him of her +wish to get out to the front, and he thought that now he might be +able to help her. + +"But perhaps you've changed your mind," he said. "It isn't quite +as pretty as it's painted." + +"I want to," she answered. "It isn't all curiosity. I think it's +time for women to insist on seeing war with their own eyes, not +trust any longer to the pictures you men paint." She smiled. + +"But I've got to give it up," she added. "I can't leave Dad." + +They were sitting in the hall of the hotel. It was the dressing +hour and the place was almost empty. He shot a swift glance at +her. + +"Arthur is still away," she explained, "and I feel that he wants +me. I should be worrying myself, thinking of him all alone with no +one to look after him. It's the mother instinct I suppose. It +always has hampered woman." She laughed. + +"Dear old boy," he said. He was watching her with a little smile. +"I'm glad he's got some luck at last." + +They dined in the great restaurant belonging to the hotel. He was +still vastly pleased with himself as he marched up the crowded room +with Joan upon his arm. He held himself upright and talked and +laughed perhaps louder than an elderly gentleman should. +"Swaggering old beggar," he must have overheard a young sub. mutter +as they passed. But he did not seem to mind it. + +They lingered over the meal. Folk was a brilliant talker. Most of +the men whose names were filling the newspapers had sat to him at +one time or another. He made them seem quite human. Joan was +surprised at the time. + +"Come up to my rooms, will you?" he asked. "There's something I +want to say to you. And then I'll walk back with you." She was +staying at a small hotel off Jermyn Street. + +He sat her down by the fire and went into the next room. He had a +letter in his hand when he returned. Joan noticed that the +envelope was written upon across the corner, but she was not near +enough to distinguish the handwriting. He placed it on the +mantelpiece and sat down opposite her. + +"So you have come to love the dear old chap," he said. + +"I have always loved him," Joan answered. "It was he didn't love +me, for a time, as I thought. But I know now that he does." + +He was silent for a few moments, and then he leant across and took +her hands in his. + +"I am going," he said, "where there is just the possibility of an +accident: one never knows. I wanted to be sure that all was well +with you." + +He was looking at the ring upon her hand. + +"A soldier boy?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered. "If he comes back." There was a little catch +in her voice. + +"I know he'll come back," he said. "I won't tell you why I am so +sure. Perhaps you wouldn't believe." He was still holding her +hands, looking into her eyes. + +"Tell me," he said, "did you see your mother before she died. Did +she speak to you?" + +"No," Joan answered. "I was too late. She had died the night +before. I hardly recognized her when I saw her. She looked so +sweet and young." + +"She loved you very dearly," he said. "Better than herself. All +those years of sorrow: they came to her because of that. I +thought it foolish of her at the time, but now I know she was wise. +I want you always to love and honour her. I wouldn't ask you if it +wasn't right." + +She looked at him and smiled. "It's quite easy," she answered. "I +always see her as she lay there with all the sorrow gone from her. +She looked so beautiful and kind." + +He rose and took the letter from where he had placed it on the +mantelpiece. He stooped and held it out above the fire and a +little flame leaped up and seemed to take it from his hand. + +They neither spoke during the short walk between the two hotels. +But at the door she turned and held out her hands to him. + +"Thank you," she said, "for being so kind--and wise. I shall +always love and honour her." + +He kissed her, promising to take care of himself. + +She ran against Phillips, the next day, at one of the big stores +where she was shopping. He had obtained a commission early in the +war and was now a captain. He had just come back from the front on +leave. The alternative had not appealed to him, of being one of +those responsible for sending other men to death while remaining +himself in security and comfort. + +"It's a matter of temperament," he said. "Somebody's got to stop +behind and do the patriotic speechifying. I'm glad I didn't. +Especially after what I've seen." + +He had lost interest in politics. + +"There's something bigger coming," he said. "Here everything seems +to be going on much the same, but over there you feel it. +Something growing silently out of all this blood and mud. I find +myself wondering what the men are staring at, but when I look +there's nothing as far as my field-glasses will reach but waste and +desolation. And it isn't only on the faces of our own men. It's +in the eyes of the prisoners too. As if they saw something. A +funny ending to the war, if the people began to think." + +Mrs. Phillips was running a Convalescent Home in Folkestone, he +told her; and had even made a speech. Hilda was doing relief work +among the ruined villages of France. + +"It's a new world we shall be called upon to build," he said. "We +must pay more heed to the foundation this time." + +She seldom discussed the war with her father. At the beginning, he +had dreamed with Greyson of a short and glorious campaign that +should weld all classes together, and after which we should forgive +our enemies and shape with them a better world. But as the months +went by, he appeared to grow indifferent; and Joan, who got about +twelve hours a day of it outside, welcomed other subjects. + +It surprised her when one evening after dinner he introduced it +himself. + +"What are you going to do when it's over?" he asked her. "You +won't give up the fight, will you, whatever happens?" She had not +known till then that he had been taking any interest in her work. + +"No," she answered with a laugh, "no matter what happens, I shall +always want to be in it." + +"Good lad," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "It will be an +ugly world that will come out of all this hate and anger. The Lord +will want all the help that He can get." + +"And you don't forget our compact, do you?" he continued, "that I +am to be your backer. I want to be in it too." + +She shot a glance at him. He was looking at the portrait of that +old Ironside Allway who had fought and died to make a nobler +England, as he had dreamed. A grim, unprepossessing gentleman, +unless the artist had done him much injustice, with high, narrow +forehead, and puzzled, staring eyes. + +She took the cigarette from her lips and her voice trembled a +little. + +"I want you to be something more to me than that, sir," she said. +"I want to feel that I'm an Allway, fighting for the things we've +always had at heart. I'll try and be worthy of the name." + +Her hand stole out to him across the table, but she kept her face +away from him. Until she felt his grasp grow tight, and then she +turned and their eyes met. + +"You'll be the last of the name," he said. "Something tells me +that. I'm glad you're a fighter. I always prayed my child might +be a fighter." + +Arthur had not been home since the beginning of the war. Twice he +had written them to expect him, but the little fleet of mine +sweepers had been hard pressed, and on both occasions his leave had +been stopped at the last moment. One afternoon he turned up +unexpectedly at the hospital. It was a few weeks after the +Conscription Act had been passed. + +Joan took him into her room at the end of the ward, from where, +through the open door, she could still keep watch. They spoke in +low tones. + +"It's done you good," said Joan. "You look every inch the jolly +Jack Tar." He was hard and tanned, and his eyes were marvellously +bright. + +"Yes," he said, "I love the sea. It's clean and strong." + +A fear was creeping over her. "Why have you come back?" she asked. + +He hesitated, keeping his eyes upon the ground. + +"I don't suppose you will agree with me," he said. "Somehow I felt +I had to." + +A Conscientious Objector. She might have guessed it. A "Conchy," +as they would call him in the Press: all the spiteful screamers +who had never risked a scratch, themselves, denouncing him as a +coward. The local Dogberrys of the tribunals would fire off their +little stock of gibes and platitudes upon him, propound with owlish +solemnity the new Christianity, abuse him and condemn him, without +listening to him. Jeering mobs would follow him through the +streets. More than once, of late, she had encountered such crowds +made up of shrieking girls and foul-mouthed men, surging round some +white-faced youngster while the well-dressed passers-by looked on +and grinned. + +She came to him and stood over him with her hands upon his +shoulders. + +"Must you, dear?" she said. "Can't you reconcile it to yourself-- +to go on with your work of mercy, of saving poor folks' lives?" + +He raised his eyes to hers. The shadow that, to her fancy, had +always rested there seemed to have departed. A light had come to +them. + +"There are more important things than saving men's bodies. You +think that, don't you?