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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23886-8.txt b/23886-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d64b44b --- /dev/null +++ b/23886-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4499 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Old Valentines, by Munson Aldrich Havens, +Illustrated by Griswold Tyng + + +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: Old Valentines + A Love Story + + +Author: Munson Aldrich Havens + + + +Release Date: December 17, 2007 [eBook #23886] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD VALENTINES*** + + +E-text prepared by Bethanne M. Simms, Mary Meehan, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original colored illustrations. + See 23886-h.htm or 23886-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/8/23886/23886-h/23886-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/8/23886/23886-h.zip) + + + + + +OLD VALENTINES + +A Love Story + +by + +MUNSON HAVENS + +With Illustrations + + + + + + + +Boston and New York +Houghton Mifflin Company +The Riverside Press Cambridge +1914 + +Copyright, 1914, by Munson Havens + + + + +TO MY WIFE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS +_From drawings by Griswold Tyng_ + + + "SHE WAS YOUR MAMMA, TOO, WASN'T SHE?" + + "MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?" + + "ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU CAN SPARE SO LARGE A SUM?" + + SIR PETER GAVE IT INTO THE TINY FINGERS + + + + +OLD VALENTINES + + + + +I + + +You might enter this story by the stage door. You remember beautiful +Valentine Germain--the actress? She married Robert Oglebay, the painter, +brother of Sir Peter Oglebay, the great engineer. Their baby Phyllis-- + +But, after all, the main entrance is more dignified. + +Sir Peter Oglebay's passion is for Construction: to watch massive +machinery slowly hoisting materials more massive into positions of +incredible height with calculated accuracy. Wherever construction is in +progress you are likely to see him, standing at a little distance, +holding his silk hat on his white head with one hand as he looks +upward, and leaning, a little heavily, on his stick with the other. And +whenever or wherever you see him, you will see an English gentleman. + +His portrait, in the lobby of the Engineering Society, is by Sargent. +His erect bearing, white mustache, and something about the cut of his +clothes suggest the soldier. But he is one of the great engineers; his +father and grandfather were engineers. You observe the red ribbon in his +lapel; France honors him. + +Sir Peter's big house is in Armytage Street, near the park. You may +remember the house by its walled garden and the imposing wrought-iron +grille through which one has access to the flagged walk, the wide steps, +and the great doorway. + +In his house, the library defines his chief interest in life. The +shelves are filled with somber sets of the "Transactions" and +"Proceedings" of several learned societies. Sir Peter is himself a +Fellow of these societies Mr. Rowlandson, his bookseller, has a standing +advertisement in "The Athenaeum" for certain missing volumes. One in +particular, the "Proceedings of the British Engineering Society for the +year 1848," he would tell you, was the very devil to find; it seems +there was a fire at the printer's. Sir Peter's monograph on the +"Egyptian Pyramids Considered in their Relation to Modern Engineering" +was dedicated to this society. He presided over its grave deliberations +for several years. "With dignity and impartiality," said his successor, +when Sir Peter surrendered the gavel. + +He serves on boards of directors. His name is seen on subscription lists +headed by the Right People. Late afternoon should find him at the +Carlton Club. + +Many years ago, Sir Peter brought together a number of fine pictures. +They hang in the drawing-room, but the collection is not a notable one +in these days. Each year, however, the Oglebay Prize speeds some +talented English lad to Paris. But that endowment was his brother +Robert's suggestion. Sir Peter's calls at the Christie Galleries ceased +when Robert married beautiful Valentine Germain, the actress. Perhaps +half of the cruel things Sir Peter said of her were true. But the +quarrel was irreparable; the brothers never met afterward. + +Robert Oglebay was a painter of distinction, if not of genius. His few +finished pictures enriched the world. His impulses were noble, but they +were impulses only; the will to complete the undertaken task was +lacking. For patient work he substituted high talk of Art in the studios +of his friends. The gay little suppers in their own rooms were famous; +nine at table, mostly men, entranced by Valentine's beauty and her wit. +Charming were their afternoons among the curio shops, and their return, +laden with loot too precious to wait over night for delivery. Glorious +were their holidays in Paris and Vienna; wonderful nights in Venice! +Always together! To their sudden migration to Egypt, whence he returned +with a portfolio of exciting promise. Alas, the slender fulfilment! for +then was the time for work,--the sobering thought of Baby Phyllis. + +But to Valentine and Robert Oglebay, Baby Phyllis soon meant a new +frolic. Nurse Farquharson's were the competent hands. Their life went on +unchanged. + +At five, Baby Phyllis, in her white nightie, her blue eyes shining, and +her curls crowned with roses, danced among the wine-glasses at her +mother's birthday party, and enraptured the guests by singing, in +various keys, the song with which beautiful Valentine herself had +captivated London,--"If I could wear trousers, I know what I should do." +If you knew your way about town in the early eighties, you may remember +the song. The encore was uproarious: three times Baby Phyllis had to +lift her little leg and strike the match on her nightie. They drank her +health standing, as she disappeared, smiling at them over Nurse +Farquharson's shoulder. + +Upstairs, having cuddled Phyllis in bed, Valentine caught the expression +on the nurse's face. She put her arms around Farquharson appealingly. + +"Don't be cross with me on my birthday," she pleaded. + +Farquharson patted the pretty upraised hands, glittering with diamonds. + +"You mustn't look cross at my mamma, Farkson," cooed Baby Phyllis. + +Careless, happy days and sparkling nights! Robert and Valentine were +always together, their honeymoon endless; in Paris, in Buda-Pesth, in +Rome, in Constantinople, in Holland. You should have seen Valentine in +the Dutch costume she brought home. Each of the inseparable trio of +artists, Mr. Singleton, Mr. Leonard, and Mr. Knowles, painted her +portrait, and made love to her, and was laughed at and scolded. It is +little enough to say of her that she idolized Robert. + +When they returned from their first trip to Norway, in 1897, Robert +Oglebay, now forty and growing stout, told his friends he had found what +he was looking for at last. The strong, deep sentiment of the North had +clutched at him and held him fast. And indeed those shimmering, moonlit +studies of the little fishing village, where they spent that summer and +autumn, are his best. + +Early in the following summer they flitted northward again, with joyful +eagerness. They took nine-year-old Phyllis with them. + +While her father painted, and her mother read, Phyllis explored crannies +in which the receding tide had left tiny, helpless creatures which she +examined curiously, and then carried tenderly to the water, lest they +perish before the friendly waves came again to cover them. + +Their boatman sang songs to her,--strange songs that thrilled her, +though she did not understand the words. + +At night, in the best room of the little inn, by a bright fire, her +father told tales of the vikings; of their high-prowed ships, and the +long-haired sailors, with fierce eyes; of their adventurous voyages over +unknown seas. The stories ended when the golden head drooped, drowsily. + +The portfolio of sketches grew steadily during the weeks that followed. + +"Your best work, Robert," said Valentine + +"I have found what I have been seeking," was his answer. + +They were happy days. Robert painted, early and late, in all weathers. +Valentine's joy was in him. Phyllis found hers in a closer companionship +with them than she had ever known. + +Remembering their eager joy, how tragic the end! Drowned, under the sail +of an overturned boat,--together. + +Their little Phyllis, saved by the boatman recovered from the shock of +icy water and horrible fright before her clothing was dry. She was +spared immediate knowledge of her loss. The rough, weatherworn faces she +saw in the firelight of the fisherman's cottage, to which she had been +carried, were kindly and compassionate. The gloom of early evening, the +glow of the firelight, the smell of the sea, the full-rigged ship on a +rude wall-bracket, and the moaning wind outside were memories of after +years. At the moment, wrapped in a blanket, Phyllis was conscious only +of security and warmth. She smiled up at the big fisherman who had +rescued her, and made friendly advances to the cluster of ragged little +ones who gathered around her, with scared faces and brown, bare legs and +feet. When the fisherman's wife tucked her into a warm bed, she inquired +sleepily for her mamma. A reassuring caress was the response: the +language of motherhood is universal, and requires no words. + +The patrol of the rocky inlet ended at dawn. When the burdened groups of +booted men tramped past the cottage on their way to the inn, the +fisherman's wife, peering through the window in the gray morning light, +muttered to herself that both had been found. + +Some hours afterward came the innkeeper and the postmaster, the one +proud of his English, the other of his responsibilities as first citizen +of the village. A large-eyed, terror-stricken Phyllis learned of her +loneliness and sobbed on the good woman's broad bosom. The innkeeper and +the postmaster smoked their pipes outside until the first outburst of +childish grief had spent itself. + +It appeared then that the little Miss must tell them to whom they should +send a telegram. How painful and new to be obliged to think; how choking +were the vague thoughts. But at last a ray of comfort; they should +telegraph Farquharson, her dear, dear nurse. The name was slowly +spelled. And the address? Perfectly, Phyllis knew the street and number +of that fascinating home of hers, but she now remembered that +Farquharson would not be there; that Farquharson had gone to visit her +brother in a little town in the south of England; a little town of which +Phyllis had heard the most wonderful, true stories; but she did not know +its name. "Couldn't the telegraph find out?" she asked; and then, +overcome with rushing thoughts, abandoned herself again to grief. + +"There are Mr. Knowles, Mr. Leonard, and Mr. Singleton," she bethought +her. "But they are painting in Algiers." + +There was a lady her mamma called Molly, too, whom Phyllis liked very +much, who came often to tea, accompanied by a tiny brown dog; but the +patient innkeeper could learn no more of her than that mamma always +called her Molly; the tiny brown dog's name, Phyllis remembered, was +Tip. + +How might this poor innkeeper's meager vocabulary convey the idea of +relatives to Phyllis's mind? But somehow, at last, it was done. + +"Yes," said Phyllis, struck suddenly with the thought. "There is Uncle +Peter. But my papa and mamma never went to see him, and he never came to +see them." A half-forgotten word occurred to her,--"They were +es-tranged." + +The innkeeper eyed her doubtfully; but Uncle Peter's last name she knew, +of course; was it not her own? And his title, too. The innkeeper, +impressed, communicated his intelligence to the postmaster; they made +their good-byes awkwardly and left the room. + +Two days must elapse before the steamer arrived; ample time for +composition. It grieved the innkeeper that another name than the +author's must be signed to his telegram; but intellect yielded to rank; +the postmaster signed alone. + +And so, on a day when the dreary churchyard on a bleak hillside, near +the little fishing village, received the poor remains of Robert Oglebay +and Valentine, his wife, Sir Peter, in the paneled library of his great +London house, read these words:-- + + VALFJELDET, NORWAY, August 18th, 1898. + + Your niece, Phyllis Oglebay, robbed of her parents by the + remorseless sea, awaits the directions of her uncle. + + OLAF ULVESAKKER, _Postmaster_. + +Ten days later, Sir Peter Oglebay, with a drawn face, rode homeward +through fog-enveloped streets, with a small girl in his arms. One of +Phyllis's hands held Sir Peter's tightly, and her tired, little head +rested upon his shoulder. + +There was a sale, of course, of the thousand luxurious trifles with +which improvident Robert Oglebay and his beautiful, spirited, +improvident wife had surrounded themselves; trifles which had helped to +create the artistic atmosphere that was the breath of life to them. Half +a hundred creditors divided the proceeds. + +When Sir Peter asked Phyllis what he should save from the wreck for her +(not in those words, however) she asked him to send for all the +valentines her papa had given her mamma. + +"Her name was Valentine, you know, Uncle Peter," explained Phyllis. "I +think it is the beautifullest name there is. Long before I was born, and +long before they were married, my papa gave my mamma valentines, new +ones and old ones too but mostly old ones. They were the prettiest. Some +of them are a hundred years old. They are ever so pretty, Uncle Peter, +and she let me play with them, whole boxes full of them. I loved them +best of all my playthings. Sometimes my papa called me his little +Valentine, but they named me Phyllis, after my grandmamma, my papa's +mamma. Why, Uncle Peter, she was your mamma, too, wasn't she?" Phyllis, +sitting on Sir Peter's lap, regarded him gravely, with new interest. In +the end, however, she returned to the subject. All the valentines--boxes +and boxes of them--were to be brought to her, if Uncle Peter pleased. + +[Illustration: SHE WAS YOUR MAMMA, TOO, WASN'T SHE?] + +His bookseller bought in the valentines for Sir Peter. + +"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Rowlandson, when he read the order. + +The sale catalogue described it as one of the most remarkable +collections ever brought together, and intimated that the Museum should +take advantage of a rare opportunity. + +Another dealer was commissioned to buy one of Robert's pictures. + +"Any one,--the best. Use your own judgment," said Sir Peter. + +It was a charming study, unfinished, of course, that came the next +afternoon: a boat, rolling heavily in gray water; and seen through mist, +the great brown sail, looming, shadowy; one sailor, in a red jersey, at +the tiller. In the corner Robert had scrawled his careless signature and +the words,--"Valfjeldet, Norway, 1897." Sir Peter gently laid the +picture upon the glowing coals of the grate. + +"There are six boxes come from Mr. Rowlandson's shop, sir," said his +housekeeper standing quietly behind him. + +"Have the screws removed and send them up to Miss Phyllis's room," he +replied. "They are old valentines, Burbage, old valentines that belonged +to her m----for which she has a childish fondness." + + + + +II + + +"Doesn't it seem to you that the windows let in more sunlight of late, +ma'am?" asked a housemaid. She had just finished cleaning those in the +octagonal dining-room. Burbage inspected the windows. + +"There is no change in the windows that I can see," she replied. "But +there's more sunlight in the house than in many a year." + +This comment of his old housekeeper, six weeks after Sir Peter brought +Phyllis home, might be accepted as the epitome of her life there for ten +long years. Sir Peter was as grim as ever to the servants; but, bless +your heart, hadn't they caught him at his pranks on the floor? Hadn't +they seen his haggard face when the doctor pronounced it diphtheria? +Hadn't they seen him carry her downstairs in his own arms on the first +day it was allowed? Hadn't they seen him helping her with her lessons, +at night,--solving her complex problems in his head while she struggled +over columns of figures, and waiting at the end of that tortuous road +with a smile on his gaunt face, and the right answer, to prove hers +right or wrong? But in languages, Sir Peter was left at the post. Her +master in French was astonished until he learned her mother's name,--by +accident, for it was rarely spoken in that house. The dead languages +were alive to her, too. The shelves in her study-room, upstairs, +contained Sir Peter's old "classics," prettily rebound. The commission +went to Mr. Rowlandson; the execution was Rivière's. Sir Peter had +scarcely looked into them since the old days at Cambridge. + +Sunlight in the house, indeed. Her sweet voice, in sudden song, might be +heard at any moment of the day; or the ripple of her piano; or her gay +laughter, musical as the joyous notes of a bird. + +She had her intent of them all. Even the determined mind of Burbage, +stern-featured and steel-spectacled, she moulded to a plastic +acquiescence with her own sweet will. In extreme urgency, when Burbage +was very firm, indeed, Phyllis had a way of referring to dear +Farquharson. Burbage learned to anticipate this by yielding in the nick +of time. + +By the way, they had not found a trace of Farquharson. + +Several short, sharp battles she had with Sir Peter; the cause, in each +instance, the same. He did not try to disguise his desire that she +should forget her mother. The first encounter between them took place +within a year of her home-coming. + +"If I cannot remember my darling, darling mamma in your house, Uncle +Peter, I shall not stay here," she declared. "I will go away and never, +never come back any more. And then you would be sorry." + +Sir Peter compromised with irrelevant sweets. But he saw she was +terribly in earnest, for such a little girl. + +From time to time a similar incident disturbed the loving relationship +between them; a relationship that was perfect otherwise, in confidence, +sincerity and affection. + +When she was eighteen, some one told her she began to look like her +mother. + +"God forbid!" said Sir Peter, when she told him. + +Phyllis went white. + +"Uncle Peter, my mother was an angel. She was my father's----" + +"Ruin," interposed Sir Peter, his brows darkening. + +"She was his dream of Heaven. I heard him tell her so. She was a dear, +sweet woman." + +Sir Peter growled; but Phyllis always had the last word on these +occasions. + +"I love her memory and I always shall, as I should have dearly loved her +if--if she could have stayed with me. You must never speak or even think +unkindly of her if you want me to love you, or if you want me to live +with you. She was my mother and----" Then she fled to her room. Burbage +could have been heard murmuring, "There, there, my pretty." + +It was true. As she grew older it became apparent she had inherited her +mother's marvelous beauty. She was a tall girl; a mass of golden coils +surmounted the proud head, set so well on her neck and shoulders; her +eyes were the deepest blue; you might have thought her expression sad, +but her sensitive mouth was mirthful as well as tender; in merriment +her eyes danced. When she talked earnestly she caught her breath in the +prettiest way; she had indescribable charm. Her hands were long and +slender, unadorned with rings; she simply didn't care for them. She +usually wore white, and the larger the hat the better she liked it. + +By the time Phyllis was twenty, she had read all that was good for her, +and was ready to look at life itself with frankness, and judge it by +standards of her own. The windows of the Carlton Club knew Sir Peter no +more. She led him everywhere. You might have seen them at the Abbey one +day; on another in the Temple Gardens or looking up at Dr. Johnson's +house, in Gough Square. Sir Peter gloomed in the doorways of shops while +she made leisurely purchases within. He pointed out the best pictures in +the National Gallery; and could tell her why they were the best. They +motored through England and France; Sir Peter absorbed in old +fortifications, Phyllis regardful of the babies tumbling through cottage +doorways. In London one often saw them walking in the park, her face +aglow with animation, her movements as free from constraint as a young +deer; her flow of conversation never failing. Sir Peter, keeping step, +regarded her, idolatrous. Unconsciously she showed him her soul, and +looking therein he found his eyes blurred with unexpected tears. + +Soft but imperious Phyllis! The theater bored Sir Peter beyond +expression. But on First Nights you might be certain he would have a +box. Radiant Phyllis, in white silk, leaning forward eagerly to catch +every word, was tremulous with excitement at the end of the play. During +the drive homeward Sir Peter endeavored, artfully, to conceal that he +had slept through half an act. + +You may be sure that mothers with eligible sons invited him to dine; +grumbling, but facing the inevitable, he accepted. His hawk's eyes +glowered at the young men: from Cambridge and Oxford, but he invited +them to his house. Coaxed by their mothers they called the first time, +and thereafter were with difficulty restrained. Phyllis was kind to +each, and interested in all; but Sir Peter observed with satisfaction +that she was most pleased when they came in pairs. He chuckled over his +magazine, under a reading-lamp, at the far end of the library many +times, while Phyllis entertained her admirers; but at times he scowled. +"Too fast, too fast, you young fool," he muttered to his white mustache. + +They were thoroughly agreeable young men, and Phyllis enjoyed it all +hugely. She approached the consideration of the sex from a perfectly +fresh and candid point of view. Sir Peter had the benefit of her +impressions each morning with his egg and toast and tea. "The Times" had +long since been banished from breakfast. + +One morning she was spiritless. + +"Uncle Peter, I have something very, very important to tell you." + +"I am listening most attentively, my dear." + +"Uncle Peter, you know Mr. Holroyd,--Mr. Mark Holroyd, I mean, not his +brother Dick." + +"I can't say I know him very well, my dear. He has called several times, +to be sure, and dined with us once. We have dined at General Holroyd's +twice, I think, when Mark was present. I believe he has made three +remarks to me: first, that Cambridge was slow; second, that he liked a +Doherty racket best,--I think it was a Doherty he preferred; and third, +that the Halls, this month, were--'rather.'" + +Phyllis's smile comprehended and confirmed + +"But he is very nice, Uncle Peter." + +"I have no doubt of it," said Sir Peter. "His father is one of the +finest men I have ever known; his mother was a Churchill. Is Mark to +read for the Bar?" + +"Y-e-es," said Phyllis doubtfully. "I hope so. Oh! Uncle Peter, last +night, in the hall----" + +"In the hall, eh?" interrupted Sir Peter. + +"Yes, dear, in the hall. He--he proposed to me. I told him I had never +thought of him in that way at all. And----" + +"I should hope not," said Sir Peter. He liked Mark well enough, but +there was plenty of time. And he made a mental memorandum to keep his +eye on the hall thereafter. + +"And, oh! Uncle Peter, he said the light had gone out of his life, and +that he could never get over such a crushing blow, and that he wished he +was--Uncle Peter, they--they always do get over it, don't they?" + +"In no time at all," replied Sir Peter briskly, and helped himself to +toast. There was a pause. + +"Still, I doubt if Mr. Holroyd will get over it as quickly as that," +said Phyllis thoughtfully. + +"Haberdashers are a very present help in time of trouble," Sir Peter +assured her. "They are a great comfort to young men in Mark's +situation." + +When she kissed him good-bye for the day, he said:-- + +"My little girl must wait a long while and meet many young men before +she finally--er--finally--you know,--eh?" + +But on that very afternoon she went with her friend, the Hon. Margaret +Neville, to visit Saint Ruth's Social Settlement, in Whitechapel. And +there she met John Landless. The Honorable Margaret introduced them. + +"Hullo, Mr. Landless--oh! Miss Oglebay--Mr. Landless. It's her first +time here. Show her about a bit like a good chap, will you, while I look +for to see what my angel children's sewing-class is doing so blithely, +blithely?" + +John Landless looked at Phyllis, and Phyllis looked at John. If there is +ever love at first sight! Perhaps it never happens in this prosy old +twentieth century. But, if it ever does, then--there you are. + +"It will be a pleasure to show you through the house," said John. "I +wish Dr. Thorpe, the warden, were here, though? you should meet him; +he's great. That is Mrs. Thorpe--over there, talking to the woman who is +crying. She will have her straightened out before you can say Jack +Robinson,--and no nonsense either." + +It took a little longer than that, but in a few minutes the woman went +away smiling; and then Phyllis met Mrs. Thorpe, who won her at once. + +"I leave you in good hands, Miss Oglebay," she said, when she was called +away. "You will hear Saint Ruth's praises sung. We shall hope to see you +here often." + +"I am so glad I came," said Phyllis, "and you are very kind, Mr. +Landless, to explain things to me. Are you certain I am not taking too +much of your time?" + +"Oh, we will glance at my boys as we go along," replied John. "The +afternoons are not especially busy. The evenings are full, though, with +classes, and clubs, and games, and all that,--you know." + +They walked through the rooms devoted to social amelioration; to the +mental, physical and spiritual redemption of sordid lives. To these +rooms men from the universities, impelled by a new conscience, bring +their learning and their refinement. In these rooms men from the +docks--the flotsam and jetsam of humanity--receive their first glimpse +of + + "Plato and the swing of Pleiades." + +While John explained the theory and practice of such social settlements +as Toynbee Hall, and Mansfield House, and Saint Ruth's, Phyllis found +time to study his face. His black hair was cut short, but it curled for +all that; his dark eyes were fine, the eyebrows very thick. His mouth +closed tightly, a little too tightly, perhaps. But his chin! "He will +have his way," thought Phyllis. She noticed that he stood very straight, +that his shoulders were broad, and that his light gray suit became him +well. + +In the room to which the Hon. Margaret Neville consecrated ten hours a +week were a number of very small girls, trying to use needles without +pricking their fingers, and not succeeding very well. John and Phyllis +stood just outside the door, waiting for the dismissal of the class. + +Now, John Landless had a test for new acquaintances, a test evolved of +trying experience If she laughed now!--or said, "How odd!" + +"I find this work tremendously absorbing" said John, "and I hope I am +helpful, a little, you know. But besides all that I think the work helps +me in my profession." + +"Your profession," repeated Phyllis, turning toward him the sweet, +interested face he was watching so intently. "May I ask what is your +profession?" + +"I am a poet," said John simply, and awaited results. + +"That is a noble profession," said Phyllis "I am glad you have chosen +it. I hope you will succeed in it." She colored. "And I believe you +will," she added. She was looking at his chin. + +Then, for the first time, Phyllis saw John's smile. He had a wonderful +smile; the most winning; he should have smiled oftener; but life is a +serious business to poets, especially at twenty-four. + +"It is good of you to say that," said John. "Almost every one roars. +That is--the men. The girls giggle, or say, 'How curious!' I think you +are the first girl who has ever taken it quite as a matter of course +that a man might make poetry his profession. I am prepared to defend the +profession of poetry against the world, if need be; but I don't like to +be stared at while I am doing it." + +"I understand," replied Phyllis warmly. "If you said the Army, or the +Church, or Engineering, no one would be surprised or unsympathetic. But +they think one should be a little ashamed of owning himself a poet. So +much the worse for them," she concluded, nodding her pretty head and +catching her breath in that quick way of hers. + +"You're very kind to say so, but----" John was about to ask her if she +was sure she meant it. Looking into Phyllis's candid eyes he thought +better of it. + +"Are any of your--that is--have you----?" she stammered, partly because +the form of her question puzzled her; partly because she was aware of +John's ardent eyes. + +"Yes, I have been in the magazines three or four times," he replied. He +knew that question. "But I hope to bring out a little book of poems in +the spring." + +"I shall be eager to see it," said Phyllis. + +"Really?" asked John. + +"Of course," she replied, coloring again. Mark Holroyd had looked at her +like that; but how different it had been. + +"You shall have one of the first copies off the press," said John, in a +low voice, "because you were one of the first to encourage me in all +this great London. And I shall write that in the book, if you will let +me." + +Phyllis looked at him earnestly. + +"You must never be discouraged," she said slowly. "There will be +difficulties, of course, and obstacles, and--and hard places to get +over. All the poets I have read about had a hard time at first. But +there will be friends to believe in you, many of them, who will wish you +success in your profession." + +"If I could know there was one, at least," said John, his dark eyes +glowing. + +Phyllis smiled at him. "There will be many," she repeated. + +The Honorable Margaret joined them, having delivered her closing remarks +to her class; remarks somewhat pointed on the subject of noses and +handkerchiefs, but inclusive of cleanliness and godliness generally. + +"Splendid place, isn't it, Phil?" she remarked with enthusiasm. "Did you +see the dispensary, and the nursery, and the gymnasium and the laundry, +and all around the shop?" + +"Yes, I think we saw everything," replied Phyllis. "Mr. Landless has +explained it all in the most interesting way." + +"Will you come again?" asked John, as he stood at the curb, while they +stepped into the Neville motor. + +"She's sure to," replied the Honorable Margaret promptly. "Saint Ruth's +eats 'em alive. I came to scoff and remained to thread needles myself. +Phyllis will be minding the babies in a month,--eh, Phil?" + +"I should love to come again," said Phyllis. + +"To-morrow?" asked John. + +"No," said the Honorable Margaret. "To-morrow's not my day. I come on +Thursday next." + +"I think it _would_ be convenient for me to come to-morrow," said +Phyllis. "Perhaps that nice Mrs. Thorpe, to whom you introduced me, +could find something for me to do. I am afraid I shall have to be taught +how myself first, though." + +"Great Scott!" cried the Honorable Margaret, leaning back in the car. +"Saint Ruth has made one mouthful of you." + +"Good-bye, Mr. Landless. Thank you again," said Phyllis, extending a +cordial hand. + +"Until to-morrow," said John. + +He stood at the curb watching the receding car. When he reëntered the +house, his smile lighted his face wonderfully. + +"What do you think, Phyllis!" whispered the Honorable Margaret, her eye +on the chauffeur. "Mark Holroyd telephoned me at the Settlement. He told +me he needed bucking up a bit, and was coming to me to be comforted. +He's to be at the house at nine. Isn't he the dearest fellow?" + +Phyllis opened her eyes wide; and then half closed them. + +"He is one of the dearest, Peggy," she said softly. + + + + +III + + +"Lady Neville is a most estimable woman," observed Sir Peter, at +breakfast the next morning, "and your friend Margaret is a very nice +girl, as I have observed. But these places, my dear, these social +settlements, as they call them, Saint Ruth's, and--er--the rest of them, +are the breeding-places of discontent, of unrest hotbeds of socialism. I +can't approve of your going there often." + +"Well, of course, Uncle Peter, you know far more about it than I do. But +I should think that Saint Ruth's would make the poor people more +contented. If there were no such clean, bright, cheery places to go to, +and to leave their babies in, and to hear music on summer nights, and +see the motion-pictures which make them forget their hard, drudging, +colorless lives for a little while,"--here Phyllis caught her breath in +that fascinating way she has--"if there were no such helpful places, I +should think they might be more hopeless and bitter. But when they know +that Lady Neville, and you, and other rich people care something for +them,--enough to want to give them some happy hours; when they see Peggy +Neville teaching their little girls to sew,--don't you think they may +feel less like throwing a stone through the windows of her motor?" + +"Perhaps, my dear child, perhaps. I do not say you are wrong. I am +inclined to think, however, that they suppose these--er--social +settlements are maintained by the County Council, and supported by the +rates. And I rather think," added Sir Peter, lighting his cigar, "I +rather think they believe they pay the rates themselves." + +"Have you ever visited Saint Ruth's, Uncle Peter? But I am sure you +haven't, or I should have known it. Now, how can you sit in your library +here and analyze the thoughts and motives of those poor people? What +must Saint Ruth's seem to them, compared with their miserable +dwellings?" + +"I can't say I have ever been there," owned Sir Peter, "but I am one of +the Board of Trustees, in charge of the funds of several philanthropic +institutions, and I hear these things discussed. But, my dear child, I +do not wish to offer any objection to your going there if you are +interested. Good idea; see the other side. Of course, you won't ever go +alone, though. Those East End streets, you know--better take the car and +have Thompson wait. I will make an inquiry or two of Sir Charles +Anstruther at the Club; he takes a deep interest in--er--these social +settlements,--Toynbee Hall and----Ten o'clock! I shall be late. +Good-bye, my dear. Have a good time in your own way." + +Phyllis may have confused inclination with duty a little; in any event, +Mrs. Thorpe, whose kind face might have served for a likeness of Saint +Ruth herself, found plenty of work for her. And Phyllis did love the +babies; they did not all look alike to her, as they did to John. The +Honorable Margaret found her quite at home when Thursday rolled around. + +"Good for you, Phil!" was her salutation "My word! Don't they get dirty +over-night!" + +When a month had passed, it was Phyllis's custom to go to Saint Ruth's +nearly every day. The work was engrossing; Dr. Thorpe warned her against +overdoing it; his experience of volunteer workers was large. + +"Oh! she will stay with us," laughed Mrs. Thorpe, to whom his misgivings +were clear. "Miss Oglebay and I are to make calls in the neighborhood +this afternoon." + +"You will see sad sights," said the doctor; "but lots of funny ones, +too." + +To the Christmas ceremonies she brought Sir Peter, determined to be +pleased, against his better judgment. He liked Dr. Thorpe at once; Sir +Peter knew a man when he saw one. Mrs. Thorpe made him chuckle; so he +liked her, too. The place was crowded; mostly with the very poor, in +their best and at their best; but Sir Peter was surprised to meet a +number of his acquaintances; not so surprised as they were, however. + +There were two adjoining houses to be leased and connected with Saint +Ruth's; a matter of arrangement was submitted by Dr. Thorpe. Sir Peter +paced off the rooms for himself and gave his opinion. Dr. Thorpe +consulted strangers on problems of obvious solution; the hard ones he +and Mrs. Thorpe thought out after they went to bed. + +They occupied front seats for the entertainment and Phyllis pointed +people out to him. + +"There is Father Carroll," she said, indicating direction with her +programme. "Dr. Thorpe and Father Carroll and Mr. Landless are the +committee. Father Carroll will give the address later; Mr. Landless +arranged the songs. I helped him with that." + +The entertainment was a success. Such proud mothers and fathers when the +prizes were distributed! Every child had honorable mention, at least. +Father Carroll told the funniest stories; how the crowd laughed. And +when he talked seriously to them--you could have heard a pin drop. + +When John was introduced to Sir Peter, he stood very straight; one +stood at attention instinctively, before Sir Peter. + +"Very pleased, indeed, to meet you, sir," said Sir Peter. "You don't +happen to be of the Sussex Landlesses, do you; I knew a Hugh Landless at +Cambridge." + +"Yes, sir. They are my people. He was my father." + +"Really. Let me see: he took orders, did he not? I hope I am not to +infer----" + +"He died last June, sir." + +"I beg your pardon. I didn't know. I am sorry not to have seen more of +him after he left the University. He was a most likeable fellow. We +shall see more of you, I trust? Have you been long in London?" + +"I came after--at once. There was nothing to keep me there, and I felt I +must begin work in my profession immediately." + +If John had been looking at Phyllis, he would have seen her face flush +slightly; an anxious look came into her eyes. But he was looking at Sir +Peter. + +"What is it to be?" asked Sir Peter. "Not the Church?" + +"No, sir." John's chin was noticeable now. "I follow the profession of +poetry." + +"Upon my word!" exclaimed Sir Peter, and would have said more. + +"Isn't it fine, Uncle Peter!" Phyllis interrupted, her cheeks rosy, and +her eyes starry pleaders for a lost cause. "Mr. Landless means to be a +poet. That is his chosen profession. Don't you think it fine to make +such a choice,--when one has the talent, of course?" Her earnest voice +fell before Sir Peter's stony gaze. + +"But poetry isn't a profession," declared Sir Peter roundly. He gave a +short, hard laugh. "A pastime, perhaps; a recreation; but not a +profession, Mr. Landless. But, pshaw! You don't expect me to take you +seriously?" + +There was an awkward moment. When Phyllis ventured a look at John, she +was surprised to see him smiling. + +"I assure you I am quite serious," he answered easily. "But I am +accustomed to the other view. Thank you cordially for your willingness +to see something of me. My father would have been pleased. When I was +going through his papers I fancy I ran across your name in one of his +old diaries. You won't think me disrespectful if I tell you that the +diary spoke of you as 'Top' Oglebay." + +"Good Gad!" said Sir Peter; "I have not heard that name in thirty years. +Yes, I was 'Top' Oglebay." + +Phyllis was glad to see Mark Holroyd and her dear Peggy Neville coming +toward them. Mark was sheepish, at first, but Phyllis put him at his +ease in no time. The Honorable Margaret and John Landless were sworn +friends. John had applied the test to her. "Perfectly smashing!" was her +expressed opinion of his profession; the foresight of Phyllis had +smoothed the way. + +"Well, well," said Sir Peter, as they drove homeward, "that was all very +interesting and new. You will help me to remember to send a check to +Thorpe in the morning, won't you, my dear?" + +Phyllis, snuggled in furs, wondered if she dared to make a remark, ever +so casually, about Mr. Landless; concluded she daren't, and resigned +herself to think of him in silence. + +A week later John presented himself, in evening dress. Sir Peter chatted +with them for a while, and then buried himself in the "Engineering +Review." Over this he nodded, oblivious, while John recited his verses +to Phyllis at the other end of the long library. They were pretty +verses; Phyllis thought them beautiful. You should have seen John's +smile. He tried to screw his courage up to recite his "Lines to +Phyllis," but at ten he hadn't, and Sir Peter awoke then, and reëntered +the conversation. + +John said good-night to Sir Peter in the library. He would have to +Phyllis, also, but she went with him into the hall. Sir Peter followed +them there, and said good-night again, in the friendliest way. + +Phyllis called on Saint Ruth's neighbors often in the weeks that +followed. Mindful of her uncle's command, she was never alone. Sometimes +Mrs. Thorpe, at others Peggy Neville, and quite often John Landless went +with her. The squalor and misery all about them was shocking to every +sense; hideous at its worst; but the sharp, sweet, bitter-sweet memories +of those winter afternoons will linger in Phyllis's mind as long as she +lives. Sad memories and joyous ones! And one more lovely than all the +rest. + +There came a day when, long in advance of its arrival, there was a +sudden hint of spring. Carrying a parcel, John walked beside Phyllis. +The soft air was filled with magic. The mildness of it brought the +tenement dwellers to windows and doors. + +"Warm, isn't it?" remarked John, trying to fan himself with the parcel, +and failing "Please don't walk so fast? I have something to tell you." + +"Tell away, Mr. Landless, tell away," said Phyllis, gayly, and slackened +her pace. "Is there good news of your book? Do the flinty-hearted +publishers at last see their opportunity?" + +"No, they don't," said John. "In fact--well, I am glad my opinion of my +poetry isn't governed by theirs." + +Phyllis stole a quick look at his face; but the chin was uplifted, +confident as ever. + +"Is the boys' club making progress?" she asked. + +"Splendid! But I want to talk about you and me." + +"You and me----" three little words. The subtle spring air wafted odors +of Arcady. + +For a few moments they walked on silently John was preparing his +sentences, and he could never be hurried at that. + +Phyllis knew what was coming; she knew, she knew! Ah! the rapture of it, +the loveliness of it all! the poignant beauty of the still unspoken +words. Phyllis was willing to wait; he had nothing to tell her she +didn't know; but she wanted to hear it said, and remember each word to +dream over afterward. + +Slowly they walked, in the mean little street, past dark passages, +leading into tenements; past knots of lounging men; little mothers with +heavy babies struggling in their thin arms; rowdies with vacuous eyes; +and girls flaunting cheap finery. + +"May I call you Phyllis?" asked John, breaking the silence suddenly. + +[Illustration: MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?] + +"Why, yes; if you wish--and if you think you ought, you know." + +"Well, then,--Phyllis. Your name has become to me the one name worth +saying in the world. Ever since I met you for the first time, four +months ago, I have been saying it, Phyllis; but I wanted to say it to +you. So with your face: I know every mood of you by the lights and +shadows of it. I can see it in your absence, almost as well as when I am +with you. Your dear, sweet face, Phyllis, and your crown of gold, and +your loyal eyes, I know by heart, as well as your name. Dear Phyllis. +And I know, too, your quick and beautiful mind; its clear, wise +judgment of the true and the false. I know its freedom from selfishness, +and all littleness. I know its purity and its steadfastness I know your +capable hands, Phyllis, and your eager, pitying heart,--for I have seen +them at work day after day, and week after week. I love you, my dearest, +and I must tell you so. I think I have loved you longer than I have +known you, but I know I have loved you as long. Perhaps you can care for +me, and perhaps you can't. Sometimes I have dared to hope you might, but +almost always I have known it was too high a hope. For I am only a poor +poet, with nothing but faith in myself and love for you to offer. I know +you have everything; a beautiful home, and beautiful clothes, and +beautiful jewels, probably, though I haven't seen them. Every wish of +yours is answered almost before you know it is yours. Life's promise to +you is the earth and the fullness thereof; and I offer you only love. +But in the end I shall win, Phyllis, I am perfectly certain of that. I +shall never, never be rich; possibly never even well-to-do; but I love +you, Phyllis; I love you. I want to ask you to wait for me--and be my +wife." + +With a pretty impulse she took one of his hands and raised it to her +lips. + +People were passing almost constantly. They were forced to separate, to +pass a group of children, playing noisily on the pavement. + +"I know I should have spoken to your uncle, first," he said, "but I knew +he would say no, unless--unless you asked him, too." + +"Ah! but I am so glad you told me to-day," said Phyllis. "I am so glad, +so glad! Of all the days in the year I should have chosen to-day. You +don't know why, do you? Because to-day is the fourteenth of +February,--Saint Valentine's Day." + +In a rush of words she told him of her mother's name, and of her mother, +and of her valentines. + +"You haven't told me you love me yet," said John. + +"Can't you hear my heart singing it?" asked Phyllis. + +"But I want to hear you say the words," he urged. + +"I love you, John," said Phyllis softly. + +"And you will promise to marry me--some day?" he asked. + +"Yes--some day," she repeated shyly. + +"And you are not afraid of the future?" + +"Not a bit," said Phyllis. She smiled up at him. "You must take me home, +now, and we will tell Uncle Peter." + +They rode home on the top of a motor-bus. He tucked her hand into his +greatcoat pocket, and held it there. Their mood was exalted. The streets +were glorified; the gloomy buildings had become wonderful castles; their +fellow-passengers were surrounded with the mystery of romance. + +It grew colder rapidly; at the terminus they clambered down stiffly. +Twilight had fallen when they reached the great gates of the park. John +stopped and laid a detaining hand on Phyllis's arm. They kissed for the +first time. Moment of ecstasy! + +It is doubtful if they would ever have got past the park gates except +for the warning whistle of a hurrying messenger boy, on a bicycle. + +"My eye! What a smack!" he yelled, as he shot past. John glared, but +Phyllis laughed happily. + +He would have lingered as they walked down the long street to the +house; but Phyllis had no doubt of the outcome; Sir Peter's frown was +without terrors for her, but to John--how formidable. His footsteps +lagged as they climbed the wide steps to the door. + +"Sir Peter was called out of town by a telegram," said Burbage, in the +hall. "He said he would be home by a late train. Thompson's to meet the +twelve-thirty." + +John clutched at this reprieve. + +"I have a class at Saint Ruth's at seven," he said. "I must hurry away, +Miss Oglebay." Burbage was helping Phyllis with her furs. + +It was arranged he should call early the following morning. They +exchanged significant looks, and he was gone. A ring, set with +old-fashioned garnets, was left in the hand he had pressed; one of his +mother's rings, worn on his watch-chain. Phyllis seized Burbage and +danced her up and down the hall and back again, demoralizing the rugs. +Then, having picked up her muff and thrown it at her, Phyllis raced up +the stairs. + + + + +IV + + +Sir Peter was gruff at the breakfast table. The hurriedly written +telegram, or his hasty reading of it, had led him a wild-goose chase. To +find your host concealing surprise as he shakes hands, and to learn, at +the end of ten minutes of feverish cordiality, that you were invited to +dine the following night, is never comfortable, even at the home of an +old friend. When two hours on a train each way are involved, and loss of +one's sleep as well----! A bleak east wind, this morning, too, and Sir +Peter was Jarndyced as to that quarter. + +Worst of all, Phyllis looked like her mother, with her hair over her +ears, like that; the likeness always irritated Sir Peter, but this +morning it was particularly striking. + +He accepted her morning endearments graciously, but Phyllis was glad the +toast wasn't cold. She recognized unpropitious portents. + +John was shown into the library at ten, sharp; his chin had come to his +rescue. He gave Phyllis a bright look, and led up to the business in +hand promptly. + +Sir Peter, savoring his cigar, "The Times" spread over his knees, +invited the young man to be seated; the young man preferred to stand, +and did, very straight, his back to the fireplace. His eyes were large +and serious his color high; his hands were behind him and the nervous +fingers couldn't be seen. Phyllis viewed her champion with approving +eyes, and sat on the edge of her chair. + +"I am afraid my errand won't be an agreeable one to you, sir," John +began. "I am sure it wouldn't be to me if--if I were you. But I must +tell you my story from the beginning, if you are willing. You knew my +father and something of my family. The people of his parish were +tremendously fond of him. He gave them all of himself. He died poor, of +course, and left me a good name and two hundred pounds a year. The +countryside came to his funeral. The faces of the men were streaked with +tears, as they stood by his grave, and women wept openly. I had letters +of sympathy from every county in England, from Canada, and from far-away +India. His spirit was as gentle as a child's; but he welded men and +women to him as with bonds of steel. Yet he had never tried a cause, nor +built a bridge, nor saved a life as a physician, nor laid one down as a +soldier. He hasn't even left a sermon in print, for he never wrote one." + +John hesitated. Sir Peter rustled "The Times" uneasily. Phyllis sat +perfectly still, waiting. + +"My father taught me more than I learned at Magdalene, and he gave me my +ideals. Perhaps they are unusual, but I believe they are true. They may +be told in a few words,--to face life fearlessly, live it cleanly and +fully, and use it to what end one's conscience and one's talents direct +without too much regard for the careless opinion of the world. I haven't +anything behind me that I am ashamed of. I am far from being ashamed of +my profession though I admit it has seemed to require defense rather +often since I came to London. My father encouraged me to adopt it when I +suggested the idea to him. I will tell you what he said to me. It was +this: 'All work is fine. Of course, I think labor in the Church of God +is the finest. But every profession offers opportunities for useful +service; and trade is honorable to honorable men. But, John,' said he, +'one imperishable poem is worth more to mankind than all the gold and +silver stored in the stronghold of the Bank of England. You may never +write one, but a lifetime devoted to trying will not be wasted.' That +was what my father said, sir." + +"That would be like him as I recall him," said Sir Peter shortly. He had +no inkling yet of John's errand. He was disposed to be generous to this +quixotic young man for his father's sake. + +Phyllis wondered how any one could look at John or hear him speak, and +not love him; but she had momentary pangs of foreboding; a vague +presentiment of impending unhappiness. + +"I settled his few affairs,--he did not owe a penny,--and I came to +London. There had been some correspondence between Dr. Thorpe and my +father, and I called at Saint Ruth's. I thought I saw a chance of +touching a larger life and of doing a little good; I have given some of +my afternoons and all of my evenings there ever since. Dr. Thorpe is a +brick, as you know, sir; he and his wife have been very kind to me. I +was rather lonely at first, and--all that. My mornings I devote to my +profession. I think I have made some progress, if only in finding the +wrong ways of putting words together." John smiled. "There are a great +many wrong ways and I am finding them all, one by one." + +Sir Peter concealed his impatience; the dull ache in Phyllis's heart +continued, she knew not why. + +"I met Miss Oglebay at Saint Ruth's some months ago. I think I must tell +you, sir, that from the very first moment I loved her." + +Sir Peter half rose from his chair, in his sudden astonishment. + +"The devil you say!" he gasped. "Upon my word, this is effrontery. You +amaze me, Landless. You must have lost your senses. My niece"--he turned +to Phyllis. Something he saw in her face diverted the torrent "Has +Landless spoken of this to you?" he asked grimly. + +"Yes, Uncle Peter. He told me yesterday that he--he cared for me, and we +both hurried home to tell you, but you were----" + +Sir Peter was out of his chair, and on his feet, now. + +"You spoke to my niece before you came to me, Landless; knowing that I +had met you--not more than three times, at most; that you had been in my +house but once?" His voice was raised, his scowl threatening. + +"I am sorry to have seen so little of you, sir," said John. "But I have +seen a great deal of Phyllis." + +"Where, sir?" demanded Sir Peter. + +"At Saint Ruth's, and in its neighborhood," John answered evenly. "We +have worked there together." + +"How long has this been going on?" Sir Peter had regained control of +himself, but his fine face was distorted. Phyllis's hands were clenched +tightly in her lap. She was very pale. + +"If you mean how long have we been meeting each other there, and going +about in the neighborhood together----" + +"I think my meaning is clear, sir." + +"About four months, then. It seems a short time, but we have seen each +other almost every day." + +"Landless, you are a sneak," said Sir Peter quietly. "You are a damned +sneak." + +John's face flamed; he started as if struck by a whip. + +"Oh, no! Uncle Peter!" cried Phyllis. "Oh, no, no! Uncle Peter." + +"Leave the house, Landless." + +"But Mr. Landless is my guest!" She was as pale as death, now, and +breathing hurriedly; her eyes were unnaturally large, and there was a +stricken look in them. + +"You heard what I said, Landless." The voice was unyielding. + +John moved toward the door, chin up and shoulders squared. Phyllis +intercepted him swiftly, and put both hands appealingly on his arm. + +"Wait a moment, John. Oh, wait a moment for my sake, John," she pleaded. + +"I can't," said John. "You know that I can't." + +"Ah, but you must, John, for my sake; for my sake." + +She linked her hands closely about his arm and turned to her uncle. +John, facing the door, moved slowly toward it, trying gently to +disengage her hands, and forcing her to walk a step or two backward as +she spoke. + +"I must ask you to apologize to Mr. Landless, Uncle Peter," she said +earnestly. "Whatever fault there has been, if there has been any, is +mine. I have often spoken to you of meeting Mr.