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diff --git a/2231.txt b/2231.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2500ac5 --- /dev/null +++ b/2231.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10368 @@ +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*** + + + + + + +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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