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered. "I won't try to hold you back, dear, if you +think you can do that." + +He caught her hands and held them. + +"I wanted to be a coward," he said, "to keep out of the fight. I +thought of the shame, of the petty persecutions--that even you +might despise me. But I couldn't. I was always seeing His face +before me with His beautiful tender eyes, and the blood drops on +His brow. It is He alone can save the world. It is perishing for +want of love; and by a little suffering I might be able to help +Him. And then one night--I suppose it was a piece of driftwood-- +there rose up out of the sea a little cross that seemed to call to +me to stretch out my hand and grasp it, and gird it to my side." + +He had risen. "Don't you see," he said. "It is only by suffering +that one can help Him. It is the sword that He has chosen--by +which one day He will conquer the world. And this is such a +splendid opportunity to fight for Him. It would be like deserting +Him on the eve of a great battle." + +She looked into his eager, hopeful eyes. Yes, it had always been +so--it always would be, to the end. Not priests and prophets, but +ever that little scattered band of glad sufferers for His sake +would be His army. His weapon still the cross, till the victory +should be won. + +She glanced through the open door to where the poor, broken fellows +she always thought of as "her boys" lay so patient, and then held +out her hand to him with a smile, though the tears were in her +eyes. + +"So you're like all the rest of them, lad," she said. "It's for +King and country. Good luck to you." + +After the war was over and the men, released from their long terms +of solitary confinement, came back to life injured in mind and +body, she was almost glad he had escaped. But at the time it +filled her soul with darkness. + +It was one noonday. He had been down to the tribunal and his case +had been again adjourned. She was returning from a lecture, and, +crossing a street in the neighbourhood of the docks, found herself +suddenly faced by an oncoming crowd. It was yelping and snarling, +curiously suggestive of a pack of hungry wolves. A couple of young +soldiers were standing back against a wall. + +"Better not go on, nurse," said one of them. "It's some poor devil +of a Conchy, I expect. Must have a damned sight more pluck than I +should." + +It was the fear that had been haunting her. She did not know how +white she had turned. + +"I think it is someone I know," she said. "Won't you help me?" + +The crowd gave way to them, and they had all but reached him. He +was hatless and bespattered, but his tender eyes had neither fear +nor anger in them. She reached out her arms and called to him. +Another step and she would have been beside him, but at the moment +a slim, laughing girl darted in front of him and slipped her foot +between his legs and he went down. + +She heard the joyous yell and the shrill laughter as she struggled +wildly to force her way to him. And then for a moment there was a +space and a man with bent body and clenched hands was rushing +forward as if upon a football field, and there came a little +sickening thud and then the crowd closed in again. + +Her strength was gone and she could only wait. More soldiers had +come up and were using their fists freely, and gradually the crowd +retired, still snarling; and they lifted him up and brought him to +her. + +"There's a chemist's shop in the next street. We'd better take him +there," suggested the one who had first spoken to her. And she +thanked them and followed them. + +They made a bed for him with their coats upon the floor, and some +of them kept guard outside the shop, while one, putting aside the +frightened, useless little chemist, waited upon her, bringing +things needful, while she cleansed the foulness from his smooth +young face, and washed the matted blood from his fair hair, and +closed the lids upon his tender eyes, and, stooping, kissed the +cold, quiet lips. + +There had been whispered talk among the men, and when she rose the +one who had first spoken to her came forward. He was nervous and +stood stiffly. + +"Beg pardon, nurse," he said, "but we've sent for a stretcher, as +the police don't seem in any hurry. Would you like us to take him. +Or would it upset him, do you think, if he knew?" + +"Thank you," she answered. "He would think it kind of you, I +know." + +She had the feeling that he was being borne by comrades. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + + +It was from a small operating hospital in a village of the Argonne +that she first saw the war with her own eyes. + +Her father had wished her to go. Arthur's death had stirred in him +the old Puritan blood with its record of long battle for liberty of +conscience. If war claimed to be master of a man's soul, then the +new warfare must be against war. He remembered the saying of a +Frenchwoman who had been through the Franco-Prussian war. Joan, on +her return from Paris some years before, had told him of her, +repeating her words: "But, of course, it would not do to tell the +truth," the old lady had said, "or we should have our children +growing up to hate war." + +"I'll be lonely and anxious till you come back," he said. "But +that will have to be my part of the fight." + +She had written to Folk. No female nurses were supposed to be +allowed within the battle zone; but under pressure of shortage the +French staff were relaxing the rule, and Folk had pledged himself +to her discretion. "I am not doing you any kindness," he had +written. "You will have to share the common hardships and +privations, and the danger is real. If I didn't feel instinctively +that underneath your mask of sweet reasonableness you are one of +the most obstinate young women God ever made, and that without me +you would probably get yourself into a still worse hole, I'd have +refused." And then followed a list of the things she was to be +sure to take with her, including a pound or two of Keating's insect +powder, and a hint that it might save her trouble, if she had her +hair cut short. + +There was but one other woman at the hospital. It had been a +farmhouse. The man and both sons had been killed during the first +year of the war, and the woman had asked to be allowed to stay on. +Her name was Madame Lelanne. She was useful by reason of her great +physical strength. She could take up a man as he lay and carry him +on her outstretched arms. It was an expressionless face, with +dull, slow-moving eyes that never changed. She and Joan shared a +small grenier in one of the barns. Joan had brought with her a +camp bedstead; but the woman, wrapping a blanket round her, would +creep into a hole she had made for herself among the hay. She +never took off her clothes, except the great wooden-soled boots, so +far as Joan could discover. + +The medical staff consisted of a Dr. Poujoulet and two assistants. +The authorities were always promising to send him more help, but it +never arrived. One of the assistants, a Monsieur Dubos, a little +man with a remarkably big beard, was a chemist, who, at the +outbreak of the war, had been on the verge, as he made sure, of an +important discovery in connection with colour photography. Almost +the first question he asked Joan was could she speak German. +Finding that she could, he had hurried her across the yard into a +small hut where patients who had borne their operation successfully +awaited their turn to be moved down to one of the convalescent +hospitals at the base. Among them was a German prisoner, an +elderly man, belonging to the Landwehr; in private life a +photographer. He also had been making experiments in the direction +of colour photography. Chance had revealed to the two men their +common interest, and they had been exchanging notes. The German +talked a little French, but not sufficient; and on the day of +Joan's arrival they had reached an impasse that was maddening to +both of them. Joan found herself up against technical terms that +rendered her task difficult, but fortunately had brought a +dictionary with her, and was able to make them understand one +another. But she had to be firm with both of them, allowing them +only ten minutes together at a time. The little Frenchman would +kneel by the bedside, holding the German at an angle where he could +talk with least danger to his wound. It seemed that each was the +very man the other had been waiting all his life to meet. They +shed tears on one another's neck when they parted, making all +arrangements to write to one another. + +"And you will come and stay with me," persisted the little +Frenchman, "when this affair is finished"--he made an impatient +gesture with his hands. "My wife takes much interest. She will be +delighted." + +And the big German, again embracing the little Frenchman, had +promised, and had sent his compliments to Madame. + +The other was a young priest. He wore the regulation Red Cross +uniform, but kept his cassock hanging on a peg behind his bed. He +had pretty frequent occasion to take it down. These small +emergency hospitals, within range of the guns, were reserved for +only dangerous cases: men whose wounds would not permit of their +being carried further; and there never was much more than a +sporting chance of saving them. They were always glad to find +there was a priest among the staff. Often it was the first +question they would ask on being lifted out of the ambulance. Even +those who professed to no religion seemed comforted by the idea. +He went by the title of "Monsieur le Pretre:" Joan never learned +his name. It was he who had laid out the little cemetery on the +opposite side of the village street. It had once been an orchard, +and some of the trees were still standing. In the centre, rising +out of a pile of rockwork, he had placed a crucifix that had been +found upon the roadside and had surrounded it with flowers. It +formed the one bright spot of colour in the village; and at night +time, when all other sounds were hushed, the iron wreaths upon its +little