--of meeting John at +Saint Ruth's. But I see now you didn't realize how often I went there, +nor that I was with him so many of the times. I should have told you, +Uncle Peter; the fault was mine, not John's. I am sorry, Uncle Peter, +and I ask you to forgive me. But you must apologize to John." She looked +at the stern face entreatingly; the doorway was very near. + +"Oh, John," she implored, "I beg you to wait a moment; just a tiny +second. Uncle Peter will tell you he didn't understand." + +John stopped, and stood facing the doorway his back turned to Sir Peter. + +They waited in silence; the slow ticking of the tall clock could be +heard. + +"I love him dearly, Uncle Peter," whispered Phyllis. + +Ah! Valentine Germain; pretty, dead Valentine Germain; your daughter is +wonderfully like you now. + +"I ask you to wait, Landless," said Sir Peter. + +His next words were calmly spoken; deliberate passionless; the more +awful for that. + +"I have known one reckless marriage, Landless, and one is enough for a +lifetime. There is a taint in all of this of which you know nothing. +This unhappy child's father was a fool. Her mother was a shallow, +soulless, shameless creature--and worse. Her----" + +"It is a lie!" cried Phyllis. "A cruel, cruel lie! God pity you, Uncle +Peter, and forgive you. I am sorry for you; I am sorry for you. You have +nursed those bitter, black thoughts in your heart for so many years that +they have poisoned your life. But you have soiled my mother's memory for +the last time in my presence. Never, never again!" A great sob choked +her. "I am going to leave you, Uncle Peter. I am grateful to you for +many years of generous, loving kindness. Indeed, I do not forget them; +indeed, I am grateful. But I cannot stay here any longer. I should be +miserable--wretched if I stayed. I cannot breathe in this room--in this +house." She rocked her body as if in pain. She would have said more, +but---- + +"Go, then!" said Sir Peter, through set teeth. + +Phyllis ran from the room and out of the house, bareheaded; John +snatched his hat and stick in the hall and overtook her as she fled +through the iron grille. They ran together a short distance. Then +Phyllis slackened the pace to a rapid walk. She was breathless, her +hands pressed to her heart; a maid distraught. Pitiful, inarticulate +little cries escaped her from time to time. John walked beside her, +silently. They passed through the gates of the park, and she walked more +slowly. Slowly, and still more slowly they wandered, aimlessly, under +the leafless trees. She turned to him at last, her lips blue with the +cold. + +"You must take care of me now, John. I have no one else," she said +quietly. + + + + +V + + +Was it Dr. Johnson who remarked that one great charm of London is that +you may walk in a crowded street, eating a twopenny bun, without +attracting a second glance? Or was it Benjamin Franklin? Not that it +matters. + +On a wintry morning, in a public conveyance a hatless and coatless young +woman of unusual beauty, and a very self-conscious young man, sitting +beside her, were not annoyed by more than a curious stare or two. + +John had suggested a cab. + +"We must economize from the very beginning," said Phyllis, with a wan +smile. + +She blushed deliciously when John handed her money, and she hurried into +a shop. Such a simple, brown hat she found, a little shopworn; the +long, warm coat she bought matched perfectly. Standing at the street +corner, waiting for her, John counted the money in his pockets; enough +for luncheon, fares, and even contingencies, he was glad to find. But he +thought with satisfaction of the full quarter's income at his lodgings. +When she rejoined him, John looked her over critically. + +"I suppose that is a terribly cheap coat," he said, trying to remember +other coats he had seen on her pretty figure. + +"It is a lovely coat. I like it very much," replied Phyllis, stroking +the flaps of the pockets. + +"Well, it really is becoming," John assured her. "So is the hat." + +"I think so, too," said Phyllis. "And I am particular about hats." + +"I would be willing to wager five shillings you never had such an +inexpensive one before," said John. Phyllis didn't answer that; and +John added, "Your uncle will send your pretty clothes to--to--wherever +you go," he ended lamely. + +Phyllis held up two slender fingers. + +"Two things I didn't like in one sentence" she admonished him. "First, +Uncle Peter will send me nothing. Oh, John, I couldn't, couldn't take +anything from him now. I really could not." She stopped suddenly "I must +have my valentines, though. They were my mother's. They will go with me +wherever--That reminds me of the second thing you said I didn't like. +You should not have said--'Wherever you go,' but 'Wherever we go'!" + +She smiled at him bravely. + +"Well, we will go to lunch now," said John, smiling, too, and making the +most of the pronoun. "It is early, but we can sit and talk it all +over." + +"Where?" she asked, almost gayly. Her heart was bruised, but she meant +to forget all that, and the thought of a lunch with John was a very good +place to begin. + +John took his bearings as to restaurants. + +"If you could walk a short distance, there is Mildmay's," he suggested. + +"I can walk miles," she answered; but she thought ruefully of her thin +soles. + +A white table between them, a waitress with rolls, and something hot in +prospect; John thought the time had come. + +"But, seriously, my darling, what shall we do? What is the best for you? +Shall I take you to the Nevilles'?" + +Phyllis looked blank. + +"To be sent home in their car, bound hand and foot, and lectured +besides!" she remonstrated. + +"Well, Mrs. Thorpe could certainly put you up for the night. Odd I didn't +think of her first." + +"John, dear," began Phyllis, and then blushed, for the word had popped +out of itself. However, after a moment she went on courageously--"Did +you hear me say 'we,' a little while ago? We are going together wherever +we go." She hesitated. "Don't you want me, John?" A swift look at his +face, and hers glowed. + +"My dearest, dearest girl." John's voice expressed his earnest +sincerity. "I won't pretend to misunderstand your meaning, and I do so +long to believe it possible that my head swims. But--" + +"I perfectly hate 'buts,'" she interrupted She put her elbows on the +table, and flashed a smile at him, through her arched fingers. + +"But, dearest, you must consider this seriously I want you to think for +a moment. Need I tell you I love you more than life! Only yesterday I +scarcely dared hope that you might be willing to wait years for me +to--to earn enough with my pen to ask you to share my lot. To-day--the +doors of Paradise are opened wide. Ah! my dear, my dear, I am eager to +enter, but I fear for you. I should be taking advantage of your +helplessness----" + +"Listen, John," said Phyllis. "I am not the least bit helpless. There +are dozens of houses to which I can go and dozens of friends who would +be glad to have me come to them. But at every open door there is also a +finger pointing inevitably back to Uncle Peter's house. And there I +shall never, never go. So far as your lot is concerned--it is mine. For +better or for worse John, dear. But I trust you, and believe in you, and +think perhaps there is a high destiny for you. I want to share in that, +too, if you will let me, please. And I can't do so fully unless we go, +hand in hand, all the way, together. I am not dismayed by the thought of +doing without a great many unnecessary things. And the really vital +things I hope to have more of than ever--with you. And so, John, if you +don't mind, please, we will eat our lunch like sensible young people, +and afterward--and afterward--Now, John, I simply cannot say that. You +must say that, you know. I haven't left much of it for you to say, but +that little I insist upon your saying for yourself." + +Ah! Valentine Germain! pretty, dead Valentine Germain! your daughter is +wonderfully like you now. + +John looked steadily into her trustful eyes; a long, long look. + +"Then I ask you to marry me this afternoon my dearest," he said +solemnly. "And--oh! Phyllis, I pray God you may never reproach me." + +"I never shall, John," she answered. "For I honestly believe I am to be +the happiest and the proudest girl in England." + +"Wich of you gets the chocolate, and wich the tea?" asked the waitress. + + +They were married before three; it was amazing how short, how simple, so +marvelous an event could be. John spent ten minutes at the telephone. A +quarter of an hour was passed in the coldly official precincts of +Doctors' Commons. In the Faculty Office, through an open doorway, +Phyllis caught glimpses of the formalities incident to securing a +license. A clerk filled up a printed form; John made affidavit to the +clerk's accuracy of transcription; a stamp was affixed; a document was +blotted, examined; the dotting of an _i_ was attended to, and the dot +blotted; a bank-note changed hands. The license in his pocket, John +rejoined her. + +"We must hurry now, darling," said he. + +"Oh, dear!" said Phyllis. "I am glad to hurry away from here. That +clerk's face was so unsympathetic." + +Half an hour after they entered the dark, quiet church, the clergyman, +with a cold in his head, had pronounced them "bad ad wife." + +They were on top of a motor-bus, jolting cityward, and John was gayly +addressing her as Mrs. Landless, before Phyllis realized that it was +really all over--that the irrevocable step was taken--that they were +married. The whirl of her thoughts then! + +At the terminus, John bought a newspaper and scanned its advertisements. +They started on their search for lodgings. His room was in Whitechapel, +near Saint Ruth's. + +"It is up under the roof, and looks over the week's washing of the +submerged tenth; it won't do at all!" he had declared. + +The idea of a hotel impressed Phyllis unpleasantly. + +"Well, then," said John, "we must look for a new tree in which to build +our nest." + +How many dissonant bells jangled to their touch; how many dreary +hallways they entered and stood waiting in; how many steep staircases +they climbed; how many rooms they peeped into--one look enough; how many +others they viewed at greater length, but with no more satisfaction in +the end; a few, John thought, had possibilities, but Phyllis could not +bear the sight of them! + +The curious questions they were asked; as though the lodgers instead of +the lodgings were undergoing inspection. Most of the lodging-house +keepers asked John where he was employed; some of them wanted to know if +he could give references. + +"How cime you to leave your last plice?" was one shrill question. + +In utter weariness Phyllis at last consented to John's suggestion; he +would make a preliminary survey and she should be called into counsel +only in promising cases. They were few enough. She walked up and down +monotonous streets while John was indoors; to be told, time after time, +that was not the place they sought. + +Even John might have been discouraged; on the contrary, that young man's +chin rose to his difficulties. But Phyllis's eyes grew more and more +troubled when darkness fell, and the lights in windows reminded them +that they were still homeless. + +Seeking new bills, "To Let," they found themselves in a small square, +surrounded by houses; a fine neighborhood in its day. + +"Oh dear, John, I fear I can walk no farther," said Phyllis. "We must go +to a hotel after all, though I detest the idea. My shoes are worn +through." + +He led her to a bench in the little square, and kneeling before her took +off one shoe, and then the other, and carefully fitted each with a new +sole, made from a page of "The Daily Chronicle." + +"If I fail as a poet I shall be a cobbler," he said to her brightly. + +He sat down beside her. "My dearest, I am so sorry. I have blundered +through this afternoon, horribly. Perhaps I should have taken you to my +own room at once, poor as it is. Perhaps I should have sought advice +from Mrs. Thorpe. Perhaps I should have insisted on a hotel, for a few +days, until we could look about. At least, we might have had a cab. I +have been most inconsiderate. I am so strong in the new hope and +strength you have given me that I haven't thought enough for you. My +poor, tired Phyllis." + +He held her hands; his face contrite. She was too dispirited for words, +but she patted his hand softly. + +As they sat there, John saw a lighted shop-window, not fifty yards +distant. + +"Sit here and rest, darling, while I run over there and inquire for any +lodgings in this vicinity. If there are none, I will call a cab and we +will go to a hotel. Think of the beautiful dinner we shall have. Our +wedding dinner, dearest! I warn you I mean to be extravagant." He leaned +over her and kissed her, and then ran across the street. + +Then she allowed herself to cry for the first time. Poor, sad, tired +little bride, whose wedding day had been so different from all her +girlish dreams of it. She cried quietly, on the bench, alone, in the +darkness. She was cold and tired and lonely. + +John came back on the run, from the opposite direction. + +"I inquired at the bookseller's shop," said he. "He directed me to the +house in which he lodges himself. He recommended it so highly I thought +I would leave you alone for a few minutes longer and see the rooms. +Phyllis, I really believe I have found what we want. There are three +rooms, though one is very small. There is the coziest little +sitting-room, with a fireplace and an easy-chair. Adjoining it is a +smaller room. But the bedroom is large, and has two windows. The place +is spotlessly clean. And the woman who lets the rooms is a wholesome, +good-hearted soul; I am sure you will like her. The terms are a +little--well, just a little higher; but the woman says, of course, that +is to be expected--with the view of the square from our windows." + +John looked at Phyllis doubtfully. "Do you think, dearest, that you +could see these for yourself? It isn't far, and I will not ask you to +look at another place if you don't like this one." + +She drew new courage from his hopefulness They walked the length of the +little square. + +John rang. The door opened, and a motherly looking woman stood aside to +let them enter. Phyllis stood directly below a flaring gas-jet, as she +turned to wait for their conductress. + +The woman screamed and her hands went to her heart. + +"Valentine Oglebay!" she exclaimed. + +"That was my mother's name," said Phyllis. She was too tired to be +surprised, even. The woman took a step forward. + +"Your mother! Then you must be little Phyllis. You don't remember--" + +"Farquharson!" cried Phyllis. "Farquharson! Oh! dear, dear Farquharson." + +They were crying in each other's arms, repeating names endearingly, +incredulously. + + + + +VI + + +John stood staring. + +Finally, Mrs. Farquharson, tears streaming down her kindly face, held +Phyllis away from her and looked at her long and lovingly. + +"My dear, my dear, my deary dear. How ever did you come to find me?" + +"I didn't," replied Phyllis. "John found you. He--we--we are looking for +lodgings. We--we were married this afternoon. We have been hunting for +rooms for hours--and this was the last place----" Phyllis faltered. She +turned to John, and then to Mrs. Farquharson. "This is Mr. Landless, +my--this is my dear, dear old Nurse Farquharson. She knew my mother and +father, and she took care of me when I was a little, little girl. Oh, +John, you cannot know how glad I am to see her!" + +They shook hands. + +"I told her she would like you," said John to Mrs. Farquharson. + +"And to think of her being married," said Mrs. Farquharson. "And coming +to my house with her husband, looking for a place to live, and me with +three rooms all ready for them as soon as ever I can get a fire laid in +the grate." + +She turned to Phyllis again. + +"Just you sit down here in the warm hall a minute, my deary dear," she +said, "while I get--though maybe you would like to look at them first. +Yes, of course. Come straight upstairs, Miss--my dear. If you decide to +stay--" + +"Oh, Farquharson! How can you suggest that we shouldn't stay!" said +Phyllis. + +"Never would I hint such a thing," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "But, of +course, there are only the three rooms, and one of them small, to be +sure, and no others in the house unoccupied. This way,--these are the +rooms, Miss--my dear. And as I says to the young gentleman--your +husband, that is--the sitting-room is that cozy, with the fire, and the +bedroom is airy. The view is something pretty, I do assure you. Oh! my +deary dear, my deary dear! How ever did you come to find me?" + +It was hard to tell whether Mrs. Farquharson was laughing or crying. +Phyllis sank into the easy-chair with a sigh. + +"I shall never get up again," she said to John. + +"Slippers," said Mrs. Farquharson, and vanished. + +John kissed Phyllis and tried, awkwardly, to take off her hat. He +managed it finally, and a loose strand of beautiful hair fell over one +of her ears. She tucked it away. + +"Isn't it too wonderful to be true!" she said. John's heart was too full +for speech. He turned away to hide his working mouth. + +Mrs. Farquharson was on her knees before Phyllis a moment later. The +slippers were too large, but how welcome to her aching feet. One of her +shoes, upturned, caught Mrs. Farquharson's eye. She inspected John's +handiwork; then gave Phyllis a startled look. + +"In February, my dear. And on your wedding day! How ever came it? With +newspapers, all wadded in. Whatever's happened?" + +"It has all been very sudden, dear Farquharson" said Phyllis. "I will +tell you all about it as soon as I have rested a little. Oh! It is good, +good, to be with you. I am so glad, so glad. Aren't you glad, John? +Just think--if you hadn't tried once more. If you hadn't asked at that +little shop." + +"Shop?" inquired Mrs. Farquharson. + +"The little old bookshop, at the other aid of the square," explained +John. + +"Oh, Mr. Rowlandson's. He sent you here. He would, to be sure. My oldest +lodger, sir, and the easiest to do for--though odd. Here's Genevieve +with the tea. Don't put the tray on the sofa, Genevieve On the table, of +course. Whenever will you learn? Here, drink this, my deary dear. It +will prepare your stomach for something more. I am getting your supper +ready now downstairs, and the young gentleman's. There's a chop. Do +drink a little of the tea, my dear, even if you don't want it. It's for +your best. Do you like apricots as well as ever you did? Oh, whoever has +had the bringing of you up, that I should have had! The many times I've +thought. And your poor dear mother and father both taken at once, too." + +"I went to my Uncle Peter," said Phyllis "I have lived there ever +since." + +"Sir Peter Oglebay--your father's brother I might have known." Mrs. +Farquharson nodded her head vigorously. "Though he was terrible down on +your--To think of that now! And so you have been here in London all +these many years! And me never to know! Deary me!" + +"We--my uncle did everything to find you," Phyllis assured her. "He even +advertised for you. I cried for you very often when I was little, dear +Farquharson." + +"Did you, indeed, my dear?" asked Mrs. Farquharson, smiling, and wiping +her eyes with her apron. "And advertised for me. In the papers. Reward +offered and no questions asked. I've read them myself, but never did I +think." + +"Oh, yes. I wanted you very badly," Phyllis assured her again. "I used +to tease Burbage when I was naughty, by telling her you were never cross +with me." + +"And who is Burbage?" asked Mrs. Farquharson. + +"She is my uncle's housekeeper. She was very good to me, too. But I +missed you dreadfully. You know, John, my mother and father were away +from home for weeks at a time, and Farquharson took such care of me." + +"Such games as we had," said Mrs. Farquharson reflectively; and then to +John,--"She was everything whatever from Mary, Queen of Scots, to a +dromedary, I've beheaded her many's the time, and her humps was the +pillows off her little bed. If Genevieve hasn't burned those chops to a +cinder, they must be ready, and why ever she doesn't bring them up I do +not know." + +What a dainty supper! John did full justice to it. + +Mrs. Farquharson brooded over Phyllis; but she could eat nothing. + +The kind-hearted woman maintained a constant stream of talk, in which +lodgers, rooms, chops, apricots, and toast, and the old times were +inextricably intermingled. + +The first-floor front and his wife had seen better days; in stocks, they +were. The vagaries of Mr. Rowlandson, the bookseller, third-floor front, +the walls of his rooms lined with--what do you think? No, not with +books, nor pictures, but with glazed cases containing old patch-boxes +and old fans. Mrs. Farquharson had seen Mr. Singleton and Mr. Leonard +once. But the trio of painters was inseparable no longer. Mr. Knowles +had married their favorite model. "The hussy!" said Mrs. Farquharson. + +One reminiscence followed another. + +"Ah, me," she sighed. "Your father and mother was a pair of lovers if +ever there was a pair. As long as I knew them, they never had a +word--much less words. 'Pard' he called her. 'What shall we do to-day, +Pard?' he would ask her of a morning. She would want him to be at his +pictures 'On such a sunshiny morning!' he would say. And the next day, +maybe, it would rain. 'You know I can't paint these dark days,' says he. +And off they would go, on some harum-scarum or other, like a couple of +children. Like a couple of children--and so they ever were, too. Do you +mind my speaking of them?" + +"I love it," Phyllis assured her. "I--you know I have had no one with +whom I could talk about my mother and father. Uncle Peter--" She could +not finish the sentence. + +"Yes, yes, my deary dear, I know," said Mrs. Farquharson soothingly. +"Your mother knew what he thought. Often and often she told me she +wished she could find a way to make Sir Peter not think so hard of her. +'Oh, Farquharson,' says she, 'he thinks I snared Robert. If he only knew +how hard I tried to refuse him.' She was wild for a stage career when +first they met. It grieved her sorely that your uncle didn't know the +rights of it; but, bless your heart, she couldn't bear the thought of +any one, high or low, not being good friends with her. She was that +tender-hearted, you wouldn't believe. But along with it as proud +as--as--I can't think of his name--that makes the matches. You know, my +dear." + +Mrs. Farquharson mused over her memories + +"Your father was her first love-affair," she resumed. "She was wrapped +up in her acting till she met him. Her mother and father were both on +the stage. Did you know that? Yes, my deary dear, she told me a +costume-trunk was her cradle, and a dressing-room the only nursery that +ever she knew. She hated to give it all up, but she did; your mother +loved your father beyond all that ever I saw or heard of, and he +worshiped the ground she walked on. Strong words, my dear, but true as +true." + +It was midnight before they knew it. The dark circles under her +darling's eyes gave Mrs. Farquharson occasion for concern. Genevieve had +visited the bedroom with clean linen in her arms. + +"I will take a short walk," whispered John to Phyllis. + +Poor Phyllis. She needed her old nurse; the excitement and fatigue had +exhausted her completely. + +Standing in the square, looking upward at the stars, a white-faced poet, +his thoughts unutterable, at last saw the lights in her windows grow +dim and disappear. + +On the stairs he met Mrs. Farquharson. Her voice was anxious as she bade +him good night. + +From the little sitting-room John could see into the bedroom. The light +shone on the face of Phyllis asleep. + +He sat watching the dying fire for a long while. Finally he rose, slowly +wound up his watch, turned out the gas, and lay down on the sofa. He +soon slumbered peacefully. + +In the gray dawn Phyllis awakened. Recollections slowly crowded upon her +consciousness. She rose and stood by the window, looking out on the +quiet square, and at the houses, opposite, emerging from obscurity with +the growing light. She stepped to the door and peeped into the other +room. John lay on the sofa, sleeping soundly, one arm flung boyishly +over his head. + +The rooms were very cold. She took the coverlet from her bed and spread +it over him. + +He stirred a little. "Thanks, old chap," he murmured sleepily. + +Phyllis tiptoed back to bed. + + + + +VII + + +Within a fortnight their rooms were transformed. Mrs. Farquharson +declared she would not have known them herself. + +John's old room, dismantled, yielded his bookshelves and his books; his +father's old desk, a Sheraton, and therefore a beauty and joy forever; +and his armchair, which took its place in a corner of the cheery +sitting-room and seemed to say--"Come, sit here, and be comfortable," as +naturally as though it had been established there for years. Certainly +it had this advantage over the other chairs; it was so roomy John and +Phyllis could sit in it together; and often did. + +There were photographs of his father as a young man; and of his mother, +a flower-like creature, who had faded like a flower, leaving a fragrant +memory. Phyllis gazed at her picture with wistful eyes; and once, when +John was absent, held it to her lips. + +But Phyllis's old valentines gave the rooms their charm. A dozen or +more, framed in dull gold, hung on the walls, their delicate coloring +softened by the passing of many years; their sentiment as fresh and +gentle as of yesterday. + +On the day after her marriage, Phyllis had written this letter:-- + + DEAR UNCLE PETER:-- + + John Landless and I were married yesterday. We have found a + pleasant place to live, with Farquharson, my old nurse. I hope you + will try to think of me as kindly as you can, and kindly, too, of + John, whose heart is pure gold, and all mine, as mine is his. I + want you to know I am sorry, even when I am happiest,--and, indeed, + Uncle Peter, I am happy,--sorry for the pain my thoughtlessness + gave you? sorry for the mischief that was done, unconsciously, + because I did not tell you, long ago, that I was learning to love + him. It would have been far, far better to have told you? I am + truly, truly sorry. Some day, when you want me to, I hope to tell + you all this much better than I can write it. + + I have a favor to ask of you, Uncle Peter. I want my valentines. + Could Burbage put them all in the leather cases, and send them, by + Thompson, to Saint Ruth's? And, please, I ask you to send nothing + else? just the valentines, please, Uncle Peter. + + Always lovingly, + PHYLLIS. + +On the following afternoon, John went to Saint Ruth's to tell the news, +and announce his unavoidable absence from the Settlement for the month +to be devoted to his book. + +"And to you," he said, as he kissed Phyllis good-bye. + +"Tell Mrs. Thorpe we shall both be back in a month, eager to do more +than ever," was her reply to this. "Tell her, please, not to think we +are selfish; but the little book is so important just now." + +Phyllis listened, smilingly, to Mrs. Farquharson's gossip about her +lodgers. + +"'Never again,' he says to me solemnly, and pointing at me with his long +finger. 'The keys I shall leave in the cases as I ever have, but never +again touch dust-cloth to my fans and patch-boxes!' And never have I +since that day, which is seven years if it's a minute. He dusts them +himself of a Sunday morning. I've caught him at it!" Mrs. Farquharson +picked a thread from her skirt, and carefully wound it around her +finger. + +"Speaking of catching him at it reminds me of that Mrs. Burbage," she +continued. She never referred to her save as "that" Mrs. Burbage; the +designation expressed anathema. "I have wondered, did ever it occur to +you whether Sir Peter asked that Mrs. Burbage to take the advertisements +to the papers; it being my belief that if he ever did she never did. And +consequently, however could I see them, and know my deary dear wanted +her old nurse?" + +The whir of a motor, immediately below the windows, caused Mrs. +Farquharson to look out. + +"Whoever is that now? A man in leggings and a middle-aged woman in +spectacles. I never set eyes on her before. He's beginning to take the +little leather trunks out. Whatever is--" + +Phyllis's intuition was swift as light. A glimpse from another window, +and-- + +"It is Uncle Peter's car, Farquharson," she exclaimed. "The boxes are +the old Valentines you remember so well--that I sent for yesterday. The +woman is----" + +"That Mrs. Burbage, of course. She found me quick enough when she wanted +to!" + +Phyllis was in flight down the stairs. Mrs. Farquharson smoothed her +hair, and followed majestically. They met in the hall. While Thompson +carried the boxes up, Phyllis introduced the rivals. They talked for a +few moments constrainedly, surveying each other as though watchful for +an opening. When the last of the cases had gone up Phyllis said:-- + +"I want to hear news of my uncle, and show Burbage our pretty rooms. You +will excuse us, Farquharson, won't you?" + +"Certainly, my dear," she replied; then, addressing Mrs. Burbage--"Shall +I light the gas for you, ma'am? I see your age is beginning to tell on +your eyes." + +"Oh, no, thank you, ma'am," replied Burbage. "I can see perfectly. +Though your hall _is_ uncommonly dark." + +Both shots told. Phyllis hurried Burbage upstairs. + +There was little to learn. Sir Peter had not spoken her name since she +had left. He had given her note to Burbage. + +"Carry out these directions implicitly," he had said. But Burbage +allowed herself latitude; the directory gave Mrs. Farquharson's +address--and here, rather than to Saint Ruth's she had brought the +valentines--eager to see her darling,--now a bride. + +Phyllis chatted happily with her for an hour. She spoke affectionately +of her uncle. "It will all come out right in the end," she concluded. + +Burbage promised to come often to see her. + +"My pretty," she whispered, as she held Phyllis's hand, in parting, "I +warn you of this Mrs. Farquharson. A woman with eyes like hers is not to +be trusted." + +The framed valentines were hung when John came home. Thus they were the +first of their Lares and Penates; the first of the pretty things that +made a home of lodgings. + +"Ah, John, you have no idea how I love my old valentines," said Phyllis +that evening, as they looked around the rooms. "I love them dearly for +themselves--as well as for their association with my mother. Aren't they +sweet and pretty?" + +"Indeed, they are," said John warmly. "Don't they light up the rooms, +though?" + +And so, with John's books and furniture, and Phyllis's valentines, the +rooms were transformed. "I wouldn't know them myself" was Mrs. +Farquharson's oft-repeated comment. + + * * * * * + +Of course you have read "Old Valentines, and Other Poems," by John +Landless; that is the disadvantage under which this story labors. You +know, beforehand, that the little book won instant hearing; you know +that "Lyrics" quickly followed, and the favorable verdict of the critics +whose good opinion was most worth having. When that wonderful +epic--"London: A Poem"--made its appearance, our poet was fairly on the +royal road. + +But you must pretend you don't know all this; and that "Lyrics" and +"London" are not, at this moment, in plain sight on your reading-table. +You must forget that you saw John's portrait in the last "Bookman." +Unless you are good at make-believe, it is no fun at all. You must know +nothing of the rosy glow on the peaks of Parnassus, so that you may +struggle with John and Phyllis up the first, heart-breaking, storm-swept +steeps. + +We are back in their pretty rooms now. Are you there? Very well, then; +we proceed. + +They had lived at Mrs. Farquharson's for a fortnight. John worked +steadily at his desk; Phyllis sewed. Poetry reads very smoothly on a +printed page; but Phyllis had not realized that ten satisfying lines is +a fair morning's stint; nor that a little book of synonyms is first aid +in emergency cases; nor that one may talk as much as one pleases at +times, but must be quiet as a mouse when the pen is scratching away so +busily; she had to learn that when John's eyes were full of anguish he +was probably at his best. + +"Phyllis," said John, one morning, looking up from his writing. + +"Yes, dear." + +"That's all--just Phyllis," he replied, smiling. + +She beamed at him over her embroidery. The pen resumed its slow +progress. Phyllis rocked happily. When the pen paused again, she watched +his face. It welcomed speech, so-- + +"What word from the publishers?" asked Phyllis. + +"They will have none of it," replied John. "They all tell me the verses +have merit; they all regret the public taste; but--in short, business is +business." + +Phyllis bit her thread in two. John continued + +"If I could get the first little book out,--and reviewed in the papers +that count,--I have enough verses for a second, to follow at once, and +catch the favoring breeze;--but if there is no first, how can there be a +second?" + +Phyllis shook her head. The idiosyncrasies of the publishing trade were +beyond her comprehension. How they could refuse such beautiful--Well! + +"I had a proposal from Kendall, Ransome & Company yesterday afternoon +that I meant to have told you about--only Miss Neville's and Mark +Holroyd's coming to spend the evening knocked it out of my head." + +"Wasn't it dear of them! Didn't Peggy look sweet in that blue gown? What +was the proposal, John? Any proposal is encouraging isn't it?" asked +Phyllis. + +"I suppose so," John answered, running his hand through his hair. "But +this one couldn't be accepted under the circumstances They offered to +publish the book if I would pay the cost of printing and relinquish +copyright." + +"The idea!" exclaimed Phyllis. + +"I laughed at it myself," replied John. "I had another reason for +laughing than the one they knew, though. For, really, I am so sure of my +little book that I might have accepted the offer--if I had the money." + +"Would it cost a great sum?" inquired Phyllis. + +"Something less than fifty pounds for the first edition; a small +edition. If there were a second, of course, they would pay the charges, +but I should get nothing." + +Phyllis sat sewing thoughtfully. Suddenly John saw that her eyes were +filled with tears. + +"If there weren't me to think of, you might--" she began. + +John had her in his arms in the big chair in less time than it takes to +tell it. When her troubled heart was comforted, he returned to his desk. + +"However, I have been the rounds of the publishers now. I started with +the best and I have seen them all. I have condescended to the smallest. +I have even tried the Populars. But it has all been of no use. Same +story everywhere. 'Marked ability, but we regret.'" + +"If you had friends with influence----" Phyllis began, but John +interrupted her. + +"I wouldn't if I could, and I haven't if I would," said he. "But the +fact is there's less of that than you think. 'Pull' isn't required; I +can say that even when I am at the end of my rope. Books are published +honestly, on their quality; mine simply hasn't the quality the public +likes. It may be Art--but will it sell? That's the question." + +Having plumbed the depths, John took up his pen again; his chin resolute +as ever. + +That evening when Mrs. Farquharson tapped at the door, John was teaching +Phyllis chess. + +"Just in time, Farquharson," said Phyllis. "I am routed horse and +foot--by a man without a queen, too." + +The chessboard was set aside; a chair brought forward; but Mrs. +Farquharson would not sit down; she rarely would when John was present. + +"No, my dear, no. I just dropped in for a minute--not to disturb ever. +Besides, Genevieve's walking out with her young man, and there's the +bell to watch. No, I just dropped in to say that Mr. Rowlandson--the +rooms over yours, Mr. Landless--Mr. Rowlandson says, 'Tell the young +lady she may like to go up to my rooms some morning when I am not there +to bother her,' he says, 'and look at my fans and patch-boxes. They're +pretty, too,' says he, 'as pretty as her valentines.' And so they are, +my deary dear, and you must go up and see them. Oh, yes, he knows all +about your valentines. He bought them for your uncle, at your father's +sale, and a pretty penny they cost. More than two hundred pounds. It +seems your uncle was bidding against some public institution." + +Mrs. Farquharson replaced the proffered chair. + +"Is the poetry book to be out soon, sir?" she asked. "I hope so, I am +sure. I'm that anxious to see your name in gold letters on the cover. +Good-night, sir. Good-night, my dear. Are you certain you don't want +more coals? Well, then, good-night." + +John and Phyllis had their usual good-night talk by the fire. + +"And so Mark Holroyd and the Honorable Margaret are engaged," said John, +replacing a fallen coal with the tongs. + +Phyllis put her feet on the low, brass fender, and tucked in her skirt. + +"Yes, they are engaged," she replied. "It is to be announced very soon. +Peggy says it shouldn't be called an engagement, but rather a two-year +probationary period. She could hardly wait to tell me. The darling! That +was why she was so anxious to help me unwrap the rug in the little +room." + +An old prayer-rug, with a golden tree of life in its deep blue center, +was the Honorable Margaret's wedding gift; Mark sent a coffee +percolator. + +Phyllis sighed. + +"She will have a beautiful wedding," she said softly. "Ah, John, you +don't know what that means to a girl." + +John poked the fire. + +Suddenly Phyllis laughed. + +"How could I have forgotten to tell you about the cards?" she continued. +"It was so funny, and so like Peggy Neville. You see,--her card was +fastened to the rug with a bit of ribbon--and on it was written---'With +love and sympathy.' When Peggy saw it she shrieked. 'Oh, Phyllis!' she +said, 'mother's cousin, Caroline Molesworth, has been at the hospital +for a week; day before yesterday she had her surgical operation, and +yesterday I sent flowers. I wrote the cards at home,--and they got +mixed. On hers is written--"May all your days be as full of joy as these +last few days have been!"'" + + * * * * * + +In the night Phyllis found herself wide awake. She lay quietly +considering a new thought that had come to her, somehow, while she +slept. If she only dared! Oh, no, no! She couldn't ask him. And +yet--She fell asleep again wondering whether--perhaps, just +possibly--she could do it, if she kept her mind firmly fixed on John's +book. + + + + +VIII + + +Bookshops are the most charming of all shops because they relate +themselves so intimately to their visitors. Mr. Rowlandson's gained by +its setting--at the corner of the green square. Not a very good place +for trade, you would say. However, he thrived. + +His shop-window does not differ from a score of others one may see, on a +morning's walk: a shallow bay-window, with small, square panes of +inferior glass; the familiar array of old books turn their mellow +title-pages toward the light; a window designed for lingering. Three +rows, or four, of books--and a few old prints--may be examined from the +front; these whet the appetite. But two other rows are so set in the +window as to necessitate sidelong inspection, and tempt the observer to +take two steps around the corner. Here, to be at ease, one must stand +with one foot on the first of the four stone stairs leading downward to +the door; stairs worn by the footfalls of four generations of +book-hunters. Just within the door one sees an alluring stack of books, +the topmost sustaining a neatly printed sign--"Sixpence--your choice." + +In short--the foot once placed upon the first of these descending stairs +returns not to its fellow. A little bell rings, and one is inside. + +Against the background of his overflowing shelves, with his +old-fashioned clothes, his stooping shoulders, his iron-gray hair, and +his firm, tender, and melancholy face,--you will never visit Samuel +Rowlandson's shop without wishing to frame him as he stands, and set him +in the window, among the other rare old prints. + +He must have known you a long, long time to intrude a particular book +upon your notice; and then with the air of consulting a connoisseur +rather than suggesting a purchase. Yet he is a shrewd dealer. Not for +Samuel Rowlandson is the fairly marked price on the fly-leaf; nor even +hieroglyphics representing cost. A book is worth what it will fetch; and +every customer's purchasing power is appraised with discrimination, +concealed, indeed, but most effective. + +The shop grows larger as your eyes become accustomed to the gloom of its +remoter part. There are four thousand books on those overweighted +shelves; all sorts and conditions of books; big folios and little +duodecimos, ragged books and books clothed by Rivière and Bedford. Once +he thought a Roger Payne binding had found its way to the shop, an +inadvertent bargain; but, alas! the encyclopædia dashed his tremulous +hopes; years before the date on the title-page that seedy but glorious +craftsman had laid down his tools forever. + +The shelves are catholic: Samuel Pepys, immortally shameless; Adam +Smith, shaken; Beaumont and Fletcher, in folio as they should always be +found; Boswell's Johnson, of course, but Blackstone's "Commentaries" +also; Plutarch's "Lives" and Increase Mather's witches; all of Fielding +in four stately quarto volumes; Sterne, stained and shabby; Congreve, in +red morocco, richly gilt; Molière, pocket size, in an English +translation; Gibbon in sober gray; Burton's "Anatomy"---- + +"The only book," says Mr. Rowlandson, "that ever put me to sleep two +hours before I wished." + +Here is Addison's "Spectator," its near neighbor Steele; the +"Gentleman's Magazine," a long run this, but not complete; rare Ben +Jonson, rubbed at the joints; Spenser's "Faerie Queen," with marginal +notes in a contemporary hand; the "History of the Valorous and Witty +Knight Errant," in sable morocco, with armorial decorations; Tacitus in +all his atrocity, Herbert, all gentleness. + +Overweighted shelves! Overweighted, indeed, for the books stand +double-breasted. One must never assume a volume is not in stock because +it is not in sight, though Mr. Rowlandson himself does not always know. + +"Otway," he ponders, in response to your inquiry; "let me think. H'm. +Yes, yes, to be sure, behind the set of 'English Men of Letters.' Not +there? H'm. Well, I must have sold him, then. Oh, no. You will find him +in that row of old dramatists, behind the--yes, there! A little to the +left--Ah! of course. Old Otway, and a very nice, sound copy, too." + +Not that all the books in Mr. Rowlandson's shop are old; his clientele +is too diversified. The moderns are there, too. Thackeray and Dickens; +Meredith and Carlyle; Tennyson; gallant old Sir Walter in various +editions. + +"Lockhart's 'Life,'" he would say, handling a volume from one hand to +the other. "The saddest true story in the world"; and then, brightening, +"Two pound, ten." + +Mr. Barrie is always handsomely represented on Mr. Rowlandson's shelves. +He is one of the few authors Mr. Rowlandson will recommend to casual +customers. He suggests "Margaret Ogilvy: A Memoir. By her Son." "But are +you sure it is by Barrie?"--they ask. He has sold more than four hundred +copies. Once a year for several years he has written a letter to Mr. +Barrie's publishers: "Why don't you bring out his Plays?" he pleads. +"Think of the thousands of people in the provinces and in America who +can't see them on the stage." + +Mr. Rowlandson treasures a half-promise from Mr. Hewlett that he will +write a novel around the picturesque, if unheroic, figure of François +Villon. "I am keeping his letter," says Mr. Rowlandson, "to insert in +the book--when it is published." + +Of De Morgan he observes, sententiously: "Too late." Joseph Conrad's +novels he shelves next to Stevenson's, significantly. He has a high +regard for Arthur Christopher Benson's essays. "But does the man think I +have as much shelving as the Museum?" he growls. + +But these newer books are the minority. The composed, brown calf +bindings give the shop its tone,--and its faint odor, too; a cultivated +taste, the liking for that odor of old books. + +Mr. Rowlandson's desk is in the alcove at the back of the shop; and in +its lowest drawer, oftener than elsewhere, his gray cat, Selima, +stretches her lazy length. + +On a bright, crisp morning, nearly a week after Phyllis had lain awake +thinking, Mr. Rowlandson sat at this desk, looking through his post, +which consisted chiefly of book-catalogues. Having laid these aside, he +opened a bulky parcel the post had brought. It proved to be a thick, +square, black volume; a most unattractive book. But Mr. Rowlandson +viewed it with interest. + +"My me! My me!" he exclaimed, and read the title-page; "'Proceedings of +the British Engineering Society for the Year 1848.' So, you have finally +come to light, old hide-and-seek! Sir Peter Oglebay will be pleased. +From Brussels, of all the unlikely--Well, well, I must remember to +cancel the advertisement in the 'Athenaeum.'" + +He picked up a blue saucer from the floor and stood, for a moment, +watching Selima's quick paw, engaged in ablutions. + +"Over your ear it goes," said he. "That means customers." + +He began his morning's work with a feather duster. Occasionally he +straightened a row of books. The bell tinkled, and Phyllis, in her brown +coat and hat, stood, hesitant, at the door. She carried a parcel. + +"Mr. Rowlandson?" she asked timidly. + +"My name," he replied. "And you are Mrs. Landless. I have seen you +before, although you have not seen me." + +"I have heard a great deal about you, though, from Farquharson," said +Phyllis. "And yesterday I took advantage of your invitation to see the +pretty things in your rooms; I want to thank you for the opportunity; +they are lovely old things." + +"Mrs. F. took you up, did she? Well, they are pretty, and I am glad they +pleased you. A foolish fancy, Mrs. Landless; a foolish fancy for an old +man like me. But I am very fond of my fans and patch-boxes." + +"I should think you would love them," said Phyllis. "Where in the world +did you find them all?" + +"Oh, in all sorts of odd nooks. They turn up when one is looking for +them. Everything does, Mrs. Landless. That is one of the queer things +about collecting. I could tell you some curious stories. Your old +valentines, now. My me! The attics of the Continent must have been +ransacked for them. It is very interesting. But the scattering of a +collection is the sad part; saddest when books are dispersed. Only the +other day I saw an autograph letter of De Quincey's,--the opium-eater, +you know; it was written to the auctioneer who sold his library. It +seems De Quincey had his son buy a few of the books at his own auction. +The poor old fellow could not bear the thought of parting with them, I +fancy, when it came to the pinch." + +Mr. Rowlandson waited for Phyllis to say something. Poor Phyllis! It was +even more difficult than she had expected. She was tempted to retreat; +but she thought of John's book. + +"A remarkable coincidence,--your finding your way to Mrs. F.'s," +continued Mr. Rowlandson. "And a very happy one for her." + +"For me, too," said Phyllis. "We have you to thank for that." + +"Well--in a way." Mr. Rowlandson nodded. "It is strange what fortuitous +circumstances seem to direct the current of our lives. I say they seem +to, Mrs. Landless, for it may be only seeming. Perhaps all is planned +for us, even when our decisions rest on the toss of a penny." + +A gentle pressure against her skirt attracted Phyllis's attention. +Selima's arched back invited her caress. + +"Isn't that an unusual name for a cat?" she asked, when told of it. + +Mr. Rowlandson's eyes twinkled and he began to quote, straightway. His +voice was pleasant to hear:-- + + "'Twas on a lofty vase's side + Where China's gayest art had dy'd + The azure flowers, that blow; + Demurest of the tabby kind, + The pensive Selima reclin'd + Gazed on the lake below. + +"Thomas Gray, the poet, Mrs. Landless. The cat is historic. She was one +of Horace Walpole's pets at Strawberry Hill, his country-seat, when Gray +visited him there. Gray's first book was printed privately by Horace, +who had ample means and recognized genius. The book is scarce now; it +fetches five pounds and upward." + +He resumed the quotation:-- + + "Still had she gaz'd; but midst the tide + Two angel forms were seen to glide, + The Genii of the stream: + Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue + Thro' richest purple to the view + Betray'd a golden gleam. + + "The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: + A whisker first and then a claw, + With many an ardent wish, + She stretched in vain to reach the prize. + What female heart can gold despise? + What Cat's averse to fish? + +"Your husband doubtless knows the poem, Mrs. Landless. Mrs. F. tells me +he writes poetry himself. Some one once said of Gray that no other poet +entered the portals of fame with so slender a volume under his arm. He +wrote very little, Mrs. Landless, but he polished every letter of every +word until the lines were flawless as the facets of a diamond." + +"Did puss get the fish?" asked Phyllis, stooping to stroke Selima's +sleek, gray side again. + +"No," replied Mr. Rowlandson. "'The slipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd, +she tumbled headlong in.' But cats have nine lives, you know. + + "Eight times emerging from the flood + She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god + Some speedy aid to send. + No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, + Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. + A Fav'rite has no friend. + +"Now comes the moral," he continued. "Poets, in those days realized +their obligation to society: to tell it something for its own good." + +His eyes twinkled again; bright blue they were; friendly eyes, Phyllis +thought. + + "From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, + Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd, + And be with caution bold. + Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, + And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; + Nor all that glisters, gold." + +Mr. Rowlandson concluded, smiling. Phyllis returned his smile. The task +before her was still difficult, but she felt she had known this dear old +man a long, long time. She took the plunge. + +"Mr. Rowlandson, I came in to thank you for letting me see your +patch-boxes and fans; and to thank you, also, for having directed Mr. +Landless to Farquharson's house. But there was something else,--too." +She caught her breath prettily, in that quick way of hers. "It is a--a +matter of--of business." + +He bowed slightly, and awaited the expression of her wish. "I shall +recommend something of Barrie's; or else 'Lorna Doone,'" he reflected. + +"May I be seated?" asked Phyllis. + +"My me! My me!" exclaimed Mr. Rowlandson. "Here is a chair. I beg your +pardon Mrs. Landless." He seated himself on the third step of the +convenient ladder, leaning against the high, book-laden shelves. + +"You cannot imagine the nature of my errand," began Phyllis. It was +dreadfully hard to go on. Her eyes were brimming, but they should not +overflow if she could help it. + +Mr. Rowlandson looked at the parcel in her lap; and then at her face; +and then at the parcel again. She was not the first embarrassed visitor +he had seen--nor the twenty-first. + +"Shall I untie this for you?" he asked gently. + +Phyllis nodded; she could not speak. + +About twenty of the prettiest valentines were in the parcel. Mr. +Rowlandson laid them on a little table and looked through them quietly, +while Phyllis recovered her composure. + +"May I see if I can save your feelings a little?" his pleasant voice +said finally. "Mrs. Farquharson has told me of your--your quarrel with +Sir Peter. A pity; a great pity. And so, perhaps I can guess the rest. +The profession of poetry, inspiring as it is, is not--not exactly +remunerative; not--not in a large way. No, I fancy the returns are not +what you would call--well, say, generous. Things are not going quite so +smoothly and easily for you as you--that is, as they should for two +young people who have just started life together. And so it occurred to +you that these old valentines might be sacri--sold, to help, a little." + +He paused; Phyllis's handkerchief was at her eyes. + +"Ah, yes," he added, "I feared that was it." + +He gazed thoughtfully out of the window before he continued:-- + +"I am very sorry, my dear young lady. I am really very sorry. But I find +it necessary to confine my purchases strictly to books. My me! Yes, +strictly to books. If you had a few books, now, that you had ceased to +care for, I might allow you something eh?" + +"I have only the valentines, Mr. Rowlandson" said Phyllis. "It was very +silly and wrong for me to come to you. I can see that now. Of course, +you only buy and sell books." + +"Except when commissioned by customers," said Mr. Rowlandson. "An +invariable rule. If I could break it for any one, I--" + +"You have been very kind," said Phyllis, rising. "So kind that I think I +cannot leave you under a misapprehension. Mr. Landless's income is quite +sufficient for our modest needs." A sudden thought made her heart beat +rapidly. "Oh, Mr. Rowlandson! You must not think he knows I am here! +Although, of course, I meant to tell him if--if I had been successful." + +She hesitated again, and then, with a little appealing gesture, went +hurriedly on. + +"I think I should be quite frank with you. Mr. Landless has a book of +poems--I mean--poems enough to make a book. But, although he has tried +everywhere, he cannot find a publisher who is willing to undertake his +little book. It is such a very little one, too. One firm of publishers +offered to issue it if he would pay the cost, amounting to about fifty +pounds. They wanted the copyright, too, but they have yielded that +point. Farquharson told me you said that my uncle paid nearly two +hundred pounds for my valentines when--at the time of my father's sale; +and I thought, perhaps--perhaps----Do you see? I brought a few of the +prettiest ones to show you. I thought you might have forgotten how +pretty they are. I want so badly to have John's book published, because +he is certain to succeed if only this first little book can be brought +out." + +The bookseller made no reply. He sat on the step of the ladder, gazing +absently out of the window, over Phyllis's head. + +Be careful, Samuel Rowlandson, you old sentimentalist, with your faded +old patch-boxes and tattered old fans. You very nearly said something +then, quite out of the line of trade. Fortunately you thought it over, +for a minute or two, while Phyllis turned her pretty eyes away, to hide +the tears that filled them. Be careful, Samuel Rowlandson, or you will +say it now, as she tries to smile at you, with the corners of her sweet +mouth trembling. Be care--It is of no use; he will say it. + + * * * * * + +"I have thought of a way I might be of service to you," said Mr. +Rowlandson meditatively. "You see--it is not as though I did not know +the value of that collection of valentines. They are worth one hundred +pounds, at the lowest figure. Now--if you would not take offense, and +you should not, I am sure, when no offense is meant; I might offer to +lend you--say, fifty pounds, or half their lowest value, accepting the +valentines as security, and--" + +Phyllis's face lighted eagerly; then clouded again. + +"But, Mr. Rowlandson," she objected, "that wouldn't be--quite--you +know--businesslike, would it? I shouldn't like to do anything that John +would feel was not quite regular and proper." + +Mr. Rowlandson swallowed something in his throat. + +"I should make it very businesslike, indeed by asking you to sign a +note; drawn in the strictest, legal terms," he said gravely. "And I +should charge you interest, at the rate of five per cent, payable +half-yearly; on the appointed day." + +Phyllis considered his face with serious eyes; Mr. Rowlandson slowly +repeated:-- + +"Five percent? payable half-yearly; on the appointed day." + +"It really sounds quite--quite businesslike and regular," she said. "Are +you certain you can spare so large a sum?--without the slightest +inconvenience?" + +[Illustration: ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU CAN SPARE SO LARGE A SUM?] + +"Quite certain," said Mr. Rowlandson; and then added, "I always have a +little ready money laid by--waiting for a really safe investment--like +this one--at five per cent." + +Half an hour later Phyllis shook hands with the old bookseller. She had +an afterthought. + +"A few of the valentines are framed. Does that make any difference? And, +tell me, Mr. Rowlandson, how can they be taken from our rooms and +delivered at your shop?" + +"Well, now," said Mr. Rowlandson, pondering, "I am so much afraid of +fire in the shop it would really be a favor to me if you would let them +remain where they are--for the present; for the present, at least." + +Phyllis shook hands again. The little bell tinkled. She was gone. In her +purse were five ten-pound notes. In her heart was a glad song. + +Through the shop-window, Mr. Rowlandson watched her cross the street +swiftly. Then he turned. The valentines lay on the table, where she had +left them,--samples of the wares she brought to market. He wrapped them, +tied the parcel neatly, and carried it back to his desk. The square, +black volume labeled "Proceedings of the British Engineering Society" +caught his attention. He stared at it for some moments Then his blue +eyes twinkled. + + + + +IX + + +The copper coffee percolator bubbled genially on the snowy dinner table. +John and Phyllis were seated. Mrs. Farquharson set the soup tureen +before him, and hovered near. In the small grate a fire blazed +cheerfully; the firelight gleamed on the fine mahogany and ivory inlay +of the Sheraton desk. There lay John's manuscript,--returned this +afternoon from Oxford, with the stereotyped politeness that was so +disheartening. + +Phyllis's suppressed excitement gave her cheeks their color; John +feigned higher spirits than the occasion warranted; he made a point of +eating his soup; Phyllis tasted hers. + +Mrs. Farquharson served the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding (her +specialty), received due plaudits, and withdrew. John attacked the +dinner; Phyllis's fork toyed with her greens. The all-important subject +was not mentioned until Genevieve had cleared the table. Phyllis passed +John a small cup of black coffee. + +"Well, Phyllis," he said, "Byrne, the Dublin publisher, remains to us. +Oxford declines Cambridge verses." + +Then Phyllis, blushing like a rose, laid in his hand the five ten-pound +notes. He looked at her with perplexed eyes. + +"'"Old Valentines, and Other Poems," by John Landless, will appear +shortly,'" she fictitiously quoted. She had read such announcements +weekly, in his "Academy." + +"Oh, John, those horrid publishers won't retract their offer, will +they?" + +"My darling girl, where did you get this money?" + +"I will tell you all about it, John, dear; but first answer my +question? There isn't any doubt, is there? The book can be published +now?" + +"Why--no; or rather--yes," he said slowly. "If the money is really ours, +to do with as we please,--even to embark on so wild an adventure as a +book of poems. I can't conceive how you came by it, though, dearest." + +John held the ten-pound notes in his hand; he looked at them now, as if +half surprised to find them still there. + +Then Phyllis told him of her call at Mr. Rowlandson's shop; she +remembered every word of the conversation; and came out especially +strong on the rigid regularity of the transaction; the signed note, and +the five per cent, payable half-yearly, on the appointed day. John's +face was a study. + +"Oh, Phyllis! Phyllis!" he said softly, when she had finished. "You +would have sold your valentines--that you love so dearly! the old +valentines that are entwined with your memories of your mother. You +would have sold them! For me!" + +Phyllis smiled happily at him and gave him both of her hands, across the +little dinner table. When he could trust his voice, he said,-- + +"I am confident of my book. If I were not, of course, I couldn't let you +do this, darling; dear as it was of you to think of it,--and to execute +it so cleverly--so very cleverly. Old Rowlandson is a brick." + +"He is a very shrewd man of business," said Phyllis, looking at John +with misgivings "He always has a sum of ready money laid by, for +perfectly businesslike investments." + +"Of course," he reassured her. + +He knew he could meet the interest on Phyllis's note. As to the +principal--well, if worst came to worst he would be justified in +breaking his promise to his father that he would never borrow on his +expectations. Justified! John could almost see his father's smile of +approval. + +They sat in the big armchair together, and read the poems to be included +in the little book. + +"If I succeed in my profession I shall owe it all to you," said John to +Phyllis; and, when she would have made remonstrance, he added,--"Ah, my +dear, I like to have it so." + + * * * * * + +At the same hour, that evening, Sir Peter sat before his library fire. +An open magazine lay on his knee, pages downward. He held an unlighted +cigar in his hand. He stared moodily into the glowing coals. There were +new, sad lines in his stern face. + +Burbage entered. "Mr. Rowlandson to see you, sir. A very particular +matter, sir, he says." + +Sir Peter rose slowly when Mr. Rowlandson was shown into the room. Under +his arm were three parcels. + +"Glad to see you, Rowlandson," said Sir Peter. "How have you been since +we met last? H'm. It must be two years, or longer." + +"Thank you. I have enjoyed very good health, Sir Peter. Yes, it is all +of two years. I hope you are quite well, sir." + +"Fair; fair," said Sir Peter. + +"We do not get younger as we grow older," observed Mr. Rowlandson. He +laid two of the parcels on the big table, under the reading-lamp, and +proceeded to untie the other. + +A smile flickered across Sir Peter's face; he liked the old bookseller's +sturdy, independent ways. He had been dealing with him for a quarter of +a century. + +"My lad failed me to-day," Mr. Rowlandson explained, "and as I had an +old print of Charterhouse to be delivered to a customer, not far from +here, I thought I would bring you something that came this morning--a +book. A book for which you have waited a long time." + +Sir Peter drew his eyeglass from his pocket, and straightened the heavy, +black silk cord. + +"Well, well!" said he, when Mr. Rowlandson handed him the book, opened +at the title-page, with a little air of triumph. "The 'Proceedings' for +1848. This volume completes my set. It has given you a good bit of +trouble, eh?" He leafed it through, and examined one of the plates with +interest. + +"Oh, nothing to speak of," replied the bookseller, rubbing his hands +together with satisfaction, nevertheless. + +Sir Peter drew a check-book from a drawer; the amount was named. + +"Take a chair, Rowlandson," said Sir Peter. The check was written. Mr. +Rowlandson folded it precisely and put it into his pocketbook. They sat +for a moment or two without speaking. If the bookseller was expected to +take his departure, Sir Peter was too courteous to say so. + +"Will you drink a glass of sherry?" he asked, and touched a button, near +the fireplace. The sherry was served. The old bookseller squinted +through his glass at the light. + +"About the same date as the 'Proceedings,' or thereabouts?" he remarked +interrogatively. + +Sir Peter nodded. "Fifty-two. A choice year." + +"I was growing a great lad, then," commented Mr. Rowlandson. "You have +the advantage of me by several years, I fancy." + +"I shall not see sixty again," said Sir Peter; after a pause he +added,--"I hope your trade is good; but everything is going to the +devil, and I assume the bookselling business goes with the rest. The +radicals are in the saddle--and driving headlong to destruction." + +"I remember an aunt of mine, many years ago, who had fears for her +country," was Mr. Rowlandson's rejoinder. "She stopped taking in the +county paper, and depended on 'The Religious Weekly' for news, the rest +of her days. She said there were no signs of change in that. Old Aunt +Deborah! My me! But the bookselling trade does very well, thank you, Sir +Peter. The magazines are the only retarding influence." + +Mr. Rowlandson moved one of the parcels on the table a little nearer to +him and slyly loosened the string. + +"Occasionally I do a bit of business a little out of my line," he +continued. "This morning, for example, I made a deal that promises a +profit--a very pretty profit. Now that I come to think, it might be of +interest to you to hear of it. It was a deal in old valentines? I recall +you once bought a collection." + +Sir Peter started. + +"These old valentines were brought to the shop by a young woman in +reduced circumstances She did not want to sell them, I fancy. She seemed +rather fond of them." Mr. Rowlandson sipped his sherry; he lingered over +it. "Yes, I should say she was rather fond of them. Well,--that isn't my +affair. I advanced some money on them? just enough to tide over the +present difficulty. Of course, she and her young husband----" + +Sir Peter looked up quickly; he had been gazing into the fire. Mr. +Rowlandson's face was placid. + +"She and her young husband will want more money," he continued. "Yes, +they will certainly want more money. And when the proper time +comes----" He hesitated as though at a loss for the right words. "Down +I come on them--pounce! and sell out the valentines--and take my profit." +Mr. Rowlandson took another sip of sherry with evident enjoyment. + +Their eyes met. Sir Peter scowled. + +"She--was--my niece?" he inquired. + +"Well, bless my soul!" pondered Mr. Rowlandson, as though the thought +struck him for the first time. "They may have been the same valentines +you bought at that sale--whose was it?