crosses, swaying against one another in the wind, would make +a low, clear, tinkling music. Joan would sometimes lie awake +listening to it. In some way she could not explain it always +brought the thought of children to her mind. + +The doctor himself was a broad-shouldered, bullet-headed man, clean +shaven, with close-cropped, bristly hair. He had curiously square +hands, with short, squat fingers. He had been head surgeon in one +of the Paris hospitals, and had been assigned his present post +because of his marvellous quickness with the knife. The hospital +was the nearest to a hill of great strategical importance, and the +fighting in the neighbourhood was almost continuous. Often a +single ambulance would bring in three or four cases, each one +demanding instant attention. Dr. Poujoulet, with his hairy arms +bare to the shoulder, would polish them off one after another, with +hardly a moment's rest between, not allowing time even for the +washing of the table. Joan would have to summon all her nerve to +keep herself from collapsing. At times the need for haste was such +that it was impossible to wait for the anaesthetic to take effect. +The one redeeming feature was the extraordinary heroism of the men, +though occasionally there was nothing for it but to call in the +orderlies to hold some poor fellow down, and to deafen one's ears. + +One day, after a successful operation, she was tending a young +sergeant. He was a well-built, handsome man, with skin as white as +a woman's. He watched her with curious indifference in his eyes as +she busied herself, trying to make him comfortable, and did nothing +to help her. + +"Has Mam'selle ever seen a bull fight?" he asked her. + +"No," she answered. "I've seen all the horror and cruelty I want +to for the rest of my life." + +"Ah," he said, "you would understand if you had. When one of the +horses goes down gored, his entrails lying out upon the sand, you +know what they do, don't you? They put a rope round him, and drag +him, groaning, into the shambles behind. And once there, kind +people like you and Monsieur le Medecin tend him and wash him, and +put his entrails back, and sew him up again. He thinks it so kind +of them--the first time. But the second! He understands. He will +be sent back into the arena to be ripped up again, and again after +that. This is the third time I have been wounded, and as soon as +you've all patched me up and I've got my breath again, they'll send +me back into it. Mam'selle will forgive my not feeling grateful to +her." He gave a short laugh that brought the blood into his mouth. + +The village consisted of one long straggling street, following the +course of a small stream between two lines of hills. It was on one +of the great lines of communication: and troops and war material +passed through it, going and coming, in almost endless procession. +It served also as a camp of rest. Companies from the trenches +would arrive there, generally towards the evening, weary, listless, +dull-eyed, many of them staggering like over-driven cattle beneath +their mass of burdens. They would fling their accoutrements from +them and stand in silent groups till the sergeants and corporals +returned to lead them to the barns and out-houses that had been +assigned to them, the houses still habitable being mostly reserved +for the officers. Like those of most French villages, they were +drab, plaster-covered buildings without gardens; but some of them +were covered with vines, hiding their ugliness; and the village as +a whole, with its groups, here and there, of fine sycamore trees +and its great stone fountain in the centre, was picturesque enough. +It had twice changed hands, and a part of it was in ruins. From +one or two of the more solidly built houses merely the front had +fallen, leaving the rooms just as they had always been: the +furniture in its accustomed place, the pictures on the walls. They +suggested doll's houses standing open. One wondered when the giant +child would come along and close them up. The iron spire of the +little church had been hit twice. It stood above the village, +twisted into the form of a note of interrogation. In the +churchyard many of the graves had been ripped open. Bones and +skulls lay scattered about among the shattered tombstones. But, +save for a couple of holes in the roof, the body was still intact, +and every afternoon a faint, timid-sounding bell called a few +villagers and a sprinkling of soldiers to Mass. Most of the +inhabitants had fled, but the farmers and shopkeepers had remained. +At intervals, the German batteries, searching round with apparent +aimlessness, would drop a score or so of shells about the +neighbourhood; but the peasant, with an indifference that was +almost animal, would still follow his ox-drawn plough; the old, +bent crone, muttering curses, still ply the hoe. The proprietors +of the tiny epiceries must have been rapidly making their fortunes, +considering the prices that they charged the unfortunate poilu, +dreaming of some small luxury out of his five sous a day. But as +one of them, a stout, smiling lady, explained to Joan, with a +gesture: "It is not often that one has a war." + +Joan had gone out in September, and for a while the weather was +pleasant. The men, wrapped up in their great-coats, would sleep +for preference under the great sycamore trees. Through open +doorways she would catch glimpses of picturesque groups of eager +card-players, crowded round a flickering candle. From the darkness +there would steal the sound of flute or zither, of voices singing. +Occasionally it would be some strident ditty of the Paris music- +halls, but more often it was sad and plaintive. But early in +October the rains commenced and the stream became a roaring +torrent, and a clammy mist lay like a white river between the +wooded hills. + +Mud! that seemed to be the one word with which to describe modern +war. Mud everywhere! Mud ankle-deep upon the roads; mud into +which you sank up to your knees the moment you stepped off it; +tents and huts to which you waded through the mud, avoiding the +slimy gangways on which you slipped and fell; mud-bespattered men, +mud-bespattered horses, little donkeys, looking as if they had been +sculptured out of mud, struggling up and down the light railways +that every now and then would disappear and be lost beneath the +mud; guns and wagons groaning through the mud; lorries and +ambulances, that in the darkness had swerved from the straight +course, overturned and lying abandoned in the mud, motor-cyclists +ploughing swift furrows through the mud, rolling it back in liquid +streams each side of them; staff cars rushing screaming through the +mud, followed by a rushing fountain of mud; serried ranks of muddy +men stamping through the mud with steady rhythm, moving through a +rain of mud, rising upward from the ground; long lines of motor- +buses filled with a mass of muddy humanity packed shoulder to +shoulder, rumbling ever through the endless mud. + +Men sitting by the roadside in the mud, gnawing at unsavoury food; +men squatting by the ditches, examining their sores, washing their +bleeding feet in the muddy water, replacing the muddy rags about +their wounds. + +A world without colour. No other colour to be seen beneath the sky +but mud. The very buttons on the men's coats painted to make them +look like mud. + +Mud and dirt! Dirty faces, dirty hands, dirty clothes, dirty food, +dirty beds; dirty interiors, from which there was never time to +wash the mud; dirty linen hanging up to dry, beneath which dirty +children played, while dirty women scolded. Filth and desolation +all around. Shattered farmsteads half buried in the mud; shattered +gardens trampled into mud. A weary land of foulness, breeding +foulness; tangled wire the only harvest of the fields; mile after +mile of gaping holes, filled with muddy water; stinking carcases of +dead horses; birds of prey clinging to broken fences, flapping +their great wings. + +A land where man died, and vermin increased and multiplied. Vermin +on your body, vermin in your head, vermin in your food, vermin +waiting for you in your bed; vermin the only thing that throve, the +only thing that looked at you with bright eyes; vermin the only +thing to which the joy of life had still been left. + +Joan had found a liking gradually growing up in her for the quick- +moving, curt-tongued doctor. She had dismissed him at first as a +mere butcher: his brutal haste, his indifference apparently to the +suffering he was causing, his great, strong, hairy hands, with +their squat fingers, his cold grey eyes. But she learnt as time +went by, that his callousness was a thing that he put on at the +same time that he tied his white apron round his waist, and rolled +up his sleeves. + +She was resting, after a morning of grim work, on a bench outside +the hospital, struggling with clenched, quivering hands against a +craving to fling herself upon the ground and sob. And he had found +her there; and had sat down beside her. + +"So you wanted to see it with your own eyes," he said. He laid his +hand upon her shoulder, and she had some difficulty in not catching +hold of him and clinging to him. She was feeling absurdly womanish +just at that moment. + +"Yes," she answered. "And I'm glad that I did it," she added, +defiantly. + +"So am I," he said. "Tell your children what you have seen. Tell +other women." + +"It's you women that make war," he continued. "Oh, I don't mean +that you do it on purpose, but it's in your blood. It comes from +the days when to live it was needful to kill. When a man who was +swift and strong to kill was the only thing that could save a woman +and her brood. Every other man that crept towards them through the +grass was an enemy, and her only hope was that her man might kill +him, while she watched and waited. And later came the tribe; and +instead of the one man creeping through the grass, the everlasting +warfare was against all other tribes. So you loved only the men +ever ready and willing to fight, lest you and your children should +be carried into slavery: then it was the only way. You brought up +your boys to be fighters. You told them stories of their gallant +sires. You sang to them the songs of battle: the glory of killing +and of conquering. You have never unlearnt the lesson. Man has +learnt comradeship--would have travelled further but for you. But +woman is still primitive. She would still have her man the hater +and the killer. To the woman the world has never changed." + +"Tell the other women," he said. "Open their eyes. Tell them of +their sons that you have seen dead and dying in the foolish quarrel +for which there was no need. Tell them of the foulness, of the +cruelty, of the senselessness of it all. Set the women against +War. That is the only way to end it." + +It was a morning or two later that, knocking at the door of her +loft, he asked her if she would care to come with him to the +trenches. He had brought an outfit for her which he handed to her +with a grin. She had followed Folk's advice and had cut her hair; +and when she appeared before him for inspection in trousers and +overcoat, the collar turned up about her neck, and reaching to her +helmet, he had laughingly pronounced the experiment safe. + +A motor carried them to where the road ended, and from there, a +little one-horse ambulance took them on to almost the last trees of +the forest. There was no life to be seen anywhere. During the +last mile, they had passed through a continuous double line of +graves; here and there a group of tiny crosses keeping one another +company; others standing singly, looking strangely lonesome amid +the torn-up earth and shattered trees. But even these had ceased. +Death itself seemed to have been frightened away from this terror- +haunted desert. + +Looking down, she could see thin wreaths of smoke, rising from the +ground. From underneath her feet there came a low, faint, +ceaseless murmur. + +"Quick," said the doctor. He pushed her in front of him, and she +almost fell down a flight of mud-covered steps that led into the +earth. She found herself in a long, low gallery, lighted by a dim +oil lamp, suspended from the blackened roof. A shelf ran along one +side of it, covered with straw. Three men lay there. The straw +was soaked with their blood. They had been brought in the night +before by the stretcher-bearers. A young surgeon was rearranging +their splints and bandages, and redressing their wounds. They +would lie there for another hour or so, and then start for their +twenty kilometre drive over shell-ridden roads to one or another of +the great hospitals at the base. While she was there, two more +cases were brought in. The doctor gave but a glance at the first +one and then made a sign; and the bearers passed on with him to the +further end of the gallery. He seemed to understand, for he gave a +low, despairing cry and the tears sprang to his eyes. He was but a +boy. The other had a foot torn off. One of the orderlies gave him +two round pieces of wood to hold in his hands while the young +surgeon cut away the hanging flesh and bound up the stump. + +The doctor had been whispering to one of the bearers. He had the +face of an old man, but his shoulders were broad and he looked +sturdy. He nodded, and beckoned Joan to follow him up the slippery +steps. + +"It is breakfast time," he explained, as they emerged into the air. +"We leave each other alone for half an hour--even the snipers. But +we must be careful." She followed in his footsteps, stooping so +low that her hands could have touched the ground. They had to be +sure that they did not step off the narrow track marked with white +stones, lest they should be drowned in the mud. They passed the +head of a dead horse. It looked as if it had been cut off and laid +there; the body was below it in the mud. + +They spoke in whispers, and Joan at first had made an effort to +disguise her voice. But her conductor had smiled. "They shall be +called the brothers and the sisters of the Lord," he had said. +"Mademoiselle is brave for her Brothers' sake." He was a priest. +There were many priests among the stretcher-bearers. + +Crouching close to the ground, behind the spreading roots of a +giant oak, she raised her eyes. Before her lay a sea of smooth, +soft mud nearly a mile wide. From the centre rose a solitary tree, +from which all had been shot away but two bare branches like +outstretched arms above the silence. Beyond, the hills rose again. +There was something unearthly in the silence that seemed to brood +above that sea of mud. The old priest told her of the living men, +French and German, who had stood there day and night sunk in it up +to their waists, screaming hour after hour, and waving their arms, +sinking into it lower and lower, none able to help them: until at +last only their screaming heads were left, and after a time these, +too, would disappear: and the silence come again. + +She saw the ditches, like long graves dug for the living, where the +weary, listless men stood knee-deep in mud, hoping for wounds that +would relieve them from the ghastly monotony of their existence; +the holes of muddy water where the dead things lay, to which they +crept out in the night to wash a little of the filth from their +clammy bodies and their stinking clothes; the holes dug out of the +mud in which they ate and slept and lived year after year: till +brain and heart and soul seemed to have died out of them, and they +remembered with an effort that they once were men. + + +After a time, the care of the convalescents passed almost entirely +into Joan's hands, Madame Lelanne being told off to assist her. By +dint of much persistence she had succeeded in getting the leaky +roof repaired, and in place of the smoky stove that had long been +her despair she had one night procured a fine calorifere by the +simple process of stealing it. Madame Lelanne had heard about it +from the gossips. It had been brought to a lonely house at the end +of the village by a major of engineers. He had returned to the +trenches the day before, and the place for the time being was +empty. The thieves were never discovered. The sentry was positive +that no one had passed him but two women, one of them carrying a +baby. Madame Lelanne had dressed it up in a child's cloak and +hood, and had carried it in her arms. As it must have weighed +nearly a couple of hundredweight suspicion had not attached to +them. + +Space did not allow of any separation; broken Frenchmen and broken +Germans would often lie side by side. Joan would wonder, with a +grim smile to herself, what the patriotic Press of the different +countries would have thought had they been there to have overheard +the conversations. Neither France nor Germany appeared to be the +enemy, but a thing called "They," a mysterious power that worked +its will upon them both from a place they always spoke of as "Back +there." One day the talk fell on courage. A young French soldier +was holding forth when Joan entered the hut. + +"It makes me laugh," he was saying, "all this newspaper talk. +Every nation, properly led, fights bravely. It is the male +instinct. Women go into hysterics about it, because it has not +been given them. I have the Croix de Guerre with all three leaves, +and I haven't half the courage of my dog, who weighs twelve kilos, +and would face a regiment by himself. Why, a game cock has got +more than the best of us. It's the man who doesn't think, who +can't think, who has the most courage--who imagines nothing, but +just goes forward with his head down, like a bull. There is, of +course, a real courage. When you are by yourself, and have to do +something in cold blood. But the courage required for rushing +forward, shouting and yelling with a lot of other fellows--why, it +would take a hundred times more pluck to turn back." + +"They know that," chimed in the man lying next to him; "or they +would not drug us. Why, when we stormed La Haye I knew nothing +until an ugly-looking German spat a pint of blood into my face and +woke me up." + +A middle-aged sergeant, who had a wound in the stomach and was +sitting up in his bed, looked across. "There was a line of Germans +came upon us," he said, "at Bras. I thought I must be suffering +from a nightmare when I saw them. They had thrown away their +rifles and had all joined hands. They came dancing towards us just +like a row of ballet girls. They were shrieking and laughing, and +they never attempted to do anything. We just waited until they +were close up and then shot them down. It was like killing a lot +of kids who had come to have a game with us. The one I potted got +his arms round me before he coughed himself out, calling me his +'liebe Elsa,' and wanting to kiss me. Lord! You can guess how the +Boche ink-slingers spread themselves over that business: +'Sonderbar! Colossal! Unvergessliche Helden.' Poor devils!" + +"They'll give us ginger before it is over," said another. He had +had both his lips torn away, and appeared to be always laughing. +"Stuff it into us as if we were horses at a fair. That will make +us run forward, right enough." + +"Oh, come," struck in a youngster who was lying perfectly flat, +face downwards on his bed: it was the position in which he could +breathe easiest. He raised his head a couple of inches and twisted +it round so as to get his mouth free. "It isn't as bad as all +that. Why, the Thirty-third swarmed into Fort Malmaison of their +own accord, though 'twas like jumping into a boiling furnace, and +held it for three days against pretty nearly a division. There +weren't a dozen of them left when we relieved them. They had no +ammunition left. They'd just been filling up the gaps with their +bodies. And they wouldn't go back even then. We had to drag them +away. 