--so many years ago. Of course, +they may have been. I have a few of them with me--" He reached for the +parcel with the loosened string. + +"You know they are the same," said Sir Peter savagely. "Let this farce +end at once. You should be ashamed, Rowlandson, to seek your shabby +profit in the helplessness of a misguided child, ignorant of the +world--and its hard, rough usage. I am surprised that you would do +it--but that you should tell of it--even boast of it, amazes me. +However--trade blunts a certain delicacy of feeling that--" + +Sir Peter gave the bookseller a sharp look. Then he added,-- + +"I see your purpose in coming here now. You calculated shrewdly. +Well--you were right. I will pay you the sum advanced to her." + +Whatever emotion Mr. Rowlandson experienced he concealed. + +Sir Peter opened his check-book again, and dipped his pen. + +"How much did you say?" he asked. + +"The amount advanced was fifty pounds," said Mr. Rowlandson mildly. + +"Fifty pounds!" exclaimed Sir Peter. + +Mr. Rowlandson held his wine-glass to the light again, and looked +through it with half-closed eyes. + +"Fifty pounds," he quietly repeated, "and took her note, with interest +at five per cent. I could have made it six as well as not, she wanted +the money so badly." + +Sir Peter turned his back on the bookseller the pen busied itself with +the check. A moment later it was offered to him. + +"Thank you, Sir Peter. My interest in this transaction is not for sale." +Mr. Rowlandson spoke in a low tone, firmly. + +"But I say my niece shall not be indebted to you! Not one penny!" + +Sir Peter's fist came down on one of the parcels lying on the table. +There was a crash of broken glass. Mr. Rowlandson's eyes twinkled +merrily. + +"That is the Charterhouse print," said he. "My customer will be +disappointed. It was promised for this evening." + +The trivial incident cooled Sir Peter's wrath. + +"I insist on your taking the check, Rowlandson" he said sternly. "You +will understand it is an impossible situation. My niece is not under the +necessity of seeking aid from strangers. She knows that all I have is +hers. That I would----" He stopped abruptly. + +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Rowlandson, leaning forward. "Let us talk about +her--and her young poet. What an upstanding, fine, frank lad he appears +to be. Do you think he has great talent?" + +"I do not know that he has any talent whatever!" replied Sir Peter +angrily. "I know he stole my niece from me? the puppy!" + +"Well, well," said Mr. Rowlandson gently. "That was wrong. Wrong, +indeed. And I suppose you had showed him clearly that by proceeding +openly he had a fair field to win her, too?" + +Sir Peter set his teeth. The old bookseller repeated his question:-- + +"You did not discourage the lad, I am sure? He knew he had a chance, +eh?" + +"I must decline to discuss that with you, Rowlandson." + +"Chut! Chut!" murmured Mr. Rowlandson. "We are just two old fellows +jogging toward the grave together, even if you are a knight, and I am a +bookseller. Come, now, Sir Peter, tell me all about it. It will do you +good. I will wager you have been eating your heart out, for a month, in +this great, lonely house, with no one to whom you could talk of your +sorrow. Come, come, Sir Peter." Mr. Rowlandson rose. "Do not twenty-five +years of honest dealing with you entitle me to a little of your +confidence?" + +Sir Peter stood silently by the fireplace, his back turned to the old +bookseller. Mr. Rowlandson set his empty wine-glass carefully on the +table, and then drew from their paper the valentines Phyllis had left at +the shop. + +"I read an essay of Mr. Benson's, last night,--and one bit comes to me +now," he said. "The essay opens with an old French proverb, 'To make +one's self beloved is the best way to be useful.' Then the essayist goes +on to say that this is one of the deep sayings which young men, and even +young women, ignore; which middle-aged folk hear with a certain troubled +surprise? and which old people discover to be true, and think, with a +sad regret, of opportunities missed, and of years devoted, how +unprofitably, to other kinds of usefulness. We expect, like Joseph in +his dreams, says Mr. Benson, that the sun and moon and the eleven stars, +to say nothing of the sheaves, will make obeisance to us. And then, as +we grow older the visions fade. The eleven stars seem unaware of our +existence and we are content if, in a quiet corner, a single sheaf gives +us a nod of recognition." + +Mr. Rowlandson smiled pleasantly, and patted the old valentines under +his hand. + +"And then," he continued, "the essayist says, we make further +discoveries that give us pain; that when we have seemed to ourselves +most impressive, we have only been pretentious; that riches are only a +talisman against poverty; that influence comes mostly to people who do +not pursue it, and do not even know they possess it; and that the real +rewards of life have fallen to simple-minded and unselfish people who +have not sought them. I fear I have not quoted the essay quite +accurately. I had a wonderful memory, once. It fails--it fails. But it +is very prettily put, in the book, and of course it is all quite true." + +Mr. Rowlandson smiled again, at Sir Peter's back. He turned the +valentines over, one at a time:-- + +"My me! My me!" he mused, aloud. "Think of all the old loves, of bygone +years, these represent. School-boy and schoolgirl loves--most of them, +probably; springtime loves. The perfume will always linger in these +poor, faded leaves. You never married, Sir Peter, did you? Nor I; nor I. +My me! My me! I remember a girl--when I was twenty; in Hertfordshire--my +old home. Bessy was her name. She had the softest brown hair--in a +thick braid. She wore pink-checked gingham. My me! She married a +farrier, fifty years ago." + +Mr. Rowlandson bent over one of the valentines, to read the verses, +finely engraved, beneath a spray of blue forget-me-nots:-- + + "Wilt thou be mine? + Dear love, reply, + Sweetly consent, or else deny. + Whisper softly; none shall know. + Wilt thou be mine? + Say aye, or no." + +He looked up, smiling still, and went on,--"I fancy, Sir Peter, you, +too, have your memories; you can recall some sweet face of your youth, +for which you would have thought the world well lost; you can bring back +the memory of some fragrant day when you and she looked forward with +bright hopes to happy years that never were to be. A golden day; a +golden day." + +Sir Peter still stood by the fireplace, silent. + +"And now this dear girl of yours--your niece--has strayed away from you, +with the boy of her heart! But, how willingly,--how gladly, she would +come back to you, and be yours again--as well as his, if you only opened +your arms for her--and said the right words of welcome to her--and to +him. She would come back and renew your faith in youth, and hope, and +love, and all the beautiful things of this old earth--which we shall +leave so soon; so soon, that every lost day should be mourned. Ah, yes! +I am sure she waits only for the welcoming words." + +Mr. Rowlandson shook his head, slowly, as he concluded,-- + +"I am proud for myself, and sad for you, that I should be the one to +launch his little book; the little book for which she was willing to +sell her precious valentines. The little book may not set the Thames +afire, but--ah! how the thought of it has kindled their young hearts." + +Sir Peter turned from the fireplace and walked the length of the long +library; then, slowly, back to the table again. + +"You can take the check now, Rowlandson," he said, brokenly; "I shall go +to her--and bring them home to-morrow." + +He dropped into his chair, and covered his face with his hands; Mr. +Rowlandson turned to the fireplace. He drew from his pocketbook the note +Phyllis had signed, and held it in the grate until it blazed. Then he +puckered his mouth, curiously, as if trying to whistle. When he faced +Sir Peter again, his blue eyes twinkled. + +"You owe me a shilling for a new glass for my Charterhouse print," said +he. + +Ten minutes later, when Mr. Rowlandson left the house, Burbage opened +the door. He carried a parcel that clinked, as he stepped out, briskly. + +"Will you require anything further, Sir Peter?" asked Burbage. + +"Yes. Have Miss Phyllis's little study-room, and the two adjoining +bedrooms made ready, Burbage. My niece and her husband are coming home +to-morrow." + + + + +X + + +As John lay between sleep and waking, the next morning, he was conscious +that in a moment he would capture an elusive, happy thought. + +He had it! The book could now be published! + +While he dressed he sang an ancient ballad, at the top of his voice, to +an air he improvised. + + "Phillida was a fair maide + As fresh as any flower; + Whom Harpalus the herd-man praide + To be his paramoure. + + "Harpalus and eke Corin, + Were herd-men both ysere; + And Phillida would twist and spinne, + And thereto sing ful clere. + +"Phyllis!" cried John. "Can you hear in the bedroom? I sing of thee!" + +"I thought her name was Phillida," said Phyllis, setting the bedroom +door ajar. + +"Phillida is Old English for Phyllis," he explained. + +"Oh!" said Phyllis. + + "But Phillida was al to coye, + For Harpalus to winne; + For Corin was her only joye, + Who forst her not a pinne. + + "How often would she flowers twine! + How often garlants make + Of cowslips and of columbine; + And all for Corin's sake. + + "Harpalus prevayled nought, + His labour all was lost; + For he was farthest from her thought, + And yet he loved her most. + +"Phyllis! I say, Phyllis!" cried John, working his hairbrushes +alternately. "I am Corin. Who was Harpalus?" + +"You flatter yourself, sir," replied Phyllis "I am pining for Harpalus." + +"Tell me his last name, then, that I may seek and slay him!" said John. + +Between stanzas, John forgot the air, but he improvised anew, and sang +on, regardless. + + "'Oh, Harpalus!' thus would he say; + Unhappiest under sunne! + The cause of thine unhappy daye, + By love was first begunne. + + "'But wel-a-way! that nature wrought + Thee, Phillida, so faire: + For I may say that I have bought + Thy beauty al to deare.'" + +"Cheer up, Harpalus!" Phyllis waved her hand through the half-open +doorway. "Faint heart never won fair lady!" + +"He is too far gone," said John. "Besides, I, Corin, have nine-tenths of +the law on him. + + "'O Cupide, graunt this my request, + And do not stoppe thine eares.'" + +The song ceased while John tugged at his collar. When the button finally +slipped in, he muttered:-- + +"There is a musical line for you? 'And do not stoppe thine eares.' I +would rather have written that line than take Quebec. + + "'O Cupide, graunt this my request, + And do not stoppe thine eares, + That she may feel within her breste + The paines of my dispaire.'" + +John ended upon a mournful quaver. + +"Phillida has pangs of a different sort, thank you," said Phyllis, +coming into the sitting-room. "Pangs of hunger. Good-morning, Genevieve. +Is breakfast served? Yes, indeed, it is a beautiful morning." + +"Heartless creature!" said John. He was putting on his coat now. + +"Good-morning, fair Genevieve. Wags the world well with you? M-m-m. +Doesn't the bacon smell good?" + +"Poor Harpalus," said Phyllis, pouring tea. "I was very fond of +Harpalus." + +John's eyes were mischievous. + +"Why didn't you propose to _him_, then?" he asked, accenting the second +pronoun. + +Phyllis threatened him with a buttered muffin. + +"John Landless! I shall not speak to you again for--ten minutes." + +It was the jolliest breakfast. Mrs. Farquharson's bacon was always +crisp; she could tell a strictly fresh egg as far as she could see it; +if you had tossed one of her muffins into the air it would have floated +out of the open window. "Tell her I said so," said John to little +Genevieve. + +It is a pity we know so little of Genevieve. One has an uneasy sense of +having neglected her. Well--her young man loved her; and that is enough +for Genevieve. + +John stuffed the manuscript into his greatcoat pocket. + +"Oh, dear, if I could only wish myself invisible for an hour and go with +you to the publishers," said Phyllis. "It doesn't seem possible to wait +until afternoon to hear what they say." + +John reflected. + +"You were going to Saint Ruth's this morning, weren't you?" he asked. + +"Yes, I shall be there the whole morning. I don't believe one of those +blessed babies will remember me. I have a little shopping to do, too." + +"Why not do your shopping about eleven; meet me at Mildmay's, for +luncheon, at one; and we will 'bus over to Saint Ruth's together, and +make an afternoon of it." + +Phyllis kissed him. + +"What a perfectly delightful plan!" she exclaimed. "How shall I find +Mildmay's? Oh! John, dear; how much has happened since then." + +"No regrets yet?" he asked, searching her eyes. + +She put her hands on the lapels of his coat. + +"Not even one tiny, little regret," said Phyllis. + +As he ran down the stairs, however, she called after him. + +"Oh, John! I forgot. I have one regret." + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Harpalus"--whispered Phyllis, leaning over the banister; and kissed her +hand to him. + +Phyllis's truthful eyes had not hidden from John, this morning, or ever, +that her heart was often saddened by thoughts of her uncle. She knew +his way of life so well; could tell, at any hour, what he was probably +doing. She could picture his lonely evenings. Alas, she knew his pride; +and her own; John's, too. She often thought of her letter to him, with +its hint of reconciliation; she wondered if she should have said more. +Then his cruel words about her mother--As often she concluded she had +said all there was to say. And she would turn her thoughts elsewhere, so +that the bitter remembrance might not spoil the sweetness of these days. + +John waited for her at the entrance to Mildmay's. The moment she saw him +she knew all was well. + +As they went in she nudged him. + +"To the left, John. I want to sit at our little table." + +The same waitress, too;--what smiles! Phyllis had chocolate because she +liked chocolate; but John must have tea--because he had it before. + +He told her of the interview with the publishers; the little book would +appear in April; May at the latest. + +The top of the motor-bus, of course. + +From the crossing where they alighted one should take the street to the +right to Saint Ruth's. John turned to the left, at once. + +"I should never have forgiven you if you hadn't," said Phyllis, as they +started eagerly down the mean street, in which noisy trams threatened +the lives of ragged, venturesome children. Here was the very place! How +slowly they had walked there, while he told her of his love. How long +ago it seemed. Phyllis's hand found its way into John's pocket--and was +welcomed there. + +They got to Saint Ruth's, finally. Dr. Thorpe's greeting was cordial; +Mrs. Thorpe kissed Phyllis affectionately. The men went to the warden's +office; Mrs. Thorpe took Phyllis to her room. They had a long talk. +Phyllis found Mrs. Thorpe could be plain-spoken as well as kind. + +"You did wrong, dear girl," she said, with her arms around her. "I know +how hard it was to hear him utter those terrible untruths; but you +should have been more patient. Nothing he said could injure any +one--least of all your mother, who is now where there is no +misunderstanding--and no pain. Your wounded heart impelled you to a mad +act, dear girl; but your pride has kept you in the wrong. John Landless +is a dear fellow--and Donald thinks he is a true poet. I have laughed at +him until he is shy about mentioning his 'profession' to me. It is +possible for you to be very happy. Soften your heart, dear girl, and you +will find the truest happiness in the happiness of your uncle. Your +mother would be the first to tell you to go to him and comfort his +loneliness--if she could. The best joys of life come to us through +self-surrender." + +Phyllis laid her head in Mrs. Thorpe's lap and had a good cry; then she +felt better. + +"Promise?" asked Mrs. Thorpe, smiling. + +"No, I won't promise," said Phyllis. "I couldn't promise now. But I will +try." + +"And now," said Mrs. Thorpe, "let's go and see the babies. There are +some new ones since you were here; but one wee mite is gone, forever." + +Phyllis sat on the floor among the babies, and played with them, until +her cheeks were rosy and her golden hair disheveled. Between romps she +told Mrs. Thorpe that John's book would soon be published. + +"Well, that is good news!" exclaimed Mrs. Thorpe. "Donald will be so +happy to hear of that. It is remarkable that he should have a book +published so soon. Poems, too." + +"Yes, it is remarkable," replied Phyllis demurely. "But then, John's +talent is remarkable." + +Meanwhile, in the warden's office, Dr. Thorpe sat at his desk and John +sat on it, and swung his long legs. He told him about the book. + +"By Jove! I congratulate you, with all my heart," said Dr. Thorpe +warmly. "You will let me know the first day it is on sale. I shall wish +to buy a copy." + +"Buy a copy!" John demurred. "Well, upon my word! You and Mrs. Thorpe +will receive a copy, affectionately inscribed by the author; the first +copy off the press--the second, I should say." + +Dr. Thorpe grinned. + +"Let me buy it, John," he said. "I shall go from one bookshop to +another, and in each I shall say,--'What! You haven't a copy of John +Landless's book! The sensation of the hour! The book London is so eager +to read that the presses can't turn them out fast enough! The book--'" + +John threw his cap at him. They looked at each other in the abashed way +of men between whom there is deep affection. + +"Your publisher's telephone wires would be hot for an hour with orders," +Dr. Thorpe concluded. + +"You should be a man of business," said John. "If you were a publisher I +should have had an easier time." + +"Nonsense! You had little or no trouble--" began Dr. Thorpe. + +"You are mistaken, Doctor," said John. "I had failed, and then Phyllis +pulled the strings. I can't tell you how, though. That is a secret." + +"I am prepared to believe anything of her. How buoyant and beautiful +she is. By the way--anything from Sir Peter?" + +"Not a word. She wrote him a note, asking for her collection of +valentines. They were her mother's, and she wanted them. He sent the +valentines, but no reply to her note." + +"Poor old buffer," said Dr. Thorpe. "Of course, he misses her +dreadfully." + +"I should think he would; and she misses him, too. I would be glad to +see them good friends again if--if I needn't be put in a false position. +He is--disgustingly rich, you know." John hesitated. He looked at the +floor, and traced the pattern of the carpet with his stick. "He called +me a sneak--and ordered me out of the house. But I can afford to forgive +that. It was horribly sudden for the poor old chap--and--all that." + +Dr. Thorpe's eyes were moist. + +"I meant to look into your spiritual state, later," he said. "But I see +it isn't necessary." + +When the four of them met, in the hall, it was understood that John and +Phyllis would resume their work at Saint Ruth's. + +"Nothing like it to keep your sense of relative values normal," said Dr. +Thorpe to John. + +Mrs. Thorpe stood with her arm around Phyllis. + +"Saint Ruth's neighbors will be glad to see you again, dear girl. Did I +tell you what old Mrs. Lester said to me? You remember her poor hands, +all twisted with rheumatism and yet what beautiful needlework she does. +She said, 'I should like to make her a pretty handkerchief, for a +wedding gift. Do you think she would care for it?'" + +Mrs. Thorpe had been looking through the open doorway. + +"Here comes trouble, Donald," she said, in a low voice. + +John and Phyllis glanced back as they walked out. + +Dr. Thorpe was shaking hands, heartily, with a big, sodden fellow, in +shabby clothes, his virile face marred by excesses; the frail little +woman with him looked up at him with a world of anxious love in her +eyes; and then Mrs. Thorpe led her away, talking cheerily. + +All the way home John discoursed on Art. Phyllis drank it in. She +thought him a wonderful being. + +"The trouble with these literary chaps is that they revolve in a +circle," he declared, posing securely on his new pedestal. "They have +their writing rooms, all strewn with carefully disarranged +paraphernalia; and they have their clubs, where they meet only each +other and praise each other's work, and damn the work of the absent +ones: and they go prowling about looking for a bohemia that never +existed, and can never exist for them; for bohemia is simply youth and +poverty and high aspirations, combined, and can't be found by search. If +these literary chaps are exceptionally fortunate, they are invited to +great houses, where they dine with stupid, overfed people who pretend +they have read their books, though they haven't, unless they are unfit +to read. And so they go on wearily turning that treadmill--and wonder +why their work has lost freshness, and convince themselves it has gained +style. I am not a literary chap, and I don't wish to be one. I am a +poet. Poetry is my profession. And the only way I can succeed in it, the +only way it is worth succeeding in, is to relate it to life, real life, +the big, elemental struggle for existence that is going on, here in +London, and everywhere; to wed Art to Reality, lest the jade saunter the +streets, a light o' love, seeking to sell her soul." + +As they walked past the bookshop, and through the little square, John +said:-- + +"I should like to live in London eight months of the year, and give most +of my time to Saint Ruth's. And the rest of the year I should like to +live in a village, like Rosemary, Sussex, where I lived as a boy; on the +outskirts of a little village, near the green country; and do my writing +there, under the blue sky--with God looking over my shoulder, to see the +work well done." + + + + +XI + + +There was a motor-car in front of the house; its blinding lights +illuminated the windows at the other end of the square. + +Mrs. Farquharson met them at the door. + +"He's upstairs in your room. Sir Peter Oglebay--your uncle," she said, +in an excited whisper. "Three times he has called this day; once at +eleven, once at two; and now again at six. 'Sit down and wait,' I says +to him, the last time; 'they will surely be home for dinner; never have +they missed since first they came,' says I; and sit down he did--and +there he sits; and doesn't he look noble, sitting there! Genevieve's +that nervous she drops everything she touches." + +John and Phyllis exchanged looks. He smiled as easily as he could. + +"Would you like it if I walked about a bit--or dropped in on old +Rowlandson, while you talk with your uncle?" he asked. + +"I want you with me, John. I need you," said Phyllis. + +"Together's the word," he replied, and they mounted the stairs. + +So far as Phyllis was concerned, it was all over in a moment. + +Sir Peter rose when they entered. She gave one look at his sad, white +face, and drawn mouth. + +"Oh, Uncle Peter!" she cried; and was in his arms. + +He tried to say the words he had humbly learned. + +"I have your pardon to ask, my dear--" + +That was as far as he got. She put both hands over his mouth; and +withdrew them only to kiss him and whispered-- + +"It is I who should ask your pardon, Uncle Peter. I have been very, very +naughty, And I am very, very sorry." + +Now, when Sir Peter heard that childish formula, he seemed to hold in +his arms the little girl who had repeated it, many times, under the +instructions of Mrs. Burbage. The years slipped away. He held her close; +the wounds were healed. + +When two men have a disagreeable interview before them, each maneuvers +for position. The one who gets the fireplace back of him has an +advantage. It isn't impregnable, but the other fellow must force the +fighting. The place may be carried by storm; but it takes a spirited +action. John executed a flank movement, while his ally engaged the +enemy. He got the fireplace; it was a small one, but it was his own. + +One wishes John well out of this scene; our hopes are high for him; but +he is a queer chap; you never know how to take him, nor what he will +say, or do. We can only wish him well; and observe that he carries his +chin high. + +Sir Peter released Phyllis, and then turned to John. + +"I wish to apologize to you, Landless," said Sir Peter, and crossed the +room; he offered his hand; John took it and they stood for a moment so, +neither speaking. + +"I hope you can forgive what I said," Sir Peter concluded. + +"I did that before we left your house--that morning," said John. "Don't +say anything more about it, sir, please. I should have been as angry as +you were--under the same circumstances. I am sure there is need of +forbearance on both sides." + +Sir Peter dropped John's hand, and strode to the window. In a moment he +faced about again. + +"I can't have it that way," said he. "It was unspeakable----" + +John stopped him. + +"I beg you to say no more, sir. I assure you there is not an unkind +thought in my heart. Let the dead past bury its dead." John hesitated; +then stammered out--"Fine weather we are having, sir." + +Sir Peter offered his hand again; their grasp was cordial. Each looked +straight into the other's eyes. + +"Oh, dear," said Phyllis, pushing the big armchair nearer the fire. +"Isn't everything lovely!" + +She coaxed her uncle into the chair with a pretty gesture, and seated +herself in a smaller one, with a happy little sigh. + +There was a tap at the door. + +John opened to Mrs. Farquharson; she curtseyed. + +"You were wishful to see me, my d----ma'am?" she asked. + +Phyllis laughed gayly. "You are wonderful, Farquharson," she said. "I +have been thinking for five minutes how nice it would be if my uncle +dined with us; if it were quite convenient for you." + +"As ever could be," said Mrs. Farquharson. "I sent Genevieve for another +chicken as soon as ever he was in this room. You never saw a plumper." + +"Isn't she wonderful?" Phyllis turned to her uncle. "Uncle Peter, you +must be formally presented to my dear Farquharson, my old nurse. +Farquharson--Sir Peter Oglebay, my uncle." + +Mrs. Farquharson curtseyed again; Sir Peter rose and bowed gravely. + +"A great many years ago I heard how wonderful you were, Farquharson," +he said, "from a little girl, who is now grown,--and married,--but is of +the same opinion still. It was a piece of good fortune, indeed that +brought these children of mine to your house." + +"Thank you, sir. Thank you, Sir Peter," replied Mrs. Farquharson, her +gray eyes very large. "I should have made your acquaintance years ago if +that Mrs.--Well, least said, soonest mended. But sorry I am that never +did those advertisements meet my eye if ever they were printed. The +expense of them, too, sir, in every paper in London, every day for three +months. Not that you minded that!" Mrs. Farquharson had told the story +to the first-floor front; the first-floor front who had been in +stocks--and seen better days; it had not lost in the telling. + +"If you are certain--" said Sir Peter to Mrs. Farquharson. "Very well, +I shall be glad to dine." + +On the way to the lower regions, Mrs. Farquharson dropped in on the +first floor. + +"Sir Peter Oglebay's dining with us tonight," she said. "I was +frightened of him at first, but, pooh! he's as easy as an old shoe." + +John still held the fireplace; he knew the worst was yet to come. + +"There are great preparations at home, my dear," said Sir Peter to +Phyllis. "Your little study-room has been polished till it shines, and +the two adjoining rooms have been rearranged three times since this +morning." He looked at John. "Burbage has been told that I hope to have +both of you home again. Her efforts are Herculean to anticipate every +wish Phyllis may have." + +"I hope you won't be hurt, sir," said John, "but I fear that is out of +the question I ask you to believe there isn't an iota of unfriendliness +in it, but--you see, sir, Phyllis and I must live within our own income; +and independence is as necessary to me as air. I am sorry if you are +disappointed." + +"I appreciate your point of view perfectly," said Sir Peter. "I am +coming to that. But first I ask you to sympathize with mine, a little. +My house is so large that I am lost in it, unless there are others +there. And as one grows older there are so few who care to come. The old +friends have new interests; children about them; and the wider circle +that means. The house has never seemed so large and so lonely as during +the past month. For many years my brother Robert, Phyllis's father, +lived with me there. It will be hard for you to believe I was ever gay, +but it was really a gay house then. His friends were a light-hearted +lot, and they were as welcome there as my own; mine were few by +comparison. We talked pictures most of the time; his friends were +painters. What dreams for the future I heard from them! The best of them +loved Robert--and believed in him. No one could help loving him. I +remember a remark Thorburg, the sculptor, made one night, at a dinner in +his honor. Thorburg had just done some extraordinary thing--I have +forgotten what; his 'Grief,' perhaps. 'Oglebay,' said he to Robert, +'there isn't a man in this room who doesn't envy you. We all have +talent; but yours touches the highest mark. I will not say it is genius, +but it is near it; we shall bare our heads before one of your pictures, +some day.' Little Singleton spoke up then. 'The great god Thor hath said +it, Oglebay, but we all think it.' They were all there that night; +there must have been twenty of us at the table. I can see their faces +now, clearly, and hear little Singleton's piping voice. Singleton, +Knowles, and Leonard--the inseparable trio, they called them." + +Sir Peter paused. + +"As I said, the house was gay then. The Oglebay Prize was the result of +just such a dinner. Robert suggested it. Thorburg was one of the +trustees until he died; it has helped many a lad through his days in the +Latin Quarter. I have had some fine letters from those lads. One or two +of them have turned out really good work; good enough to have satisfied +Robert that the prize was worth while. Yes,--the Oglebay Prize is one of +the few things I look back upon with unalloyed pleasure; my bridge in +Natal is another." + +Phyllis had moved her chair nearer to her uncle; while he spoke of her +father, he held her hand, on the arm of his chair. Now she spoke +quickly, with that pretty catch in her breath. + +"Oh, Uncle Peter. Tell John about the Natal bridge. It is more +interesting and more exciting than the best novel you ever read." + +"I should like to hear the story, sir," said John; it was pleasant to +see the sincerity of his interest. + +"I will tell it to you some day, John," replied Sir Peter. He smiled. +"You will probably hear it a great many times. We all have our failings; +that story is mine. My cronies at the club tell me I lead up to it so +skillfully they cannot always stop me in time." + +"Do tell it, Uncle Peter," said Phyllis. + +Sir Peter thought for a moment. + +"Some time I will, my dear," he said. "But not now. My mind is on +something else." He addressed his remarks to John again. "We were +talking about the days when there was overflowing life in my old house." + +John stood with his back to the fire; his face was attentive, serious, +considering; but every line in it expressed determination. + +"Those days ended when Robert married," Sir Peter continued. "I +quarreled with him and we parted. I never saw him again. And for ten +years my house was a mausoleum, haunted by memories; a torture-house of +vain regrets and useless longings." + +His voice broke; he rose suddenly and walked to the window again. They +were silent until he returned to his chair. Phyllis seated herself on +the broad arm of it, and laid a caressing hand on his shoulder. He took +the hand and held it. + +"Then came the news from the North--that my little girl was +motherless--and fatherless; and then came my little girl herself. She +was a very little girl then; a sad and lonely little girl; but"--Sir +Peter cleared his throat, and spoke huskily and slowly--"but she brought +comfort to me. There was something in life for me again--besides my +work. My work I always had. I thanked God for that. I need not tell you, +John, how this little girl crept into my heart, nor how her small +fingers smoothed away the wrinkles from my gloomy old face." Sir Peter +looked up at her and pressed the hand he held. "And so the years rolled +on--and she grew, and grew, and grew, until she became a young woman. +A--a passably good-looking young woman--eh, John? Wouldn't you say +so--passably good-looking?" + +John smiled. + +"I might say so to you, sir--privately," he admitted. + +"And when she was certain of her conquest of me," continued Sir Peter, +"she looked about, as it were, for other worlds to conquer. And along +came a--er--h'm--along came a young prince. Precisely so--along came a +young prince upon whom the fairies had bestowed marvelous gifts." Sir +Peter fairly chuckled as he completed this unusual imaginative flight. +"Marvelous gifts," he repeated. "Eh, Phyllis? Would you say he had +marvelous gifts?" + +"If we were quite alone, Uncle Peter, I might say so," confessed +Phyllis. + +"And this passably good-looking young woman and this prince of the +marvelous gifts proceeded to fall in love with each other in the most +natural way in the world," Sir Peter went on. "Precisely so. In the most +natural way in the world; as any one but a grumpy old fellow would have +foreseen they would. And having fallen in love with each other, what in +the world was there for them to do but to be married at once--eh? And +yet, will you believe it?--there was a grumpy old fellow who wished to +prevent it. Now, what could you say to an old fellow as grumpy as that?" +Sir Peter adjusted his eyeglass and looked first at John, and then at +Phyllis, quizzically. + +"I should say no one could blame him," said John promptly. + +"I shouldn't say anything. I should just hug him," said Phyllis, and +carried out the threat with spirit. + +"And now we come to the point of this long story," resumed Sir Peter, +readjusting his eyeglass, which had fallen during Phyllis's +demonstration, "These two having married have no other duty before them +than to--er--eh? Of course. Precisely! No other duty than to live +happily ever afterward--eh? As they always do in stories. But the +question is--where? Precisely! Where shall they live happily ever +afterward? Shall they live all by themselves? Or shall they share their +happiness--a little of it--with the grumpy old fellow aforesaid? He does +not like to base his plea to them on his need of the little girl he has +loved so many years; nor on his need of the marvelous gifts of the young +prince, though they are especially needed just at this time, as I shall +tell you. Now, John," said Sir Peter, in his most engaging way, "advise +me about this. What ground should he base his petition upon in order to +win his case? Because he is more anxious to win this case than he was to +finish the Natal bridge,--and he was terribly anxious about that,--as +you will hear, one of these days." + +John glanced toward Phyllis; she instantly turned her head, and looked +resolutely in the opposite direction. She felt that the answer to Sir +Peter's question belonged to John. Sir Peter saw John waver; he caught +his glance at Phyllis; and, like a good campaigner, followed up the +attack. + +"I need your assistance just now, John, very badly," said Sir Peter. +"For years my friends in the British Engineering Society have been +urging me to prepare and publish my recollections. Some of them went to +Allan Robertson's Sons, the publishers, about it and they have given me +no peace since I was weak enough to make a promise that they should have +the book. 'Recollections of an Engineer, 1874-1910,' it is to be called. +Now,--if you would help me I could do it easily. And we would have some +good times over it, I hope." + +John glanced at Phyllis again; but she would not look at him. It was +very hard not to at the time; but Phyllis was so glad afterward that she +didn't. + +Sir Peter got up from his chair, and stood in front of John, both hands +on his shoulders. + +"Dear lad," he said. "In a few years you and Phyllis will have all that +is mine in the world. You can't prevent that--with all your pride--for +which I honor you. In a few years it will all be yours. For those few +years will you not share it with me--and let them be peaceful and happy +years?" + +John turned his face away. + +"Very well, sir," he said. "We will go to your home--to-morrow. That +is--if Phyllis says so, too." + +Phyllis flashed him a radiant look. + +"But you must let me contribute my little pittance to the general +fund," added John. "It isn't much--but it is all I have." + +"With all my heart!" said Sir Peter. + +The white tablecloth was laid; the coffee percolator hummed its +contented little song. The broiled chicken was delicious; and the +browned potatoes. There was a grape jelly; Sir Peter was helped twice to +this. + +"Do you make it yourself?" he asked Mrs. Farquharson. + +"Whoever else?" she answered. + +"But you should taste her marmalade at breakfast!" exclaimed John. + +"I like a good marmalade; we have the 'Dundee'; which is yours?" asked +Sir Peter. He fell into their informal ways so easily. + +"We make our own," said Mrs. Farquharson proudly. + +"Upon my word," said Sir Peter, as he stirred his coffee with a tiny +spoon, and accepted a match for his cigar--"upon my word, I haven't +eaten such a dinner in years. So--er--companionable--you know." + +At eleven, when they went with him to the door, Mrs. Farquharson met +them in the hall. + +"Good-night, Farquharson," said Sir Peter. + +"Good-night, sir," said Mrs. Farquharson, and handed him a parcel. +"Would you please to slip these glasses into your greatcoat pocket: two +of the jelly, and two of the marmalade. Here are the recipes, written on +this paper; Genevieve has copied them out very plain and large. That +Mrs. Burbage can read them--with her spectacles." + + + + +XII + + +Two happy, eventful years passed. + +One evening, as they sat in the long library, John happened to mention +Rosemary Sussex,--and the old parsonage, where his boyhood had been +spent, untenanted now--in disrepair. Sir Peter asked a casual question +or two. For the rest of the evening he schemed in silence. + +Shortly thereafter his mysterious absences began. He required an earlier +breakfast on certain days; and John and Phyllis sometimes dined alone. + +The new parsonage at Rosemary is nearer the church than the old,--but +the old parsonage has more land, and its garden slopes gently downward +to the little river, slipping murmurously away to the sea. + +So long as Sir Peter tried to keep part of his plan a secret from the +vestry, he had one failure after another for his pains. Time after time +he returned on the early evening train to London, growling into his +white mustache. They would not say no, and they did not say yes; he made +no progress. But when he pledged a discreet vestryman to confidence, and +told him he sought to buy the old parsonage for the son of its former +occupant, the Reverend Hugh Landless, and for his wife, the ways were +smoothed at once. A morning came, at last, when he could tell them he +had a surprise in store for them, and could place the title-deed in +Phyllis's hands. + +"It is my belated wedding-gift," said Sir Peter. + +Phyllis will never forget her first glimpse of the gray old house. As +the motor-car neared the curve in the road which discloses the view +John knew and loved so well, he said to her:-- + +"Now, dearest; in just a moment. There!" + +The house is screened from the road by an ivy-covered wall, great trees, +and the shrubbery. But Phyllis caught the very view John wished her to +have,--a bit of the west gable, and the window from which his mother's +handkerchief had fluttered many gay farewells to him. + +Sir Peter stood by the sun-dial, in the garden, and listened, well +pleased, to John's eager voice, as he pointed out the spots endeared to +him by memories of childhood. The sun-dial! How he had pondered over the +quatrain, chiseled in the stone:-- + + "The Moving Finger writes; and having writ + Moves on--nor all your Piety nor Wit + Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, + Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it." + +"My father used to sit reading aloud to my mother, near that hawthorn," +said John, "and if she asked him for the time of day he was whimsical +enough to walk over here and consult the sun-dial, rather than his +watch." + +They loitered in the neglected, overgrown garden,--soon to be bright +with flowers again,--a trysting-place for birds. + +"My mother planned her garden anew each winter," said John. "She could +hardly wait for the soft air of spring to carry out her plans. She loved +the flowers. I remember her so clearly, working here, in a broad-brimmed +hat, with a pair of my father's gloves on her hands, while I played near +by. I had desperate adventures in this garden, and my play often ended +in my being half frightened--and seeking safety from imagined terrors, +in the refuge of her lap." + +They went into every room of the old house; sunny rooms; there was need +of repairs, indeed, but Phyllis declared there should be no alteration. + +"I want it to be just as it was," she said to Sir Peter. + +And so, in June, they were at home there--and the garden was a riot of +color. + +On a particular afternoon in June, Sir Peter, with his cigar, and John, +in flannels, writing, at a table under the trees, both looked up to see +Phyllis coming toward them, from the house, with her baby in her arms. + +The garden was full of the perfume of roses. They blossomed everywhere. +There was a pink bud in John's buttonhole, and a red one in Sir Peter's. +Phyllis had a great bunch of white roses at her waist. Her gown was +white, too: soft and lacy and clinging. That would have been John's +description of it; and he is a poet. + +"Hullo, Phyllis," said John. + +"S-h-h," said Phyllis. + +"S-h-h, John," said Sir Peter. + +Phyllis laid her precious burden in the perambulator, near Sir Peter's +chair. + +"Mark and Peggy will be here in half an hour," she announced. "She +telephoned from Whinstead. Isn't it characteristic of Peggy?--a +motor-car wedding-journey. They are having the most glorious time, she +said. They can't stay, though; just a call." + +"Whinstead, eh?" said John. "Well, if Mark is driving, he will cut that +thirty minutes to twenty. I shall barely finish this page before they +get here." + +He was engaged upon the revision of "Old Valentines, and Other Poems," +for the second edition. The little book, bound in red, with golden +cupids, lay open on the table. + +"Uncle Peter, see how beautifully baby is sleeping," said Phyllis. + +Sir Peter adjusted his eyeglass, and peeped under the parasol. + +"I must speak to Burbage about tea," added Phyllis. "Just keep half an +eye--" + +"Both eyes, my dear," said Sir Peter. With his foot he drew the +perambulator a little nearer to him. + +John looked up from his writing. + +"Give me a synonym for 'austerity,'" he commanded. + +"'Sternness,'" suggested Phyllis. + +"'Severity,'" said Sir Peter. + +"'Severity' introduces a rhyme, which won't do at all; 'sternness' +doesn't convey asceticism, as 'austerity' does. Give me others." + +"'Gravity,'" said Phyllis. "Or seriousness.'" + +"'Asperity,'" suggested Sir Peter. + +"I have it!" said John. "'His stern simplicity.'" + +"Why didn't you say we could have two words?" asked Sir Peter. + +John's pen was busy; obviously he did not hear. + +"Burbage will serve tea here, Uncle Peter," said Phyllis. "John, you +will try to make Mark talk, won't you? He is so shy." + +John gazed at nothing, with vacant eyes. Phyllis looked at her uncle, +comically. + +"Uncle Peter, you tell him about Mark the next time he gives evidence of +belonging to the human family." + +She walked toward the house, intent on arrangements. At the door she +glanced over her shoulder. + +"Uncle Peter," she called to him, "you were pushing the perambulator +forward and backward with your foot. It isn't allowed." + +"They always did it in my day," said Sir Peter. + +"Well, they don't now," replied Phyllis. + +"Very well, my dear," said Sir Peter meekly. + +Phyllis went into the house. Sir Peter observed the windows keenly; when +he thought the coast was clear he gently pushed the perambulator forward +and backward with his foot. + +Twenty minutes later a big gray car deposited three dusty persons on the +little porch. Peggy and Phyllis cooed over each other. Mark pointed to +Mrs. Farquharson. + +"We picked her up," he said. "She had started to walk from the railway +station." + +Mrs. Farquharson surveyed him with an austerity that required no +synonym. + +"Never again," said she. "Pony-cart or no pony-cart. A hundred miles an +hour, my dear, if ever he went one." + +She retired to the rear, where Burbage could be found, with whom she had +come to take tea and pass the afternoon. + +"Lead me to the infant!" demanded Peggy. "I haven't seen him for so long +I am prepared to find him in knickerbockers, smoking a cigarette." + +"Peggy! only two weeks," exclaimed Phyllis. + +"Two weeks!" rejoined Peggy. "Oh, in time, of course; but aeons in +experience. We have had tire trouble--" + +"Oh, cut that, Peg," suggested Mark. + +"I will not," retorted Peggy. "We have paid enough for new tires since +we started to endow Saint Ruth's. Each time our troubles have occurred +in the exact center of population. I have been stared at from front and +rear by the entire British people. And Mark has given the recording +angel the time of his life. Everything has happened that could wreck our +married happiness, but we are now armor-clad against infelicity. We have +really had the most beau-ti-ful time! We haven't eaten a meal in an inn +except breakfast. Simple life by the wayside for us! Two alcohol +stoves--I am starved now, though! Perhaps we had better have tea before +I see the baby--I might be tempted beyond my strength." + +"And you are well, Mark?" asked Phyllis. + +"Finer than a new crank-shaft," he replied, grinning. "I am also in the +breadline though." + +"One result of our difficulties was the development of Mark's +conversational powers," whispered Peggy to Phyllis. "He is almost a +self-starter now." + +"How well you both look, brown as--" + +"Don't say gypsies!" urged Peggy. "We have heard it everywhere." + +"Indians, then," said Phyllis. + +Tea was served under the trees. The baby awakened as though for Peggy's +express benefit. He spluttered and gurgled, and made queer faces in his +charming way, selecting Peggy for the most fascinating attentions After +tea, Phyllis and Peggy went into the house to exchange confidences. +Peggy carried the baby. + +Sir Peter and John did their utmost with Mark. Motoring, cricket, +tennis, golf--all had their turn. He was amiability itself, but he would +not and could not be made to talk. They were at their wit's end when +Phyllis and Peggy rejoined them, and Phyllis took Mark off to the +garden. + +Peggy sat with the men, chatting volubly. John's eyes followed Mark and +Phyllis. When he could do so unobserved, he touched Sir Peter's arm +quietly, and directed his attention to them. Mark was talking at full +speed; Phyllis was listening, and cutting roses into a basket. + +"Yes," said Peggy, "we have had some ripping times. The most ripping was +yesterday. We almost robbed England of her greatest living poet, by +nearly running Mr. Kipling down, near Pevensey. It was in a narrow lane +and he was walking with his chin on his chest. We supposed, of course, +he heard us. Mark used the emergency brake; the car slewed around; he +wasn't even grazed. And he took it as coolly as you please. John, if we +had hit him, would you be next in line for laureate?" + +"I hope he was thinking out a sequel to 'Kim,'" said Sir Peter. "I +picked that book up in the club library one day when I had a quarter of +an hour to kill. I sat there all the afternoon. I have read it three +times, since." + +"I liked 'Stalky' best. How do the pretty little jingles go, John?" +asked Peggy. She took a copy of "The Spectator" from the table, and +turned the leaves, idly. + +"Oh, jinglewise," answered John. + +"My word! Listen to this," exclaimed Peggy; and then read--"'We should +hesitate to say that Mr. Landless's name will stand higher than the +second rank of poets. But so much praise he has fairly wrested from even +the most captious reviewer. Indeed his "Lyrics" invite one to the +dangerous pastime of prophecy; and prophecy of a bright future for this +newest of our versifiers. Certainly, if the more serious work we are +promised in "London: A Poem" (which is announced for the autumn) exceeds +in dignity and restraint the best of his "Lyrics," we shall throw +caution to the winds and predict great things for him. We observe two +typographical errors on page--' Oh! who cares about the old +typographical errors! Well, well, John. Isn't that splendid! What a +happy girl Phil must be!" + +"We are all very happy, Margaret," said Sir Peter. "And very proud to be +related to him--even by marriage." + +"And Phil tells me you have turned author, too," said Peggy to Sir +Peter. "A young fellow like you to be writing your 'Recollections'! +Think how much more you will have to recollect if you wait a few years." + +Sir Peter shook his finger at her. + +"If you are not careful, young woman, I will put you into them--as I +first remember you, very red and wrinkled." + +Mark's and Peggy's stay was short--all too short. Mark settled down +behind the wheel. "London, next," said he. Peggy's face was buried in +roses as they drove off. + +When they were seated again, under the trees, Phyllis regarding the baby +with rapt eyes, John's curiosity suggested a question. + +"Phyllis, please tell us what you set Mark to talking about. We tried +everything." + +"Why, about Peggy, of course," said Phyllis. "Silly! Couldn't you think +of that?" + +Mrs. Farquharson had awaited the departure of the Holroyds, and now, in +her best black silk, came out to see the baby, and remained to chat for +a few minutes. Her great news was that the first-floor front was in +stocks again--with a prospect of seeing better days. + +"And how is Mr. Rowlandson?" asked Phyllis. + +"Odder than ever," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "He is getting a little +childish, I think. The other night he told me the greatest rigmarole +about some collector or other in Birmingham. He collected weapons, of +all things! He had Mr. Rowlandson buy him swords, and daggers, and +spears, and even bows and arrows from America, until his house fairly +rattled with them. Finally, says Mr. Rowlandson, he got him the stone +that David flung at Goliath, and the jawbone that Samson smote the +Philistines with. 'Now,' says he, 'I am looking for the club that Cain +slew Abel with, and then he will be complete.' Did ever you hear such a +farrago? And his eyes twinkling all the time as though he was as +sensible as ever could be! Yesterday I told him I was coming down here +to take tea with Mrs. Burbage. 'With Mrs. Burbage!' says he. 'Well, what +next?' 'Now, heed my words,' says I. 'That woman is not as black as +she's been painted.' And then he laughs. Childish, I say. But he's +terrible down on you, Mr. Landless, because the baby's a boy. 'Mr. +Landless has disappointed me,' says he. 'He knows her name should be +Valentine.' 'But, Mrs. Landless wanted a boy,' says I, 'to call him +Peter'; as she has, bless his darling little heart, that knows his old +Farquharson! 'Well,' says he, 'Mr. Landless put her up to it.'" + +When she had returned to Burbage, John and Sir Peter began work on the +proofs of "Recollections of an Engineer." The publishers had wished to +call it "Recollections of a Great Engineer." Sir Peter told them quietly +there would be no recollections if they insisted on the word. + +The story of the Natal bridge would have been the making of this twelfth +chapter. But the Natal story has a chapter of its own in the +"Recollections" (chapter XXII--p. 227), and as the copyright +restrictions are in force you will have to look for it there. Mr. +Rowlandson has the book for sale--if you don't find it elsewhere. + +The work on the proofs was interrupted when the baby insisted on having +the red rose from Sir Peter's buttonhole. Sir Peter cut the thorns from +its stem before he gave it into the tiny fingers. + +[Illustration: SIR PETER GAVE IT INTO THE TINY FINGERS] + +Burbage and Farquharson stood by the garden-gate, looking in. The golden +glow of late afternoon was over all. The roses nodded their heavy heads +all about them. The gentle murmur of the flowing river, lapping the old +stairs at the end of the garden, could be faintly heard. + +Sir Peter cut the thorns from the rose, and gave it to the baby, leaning +forward in its young mother's arms. + +"Isn't it a pretty sight?" whispered Burbage. + +"The prettiest sight that ever was in the world," said Farquharson, +fumbling for her handkerchief. + + +THE END + + + * * * * * + + +Published by HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + + + + +THE INVADERS + +By FRANCES N.S. ALLEN + + +"A warm, rich, human story, which takes its substance from the +successful inroads of thrifty Irish and Polack and the whole whatnot of +foreign newcomers upon the lean New England land, with the desperate +resentments growing out of this usurpation and the futile attempts to +stem the tide of encroachment."--_Washington Evening Star._ + +"A capital story, but also a fine piece of workmanship and a +contribution to sociology."--_Congregationalist._ + +"A clean, wholesome, stimulating story pleasantly told."--_Detroit Free +Press._ + +"Deals wisely and sympathetically with one of the big social problems +which beset changing New England."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + + + +V.V.'S EYES + +By HENRY SYDNOR HARRISON + + +"'V.V.'s Eyes' is a novel of so elevated a spirit, yet of such strong +interest, unartificial, and uncritical, that it is obviously a +fulfillment of Mr. Harrison's intention to 'create real +literature.'"--_Baltimore News._ + +"In our judgment it is one of the strongest and at the same time most +delicately wrought American novels of recent years."--_The Outlook._ + +"'V.V.'s Eyes' is an almost perfect example of idealistic realism. It +has the soft heart, the clear vision and the boundless faith in humanity +that are typical of our American outlook on life."--_Chicago +Record-Herald._ + +"A delicate and artistic study of striking power and literary quality +which may well remain the high-water mark in American fiction for the +year.... Mr. Harrison definitely takes his place as the one among our +younger American novelists of whom the most enduring work may be hoped +for."--_Springfield Republican._ + + + + +STORIES OF CHARM + +By WILLIAM JOHN HOPKINS + + +THE CLAMMER + + +"It is seldom that one comes upon a bit of fiction which combines so +much clever fancy with so much delicacy, or which blends light comedy so +skillfully with deep feeling."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + +OLD HARBOR + + +"A tale to chuckle over.... It is not often that a reader has an +opportunity in the pages of a book to come in touch with such a group of +genial and lovable people."--_Minneapolis Journal._ + + +THE MEDDLINGS OF EVE + + +"Brings us once again into touch with those delightful and very human +people that we learned to know in 'The Clammer.'"--_The Bookman._ + + +CONCERNING SALLY + + +"The story is at once so human and so unusual that it excites deep +interest.... Sally is a real person, a person whose woes and joys the +reader cannot choose but share."--_Boston Herald._ + + + + +A SAFETY MATCH + +By IAN HAY + + +"Delineates the progress of a marriage of convenience with an agreeably +delicate touch." _New York Sun._ + +"The story is well written and of the variety which, once commenced, +keeps the candle burning regardless of the hour until the end." _Boston +Herald._ + +"The 'handsome rectory children' of the early chapters, their vague +father, and their muddled but affectionate home life, are things of pure +joy." _London Punch._ + +"Simple, yet strong, and strong because its simplicity is natural, the +book will commend itself to all who love sane, wholesome and cheerful +fiction." _San Francisco Chronicle._ + +"There is humor everywhere of the sparkling rather than the gleaming +variety, and it makes the book delightful to read." _The Dial._ + +"Its homely, human humor, and its wonderful narrative of events, both +commonplace and extraordinary, hold the interest of the reader +unswervingly from the first chapter to the last." _St. Louis +Post-Dispatch._ + + + + +A COUNTRY LAWYER + +By HENRY A. SHUTE + + +"Rarely do we find a book so full of wholesome sentiment.... Fairly +bubbles with good humor.... A book well worth reading and then well +worth remembering." _Boston Globe._ + +"Judge Shute has told a good story, at the same time incorporating into +it the stir, bustle and ginger of a New Hampshire town." _Milwaukee Free +Press._ + +"Humor and clever portrayal of country character prevail in this story." +_Detroit Free Press._ + +"Judge Shute has told a thoroughly readable story, and one which has the +added charms of freshness and spirit." _Minneapolis Journal._ + + + + +MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS + +By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN + + +"A fitting successor to the far-famed Rebecca." _Boston Transcript._ + +"Mother Carey is one of the sweetest and truest models of motherhood +imaginable." _The Outlook._ + +"A book to enjoy, a book to love, and a book to be grateful for." +_Westminster Gazette._ + +"A delightful book for girls, not to mention the boys and the mothers +and fathers, is 'Mother Carey's Chickens,' one of the best of the many +good stories that Mrs. Wiggin has written.... 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Old Valentines</p> +<p> A Love Story</p> +<p>Author: Munson Aldrich Havens</p> +<p>Release Date: December 17, 2007 [eBook #23886]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD VALENTINES***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Bethanne M. Simms, Mary Meehan,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/></a> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h1>OLD VALENTINES</h1> + +<h3>A LOVE STORY</h3> + +<h2>BY MUNSON HAVENS</h2> + +<h4>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +The Riverside Press Cambridge<br /> +1914</h4> + + +<h4>COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY MUNSON HAVENS</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>TO MY WIFE</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#I">I</a><br /> +<a href="#II">II</a><br /> +<a href="#III">III</a><br /> +<a href="#IV">IV</a><br /> +<a href="#V">V</a><br /> +<a href="#VI">VI</a><br /> +<a href="#VII">VII</a><br /> +<a href="#VIII">VIII</a><br /> +<a href="#IX">IX</a><br /> +<a href="#X">X</a><br /> +<a href="#XI">XI</a><br /> +<a href="#XII">XII</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#Published_by_HOUGHTON_MIFFLIN_AND_COMPANY">Published by HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND COMPANY</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<h4><i>From drawings by Griswold Tyng</i></h4> + + +<p><a href="#illus1">"SHE WAS YOUR MAMMA, TOO, WASN'T SHE?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus2">"MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus3">"ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU CAN SPARE SO LARGE A SUM?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus4">SIR PETER GAVE IT INTO THE TINY FINGERS</a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>OLD VALENTINES</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + + +<p>You might enter this story by the stage door. You remember beautiful +Valentine Germain—the actress? She married Robert Oglebay, the painter, +brother of Sir Peter Oglebay, the great engineer. Their baby Phyllis—</p> + +<p>But, after all, the main entrance is more dignified.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter Oglebay's passion is for Construction: to watch massive +machinery slowly hoisting materials more massive into positions of +incredible height with calculated accuracy. Wherever construction is in +progress you are likely to see him, standing at a little distance, +holding his silk hat on his white head with one hand as he looks +upward, and leaning, a little heavily, on his stick with the other. And +whenever or wherever you see him, you will see an English gentleman.</p> + +<p>His portrait, in the lobby of the Engineering Society, is by Sargent. +His erect bearing, white mustache, and something about the cut of his +clothes suggest the soldier. But he is one of the great engineers; his +father and grandfather were engineers. You observe the red ribbon in his +lapel; France honors him.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter's big house is in Armytage Street, near the park. You may +remember the house by its walled garden and the imposing wrought-iron +grille through which one has access to the flagged walk, the wide steps, +and the great doorway.</p> + +<p>In his house, the library defines his chief interest in life. The +shelves are filled with somber sets of the "Transactions" and +"Proceedings" of several learned societies. Sir Peter is himself a +Fellow of these societies Mr. Rowlandson, his bookseller, has a standing +advertisement in "The Athenaeum" for certain missing volumes. One in +particular, the "Proceedings of the British Engineering Society for the +year 1848," he would tell you, was the very devil to find; it seems +there was a fire at the printer's. Sir Peter's monograph on the +"Egyptian Pyramids Considered in their Relation to Modern Engineering" +was dedicated to this society. He presided over its grave deliberations +for several years. "With dignity and impartiality," said his successor, +when Sir Peter surrendered the gavel.</p> + +<p>He serves on boards of directors. His name is seen on subscription lists +headed by the Right People. Late afternoon should find him at the +Carlton Club.</p> + +<p>Many years ago, Sir Peter brought together a number of fine pictures. +They hang in the drawing-room, but the collection is not a notable one +in these days. Each year, however, the Oglebay Prize speeds some +talented English lad to Paris. But that endowment was his brother +Robert's suggestion. Sir Peter's calls at the Christie Galleries ceased +when Robert married beautiful Valentine Germain, the actress. Perhaps +half of the cruel things Sir Peter said of her were true. But the +quarrel was irreparable; the brothers never met afterward.</p> + +<p>Robert Oglebay was a painter of distinction, if not of genius. His few +finished pictures enriched the world. His impulses were noble, but they +were impulses only; the will to complete the undertaken task was +lacking. For patient work he substituted high talk of Art in the studios +of his friends. The gay little suppers in their own rooms were famous; +nine at table, mostly men, entranced by Valentine's beauty and her wit. +Charming were their afternoons among the curio shops, and their return, +laden with loot too precious to wait over night for delivery. Glorious +were their holidays in Paris and Vienna; wonderful nights in Venice! +Always together! To their sudden migration to Egypt, whence he returned +with a portfolio of exciting promise. Alas, the slender fulfilment! for +then was the time for work,—the sobering thought of Baby Phyllis.</p> + +<p>But to Valentine and Robert Oglebay, Baby Phyllis soon meant a new +frolic. Nurse Farquharson's were the competent hands. Their life went on +unchanged.</p> + +<p>At five, Baby Phyllis, in her white nightie, her blue eyes shining, and +her curls crowned with roses, danced among the wine-glasses at her +mother's birthday party, and enraptured the guests by singing, in +various keys, the song with which beautiful Valentine herself had +captivated London,—"If I could wear trousers, I know what I should do." +If you knew your way about town in the early eighties, you may remember +the song. The encore was uproarious: three times Baby Phyllis had to +lift her little leg and strike the match on her nightie. They drank her +health standing, as she disappeared, smiling at them over Nurse +Farquharson's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Upstairs, having cuddled Phyllis in bed, Valentine caught the expression +on the nurse's face. She put her arms around Farquharson appealingly.</p> + +<p>"Don't be cross with me on my birthday," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>Farquharson patted the pretty upraised hands, glittering with diamonds.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't look cross at my mamma, Farkson," cooed Baby Phyllis.</p> + +<p>Careless, happy days and sparkling nights! Robert and Valentine were +always together, their honeymoon endless; in Paris, in Buda-Pesth, in +Rome, in Constantinople, in Holland. You should have seen Valentine in +the Dutch costume she brought home. Each of the inseparable trio of +artists, Mr. Singleton, Mr. Leonard, and Mr. Knowles, painted her +portrait, and made love to her, and was laughed at and scolded. It is +little enough to say of her that she idolized Robert.</p> + +<p>When they returned from their first trip to Norway, in 1897, Robert +Oglebay, now forty and growing stout, told his friends he had found what +he was looking for at last. The strong, deep sentiment of the North had +clutched at him and held him fast. And indeed those shimmering, moonlit +studies of the little fishing village, where they spent that summer and +autumn, are his best.</p> + +<p>Early in the following summer they flitted northward again, with joyful +eagerness. They took nine-year-old Phyllis with them.</p> + +<p>While her father painted, and her mother read, Phyllis explored crannies +in which the receding tide had left tiny, helpless creatures which she +examined curiously, and then carried tenderly to the water, lest they +perish before the friendly waves came again to cover them.</p> + +<p>Their boatman sang songs to her,—strange songs that thrilled her, +though she did not understand the words.</p> + +<p>At night, in the best room of the little inn, by a bright fire, her +father told tales of the vikings; of their high-prowed ships, and the +long-haired sailors, with fierce eyes; of their adventurous voyages over +unknown seas. The stories ended when the golden head drooped, drowsily.</p> + +<p>The portfolio of sketches grew steadily during the weeks that followed.</p> + +<p>"Your best work, Robert," said Valentine</p> + +<p>"I have found what I have been seeking," was his answer.</p> + +<p>They were happy days. Robert painted, early and late, in all weathers. +Valentine's joy was in him. Phyllis found hers in a closer companionship +with them than she had ever known.</p> + +<p>Remembering their eager joy, how tragic the end! Drowned, under the sail +of an overturned boat,—together.</p> + +<p>Their little Phyllis, saved by the boatman recovered from the shock of +icy water and horrible fright before her clothing was dry. She was +spared immediate knowledge of her loss. The rough, weatherworn faces she +saw in the firelight of the fisherman's cottage, to which she had been +carried, were kindly and compassionate. The gloom of early evening, the +glow of the firelight, the smell of the sea, the full-rigged ship on a +rude wall-bracket, and the moaning wind outside were memories of after +years. At the moment, wrapped in a blanket, Phyllis was conscious only +of security and warmth. She smiled up at the big fisherman who had +rescued her, and made friendly advances to the cluster of ragged little +ones who gathered around her, with scared faces and brown, bare legs and +feet. When the fisherman's wife tucked her into a warm bed, she inquired +sleepily for her mamma. A reassuring caress was the response: the +language of motherhood is universal, and requires no words.</p> + +<p>The patrol of the rocky inlet ended at dawn. When the burdened groups of +booted men tramped past the cottage on their way to the inn, the +fisherman's wife, peering through the window in the gray morning light, +muttered to herself that both had been found.</p> + +<p>Some hours afterward came the innkeeper and the postmaster, the one +proud of his English, the other of his responsibilities as first citizen +of the village. A large-eyed, terror-stricken Phyllis learned of her +loneliness and sobbed on the good woman's broad bosom. The innkeeper and +the postmaster smoked their pipes outside until the first outburst of +childish grief had spent itself.</p> + +<p>It appeared then that the little Miss must tell them to whom they should +send a telegram. How painful and new to be obliged to think; how choking +were the vague thoughts. But at last a ray of comfort; they should +telegraph Farquharson, her dear, dear nurse. The name was slowly +spelled. And the address? Perfectly, Phyllis knew the street and number +of that fascinating home of hers, but she now remembered that +Farquharson would not be there; that Farquharson had gone to visit her +brother in a little town in the south of England; a little town of which +Phyllis had heard the most wonderful, true stories; but she did not know +its name. "Couldn't the telegraph find out?" she asked; and then, +overcome with rushing thoughts, abandoned herself again to grief.</p> + +<p>"There are Mr. Knowles, Mr. Leonard, and Mr. Singleton," she bethought +her. "But they are painting in Algiers."</p> + +<p>There was a lady her mamma called Molly, too, whom Phyllis liked very +much, who came often to tea, accompanied by a tiny brown dog; but the +patient innkeeper could learn no more of her than that mamma always +called her Molly; the tiny brown dog's name, Phyllis remembered, was +Tip.</p> + +<p>How might this poor innkeeper's meager vocabulary convey the idea of +relatives to Phyllis's mind? But somehow, at last, it was done.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Phyllis, struck suddenly with the thought. "There is Uncle +Peter. But my papa and mamma never went to see him, and he never came to +see them." A half-forgotten word occurred to her,—"They were +es-tranged."</p> + +<p>The innkeeper eyed her doubtfully; but Uncle Peter's last name she knew, +of course; was it not her own? And his title, too. The innkeeper, +impressed, communicated his intelligence to the postmaster; they made +their good-byes awkwardly and left the room.</p> + +<p>Two days must elapse before the steamer arrived; ample time for +composition. It grieved the innkeeper that another name than the +author's must be signed to his telegram; but intellect yielded to rank; +the postmaster signed alone.</p> + +<p>And so, on a day when the dreary churchyard on a bleak hillside, near +the little fishing village, received the poor remains of Robert Oglebay +and Valentine, his wife, Sir Peter, in the paneled library of his great +London house, read these words:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>VALFJELDET, NORWAY, August 18th, 1898.</p> + +<p>Your niece, Phyllis Oglebay, robbed of her parents by the +remorseless sea, awaits the directions of her uncle.</p> + +<p>OLAF ULVESAKKER, <i>Postmaster</i>.</p></div> + +<p>Ten days later, Sir Peter Oglebay, with a drawn face, rode homeward +through fog-enveloped streets, with a small girl in his arms. One of +Phyllis's hands held Sir Peter's tightly, and her tired, little head +rested upon his shoulder.</p> + +<p>There was a sale, of course, of the thousand luxurious trifles with +which improvident Robert Oglebay and his beautiful, spirited, +improvident wife had surrounded themselves; trifles which had helped to +create the artistic atmosphere that was the breath of life to them. Half +a hundred creditors divided the proceeds.</p> + +<p>When Sir Peter asked Phyllis what he should save from the wreck for her +(not in those words, however) she asked him to send for all the +valentines her papa had given her mamma.</p> + +<p>"Her name was Valentine, you know, Uncle Peter," explained Phyllis. "I +think it is the beautifullest name there is. Long before I was born, and +long before they were married, my papa gave my mamma valentines, new +ones and old ones too but mostly old ones. They were the prettiest. Some +of them are a hundred years old. They are ever so pretty, Uncle Peter, +and she let me play with them, whole boxes full of them. I loved them +best of all my playthings. Sometimes my papa called me his little +Valentine, but they named me Phyllis, after my grandmamma, my papa's +mamma. Why, Uncle Peter, she was your mamma, too, wasn't she?" Phyllis, +sitting on Sir Peter's lap, regarded him gravely, with new interest. In +the end, however, she returned to the subject. All the valentines—boxes +and boxes of them—were to be brought to her, if Uncle Peter pleased.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus1" id="illus1"></a> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>SHE WAS YOUR MAMMA, TOO, WASN'T SHE?</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<p>His bookseller bought in the valentines for Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Rowlandson, when he read the order.</p> + +<p>The sale catalogue described it as one of the most remarkable +collections ever brought together, and intimated that the Museum should +take advantage of a rare opportunity.</p> + +<p>Another dealer was commissioned to buy one of Robert's pictures.</p> + +<p>"Any one,—the best. Use your own judgment," said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>It was a charming study, unfinished, of course, that came the next +afternoon: a boat, rolling heavily in gray water; and seen through mist, +the great brown sail, looming, shadowy; one sailor, in a red jersey, at +the tiller. In the corner Robert had scrawled his careless signature and +the words,—"Valfjeldet, Norway, 1897." Sir Peter gently laid the +picture upon the glowing coals of the grate.</p> + +<p>"There are six boxes come from Mr. Rowlandson's shop, sir," said his +housekeeper standing quietly behind him.</p> + +<p>"Have the screws removed and send them up to Miss Phyllis's room," he +replied. "They are old valentines, Burbage, old valentines that belonged +to her m——for which she has a childish fondness."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + + +<p>"Doesn't it seem to you that the windows let in more sunlight of late, +ma'am?" asked a housemaid. She had just finished cleaning those in the +octagonal dining-room. Burbage inspected the windows.</p> + +<p>"There is no change in the windows that I can see," she replied. "But +there's more sunlight in the house than in many a year."</p> + +<p>This comment of his old housekeeper, six weeks after Sir Peter brought +Phyllis home, might be accepted as the epitome of her life there for ten +long years. Sir Peter was as grim as ever to the servants; but, bless +your heart, hadn't they caught him at his pranks on the floor? Hadn't +they seen his haggard face when the doctor pronounced it diphtheria? +Hadn't they seen him carry her downstairs in his own arms on the first +day it was allowed? Hadn't they seen him helping her with her lessons, +at night,—solving her complex problems in his head while she struggled +over columns of figures, and waiting at the end of that tortuous road +with a smile on his gaunt face, and the right answer, to prove hers +right or wrong? But in languages, Sir Peter was left at the post. Her +master in French was astonished until he learned her mother's name,—by +accident, for it was rarely spoken in that house. The dead languages +were alive to her, too. The shelves in her study-room, upstairs, +contained Sir Peter's old "classics," prettily rebound. The commission +went to Mr. Rowlandson; the execution was Rivière's. Sir Peter had +scarcely looked into them since the old days at Cambridge.</p> + +<p>Sunlight in the house, indeed. Her sweet voice, in sudden song, might be +heard at any moment of the day; or the ripple of her piano; or her gay +laughter, musical as the joyous notes of a bird.</p> + +<p>She had her intent of them all. Even the determined mind of Burbage, +stern-featured and steel-spectacled, she moulded to a plastic +acquiescence with her own sweet will. In extreme urgency, when Burbage +was very firm, indeed, Phyllis had a way of referring to dear +Farquharson. Burbage learned to anticipate this by yielding in the nick +of time.</p> + +<p>By the way, they had not found a trace of Farquharson.</p> + +<p>Several short, sharp battles she had with Sir Peter; the cause, in each +instance, the same. He did not try to disguise his desire that she +should forget her mother. The first encounter between them took place +within a year of her home-coming.</p> + +<p>"If I cannot remember my darling, darling mamma in your house, Uncle +Peter, I shall not stay here," she declared. "I will go away and never, +never come back any more. And then you would be sorry."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter compromised with irrelevant sweets. But he saw she was +terribly in earnest, for such a little girl.</p> + +<p>From time to time a similar incident disturbed the loving relationship +between them; a relationship that was perfect otherwise, in confidence, +sincerity and affection.</p> + +<p>When she was eighteen, some one told her she began to look like her +mother.</p> + +<p>"God forbid!" said Sir Peter, when she told him.</p> + +<p>Phyllis went white.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Peter, my mother was an angel. She was my father's——"</p> + +<p>"Ruin," interposed Sir Peter, his brows darkening.</p> + +<p>"She was his dream of Heaven. I heard him tell her so. She was a dear, +sweet woman."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter growled; but Phyllis always had the last word on these +occasions.</p> + +<p>"I love her memory and I always shall, as I should have dearly loved her +if—if she could have stayed with me. You must never speak or even think +unkindly of her if you want me to love you, or if you want me to live +with you. She was my mother and——" Then she fled to her room. Burbage +could have been heard murmuring, "There, there, my pretty."</p> + +<p>It was true. As she grew older it became apparent she had inherited her +mother's marvelous beauty. She was a tall girl; a mass of golden coils +surmounted the proud head, set so well on her neck and shoulders; her +eyes were the deepest blue; you might have thought her expression sad, +but her sensitive mouth was mirthful as well as tender; in merriment +her eyes danced. When she talked earnestly she caught her breath in the +prettiest way; she had indescribable charm. Her hands were long and +slender, unadorned with rings; she simply didn't care for them. She +usually wore white, and the larger the hat the better she liked it.</p> + +<p>By the time Phyllis was twenty, she had read all that was good for her, +and was ready to look at life itself with frankness, and judge it by +standards of her own. The windows of the Carlton Club knew Sir Peter no +more. She led him everywhere. You might have seen them at the Abbey one +day; on another in the Temple Gardens or looking up at Dr. Johnson's +house, in Gough Square. Sir Peter gloomed in the doorways of shops while +she made leisurely purchases within. He pointed out the best pictures in +the National Gallery; and could tell her why they were the best. They +motored through England and France; Sir Peter absorbed in old +fortifications, Phyllis regardful of the babies tumbling through cottage +doorways. In London one often saw them walking in the park, her face +aglow with animation, her movements as free from constraint as a young +deer; her flow of conversation never failing. Sir Peter, keeping step, +regarded her, idolatrous. Unconsciously she showed him her soul, and +looking therein he found his eyes blurred with unexpected tears.</p> + +<p>Soft but imperious Phyllis! The theater bored Sir Peter beyond +expression. But on First Nights you might be certain he would have a +box. Radiant Phyllis, in white silk, leaning forward eagerly to catch +every word, was tremulous with excitement at the end of the play. During +the drive homeward Sir Peter endeavored, artfully, to conceal that he +had slept through half an act.</p> + +<p>You may be sure that mothers with eligible sons invited him to dine; +grumbling, but facing the inevitable, he accepted. His hawk's eyes +glowered at the young men: from Cambridge and Oxford, but he invited +them to his house. Coaxed by their mothers they called the first time, +and thereafter were with difficulty restrained. Phyllis was kind to +each, and interested in all; but Sir Peter observed with satisfaction +that she was most pleased when they came in pairs. He chuckled over his +magazine, under a reading-lamp, at the far end of the library many +times, while Phyllis entertained her admirers; but at times he scowled. +"Too fast, too fast, you young fool," he muttered to his white mustache.</p> + +<p>They were thoroughly agreeable young men, and Phyllis enjoyed it all +hugely. She approached the consideration of the sex from a perfectly +fresh and candid point of view. Sir Peter had the benefit of her +impressions each morning with his egg and toast and tea. "The Times" had +long since been banished from breakfast.</p> + +<p>One morning she was spiritless.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Peter, I have something very, very important to tell you."</p> + +<p>"I am listening most attentively, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Uncle Peter, you know Mr. Holroyd,—Mr. Mark Holroyd, I mean, not his +brother Dick."</p> + +<p>"I can't say I know him very well, my dear. He has called several times, +to be sure, and dined with us once. We have dined at General Holroyd's +twice, I think, when Mark was present. I believe he has made three +remarks to me: first, that Cambridge was slow; second, that he liked a +Doherty racket best,—I think it was a Doherty he preferred; and third, +that the Halls, this month, were—'rather.'"</p> + +<p>Phyllis's smile comprehended and confirmed</p> + +<p>"But he is very nice, Uncle Peter."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt of it," said Sir Peter. "His father is one of the +finest men I have ever known; his mother was a Churchill. Is Mark to +read for the Bar?"</p> + +<p>"Y-e-es," said Phyllis doubtfully. "I hope so. Oh! Uncle Peter, last +night, in the hall——"</p> + +<p>"In the hall, eh?" interrupted Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, in the hall. He—he proposed to me. I told him I had never +thought of him in that way at all. And——"</p> + +<p>"I should hope not," said Sir Peter. He liked Mark well enough, but +there was plenty of time. And he made a mental memorandum to keep his +eye on the hall thereafter.</p> + +<p>"And, oh! Uncle Peter, he said the light had gone out of his life, and +that he could never get over such a crushing blow, and that he wished he +was—Uncle Peter, they—they always do get over it, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"In no time at all," replied Sir Peter briskly, and helped himself to +toast. There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"Still, I doubt if Mr. Holroyd will get over it as quickly as that," +said Phyllis thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Haberdashers are a very present help in time of trouble," Sir Peter +assured her. "They are a great comfort to young men in Mark's +situation."</p> + +<p>When she kissed him good-bye for the day, he said:—</p> + +<p>"My little girl must wait a long while and meet many young men before +she finally—er—finally—you know,—eh?"</p> + +<p>But on that very afternoon she went with her friend, the Hon. Margaret +Neville, to visit Saint Ruth's Social Settlement, in Whitechapel. And +there she met John Landless. The Honorable Margaret introduced them.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Mr. Landless—oh! Miss Oglebay—Mr. Landless. It's her first +time here. Show her about a bit like a good chap, will you, while I look +for to see what my angel children's sewing-class is doing so blithely, +blithely?"</p> + +<p>John Landless looked at Phyllis, and Phyllis looked at John. If there is +ever love at first sight! Perhaps it never happens in this prosy old +twentieth century. But, if it ever does, then—there you are.</p> + +<p>"It will be a pleasure to show you through the house," said John. "I +wish Dr. Thorpe, the warden, were here, though? you should meet him; +he's great. That is Mrs. Thorpe—over there, talking to the woman who is +crying. She will have her straightened out before you can say Jack +Robinson,—and no nonsense either."</p> + +<p>It took a little longer than that, but in a few minutes the woman went +away smiling; and then Phyllis met Mrs. Thorpe, who won her at once.</p> + +<p>"I leave you in good hands, Miss Oglebay," she said, when she was called +away. "You will hear Saint Ruth's praises sung. We shall hope to see you +here often."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad I came," said Phyllis, "and you are very kind, Mr. +Landless, to explain things to me. Are you certain I am not taking too +much of your time?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we will glance at my boys as we go along," replied John. "The +afternoons are not especially busy. The evenings are full, though, with +classes, and clubs, and games, and all that,—you know."</p> + +<p>They walked through the rooms devoted to social amelioration; to the +mental, physical and spiritual redemption of sordid lives. To these +rooms men from the universities, impelled by a new conscience, bring +their learning and their refinement. In these rooms men from the +docks—the flotsam and jetsam of humanity—receive their first glimpse +of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"Plato and the swing of Pleiades."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>While John explained the theory and practice of such social settlements +as Toynbee Hall, and Mansfield House, and Saint Ruth's, Phyllis found +time to study his face. His black hair was cut short, but it curled for +all that; his dark eyes were fine, the eyebrows very thick. His mouth +closed tightly, a little too tightly, perhaps. But his chin! "He will +have his way," thought Phyllis. She noticed that he stood very straight, +that his shoulders were broad, and that his light gray suit became him +well.</p> + +<p>In the room to which the Hon. Margaret Neville consecrated ten hours a +week were a number of very small girls, trying to use needles without +pricking their fingers, and not succeeding very well. John and Phyllis +stood just outside the door, waiting for the dismissal of the class.</p> + +<p>Now, John Landless had a test for new acquaintances, a test evolved of +trying experience If she laughed now!—or said, "How odd!"</p> + +<p>"I find this work tremendously absorbing" said John, "and I hope I am +helpful, a little, you know. But besides all that I think the work helps +me in my profession."</p> + +<p>"Your profession," repeated Phyllis, turning toward him the sweet, +interested face he was watching so intently. "May I ask what is your +profession?"</p> + +<p>"I am a poet," said John simply, and awaited results.</p> + +<p>"That is a noble profession," said Phyllis "I am glad you have chosen +it. I hope you will succeed in it." She colored. "And I believe you +will," she added. She was looking at his chin.</p> + +<p>Then, for the first time, Phyllis saw John's smile. He had a wonderful +smile; the most winning; he should have smiled oftener; but life is a +serious business to poets, especially at twenty-four.</p> + +<p>"It is good of you to say that," said John. "Almost every one roars. +That is—the men. The girls giggle, or say, 'How curious!' I think you +are the first girl who has ever taken it quite as a matter of course +that a man might make poetry his profession. I am prepared to defend the +profession of poetry against the world, if need be; but I don't like to +be stared at while I am doing it."</p> + +<p>"I understand," replied Phyllis warmly. "If you said the Army, or the +Church, or Engineering, no one would be surprised or unsympathetic. But +they think one should be a little ashamed of owning himself a poet. So +much the worse for them," she concluded, nodding her pretty head and +catching her breath in that quick way of hers.</p> + +<p>"You're very kind to say so, but——" John was about to ask her if she +was sure she meant it. Looking into Phyllis's candid eyes he thought +better of it.</p> + +<p>"Are any of your—that is—have you——?" she stammered, partly because +the form of her question puzzled her; partly because she was aware of +John's ardent eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have been in the magazines three or four times," he replied. He +knew that question. "But I hope to bring out a little book of poems in +the spring."</p> + +<p>"I shall be eager to see it," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Really?" asked John.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she replied, coloring again. Mark Holroyd had looked at her +like that; but how different it had been.</p> + +<p>"You shall have one of the first copies off the press," said John, in a +low voice, "because you were one of the first to encourage me in all +this great London. And I shall write that in the book, if you will let +me."</p> + +<p>Phyllis looked at him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"You must never be discouraged," she said slowly. "There will be +difficulties, of course, and obstacles, and—and hard places to get +over. All the poets I have read about had a hard time at first. But +there will be friends to believe in you, many of them, who will wish you +success in your profession."</p> + +<p>"If I could know there was one, at least," said John, his dark eyes +glowing.</p> + +<p>Phyllis smiled at him. "There will be many," she repeated.</p> + +<p>The Honorable Margaret joined them, having delivered her closing remarks +to her class; remarks somewhat pointed on the subject of noses and +handkerchiefs, but inclusive of cleanliness and godliness generally.</p> + +<p>"Splendid place, isn't it, Phil?" she remarked with enthusiasm. "Did you +see the dispensary, and the nursery, and the gymnasium and the laundry, +and all around the shop?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think we saw everything," replied Phyllis. "Mr. Landless has +explained it all in the most interesting way."</p> + +<p>"Will you come again?" asked John, as he stood at the curb, while they +stepped into the Neville motor.</p> + +<p>"She's sure to," replied the Honorable Margaret promptly. "Saint Ruth's +eats 'em alive. I came to scoff and remained to thread needles myself. +Phyllis will be minding the babies in a month,—eh, Phil?"</p> + +<p>"I should love to come again," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow?" asked John.</p> + +<p>"No," said the Honorable Margaret. "To-morrow's not my day. I come on +Thursday next."</p> + +<p>"I think it <i>would</i> be convenient for me to come to-morrow," said +Phyllis. "Perhaps that nice Mrs. Thorpe, to whom you introduced me, +could find something for me to do. I am afraid I shall have to be taught +how myself first, though."</p> + +<p>"Great Scott!" cried the Honorable Margaret, leaning back in the car. +"Saint Ruth has made one mouthful of you."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Mr. Landless. Thank you again," said Phyllis, extending a +cordial hand.</p> + +<p>"Until to-morrow," said John.</p> + +<p>He stood at the curb watching the receding car. When he reëntered the +house, his smile lighted his face wonderfully.</p> + +<p>"What do you think, Phyllis!" whispered the Honorable Margaret, her eye +on the chauffeur. "Mark Holroyd telephoned me at the Settlement. He told +me he needed bucking up a bit, and was coming to me to be comforted. +He's to be at the house at nine. Isn't he the dearest fellow?"</p> + +<p>Phyllis opened her eyes wide; and then half closed them.</p> + +<p>"He is one of the dearest, Peggy," she said softly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + + +<p>"Lady Neville is a most estimable woman," observed Sir Peter, at +breakfast the next morning, "and your friend Margaret is a very nice +girl, as I have observed. But these places, my dear, these social +settlements, as they call them, Saint Ruth's, and—er—the rest of them, +are the breeding-places of discontent, of unrest hotbeds of socialism. I +can't approve of your going there often."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, Uncle Peter, you know far more about it than I do. But +I should think that Saint Ruth's would make the poor people more +contented. If there were no such clean, bright, cheery places to go to, +and to leave their babies in, and to hear music on summer nights, and +see the motion-pictures which make them forget their hard, drudging, +colorless lives for a little while,"—here Phyllis caught her breath in +that fascinating way she has—"if there were no such helpful places, I +should think they might be more hopeless and bitter. But when they know +that Lady Neville, and you, and other rich people care something for +them,—enough to want to give them some happy hours; when they see Peggy +Neville teaching their little girls to sew,—don't you think they may +feel less like throwing a stone through the windows of her motor?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, my dear child, perhaps. I do not say you are wrong. I am +inclined to think, however, that they suppose these—er—social +settlements are maintained by the County Council, and supported by the +rates. And I rather think," added Sir Peter, lighting his cigar, "I +rather think they believe they pay the rates themselves."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever visited Saint Ruth's, Uncle Peter? But I am sure you +haven't, or I should have known it. Now, how can you sit in your library +here and analyze the thoughts and motives of those poor people? What +must Saint Ruth's seem to them, compared with their miserable +dwellings?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say I have ever been there," owned Sir Peter, "but I am one of +the Board of Trustees, in charge of the funds of several philanthropic +institutions, and I hear these things discussed. But, my dear child, I +do not wish to offer any objection to your going there if you are +interested. Good idea; see the other side. Of course, you won't ever go +alone, though. Those East End streets, you know—better take the car and +have Thompson wait. I will make an inquiry or two of Sir Charles +Anstruther at the Club; he takes a deep interest in—er—these social +settlements,—Toynbee Hall and——Ten o'clock! I shall be late. +Good-bye, my dear. Have a good time in your own way."</p> + +<p>Phyllis may have confused inclination with duty a little; in any event, +Mrs. Thorpe, whose kind face might have served for a likeness of Saint +Ruth herself, found plenty of work for her. And Phyllis did love the +babies; they did not all look alike to her, as they did to John. The +Honorable Margaret found her quite at home when Thursday rolled around.</p> + +<p>"Good for you, Phil!" was her salutation "My word! Don't they get dirty +over-night!"</p> + +<p>When a month had passed, it was Phyllis's custom to go to Saint Ruth's +nearly every day. The work was engrossing; Dr. Thorpe warned her against +overdoing it; his experience of volunteer workers was large.</p> + +<p>"Oh! she will stay with us," laughed Mrs. Thorpe, to whom his misgivings +were clear. "Miss Oglebay and I are to make calls in the neighborhood +this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"You will see sad sights," said the doctor; "but lots of funny ones, +too."</p> + +<p>To the Christmas ceremonies she brought Sir Peter, determined to be +pleased, against his better judgment. He liked Dr. Thorpe at once; Sir +Peter knew a man when he saw one. Mrs. Thorpe made him chuckle; so he +liked her, too. The place was crowded; mostly with the very poor, in +their best and at their best; but Sir Peter was surprised to meet a +number of his acquaintances; not so surprised as they were, however.</p> + +<p>There were two adjoining houses to be leased and connected with Saint +Ruth's; a matter of arrangement was submitted by Dr. Thorpe. Sir Peter +paced off the rooms for himself and gave his opinion. Dr. Thorpe +consulted strangers on problems of obvious solution; the hard ones he +and Mrs. Thorpe thought out after they went to bed.</p> + +<p>They occupied front seats for the entertainment and Phyllis pointed +people out to him.</p> + +<p>"There is Father Carroll," she said, indicating direction with her +programme. "Dr. Thorpe and Father Carroll and Mr. Landless are the +committee. Father Carroll will give the address later; Mr. Landless +arranged the songs. I helped him with that."</p> + +<p>The entertainment was a success. Such proud mothers and fathers when the +prizes were distributed! Every child had honorable mention, at least. +Father Carroll told the funniest stories; how the crowd laughed. And +when he talked seriously to them—you could have heard a pin drop.</p> + +<p>When John was introduced to Sir Peter, he stood very straight; one +stood at attention instinctively, before Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"Very pleased, indeed, to meet you, sir," said Sir Peter. "You don't +happen to be of the Sussex Landlesses, do you; I knew a Hugh Landless at +Cambridge."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. They are my people. He was my father."</p> + +<p>"Really. Let me see: he took orders, did he not? I hope I am not to +infer——"</p> + +<p>"He died last June, sir."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon. I didn't know. I am sorry not to have seen more of +him after he left the University. He was a most likeable fellow. We +shall see more of you, I trust? Have you been long in London?"</p> + +<p>"I came after—at once. There was nothing to keep me there, and I felt I +must begin work in my profession immediately."</p> + +<p>If John had been looking at Phyllis, he would have seen her face flush +slightly; an anxious look came into her eyes. But he was looking at Sir +Peter.</p> + +<p>"What is it to be?" asked Sir Peter. "Not the Church?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir." John's chin was noticeable now. "I follow the profession of +poetry."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word!" exclaimed Sir Peter, and would have said more.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it fine, Uncle Peter!" Phyllis interrupted, her cheeks rosy, and +her eyes starry pleaders for a lost cause. "Mr. Landless means to be a +poet. That is his chosen profession. Don't you think it fine to make +such a choice,—when one has the talent, of course?" Her earnest voice +fell before Sir Peter's stony gaze.</p> + +<p>"But poetry isn't a profession," declared Sir Peter roundly. He gave a +short, hard laugh. "A pastime, perhaps; a recreation; but not a +profession, Mr. Landless. But, pshaw! You don't expect me to take you +seriously?"</p> + +<p>There was an awkward moment. When Phyllis ventured a look at John, she +was surprised to see him smiling.</p> + +<p>"I assure you I am quite serious," he answered easily. "But I am +accustomed to the other view. Thank you cordially for your willingness +to see something of me. My father would have been pleased. When I was +going through his papers I fancy I ran across your name in one of his +old diaries. You won't think me disrespectful if I tell you that the +diary spoke of you as 'Top' Oglebay."</p> + +<p>"Good Gad!" said Sir Peter; "I have not heard that name in thirty years. +Yes, I was 'Top' Oglebay."</p> + +<p>Phyllis was glad to see Mark Holroyd and her dear Peggy Neville coming +toward them. Mark was sheepish, at first, but Phyllis put him at his +ease in no time. The Honorable Margaret and John Landless were sworn +friends. John had applied the test to her. "Perfectly smashing!" was her +expressed opinion of his profession; the foresight of Phyllis had +smoothed the way.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Sir Peter, as they drove homeward, "that was all very +interesting and new. You will help me to remember to send a check to +Thorpe in the morning, won't you, my dear?"</p> + +<p>Phyllis, snuggled in furs, wondered if she dared to make a remark, ever +so casually, about Mr. Landless; concluded she daren't, and resigned +herself to think of him in silence.</p> + +<p>A week later John presented himself, in evening dress. Sir Peter chatted +with them for a while, and then buried himself in the "Engineering +Review." Over this he nodded, oblivious, while John recited his verses +to Phyllis at the other end of the long library. They were pretty +verses; Phyllis thought them beautiful. You should have seen John's +smile. He tried to screw his courage up to recite his "Lines to +Phyllis," but at ten he hadn't, and Sir Peter awoke then, and reëntered +the conversation.</p> + +<p>John said good-night to Sir Peter in the library. He would have to +Phyllis, also, but she went with him into the hall. Sir Peter followed +them there, and said good-night again, in the friendliest way.</p> + +<p>Phyllis called on Saint Ruth's neighbors often in the weeks that +followed. Mindful of her uncle's command, she was never alone. Sometimes +Mrs. Thorpe, at others Peggy Neville, and quite often John Landless went +with her. The squalor and misery all about them was shocking to every +sense; hideous at its worst; but the sharp, sweet, bitter-sweet memories +of those winter afternoons will linger in Phyllis's mind as long as she +lives. Sad memories and joyous ones! And one more lovely than all the +rest.</p> + +<p>There came a day when, long in advance of its arrival, there was a +sudden hint of spring. Carrying a parcel, John walked beside Phyllis. +The soft air was filled with magic. The mildness of it brought the +tenement dwellers to windows and doors.</p> + +<p>"Warm, isn't it?" remarked John, trying to fan himself with the parcel, +and failing "Please don't walk so fast? I have something to tell you."</p> + +<p>"Tell away, Mr. Landless, tell away," said Phyllis, gayly, and slackened +her pace. "Is there good news of your book? Do the flinty-hearted +publishers at last see their opportunity?"</p> + +<p>"No, they don't," said John. "In fact—well, I am glad my opinion of my +poetry isn't governed by theirs."</p> + +<p>Phyllis stole a quick look at his face; but the chin was uplifted, +confident as ever.</p> + +<p>"Is the boys' club making progress?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Splendid! But I want to talk about you and me."</p> + +<p>"You and me——" three little words. The subtle spring air wafted odors +of Arcady.</p> + +<p>For a few moments they walked on silently John was preparing his +sentences, and he could never be hurried at that.</p> + +<p>Phyllis knew what was coming; she knew, she knew! Ah! the rapture of it, +the loveliness of it all! the poignant beauty of the still unspoken +words. Phyllis was willing to wait; he had nothing to tell her she +didn't know; but she wanted to hear it said, and remember each word to +dream over afterward.</p> + +<p>Slowly they walked, in the mean little street, past dark passages, +leading into tenements; past knots of lounging men; little mothers with +heavy babies struggling in their thin arms; rowdies with vacuous eyes; +and girls flaunting cheap finery.</p> + +<p>"May I call you Phyllis?" asked John, breaking the silence suddenly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus2" id="illus2"></a> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<p>"Why, yes; if you wish—and if you think you ought, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, then,—Phyllis. Your name has become to me the one name worth +saying in the world. Ever since I met you for the first time, four +months ago, I have been saying it, Phyllis; but I wanted to say it to +you. So with your face: I know every mood of you by the lights and +shadows of it. I can see it in your absence, almost as well as when I am +with you. Your dear, sweet face, Phyllis, and your crown of gold, and +your loyal eyes, I know by heart, as well as your name. Dear Phyllis. +And I know, too, your quick and beautiful mind; its clear, wise +judgment of the true and the false. I know its freedom from selfishness, +and all littleness. I know its purity and its steadfastness I know your +capable hands, Phyllis, and your eager, pitying heart,—for I have seen +them at work day after day, and week after week. I love you, my dearest, +and I must tell you so. I think I have loved you longer than I have +known you, but I know I have loved you as long. Perhaps you can care for +me, and perhaps you can't. Sometimes I have dared to hope you might, but +almost always I have known it was too high a hope. For I am only a poor +poet, with nothing but faith in myself and love for you to offer. I know +you have everything; a beautiful home, and beautiful clothes, and +beautiful jewels, probably, though I haven't seen them. Every wish of +yours is answered almost before you know it is yours. Life's promise to +you is the earth and the fullness thereof; and I offer you only love. +But in the end I shall win, Phyllis, I am perfectly certain of that. I +shall never, never be rich; possibly never even well-to-do; but I love +you, Phyllis; I love you. I want to ask you to wait for me—and be my +wife."</p> + +<p>With a pretty impulse she took one of his hands and raised it to her +lips.</p> + +<p>People were passing almost constantly. They were forced to separate, to +pass a group of children, playing noisily on the pavement.</p> + +<p>"I know I should have spoken to your uncle, first," he said, "but I knew +he would say no, unless—unless you asked him, too."</p> + +<p>"Ah! but I am so glad you told me to-day," said Phyllis. "I am so glad, +so glad! Of all the days in the year I should have chosen to-day. You +don't know why, do you? Because to-day is the fourteenth of +February,—Saint Valentine's Day."</p> + +<p>In a rush of words she told him of her mother's name, and of her mother, +and of her valentines.</p> + +<p>"You haven't told me you love me yet," said John.</p> + +<p>"Can't you hear my heart singing it?" asked Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"But I want to hear you say the words," he urged.</p> + +<p>"I love you, John," said Phyllis softly.</p> + +<p>"And you will promise to marry me—some day?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes—some day," she repeated shyly.</p> + +<p>"And you are not afraid of the future?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said Phyllis. She smiled up at him. "You must take me home, +now, and we will tell Uncle Peter."</p> + +<p>They rode home on the top of a motor-bus. He tucked her hand into his +greatcoat pocket, and held it there. Their mood was exalted. The streets +were glorified; the gloomy buildings had become wonderful castles; their +fellow-passengers were surrounded with the mystery of romance.</p> + +<p>It grew colder rapidly; at the terminus they clambered down stiffly. +Twilight had fallen when they reached the great gates of the park. John +stopped and laid a detaining hand on Phyllis's arm. They kissed for the +first time. Moment of ecstasy!</p> + +<p>It is doubtful if they would ever have got past the park gates except +for the warning whistle of a hurrying messenger boy, on a bicycle.</p> + +<p>"My eye! What a smack!" he yelled, as he shot past. John glared, but +Phyllis laughed happily.</p> + +<p>He would have lingered as they walked down the long street to the +house; but Phyllis had no doubt of the outcome; Sir Peter's frown was +without terrors for her, but to John—how formidable. His footsteps +lagged as they climbed the wide steps to the door.</p> + +<p>"Sir Peter was called out of town by a telegram," said Burbage, in the +hall. "He said he would be home by a late train. Thompson's to meet the +twelve-thirty."</p> + +<p>John clutched at this reprieve.</p> + +<p>"I have a class at Saint Ruth's at seven," he said. "I must hurry away, +Miss Oglebay." Burbage was helping Phyllis with her furs.</p> + +<p>It was arranged he should call early the following morning. They +exchanged significant looks, and he was gone. A ring, set with +old-fashioned garnets, was left in the hand he had pressed; one of his +mother's rings, worn on his watch-chain. Phyllis seized Burbage and +danced her up and down the hall and back again, demoralizing the rugs. +Then, having picked up her muff and thrown it at her, Phyllis raced up +the stairs.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + + +<p>Sir Peter was gruff at the breakfast table. The hurriedly written +telegram, or his hasty reading of it, had led him a wild-goose chase. To +find your host concealing surprise as he shakes hands, and to learn, at +the end of ten minutes of feverish cordiality, that you were invited to +dine the following night, is never comfortable, even at the home of an +old friend. When two hours on a train each way are involved, and loss of +one's sleep as well——! A bleak east wind, this morning, too, and Sir +Peter was Jarndyced as to that quarter.</p> + +<p>Worst of all, Phyllis looked like her mother, with her hair over her +ears, like that; the likeness always irritated Sir Peter, but this +morning it was particularly striking.</p> + +<p>He accepted her morning endearments graciously, but Phyllis was glad the +toast wasn't cold. She recognized unpropitious portents.</p> + +<p>John was shown into the library at ten, sharp; his chin had come to his +rescue. He gave Phyllis a bright look, and led up to the business in +hand promptly.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter, savoring his cigar, "The Times" spread over his knees, +invited the young man to be seated; the young man preferred to stand, +and did, very straight, his back to the fireplace. His eyes were large +and serious his color high; his hands were behind him and the nervous +fingers couldn't be seen. Phyllis viewed her champion with approving +eyes, and sat on the edge of her chair.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid my errand won't be an agreeable one to you, sir," John +began. "I am sure it wouldn't be to me if—if I were you. But I must +tell you my story from the beginning, if you are willing. You knew my +father and something of my family. The people of his parish were +tremendously fond of him. He gave them all of himself. He died poor, of +course, and left me a good name and two hundred pounds a year. The +countryside came to his funeral. The faces of the men were streaked with +tears, as they stood by his grave, and women wept openly. I had letters +of sympathy from every county in England, from Canada, and from far-away +India. His spirit was as gentle as a child's; but he welded men and +women to him as with bonds of steel. Yet he had never tried a cause, nor +built a bridge, nor saved a life as a physician, nor laid one down as a +soldier. He hasn't even left a sermon in print, for he never wrote one."</p> + +<p>John hesitated. Sir Peter rustled "The Times" uneasily. Phyllis sat +perfectly still, waiting.</p> + +<p>"My father taught me more than I learned at Magdalene, and he gave me my +ideals. Perhaps they are unusual, but I believe they are true. They may +be told in a few words,—to face life fearlessly, live it cleanly and +fully, and use it to what end one's conscience and one's talents direct +without too much regard for the careless opinion of the world. I haven't +anything behind me that I am ashamed of. I am far from being ashamed of +my profession though I admit it has seemed to require defense rather +often since I came to London. My father encouraged me to adopt it when I +suggested the idea to him. I will tell you what he said to me. It was +this: 'All work is fine. Of course, I think labor in the Church of God +is the finest. But every profession offers opportunities for useful +service; and trade is honorable to honorable men. But, John,' said he, +'one imperishable poem is worth more to mankind than all the gold and +silver stored in the stronghold of the Bank of England. You may never +write one, but a lifetime devoted to trying will not be wasted.' That +was what my father said, sir."