'They shan't pass,' 'They shan't pass!'--that's all they +kept saying." His voice had sunk to a thin whisper. + +A young officer was lying in a corner behind a screen. He leant +forward and pushed it aside. + +"Oh, give the devil his due, you fellows," he said. "War isn't a +pretty game, but it does make for courage. We all know that. And +things even finer than mere fighting pluck. There was a man in my +company, a Jacques Decrusy. He was just a stupid peasant lad. We +were crowded into one end of the trench, about a score of us. The +rest of it had fallen in, and we couldn't move. And a bomb dropped +into the middle of us; and the same instant that it touched the +ground Decrusy threw himself flat down upon it and took the whole +of it into his body. There was nothing left of him but scraps. +But the rest of us got off. Nobody had drugged him to do that. +There isn't one of us who was in that trench that will not be a +better man to the end of his days, remembering how Jacques Decrusy +gave his life for ours." + +"I'll grant you all that, sir," answered the young soldier who had +first spoken. He had long, delicate hands and eager, restless +eyes. "War does bring out heroism. So does pestilence and famine. +Read Defoe's account of the Plague of London. How men and women +left their safe homes, to serve in the pest-houses, knowing that +sooner or later they were doomed. Read of the mothers in India who +die of slow starvation, never allowing a morsel of food to pass +their lips so that they may save up their own small daily portion +to add it to their children's. Why don't we pray to God not to +withhold from us His precious medicine of pestilence and famine? +So is shipwreck a fine school for courage. Look at the chance it +gives the captain to set a fine example. And the engineers who +stick to their post with the water pouring in upon them. We don't +reconcile ourselves to shipwrecks as a necessary school for +sailors. We do our best to lessen them. So did persecution bring +out heroism. It made saints and martyrs. Why have we done away +with it? If this game of killing and being killed is the fine +school for virtue it is made out to be, then all our efforts +towards law and order have been a mistake. We never ought to have +emerged from the jungle." + +He took a note-book from under his pillow and commenced to +scribble. + +An old-looking man spoke. He lay with his arms folded across his +breast, addressing apparently the smoky rafters. He was a Russian, +a teacher of languages in Paris at the outbreak of the war, and had +joined the French Army. + +"It is not only courage," he said, "that War brings out. It brings +out vile things too. Oh, I'm not thinking merely of the Boches. +That's the cant of every nation: that all the heroism is on one +side and all the brutality on the other. Take men from anywhere +and some of them will be devils. War gives them their opportunity, +brings out the beast. Can you wonder at it? You teach a man to +plunge a bayonet into the writhing flesh of a fellow human being, +and twist it round and round and jamb it further in, while the +blood is spurting from him like a fountain. What are you making of +him but a beast? A man's got to be a beast before he can bring +himself to do it. I have seen things done by our own men in cold +blood, the horror of which will haunt my memory until I die. But +of course, we hush it up when it happens to be our own people." + +He ceased speaking. No one seemed inclined to break the silence. + +They remained confused in her memory, these talks among the wounded +men in the low, dimly lighted hut that had become her world. At +times it was but two men speaking to one another in whispers, at +others every creaking bed would be drawn into the argument. + +One topic that never lost its interest was: Who made wars? Who +hounded the people into them, and kept them there, tearing at one +another's throats? They never settled it. + +"God knows I didn't want it, speaking personally," said a German +prisoner one day, with a laugh. "I had been working at a printing +business sixteen hours a day for seven years. It was just +beginning to pay me, and now my wife writes me that she has had to +shut the place up and sell the machinery to keep them all from +starving." + +"But couldn't you have done anything to stop it?" demanded a +Frenchman, lying next to him. "All your millions of Socialists, +what were they up to? What went wrong with the Internationale, the +Universal Brotherhood of Labour, and all that Tra-la-la?" + +The German laughed again. "Oh, they know their business," he +answered. "You have your glass of beer and go to bed, and when you +wake up in the morning you find that war has been declared; and you +keep your mouth shut--unless you want to be shot for a traitor. +Not that it would have made much difference," he added. "I admit +that. The ground had been too well prepared. England was envious +of our trade. King Edward had been plotting our destruction. Our +papers were full of translations from yours, talking about 'La +Revanche!' We were told that you had been lending money to Russia +to enable her to build railways, and that when they were complete +France and Russia would fall upon us suddenly. 'The Fatherland in +danger!' It may be lies or it may not; what is one to do? What +would you have done--even if you could have done anything?" + +"He's right," said a dreamy-eyed looking man, laying down the book +he had been reading. "We should have done just the same. 'My +country, right or wrong.' After all, it is an ideal." + +A dark, black-bearded man raised himself painfully upon his elbow. +He was a tailor in the Rue Parnesse, and prided himself on a +decided resemblance to Victor Hugo. + +"It's a noble ideal," he said. "La Patrie! The great Mother. +Right or wrong, who shall dare to harm her? Yes, if it was she who +rose up in her majesty and called to us." He laughed. "What does +it mean in reality: Germania, Italia, La France, Britannia? Half +a score of pompous old muddlers with their fat wives egging them +on: sons of the fools before them; talkers who have wormed +themselves into power by making frothy speeches and fine promises. +My Country!" he laughed again. "Look at them. Can't you see their +swelling paunches and their flabby faces? Half a score of +ambitious politicians, gouty old financiers, bald-headed old toffs, +with their waxed moustaches and false teeth. That's what we mean +when we talk about 'My Country': a pack of selfish, soulless, +muddle-headed old men. And whether they're right or whether +they're wrong, our duty is to fight at their bidding--to bleed for +them, to die for them, that they may grow more sleek and +prosperous." He sank back on his pillow with another laugh. + +Sometimes they agreed it was the newspapers that made war--that +fanned every trivial difference into a vital question of national +honour--that, whenever there was any fear of peace, re-stoked the +fires of hatred with their never-failing stories of atrocities. At +other times they decided it was the capitalists, the traders, +scenting profit for themselves. Some held it was the politicians, +dreaming of going down to history as Richelieus or as Bismarcks. A +popular theory was that cause for war was always discovered by the +ruling classes whenever there seemed danger that the workers were +getting out of hand. In war, you put the common people back in +their place, revived in them the habits of submission and +obedience. Napoleon the Little, it was argued, had started the war +of 1870 with that idea. Russia had welcomed the present war as an +answer to the Revolution that was threatening Czardom. Others +contended it was the great munition industries, aided by the +military party, the officers impatient for opportunities of +advancement, the strategists eager to put their theories to the +test. A few of the more philosophical shrugged their shoulders. +It was the thing itself that sooner or later was bound to go off of +its own accord. Half every country's energy, half every country's +time and money was spent in piling up explosives. In every country +envy and hatred of every other country was preached as a religion. +They called it patriotism. Sooner or later the spark fell. + +A wizened little man had been listening to it all one day. He had +a curiously rat-like face, with round, red, twinkling eyes, and a +long, pointed nose that twitched as he talked. + +"I'll tell you who makes all the wars," he said. "It's you and me, +my dears: we make the wars. We love them. That's why we open our +mouths and swallow all the twaddle that the papers give us; and +cheer the fine, black-coated gentlemen when they tell us it's our +sacred duty to kill Germans, or Italians, or Russians, or anybody +else. We are just crazy to kill something: it doesn't matter +what. If it's to be Germans, we shout 'A Berlin!'; and if it's to +be Russians we cheer for Liberty. I was in Paris at the time of +the Fashoda trouble. How we hissed the English in the cafes! And +how they glared back at us! They were just as eager to kill us. +Who makes a dog fight? Why, the dog. Anybody can