</p> + +<p>"That would be like him as I recall him," said Sir Peter shortly. He had +no inkling yet of John's errand. He was disposed to be generous to this +quixotic young man for his father's sake.</p> + +<p>Phyllis wondered how any one could look at John or hear him speak, and +not love him; but she had momentary pangs of foreboding; a vague +presentiment of impending unhappiness.</p> + +<p>"I settled his few affairs,—he did not owe a penny,—and I came to +London. There had been some correspondence between Dr. Thorpe and my +father, and I called at Saint Ruth's. I thought I saw a chance of +touching a larger life and of doing a little good; I have given some of +my afternoons and all of my evenings there ever since. Dr. Thorpe is a +brick, as you know, sir; he and his wife have been very kind to me. I +was rather lonely at first, and—all that. My mornings I devote to my +profession. I think I have made some progress, if only in finding the +wrong ways of putting words together." John smiled. "There are a great +many wrong ways and I am finding them all, one by one."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter concealed his impatience; the dull ache in Phyllis's heart +continued, she knew not why.</p> + +<p>"I met Miss Oglebay at Saint Ruth's some months ago. I think I must tell +you, sir, that from the very first moment I loved her."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter half rose from his chair, in his sudden astonishment.</p> + +<p>"The devil you say!" he gasped. "Upon my word, this is effrontery. You +amaze me, Landless. You must have lost your senses. My niece"—he turned +to Phyllis. Something he saw in her face diverted the torrent "Has +Landless spoken of this to you?" he asked grimly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Uncle Peter. He told me yesterday that he—he cared for me, and we +both hurried home to tell you, but you were——"</p> + +<p>Sir Peter was out of his chair, and on his feet, now.</p> + +<p>"You spoke to my niece before you came to me, Landless; knowing that I +had met you—not more than three times, at most; that you had been in my +house but once?" His voice was raised, his scowl threatening.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to have seen so little of you, sir," said John. "But I have +seen a great deal of Phyllis."</p> + +<p>"Where, sir?" demanded Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"At Saint Ruth's, and in its neighborhood," John answered evenly. "We +have worked there together."</p> + +<p>"How long has this been going on?" Sir Peter had regained control of +himself, but his fine face was distorted. Phyllis's hands were clenched +tightly in her lap. She was very pale.</p> + +<p>"If you mean how long have we been meeting each other there, and going +about in the neighborhood together——"</p> + +<p>"I think my meaning is clear, sir."</p> + +<p>"About four months, then. It seems a short time, but we have seen each +other almost every day."</p> + +<p>"Landless, you are a sneak," said Sir Peter quietly. "You are a damned +sneak."</p> + +<p>John's face flamed; he started as if struck by a whip.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Uncle Peter!" cried Phyllis. "Oh, no, no! Uncle Peter."</p> + +<p>"Leave the house, Landless."</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Landless is my guest!" She was as pale as death, now, and +breathing hurriedly; her eyes were unnaturally large, and there was a +stricken look in them.</p> + +<p>"You heard what I said, Landless." The voice was unyielding.</p> + +<p>John moved toward the door, chin up and shoulders squared. Phyllis +intercepted him swiftly, and put both hands appealingly on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, John. Oh, wait a moment for my sake, John," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I can't," said John. "You know that I can't."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but you must, John, for my sake; for my sake."</p> + +<p>She linked her hands closely about his arm and turned to her uncle. +John, facing the door, moved slowly toward it, trying gently to +disengage her hands, and forcing her to walk a step or two backward as +she spoke.</p> + +<p>"I must ask you to apologize to Mr. Landless, Uncle Peter," she said +earnestly. "Whatever fault there has been, if there has been any, is +mine. I have often spoken to you of meeting Mr.—of meeting John at +Saint Ruth's. But I see now you didn't realize how often I went there, +nor that I was with him so many of the times. I should have told you, +Uncle Peter; the fault was mine, not John's. I am sorry, Uncle Peter, +and I ask you to forgive me. But you must apologize to John." She looked +at the stern face entreatingly; the doorway was very near.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John," she implored, "I beg you to wait a moment; just a tiny +second. Uncle Peter will tell you he didn't understand."</p> + +<p>John stopped, and stood facing the doorway his back turned to Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>They waited in silence; the slow ticking of the tall clock could be +heard.</p> + +<p>"I love him dearly, Uncle Peter," whispered Phyllis.</p> + +<p>Ah! Valentine Germain; pretty, dead Valentine Germain; your daughter is +wonderfully like you now.</p> + +<p>"I ask you to wait, Landless," said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>His next words were calmly spoken; deliberate passionless; the more +awful for that.</p> + +<p>"I have known one reckless marriage, Landless, and one is enough for a +lifetime. There is a taint in all of this of which you know nothing. +This unhappy child's father was a fool. Her mother was a shallow, +soulless, shameless creature—and worse. Her——"</p> + +<p>"It is a lie!" cried Phyllis. "A cruel, cruel lie! God pity you, Uncle +Peter, and forgive you. I am sorry for you; I am sorry for you. You have +nursed those bitter, black thoughts in your heart for so many years that +they have poisoned your life. But you have soiled my mother's memory for +the last time in my presence. Never, never again!" A great sob choked +her. "I am going to leave you, Uncle Peter. I am grateful to you for +many years of generous, loving kindness. Indeed, I do not forget them; +indeed, I am grateful. But I cannot stay here any longer. I should be +miserable—wretched if I stayed. I cannot breathe in this room—in this +house." She rocked her body as if in pain. She would have said more, +but——</p> + +<p>"Go, then!" said Sir Peter, through set teeth.</p> + +<p>Phyllis ran from the room and out of the house, bareheaded; John +snatched his hat and stick in the hall and overtook her as she fled +through the iron grille. They ran together a short distance. Then +Phyllis slackened the pace to a rapid walk. She was breathless, her +hands pressed to her heart; a maid distraught. Pitiful, inarticulate +little cries escaped her from time to time. John walked beside her, +silently. They passed through the gates of the park, and she walked more +slowly. Slowly, and still more slowly they wandered, aimlessly, under +the leafless trees. She turned to him at last, her lips blue with the +cold.</p> + +<p>"You must take care of me now, John. I have no one else," she said +quietly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + + +<p>Was it Dr. Johnson who remarked that one great charm of London is that +you may walk in a crowded street, eating a twopenny bun, without +attracting a second glance? Or was it Benjamin Franklin? Not that it +matters.</p> + +<p>On a wintry morning, in a public conveyance a hatless and coatless young +woman of unusual beauty, and a very self-conscious young man, sitting +beside her, were not annoyed by more than a curious stare or two.</p> + +<p>John had suggested a cab.</p> + +<p>"We must economize from the very beginning," said Phyllis, with a wan +smile.</p> + +<p>She blushed deliciously when John handed her money, and she hurried into +a shop. Such a simple, brown hat she found, a little shopworn; the +long, warm coat she bought matched perfectly. Standing at the street +corner, waiting for her, John counted the money in his pockets; enough +for luncheon, fares, and even contingencies, he was glad to find. But he +thought with satisfaction of the full quarter's income at his lodgings. +When she rejoined him, John looked her over critically.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that is a terribly cheap coat," he said, trying to remember +other coats he had seen on her pretty figure.</p> + +<p>"It is a lovely coat. I like it very much," replied Phyllis, stroking +the flaps of the pockets.</p> + +<p>"Well, it really is becoming," John assured her. "So is the hat."</p> + +<p>"I think so, too," said Phyllis. "And I am particular about hats."</p> + +<p>"I would be willing to wager five shillings you never had such an +inexpensive one before," said John. Phyllis didn't answer that; and +John added, "Your uncle will send your pretty clothes to—to—wherever +you go," he ended lamely.</p> + +<p>Phyllis held up two slender fingers.</p> + +<p>"Two things I didn't like in one sentence" she admonished him. "First, +Uncle Peter will send me nothing. Oh, John, I couldn't, couldn't take +anything from him now. I really could not." She stopped suddenly "I must +have my valentines, though. They were my mother's. They will go with me +wherever—That reminds me of the second thing you said I didn't like. +You should not have said—'Wherever you go,' but 'Wherever we go'!"</p> + +<p>She smiled at him bravely.</p> + +<p>"Well, we will go to lunch now," said John, smiling, too, and making the +most of the pronoun. "It is early, but we can sit and talk it all +over."</p> + +<p>"Where?" she asked, almost gayly. Her heart was bruised, but she meant +to forget all that, and the thought of a lunch with John was a very good +place to begin.</p> + +<p>John took his bearings as to restaurants.</p> + +<p>"If you could walk a short distance, there is Mildmay's," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"I can walk miles," she answered; but she thought ruefully of her thin +soles.</p> + +<p>A white table between them, a waitress with rolls, and something hot in +prospect; John thought the time had come.</p> + +<p>"But, seriously, my darling, what shall we do? What is the best for you? +Shall I take you to the Nevilles'?"</p> + +<p>Phyllis looked blank.</p> + +<p>"To be sent home in their car, bound hand and foot, and lectured +besides!" she remonstrated.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Thorpe could certainly put you up for the night. Odd I didn't +think of her first."</p> + +<p>"John, dear," began Phyllis, and then blushed, for the word had popped +out of itself. However, after a moment she went on courageously—"Did +you hear me say 'we,' a little while ago? We are going together wherever +we go." She hesitated. "Don't you want me, John?" A swift look at his +face, and hers glowed.</p> + +<p>"My dearest, dearest girl." John's voice expressed his earnest +sincerity. "I won't pretend to misunderstand your meaning, and I do so +long to believe it possible that my head swims. But—"</p> + +<p>"I perfectly hate 'buts,'" she interrupted She put her elbows on the +table, and flashed a smile at him, through her arched fingers.</p> + +<p>"But, dearest, you must consider this seriously I want you to think for +a moment. Need I tell you I love you more than life! Only yesterday I +scarcely dared hope that you might be willing to wait years for me +to—to earn enough with my pen to ask you to share my lot. To-day—the +doors of Paradise are opened wide. Ah! my dear, my dear, I am eager to +enter, but I fear for you. I should be taking advantage of your +helplessness——"</p> + +<p>"Listen, John," said Phyllis. "I am not the least bit helpless. There +are dozens of houses to which I can go and dozens of friends who would +be glad to have me come to them. But at every open door there is also a +finger pointing inevitably back to Uncle Peter's house. And there I +shall never, never go. So far as your lot is concerned—it is mine. For +better or for worse John, dear. But I trust you, and believe in you, and +think perhaps there is a high destiny for you. I want to share in that, +too, if you will let me, please. And I can't do so fully unless we go, +hand in hand, all the way, together. I am not dismayed by the thought of +doing without a great many unnecessary things. And the really vital +things I hope to have more of than ever—with you. And so, John, if you +don't mind, please, we will eat our lunch like sensible young people, +and afterward—and afterward—Now, John, I simply cannot say that. You +must say that, you know. I haven't left much of it for you to say, but +that little I insist upon your saying for yourself."</p> + +<p>Ah! Valentine Germain! pretty, dead Valentine Germain! your daughter is +wonderfully like you now.</p> + +<p>John looked steadily into her trustful eyes; a long, long look.</p> + +<p>"Then I ask you to marry me this afternoon my dearest," he said +solemnly. "And—oh! Phyllis, I pray God you may never reproach me."</p> + +<p>"I never shall, John," she answered. "For I honestly believe I am to be +the happiest and the proudest girl in England."</p> + +<p>"Wich of you gets the chocolate, and wich the tea?" asked the waitress.</p> + + +<p>They were married before three; it was amazing how short, how simple, so +marvelous an event could be. John spent ten minutes at the telephone. A +quarter of an hour was passed in the coldly official precincts of +Doctors' Commons. In the Faculty Office, through an open doorway, +Phyllis caught glimpses of the formalities incident to securing a +license. A clerk filled up a printed form; John made affidavit to the +clerk's accuracy of transcription; a stamp was affixed; a document was +blotted, examined; the dotting of an <i>i</i> was attended to, and the dot +blotted; a bank-note changed hands. The license in his pocket, John +rejoined her.</p> + +<p>"We must hurry now, darling," said he.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" said Phyllis. "I am glad to hurry away from here. That +clerk's face was so unsympathetic."</p> + +<p>Half an hour after they entered the dark, quiet church, the clergyman, +with a cold in his head, had pronounced them "bad ad wife."</p> + +<p>They were on top of a motor-bus, jolting cityward, and John was gayly +addressing her as Mrs. Landless, before Phyllis realized that it was +really all over—that the irrevocable step was taken—that they were +married. The whirl of her thoughts then!</p> + +<p>At the terminus, John bought a newspaper and scanned its advertisements. +They started on their search for lodgings. His room was in Whitechapel, +near Saint Ruth's.</p> + +<p>"It is up under the roof, and looks over the week's washing of the +submerged tenth; it won't do at all!" he had declared.</p> + +<p>The idea of a hotel impressed Phyllis unpleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said John, "we must look for a new tree in which to build +our nest."</p> + +<p>How many dissonant bells jangled to their touch; how many dreary +hallways they entered and stood waiting in; how many steep staircases +they climbed; how many rooms they peeped into—one look enough; how many +others they viewed at greater length, but with no more satisfaction in +the end; a few, John thought, had possibilities, but Phyllis could not +bear the sight of them!</p> + +<p>The curious questions they were asked; as though the lodgers instead of +the lodgings were undergoing inspection. Most of the lodging-house +keepers asked John where he was employed; some of them wanted to know if +he could give references.</p> + +<p>"How cime you to leave your last plice?" was one shrill question.</p> + +<p>In utter weariness Phyllis at last consented to John's suggestion; he +would make a preliminary survey and she should be called into counsel +only in promising cases. They were few enough. She walked up and down +monotonous streets while John was indoors; to be told, time after time, +that was not the place they sought.</p> + +<p>Even John might have been discouraged; on the contrary, that young man's +chin rose to his difficulties. But Phyllis's eyes grew more and more +troubled when darkness fell, and the lights in windows reminded them +that they were still homeless.</p> + +<p>Seeking new bills, "To Let," they found themselves in a small square, +surrounded by houses; a fine neighborhood in its day.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, John, I fear I can walk no farther," said Phyllis. "We must go +to a hotel after all, though I detest the idea. My shoes are worn +through."</p> + +<p>He led her to a bench in the little square, and kneeling before her took +off one shoe, and then the other, and carefully fitted each with a new +sole, made from a page of "The Daily Chronicle."</p> + +<p>"If I fail as a poet I shall be a cobbler," he said to her brightly.</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her. "My dearest, I am so sorry. I have blundered +through this afternoon, horribly. Perhaps I should have taken you to my +own room at once, poor as it is. Perhaps I should have sought advice +from Mrs. Thorpe. Perhaps I should have insisted on a hotel, for a few +days, until we could look about. At least, we might have had a cab. I +have been most inconsiderate. I am so strong in the new hope and +strength you have given me that I haven't thought enough for you. My +poor, tired Phyllis."</p> + +<p>He held her hands; his face contrite. She was too dispirited for words, +but she patted his hand softly.</p> + +<p>As they sat there, John saw a lighted shop-window, not fifty yards +distant.</p> + +<p>"Sit here and rest, darling, while I run over there and inquire for any +lodgings in this vicinity. If there are none, I will call a cab and we +will go to a hotel. Think of the beautiful dinner we shall have. Our +wedding dinner, dearest! I warn you I mean to be extravagant." He leaned +over her and kissed her, and then ran across the street.</p> + +<p>Then she allowed herself to cry for the first time. Poor, sad, tired +little bride, whose wedding day had been so different from all her +girlish dreams of it. She cried quietly, on the bench, alone, in the +darkness. She was cold and tired and lonely.</p> + +<p>John came back on the run, from the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>"I inquired at the bookseller's shop," said he. "He directed me to the +house in which he lodges himself. He recommended it so highly I thought +I would leave you alone for a few minutes longer and see the rooms. +Phyllis, I really believe I have found what we want. There are three +rooms, though one is very small. There is the coziest little +sitting-room, with a fireplace and an easy-chair. Adjoining it is a +smaller room. But the bedroom is large, and has two windows. The place +is spotlessly clean. And the woman who lets the rooms is a wholesome, +good-hearted soul; I am sure you will like her. The terms are a +little—well, just a little higher; but the woman says, of course, that +is to be expected—with the view of the square from our windows."</p> + +<p>John looked at Phyllis doubtfully. "Do you think, dearest, that you +could see these for yourself? It isn't far, and I will not ask you to +look at another place if you don't like this one."</p> + +<p>She drew new courage from his hopefulness They walked the length of the +little square.</p> + +<p>John rang. The door opened, and a motherly looking woman stood aside to +let them enter. Phyllis stood directly below a flaring gas-jet, as she +turned to wait for their conductress.</p> + +<p>The woman screamed and her hands went to her heart.</p> + +<p>"Valentine Oglebay!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"That was my mother's name," said Phyllis. She was too tired to be +surprised, even. The woman took a step forward.</p> + +<p>"Your mother! Then you must be little Phyllis. You don't remember—"</p> + +<p>"Farquharson!" cried Phyllis. "Farquharson! Oh! dear, dear Farquharson."</p> + +<p>They were crying in each other's arms, repeating names endearingly, +incredulously.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + + +<p>John stood staring.</p> + +<p>Finally, Mrs. Farquharson, tears streaming down her kindly face, held +Phyllis away from her and looked at her long and lovingly.</p> + +<p>"My dear, my dear, my deary dear. How ever did you come to find me?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't," replied Phyllis. "John found you. He—we—we are looking for +lodgings. We—we were married this afternoon. We have been hunting for +rooms for hours—and this was the last place——" Phyllis faltered. She +turned to John, and then to Mrs. Farquharson. "This is Mr. Landless, +my—this is my dear, dear old Nurse Farquharson. She knew my mother and +father, and she took care of me when I was a little, little girl. Oh, +John, you cannot know how glad I am to see her!"</p> + +<p>They shook hands.</p> + +<p>"I told her she would like you," said John to Mrs. Farquharson.</p> + +<p>"And to think of her being married," said Mrs. Farquharson. "And coming +to my house with her husband, looking for a place to live, and me with +three rooms all ready for them as soon as ever I can get a fire laid in +the grate."</p> + +<p>She turned to Phyllis again.</p> + +<p>"Just you sit down here in the warm hall a minute, my deary dear," she +said, "while I get—though maybe you would like to look at them first. +Yes, of course. Come straight upstairs, Miss—my dear. If you decide to +stay—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Farquharson! How can you suggest that we shouldn't stay!" said +Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Never would I hint such a thing," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "But, of +course, there are only the three rooms, and one of them small, to be +sure, and no others in the house unoccupied. This way,—these are the +rooms, Miss—my dear. And as I says to the young gentleman—your +husband, that is—the sitting-room is that cozy, with the fire, and the +bedroom is airy. The view is something pretty, I do assure you. Oh! my +deary dear, my deary dear! How ever did you come to find me?"</p> + +<p>It was hard to tell whether Mrs. Farquharson was laughing or crying. +Phyllis sank into the easy-chair with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"I shall never get up again," she said to John.</p> + +<p>"Slippers," said Mrs. Farquharson, and vanished.</p> + +<p>John kissed Phyllis and tried, awkwardly, to take off her hat. He +managed it finally, and a loose strand of beautiful hair fell over one +of her ears. She tucked it away.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it too wonderful to be true!" she said. John's heart was too full +for speech. He turned away to hide his working mouth.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson was on her knees before Phyllis a moment later. The +slippers were too large, but how welcome to her aching feet. One of her +shoes, upturned, caught Mrs. Farquharson's eye. She inspected John's +handiwork; then gave Phyllis a startled look.</p> + +<p>"In February, my dear. And on your wedding day! How ever came it? With +newspapers, all wadded in. Whatever's happened?"</p> + +<p>"It has all been very sudden, dear Farquharson" said Phyllis. "I will +tell you all about it as soon as I have rested a little. Oh! It is good, +good, to be with you. I am so glad, so glad. Aren't you glad, John? +Just think—if you hadn't tried once more. If you hadn't asked at that +little shop."</p> + +<p>"Shop?" inquired Mrs. Farquharson.</p> + +<p>"The little old bookshop, at the other aid of the square," explained +John.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Rowlandson's. He sent you here. He would, to be sure. My oldest +lodger, sir, and the easiest to do for—though odd. Here's Genevieve +with the tea. Don't put the tray on the sofa, Genevieve On the table, of +course. Whenever will you learn? Here, drink this, my deary dear. It +will prepare your stomach for something more. I am getting your supper +ready now downstairs, and the young gentleman's. There's a chop. Do +drink a little of the tea, my dear, even if you don't want it. It's for +your best. Do you like apricots as well as ever you did? Oh, whoever has +had the bringing of you up, that I should have had! The many times I've +thought. And your poor dear mother and father both taken at once, too."</p> + +<p>"I went to my Uncle Peter," said Phyllis "I have lived there ever +since."</p> + +<p>"Sir Peter Oglebay—your father's brother I might have known." Mrs. +Farquharson nodded her head vigorously. "Though he was terrible down on +your—To think of that now! And so you have been here in London all +these many years! And me never to know! Deary me!"</p> + +<p>"We—my uncle did everything to find you," Phyllis assured her. "He even +advertised for you. I cried for you very often when I was little, dear +Farquharson."</p> + +<p>"Did you, indeed, my dear?" asked Mrs. Farquharson, smiling, and wiping +her eyes with her apron. "And advertised for me. In the papers. Reward +offered and no questions asked. I've read them myself, but never did I +think."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I wanted you very badly," Phyllis assured her again. "I used +to tease Burbage when I was naughty, by telling her you were never cross +with me."</p> + +<p>"And who is Burbage?" asked Mrs. Farquharson.</p> + +<p>"She is my uncle's housekeeper. She was very good to me, too. But I +missed you dreadfully. You know, John, my mother and father were away +from home for weeks at a time, and Farquharson took such care of me."</p> + +<p>"Such games as we had," said Mrs. Farquharson reflectively; and then to +John,—"She was everything whatever from Mary, Queen of Scots, to a +dromedary, I've beheaded her many's the time, and her humps was the +pillows off her little bed. If Genevieve hasn't burned those chops to a +cinder, they must be ready, and why ever she doesn't bring them up I do +not know."</p> + +<p>What a dainty supper! John did full justice to it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson brooded over Phyllis; but she could eat nothing.</p> + +<p>The kind-hearted woman maintained a constant stream of talk, in which +lodgers, rooms, chops, apricots, and toast, and the old times were +inextricably intermingled.</p> + +<p>The first-floor front and his wife had seen better days; in stocks, they +were. The vagaries of Mr. Rowlandson, the bookseller, third-floor front, +the walls of his rooms lined with—what do you think? No, not with +books, nor pictures, but with glazed cases containing old patch-boxes +and old fans. Mrs. Farquharson had seen Mr. Singleton and Mr. Leonard +once. But the trio of painters was inseparable no longer. Mr. Knowles +had married their favorite model. "The hussy!" said Mrs. Farquharson.</p> + +<p>One reminiscence followed another.</p> + +<p>"Ah, me," she sighed. "Your father and mother was a pair of lovers if +ever there was a pair. As long as I knew them, they never had a +word—much less words. 'Pard' he called her. 'What shall we do to-day, +Pard?' he would ask her of a morning. She would want him to be at his +pictures 'On such a sunshiny morning!' he would say. And the next day, +maybe, it would rain. 'You know I can't paint these dark days,' says he. +And off they would go, on some harum-scarum or other, like a couple of +children. Like a couple of children—and so they ever were, too. Do you +mind my speaking of them?"</p> + +<p>"I love it," Phyllis assured her. "I—you know I have had no one with +whom I could talk about my mother and father. Uncle Peter—" She could +not finish the sentence.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, my deary dear, I know," said Mrs. Farquharson soothingly. +"Your mother knew what he thought. Often and often she told me she +wished she could find a way to make Sir Peter not think so hard of her. +'Oh, Farquharson,' says she, 'he thinks I snared Robert. If he only knew +how hard I tried to refuse him.' She was wild for a stage career when +first they met. It grieved her sorely that your uncle didn't know the +rights of it; but, bless your heart, she couldn't bear the thought of +any one, high or low, not being good friends with her. She was that +tender-hearted, you wouldn't believe. But along with it as proud +as—as—I can't think of his name—that makes the matches. You know, my +dear."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson mused over her memories</p> + +<p>"Your father was her first love-affair," she resumed. "She was wrapped +up in her acting till she met him. Her mother and father were both on +the stage. Did you know that? Yes, my deary dear, she told me a +costume-trunk was her cradle, and a dressing-room the only nursery that +ever she knew. She hated to give it all up, but she did; your mother +loved your father beyond all that ever I saw or heard of, and he +worshiped the ground she walked on. Strong words, my dear, but true as +true."</p> + +<p>It was midnight before they knew it. The dark circles under her +darling's eyes gave Mrs. Farquharson occasion for concern. Genevieve had +visited the bedroom with clean linen in her arms.</p> + +<p>"I will take a short walk," whispered John to Phyllis.</p> + +<p>Poor Phyllis. She needed her old nurse; the excitement and fatigue had +exhausted her completely.</p> + +<p>Standing in the square, looking upward at the stars, a white-faced poet, +his thoughts unutterable, at last saw the lights in her windows grow +dim and disappear.</p> + +<p>On the stairs he met Mrs. Farquharson. Her voice was anxious as she bade +him good night.</p> + +<p>From the little sitting-room John could see into the bedroom. The light +shone on the face of Phyllis asleep.</p> + +<p>He sat watching the dying fire for a long while. Finally he rose, slowly +wound up his watch, turned out the gas, and lay down on the sofa. He +soon slumbered peacefully.</p> + +<p>In the gray dawn Phyllis awakened. Recollections slowly crowded upon her +consciousness. She rose and stood by the window, looking out on the +quiet square, and at the houses, opposite, emerging from obscurity with +the growing light. She stepped to the door and peeped into the other +room. John lay on the sofa, sleeping soundly, one arm flung boyishly +over his head.</p> + +<p>The rooms were very cold. She took the coverlet from her bed and spread +it over him.</p> + +<p>He stirred a little. "Thanks, old chap," he murmured sleepily.</p> + +<p>Phyllis tiptoed back to bed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + + +<p>Within a fortnight their rooms were transformed. Mrs. Farquharson +declared she would not have known them herself.</p> + +<p>John's old room, dismantled, yielded his bookshelves and his books; his +father's old desk, a Sheraton, and therefore a beauty and joy forever; +and his armchair, which took its place in a corner of the cheery +sitting-room and seemed to say—"Come, sit here, and be comfortable," as +naturally as though it had been established there for years. Certainly +it had this advantage over the other chairs; it was so roomy John and +Phyllis could sit in it together; and often did.</p> + +<p>There were photographs of his father as a young man; and of his mother, +a flower-like creature, who had faded like a flower, leaving a fragrant +memory. Phyllis gazed at her picture with wistful eyes; and once, when +John was absent, held it to her lips.</p> + +<p>But Phyllis's old valentines gave the rooms their charm. A dozen or +more, framed in dull gold, hung on the walls, their delicate coloring +softened by the passing of many years; their sentiment as fresh and +gentle as of yesterday.</p> + +<p>On the day after her marriage, Phyllis had written this letter:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>DEAR UNCLE PETER:—</p> + +<p>John Landless and I were married yesterday. We have found a +pleasant place to live, with Farquharson, my old nurse. I hope you +will try to think of me as kindly as you can, and kindly, too, of +John, whose heart is pure gold, and all mine, as mine is his. I +want you to know I am sorry, even when I am happiest,—and, indeed, +Uncle Peter, I am happy,—sorry for the pain my thoughtlessness +gave you? sorry for the mischief that was done, unconsciously, +because I did not tell you, long ago, that I was learning to love +him. It would have been far, far better to have told you? I am +truly, truly sorry. Some day, when you want me to, I hope to tell +you all this much better than I can write it.</p> + +<p>I have a favor to ask of you, Uncle Peter. I want my valentines. +Could Burbage put them all in the leather cases, and send them, by +Thompson, to Saint Ruth's? And, please, I ask you to send nothing +else? just the valentines, please, Uncle Peter.</p> + +<p>Always lovingly,<br /> +PHYLLIS.</p></div> + +<p>On the following afternoon, John went to Saint Ruth's to tell the news, +and announce his unavoidable absence from the Settlement for the month +to be devoted to his book.</p> + +<p>"And to you," he said, as he kissed Phyllis good-bye.</p> + +<p>"Tell Mrs. Thorpe we shall both be back in a month, eager to do more +than ever," was her reply to this. "Tell her, please, not to think we +are selfish; but the little book is so important just now."</p> + +<p>Phyllis listened, smilingly, to Mrs. Farquharson's gossip about her +lodgers.</p> + +<p>"'Never again,' he says to me solemnly, and pointing at me with his long +finger. 'The keys I shall leave in the cases as I ever have, but never +again touch dust-cloth to my fans and patch-boxes!' And never have I +since that day, which is seven years if it's a minute. He dusts them +himself of a Sunday morning. I've caught him at it!" Mrs. Farquharson +picked a thread from her skirt, and carefully wound it around her +finger.</p> + +<p>"Speaking of catching him at it reminds me of that Mrs. Burbage," she +continued. She never referred to her save as "that" Mrs. Burbage; the +designation expressed anathema. "I have wondered, did ever it occur to +you whether Sir Peter asked that Mrs. Burbage to take the advertisements +to the papers; it being my belief that if he ever did she never did. And +consequently, however could I see them, and know my deary dear wanted +her old nurse?"</p> + +<p>The whir of a motor, immediately below the windows, caused Mrs. +Farquharson to look out.</p> + +<p>"Whoever is that now? A man in leggings and a middle-aged woman in +spectacles. I never set eyes on her before. He's beginning to take the +little leather trunks out. Whatever is—"</p> + +<p>Phyllis's intuition was swift as light. A glimpse from another window, +and—</p> + +<p>"It is Uncle Peter's car, Farquharson," she exclaimed. "The boxes are +the old Valentines you remember so well—that I sent for yesterday. The +woman is——"</p> + +<p>"That Mrs. Burbage, of course. She found me quick enough when she wanted +to!"</p> + +<p>Phyllis was in flight down the stairs. Mrs. Farquharson smoothed her +hair, and followed majestically. They met in the hall. While Thompson +carried the boxes up, Phyllis introduced the rivals. They talked for a +few moments constrainedly, surveying each other as though watchful for +an opening. When the last of the cases had gone up Phyllis said:—</p> + +<p>"I want to hear news of my uncle, and show Burbage our pretty rooms. You +will excuse us, Farquharson, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my dear," she replied; then, addressing Mrs. Burbage—"Shall +I light the gas for you, ma'am? I see your age is beginning to tell on +your eyes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, thank you, ma'am," replied Burbage. "I can see perfectly. +Though your hall <i>is</i> uncommonly dark."</p> + +<p>Both shots told. Phyllis hurried Burbage upstairs.</p> + +<p>There was little to learn. Sir Peter had not spoken her name since she +had left. He had given her note to Burbage.</p> + +<p>"Carry out these directions implicitly," he had said. But Burbage +allowed herself latitude; the directory gave Mrs. Farquharson's +address—and here, rather than to Saint Ruth's she had brought the +valentines—eager to see her darling,—now a bride.</p> + +<p>Phyllis chatted happily with her for an hour. She spoke affectionately +of her uncle. "It will all come out right in the end," she concluded.</p> + +<p>Burbage promised to come often to see her.</p> + +<p>"My pretty," she whispered, as she held Phyllis's hand, in parting, "I +warn you of this Mrs. Farquharson. A woman with eyes like hers is not to +be trusted."</p> + +<p>The framed valentines were hung when John came home. Thus they were the +first of their Lares and Penates; the first of the pretty things that +made a home of lodgings.</p> + +<p>"Ah, John, you have no idea how I love my old valentines," said Phyllis +that evening, as they looked around the rooms. "I love them dearly for +themselves—as well as for their association with my mother. Aren't they +sweet and pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, they are," said John warmly. "Don't they light up the rooms, +though?"</p> + +<p>And so, with John's books and furniture, and Phyllis's valentines, the +rooms were transformed. "I wouldn't know them myself" was Mrs. +Farquharson's oft-repeated comment.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Of course you have read "Old Valentines, and Other Poems," by John +Landless; that is the disadvantage under which this story labors. You +know, beforehand, that the little book won instant hearing; you know +that "Lyrics" quickly followed, and the favorable verdict of the critics +whose good opinion was most worth having. When that wonderful +epic—"London: A Poem"—made its appearance, our poet was fairly on the +royal road.</p> + +<p>But you must pretend you don't know all this; and that "Lyrics" and +"London" are not, at this moment, in plain sight on your reading-table. +You must forget that you saw John's portrait in the last "Bookman." +Unless you are good at make-believe, it is no fun at all. You must know +nothing of the rosy glow on the peaks of Parnassus, so that you may +struggle with John and Phyllis up the first, heart-breaking, storm-swept +steeps.</p> + +<p>We are back in their pretty rooms now. Are you there? Very well, then; +we proceed.</p> + +<p>They had lived at Mrs. Farquharson's for a fortnight. John worked +steadily at his desk; Phyllis sewed. Poetry reads very smoothly on a +printed page; but Phyllis had not realized that ten satisfying lines is +a fair morning's stint; nor that a little book of synonyms is first aid +in emergency cases; nor that one may talk as much as one pleases at +times, but must be quiet as a mouse when the pen is scratching away so +busily; she had to learn that when John's eyes were full of anguish he +was probably at his best.</p> + +<p>"Phyllis," said John, one morning, looking up from his writing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"That's all—just Phyllis," he replied, smiling.</p> + +<p>She beamed at him over her embroidery. The pen resumed its slow +progress. Phyllis rocked happily. When the pen paused again, she watched +his face. It welcomed speech, so—</p> + +<p>"What word from the publishers?" asked Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"They will have none of it," replied John. "They all tell me the verses +have merit; they all regret the public taste; but—in short, business is +business."</p> + +<p>Phyllis bit her thread in two. John continued</p> + +<p>"If I could get the first little book out,—and reviewed in the papers +that count,—I have enough verses for a second, to follow at once, and +catch the favoring breeze;—but if there is no first, how can there be a +second?"</p> + +<p>Phyllis shook her head. The idiosyncrasies of the publishing trade were +beyond her comprehension. How they could refuse such beautiful—Well!</p> + +<p>"I had a proposal from Kendall, Ransome & Company yesterday afternoon +that I meant to have told you about—only Miss Neville's and Mark +Holroyd's coming to spend the evening knocked it out of my head."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it dear of them! Didn't Peggy look sweet in that blue gown? What +was the proposal, John? Any proposal is encouraging isn't it?" asked +Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," John answered, running his hand through his hair. "But +this one couldn't be accepted under the circumstances They offered to +publish the book if I would pay the cost of printing and relinquish +copyright."</p> + +<p>"The idea!" exclaimed Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"I laughed at it myself," replied John. "I had another reason for +laughing than the one they knew, though. For, really, I am so sure of my +little book that I might have accepted the offer—if I had the money."</p> + +<p>"Would it cost a great sum?" inquired Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Something less than fifty pounds for the first edition; a small +edition. If there were a second, of course, they would pay the charges, +but I should get nothing."</p> + +<p>Phyllis sat sewing thoughtfully. Suddenly John saw that her eyes were +filled with tears.</p> + +<p>"If there weren't me to think of, you might—" she began.</p> + +<p>John had her in his arms in the big chair in less time than it takes to +tell it. When her troubled heart was comforted, he returned to his desk.</p> + +<p>"However, I have been the rounds of the publishers now. I started with +the best and I have seen them all. I have condescended to the smallest. +I have even tried the Populars. But it has all been of no use. Same +story everywhere. 'Marked ability, but we regret.'"</p> + +<p>"If you had friends with influence——" Phyllis began, but John +interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't if I could, and I haven't if I would," said he. "But the +fact is there's less of that than you think. 'Pull' isn't required; I +can say that even when I am at the end of my rope. Books are published +honestly, on their quality; mine simply hasn't the quality the public +likes. It may be Art—but will it sell? That's the question."</p> + +<p>Having plumbed the depths, John took up his pen again; his chin resolute +as ever.</p> + +<p>That evening when Mrs. Farquharson tapped at the door, John was teaching +Phyllis chess.</p> + +<p>"Just in time, Farquharson," said Phyllis. "I am routed horse and +foot—by a man without a queen, too."</p> + +<p>The chessboard was set aside; a chair brought forward; but Mrs. +Farquharson would not sit down; she rarely would when John was present.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, no. I just dropped in for a minute—not to disturb ever. +Besides, Genevieve's walking out with her young man, and there's the +bell to watch. No, I just dropped in to say that Mr. Rowlandson—the +rooms over yours, Mr. Landless—Mr. Rowlandson says, 'Tell the young +lady she may like to go up to my rooms some morning when I am not there +to bother her,' he says, 'and look at my fans and patch-boxes. They're +pretty, too,' says he, 'as pretty as her valentines.' And so they are, +my deary dear, and you must go up and see them. Oh, yes, he knows all +about your valentines. He bought them for your uncle, at your father's +sale, and a pretty penny they cost. More than two hundred pounds. It +seems your uncle was bidding against some public institution."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson replaced the proffered chair.</p> + +<p>"Is the poetry book to be out soon, sir?" she asked. "I hope so, I am +sure. I'm that anxious to see your name in gold letters on the cover. +Good-night, sir. Good-night, my dear. Are you certain you don't want +more coals? Well, then, good-night."</p> + +<p>John and Phyllis had their usual good-night talk by the fire.</p> + +<p>"And so Mark Holroyd and the Honorable Margaret are engaged," said John, +replacing a fallen coal with the tongs.</p> + +<p>Phyllis put her feet on the low, brass fender, and tucked in her skirt.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are engaged," she replied. "It is to be announced very soon. +Peggy says it shouldn't be called an engagement, but rather a two-year +probationary period. She could hardly wait to tell me. The darling! That +was why she was so anxious to help me unwrap the rug in the little +room."</p> + +<p>An old prayer-rug, with a golden tree of life in its deep blue center, +was the Honorable Margaret's wedding gift; Mark sent a coffee +percolator.</p> + +<p>Phyllis sighed.</p> + +<p>"She will have a beautiful wedding," she said softly. "Ah, John, you +don't know what that means to a girl."</p> + +<p>John poked the fire.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Phyllis laughed.</p> + +<p>"How could I have forgotten to tell you about the cards?" she continued. +"It was so funny, and so like Peggy Neville. You see,—her card was +fastened to the rug with a bit of ribbon—and on it was written—-'With +love and sympathy.' When Peggy saw it she shrieked. 'Oh, Phyllis!' she +said, 'mother's cousin, Caroline Molesworth, has been at the hospital +for a week; day before yesterday she had her surgical operation, and +yesterday I sent flowers. I wrote the cards at home,—and they got +mixed. On hers is written—"May all your days be as full of joy as these +last few days have been!"'"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the night Phyllis found herself wide awake. She lay quietly +considering a new thought that had come to her, somehow, while she +slept. If she only dared! Oh, no, no! She couldn't ask him. And +yet—She fell asleep again wondering whether—perhaps, just +possibly—she could do it, if she kept her mind firmly fixed on John's +book.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + + +<p>Bookshops are the most charming of all shops because they relate +themselves so intimately to their visitors. Mr. Rowlandson's gained by +its setting—at the corner of the green square. Not a very good place +for trade, you would say. However, he thrived.</p> + +<p>His shop-window does not differ from a score of others one may see, on a +morning's walk: a shallow bay-window, with small, square panes of +inferior glass; the familiar array of old books turn their mellow +title-pages toward the light; a window designed for lingering. Three +rows, or four, of books—and a few old prints—may be examined from the +front; these whet the appetite. But two other rows are so set in the +window as to necessitate sidelong inspection, and tempt the observer to +take two steps around the corner. Here, to be at ease, one must stand +with one foot on the first of the four stone stairs leading downward to +the door; stairs worn by the footfalls of four generations of +book-hunters. Just within the door one sees an alluring stack of books, +the topmost sustaining a neatly printed sign—"Sixpence—your choice."</p> + +<p>In short—the foot once placed upon the first of these descending stairs +returns not to its fellow. A little bell rings, and one is inside.</p> + +<p>Against the background of his overflowing shelves, with his +old-fashioned clothes, his stooping shoulders, his iron-gray hair, and +his firm, tender, and melancholy face,—you will never visit Samuel +Rowlandson's shop without wishing to frame him as he stands, and set him +in the window, among the other rare old prints.</p> + +<p>He must have known you a long, long time to intrude a particular book +upon your notice; and then with the air of consulting a connoisseur +rather than suggesting a purchase. Yet he is a shrewd dealer. Not for +Samuel Rowlandson is the fairly marked price on the fly-leaf; nor even +hieroglyphics representing cost. A book is worth what it will fetch; and +every customer's purchasing power is appraised with discrimination, +concealed, indeed, but most effective.</p> + +<p>The shop grows larger as your eyes become accustomed to the gloom of its +remoter part. There are four thousand books on those overweighted +shelves; all sorts and conditions of books; big folios and little +duodecimos, ragged books and books clothed by Rivière and Bedford. Once +he thought a Roger Payne binding had found its way to the shop, an +inadvertent bargain; but, alas! the encyclopædia dashed his tremulous +hopes; years before the date on the title-page that seedy but glorious +craftsman had laid down his tools forever.</p> + +<p>The shelves are catholic: Samuel Pepys, immortally shameless; Adam +Smith, shaken; Beaumont and Fletcher, in folio as they should always be +found; Boswell's Johnson, of course, but Blackstone's "Commentaries" +also; Plutarch's "Lives" and Increase Mather's witches; all of Fielding +in four stately quarto volumes; Sterne, stained and shabby; Congreve, in +red morocco, richly gilt; Molière, pocket size, in an English +translation; Gibbon in sober gray; Burton's "Anatomy"——</p> + +<p>"The only book," says Mr. Rowlandson, "that ever put me to sleep two +hours before I wished."</p> + +<p>Here is Addison's "Spectator," its near neighbor Steele; the +"Gentleman's Magazine," a long run this, but not complete; rare Ben +Jonson, rubbed at the joints; Spenser's "Faerie Queen," with marginal +notes in a contemporary hand; the "History of the Valorous and Witty +Knight Errant," in sable morocco, with armorial decorations; Tacitus in +all his atrocity, Herbert, all gentleness.</p> + +<p>Overweighted shelves! Overweighted, indeed, for the books stand +double-breasted. One must never assume a volume is not in stock because +it is not in sight, though Mr. Rowlandson himself does not always know.</p> + +<p>"Otway," he ponders, in response to your inquiry; "let me think. H'm. +Yes, yes, to be sure, behind the set of 'English Men of Letters.' Not +there? H'm. Well, I must have sold him, then. Oh, no. You will find him +in that row of old dramatists, behind the—yes, there! A little to the +left—Ah! of course. Old Otway, and a very nice, sound copy, too."</p> + +<p>Not that all the books in Mr. Rowlandson's shop are old; his clientele +is too diversified. The moderns are there, too. Thackeray and Dickens; +Meredith and Carlyle; Tennyson; gallant old Sir Walter in various +editions.</p> + +<p>"Lockhart's 'Life,'" he would say, handling a volume from one hand to +the other. "The saddest true story in the world"; and then, brightening, +"Two pound, ten."</p> + +<p>Mr. Barrie is always handsomely represented on Mr. Rowlandson's shelves. +He is one of the few authors Mr. Rowlandson will recommend to casual +customers. He suggests "Margaret Ogilvy: A Memoir. By her Son." "But are +you sure it is by Barrie?"—they ask. He has sold more than four hundred +copies. Once a year for several years he has written a letter to Mr. +Barrie's publishers: "Why don't you bring out his Plays?" he pleads. +"Think of the thousands of people in the provinces and in America who +can't see them on the stage."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson treasures a half-promise from Mr. Hewlett that he will +write a novel around the picturesque, if unheroic, figure of François +Villon. "I am keeping his letter," says Mr. Rowlandson, "to insert in +the book—when it is published."</p> + +<p>Of De Morgan he observes, sententiously: "Too late." Joseph Conrad's +novels he shelves next to Stevenson's, significantly. He has a high +regard for Arthur Christopher Benson's essays. "But does the man think I +have as much shelving as the Museum?" he growls.</p> + +<p>But these newer books are the minority. The composed, brown calf +bindings give the shop its tone,—and its faint odor, too; a cultivated +taste, the liking for that odor of old books.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson's desk is in the alcove at the back of the shop; and in +its lowest drawer, oftener than elsewhere, his gray cat, Selima, +stretches her lazy length.</p> + +<p>On a bright, crisp morning, nearly a week after Phyllis had lain awake +thinking, Mr. Rowlandson sat at this desk, looking through his post, +which consisted chiefly of book-catalogues. Having laid these aside, he +opened a bulky parcel the post had brought. It proved to be a thick, +square, black volume; a most unattractive book. But Mr. Rowlandson +viewed it with interest.</p> + +<p>"My me! My me!" he exclaimed, and read the title-page; "'Proceedings of +the British Engineering Society for the Year 1848.' So, you have finally +come to light, old hide-and-seek! Sir Peter Oglebay will be pleased. +From Brussels, of all the unlikely—Well, well, I must remember to +cancel the advertisement in the 'Athenaeum.'"</p> + +<p>He picked up a blue saucer from the floor and stood, for a moment, +watching Selima's quick paw, engaged in ablutions.</p> + +<p>"Over your ear it goes," said he. "That means customers."</p> + +<p>He began his morning's work with a feather duster. Occasionally he +straightened a row of books. The bell tinkled, and Phyllis, in her brown +coat and hat, stood, hesitant, at the door. She carried a parcel.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rowlandson?" she asked timidly.</p> + +<p>"My name," he replied. "And you are Mrs. Landless. I have seen you +before, although you have not seen me."</p> + +<p>"I have heard a great deal about you, though, from Farquharson," said +Phyllis. "And yesterday I took advantage of your invitation to see the +pretty things in your rooms; I want to thank you for the opportunity; +they are lovely old things."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. F. took you up, did she? Well, they are pretty, and I am glad they +pleased you. A foolish fancy, Mrs. Landless; a foolish fancy for an old +man like me. But I am very fond of my fans and patch-boxes."</p> + +<p>"I should think you would love them," said Phyllis. "Where in the world +did you find them all?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, in all sorts of odd nooks. They turn up when one is looking for +them. Everything does, Mrs. Landless. That is one of the queer things +about collecting. I could tell you some curious stories. Your old +valentines, now. My me! The attics of the Continent must have been +ransacked for them. It is very interesting. But the scattering of a +collection is the sad part; saddest when books are dispersed. Only the +other day I saw an autograph letter of De Quincey's,—the opium-eater, +you know; it was written to the auctioneer who sold his library. It +seems De Quincey had his son buy a few of the books at his own auction. +The poor old fellow could not bear the thought of parting with them, I +fancy, when it came to the pinch."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson waited for Phyllis to say something. Poor Phyllis! It was +even more difficult than she had expected. She was tempted to retreat; +but she thought of John's book.</p> + +<p>"A remarkable coincidence,—your finding your way to Mrs. F.'s," +continued Mr. Rowlandson. "And a very happy one for her."</p> + +<p>"For me, too," said Phyllis. "We have you to thank for that."</p> + +<p>"Well—in a way." Mr. Rowlandson nodded. "It is strange what fortuitous +circumstances seem to direct the current of our lives. I say they seem +to, Mrs. Landless, for it may be only seeming. Perhaps all is planned +for us, even when our decisions rest on the toss of a penny."</p> + +<p>A gentle pressure against her skirt attracted Phyllis's attention. +Selima's arched back invited her caress.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that an unusual name for a cat?" she asked, when told of it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson's eyes twinkled and he began to quote, straightway. His +voice was pleasant to hear:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"'Twas on a lofty vase's side<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where China's gayest art had dy'd<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The azure flowers, that blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Demurest of the tabby kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The pensive Selima reclin'd<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gazed on the lake below.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Thomas Gray, the poet, Mrs. Landless. The cat is historic. She was one +of Horace Walpole's pets at Strawberry Hill, his country-seat, when Gray +visited him there. Gray's first book was printed privately by Horace, +who had ample means and recognized genius. The book is scarce now; it +fetches five pounds and upward."</p> + +<p>He resumed the quotation:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"Still had she gaz'd; but midst the tide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Two angel forms were seen to glide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Genii of the stream:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thro' richest purple to the view<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Betray'd a golden gleam.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A whisker first and then a claw,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With many an ardent wish,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She stretched in vain to reach the prize.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What female heart can gold despise?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What Cat's averse to fish?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Your husband doubtless knows the poem, Mrs. Landless. Mrs. F. tells me +he writes poetry himself. Some one once said of Gray that no other poet +entered the portals of fame with so slender a volume under his arm. He +wrote very little, Mrs. Landless, but he polished every letter of every +word until the lines were flawless as the facets of a diamond."</p> + +<p>"Did puss get the fish?" asked Phyllis, stooping to stroke Selima's +sleek, gray side again.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Mr. Rowlandson. "'The slipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd, +she tumbled headlong in.' But cats have nine lives, you know.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"Eight times emerging from the flood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some speedy aid to send.