do it. Who +could make us fight each other, if we didn't want to? Not all the +king's horses and all the King's men. No, my dears, it's we make +the wars. You and me, my dears." + +There came a day in early spring. All night long the guns had +never ceased. It sounded like the tireless barking of ten thousand +giant dogs. Behind the hills, the whole horizon, like a fiery +circle, was ringed with flashing light. Shapeless forms, bent +beneath burdens, passed in endless procession through the village. +Masses of rushing men swept like shadowy phantoms through the +fitfully-illumined darkness. Beneath that everlasting barking, +Joan would hear, now the piercing wail of a child; now a clap of +thunder that for the moment would drown all other sounds, followed +by a faint, low, rumbling crash, like the shooting of coals into a +cellar. The wounded on their beds lay with wide-open, terrified +eyes, moving feverishly from side to side. + +At dawn the order came that the hospital was to be evacuated. The +ambulances were already waiting in the street. Joan flew up the +ladder to her loft, the other side of the yard. Madame Lelanne was +already there. She had thrown a few things into a bundle, and her +foot was again upon the ladder, when it seemed to her that someone +struck her, hurling her back upon the floor, and the house the +other side of the yard rose up into the air, and then fell quite +slowly, and a cloud of dust hid it from her sight. + +Madame Lelanne must have carried her down the ladder. She was +standing in the yard, and the dust was choking her. Across the +street, beyond the ruins of the hospital, swarms of men were +running about like ants when their nest has been disturbed. Some +were running this way, and some that. And then they would turn and +run back again, making dancing movements round one another and +jostling one another. The guns had ceased; and instead, it sounded +as if all the babies in the world were playing with their rattles. +Suddenly Madame Lelanne reappeared out of the dust, and seizing +Joan, dragged her through a dark opening and down a flight of +steps, and then left her. She was in a great vaulted cellar. A +faint light crept in through a grated window at the other end. +There was a long table against the wall, and in front of it a +bench. She staggered to it and sat down, leaning against the damp +wall. The place was very silent. Suddenly she began to laugh. +She tried to stop herself, but couldn't. And then she heard +footsteps descending, and her memory came back to her with a rush. +They were German footsteps, she felt sure by the sound: they were +so slow and heavy. They should not find her in hysterics, anyhow. +She fixed her teeth into the wooden table in front of her and held +on to it with clenched hands. She had recovered herself before the +footsteps had finished their descent. With a relief that made it +difficult for her not to begin laughing again, she found it was +Madame Lelanne and Monsieur Dubos. They were carrying something +between them. She hardly recognized Dubos at first. His beard was +gone, and a line of flaming scars had taken its place. They laid +their burden on the table. It was one of the wounded men from the +hut. They told her they were bringing down two more. The hut +itself had not been hit, but the roof had been torn off by the +force of the explosion, and the others had been killed by the +falling beams. Joan wanted to return with them, but Madame Lelanne +had assumed an air of authority, and told her she would be more +useful where she was. From the top of the steps they threw down +bundles of straw, on which they laid the wounded men, and Joan +tended them, while Madame Lelanne and the little chemist went up +and down continuously. Before evening the place, considering all +things, was fairly habitable. Madame Lelanne brought down the +great stove from the hut; and breaking a pane of glass in the +barred window, they fixed it up with its chimney and lighted it. +From time to time the turmoil above them would break out again: +the rattling, and sometimes a dull rumbling as of rushing water. +But only a faint murmur of it penetrated into the cellar. Towards +night it became quiet again. + +How long Joan remained there she was never quite sure. There was +little difference between day and night. After it had been quiet +for an hour or so, Madame Lelanne would go out, to return a little +later with a wounded man upon her back; and when one died, she +would throw him across her shoulder and disappear again up the +steps. Sometimes it was a Frenchman and sometimes a German she +brought in. One gathered that the fight for the village still +continued. There was but little they could do for them beyond +dressing their wounds and easing their pain. Joan and the little +chemist took it in turns to relieve one another. If Madame Lelanne +ever slept, it was when she would sit in the shadow behind the +stove, her hands upon her knees. Dubos had been in the house when +it had fallen. Madame Lelanne had discovered him pinned against a +wall underneath a great oak beam that had withstood the falling +debris. His beard had been burnt off, but otherwise he had been +unharmed. + +She seemed to be living in a dream. She could not shake from her +the feeling that it was not bodies but souls that she was tending. +The men themselves gave colour to this fancy of hers. Stripped of +their poor, stained, tattered uniforms, they were neither French +nor Germans. Friend or foe! it was already but a memory. Often, +awakening out of a sleep, they would look across at one another and +smile as to a comrade. A great peace seemed to have entered there. +Faint murmurs as from some distant troubled world would steal at +times into the silence. It brought a pang of pity, but it did not +drive away the quiet that dwelt there. + +Once, someone who must have known the place and had descended the +steps softly, sat there among them and talked with them. Joan +could not remember seeing him enter. Perhaps unknowing, she had +fallen to sleep for a few minutes. Madame Lelanne was seated by +the stove, her great coarse hands upon her knees, her patient, +dull, slow-moving eyes fixed upon the speaker's face. Dubos was +half standing, half resting against the table, his arms folded upon +his breast. The wounded men had raised themselves upon the straw +and were listening. Some leant upon their elbows, some sat with +their hands clasped round their knees, and one, with head bent +down, remained with his face hidden in his hands. + +The speaker sat a little way apart. The light from the oil lamp, +suspended from the ceiling, fell upon his face. He wore a +peasant's blouse. It seemed to her a face she knew. Possibly she +had passed him in the village street and had looked at him without +remembering. It was his eyes that for long years afterwards still +haunted her. She did not notice at the time what language he was +speaking. But there were none who did not understand him. + +"You think of God as of a great King," he said, "a Ruler who orders +all things: who could change all things in the twinkling of an +eye. You see the cruelty and the wrong around you. And you say to +yourselves: 'He has ordered it. If He would, He could have willed +it differently.' So that in your hearts you are angry with Him. +How could it be otherwise? What father, loving his children, would +see them suffer wrong, when by stretching out a hand he could +protect them: turn their tears to gladness? What father would see +his children doing evil to one another and not check them: would +see them following ways leading to their destruction, and not pluck +them back? If God has ordered all things, why has He created evil, +making His creatures weak and sinful? Does a father lay snares for +his children: leading them into temptation: delivering them unto +evil?" + +"There is no God, apart from Man." + +"God is a spirit. His dwelling-place is in man's heart. We are +His fellow-labourers. It is through man that He shall one day rule +the world." + +"God is knocking at your heart, but you will not open to Him. You +have filled your hearts with love of self. There is no room for +Him to enter in." + +"God whispers to you: 'Be pitiful. Be merciful. Be just.' But +you answer Him: 'If I am pitiful, I lose my time and money. If I +am merciful, I forego advantage to myself. If I am just, I lessen +my own profit, and another passes me in the race.'" + +"And yet in your inmost thoughts you know that you are wrong: that +love of self brings you no peace. Who is happier than the lover, +thinking only how to serve? Who is the more joyous: he who sits +alone at the table, or he who shares his meal with a friend? It is +more blessed to give than to receive. How can you doubt it? For +what do you toil and strive but that you may give to your children, +to your loved ones, reaping the harvest of their good?" + +"Who among you is the more honoured? The miser or the giver: he +who heaps up riches for himself or he who labours for others?" + +"Who is the true soldier? He who has put away self. His own ease +and comfort, even his own needs, his own safety: they are but as a +feather in the balance when weighed against his love for his +comrades, for his country. The true soldier is not afraid to love. +He gives his life for his friend. Do you jeer at him? Do you say +he is a fool for his pains? No, it is his honour, his glory." + +"God is love. Why are you afraid to let Him in? Hate knocks also +at your door and to him you open wide. Why are you afraid of love? +All things are created by love. Hate can but destroy. Why choose +you death instead of life? God pleads to you. He is waiting for +your help." + +And one answered him. + +"We are but poor men," he said. "What can we do? Of what use are +such as we?" + +The young man looked at him and smiled. + +"You can ask that," he said: "you, a soldier? Does the soldier +say: 'I am of no use. I am but a poor man of no account. Who has +need of such as I?' God has need of all. There is none that shall +not help to win the victory. It is with his life the soldier +serves. Who were they whose teaching moved the world more than it +has ever yet been moved by the teaching of the wisest? They were +men of little knowledge, of but little learning, poor and lowly. +It was with their lives they taught." + +"Cast out self, and God shall enter in, and you shall be One with +God. For there is none so lowly that he may not become the Temple +of God: there is none so great that he shall be greater than +this." + +The speaker ceased. There came a faint sound at which she turned +her head; and when she looked again he was gone. + +The wounded men had heard it also. Dubos had moved forward. +Madame Lelanne had risen. It came again, the thin, faint shrill of +a distant bugle. Footsteps were descending the stairs. French +soldiers, laughing, shouting, were crowding round them. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + + +Her father met her at Waterloo. He had business in London, and +they stayed on for a few days. Reading between the lines of his +later letters, she had felt that all was not well with him. His +old heart trouble had come back; and she noticed that he walked to +meet her very slowly. It would be all right, now that she had +returned, he explained: he had been worrying himself about her. + +Mrs. Denton had died. She had left Joan her library, together with +her wonderful collection of note books. She had brought them all +up-to-date and indexed them. They would be invaluable to Francis +when he started the new paper upon which they had determined. He +was still in the hospital at Breganze, near to where his machine +had been shot down. She had tried to get to him; but it would have +meant endless delays; and she had been anxious about her father. +The Italian surgeons were very proud of him, he wrote. They had +had him X-rayed before and after; and beyond a slight lameness +which gave him, he thought, a touch of distinction, there was no +flaw that the most careful scrutiny would be likely to detect. Any +day, now, he expected to be discharged. Mary had married an old +sweetheart. She had grown restless in the country with nothing to +do, and, at the suggestion of some friends, had gone to Bristol to +help in a children's hospital; and there they had met once more. + +Neil Singleton, after serving two years in a cholera hospital at +Baghdad, had died of the flu in Dover twenty-fours hours after +landing. Madge was in Palestine. She had been appointed secretary +to a committee for the establishment of native schools. She +expected to be there for some years, she wrote. The work was +interesting, and appealed to her. + +Flossie 'phoned her from Paddington Station, the second day, and by +luck she happened to be in. Flossie had just come up from +Devonshire. Sam had "got through," and she was on her way to meet +him at Hull. She had heard of Joan's arrival in London from one of +Carleton's illustrated dailies. She brought the paper with her. +They had used the old photograph that once had adorned each week +the Sunday Post. Joan hardly recognized herself in the serene, +self-confident young woman who seemed to be looking down upon a +world at her feet. The world was strong and cruel, she had +discovered; and Joans but small and weak. One had to pretend that +one was not afraid of it. + +Flossie had joined every society she could hear of that was working +for the League of Nations. Her hope was that it would get itself +established before young Frank grew up. + +"Not that I really believe it will," she confessed. "A draw might +have disgusted us all with fighting. As it is, half the world is +dancing at Victory balls, exhibiting captured guns on every village +green, and hanging father's helmet above the mantelpiece; while the +other half is nursing its revenge. Young Frank only cares for life +because he is looking forward to one day driving a tank. I've made +up my mind to burn Sam's uniform; but I expect it will end in my +wrapping it up in lavender and hiding it away in a drawer. And +then there will be all the books and plays. No self-respecting +heroine, for the next ten years will dream of marrying anyone but a +soldier." + +Joan laughed. "Difficult to get anything else, just at present," +she said. "It's the soldiers I'm looking to for help. I don't +think the men who have been there will want their sons to go. It's +the women I'm afraid of." + +Flossie caught sight of the clock and jumped up. "Who was it said +that woman would be the last thing man would civilize?" she asked. + +"It sounds like Meredith," suggested Joan. "I am not quite sure." + +"Well, he's wrong, anyhow," retorted Flossie. "It's no good our +waiting for man. He is too much afraid of us to be of any real +help to us. We shall have to do it ourselves." She gave Joan a +hug and was gone. + +Phillips was still abroad with the Army of Occupation. He had +tried to get out of it, but had not succeeded. He held it to be +gaoler's work; and the sight of the starving populace was stirring +in him a fierce anger. + +He would not put up again for Parliament. He was thinking of going +back to his old work upon the Union. "Parliament is played out," +he had written her. "Kings and Aristocracies have served their +purpose and have gone, and now the Ruling Classes, as they call +themselves, must be content to hear the bell toll for them also. +Parliament was never anything more than an instrument in their +hands, and never can be. What happens? Once in every five years +you wake the people up: tell them the time has come for them to +exercise their Heaven-ordained privilege of putting a cross against +the names of some seven hundred gentlemen who have kindly expressed +their willingness to rule over them. After that, you send the +people back to sleep; and for the next five years these seven +hundred gentlemen, consulting no one but themselves, rule over the +country as absolutely as ever a Caesar ruled over Rome. What sort +of Democracy is that? Even a Labour Government--supposing that in +spite of the Press it did win through--what would be its fate? +Separated from its base, imprisoned within those tradition-haunted +walls, it would lose touch with the people, would become in its +turn a mere oligarchy. If the people are ever to govern they must +keep their hand firmly upon the machine; not remain content with +pulling a lever and then being shown the door." + +She had sent a note by messenger to Mary Stopperton to say she was +coming. Mary had looked very fragile the last time she had seen +her, just before leaving for France; and she had felt a fear. Mary +had answered in her neat, thin, quavering writing, asking her to +come early in the morning. Sometimes she was a little tired and +had to lie down again. She had been waiting for Joan. She had a +present for her. + +The morning promised to be fair, and she decided to walk by way of +the Embankment. The great river with its deep, strong patience had +always been a friend to her. It was Sunday and the city was still +sleeping. The pale December sun rose above the mist as she reached +the corner of Westminster Bridge, turning the river into silver and +flooding the silent streets with a soft, white, tender light. + +The tower of Chelsea Church brought back to her remembrance of the +wheezy old clergyman who had preached there that Sunday evening, +that now seemed so long ago, when her footsteps had first taken her +that way by chance. Always she had intended making inquiries and +discovering his name. Why had she never done so? It would surely +have been easy. He was someone she had known as a child. She had +become quite convinced of that. She could see his face close to +hers as if he had lifted her up in his arms and was smiling at her. +But pride and power had looked out of his eyes then. + +It was earlier than the time she had fixed in her own mind and, +pausing with her elbows resting on the granite parapet, she watched +the ceaseless waters returning to the sea, bearing their burden of +impurities. + +"All roads lead to Calvary." It was curious how the words had +dwelt with her, till gradually they had become a part of her creed. +She remembered how at first they had seemed to her a threat +chilling her with fear. They had grown to be a promise, a hope +held out to all. The road to Calvary! It was the road to life. +By the giving up of self we gained God. + +And suddenly a great peace came to her. One was not alone in the +fight, God was with us: the great Comrade. The evil and the +cruelty all round her: she was no longer afraid of it. God was +coming. Beyond the menace of the passing day, black with the war's +foul aftermath of evil dreams and hatreds, she saw the breaking of +the distant dawn. The devil should not always triumph. God was +gathering His labourers. + +God was conquering. Unceasing through the ages, God's voice had +crept round man, seeking entry. Through the long darkness of that +dim beginning, when man knew no law but self, unceasing God had +striven: until at last one here and there, emerging from the +brute, had heard--had listened to the voice of love and pity, and +in that hour, unknowing, had built to God a temple in the +wilderness. + +Labourers together with God. The mighty host of those