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A Fav'rite has no friend.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Now comes the moral," he continued. "Poets, in those days realized +their obligation to society: to tell it something for its own good."</p> + +<p>His eyes twinkled again; bright blue they were; friendly eyes, Phyllis +thought.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And be with caution bold.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not all that tempts your wandering eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor all that glisters, gold."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson concluded, smiling. Phyllis returned his smile. The task +before her was still difficult, but she felt she had known this dear old +man a long, long time. She took the plunge.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rowlandson, I came in to thank you for letting me see your +patch-boxes and fans; and to thank you, also, for having directed Mr. +Landless to Farquharson's house. But there was something else,—too." +She caught her breath prettily, in that quick way of hers. "It is a—a +matter of—of business."</p> + +<p>He bowed slightly, and awaited the expression of her wish. "I shall +recommend something of Barrie's; or else 'Lorna Doone,'" he reflected.</p> + +<p>"May I be seated?" asked Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"My me! My me!" exclaimed Mr. Rowlandson. "Here is a chair. I beg your +pardon Mrs. Landless." He seated himself on the third step of the +convenient ladder, leaning against the high, book-laden shelves.</p> + +<p>"You cannot imagine the nature of my errand," began Phyllis. It was +dreadfully hard to go on. Her eyes were brimming, but they should not +overflow if she could help it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson looked at the parcel in her lap; and then at her face; +and then at the parcel again. She was not the first embarrassed visitor +he had seen—nor the twenty-first.</p> + +<p>"Shall I untie this for you?" he asked gently.</p> + +<p>Phyllis nodded; she could not speak.</p> + +<p>About twenty of the prettiest valentines were in the parcel. Mr. +Rowlandson laid them on a little table and looked through them quietly, +while Phyllis recovered her composure.</p> + +<p>"May I see if I can save your feelings a little?" his pleasant voice +said finally. "Mrs. Farquharson has told me of your—your quarrel with +Sir Peter. A pity; a great pity. And so, perhaps I can guess the rest. +The profession of poetry, inspiring as it is, is not—not exactly +remunerative; not—not in a large way. No, I fancy the returns are not +what you would call—well, say, generous. Things are not going quite so +smoothly and easily for you as you—that is, as they should for two +young people who have just started life together. And so it occurred to +you that these old valentines might be sacri—sold, to help, a little."</p> + +<p>He paused; Phyllis's handkerchief was at her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," he added, "I feared that was it."</p> + +<p>He gazed thoughtfully out of the window before he continued:—</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, my dear young lady. I am really very sorry. But I find +it necessary to confine my purchases strictly to books. My me! Yes, +strictly to books. If you had a few books, now, that you had ceased to +care for, I might allow you something eh?"</p> + +<p>"I have only the valentines, Mr. Rowlandson" said Phyllis. "It was very +silly and wrong for me to come to you. I can see that now. Of course, +you only buy and sell books."</p> + +<p>"Except when commissioned by customers," said Mr. Rowlandson. "An +invariable rule. If I could break it for any one, I—"</p> + +<p>"You have been very kind," said Phyllis, rising. "So kind that I think I +cannot leave you under a misapprehension. Mr. Landless's income is quite +sufficient for our modest needs." A sudden thought made her heart beat +rapidly. "Oh, Mr. Rowlandson! You must not think he knows I am here! +Although, of course, I meant to tell him if—if I had been successful."</p> + +<p>She hesitated again, and then, with a little appealing gesture, went +hurriedly on.</p> + +<p>"I think I should be quite frank with you. Mr. Landless has a book of +poems—I mean—poems enough to make a book. But, although he has tried +everywhere, he cannot find a publisher who is willing to undertake his +little book. It is such a very little one, too. One firm of publishers +offered to issue it if he would pay the cost, amounting to about fifty +pounds. They wanted the copyright, too, but they have yielded that +point. Farquharson told me you said that my uncle paid nearly two +hundred pounds for my valentines when—at the time of my father's sale; +and I thought, perhaps—perhaps——Do you see? I brought a few of the +prettiest ones to show you. I thought you might have forgotten how +pretty they are. I want so badly to have John's book published, because +he is certain to succeed if only this first little book can be brought +out."</p> + +<p>The bookseller made no reply. He sat on the step of the ladder, gazing +absently out of the window, over Phyllis's head.</p> + +<p>Be careful, Samuel Rowlandson, you old sentimentalist, with your faded +old patch-boxes and tattered old fans. You very nearly said something +then, quite out of the line of trade. Fortunately you thought it over, +for a minute or two, while Phyllis turned her pretty eyes away, to hide +the tears that filled them. Be careful, Samuel Rowlandson, or you will +say it now, as she tries to smile at you, with the corners of her sweet +mouth trembling. Be care—It is of no use; he will say it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"I have thought of a way I might be of service to you," said Mr. +Rowlandson meditatively. "You see—it is not as though I did not know +the value of that collection of valentines. They are worth one hundred +pounds, at the lowest figure. Now—if you would not take offense, and +you should not, I am sure, when no offense is meant; I might offer to +lend you—say, fifty pounds, or half their lowest value, accepting the +valentines as security, and—"</p> + +<p>Phyllis's face lighted eagerly; then clouded again.</p> + +<p>"But, Mr. Rowlandson," she objected, "that wouldn't be—quite—you +know—businesslike, would it? I shouldn't like to do anything that John +would feel was not quite regular and proper."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson swallowed something in his throat.</p> + +<p>"I should make it very businesslike, indeed by asking you to sign a +note; drawn in the strictest, legal terms," he said gravely. "And I +should charge you interest, at the rate of five per cent, payable +half-yearly; on the appointed day."</p> + +<p>Phyllis considered his face with serious eyes; Mr. Rowlandson slowly +repeated:—</p> + +<p>"Five percent? payable half-yearly; on the appointed day."</p> + +<p>"It really sounds quite—quite businesslike and regular," she said. "Are +you certain you can spare so large a sum?—without the slightest +inconvenience?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus3" id="illus3"></a> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU CAN SPARE SO LARGE A SUM?</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<p>"Quite certain," said Mr. Rowlandson; and then added, "I always have a +little ready money laid by—waiting for a really safe investment—like +this one—at five per cent."</p> + +<p>Half an hour later Phyllis shook hands with the old bookseller. She had +an afterthought.</p> + +<p>"A few of the valentines are framed. Does that make any difference? And, +tell me, Mr. Rowlandson, how can they be taken from our rooms and +delivered at your shop?"</p> + +<p>"Well, now," said Mr. Rowlandson, pondering, "I am so much afraid of +fire in the shop it would really be a favor to me if you would let them +remain where they are—for the present; for the present, at least."</p> + +<p>Phyllis shook hands again. The little bell tinkled. She was gone. In her +purse were five ten-pound notes. In her heart was a glad song.</p> + +<p>Through the shop-window, Mr. Rowlandson watched her cross the street +swiftly. Then he turned. The valentines lay on the table, where she had +left them,—samples of the wares she brought to market. He wrapped them, +tied the parcel neatly, and carried it back to his desk. The square, +black volume labeled "Proceedings of the British Engineering Society" +caught his attention. He stared at it for some moments Then his blue +eyes twinkled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + + +<p>The copper coffee percolator bubbled genially on the snowy dinner table. +John and Phyllis were seated. Mrs. Farquharson set the soup tureen +before him, and hovered near. In the small grate a fire blazed +cheerfully; the firelight gleamed on the fine mahogany and ivory inlay +of the Sheraton desk. There lay John's manuscript,—returned this +afternoon from Oxford, with the stereotyped politeness that was so +disheartening.</p> + +<p>Phyllis's suppressed excitement gave her cheeks their color; John +feigned higher spirits than the occasion warranted; he made a point of +eating his soup; Phyllis tasted hers.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson served the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding (her +specialty), received due plaudits, and withdrew. John attacked the +dinner; Phyllis's fork toyed with her greens. The all-important subject +was not mentioned until Genevieve had cleared the table. Phyllis passed +John a small cup of black coffee.</p> + +<p>"Well, Phyllis," he said, "Byrne, the Dublin publisher, remains to us. +Oxford declines Cambridge verses."</p> + +<p>Then Phyllis, blushing like a rose, laid in his hand the five ten-pound +notes. He looked at her with perplexed eyes.</p> + +<p>"'"Old Valentines, and Other Poems," by John Landless, will appear +shortly,'" she fictitiously quoted. She had read such announcements +weekly, in his "Academy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, those horrid publishers won't retract their offer, will +they?"</p> + +<p>"My darling girl, where did you get this money?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell you all about it, John, dear; but first answer my +question? There isn't any doubt, is there? The book can be published +now?"</p> + +<p>"Why—no; or rather—yes," he said slowly. "If the money is really ours, +to do with as we please,—even to embark on so wild an adventure as a +book of poems. I can't conceive how you came by it, though, dearest."</p> + +<p>John held the ten-pound notes in his hand; he looked at them now, as if +half surprised to find them still there.</p> + +<p>Then Phyllis told him of her call at Mr. Rowlandson's shop; she +remembered every word of the conversation; and came out especially +strong on the rigid regularity of the transaction; the signed note, and +the five per cent, payable half-yearly, on the appointed day. John's +face was a study.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Phyllis! Phyllis!" he said softly, when she had finished. "You +would have sold your valentines—that you love so dearly! the old +valentines that are entwined with your memories of your mother. You +would have sold them! For me!"</p> + +<p>Phyllis smiled happily at him and gave him both of her hands, across the +little dinner table. When he could trust his voice, he said,—</p> + +<p>"I am confident of my book. If I were not, of course, I couldn't let you +do this, darling; dear as it was of you to think of it,—and to execute +it so cleverly—so very cleverly. Old Rowlandson is a brick."</p> + +<p>"He is a very shrewd man of business," said Phyllis, looking at John +with misgivings "He always has a sum of ready money laid by, for +perfectly businesslike investments."</p> + +<p>"Of course," he reassured her.</p> + +<p>He knew he could meet the interest on Phyllis's note. As to the +principal—well, if worst came to worst he would be justified in +breaking his promise to his father that he would never borrow on his +expectations. Justified! John could almost see his father's smile of +approval.</p> + +<p>They sat in the big armchair together, and read the poems to be included +in the little book.</p> + +<p>"If I succeed in my profession I shall owe it all to you," said John to +Phyllis; and, when she would have made remonstrance, he added,—"Ah, my +dear, I like to have it so."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At the same hour, that evening, Sir Peter sat before his library fire. +An open magazine lay on his knee, pages downward. He held an unlighted +cigar in his hand. He stared moodily into the glowing coals. There were +new, sad lines in his stern face.</p> + +<p>Burbage entered. "Mr. Rowlandson to see you, sir. A very particular +matter, sir, he says."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter rose slowly when Mr. Rowlandson was shown into the room. Under +his arm were three parcels.</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, Rowlandson," said Sir Peter. "How have you been since +we met last? H'm. It must be two years, or longer."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I have enjoyed very good health, Sir Peter. Yes, it is all +of two years. I hope you are quite well, sir."</p> + +<p>"Fair; fair," said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"We do not get younger as we grow older," observed Mr. Rowlandson. He +laid two of the parcels on the big table, under the reading-lamp, and +proceeded to untie the other.</p> + +<p>A smile flickered across Sir Peter's face; he liked the old bookseller's +sturdy, independent ways. He had been dealing with him for a quarter of +a century.</p> + +<p>"My lad failed me to-day," Mr. Rowlandson explained, "and as I had an +old print of Charterhouse to be delivered to a customer, not far from +here, I thought I would bring you something that came this morning—a +book. A book for which you have waited a long time."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter drew his eyeglass from his pocket, and straightened the heavy, +black silk cord.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" said he, when Mr. Rowlandson handed him the book, opened +at the title-page, with a little air of triumph. "The 'Proceedings' for +1848. This volume completes my set. It has given you a good bit of +trouble, eh?" He leafed it through, and examined one of the plates with +interest.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing to speak of," replied the bookseller, rubbing his hands +together with satisfaction, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter drew a check-book from a drawer; the amount was named.</p> + +<p>"Take a chair, Rowlandson," said Sir Peter. The check was written. Mr. +Rowlandson folded it precisely and put it into his pocketbook. They sat +for a moment or two without speaking. If the bookseller was expected to +take his departure, Sir Peter was too courteous to say so.</p> + +<p>"Will you drink a glass of sherry?" he asked, and touched a button, near +the fireplace. The sherry was served. The old bookseller squinted +through his glass at the light.</p> + +<p>"About the same date as the 'Proceedings,' or thereabouts?" he remarked +interrogatively.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter nodded. "Fifty-two. A choice year."</p> + +<p>"I was growing a great lad, then," commented Mr. Rowlandson. "You have +the advantage of me by several years, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"I shall not see sixty again," said Sir Peter; after a pause he +added,—"I hope your trade is good; but everything is going to the +devil, and I assume the bookselling business goes with the rest. The +radicals are in the saddle—and driving headlong to destruction."</p> + +<p>"I remember an aunt of mine, many years ago, who had fears for her +country," was Mr. Rowlandson's rejoinder. "She stopped taking in the +county paper, and depended on 'The Religious Weekly' for news, the rest +of her days. She said there were no signs of change in that. Old Aunt +Deborah! My me! But the bookselling trade does very well, thank you, Sir +Peter. The magazines are the only retarding influence."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson moved one of the parcels on the table a little nearer to +him and slyly loosened the string.</p> + +<p>"Occasionally I do a bit of business a little out of my line," he +continued. "This morning, for example, I made a deal that promises a +profit—a very pretty profit. Now that I come to think, it might be of +interest to you to hear of it. It was a deal in old valentines? I recall +you once bought a collection."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter started.</p> + +<p>"These old valentines were brought to the shop by a young woman in +reduced circumstances She did not want to sell them, I fancy. She seemed +rather fond of them." Mr. Rowlandson sipped his sherry; he lingered over +it. "Yes, I should say she was rather fond of them. Well,—that isn't my +affair. I advanced some money on them? just enough to tide over the +present difficulty. Of course, she and her young husband——"</p> + +<p>Sir Peter looked up quickly; he had been gazing into the fire. Mr. +Rowlandson's face was placid.</p> + +<p>"She and her young husband will want more money," he continued. "Yes, +they will certainly want more money. And when the proper time +comes——" He hesitated as though at a loss for the right words. "Down +I come on them—pounce! and sell out the valentines—and take my profit." +Mr. Rowlandson took another sip of sherry with evident enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Their eyes met. Sir Peter scowled.</p> + +<p>"She—was—my niece?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Well, bless my soul!" pondered Mr. Rowlandson, as though the thought +struck him for the first time. "They may have been the same valentines +you bought at that sale—whose was it?—so many years ago. Of course, +they may have been. I have a few of them with me—" He reached for the +parcel with the loosened string.</p> + +<p>"You know they are the same," said Sir Peter savagely. "Let this farce +end at once. You should be ashamed, Rowlandson, to seek your shabby +profit in the helplessness of a misguided child, ignorant of the +world—and its hard, rough usage. I am surprised that you would do +it—but that you should tell of it—even boast of it, amazes me. +However—trade blunts a certain delicacy of feeling that—"</p> + +<p>Sir Peter gave the bookseller a sharp look. Then he added,—</p> + +<p>"I see your purpose in coming here now. You calculated shrewdly. +Well—you were right. I will pay you the sum advanced to her."</p> + +<p>Whatever emotion Mr. Rowlandson experienced he concealed.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter opened his check-book again, and dipped his pen.</p> + +<p>"How much did you say?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The amount advanced was fifty pounds," said Mr. Rowlandson mildly.</p> + +<p>"Fifty pounds!" exclaimed Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson held his wine-glass to the light again, and looked +through it with half-closed eyes.</p> + +<p>"Fifty pounds," he quietly repeated, "and took her note, with interest +at five per cent. I could have made it six as well as not, she wanted +the money so badly."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter turned his back on the bookseller the pen busied itself with +the check. A moment later it was offered to him.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Sir Peter. My interest in this transaction is not for sale." +Mr. Rowlandson spoke in a low tone, firmly.</p> + +<p>"But I say my niece shall not be indebted to you! Not one penny!"</p> + +<p>Sir Peter's fist came down on one of the parcels lying on the table. +There was a crash of broken glass. Mr. Rowlandson's eyes twinkled +merrily.</p> + +<p>"That is the Charterhouse print," said he. "My customer will be +disappointed. It was promised for this evening."</p> + +<p>The trivial incident cooled Sir Peter's wrath.</p> + +<p>"I insist on your taking the check, Rowlandson" he said sternly. "You +will understand it is an impossible situation. My niece is not under the +necessity of seeking aid from strangers. She knows that all I have is +hers. That I would——" He stopped abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Mr. Rowlandson, leaning forward. "Let us talk about +her—and her young poet. What an upstanding, fine, frank lad he appears +to be. Do you think he has great talent?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know that he has any talent whatever!" replied Sir Peter +angrily. "I know he stole my niece from me? the puppy!"</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Mr. Rowlandson gently. "That was wrong. Wrong, +indeed. And I suppose you had showed him clearly that by proceeding +openly he had a fair field to win her, too?"</p> + +<p>Sir Peter set his teeth. The old bookseller repeated his question:—</p> + +<p>"You did not discourage the lad, I am sure? He knew he had a chance, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"I must decline to discuss that with you, Rowlandson."</p> + +<p>"Chut! Chut!" murmured Mr. Rowlandson. "We are just two old fellows +jogging toward the grave together, even if you are a knight, and I am a +bookseller. Come, now, Sir Peter, tell me all about it. It will do you +good. I will wager you have been eating your heart out, for a month, in +this great, lonely house, with no one to whom you could talk of your +sorrow. Come, come, Sir Peter." Mr. Rowlandson rose. "Do not twenty-five +years of honest dealing with you entitle me to a little of your +confidence?"</p> + +<p>Sir Peter stood silently by the fireplace, his back turned to the old +bookseller. Mr. Rowlandson set his empty wine-glass carefully on the +table, and then drew from their paper the valentines Phyllis had left at +the shop.</p> + +<p>"I read an essay of Mr. Benson's, last night,—and one bit comes to me +now," he said. "The essay opens with an old French proverb, 'To make +one's self beloved is the best way to be useful.' Then the essayist goes +on to say that this is one of the deep sayings which young men, and even +young women, ignore; which middle-aged folk hear with a certain troubled +surprise? and which old people discover to be true, and think, with a +sad regret, of opportunities missed, and of years devoted, how +unprofitably, to other kinds of usefulness. We expect, like Joseph in +his dreams, says Mr. Benson, that the sun and moon and the eleven stars, +to say nothing of the sheaves, will make obeisance to us. And then, as +we grow older the visions fade. The eleven stars seem unaware of our +existence and we are content if, in a quiet corner, a single sheaf gives +us a nod of recognition."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson smiled pleasantly, and patted the old valentines under +his hand.</p> + +<p>"And then," he continued, "the essayist says, we make further +discoveries that give us pain; that when we have seemed to ourselves +most impressive, we have only been pretentious; that riches are only a +talisman against poverty; that influence comes mostly to people who do +not pursue it, and do not even know they possess it; and that the real +rewards of life have fallen to simple-minded and unselfish people who +have not sought them. I fear I have not quoted the essay quite +accurately. I had a wonderful memory, once. It fails—it fails. But it +is very prettily put, in the book, and of course it is all quite true."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson smiled again, at Sir Peter's back. He turned the +valentines over, one at a time:—</p> + +<p>"My me! My me!" he mused, aloud. "Think of all the old loves, of bygone +years, these represent. School-boy and schoolgirl loves—most of them, +probably; springtime loves. The perfume will always linger in these +poor, faded leaves. You never married, Sir Peter, did you? Nor I; nor I. +My me! My me! I remember a girl—when I was twenty; in Hertfordshire—my +old home. Bessy was her name. She had the softest brown hair—in a +thick braid. She wore pink-checked gingham. My me! She married a +farrier, fifty years ago."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson bent over one of the valentines, to read the verses, +finely engraved, beneath a spray of blue forget-me-nots:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"Wilt thou be mine?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dear love, reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweetly consent, or else deny.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whisper softly; none shall know.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wilt thou be mine?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Say aye, or no."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He looked up, smiling still, and went on,—"I fancy, Sir Peter, you, +too, have your memories; you can recall some sweet face of your youth, +for which you would have thought the world well lost; you can bring back +the memory of some fragrant day when you and she looked forward with +bright hopes to happy years that never were to be. A golden day; a +golden day."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter still stood by the fireplace, silent.</p> + +<p>"And now this dear girl of yours—your niece—has strayed away from you, +with the boy of her heart! But, how willingly,—how gladly, she would +come back to you, and be yours again—as well as his, if you only opened +your arms for her—and said the right words of welcome to her—and to +him. She would come back and renew your faith in youth, and hope, and +love, and all the beautiful things of this old earth—which we shall +leave so soon; so soon, that every lost day should be mourned. Ah, yes! +I am sure she waits only for the welcoming words."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowlandson shook his head, slowly, as he concluded,—</p> + +<p>"I am proud for myself, and sad for you, that I should be the one to +launch his little book; the little book for which she was willing to +sell her precious valentines. The little book may not set the Thames +afire, but—ah! how the thought of it has kindled their young hearts."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter turned from the fireplace and walked the length of the long +library; then, slowly, back to the table again.</p> + +<p>"You can take the check now, Rowlandson," he said, brokenly; "I shall go +to her—and bring them home to-morrow."</p> + +<p>He dropped into his chair, and covered his face with his hands; Mr. +Rowlandson turned to the fireplace. He drew from his pocketbook the note +Phyllis had signed, and held it in the grate until it blazed. Then he +puckered his mouth, curiously, as if trying to whistle. When he faced +Sir Peter again, his blue eyes twinkled.</p> + +<p>"You owe me a shilling for a new glass for my Charterhouse print," said +he.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, when Mr. Rowlandson left the house, Burbage opened +the door. He carried a parcel that clinked, as he stepped out, briskly.</p> + +<p>"Will you require anything further, Sir Peter?" asked Burbage.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Have Miss Phyllis's little study-room, and the two adjoining +bedrooms made ready, Burbage. My niece and her husband are coming home +to-morrow."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + + +<p>As John lay between sleep and waking, the next morning, he was conscious +that in a moment he would capture an elusive, happy thought.</p> + +<p>He had it! The book could now be published!</p> + +<p>While he dressed he sang an ancient ballad, at the top of his voice, to +an air he improvised.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"Phillida was a fair maide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As fresh as any flower;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whom Harpalus the herd-man praide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To be his paramoure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"Harpalus and eke Corin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were herd-men both ysere;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Phillida would twist and spinne,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thereto sing ful clere.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Phyllis!" cried John. "Can you hear in the bedroom? I sing of thee!"</p> + +<p>"I thought her name was Phillida," said Phyllis, setting the bedroom +door ajar.</p> + +<p>"Phillida is Old English for Phyllis," he explained.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Phyllis.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"But Phillida was al to coye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Harpalus to winne;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Corin was her only joye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who forst her not a pinne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"How often would she flowers twine!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How often garlants make<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of cowslips and of columbine;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all for Corin's sake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"Harpalus prevayled nought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His labour all was lost;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For he was farthest from her thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yet he loved her most.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Phyllis! I say, Phyllis!" cried John, working his hairbrushes +alternately. "I am Corin. Who was Harpalus?"</p> + +<p>"You flatter yourself, sir," replied Phyllis "I am pining for Harpalus."</p> + +<p>"Tell me his last name, then, that I may seek and slay him!" said John.</p> + +<p>Between stanzas, John forgot the air, but he improvised anew, and sang +on, regardless.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"'Oh, Harpalus!' thus would he say;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unhappiest under sunne!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cause of thine unhappy daye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By love was first begunne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"'But wel-a-way! that nature wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thee, Phillida, so faire:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For I may say that I have bought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy beauty al to deare.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Cheer up, Harpalus!" Phyllis waved her hand through the half-open +doorway. "Faint heart never won fair lady!"</p> + +<p>"He is too far gone," said John. "Besides, I, Corin, have nine-tenths of +the law on him.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"'O Cupide, graunt this my request,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And do not stoppe thine eares.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The song ceased while John tugged at his collar. When the button finally +slipped in, he muttered:—</p> + +<p>"There is a musical line for you? 'And do not stoppe thine eares.' I +would rather have written that line than take Quebec.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"'O Cupide, graunt this my request,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And do not stoppe thine eares,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That she may feel within her breste<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The paines of my dispaire.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>John ended upon a mournful quaver.</p> + +<p>"Phillida has pangs of a different sort, thank you," said Phyllis, +coming into the sitting-room. "Pangs of hunger. Good-morning, Genevieve. +Is breakfast served? Yes, indeed, it is a beautiful morning."</p> + +<p>"Heartless creature!" said John. He was putting on his coat now.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, fair Genevieve. Wags the world well with you? M-m-m. +Doesn't the bacon smell good?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Harpalus," said Phyllis, pouring tea. "I was very fond of +Harpalus."</p> + +<p>John's eyes were mischievous.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you propose to <i>him</i>, then?" he asked, accenting the second +pronoun.</p> + +<p>Phyllis threatened him with a buttered muffin.</p> + +<p>"John Landless! I shall not speak to you again for—ten minutes."</p> + +<p>It was the jolliest breakfast. Mrs. Farquharson's bacon was always +crisp; she could tell a strictly fresh egg as far as she could see it; +if you had tossed one of her muffins into the air it would have floated +out of the open window. "Tell her I said so," said John to little +Genevieve.</p> + +<p>It is a pity we know so little of Genevieve. One has an uneasy sense of +having neglected her. Well—her young man loved her; and that is enough +for Genevieve.</p> + +<p>John stuffed the manuscript into his greatcoat pocket.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, if I could only wish myself invisible for an hour and go with +you to the publishers," said Phyllis. "It doesn't seem possible to wait +until afternoon to hear what they say."</p> + +<p>John reflected.</p> + +<p>"You were going to Saint Ruth's this morning, weren't you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall be there the whole morning. I don't believe one of those +blessed babies will remember me. I have a little shopping to do, too."</p> + +<p>"Why not do your shopping about eleven; meet me at Mildmay's, for +luncheon, at one; and we will 'bus over to Saint Ruth's together, and +make an afternoon of it."</p> + +<p>Phyllis kissed him.</p> + +<p>"What a perfectly delightful plan!" she exclaimed. "How shall I find +Mildmay's? Oh! John, dear; how much has happened since then."</p> + +<p>"No regrets yet?" he asked, searching her eyes.</p> + +<p>She put her hands on the lapels of his coat.</p> + +<p>"Not even one tiny, little regret," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>As he ran down the stairs, however, she called after him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John! I forgot. I have one regret."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Harpalus"—whispered Phyllis, leaning over the banister; and kissed her +hand to him.</p> + +<p>Phyllis's truthful eyes had not hidden from John, this morning, or ever, +that her heart was often saddened by thoughts of her uncle. She knew +his way of life so well; could tell, at any hour, what he was probably +doing. She could picture his lonely evenings. Alas, she knew his pride; +and her own; John's, too. She often thought of her letter to him, with +its hint of reconciliation; she wondered if she should have said more. +Then his cruel words about her mother—As often she concluded she had +said all there was to say. And she would turn her thoughts elsewhere, so +that the bitter remembrance might not spoil the sweetness of these days.</p> + +<p>John waited for her at the entrance to Mildmay's. The moment she saw him +she knew all was well.</p> + +<p>As they went in she nudged him.</p> + +<p>"To the left, John. I want to sit at our little table."</p> + +<p>The same waitress, too;—what smiles! Phyllis had chocolate because she +liked chocolate; but John must have tea—because he had it before.</p> + +<p>He told her of the interview with the publishers; the little book would +appear in April; May at the latest.</p> + +<p>The top of the motor-bus, of course.</p> + +<p>From the crossing where they alighted one should take the street to the +right to Saint Ruth's. John turned to the left, at once.</p> + +<p>"I should never have forgiven you if you hadn't," said Phyllis, as they +started eagerly down the mean street, in which noisy trams threatened +the lives of ragged, venturesome children. Here was the very place! How +slowly they had walked there, while he told her of his love. How long +ago it seemed. Phyllis's hand found its way into John's pocket—and was +welcomed there.</p> + +<p>They got to Saint Ruth's, finally. Dr. Thorpe's greeting was cordial; +Mrs. Thorpe kissed Phyllis affectionately. The men went to the warden's +office; Mrs. Thorpe took Phyllis to her room. They had a long talk. +Phyllis found Mrs. Thorpe could be plain-spoken as well as kind.</p> + +<p>"You did wrong, dear girl," she said, with her arms around her. "I know +how hard it was to hear him utter those terrible untruths; but you +should have been more patient. Nothing he said could injure any +one—least of all your mother, who is now where there is no +misunderstanding—and no pain. Your wounded heart impelled you to a mad +act, dear girl; but your pride has kept you in the wrong. John Landless +is a dear fellow—and Donald thinks he is a true poet. I have laughed at +him until he is shy about mentioning his 'profession' to me. It is +possible for you to be very happy. Soften your heart, dear girl, and you +will find the truest happiness in the happiness of your uncle. Your +mother would be the first to tell you to go to him and comfort his +loneliness—if she could. The best joys of life come to us through +self-surrender."</p> + +<p>Phyllis laid her head in Mrs. Thorpe's lap and had a good cry; then she +felt better.</p> + +<p>"Promise?" asked Mrs. Thorpe, smiling.</p> + +<p>"No, I won't promise," said Phyllis. "I couldn't promise now. But I will +try."</p> + +<p>"And now," said Mrs. Thorpe, "let's go and see the babies. There are +some new ones since you were here; but one wee mite is gone, forever."</p> + +<p>Phyllis sat on the floor among the babies, and played with them, until +her cheeks were rosy and her golden hair disheveled. Between romps she +told Mrs. Thorpe that John's book would soon be published.</p> + +<p>"Well, that is good news!" exclaimed Mrs. Thorpe. "Donald will be so +happy to hear of that. It is remarkable that he should have a book +published so soon. Poems, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is remarkable," replied Phyllis demurely. "But then, John's +talent is remarkable."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, in the warden's office, Dr. Thorpe sat at his desk and John +sat on it, and swung his long legs. He told him about the book.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! I congratulate you, with all my heart," said Dr. Thorpe +warmly. "You will let me know the first day it is on sale. I shall wish +to buy a copy."</p> + +<p>"Buy a copy!" John demurred. "Well, upon my word! You and Mrs. Thorpe +will receive a copy, affectionately inscribed by the author; the first +copy off the press—the second, I should say."</p> + +<p>Dr. Thorpe grinned.</p> + +<p>"Let me buy it, John," he said. "I shall go from one bookshop to +another, and in each I shall say,—'What! You haven't a copy of John +Landless's book! The sensation of the hour! The book London is so eager +to read that the presses can't turn them out fast enough! The book—'"</p> + +<p>John threw his cap at him. They looked at each other in the abashed way +of men between whom there is deep affection.</p> + +<p>"Your publisher's telephone wires would be hot for an hour with orders," +Dr. Thorpe concluded.</p> + +<p>"You should be a man of business," said John. "If you were a publisher I +should have had an easier time."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! You had little or no trouble—" began Dr. Thorpe.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, Doctor," said John. "I had failed, and then Phyllis +pulled the strings. I can't tell you how, though. That is a secret."</p> + +<p>"I am prepared to believe anything of her. How buoyant and beautiful +she is. By the way—anything from Sir Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word. She wrote him a note, asking for her collection of +valentines. They were her mother's, and she wanted them. He sent the +valentines, but no reply to her note."</p> + +<p>"Poor old buffer," said Dr. Thorpe. "Of course, he misses her +dreadfully."</p> + +<p>"I should think he would; and she misses him, too. I would be glad to +see them good friends again if—if I needn't be put in a false position. +He is—disgustingly rich, you know." John hesitated. He looked at the +floor, and traced the pattern of the carpet with his stick. "He called +me a sneak—and ordered me out of the house. But I can afford to forgive +that. It was horribly sudden for the poor old chap—and—all that."</p> + +<p>Dr. Thorpe's eyes were moist.</p> + +<p>"I meant to look into your spiritual state, later," he said. "But I see +it isn't necessary."</p> + +<p>When the four of them met, in the hall, it was understood that John and +Phyllis would resume their work at Saint Ruth's.</p> + +<p>"Nothing like it to keep your sense of relative values normal," said Dr. +Thorpe to John.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thorpe stood with her arm around Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Saint Ruth's neighbors will be glad to see you again, dear girl. Did I +tell you what old Mrs. Lester said to me? You remember her poor hands, +all twisted with rheumatism and yet what beautiful needlework she does. +She said, 'I should like to make her a pretty handkerchief, for a +wedding gift. Do you think she would care for it?'"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thorpe had been looking through the open doorway.</p> + +<p>"Here comes trouble, Donald," she said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>John and Phyllis glanced back as they walked out.</p> + +<p>Dr. Thorpe was shaking hands, heartily, with a big, sodden fellow, in +shabby clothes, his virile face marred by excesses; the frail little +woman with him looked up at him with a world of anxious love in her +eyes; and then Mrs. Thorpe led her away, talking cheerily.</p> + +<p>All the way home John discoursed on Art. Phyllis drank it in. She +thought him a wonderful being.</p> + +<p>"The trouble with these literary chaps is that they revolve in a +circle," he declared, posing securely on his new pedestal. "They have +their writing rooms, all strewn with carefully disarranged +paraphernalia; and they have their clubs, where they meet only each +other and praise each other's work, and damn the work of the absent +ones: and they go prowling about looking for a bohemia that never +existed, and can never exist for them; for bohemia is simply youth and +poverty and high aspirations, combined, and can't be found by search. If +these literary chaps are exceptionally fortunate, they are invited to +great houses, where they dine with stupid, overfed people who pretend +they have read their books, though they haven't, unless they are unfit +to read. And so they go on wearily turning that treadmill—and wonder +why their work has lost freshness, and convince themselves it has gained +style. I am not a literary chap, and I don't wish to be one. I am a +poet. Poetry is my profession. And the only way I can succeed in it, the +only way it is worth succeeding in, is to relate it to life, real life, +the big, elemental struggle for existence that is going on, here in +London, and everywhere; to wed Art to Reality, lest the jade saunter the +streets, a light o' love, seeking to sell her soul."</p> + +<p>As they walked past the bookshop, and through the little square, John +said:—</p> + +<p>"I should like to live in London eight months of the year, and give most +of my time to Saint Ruth's. And the rest of the year I should like to +live in a village, like Rosemary, Sussex, where I lived as a boy; on the +outskirts of a little village, near the green country; and do my writing +there, under the blue sky—with God looking over my shoulder, to see the +work well done."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + + +<p>There was a motor-car in front of the house; its blinding lights +illuminated the windows at the other end of the square.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson met them at the door.</p> + +<p>"He's upstairs in your room. Sir Peter Oglebay—your uncle," she said, +in an excited whisper. "Three times he has called this day; once at +eleven, once at two; and now again at six. 'Sit down and wait,' I says +to him, the last time; 'they will surely be home for dinner; never have +they missed since first they came,' says I; and sit down he did—and +there he sits; and doesn't he look noble, sitting there! Genevieve's +that nervous she drops everything she touches."</p> + +<p>John and Phyllis exchanged looks. He smiled as easily as he could.</p> + +<p>"Would you like it if I walked about a bit—or dropped in on old +Rowlandson, while you talk with your uncle?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I want you with me, John. I need you," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Together's the word," he replied, and they mounted the stairs.</p> + +<p>So far as Phyllis was concerned, it was all over in a moment.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter rose when they entered. She gave one look at his sad, white +face, and drawn mouth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Uncle Peter!" she cried; and was in his arms.</p> + +<p>He tried to say the words he had humbly learned.</p> + +<p>"I have your pardon to ask, my dear—"</p> + +<p>That was as far as he got. She put both hands over his mouth; and +withdrew them only to kiss him and whispered—</p> + +<p>"It is I who should ask your pardon, Uncle Peter. I have been very, very +naughty, And I am very, very sorry."</p> + +<p>Now, when Sir Peter heard that childish formula, he seemed to hold in +his arms the little girl who had repeated it, many times, under the +instructions of Mrs. Burbage. The years slipped away. He held her close; +the wounds were healed.</p> + +<p>When two men have a disagreeable interview before them, each maneuvers +for position. The one who gets the fireplace back of him has an +advantage. It isn't impregnable, but the other fellow must force the +fighting. The place may be carried by storm; but it takes a spirited +action. John executed a flank movement, while his ally engaged the +enemy. He got the fireplace; it was a small one, but it was his own.</p> + +<p>One wishes John well out of this scene; our hopes are high for him; but +he is a queer chap; you never know how to take him, nor what he will +say, or do. We can only wish him well; and observe that he carries his +chin high.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter released Phyllis, and then turned to John.</p> + +<p>"I wish to apologize to you, Landless," said Sir Peter, and crossed the +room; he offered his hand; John took it and they stood for a moment so, +neither speaking.</p> + +<p>"I hope you can forgive what I said," Sir Peter concluded.</p> + +<p>"I did that before we left your house—that morning," said John. "Don't +say anything more about it, sir, please. I should have been as angry as +you were—under the same circumstances. I am sure there is need of +forbearance on both sides."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter dropped John's hand, and strode to the window. In a moment he +faced about again.</p> + +<p>"I can't have it that way," said he. "It was unspeakable——"</p> + +<p>John stopped him.</p> + +<p>"I beg you to say no more, sir. I assure you there is not an unkind +thought in my heart. Let the dead past bury its dead." John hesitated; +then stammered out—"Fine weather we are having, sir."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter offered his hand again; their grasp was cordial. Each looked +straight into the other's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear," said Phyllis, pushing the big armchair nearer the fire. +"Isn't everything lovely!"</p> + +<p>She coaxed her uncle into the chair with a pretty gesture, and seated +herself in a smaller one, with a happy little sigh.</p> + +<p>There was a tap at the door.</p> + +<p>John opened to Mrs. Farquharson; she curtseyed.</p> + +<p>"You were wishful to see me, my d——ma'am?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Phyllis laughed gayly. "You are wonderful, Farquharson," she said. "I +have been thinking for five minutes how nice it would be if my uncle +dined with us; if it were quite convenient for you."</p> + +<p>"As ever could be," said Mrs. Farquharson. "I sent Genevieve for another +chicken as soon as ever he was in this room. You never saw a plumper."</p> + +<p>"Isn't she wonderful?" Phyllis turned to her uncle. "Uncle Peter, you +must be formally presented to my dear Farquharson, my old nurse. +Farquharson—Sir Peter Oglebay, my uncle."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson curtseyed again; Sir Peter rose and bowed gravely.</p> + +<p>"A great many years ago I heard how wonderful you were, Farquharson," +he said, "from a little girl, who is now grown,—and married,—but is of +the same opinion still. It was a piece of good fortune, indeed that +brought these children of mine to your house."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. Thank you, Sir Peter," replied Mrs. Farquharson, her +gray eyes very large. "I should have made your acquaintance years ago if +that Mrs.—Well, least said, soonest mended. But sorry I am that never +did those advertisements meet my eye if ever they were printed. The +expense of them, too, sir, in every paper in London, every day for three +months. Not that you minded that!" Mrs. Farquharson had told the story +to the first-floor front; the first-floor front who had been in +stocks—and seen better days; it had not lost in the telling.</p> + +<p>"If you are certain—" said Sir Peter to Mrs. Farquharson. "Very well, +I shall be glad to dine."</p> + +<p>On the way to the lower regions, Mrs. Farquharson dropped in on the +first floor.</p> + +<p>"Sir Peter Oglebay's dining with us tonight," she said. "I was +frightened of him at first, but, pooh! he's as easy as an old shoe."</p> + +<p>John still held the fireplace; he knew the worst was yet to come.</p> + +<p>"There are great preparations at home, my dear," said Sir Peter to +Phyllis. "Your little study-room has been polished till it shines, and +the two adjoining rooms have been rearranged three times since this +morning." He looked at John. "Burbage has been told that I hope to have +both of you home again. Her efforts are Herculean to anticipate every +wish Phyllis may have."</p> + +<p>"I hope you won't be hurt, sir," said John, "but I fear that is out of +the question I ask you to believe there isn't an iota of unfriendliness +in it, but—you see, sir, Phyllis and I must live within our own income; +and independence is as necessary to me as air. I am sorry if you are +disappointed."</p> + +<p>"I appreciate your point of view perfectly," said Sir Peter. "I am +coming to that. But first I ask you to sympathize with mine, a little. +My house is so large that I am lost in it, unless there are others +there. And as one grows older there are so few who care to come. The old +friends have new interests; children about them; and the wider circle +that means. The house has never seemed so large and so lonely as during +the past month. For many years my brother Robert, Phyllis's father, +lived with me there. It will be hard for you to believe I was ever gay, +but it was really a gay house then. His friends were a light-hearted +lot, and they were as welcome there as my own; mine were few by +comparison. We talked pictures most of the time; his friends were +painters. What dreams for the future I heard from them! The best of them +loved Robert—and believed in him. No one could help loving him. I +remember a remark Thorburg, the sculptor, made one night, at a dinner in +his honor. Thorburg had just done some extraordinary thing—I have +forgotten what; his 'Grief,' perhaps. 'Oglebay,' said he to Robert, +'there isn't a man in this room who doesn't envy you. We all have +talent; but yours touches the highest mark. I will not say it is genius, +but it is near it; we shall bare our heads before one of your pictures, +some day.' Little Singleton spoke up then. 'The great god Thor hath said +it, Oglebay, but we all think it.' They were all there that night; +there must have been twenty of us at the table. I can see their faces +now, clearly, and hear little Singleton's piping voice. Singleton, +Knowles, and Leonard—the inseparable trio, they called them."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter paused.</p> + +<p>"As I said, the house was gay then. The Oglebay Prize was the result of +just such a dinner. Robert suggested it. Thorburg was one of the +trustees until he died; it has helped many a lad through his days in the +Latin Quarter. I have had some fine letters from those lads. One or two +of them have turned out really good work; good enough to have satisfied +Robert that the prize was worth while. Yes,—the Oglebay Prize is one of +the few things I look back upon with unalloyed pleasure; my bridge in +Natal is another."</p> + +<p>Phyllis had moved her chair nearer to her uncle; while he spoke of her +father, he held her hand, on the arm of his chair. Now she spoke +quickly, with that pretty catch in her breath.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Uncle Peter. Tell John about the Natal bridge. It is more +interesting and more exciting than the best novel you ever read."</p> + +<p>"I should like to hear the story, sir," said John; it was pleasant to +see the sincerity of his interest.</p> + +<p>"I will tell it to you some day, John," replied Sir Peter. He smiled. +"You will probably hear it a great many times. We all have our failings; +that story is mine. My cronies at the club tell me I lead up to it so +skillfully they cannot always stop me in time."</p> + +<p>"Do tell it, Uncle Peter," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter thought for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Some time I will, my dear," he said. "But not now. My mind is on +something else." He addressed his remarks to John again. "We were +talking about the days when there was overflowing life in my old house."</p> + +<p>John stood with his back to the fire; his face was attentive, serious, +considering; but every line in it expressed determination.</p> + +<p>"Those days ended when Robert married," Sir Peter continued. "I +quarreled with him and we parted. I never saw him again. And for ten +years my house was a mausoleum, haunted by memories; a torture-house of +vain regrets and useless longings."</p> + +<p>His voice broke; he rose suddenly and walked to the window again. They +were silent until he returned to his chair. Phyllis seated herself on +the broad arm of it, and laid a caressing hand on his shoulder. He took +the hand and held it.</p> + +<p>"Then came the news from the North—that my little girl was +motherless—and fatherless; and then came my little girl herself. She +was a very little girl then; a sad and lonely little girl; but"—Sir +Peter cleared his throat, and spoke huskily and slowly—"but she brought +comfort to me. There was something in life for me again—besides my +work. My work I always had. I thanked God for that. I need not tell you, +John, how this little girl crept into my heart, nor how her small +fingers smoothed away the wrinkles from my gloomy old face." Sir Peter +looked up at her and pressed the hand he held. "And so the years rolled +on—and she grew, and grew, and grew, until she became a young woman. +A—a passably good-looking young woman—eh, John? Wouldn't you say +so—passably good-looking?"</p> + +<p>John smiled.</p> + +<p>"I might say so to you, sir—privately," he admitted.</p> + +<p>"And when she was certain of her conquest of me," continued Sir Peter, +"she looked about, as it were, for other worlds to conquer. And along +came a—er—h'm—along came a young prince. Precisely so—along came a +young prince upon whom the fairies had bestowed marvelous gifts." Sir +Peter fairly chuckled as he completed this unusual imaginative flight. +"Marvelous gifts," he repeated. "Eh, Phyllis? Would you say he had +marvelous gifts?"</p> + +<p>"If we were quite alone, Uncle Peter, I might say so," confessed +Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"And this passably good-looking young woman and this prince of the +marvelous gifts proceeded to fall in love with each other in the most +natural way in the world," Sir Peter went on. "Precisely so. In the most +natural way in the world; as any one but a grumpy old fellow would have +foreseen they would. And having fallen in love with each other, what in +the world was there for them to do but to be married at once—eh? And +yet, will you believe it?—there was a grumpy old fellow who wished to +prevent it. Now, what could you say to an old fellow as grumpy as that?" +Sir Peter adjusted his eyeglass and looked first at John, and then at +Phyllis, quizzically.</p> + +<p>"I should say no one could blame him," said John promptly.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't say anything. I should just hug him," said Phyllis, and +carried out the threat with spirit.</p> + +<p>"And now we come to the point of this long story," resumed Sir Peter, +readjusting his eyeglass, which had fallen during Phyllis's +demonstration, "These two having married have no other duty before them +than to—er—eh? Of course. Precisely! No other duty than to live +happily ever afterward—eh? As they always do in stories. But the +question is—where? Precisely! Where shall they live happily ever +afterward? Shall they live all by themselves? Or shall they share their +happiness—a little of it—with the grumpy old fellow aforesaid? He does +not like to base his plea to them on his need of the little girl he has +loved so many years; nor on his need of the marvelous gifts of the young +prince, though they are especially needed just at this time, as I shall +tell you. Now, John," said Sir Peter, in his most engaging way, "advise +me about this. What ground should he base his petition upon in order to +win his case? Because he is more anxious to win this case than he was to +finish the Natal bridge,—and he was terribly anxious about that,—as +you will hear, one of these days."</p> + +<p>John glanced toward Phyllis; she instantly turned her head, and looked +resolutely in the opposite direction. She felt that the answer to Sir +Peter's question belonged to John. Sir Peter saw John waver; he caught +his glance at Phyllis; and, like a good campaigner, followed up the +attack.</p> + +<p>"I need your assistance just now, John, very badly," said Sir Peter. +"For years my friends in the British Engineering Society have been +urging me to prepare and publish my recollections. Some of them went to +Allan Robertson's Sons, the publishers, about it and they have given me +no peace since I was weak enough to make a promise that they should have +the book. 'Recollections of an Engineer, 1874-1910,' it is to be called. +Now,—if you would help me I could do it easily. And we would have some +good times over it, I hope."</p> + +<p>John glanced at Phyllis again; but she would not look at him. It was +very hard not to at the time; but Phyllis was so glad afterward that she +didn't.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter got up from his chair, and stood in front of John, both hands +on his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Dear lad," he said. "In a few years you and Phyllis will have all that +is mine in the world. You can't prevent that—with all your pride—for +which I honor you. In a few years it will all be yours. For those few +years will you not share it with me—and let them be peaceful and happy +years?"</p> + +<p>John turned his face away.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," he said. "We will go to your home—to-morrow. That +is—if Phyllis says so, too."</p> + +<p>Phyllis flashed him a radiant look.</p> + +<p>"But you must let me contribute my little pittance to the general +fund," added John. "It isn't much—but it is all I have."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart!" said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>The white tablecloth was laid; the coffee percolator hummed its +contented little song. The broiled chicken was delicious; and the +browned potatoes. There was a grape jelly; Sir Peter was helped twice to +this.</p> + +<p>"Do you make it yourself?" he asked Mrs. Farquharson.</p> + +<p>"Whoever else?" she answered.</p> + +<p>"But you should taste her marmalade at breakfast!" exclaimed John.</p> + +<p>"I like a good marmalade; we have the 'Dundee'; which is yours?" asked +Sir Peter. He fell into their informal ways so easily.</p> + +<p>"We make our own," said Mrs. Farquharson proudly.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word," said Sir Peter, as he stirred his coffee with a tiny +spoon, and accepted a match for his cigar—"upon my word, I haven't +eaten such a dinner in years. So—er—companionable—you know."</p> + +<p>At eleven, when they went with him to the door, Mrs. Farquharson met +them in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Farquharson," said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, sir," said Mrs. Farquharson, and handed him a parcel. +"Would you please to slip these glasses into your greatcoat pocket: two +of the jelly, and two of the marmalade. Here are the recipes, written on +this paper; Genevieve has copied them out very plain and large. That +Mrs. Burbage can read them—with her spectacles."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + + +<p>Two happy, eventful years passed.</p> + +<p>One evening, as they sat in the long library, John happened to mention +Rosemary Sussex,—and the old parsonage, where his boyhood had been +spent, untenanted now—in disrepair. Sir Peter asked a casual question +or two. For the rest of the evening he schemed in silence.</p> + +<p>Shortly thereafter his mysterious absences began. He required an earlier +breakfast on certain days; and John and Phyllis sometimes dined alone.</p> + +<p>The new parsonage at Rosemary is nearer the church than the old,—but +the old parsonage has more land, and its garden slopes gently downward +to the little river, slipping murmurously away to the sea.</p> + +<p>So long as Sir Peter tried to keep part of his plan a secret from the +vestry, he had one failure after another for his pains. Time after time +he returned on the early evening train to London, growling into his +white mustache. They would not say no, and they did not say yes; he made +no progress. But when he pledged a discreet vestryman to confidence, and +told him he sought to buy the old parsonage for the son of its former +occupant, the Reverend Hugh Landless, and for his wife, the ways were +smoothed at once. A morning came, at last, when he could tell them he +had a surprise in store for them, and could place the title-deed in +Phyllis's hands.</p> + +<p>"It is my belated wedding-gift," said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>Phyllis will never forget her first glimpse of the gray old house. As +the motor-car neared the curve in the road which discloses the view +John knew and loved so well, he said to her:—</p> + +<p>"Now, dearest; in just a moment. There!"</p> + +<p>The house is screened from the road by an ivy-covered wall, great trees, +and the shrubbery. But Phyllis caught the very view John wished her to +have,—a bit of the west gable, and the window from which his mother's +handkerchief had fluttered many gay farewells to him.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter stood by the sun-dial, in the garden, and listened, well +pleased, to John's eager voice, as he pointed out the spots endeared to +him by memories of childhood. The sun-dial! How he had pondered over the +quatrain, chiseled in the stone:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"The Moving Finger writes; and having writ<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Moves on—nor all your Piety nor Wit<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"My father used to sit reading aloud to my mother, near that hawthorn," +said John, "and if she asked him for the time of day he was whimsical +enough to walk over here and consult the sun-dial, rather than his +watch."</p> + +<p>They loitered in the neglected, overgrown garden,—soon to be bright +with flowers again,—a trysting-place for birds.</p> + +<p>"My mother planned her garden anew each winter," said John. "She could +hardly wait for the soft air of spring to carry out her plans. She loved +the flowers. I remember her so clearly, working here, in a broad-brimmed +hat, with a pair of my father's gloves on her hands, while I played near +by. I had desperate adventures in this garden, and my play often ended +in my being half frightened—and seeking safety from imagined terrors, +in the refuge of her lap."</p> + +<p>They went into every room of the old house; sunny rooms; there was need +of repairs, indeed, but Phyllis declared there should be no alteration.</p> + +<p>"I want it to be just as it was," she said to Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>And so, in June, they were at home there—and the garden was a riot of +color.</p> + +<p>On a particular afternoon in June, Sir Peter, with his cigar, and John, +in flannels, writing, at a table under the trees, both looked up to see +Phyllis coming toward them, from the house, with her baby in her arms.</p> + +<p>The garden was full of the perfume of roses. They blossomed everywhere. +There was a pink bud in John's buttonhole, and a red one in Sir Peter's. +Phyllis had a great bunch of white roses at her waist. Her gown was +white, too: soft and lacy and clinging. That would have been John's +description of it; and he is a poet.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Phyllis," said John.</p> + +<p>"S-h-h," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"S-h-h, John," said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>Phyllis laid her precious burden in the perambulator, near Sir Peter's +chair.</p> + +<p>"Mark and Peggy will be here in half an hour," she announced. "She +telephoned from Whinstead. Isn't it characteristic of Peggy?—a +motor-car wedding-journey. They are having the most glorious time, she +said. They can't stay, though; just a call."</p> + +<p>"Whinstead, eh?" said John. "Well, if Mark is driving, he will cut that +thirty minutes to twenty. I shall barely finish this page before they +get here."</p> + +<p>He was engaged upon the revision of "Old Valentines, and Other Poems," +for the second edition. The little book, bound in red, with golden +cupids, lay open on the table.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Peter, see how beautifully baby is sleeping," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter adjusted his eyeglass, and peeped under the parasol.</p> + +<p>"I must speak to Burbage about tea," added Phyllis. "Just keep half an +eye—"</p> + +<p>"Both eyes, my dear," said Sir Peter. With his foot he drew the +perambulator a little nearer to him.</p> + +<p>John looked up from his writing.</p> + +<p>"Give me a synonym for 'austerity,'" he commanded.</p> + +<p>"'Sternness,'" suggested Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"'Severity,'" said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"'Severity' introduces a rhyme, which won't do at all; 'sternness' +doesn't convey asceticism, as 'austerity' does. Give me others."</p> + +<p>"'Gravity,'" said Phyllis. "Or seriousness.'"</p> + +<p>"'Asperity,'" suggested Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"I have it!" said John. "'His stern simplicity.'"</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you say we could have two words?" asked Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>John's pen was busy; obviously he did not hear.</p> + +<p>"Burbage will serve tea here, Uncle Peter," said Phyllis. "John, you +will try to make Mark talk, won't you? He is so shy."</p> + +<p>John gazed at nothing, with vacant eyes. Phyllis looked at her uncle, +comically.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Peter, you tell him about Mark the next time he gives evidence of +belonging to the human family."</p> + +<p>She walked toward the house, intent on arrangements. At the door she +glanced over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Peter," she called to him, "you were pushing the perambulator +forward and backward with your foot. It isn't allowed."</p> + +<p>"They always did it in my day," said Sir Peter.</p> + +<p>"Well, they don't now," replied Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Very well, my dear," said Sir Peter meekly.</p> + +<p>Phyllis went into the house. Sir Peter observed the windows keenly; when +he thought the coast was clear he gently pushed the perambulator forward +and backward with his foot.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later a big gray car deposited three dusty persons on the +little porch. Peggy and Phyllis cooed over each other. Mark pointed to +Mrs. Farquharson.</p> + +<p>"We picked her up," he said. "She had started to walk from the railway +station."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson surveyed him with an austerity that required no +synonym.</p> + +<p>"Never again," said she. "Pony-cart or no pony-cart. A hundred miles an +hour, my dear, if ever he went one."</p> + +<p>She retired to the rear, where Burbage could be found, with whom she had +come to take tea and pass the afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Lead me to the infant!" demanded Peggy. "I haven't seen him for so long +I am prepared to find him in knickerbockers, smoking a cigarette."</p> + +<p>"Peggy! only two weeks," exclaimed Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Two weeks!" rejoined Peggy. "Oh, in time, of course; but aeons in +experience. We have had tire trouble—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, cut that, Peg," suggested Mark.</p> + +<p>"I will not," retorted Peggy. "We have paid enough for new tires since +we started to endow Saint Ruth's. Each time our troubles have occurred +in the exact center of population. I have been stared at from front and +rear by the entire British people. And Mark has given the recording +angel the time of his life. Everything has happened that could wreck our +married happiness, but we are now armor-clad against infelicity. We have +really had the most beau-ti-ful time! We haven't eaten a meal in an inn +except breakfast. Simple life by the wayside for us! Two alcohol +stoves—I am starved now, though! Perhaps we had better have tea before +I see the baby—I might be tempted beyond my strength."</p> + +<p>"And you are well, Mark?" asked Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Finer than a new crank-shaft," he replied, grinning. "I am also in the +breadline though."</p> + +<p>"One result of our difficulties was the development of Mark's +conversational powers," whispered Peggy to Phyllis. "He is almost a +self-starter now."</p> + +<p>"How well you both look, brown as—"</p> + +<p>"Don't say gypsies!" urged Peggy. "We have heard it everywhere."</p> + +<p>"Indians, then," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>Tea was served under the trees. The baby awakened as though for Peggy's +express benefit. He spluttered and gurgled, and made queer faces in his +charming way, selecting Peggy for the most fascinating attentions After +tea, Phyllis and Peggy went into the house to exchange confidences. +Peggy carried the baby.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter and John did their utmost with Mark. Motoring, cricket, +tennis, golf—all had their turn. He was amiability itself, but he would +not and could not be made to talk. They were at their wit's end when +Phyllis and Peggy rejoined them, and Phyllis took Mark off to the +garden.</p> + +<p>Peggy sat with the men, chatting volubly. John's eyes followed Mark and +Phyllis. When he could do so unobserved, he touched Sir Peter's arm +quietly, and directed his attention to them. Mark was talking at full +speed; Phyllis was listening, and cutting roses into a basket.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peggy, "we have had some ripping times. The most ripping was +yesterday. We almost robbed England of her greatest living poet, by +nearly running Mr. Kipling down, near Pevensey. It was in a narrow lane +and he was walking with his chin on his chest. We supposed, of course, +he heard us. Mark used the emergency brake; the car slewed around; he +wasn't even grazed. And he took it as coolly as you please. John, if we +had hit him, would you be next in line for laureate?"</p> + +<p>"I hope he was thinking out a sequel to 'Kim,'" said Sir Peter. "I +picked that book up in the club library one day when I had a quarter of +an hour to kill. I sat there all the afternoon. I have read it three +times, since."</p> + +<p>"I liked 'Stalky' best. How do the pretty little jingles go, John?" +asked Peggy. She took a copy of "The Spectator" from the table, and +turned the leaves, idly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, jinglewise," answered John.</p> + +<p>"My word! Listen to this," exclaimed Peggy; and then read—"'We should +hesitate to say that Mr. Landless's name will stand higher than the +second rank of poets. But so much praise he has fairly wrested from even +the most captious reviewer. Indeed his "Lyrics" invite one to the +dangerous pastime of prophecy; and prophecy of a bright future for this +newest of our versifiers. Certainly, if the more serious work we are +promised in "London: A Poem" (which is announced for the autumn) exceeds +in dignity and restraint the best of his "Lyrics," we shall throw +caution to the winds and predict great things for him. We observe two +typographical errors on page—' Oh! who cares about the old +typographical errors! Well, well, John. Isn't that splendid! What a +happy girl Phil must be!"</p> + +<p>"We are all very happy, Margaret," said Sir Peter. "And very proud to be +related to him—even by marriage."</p> + +<p>"And Phil tells me you have turned author, too," said Peggy to Sir +Peter. "A young fellow like you to be writing your 'Recollections'! +Think how much more you will have to recollect if you wait a few years."</p> + +<p>Sir Peter shook his finger at her.</p> + +<p>"If you are not careful, young woman, I will put you into them—as I +first remember you, very red and wrinkled."</p> + +<p>Mark's and Peggy's stay was short—all too short. Mark settled down +behind the wheel. "London, next," said he. Peggy's face was buried in +roses as they drove off.</p> + +<p>When they were seated again, under the trees, Phyllis regarding the baby +with rapt eyes, John's curiosity suggested a question.</p> + +<p>"Phyllis, please tell us what you set Mark to talking about. We tried +everything."</p> + +<p>"Why, about Peggy, of course," said Phyllis. "Silly! Couldn't you think +of that?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Farquharson had awaited the departure of the Holroyds, and now, in +her best black silk, came out to see the baby, and remained to chat for +a few minutes. Her great news was that the first-floor front was in +stocks again—with a prospect of seeing better days.</p> + +<p>"And how is Mr. Rowlandson?" asked Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Odder than ever," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "He is getting a little +childish, I think. The other night he told me the greatest rigmarole +about some collector or other in Birmingham. He collected weapons, of +all things! He had Mr. Rowlandson buy him swords, and daggers, and +spears, and even bows and arrows from America, until his house fairly +rattled with them. Finally, says Mr. Rowlandson, he got him the stone +that David flung at Goliath, and the jawbone that Samson smote the +Philistines with. 'Now,' says he, 'I am looking for the club that Cain +slew Abel with, and then he will be complete.' Did ever you hear such a +farrago? And his eyes twinkling all the time as though he was as +sensible as ever could be! Yesterday I told him I was coming down here +to take tea with Mrs. Burbage. 'With Mrs. Burbage!' says he. 'Well, what +next?' 'Now, heed my words,' says I. 'That woman is not as black as +she's been painted.' And then he laughs. Childish, I say. But he's +terrible down on you, Mr. Landless, because the baby's a boy. 'Mr. +Landless has disappointed me,' says he. 'He knows her name should be +Valentine.' 'But, Mrs. Landless wanted a boy,' says I, 'to call him +Peter'; as she has, bless his darling little heart, that knows his old +Farquharson! 'Well,' says he, 'Mr. Landless put her up to it.'"</p> + +<p>When she had returned to Burbage, John and Sir Peter began work on the +proofs of "Recollections of an Engineer." The publishers had wished to +call it "Recollections of a Great Engineer." Sir Peter told them quietly +there would be no recollections if they insisted on the word.</p> + +<p>The story of the Natal bridge would have been the making of this twelfth +chapter. But the Natal story has a chapter of its own in the +"Recollections" (chapter XXII—p. 227), and as the copyright +restrictions are in force you will have to look for it there. Mr. +Rowlandson has the book for sale—if you don't find it elsewhere.</p> + +<p>The work on the proofs was interrupted when the baby insisted on having +the red rose from Sir Peter's buttonhole. Sir Peter cut the thorns from +its stem before he gave it into the tiny fingers.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus4" id="illus4"></a> +<img src="images/illus4.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>SIR PETER GAVE IT INTO THE TINY FINGERS</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Burbage and Farquharson stood by the garden-gate, looking in. The golden +glow of late afternoon was over all. The roses nodded their heavy heads +all about them. The gentle murmur of the flowing river, lapping the old +stairs at the end of the garden, could be faintly heard.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter cut the thorns from the rose, and gave it to the baby, leaning +forward in its young mother's arms.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a pretty sight?" whispered Burbage.</p> + +<p>"The prettiest sight that ever was in the world," said Farquharson, +fumbling for her handkerchief.</p> + + +<p>THE END</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Published_by_HOUGHTON_MIFFLIN_AND_COMPANY" id="Published_by_HOUGHTON_MIFFLIN_AND_COMPANY"></a>Published by HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND COMPANY</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>THE INVADERS</h3> + +<h4>By FRANCES N.S. ALLEN</h4> + + +<p>"A warm, rich, human story, which takes its substance from the +successful inroads of thrifty Irish and Polack and the whole whatnot of +foreign newcomers upon the lean New England land, with the desperate +resentments growing out of this usurpation and the futile attempts to +stem the tide of encroachment."—<i>Washington Evening Star.</i></p> + +<p>"A capital story, but also a fine piece of workmanship and a +contribution to sociology."—<i>Congregationalist.</i></p> + +<p>"A clean, wholesome, stimulating story pleasantly told."—<i>Detroit Free +Press.</i></p> + +<p>"Deals wisely and sympathetically with one of the big social problems +which beset changing New England."—<i>Brooklyn Eagle.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>V.V.'S EYES</h3> + +<h4>By HENRY SYDNOR HARRISON</h4> + + +<p>"'V.V.'s Eyes' is a novel of so elevated a spirit, yet of such strong +interest, unartificial, and uncritical, that it is obviously a +fulfillment of Mr. Harrison's intention to 'create real +literature.'"—<i>Baltimore News.</i></p> + +<p>"In our judgment it is one of the strongest and at the same time most +delicately wrought American novels of recent years."—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>"'V.V.'s Eyes' is an almost perfect example of idealistic realism. It +has the soft heart, the clear vision and the boundless faith in humanity +that are typical of our American outlook on life."—<i>Chicago +Record-Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"A delicate and artistic study of striking power and literary quality +which may well remain the high-water mark in American fiction for the +year.... Mr. Harrison definitely takes his place as the one among our +younger American novelists of whom the most enduring work may be hoped +for."—<i>Springfield Republican.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>STORIES OF CHARM</h3> + +<h4>By WILLIAM JOHN HOPKINS</h4> + + +<p>THE CLAMMER</p> + + +<p>"It is seldom that one comes upon a bit of fiction which combines so +much clever fancy with so much delicacy, or which blends light comedy so +skillfully with deep feeling."—<i>Brooklyn Eagle.</i></p> + + +<p>OLD HARBOR</p> + + +<p>"A tale to chuckle over.... It is not often that a reader has an +opportunity in the pages of a book to come in touch with such a group of +genial and lovable people."—<i>Minneapolis Journal.</i></p> + + +<p>THE MEDDLINGS OF EVE</p> + + +<p>"Brings us once again into touch with those delightful and very human +people that we learned to know in 'The Clammer.'"—<i>The Bookman.</i></p> + + +<p>CONCERNING SALLY</p> + + +<p>"The story is at once so human and so unusual that it excites deep +interest.... Sally is a real person, a person whose woes and joys the +reader cannot choose but share."—<i>Boston Herald.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>A SAFETY MATCH</h3> + +<h4>By IAN HAY</h4> + + +<p>"Delineates the progress of a marriage of convenience with an agreeably +delicate touch." <i>New York Sun.</i></p> + +<p>"The story is well written and of the variety which, once commenced, +keeps the candle burning regardless of the hour until the end." <i>Boston +Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"The 'handsome rectory children' of the early chapters, their vague +father, and their muddled but affectionate home life, are things of pure +joy." <i>London Punch.</i></p> + +<p>"Simple, yet strong, and strong because its simplicity is natural, the +book will commend itself to all who love sane, wholesome and cheerful +fiction." <i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>"There is humor everywhere of the sparkling rather than the gleaming +variety, and it makes the book delightful to read." <i>The Dial.</i></p> + +<p>"Its homely, human humor, and its wonderful narrative of events, both +commonplace and extraordinary, hold the interest of the reader +unswervingly from the first chapter to the last." <i>St. Louis +Post-Dispatch.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>A COUNTRY LAWYER</h3> + +<h4>By HENRY A. SHUTE</h4> + + +<p>"Rarely do we find a book so full of wholesome sentiment.... Fairly +bubbles with good humor.... A book well worth reading and then well +worth remembering." <i>Boston Globe.</i></p> + +<p>"Judge Shute has told a good story, at the same time incorporating into +it the stir, bustle and ginger of a New Hampshire town." <i>Milwaukee Free +Press.</i></p> + +<p>"Humor and clever portrayal of country character prevail in this story." +<i>Detroit Free Press.</i></p> + +<p>"Judge Shute has told a thoroughly readable story, and one which has the +added charms of freshness and spirit." <i>Minneapolis Journal.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS</h3> + +<h4>By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN</h4> + + +<p>"A fitting successor to the far-famed Rebecca." <i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>"Mother Carey is one of the sweetest and truest models of motherhood +imaginable." <i>The Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>"A book to enjoy, a book to love, and a book to be grateful for." +<i>Westminster Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"A delightful book for girls, not to mention the boys and the mothers +and fathers, is 'Mother Carey's Chickens,' one of the best of the many +good stories that Mrs. Wiggin has written.... Mother Carey is a real +human mother and her children are a lively flock of real youngsters, all +different and all worth knowing." <i>Springfield Republican.</i></p> + +<p>"A book to brighten and sweeten every home into which it enters." +<i>British Weekly.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>Important Historical Books for the Young</h3> + + +<h4><i>Makers of England Series</i></h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">By</span> EVA MARCH TAPPAN, Ph.D.</h4> + +<p><i>In the Days of Alfred the Great</i></p> + +<p><i>In the Days of William the Conqueror</i></p> + +<p><i>In the Days of Queen Elizabeth</i></p> + +<p><i>In the Days of Queen Victoria</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> CALVIN DILL WILSON</h3> + +<p><i>The Story of the Cid for Young People</i></p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD VALENTINES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 23886-h.txt or 23886-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/8/23886">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/8/8/23886</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Old Valentines + A Love Story + + +Author: Munson Aldrich Havens + + + +Release Date: December 17, 2007 [eBook #23886] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD VALENTINES*** + + +E-text prepared by Bethanne M. Simms, Mary Meehan, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original colored illustrations. + See 23886-h.htm or 23886-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/8/23886/23886-h/23886-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/8/23886/23886-h.zip) + + + + + +OLD VALENTINES + +A Love Story + +by + +MUNSON HAVENS + +With Illustrations + + + + + + + +Boston and New York +Houghton Mifflin Company +The Riverside Press Cambridge +1914 + +Copyright, 1914, by Munson Havens + + + + +TO MY WIFE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS +_From drawings by Griswold Tyng_ + + + "SHE WAS YOUR MAMMA, TOO, WASN'T SHE?" + + "MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?" + + "ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU CAN SPARE SO LARGE A SUM?" + + SIR PETER GAVE IT INTO THE TINY FINGERS + + + + +OLD VALENTINES + + + + +I + + +You might enter this story by the stage door. You remember beautiful +Valentine Germain--the actress? She married Robert Oglebay, the painter, +brother of Sir Peter Oglebay, the great engineer. Their baby Phyllis-- + +But, after all, the main entrance is more dignified. + +Sir Peter Oglebay's passion is for Construction: to watch massive +machinery slowly hoisting materials more massive into positions of +incredible height with calculated accuracy. Wherever construction is in +progress you are likely to see him, standing at a little distance, +holding his silk hat on his white head with one hand as he looks +upward, and leaning, a little heavily, on his stick with the other. And +whenever or wherever you see him, you will see an English gentleman. + +His portrait, in the lobby of the Engineering Society, is by Sargent. +His erect bearing, white mustache, and something about the cut of his +clothes suggest the soldier. But he is one of the great engineers; his +father and grandfather were engineers. You observe the red ribbon in his +lapel; France honors him. + +Sir Peter's big house is in Armytage Street, near the park. You may +remember the house by its walled garden and the imposing wrought-iron +grille through which one has access to the flagged walk, the wide steps, +and the great doorway. + +In his house, the library defines his chief interest in life. The +shelves are filled with somber sets of the "Transactions" and +"Proceedings" of several learned societies. Sir Peter is himself a +Fellow of these societies Mr. Rowlandson, his bookseller, has a standing +advertisement in "The Athenaeum" for certain missing volumes. One in +particular, the "Proceedings of the British Engineering Society for the +year 1848," he would tell you, was the very devil to find; it seems +there was a fire at the printer's. Sir Peter's monograph on the +"Egyptian Pyramids Considered in their Relation to Modern Engineering" +was dedicated to this society. He presided over its grave deliberations +for several years. "With dignity and impartiality," said his successor, +when Sir Peter surrendered the gavel. + +He serves on boards of directors. His name is seen on subscription lists +headed by the Right People. Late afternoon should find him at the +Carlton Club. + +Many years ago, Sir Peter brought together a number of fine pictures. +They hang in the drawing-room, but the collection is not a notable one +in these days. Each year, however, the Oglebay Prize speeds some +talented English lad to Paris. But that endowment was his brother +Robert's suggestion. Sir Peter's calls at the Christie Galleries ceased +when Robert married beautiful Valentine Germain, the actress. Perhaps +half of the cruel things Sir Peter said of her were true. But the +quarrel was irreparable; the brothers never met afterward. + +Robert Oglebay was a painter of distinction, if not of genius. His few +finished pictures enriched the world. His impulses were noble, but they +were impulses only; the will to complete the undertaken task was +lacking. For patient work he substituted high talk of Art in the studios +of his friends. The gay little suppers in their own rooms were famous; +nine at table, mostly men, entranced by Valentine's beauty and her wit. +Charming were their afternoons among the curio shops, and their return, +laden with loot too precious to wait over night for delivery. Glorious +were their holidays in Paris and Vienna; wonderful nights in Venice! +Always together! To their sudden migration to Egypt, whence he returned +with a portfolio of exciting promise. Alas, the slender fulfilment! for +then was the time for work,--the sobering thought of Baby Phyllis. + +But to Valentine and Robert Oglebay, Baby Phyllis soon meant a new +frolic. Nurse Farquharson's were the competent hands. Their life went on +unchanged. + +At five, Baby Phyllis, in her white nightie, her blue eyes shining, and +her curls crowned with roses, danced among the wine-glasses at her +mother's birthday party, and enraptured the guests by singing, in +various keys, the song with which beautiful Valentine herself had +captivated London,--"If I could wear trousers, I know what I should do." +If you knew your way about town in the early eighties, you may remember +the song. The encore was uproarious: three times Baby Phyllis had to +lift her little leg and strike the match on her nightie. They drank her +health standing, as she disappeared, smiling at them over Nurse +Farquharson's shoulder. + +Upstairs, having cuddled Phyllis in bed, Valentine caught the expression +on the nurse's face. She put her arms around Farquharson appealingly. + +"Don't be cross with me on my birthday," she pleaded. + +Farquharson patted the pretty upraised hands, glittering with diamonds. + +"You mustn't look cross at my mamma, Farkson," cooed Baby Phyllis. + +Careless, happy days and sparkling nights! Robert and Valentine were +always together, their honeymoon endless; in Paris, in Buda-Pesth, in +Rome, in Constantinople, in Holland. You should have seen Valentine in +the Dutch costume she brought home. Each of the inseparable trio of +artists, Mr. Singleton, Mr. Leonard, and Mr. Knowles, painted her +portrait, and made love to her, and was laughed at and scolded. It is +little enough to say of her that she idolized Robert. + +When they returned from their first trip to Norway, in 1897, Robert +Oglebay, now forty and growing stout, told his friends he had found what +he was looking for at last. The strong, deep sentiment of the North had +clutched at him and held him fast. And indeed those shimmering, moonlit +studies of the little fishing village, where they spent that summer and +autumn, are his best. + +Early in the following summer they flitted northward again, with joyful +eagerness. They took nine-year-old Phyllis with them. + +While her father painted, and her mother read, Phyllis explored crannies +in which the receding tide had left tiny, helpless creatures which she +examined curiously, and then carried tenderly to the water, lest they +perish before the friendly waves came again to cover them. + +Their boatman sang songs to her,--strange songs that thrilled her, +though she did not understand the words. + +At night, in the best room of the little inn, by a bright fire, her +father told tales of the vikings; of their high-prowed ships, and the +long-haired sailors, with fierce eyes; of their adventurous voyages over +unknown seas. The stories ended when the golden head drooped, drowsily. + +The portfolio of sketches grew steadily during the weeks that followed. + +"Your best work, Robert," said Valentine + +"I have found what I have been seeking," was his answer. + +They were happy days. Robert painted, early and late, in all weathers. +Valentine's joy was in him. Phyllis found hers in a closer companionship +with them than she had ever known. + +Remembering their eager joy, how tragic the end! Drowned, under the sail +of an overturned boat,--together. + +Their little Phyllis, saved by the boatman recovered from the shock of +icy water and horrible fright before her clothing was dry. She was +spared immediate knowledge of her loss. The rough, weatherworn faces she +saw in the firelight of the fisherman's cottage, to which she had been +carried, were kindly and compassionate. The gloom of early evening, the +glow of the firelight, the smell of the sea, the full-rigged ship on a +rude wall-bracket, and the moaning wind outside were memories of after +years. At the moment, wrapped in a blanket, Phyllis was conscious only +of security and warmth. She smiled up at the big fisherman who had +rescued her, and made friendly advances to the cluster of ragged little +ones who gathered around her, with scared faces and brown, bare legs and +feet. When the fisherman's wife tucked her into a warm bed, she inquired +sleepily for her mamma. A reassuring caress was the response: the +language of motherhood is universal, and requires no words. + +The patrol of the rocky inlet ended at dawn. When the burdened groups of +booted men tramped past the cottage on their way to the inn, the +fisherman's wife, peering through the window in the gray morning light, +muttered to herself that both had been found. + +Some hours afterward came the innkeeper and the postmaster, the one +proud of his English, the other of his responsibilities as first citizen +of the village. A large-eyed, terror-stricken Phyllis learned of her +loneliness and sobbed on the good woman's broad bosom. The innkeeper and +the postmaster smoked their pipes outside until the first outburst of +childish grief had spent itself. + +It appeared then that the little Miss must tell them to whom they should +send a telegram. How painful and new to be obliged to think; how choking +were the vague thoughts. But at last a ray of comfort; they should +telegraph Farquharson, her dear, dear nurse. The name was slowly +spelled. And the address? Perfectly, Phyllis knew the street and number +of that fascinating home of hers, but she now remembered that +Farquharson would not be there; that Farquharson had gone to visit her +brother in a little town in the south of England; a little town of which +Phyllis had heard the most wonderful, true stories; but she did not know +its name. "Couldn't the telegraph find out?" she asked; and then, +overcome with rushing thoughts, abandoned herself again to grief. + +"There are Mr. Knowles, Mr. Leonard, and Mr. Singleton," she bethought +her. "But they are painting in Algiers." + +There was a lady her mamma called Molly, too, whom Phyllis liked very +much, who came often to tea, accompanied by a tiny brown dog; but the +patient innkeeper could learn no more of her than that mamma always +called her Molly; the tiny brown dog's name, Phyllis remembered, was +Tip. + +How might this poor innkeeper's meager vocabulary convey the idea of +relatives to Phyllis's mind? But somehow, at last, it was done. + +"Yes," said Phyllis, struck suddenly with the thought. "There is Uncle +Peter. But my papa and mamma never went to see him, and he never came to +see them." A half-forgotten word occurred to her,--"They were +es-tranged." + +The innkeeper eyed her doubtfully; but Uncle Peter's last name she knew, +of course; was it not her own? And his title, too. The innkeeper, +impressed, communicated his intelligence to the postmaster; they made +their good-byes awkwardly and left the room. + +Two days must elapse before the steamer arrived; ample time for +composition. It grieved the innkeeper that another name than the +author's must be signed to his telegram; but intellect yielded to rank; +the postmaster signed alone. + +And so, on a day when the dreary churchyard on a bleak hillside, near +the little fishing village, received the poor remains of Robert Oglebay +and Valentine, his wife, Sir Peter, in the paneled library of his great +London house, read these words:-- + + VALFJELDET, NORWAY, August 18th, 1898. + + Your niece, Phyllis Oglebay, robbed of her parents by the + remorseless sea, awaits the directions of her uncle. + + OLAF ULVESAKKER, _Postmaster_. + +Ten days later, Sir Peter Oglebay, with a drawn face, rode homeward +through fog-enveloped streets, with a small girl in his arms. One of +Phyllis's hands held Sir Peter's tightly, and her tired, little head +rested upon his shoulder. + +There was a sale, of course, of the thousand luxurious trifles with +which improvident Robert Oglebay and his beautiful, spirited, +improvident wife had surrounded themselves; trifles which had helped to +create the artistic atmosphere that was the breath of life to them. Half +a hundred creditors divided the proceeds. + +When Sir Peter asked Phyllis what he should save from the wreck for her +(not in those words, however) she asked him to send for all the +valentines her papa had given her mamma. + +"Her name was Valentine, you know, Uncle Peter," explained Phyllis. "I +think it is the beautifullest name there is. Long before I was born, and +long before they were married, my papa gave my mamma valentines, new +ones and old ones too but mostly old ones. They were the prettiest. Some +of them are a hundred years old. They are ever so pretty, Uncle Peter, +and she let me play with them, whole boxes full of them. I loved them +best of all my playthings. Sometimes my papa called me his little +Valentine, but they named me Phyllis, after my grandmamma, my papa's +mamma. Why, Uncle Peter, she was your mamma, too, wasn't she?" Phyllis, +sitting on Sir Peter's lap, regarded him gravely, with new interest. In +the end, however, she returned to the subject. All the valentines--boxes +and boxes of them--were to be brought to her, if Uncle Peter pleased. + +[Illustration: SHE WAS YOUR MAMMA, TOO, WASN'T SHE?] + +His bookseller bought in the valentines for Sir Peter. + +"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Rowlandson, when he read the order. + +The sale catalogue described it as one of the most remarkable +collections ever brought together, and intimated that the Museum should +take advantage of a rare opportunity. + +Another dealer was commissioned to buy one of Robert's pictures. + +"Any one,--the best. Use your own judgment," said Sir Peter. + +It was a charming study, unfinished, of course, that came the next +afternoon: a boat, rolling heavily in gray water; and seen through mist, +the great brown sail, looming, shadowy; one sailor, in a red jersey, at +the tiller. In the corner Robert had scrawled his careless signature and +the words,--"Valfjeldet, Norway, 1897." Sir Peter gently laid the +picture upon the glowing coals of the grate. + +"There are six boxes come from Mr. Rowlandson's shop, sir," said his +housekeeper standing quietly behind him. + +"Have the screws removed and send them up to Miss Phyllis's room," he +replied. "They are old valentines, Burbage, old valentines that belonged +to her m----for which she has a childish fondness." + + + + +II + + +"Doesn't it seem to you that the windows let in more sunlight of late, +ma'am?" asked a housemaid. She had just finished cleaning those in the +octagonal dining-room. Burbage inspected the windows. + +"There is no change in the windows that I can see," she replied. "But +there's more sunlight in the house than in many a year." + +This comment of his old housekeeper, six weeks after Sir Peter brought +Phyllis home, might be accepted as the epitome of her life there for ten +long years. Sir Peter was as grim as ever to the servants; but, bless +your heart, hadn't they caught him at his pranks on the floor? Hadn't +they seen his haggard face when the doctor pronounced it diphtheria? +Hadn't they seen him carry her downstairs in his own arms on the first +day it was allowed? Hadn't they seen him helping her with her lessons, +at night,--solving her complex problems in his head while she struggled +over columns of figures, and waiting at the end of that tortuous road +with a smile on his gaunt face, and the right answer, to prove hers +right or wrong? But in languages, Sir Peter was left at the post. Her +master in French was astonished until he learned her mother's name,--by +accident, for it was rarely spoken in that house. The dead languages +were alive to her, too. The shelves in her study-room, upstairs, +contained Sir Peter's old "classics," prettily rebound. The commission +went to Mr. Rowlandson; the execution was Riviere's. Sir Peter had +scarcely looked into them since the old days at Cambridge. + +Sunlight in the house, indeed. Her sweet voice, in sudden song, might be +heard at any moment of the day; or the ripple of her piano; or her gay +laughter, musical as the joyous notes of a bird. + +She had her intent of them all. Even the determined mind of Burbage, +stern-featured and steel-spectacled, she moulded to a plastic +acquiescence with her own sweet will. In extreme urgency, when Burbage +was very firm, indeed, Phyllis had a way of referring to dear +Farquharson. Burbage learned to anticipate this by yielding in the nick +of time. + +By the way, they had not found a trace of Farquharson. + +Several short, sharp battles she had with Sir Peter; the cause, in each +instance, the same. He did not try to disguise his desire that she +should forget her mother. The first encounter between them took place +within a year of her home-coming. + +"If I cannot remember my darling, darling mamma in your house, Uncle +Peter, I shall not stay here," she declared. "I will go away and never, +never come back any more. And then you would be sorry." + +Sir Peter compromised with irrelevant sweets. But he saw she was +terribly in earnest, for such a little girl. + +From time to time a similar incident disturbed the loving relationship +between them; a relationship that was perfect otherwise, in confidence, +sincerity and affection. + +When she was eighteen, some one told her she began to look like her +mother. + +"God forbid!" said Sir Peter, when she told him. + +Phyllis went white. + +"Uncle Peter, my mother was an angel. She was my father's----" + +"Ruin," interposed Sir Peter, his brows darkening. + +"She was his dream of Heaven. I heard him tell her so. She was a dear, +sweet woman." + +Sir Peter growled; but Phyllis always had the last word on these +occasions. + +"I love her memory and I always shall, as I should have dearly loved her +if--if she could have stayed with me. You must never speak or even think +unkindly of her if you want me to love you, or if you want me to live +with you. She was my mother and----" Then she fled to her room. Burbage +could have been heard murmuring, "There, there, my pretty." + +It was true. As she grew older it became apparent she had inherited her +mother's marvelous beauty. She was a tall girl; a mass of golden coils +surmounted the proud head, set so well on her neck and shoulders; her +eyes were the deepest blue; you might have thought her expression sad, +but her sensitive mouth was mirthful as well as tender; in merriment +her eyes danced. When she talked earnestly she caught her breath in the +prettiest way; she had indescribable charm. Her hands were long and +slender, unadorned with rings; she simply didn't care for them. She +usually wore white, and the larger the hat the better she liked it. + +By the time Phyllis was twenty, she had read all that was good for her, +and was ready to look at life itself with frankness, and judge it by +standards of her own. The windows of the Carlton Club knew Sir Peter no +more. She led him everywhere. You might have seen them at the Abbey one +day; on another in the Temple Gardens or looking up at Dr. Johnson's +house, in Gough Square. Sir Peter gloomed in the doorways of shops while +she made leisurely purchases within. He pointed out the best pictures in +the National Gallery; and could tell her why they were the best. They +motored through England and France; Sir Peter absorbed in old +fortifications, Phyllis regardful of the babies tumbling through cottage +doorways. In London one often saw them walking in the park, her face +aglow with animation, her movements as free from constraint as a young +deer; her flow of conversation never failing. Sir Peter, keeping step, +regarded her, idolatrous. Unconsciously she showed him her soul, and +looking therein he found his eyes blurred with unexpected tears. + +Soft but imperious Phyllis! The theater bored Sir Peter beyond +expression. But on First Nights you might be certain he would have a +box. Radiant Phyllis, in white silk, leaning forward eagerly to catch +every word, was tremulous with excitement at the end of the play. During +the drive homeward Sir Peter endeavored, artfully, to conceal that he +had slept through half an act. + +You may be sure that mothers with eligible sons invited him to dine; +grumbling, but facing the inevitable, he accepted. His hawk's eyes +glowered at the young men: from Cambridge and Oxford, but he invited +them to his house. Coaxed by their mothers they called the first time, +and thereafter were with difficulty restrained. Phyllis was kind to +each, and interested in all; but Sir Peter observed with satisfaction +that she was most pleased when they came in pairs. He chuckled over his +magazine, under a reading-lamp, at the far end of the library many +times, while Phyllis entertained her admirers; but at times he scowled. +"Too fast, too fast, you young fool," he muttered to his white mustache. + +They were thoroughly agreeable young men, and Phyllis enjoyed it all +hugely. She approached the consideration of the sex from a perfectly +fresh and candid point of view. Sir Peter had the benefit of her +impressions each morning with his egg and toast and tea. "The Times" had +long since been banished from breakfast. + +One morning she was spiritless. + +"Uncle Peter, I have something very, very important to tell you." + +"I am listening most attentively, my dear." + +"Uncle Peter, you know Mr. Holroyd,--Mr. Mark Holroyd, I mean, not his +brother Dick." + +"I can't say I know him very well, my dear. He has called several times, +to be sure, and dined with us once. We have dined at General Holroyd's +twice, I think, when Mark was present. I believe he has made three +remarks to me: first, that Cambridge was slow; second, that he liked a +Doherty racket best,--I think it was a Doherty he preferred; and third, +that the Halls, this month, were--'rather.'" + +Phyllis's smile comprehended and confirmed + +"But he is very nice, Uncle Peter." + +"I have no doubt of it," said Sir Peter. "His father is one of the +finest men I have ever known; his mother was a Churchill. Is Mark to +read for the Bar?" + +"Y-e-es," said Phyllis doubtfully. "I hope so. Oh! Uncle Peter, last +night, in the hall----" + +"In the hall, eh?" interrupted Sir Peter. + +"Yes, dear, in the hall. He--he proposed to me. I told him I had never +thought of him in that way at all. And----" + +"I should hope not," said Sir Peter. He liked Mark well enough, but +there was plenty of time. And he made a mental memorandum to keep his +eye on the hall thereafter. + +"And, oh! Uncle Peter, he said the light had gone out of his life, and +that he could never get over such a crushing blow, and that he wished he +was--Uncle Peter, they--they always do get over it, don't they?" + +"In no time at all," replied Sir Peter briskly, and helped himself to +toast. There was a pause. + +"Still, I doubt if Mr. Holroyd will get over it as quickly as that," +said Phyllis thoughtfully. + +"Haberdashers are a very present help in time of trouble," Sir Peter +assured her. "They are a great comfort to young men in Mark's +situation." + +When she kissed him good-bye for the day, he said:-- + +"My little girl must wait a long while and meet many young men before +she finally--er--finally--you know,--eh?" + +But on that very afternoon she went with her friend, the Hon. Margaret +Neville, to visit Saint Ruth's Social Settlement, in Whitechapel. And +there she met John Landless. The Honorable Margaret introduced them. + +"Hullo, Mr. Landless--oh! Miss Oglebay--Mr. Landless. It's her first +time here. Show her about a bit like a good chap, will you, while I look +for to see what my angel children's sewing-class is doing so blithely, +blithely?" + +John Landless looked at Phyllis, and Phyllis looked at John. If there is +ever love at first sight! Perhaps it never happens in this prosy old +twentieth century. But, if it ever does, then--there you are. + +"It will be a pleasure to show you through the house," said John. "I +wish Dr. Thorpe, the warden, were here, though? you should meet him; +he's great. That is Mrs. Thorpe--over there, talking to the woman who is +crying. She will have her straightened out before you can say Jack +Robinson,--and no nonsense either." + +It took a little longer than that, but in a few minutes the woman went +away smiling; and then Phyllis met Mrs. Thorpe, who won her at once. + +"I leave you in good hands, Miss Oglebay," she said, when she was called +away. "You will hear Saint Ruth's praises sung. We shall hope to see you +here often." + +"I am so glad I came," said Phyllis, "and you are very kind, Mr. +Landless, to explain things to me. Are you certain I am not taking too +much of your time?" + +"Oh, we will glance at my boys as we go along," replied John. "The +afternoons are not especially busy. The evenings are full, though, with +classes, and clubs, and games, and all that,--you know." + +They walked through the rooms devoted to social amelioration; to the +mental, physical and spiritual redemption of sordid lives. To these +rooms men from the universities, impelled by a new conscience, bring +their learning and their refinement. In these rooms men from the +docks--the flotsam and jetsam of humanity--receive their first glimpse +of + + "Plato and the swing of Pleiades." + +While John explained the theory and practice of such social settlements +as Toynbee Hall, and Mansfield House, and Saint Ruth's, Phyllis found +time to study his face. His black hair was cut short, but it curled for +all that; his dark eyes were fine, the eyebrows very thick. His mouth +closed tightly, a little too tightly, perhaps. But his chin! "He will +have his way," thought Phyllis. She noticed that he stood very straight, +that his shoulders were broad, and that his light gray suit became him +well. + +In the room to which the Hon. Margaret Neville consecrated ten hours a +week were a number of very small girls, trying to use needles without +pricking their fingers, and not succeeding very well. John and Phyllis +stood just outside the door, waiting for the dismissal of the class. + +Now, John Landless had a test for new acquaintances, a test evolved of +trying experience If she laughed now!