who through +the ages had heard the voice of God and had made answer. The men +and women in all lands who had made room in their hearts for God. +Still nameless, scattered, unknown to one another: still powerless +as yet against the world's foul law of hate, they should continue +to increase and multiply, until one day they should speak with +God's voice and should be heard. And a new world should be +created. + +God. The tireless Spirit of eternal creation, the Spirit of Love. +What else was it that out of formlessness had shaped the spheres, +had planned the orbits of the suns. The law of gravity we named +it. What was it but another name for Love, the yearning of like +for like, the calling to one another of the stars. What else but +Love had made the worlds, had gathered together the waters, had +fashioned the dry land. The cohesion of elements, so we explained +it. The clinging of like to like. The brotherhood of the atoms. + +God. The Eternal Creator. Out of matter, lifeless void, he had +moulded His worlds, had ordered His endless firmament. It was +finished. The greater task remained: the Universe of mind, of +soul. Out of man it should be created. God in man and man in God: +made in like image: fellow labourers together with one another: +together they should build it. Out of the senseless strife and +discord, above the chaos and the tumult should be heard the new +command: "Let there be Love." + +The striking of the old church clock recalled her to herself. But +she had only a few minutes' walk before her. Mary had given up her +Church work. It included the cleaning, and she had found it beyond +her failing strength. But she still lived in the tiny cottage +behind its long strip of garden. The door yielded to Joan's touch: +it was seldom fast closed. And knowing Mary's ways, she entered +without knocking and pushed it to behind her, leaving it still +ajar. + +And as she did so, it seemed to her that someone passing breathed +upon her lips a little kiss: and for a while she did not move. +Then, treading softly, she looked into the room. + +It welcomed her, as always, with its smile of cosy neatness. The +spotless curtains that were Mary's pride: the gay flowers in the +window, to which she had given children's names: the few poor +pieces of furniture, polished with much loving labour: the shining +grate: the foolish china dogs and the little china house between +them on the mantelpiece. The fire was burning brightly, and the +kettle was singing on the hob. + +Mary's work was finished. She sat upright in her straight-backed +chair before the table, her eyes half closed. It seemed so odd to +see those little work-worn hands idle upon her lap. + +Joan's present lay on the table near to her, as if she had just +folded it and placed it there: the little cap and the fine robe of +lawn: as if for a king's child. + +Joan had never thought that Death could be so beautiful. It was as +if some friend had looked in at the door, and, seeing her so tired, +had taken the work gently from her hands, and had folded them upon +her lap. And she had yielded with a smile. + +Joan heard a faint rustle and looked up. A woman had entered. It +was the girl she had met there on a Christmas Day, a Miss Ensor. +Joan had met her once or twice since then. She was still in the +chorus. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. + +"I have been expecting every morning to find her gone," said the +girl. "I think she only waited to finish this." She gently +unfolded the fine lawn robe, and they saw the delicate insertion +and the wonderful, embroidery. + +"I asked her once," said the girl, "why she wasted so much work on +them. They were mostly only for poor people. 'One never knows, +dearie,' she answered, with that childish smile of hers. 'It may +be for a little Christ.'" + +They would not let less loving hands come near her. + + +Her father had completed his business, and both were glad to leave +London. She had a sense of something sinister, foreboding, casting +its shadow on the sordid, unclean streets, the neglected buildings +falling into disrepair. A lurking savagery, a half-veiled enmity +seemed to be stealing among the people. The town's mad lust for +pleasure: its fierce, unjoyous laughter: its desire ever to be in +crowds as if afraid of itself: its orgies of eating and drinking: +its animal-like indifference to the misery and death that lay but a +little way beyond its own horizon! She dared not remember history. +Perhaps it would pass. + +The long, slow journey tried her father's strength, and assuming an +authority to which he yielded obedience tempered by grumbling, Joan +sent him to bed, and would not let him come down till Christmas +Day. The big, square house was on the outskirts of the town where +it was quiet, and in the afternoon they walked in the garden +sheltered behind its high brick wall. + +He told her of what had been done at the works. Arthur's plan had +succeeded. It might not be the last word, but at least it was on +the road to the right end. The men had been brought into it and +shared the management. And the disasters predicted had proved +groundless. + +"You won't be able to indulge in all your mad schemes," he laughed, +"but there'll be enough to help on a few. And you will be among +friends. Arthur told me he had explained it to you and that you +had agreed." + +"Yes," she answered. "It was the last time he came to see me in +London. And I could not help feeling a bit jealous. He was doing +things while I was writing and talking. But I was glad he was an +Allway. It will be known as the Allway scheme. New ways will date +from it." + +She had thought it time for him to return indoors, but he pleaded +for a visit to his beloved roses. He prided himself on being +always able to pick roses on Christmas Day. + +"This young man of yours," he asked, "what is he like?" + +"Oh, just a Christian gentleman," she answered. "You will love him +when you know him." + +He laughed. "And this new journal of his?" he asked. "It's got to +be published in London, hasn't it?" + +She gave a slight start, for in their letters to one another they +had been discussing this very point. + +"No," she answered, "it could be circulated just as well from, say, +Birmingham or Manchester." + +He was choosing his roses. They held their petals wrapped tight +round them, trying to keep the cold from their brave hearts. In +the warmth they would open out and be gay, until the end. + +"Not Liverpool?" he suggested. + +"Or even Liverpool," she laughed. + +They looked at one another, and then beyond the sheltering +evergreens and the wide lawns to where the great square house +seemed to be listening. + +"It's an ugly old thing," he said. + +"No, it isn't," she contradicted. "It's simple and big and kind. +I always used to feel it disapproved of me. I believe it has come +to love me, in its solemn old brick way." + +"It was built by Kent in seventeen-forty for your great-great +grandfather," he explained. He was regarding it more +affectionately. "Solid respectability was the dream, then." + +"I think that's why I love it," she said: "for it's dear, old- +fashioned ways. We will teach it the new dreams, too. It will be +so shocked, at first." + +They dined in state in the great dining-room. + +"I was going to buy you a present," he grumbled. "But you wouldn't +let me get up." + +"I want to give you something quite expensive, Dad," she said. +"I've had my eye on it for years." + +She slipped her hand in his. "I want you to give me that Dream of +yours; that you built for my mother, and that all went wrong. They +call it Allway's Folly; and it makes me so mad. I want to make it +all come true. May I try?" + + +It was there that he came to her. + +She stood beneath the withered trees, beside the shattered +fountain. The sad-faced ghosts peeped out at her from the broken +windows of the little silent houses. + +She wondered later why she had not been surprised to see him. But +at the time it seemed to be in the order of things that she should +look up and find him there. + +She went to him with outstretched arms. + +"I'm so glad you've come," she said. "I was just wanting you." + +They sat on the stone step of the fountain, where they were +sheltered from the wind; and she buttoned his long coat about him. + +"Do you think you will go on doing it?" he asked, with a laugh. + +"I'm so afraid," she answered gravely. "That I shall come to love +you too much: the home, the children and you. I shall have none +left over." + +"There is an old Hindoo proverb," he said: "That when a man and +woman love they dig a fountain down to God." + +"This poor, little choked-up thing," he said, "against which we are +sitting; it's for want of men and women drawing water, of children +dabbling their hands in it and making themselves all wet, that it +has run dry." + +She took his hands in hers to keep them warm. The nursing habit +seemed to have taken root in her. + +"I see your argument," she said. "The more I love you, the deeper +will be the fountain. So that the more Love I want to come to me, +the more I must love you." + +"Don't you see it for yourself?" he demanded. + +She broke into a little laugh. + +"Perhaps you are right," she admitted. "Perhaps that is why He +made us male and female: to teach us to love." + +A robin broke into a song of triumph. He had seen the sad-faced +ghosts steal silently away. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext All Roads Lead to Calvary, by Jerome + diff --git a/old/rdclv10.zip b/old/rdclv10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c72a8f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rdclv10.zip |