--or said, "How odd!" + +"I find this work tremendously absorbing" said John, "and I hope I am +helpful, a little, you know. But besides all that I think the work helps +me in my profession." + +"Your profession," repeated Phyllis, turning toward him the sweet, +interested face he was watching so intently. "May I ask what is your +profession?" + +"I am a poet," said John simply, and awaited results. + +"That is a noble profession," said Phyllis "I am glad you have chosen +it. I hope you will succeed in it." She colored. "And I believe you +will," she added. She was looking at his chin. + +Then, for the first time, Phyllis saw John's smile. He had a wonderful +smile; the most winning; he should have smiled oftener; but life is a +serious business to poets, especially at twenty-four. + +"It is good of you to say that," said John. "Almost every one roars. +That is--the men. The girls giggle, or say, 'How curious!' I think you +are the first girl who has ever taken it quite as a matter of course +that a man might make poetry his profession. I am prepared to defend the +profession of poetry against the world, if need be; but I don't like to +be stared at while I am doing it." + +"I understand," replied Phyllis warmly. "If you said the Army, or the +Church, or Engineering, no one would be surprised or unsympathetic. But +they think one should be a little ashamed of owning himself a poet. So +much the worse for them," she concluded, nodding her pretty head and +catching her breath in that quick way of hers. + +"You're very kind to say so, but----" John was about to ask her if she +was sure she meant it. Looking into Phyllis's candid eyes he thought +better of it. + +"Are any of your--that is--have you----?" she stammered, partly because +the form of her question puzzled her; partly because she was aware of +John's ardent eyes. + +"Yes, I have been in the magazines three or four times," he replied. He +knew that question. "But I hope to bring out a little book of poems in +the spring." + +"I shall be eager to see it," said Phyllis. + +"Really?" asked John. + +"Of course," she replied, coloring again. Mark Holroyd had looked at her +like that; but how different it had been. + +"You shall have one of the first copies off the press," said John, in a +low voice, "because you were one of the first to encourage me in all +this great London. And I shall write that in the book, if you will let +me." + +Phyllis looked at him earnestly. + +"You must never be discouraged," she said slowly. "There will be +difficulties, of course, and obstacles, and--and hard places to get +over. All the poets I have read about had a hard time at first. But +there will be friends to believe in you, many of them, who will wish you +success in your profession." + +"If I could know there was one, at least," said John, his dark eyes +glowing. + +Phyllis smiled at him. "There will be many," she repeated. + +The Honorable Margaret joined them, having delivered her closing remarks +to her class; remarks somewhat pointed on the subject of noses and +handkerchiefs, but inclusive of cleanliness and godliness generally. + +"Splendid place, isn't it, Phil?" she remarked with enthusiasm. "Did you +see the dispensary, and the nursery, and the gymnasium and the laundry, +and all around the shop?" + +"Yes, I think we saw everything," replied Phyllis. "Mr. Landless has +explained it all in the most interesting way." + +"Will you come again?" asked John, as he stood at the curb, while they +stepped into the Neville motor. + +"She's sure to," replied the Honorable Margaret promptly. "Saint Ruth's +eats 'em alive. I came to scoff and remained to thread needles myself. +Phyllis will be minding the babies in a month,--eh, Phil?" + +"I should love to come again," said Phyllis. + +"To-morrow?" asked John. + +"No," said the Honorable Margaret. "To-morrow's not my day. I come on +Thursday next." + +"I think it _would_ be convenient for me to come to-morrow," said +Phyllis. "Perhaps that nice Mrs. Thorpe, to whom you introduced me, +could find something for me to do. I am afraid I shall have to be taught +how myself first, though." + +"Great Scott!" cried the Honorable Margaret, leaning back in the car. +"Saint Ruth has made one mouthful of you." + +"Good-bye, Mr. Landless. Thank you again," said Phyllis, extending a +cordial hand. + +"Until to-morrow," said John. + +He stood at the curb watching the receding car. When he reentered the +house, his smile lighted his face wonderfully. + +"What do you think, Phyllis!" whispered the Honorable Margaret, her eye +on the chauffeur. "Mark Holroyd telephoned me at the Settlement. He told +me he needed bucking up a bit, and was coming to me to be comforted. +He's to be at the house at nine. Isn't he the dearest fellow?" + +Phyllis opened her eyes wide; and then half closed them. + +"He is one of the dearest, Peggy," she said softly. + + + + +III + + +"Lady Neville is a most estimable woman," observed Sir Peter, at +breakfast the next morning, "and your friend Margaret is a very nice +girl, as I have observed. But these places, my dear, these social +settlements, as they call them, Saint Ruth's, and--er--the rest of them, +are the breeding-places of discontent, of unrest hotbeds of socialism. I +can't approve of your going there often." + +"Well, of course, Uncle Peter, you know far more about it than I do. But +I should think that Saint Ruth's would make the poor people more +contented. If there were no such clean, bright, cheery places to go to, +and to leave their babies in, and to hear music on summer nights, and +see the motion-pictures which make them forget their hard, drudging, +colorless lives for a little while,"--here Phyllis caught her breath in +that fascinating way she has--"if there were no such helpful places, I +should think they might be more hopeless and bitter. But when they know +that Lady Neville, and you, and other rich people care something for +them,--enough to want to give them some happy hours; when they see Peggy +Neville teaching their little girls to sew,--don't you think they may +feel less like throwing a stone through the windows of her motor?" + +"Perhaps, my dear child, perhaps. I do not say you are wrong. I am +inclined to think, however, that they suppose these--er--social +settlements are maintained by the County Council, and supported by the +rates. And I rather think," added Sir Peter, lighting his cigar, "I +rather think they believe they pay the rates themselves." + +"Have you ever visited Saint Ruth's, Uncle Peter? But I am sure you +haven't, or I should have known it. Now, how can you sit in your library +here and analyze the thoughts and motives of those poor people? What +must Saint Ruth's seem to them, compared with their miserable +dwellings?" + +"I can't say I have ever been there," owned Sir Peter, "but I am one of +the Board of Trustees, in charge of the funds of several philanthropic +institutions, and I hear these things discussed. But, my dear child, I +do not wish to offer any objection to your going there if you are +interested. Good idea; see the other side. Of course, you won't ever go +alone, though. Those East End streets, you know--better take the car and +have Thompson wait. I will make an inquiry or two of Sir Charles +Anstruther at the Club; he takes a deep interest in--er--these social +settlements,--Toynbee Hall and----Ten o'clock! I shall be late. +Good-bye, my dear. Have a good time in your own way." + +Phyllis may have confused inclination with duty a little; in any event, +Mrs. Thorpe, whose kind face might have served for a likeness of Saint +Ruth herself, found plenty of work for her. And Phyllis did love the +babies; they did not all look alike to her, as they did to John. The +Honorable Margaret found her quite at home when Thursday rolled around. + +"Good for you, Phil!" was her salutation "My word! Don't they get dirty +over-night!" + +When a month had passed, it was Phyllis's custom to go to Saint Ruth's +nearly every day. The work was engrossing; Dr. Thorpe warned her against +overdoing it; his experience of volunteer workers was large. + +"Oh! she will stay with us," laughed Mrs. Thorpe, to whom his misgivings +were clear. "Miss Oglebay and I are to make calls in the neighborhood +this afternoon." + +"You will see sad sights," said the doctor; "but lots of funny ones, +too." + +To the Christmas ceremonies she brought Sir Peter, determined to be +pleased, against his better judgment. He liked Dr. Thorpe at once; Sir +Peter knew a man when he saw one. Mrs. Thorpe made him chuckle; so he +liked her, too. The place was crowded; mostly with the very poor, in +their best and at their best; but Sir Peter was surprised to meet a +number of his acquaintances; not so surprised as they were, however. + +There were two adjoining houses to be leased and connected with Saint +Ruth's; a matter of arrangement was submitted by Dr. Thorpe. Sir Peter +paced off the rooms for himself and gave his opinion. Dr. Thorpe +consulted strangers on problems of obvious solution; the hard ones he +and Mrs. Thorpe thought out after they went to bed. + +They occupied front seats for the entertainment and Phyllis pointed +people out to him. + +"There is Father Carroll," she said, indicating direction with her +programme. "Dr. Thorpe and Father Carroll and Mr. Landless are the +committee. Father Carroll will give the address later; Mr. Landless +arranged the songs. I helped him with that." + +The entertainment was a success. Such proud mothers and fathers when the +prizes were distributed! Every child had honorable mention, at least. +Father Carroll told the funniest stories; how the crowd laughed. And +when he talked seriously to them--you could have heard a pin drop. + +When John was introduced to Sir Peter, he stood very straight; one +stood at attention instinctively, before Sir Peter. + +"Very pleased, indeed, to meet you, sir," said Sir Peter. "You don't +happen to be of the Sussex Landlesses, do you; I knew a Hugh Landless at +Cambridge." + +"Yes, sir. They are my people. He was my father." + +"Really. Let me see: he took orders, did he not? I hope I am not to +infer----" + +"He died last June, sir." + +"I beg your pardon. I didn't know. I am sorry not to have seen more of +him after he left the University. He was a most likeable fellow. We +shall see more of you, I trust? Have you been long in London?" + +"I came after--at once. There was nothing to keep me there, and I felt I +must begin work in my profession immediately." + +If John had been looking at Phyllis, he would have seen her face flush +slightly; an anxious look came into her eyes. But he was looking at Sir +Peter. + +"What is it to be?" asked Sir Peter. "Not the Church?" + +"No, sir." John's chin was noticeable now. "I follow the profession of +poetry." + +"Upon my word!" exclaimed Sir Peter, and would have said more. + +"Isn't it fine, Uncle Peter!" Phyllis interrupted, her cheeks rosy, and +her eyes starry pleaders for a lost cause. "Mr. Landless means to be a +poet. That is his chosen profession. Don't you think it fine to make +such a choice,--when one has the talent, of course?" Her earnest voice +fell before Sir Peter's stony gaze. + +"But poetry isn't a profession," declared Sir Peter roundly. He gave a +short, hard laugh. "A pastime, perhaps; a recreation; but not a +profession, Mr. Landless. But, pshaw! You don't expect me to take you +seriously?" + +There was an awkward moment. When Phyllis ventured a look at John, she +was surprised to see him smiling. + +"I assure you I am quite serious," he answered easily. "But I am +accustomed to the other view. Thank you cordially for your willingness +to see something of me. My father would have been pleased. When I was +going through his papers I fancy I ran across your name in one of his +old diaries. You won't think me disrespectful if I tell you that the +diary spoke of you as 'Top' Oglebay." + +"Good Gad!" said Sir Peter; "I have not heard that name in thirty years. +Yes, I was 'Top' Oglebay." + +Phyllis was glad to see Mark Holroyd and her dear Peggy Neville coming +toward them. Mark was sheepish, at first, but Phyllis put him at his +ease in no time. The Honorable Margaret and John Landless were sworn +friends. John had applied the test to her. "Perfectly smashing!" was her +expressed opinion of his profession; the foresight of Phyllis had +smoothed the way. + +"Well, well," said Sir Peter, as they drove homeward, "that was all very +interesting and new. You will help me to remember to send a check to +Thorpe in the morning, won't you, my dear?" + +Phyllis, snuggled in furs, wondered if she dared to make a remark, ever +so casually, about Mr. Landless; concluded she daren't, and resigned +herself to think of him in silence. + +A week later John presented himself, in evening dress. Sir Peter chatted +with them for a while, and then buried himself in the "Engineering +Review." Over this he nodded, oblivious, while John recited his verses +to Phyllis at the other end of the long library. They were pretty +verses; Phyllis thought them beautiful. You should have seen John's +smile. He tried to screw his courage up to recite his "Lines to +Phyllis," but at ten he hadn't, and Sir Peter awoke then, and reentered +the conversation. + +John said good-night to Sir Peter in the library. He would have to +Phyllis, also, but she went with him into the hall. Sir Peter followed +them there, and said good-night again, in the friendliest way. + +Phyllis called on Saint Ruth's neighbors often in the weeks that +followed. Mindful of her uncle's command, she was never alone. Sometimes +Mrs. Thorpe, at others Peggy Neville, and quite often John Landless went +with her. The squalor and misery all about them was shocking to every +sense; hideous at its worst; but the sharp, sweet, bitter-sweet memories +of those winter afternoons will linger in Phyllis's mind as long as she +lives. Sad memories and joyous ones! And one more lovely than all the +rest. + +There came a day when, long in advance of its arrival, there was a +sudden hint of spring. Carrying a parcel, John walked beside Phyllis. +The soft air was filled with magic. The mildness of it brought the +tenement dwellers to windows and doors. + +"Warm, isn't it?" remarked John, trying to fan himself with the parcel, +and failing "Please don't walk so fast? I have something to tell you." + +"Tell away, Mr. Landless, tell away," said Phyllis, gayly, and slackened +her pace. "Is there good news of your book? Do the flinty-hearted +publishers at last see their opportunity?" + +"No, they don't," said John. "In fact--well, I am glad my opinion of my +poetry isn't governed by theirs." + +Phyllis stole a quick look at his face; but the chin was uplifted, +confident as ever. + +"Is the boys' club making progress?" she asked. + +"Splendid! But I want to talk about you and me." + +"You and me----" three little words. The subtle spring air wafted odors +of Arcady. + +For a few moments they walked on silently John was preparing his +sentences, and he could never be hurried at that. + +Phyllis knew what was coming; she knew, she knew! Ah! the rapture of it, +the loveliness of it all! the poignant beauty of the still unspoken +words. Phyllis was willing to wait; he had nothing to tell her she +didn't know; but she wanted to hear it said, and remember each word to +dream over afterward. + +Slowly they walked, in the mean little street, past dark passages, +leading into tenements; past knots of lounging men; little mothers with +heavy babies struggling in their thin arms; rowdies with vacuous eyes; +and girls flaunting cheap finery. + +"May I call you Phyllis?" asked John, breaking the silence suddenly. + +[Illustration: MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?] + +"Why, yes; if you wish--and if you think you ought, you know." + +"Well, then,--Phyllis. Your name has become to me the one name worth +saying in the world. Ever since I met you for the first time, four +months ago, I have been saying it, Phyllis; but I wanted to say it to +you. So with your face: I know every mood of you by the lights and +shadows of it. I can see it in your absence, almost as well as when I am +with you. Your dear, sweet face, Phyllis, and your crown of gold, and +your loyal eyes, I know by heart, as well as your name. Dear Phyllis. +And I know, too, your quick and beautiful mind; its clear, wise +judgment of the true and the false. I know its freedom from selfishness, +and all littleness. I know its purity and its steadfastness I know your +capable hands, Phyllis, and your eager, pitying heart,--for I have seen +them at work day after day, and week after week. I love you, my dearest, +and I must tell you so. I think I have loved you longer than I have +known you, but I know I have loved you as long. Perhaps you can care for +me, and perhaps you can't. Sometimes I have dared to hope you might, but +almost always I have known it was too high a hope. For I am only a poor +poet, with nothing but faith in myself and love for you to offer. I know +you have everything; a beautiful home, and beautiful clothes, and +beautiful jewels, probably, though I haven't seen them. Every wish of +yours is answered almost before you know it is yours. Life's promise to +you is the earth and the fullness thereof; and I offer you only love. +But in the end I shall win, Phyllis, I am perfectly certain of that. I +shall never, never be rich; possibly never even well-to-do; but I love +you, Phyllis; I love you. I want to ask you to wait for me--and be my +wife." + +With a pretty impulse she took one of his hands and raised it to her +lips. + +People were passing almost constantly. They were forced to separate, to +pass a group of children, playing noisily on the pavement. + +"I know I should have spoken to your uncle, first," he said, "but I knew +he would say no, unless--unless you asked him, too." + +"Ah! but I am so glad you told me to-day," said Phyllis. "I am so glad, +so glad! Of all the days in the year I should have chosen to-day. You +don't know why, do you? Because to-day is the fourteenth of +February,--Saint Valentine's Day." + +In a rush of words she told him of her mother's name, and of her mother, +and of her valentines. + +"You haven't told me you love me yet," said John. + +"Can't you hear my heart singing it?" asked Phyllis. + +"But I want to hear you say the words," he urged. + +"I love you, John," said Phyllis softly. + +"And you will promise to marry me--some day?" he asked. + +"Yes--some day," she repeated shyly. + +"And you are not afraid of the future?" + +"Not a bit," said Phyllis. She smiled up at him. "You must take me home, +now, and we will tell Uncle Peter." + +They rode home on the top of a motor-bus. He tucked her hand into his +greatcoat pocket, and held it there. Their mood was exalted. The streets +were glorified; the gloomy buildings had become wonderful castles; their +fellow-passengers were surrounded with the mystery of romance. + +It grew colder rapidly; at the terminus they clambered down stiffly. +Twilight had fallen when they reached the great gates of the park. John +stopped and laid a detaining hand on Phyllis's arm. They kissed for the +first time. Moment of ecstasy! + +It is doubtful if they would ever have got past the park gates except +for the warning whistle of a hurrying messenger boy, on a bicycle. + +"My eye! What a smack!" he yelled, as he shot past. John glared, but +Phyllis laughed happily. + +He would have lingered as they walked down the long street to the +house; but Phyllis had no doubt of the outcome; Sir Peter's frown was +without terrors for her, but to John--how formidable. His footsteps +lagged as they climbed the wide steps to the door. + +"Sir Peter was called out of town by a telegram," said Burbage, in the +hall. "He said he would be home by a late train. Thompson's to meet the +twelve-thirty." + +John clutched at this reprieve. + +"I have a class at Saint Ruth's at seven," he said. "I must hurry away, +Miss Oglebay." Burbage was helping Phyllis with her furs. + +It was arranged he should call early the following morning. They +exchanged significant looks, and he was gone. A ring, set with +old-fashioned garnets, was left in the hand he had pressed; one of his +mother's rings, worn on his watch-chain. Phyllis seized Burbage and +danced her up and down the hall and back again, demoralizing the rugs. +Then, having picked up her muff and thrown it at her, Phyllis raced up +the stairs. + + + + +IV + + +Sir Peter was gruff at the breakfast table. The hurriedly written +telegram, or his hasty reading of it, had led him a wild-goose chase. To +find your host concealing surprise as he shakes hands, and to learn, at +the end of ten minutes of feverish cordiality, that you were invited to +dine the following night, is never comfortable, even at the home of an +old friend. When two hours on a train each way are involved, and loss of +one's sleep as well----! A bleak east wind, this morning, too, and Sir +Peter was Jarndyced as to that quarter. + +Worst of all, Phyllis looked like her mother, with her hair over her +ears, like that; the likeness always irritated Sir Peter, but this +morning it was particularly striking. + +He accepted her morning endearments graciously, but Phyllis was glad the +toast wasn't cold. She recognized unpropitious portents. + +John was shown into the library at ten, sharp; his chin had come to his +rescue. He gave Phyllis a bright look, and led up to the business in +hand promptly. + +Sir Peter, savoring his cigar, "The Times" spread over his knees, +invited the young man to be seated; the young man preferred to stand, +and did, very straight, his back to the fireplace. His eyes were large +and serious his color high; his hands were behind him and the nervous +fingers couldn't be seen. Phyllis viewed her champion with approving +eyes, and sat on the edge of her chair. + +"I am afraid my errand won't be an agreeable one to you, sir," John +began. "I am sure it wouldn't be to me if--if I were you. But I must +tell you my story from the beginning, if you are willing. You knew my +father and something of my family. The people of his parish were +tremendously fond of him. He gave them all of himself. He died poor, of +course, and left me a good name and two hundred pounds a year. The +countryside came to his funeral. The faces of the men were streaked with +tears, as they stood by his grave, and women wept openly. I had letters +of sympathy from every county in England, from Canada, and from far-away +India. His spirit was as gentle as a child's; but he welded men and +women to him as with bonds of steel. Yet he had never tried a cause, nor +built a bridge, nor saved a life as a physician, nor laid one down as a +soldier. He hasn't even left a sermon in print, for he never wrote one." + +John hesitated. Sir Peter rustled "The Times" uneasily. Phyllis sat +perfectly still, waiting. + +"My father taught me more than I learned at Magdalene, and he gave me my +ideals. Perhaps they are unusual, but I believe they are true. They may +be told in a few words,--to face life fearlessly, live it cleanly and +fully, and use it to what end one's conscience and one's talents direct +without too much regard for the careless opinion of the world. I haven't +anything behind me that I am ashamed of. I am far from being ashamed of +my profession though I admit it has seemed to require defense rather +often since I came to London. My father encouraged me to adopt it when I +suggested the idea to him. I will tell you what he said to me. It was +this: 'All work is fine. Of course, I think labor in the Church of God +is the finest. But every profession offers opportunities for useful +service; and trade is honorable to honorable men. But, John,' said he, +'one imperishable poem is worth more to mankind than all the gold and +silver stored in the stronghold of the Bank of England. You may never +write one, but a lifetime devoted to trying will not be wasted.' That +was what my father said, sir." + +"That would be like him as I recall him," said Sir Peter shortly. He had +no inkling yet of John's errand. He was disposed to be generous to this +quixotic young man for his father's sake. + +Phyllis wondered how any one could look at John or hear him speak, and +not love him; but she had momentary pangs of foreboding; a vague +presentiment of impending unhappiness. + +"I settled his few affairs,--he did not owe a penny,--and I came to +London. There had been some correspondence between Dr. Thorpe and my +father, and I called at Saint Ruth's. I thought I saw a chance of +touching a larger life and of doing a little good; I have given some of +my afternoons and all of my evenings there ever since. Dr. Thorpe is a +brick, as you know, sir; he and his wife have been very kind to me. I +was rather lonely at first, and--all that. My mornings I devote to my +profession. I think I have made some progress, if only in finding the +wrong ways of putting words together." John smiled. "There are a great +many wrong ways and I am finding them all, one by one." + +Sir Peter concealed his impatience; the dull ache in Phyllis's heart +continued, she knew not why. + +"I met Miss Oglebay at Saint Ruth's some months ago. I think I must tell +you, sir, that from the very first moment I loved her." + +Sir Peter half rose from his chair, in his sudden astonishment. + +"The devil you say!" he gasped. "Upon my word, this is effrontery. You +amaze me, Landless. You must have lost your senses. My niece"--he turned +to Phyllis. Something he saw in her face diverted the torrent "Has +Landless spoken of this to you?" he asked grimly. + +"Yes, Uncle Peter. He told me yesterday that he--he cared for me, and we +both hurried home to tell you, but you were----" + +Sir Peter was out of his chair, and on his feet, now. + +"You spoke to my niece before you came to me, Landless; knowing that I +had met you--not more than three times, at most; that you had been in my +house but once?" His voice was raised, his scowl threatening. + +"I am sorry to have seen so little of you, sir," said John. "But I have +seen a great deal of Phyllis." + +"Where, sir?" demanded Sir Peter. + +"At Saint Ruth's, and in its neighborhood," John answered evenly. "We +have worked there together." + +"How long has this been going on?" Sir Peter had regained control of +himself, but his fine face was distorted. Phyllis's hands were clenched +tightly in her lap. She was very pale. + +"If you mean how long have we been meeting each other there, and going +about in the neighborhood together----" + +"I think my meaning is clear, sir." + +"About four months, then. It seems a short time, but we have seen each +other almost every day." + +"Landless, you are a sneak," said Sir Peter quietly. "You are a damned +sneak." + +John's face flamed; he started as if struck by a whip. + +"Oh, no! Uncle Peter!" cried Phyllis. "Oh, no, no! Uncle Peter." + +"Leave the house, Landless." + +"But Mr. Landless is my guest!" She was as pale as death, now, and +breathing hurriedly; her eyes were unnaturally large, and there was a +stricken look in them. + +"You heard what I said, Landless." The voice was unyielding. + +John moved toward the door, chin up and shoulders squared. Phyllis +intercepted him swiftly, and put both hands appealingly on his arm. + +"Wait a moment, John. Oh, wait a moment for my sake, John," she pleaded. + +"I can't," said John. "You know that I can't." + +"Ah, but you must, John, for my sake; for my sake." + +She linked her hands closely about his arm and turned to her uncle. +John, facing the door, moved slowly toward it, trying gently to +disengage her hands, and forcing her to walk a step or two backward as +she spoke. + +"I must ask you to apologize to Mr. Landless, Uncle Peter," she said +earnestly. "Whatever fault there has been, if there has been any, is +mine. I have often spoken to you of meeting Mr.--of meeting John at +Saint Ruth's. But I see now you didn't realize how often I went there, +nor that I was with him so many of the times. I should have told you, +Uncle Peter; the fault was mine, not John's. I am sorry, Uncle Peter, +and I ask you to forgive me. But you must apologize to John." She looked +at the stern face entreatingly; the doorway was very near. + +"Oh, John," she implored, "I beg you to wait a moment; just a tiny +second. Uncle Peter will tell you he didn't understand." + +John stopped, and stood facing the doorway his back turned to Sir Peter. + +They waited in silence; the slow ticking of the tall clock could be +heard. + +"I love him dearly, Uncle Peter," whispered Phyllis. + +Ah! Valentine Germain; pretty, dead Valentine Germain; your daughter is +wonderfully like you now. + +"I ask you to wait, Landless," said Sir Peter. + +His next words were calmly spoken; deliberate passionless; the more +awful for that. + +"I have known one reckless marriage, Landless, and one is enough for a +lifetime. There is a taint in all of this of which you know nothing. +This unhappy child's father was a fool. Her mother was a shallow, +soulless, shameless creature--and worse. Her----" + +"It is a lie!" cried Phyllis. "A cruel, cruel lie! God pity you, Uncle +Peter, and forgive you. I am sorry for you; I am sorry for you. You have +nursed those bitter, black thoughts in your heart for so many years that +they have poisoned your life. But you have soiled my mother's memory for +the last time in my presence. Never, never again!" A great sob choked +her. "I am going to leave you, Uncle Peter. I am grateful to you for +many years of generous, loving kindness. Indeed, I do not forget them; +indeed, I am grateful. But I cannot stay here any longer. I should be +miserable--wretched if I stayed. I cannot breathe in this room--in this +house." She rocked her body as if in pain. She would have said more, +but---- + +"Go, then!" said Sir Peter, through set teeth. + +Phyllis ran from the room and out of the house, bareheaded; John +snatched his hat and stick in the hall and overtook her as she fled +through the iron grille. They ran together a short distance. Then +Phyllis slackened the pace to a rapid walk. She was breathless, her +hands pressed to her heart; a maid distraught. Pitiful, inarticulate +little cries escaped her from time to time. John walked beside her, +silently. They passed through the gates of the park, and she walked more +slowly. Slowly, and still more slowly they wandered, aimlessly, under +the leafless trees. She turned to him at last, her lips blue with the +cold. + +"You must take care of me now, John. I have no one else," she said +quietly. + + + + +V + + +Was it Dr. Johnson who remarked that one great charm of London is that +you may walk in a crowded street, eating a twopenny bun, without +attracting a second glance? Or was it Benjamin Franklin? Not that it +matters. + +On a wintry morning, in a public conveyance a hatless and coatless young +woman of unusual beauty, and a very self-conscious young man, sitting +beside her, were not annoyed by more than a curious stare or two. + +John had suggested a cab. + +"We must economize from the very beginning," said Phyllis, with a wan +smile. + +She blushed deliciously when John handed her money, and she hurried into +a shop. Such a simple, brown hat she found, a little shopworn; the +long, warm coat she bought matched perfectly. Standing at the street +corner, waiting for her, John counted the money in his pockets; enough +for luncheon, fares, and even contingencies, he was glad to find. But he +thought with satisfaction of the full quarter's income at his lodgings. +When she rejoined him, John looked her over critically. + +"I suppose that is a terribly cheap coat," he said, trying to remember +other coats he had seen on her pretty figure. + +"It is a lovely coat. I like it very much," replied Phyllis, stroking +the flaps of the pockets. + +"Well, it really is becoming," John assured her. "So is the hat." + +"I think so, too," said Phyllis. "And I am particular about hats." + +"I would be willing to wager five shillings you never had such an +inexpensive one before," said John. Phyllis didn't answer that; and +John added, "Your uncle will send your pretty clothes to--to--wherever +you go," he ended lamely. + +Phyllis held up two slender fingers. + +"Two things I didn't like in one sentence" she admonished him. "First, +Uncle Peter will send me nothing. Oh, John, I couldn't, couldn't take +anything from him now. I really could not." She stopped suddenly "I must +have my valentines, though. They were my mother's. They will go with me +wherever--That reminds me of the second thing you said I didn't like. +You should not have said--'Wherever you go,' but 'Wherever we go'!" + +She smiled at him bravely. + +"Well, we will go to lunch now," said John, smiling, too, and making the +most of the pronoun. "It is early, but we can sit and talk it all +over." + +"Where?" she asked, almost gayly. Her heart was bruised, but she meant +to forget all that, and the thought of a lunch with John was a very good +place to begin. + +John took his bearings as to restaurants. + +"If you could walk a short distance, there is Mildmay's," he suggested. + +"I can walk miles," she answered; but she thought ruefully of her thin +soles. + +A white table between them, a waitress with rolls, and something hot in +prospect; John thought the time had come. + +"But, seriously, my darling, what shall we do? What is the best for you? +Shall I take you to the Nevilles'?" + +Phyllis looked blank. + +"To be sent home in their car, bound hand and foot, and lectured +besides!" she remonstrated. + +"Well, Mrs. Thorpe could certainly put you up for the night. Odd I didn't +think of her first." + +"John, dear," began Phyllis, and then blushed, for the word had popped +out of itself. However, after a moment she went on courageously--"Did +you hear me say 'we,' a little while ago? We are going together wherever +we go." She hesitated. "Don't you want me, John?" A swift look at his +face, and hers glowed. + +"My dearest, dearest girl." John's voice expressed his earnest +sincerity. "I won't pretend to misunderstand your meaning, and I do so +long to believe it possible that my head swims. But--" + +"I perfectly hate 'buts,'" she interrupted She put her elbows on the +table, and flashed a smile at him, through her arched fingers. + +"But, dearest, you must consider this seriously I want you to think for +a moment. Need I tell you I love you more than life! Only yesterday I +scarcely dared hope that you might be willing to wait years for me +to--to earn enough with my pen to ask you to share my lot. To-day--the +doors of Paradise are opened wide. Ah! my dear, my dear, I am eager to +enter, but I fear for you. I should be taking advantage of your +helplessness----" + +"Listen, John," said Phyllis. "I am not the least bit helpless. There +are dozens of houses to which I can go and dozens of friends who would +be glad to have me come to them. But at every open door there is also a +finger pointing inevitably back to Uncle Peter's house. And there I +shall never, never go. So far as your lot is concerned--it is mine. For +better or for worse John, dear. But I trust you, and believe in you, and +think perhaps there is a high destiny for you. I want to share in that, +too, if you will let me, please. And I can't do so fully unless we go, +hand in hand, all the way, together. I am not dismayed by the thought of +doing without a great many unnecessary things. And the really vital +things I hope to have more of than ever--with you. And so, John, if you +don't mind, please, we will eat our lunch like sensible young people, +and afterward--and afterward--Now, John, I simply cannot say that. You +must say that, you know. I haven't left much of it for you to say, but +that little I insist upon your saying for yourself." + +Ah! Valentine Germain! pretty, dead Valentine Germain! your daughter is +wonderfully like you now. + +John looked steadily into her trustful eyes; a long, long look. + +"Then I ask you to marry me this afternoon my dearest," he said +solemnly. "And--oh! Phyllis, I pray God you may never reproach me." + +"I never shall, John," she answered. "For I honestly believe I am to be +the happiest and the proudest girl in England." + +"Wich of you gets the chocolate, and wich the tea?" asked the waitress. + + +They were married before three; it was amazing how short, how simple, so +marvelous an event could be. John spent ten minutes at the telephone. A +quarter of an hour was passed in the coldly official precincts of +Doctors' Commons. In the Faculty Office, through an open doorway, +Phyllis caught glimpses of the formalities incident to securing a +license. A clerk filled up a printed form; John made affidavit to the +clerk's accuracy of transcription; a stamp was affixed; a document was +blotted, examined; the dotting of an _i_ was attended to, and the dot +blotted; a bank-note changed hands. The license in his pocket, John +rejoined her. + +"We must hurry now, darling," said he. + +"Oh, dear!" said Phyllis. "I am glad to hurry away from here. That +clerk's face was so unsympathetic." + +Half an hour after they entered the dark, quiet church, the clergyman, +with a cold in his head, had pronounced them "bad ad wife." + +They were on top of a motor-bus, jolting cityward, and John was gayly +addressing her as Mrs. Landless, before Phyllis realized that it was +really all over--that the irrevocable step was taken--that they were +married. The whirl of her thoughts then! + +At the terminus, John bought a newspaper and scanned its advertisements. +They started on their search for lodgings. His room was in Whitechapel, +near Saint Ruth's. + +"It is up under the roof, and looks over the week's washing of the +submerged tenth; it won't do at all!" he had declared. + +The idea of a hotel impressed Phyllis unpleasantly. + +"Well, then," said John, "we must look for a new tree in which to build +our nest." + +How many dissonant bells jangled to their touch; how many dreary +hallways they entered and stood waiting in; how many steep staircases +they climbed; how many rooms they peeped into--one look enough; how many +others they viewed at greater length, but with no more satisfaction in +the end; a few, John thought, had possibilities, but Phyllis could not +bear the sight of them! + +The curious questions they were asked; as though the lodgers instead of +the lodgings were undergoing inspection. Most of the lodging-house +keepers asked John where he was employed; some of them wanted to know if +he could give references. + +"How cime you to leave your last plice?" was one shrill question. + +In utter weariness Phyllis at last consented to John's suggestion; he +would make a preliminary survey and she should be called into counsel +only in promising cases. They were few enough. She walked up and down +monotonous streets while John was indoors; to be told, time after time, +that was not the place they sought. + +Even John might have been discouraged; on the contrary, that young man's +chin rose to his difficulties. But Phyllis's eyes grew more and more +troubled when darkness fell, and the lights in windows reminded them +that they were still homeless. + +Seeking new bills, "To Let," they found themselves in a small square, +surrounded by houses; a fine neighborhood in its day. + +"Oh dear, John, I fear I can walk no farther," said Phyllis. "We must go +to a hotel after all, though I detest the idea. My shoes are worn +through." + +He led her to a bench in the little square, and kneeling before her took +off one shoe, and then the other, and carefully fitted each with a new +sole, made from a page of "The Daily Chronicle." + +"If I fail as a poet I shall be a cobbler," he said to her brightly. + +He sat down beside her. "My dearest, I am so sorry. I have blundered +through this afternoon, horribly. Perhaps I should have taken you to my +own room at once, poor as it is. Perhaps I should have sought advice +from Mrs. Thorpe. Perhaps I should have insisted on a hotel, for a few +days, until we could look about. At least, we might have had a cab. I +have been most inconsiderate. I am so strong in the new hope and +strength you have given me that I haven't thought enough for you. My +poor, tired Phyllis." + +He held her hands; his face contrite. She was too dispirited for words, +but she patted his hand softly. + +As they sat there, John saw a lighted shop-window, not fifty yards +distant. + +"Sit here and rest, darling, while I run over there and inquire for any +lodgings in this vicinity. If there are none, I will call a cab and we +will go to a hotel. Think of the beautiful dinner we shall have. Our +wedding dinner, dearest! I warn you I mean to be extravagant." He leaned +over her and kissed her, and then ran across the street. + +Then she allowed herself to cry for the first time. Poor, sad, tired +little bride, whose wedding day had been so different from all her +girlish dreams of it. She cried quietly, on the bench, alone, in the +darkness. She was cold and tired and lonely. + +John came back on the run, from the opposite direction. + +"I inquired at the bookseller's shop," said he. "He directed me to the +house in which he lodges himself. He recommended it so highly I thought +I would leave you alone for a few minutes longer and see the rooms. +Phyllis, I really believe I have found what we want. There are three +rooms, though one is very small. There is the coziest little +sitting-room, with a fireplace and an easy-chair. Adjoining it is a +smaller room. But the bedroom is large, and has two windows. The place +is spotlessly clean. And the woman who lets the rooms is a wholesome, +good-hearted soul; I am sure you will like her. The terms are a +little--well, just a little higher; but the woman says, of course, that +is to be expected--with the view of the square from our windows." + +John looked at Phyllis doubtfully. "Do you think, dearest, that you +could see these for yourself? It isn't far, and I will not ask you to +look at another place if you don't like this one." + +She drew new courage from his hopefulness They walked the length of the +little square. + +John rang. The door opened, and a motherly looking woman stood aside to +let them enter. Phyllis stood directly below a flaring gas-jet, as she +turned to wait for their conductress. + +The woman screamed and her hands went to her heart. + +"Valentine Oglebay!" she exclaimed. + +"That was my mother's name," said Phyllis. She was too tired to be +surprised, even. The woman took a step forward. + +"Your mother! Then you must be little Phyllis. You don't remember--" + +"Farquharson!" cried Phyllis. "Farquharson! Oh! dear, dear Farquharson." + +They were crying in each other's arms, repeating names endearingly, +incredulously. + + + + +VI + + +John stood staring. + +Finally, Mrs. Farquharson, tears streaming down her kindly face, held +Phyllis away from her and looked at her long and lovingly. + +"My dear, my dear, my deary dear. How ever did you come to find me?" + +"I didn't," replied Phyllis. "John found you. He--we--we are looking for +lodgings. We--we were married this afternoon. We have been hunting for +rooms for hours--and this was the last place----" Phyllis faltered. She +turned to John, and then to Mrs. Farquharson. "This is Mr. Landless, +my--this is my dear, dear old Nurse Farquharson. She knew my mother and +father, and she took care of me when I was a little, little girl. Oh, +John, you cannot know how glad I am to see her!" + +They shook hands. + +"I told her she would like you," said John to Mrs. Farquharson. + +"And to think of her being married," said Mrs. Farquharson. "And coming +to my house with her husband, looking for a place to live, and me with +three rooms all ready for them as soon as ever I can get a fire laid in +the grate." + +She turned to Phyllis again. + +"Just you sit down here in the warm hall a minute, my deary dear," she +said, "while I get--though maybe you would like to look at them first. +Yes, of course. Come straight upstairs, Miss--my dear. If you decide to +stay--" + +"Oh, Farquharson! How can you suggest that we shouldn't stay!" said +Phyllis. + +"Never would I hint such a thing," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "But, of +course, there are only the three rooms, and one of them small, to be +sure, and no others in the house unoccupied. This way,--these are the +rooms, Miss--my dear. And as I says to the young gentleman--your +husband, that is--the sitting-room is that cozy, with the fire, and the +bedroom is airy. The view is something pretty, I do assure you. Oh! my +deary dear, my deary dear! How ever did you come to find me?" + +It was hard to tell whether Mrs. Farquharson was laughing or crying. +Phyllis sank into the easy-chair with a sigh. + +"I shall never get up again," she said to John. + +"Slippers," said Mrs. Farquharson, and vanished. + +John kissed Phyllis and tried, awkwardly, to take off her hat. He +managed it finally, and a loose strand of beautiful hair fell over one +of her ears. She tucked it away. + +"Isn't it too wonderful to be true!" she said. John's heart was too full +for speech. He turned away to hide his working mouth. + +Mrs. Farquharson was on her knees before Phyllis a moment later. The +slippers were too large, but how welcome to her aching feet. One of her +shoes, upturned, caught Mrs. Farquharson's eye. She inspected John's +handiwork; then gave Phyllis a startled look. + +"In February, my dear. And on your wedding day! How ever came it? With +newspapers, all wadded in. Whatever's happened?" + +"It has all been very sudden, dear Farquharson" said Phyllis. "I will +tell you all about it as soon as I have rested a little. Oh! It is good, +good, to be with you. I am so glad, so glad. Aren't you glad, John? +Just think--if you hadn't tried once more. If you hadn't asked at that +little shop." + +"Shop?" inquired Mrs. Farquharson. + +"The little old bookshop, at the other aid of the square," explained +John. + +"Oh, Mr. Rowlandson's. He sent you here. He would, to be sure. My oldest +lodger, sir, and the easiest to do for--though odd. Here's Genevieve +with the tea. Don't put the tray on the sofa, Genevieve On the table, of +course. Whenever will you learn? Here, drink this, my deary dear. It +will prepare your stomach for something more. I am getting your supper +ready now downstairs, and the young gentleman's. There's a chop. Do +drink a little of the tea, my dear, even if you don't want it. It's for +your best. Do you like apricots as well as ever you did? Oh, whoever has +had the bringing of you up, that I should have had! The many times I've +thought. And your poor dear mother and father both taken at once, too." + +"I went to my Uncle Peter," said Phyllis "I have lived there ever +since." + +"Sir Peter Oglebay--your father's brother I might have known." Mrs. +Farquharson nodded her head vigorously. "Though he was terrible down on +your--To think of that now! And so you have been here in London all +these many years! And me never to know! Deary me!" + +"We--my uncle did everything to find you," Phyllis assured her. "He even +advertised for you. I cried for you very often when I was little, dear +Farquharson." + +"Did you, indeed, my dear?" asked Mrs. Farquharson, smiling, and wiping +her eyes with her apron. "And advertised for me. In the papers. Reward +offered and no questions asked. I've read them myself, but never did I +think." + +"Oh, yes. I wanted you very badly," Phyllis assured her again. "I used +to tease Burbage when I was naughty, by telling her you were never cross +with me." + +"And who is Burbage?" asked Mrs. Farquharson. + +"She is my uncle's housekeeper. She was very good to me, too. But I +missed you dreadfully. You know, John, my mother and father were away +from home for weeks at a time, and Farquharson took such care of me." + +"Such games as we had," said Mrs. Farquharson reflectively; and then to +John,--"She was everything whatever from Mary, Queen of Scots, to a +dromedary, I've beheaded her many's the time, and her humps was the +pillows off her little bed. If Genevieve hasn't burned those chops to a +cinder, they must be ready, and why ever she doesn't bring them up I do +not know." + +What a dainty supper! John did full justice to it. + +Mrs. Farquharson brooded over Phyllis; but she could eat nothing. + +The kind-hearted woman maintained a constant stream of talk, in which +lodgers, rooms, chops, apricots, and toast, and the old times were +inextricably intermingled. + +The first-floor front and his wife had seen better days; in stocks, they +were. The vagaries of Mr. Rowlandson, the bookseller, third-floor front, +the walls of his rooms lined with--what do you think? No, not with +books, nor pictures, but with glazed cases containing old patch-boxes +and old fans. Mrs. Farquharson had seen Mr. Singleton and Mr. Leonard +once. But the trio of painters was inseparable no longer. Mr. Knowles +had married their favorite model. "The hussy!" said Mrs. Farquharson. + +One reminiscence followed another. + +"Ah, me," she sighed. "Your father and mother was a pair of lovers if +ever there was a pair. As long as I knew them, they never had a +word--much less words. 'Pard' he called her. 'What shall we do to-day, +Pard?' he would ask her of a morning. She would want him to be at his +pictures 'On such a sunshiny morning!' he would say. And the next day, +maybe, it would rain. 'You know I can't paint these dark days,' says he. +And off they would go, on some harum-scarum or other, like a couple of +children. Like a couple of children--and so they ever were, too. Do you +mind my speaking of them?" + +"I love it," Phyllis assured her. "I--you know I have had no one with +whom I could talk about my mother and father. Uncle Peter--" She could +not finish the sentence. + +"Yes, yes, my deary dear, I know," said Mrs. Farquharson soothingly. +"Your mother knew what he thought. Often and often she told me she +wished she could find a way to make Sir Peter not think so hard of her. +'Oh, Farquharson,' says she, 'he thinks I snared Robert. If he only knew +how hard I tried to refuse him.' She was wild for a stage career when +first they met. It grieved her sorely that your uncle didn't know the +rights of it; but, bless your heart, she couldn't bear the thought of +any one, high or low, not being good friends with her. She was that +tender-hearted, you wouldn't believe. But along with it as proud +as--as--I can't think of his name--that makes the matches. You know, my +dear." + +Mrs. Farquharson mused over her memories + +"Your father was her first love-affair," she resumed. "She was wrapped +up in her acting till she met him. Her mother and father were both on +the stage. Did you know that? Yes, my deary dear, she told me a +costume-trunk was her cradle, and a dressing-room the only nursery that +ever she knew. She hated to give it all up, but she did; your mother +loved your father beyond all that ever I saw or heard of, and he +worshiped the ground she walked on. Strong words, my dear, but true as +true." + +It was midnight before they knew it. The dark circles under her +darling's eyes gave Mrs. Farquharson occasion for concern. Genevieve had +visited the bedroom with clean linen in her arms. + +"I will take a short walk," whispered John to Phyllis. + +Poor Phyllis. She needed her old nurse; the excitement and fatigue had +exhausted her completely. + +Standing in the square, looking upward at the stars, a white-faced poet, +his thoughts unutterable, at last saw the lights in her windows grow +dim and disappear. + +On the stairs he met Mrs. Farquharson. Her voice was anxious as she bade +him good night. + +From the little sitting-room John could see into the bedroom. The light +shone on the face of Phyllis asleep. + +He sat watching the dying fire for a long while. Finally he rose, slowly +wound up his watch, turned out the gas, and lay down on the sofa. He +soon slumbered peacefully. + +In the gray dawn Phyllis awakened. Recollections slowly crowded upon her +consciousness. She rose and stood by the window, looking out on the +quiet square, and at the houses, opposite, emerging from obscurity with +the growing light. She stepped to the door and peeped into the other +room. John lay on the sofa, sleeping soundly, one arm flung boyishly +over his head. + +The rooms were very cold. She took the coverlet from her bed and spread +it over him. + +He stirred a little. "Thanks, old chap," he murmured sleepily. + +Phyllis tiptoed back to bed. + + + + +VII + + +Within a fortnight their rooms were transformed. Mrs. Farquharson +declared she would not have known them herself. + +John's old room, dismantled, yielded his bookshelves and his books; his +father's old desk, a Sheraton, and therefore a beauty and joy forever; +and his armchair, which took its place in a corner of the cheery +sitting-room and seemed to say--"Come, sit here, and be comfortable," as +naturally as though it had been established there for years. Certainly +it had this advantage over the other chairs; it was so roomy John and +Phyllis could sit in it together; and often did. + +There were photographs of his father as a young man; and of his mother, +a flower-like creature, who had faded like a flower, leaving a fragrant +memory. Phyllis gazed at her picture with wistful eyes; and once, when +John was absent, held it to her lips. + +But Phyllis's old valentines gave the rooms their charm. A dozen or +more, framed in dull gold, hung on the walls, their delicate coloring +softened by the passing of many years; their sentiment as fresh and +gentle as of yesterday. + +On the day after her marriage, Phyllis had written this letter:-- + + DEAR UNCLE PETER:-- + + John Landless and I were married yesterday. We have found a + pleasant place to live, with Farquharson, my old nurse. I hope you + will try to think of me as kindly as you can, and kindly, too, of + John, whose heart is pure gold, and all mine, as mine is his. I + want you to know I am sorry, even when I am happiest,--and, indeed, + Uncle Peter, I am happy,--sorry for the pain my thoughtlessness + gave you? sorry for the mischief that was done, unconsciously, + because I did not tell you, long ago, that I was learning to love + him. It would have been far, far better to have told you? I am + truly, truly sorry. Some day, when you want me to, I hope to tell + you all this much better than I can write it. + + I have a favor to ask of you, Uncle Peter. I want my valentines. + Could Burbage put them all in the leather cases, and send them, by + Thompson, to Saint Ruth's? And, please, I ask you to send nothing + else? just the valentines, please, Uncle Peter. + + Always lovingly, + PHYLLIS. + +On the following afternoon, John went to Saint Ruth's to tell the news, +and announce his unavoidable absence from the Settlement for the month +to be devoted to his book. + +"And to you," he said, as he kissed Phyllis good-bye. + +"Tell Mrs. Thorpe we shall both be back in a month, eager to do more +than ever," was her reply to this. "Tell her, please, not to think we +are selfish; but the little book is so important just now." + +Phyllis listened, smilingly, to Mrs. Farquharson's gossip about her +lodgers. + +"'Never again,' he says to me solemnly, and pointing at me with his long +finger. 'The keys I shall leave in the cases as I ever have, but never +again touch dust-cloth to my fans and patch-boxes!' And never have I +since that day, which is seven years if it's a minute. He dusts them +himself of a Sunday morning. I've caught him at it!" Mrs. Farquharson +picked a thread from her skirt, and carefully wound it around her +finger. + +"Speaking of catching him at it reminds me of that Mrs. Burbage," she +continued. She never referred to her save as "that" Mrs. Burbage; the +designation expressed anathema. "I have wondered, did ever it occur to +you whether Sir Peter asked that Mrs. Burbage to take the advertisements +to the papers; it being my belief that if he ever did she never did. And +consequently, however could I see them, and know my deary dear wanted +her old nurse?" + +The whir of a motor, immediately below the windows, caused Mrs. +Farquharson to look out. + +"Whoever is that now? A man in leggings and a middle-aged woman in +spectacles. I never set eyes on her before. He's beginning to take the +little leather trunks out. Whatever is--" + +Phyllis's intuition was swift as light. A glimpse from another window, +and-- + +"It is Uncle Peter's car, Farquharson," she exclaimed. "The boxes are +the old Valentines you remember so well--that I sent for yesterday. The +woman is----" + +"That Mrs. Burbage, of course. She found me quick enough when she wanted +to!" + +Phyllis was in flight down the stairs. Mrs. Farquharson smoothed her +hair, and followed majestically. They met in the hall. While Thompson +carried the boxes up, Phyllis introduced the rivals. They talked for a +few moments constrainedly, surveying each other as though watchful for +an opening. When the last of the cases had gone up Phyllis said:-- + +"I want to hear news of my uncle, and show Burbage our pretty rooms. You +will excuse us, Farquharson, won't you?" + +"Certainly, my dear," she replied; then, addressing Mrs. Burbage--"Shall +I light the gas for you, ma'am? I see your age is beginning to tell on +your eyes." + +"Oh, no, thank you, ma'am," replied Burbage. "I can see perfectly. +Though your hall _is_ uncommonly dark." + +Both shots told. Phyllis hurried Burbage upstairs. + +There was little to learn. Sir Peter had not spoken her name since she +had left. He had given her note to Burbage. + +"Carry out these directions implicitly," he had said. But Burbage +allowed herself latitude; the directory gave Mrs. Farquharson's +address--and here, rather than to Saint Ruth's she had brought the +valentines--eager to see her darling,--now a bride. + +Phyllis chatted happily with her for an hour. She spoke affectionately +of her uncle. "It will all come out right in the end," she concluded. + +Burbage promised to come often to see her. + +"My pretty," she whispered, as she held Phyllis's hand, in parting, "I +warn you of this Mrs. Farquharson. A woman with eyes like hers is not to +be trusted." + +The framed valentines were hung when John came home. Thus they were the +first of their Lares and Penates; the first of the pretty things that +made a home of lodgings. + +"Ah, John, you have no idea how I love my old valentines," said Phyllis +that evening, as they looked around the rooms. "I love them dearly for +themselves--as well as for their association with my mother. Aren't they +sweet and pretty?" + +"Indeed, they are," said John warmly. "Don't they light up the rooms, +though?" + +And so, with John's books and furniture, and Phyllis's valentines, the +rooms were transformed. "I wouldn't know them myself" was Mrs. +Farquharson's oft-repeated comment. + + * * * * * + +Of course you have read "Old Valentines, and Other Poems," by John +Landless; that is the disadvantage under which this story labors. You +know, beforehand, that the little book won instant hearing; you know +that "Lyrics" quickly followed, and the favorable verdict of the critics +whose good opinion was most worth having. When that wonderful +epic--"London: A Poem"--made its appearance, our poet was fairly on the +royal road. + +But you must pretend you don't know all this; and that "Lyrics" and +"London" are not, at this moment, in plain sight on your reading-table. +You must forget that you saw John's portrait in the last "Bookman." +Unless you are good at make-believe, it is no fun at all. You must know +nothing of the rosy glow on the peaks of Parnassus, so that you may +struggle with John and Phyllis up the first, heart-breaking, storm-swept +steeps. + +We are back in their pretty rooms now. Are you there? Very well, then; +we proceed. + +They had lived at Mrs. Farquharson's for a fortnight. John worked +steadily at his desk; Phyllis sewed. Poetry reads very smoothly on a +printed page; but Phyllis had not realized that ten satisfying lines is +a fair morning's stint; nor that a little book of synonyms is first aid +in emergency cases; nor that one may talk as much as one pleases at +times, but must be quiet as a mouse when the pen is scratching away so +busily; she had to learn that when John's eyes were full of anguish he +was probably at his best. + +"Phyllis," said John, one morning, looking up from his writing. + +"Yes, dear." + +"That's all--just Phyllis," he replied, smiling. + +She beamed at him over her embroidery. The pen resumed its slow +progress. Phyllis rocked happily. When the pen paused again, she watched +his face. It welcomed speech, so-- + +"What word from the publishers?" asked Phyllis. + +"They will have none of it," replied John. "They all tell me the verses +have merit; they all regret the public taste; but--in short, business is +business." + +Phyllis bit her thread in two. John continued + +"If I could get the first little book out,--and reviewed in the papers +that count,--I have enough verses for a second, to follow at once, and +catch the favoring breeze;--but if there is no first, how can there be a +second?" + +Phyllis shook her head. The idiosyncrasies of the publishing trade were +beyond her comprehension. How they could refuse such beautiful--Well! + +"I had a proposal from Kendall, Ransome & Company yesterday afternoon +that I meant to have told you about--only Miss Neville's and Mark +Holroyd's coming to spend the evening knocked it out of my head." + +"Wasn't it dear of them! Didn't Peggy look sweet in that blue gown? What +was the proposal, John? Any proposal is encouraging isn't it?" asked +Phyllis. + +"I suppose so," John answered, running his hand through his hair. "But +this one couldn't be accepted under the circumstances They offered to +publish the book if I would pay the cost of printing and relinquish +copyright." + +"The idea!" exclaimed Phyllis. + +"I laughed at it myself," replied John. "I had another reason for +laughing than the one they knew, though. For, really, I am so sure of my +little book that I might have accepted the offer--if I had the money." + +"Would it cost a great sum?" inquired Phyllis. + +"Something less than fifty pounds for the first edition; a small +edition. If there were a second, of course, they would pay the charges, +but I should get nothing." + +Phyllis sat sewing thoughtfully. Suddenly John saw that her eyes were +filled with tears. + +"If there weren't me to think of, you might--" she began. + +John had her in his arms in the big chair in less time than it takes to +tell it. When her troubled heart was comforted, he returned to his desk. + +"However, I have been the rounds of the publishers now. I started with +the best and I have seen them all. I have condescended to the smallest. +I have even tried the Populars. But it has all been of no use. Same +story everywhere. 'Marked ability, but we regret.'" + +"If you had friends with influence----" Phyllis began, but John +interrupted her. + +"I wouldn't if I could, and I haven't if I would," said he. "But the +fact is there's less of that than you think. 'Pull' isn't required; I +can say that even when I am at the end of my rope. Books are published +honestly, on their quality; mine simply hasn't the quality the public +likes. It may be Art--but will it sell? That's the question." + +Having plumbed the depths, John took up his pen again; his chin resolute +as ever. + +That evening when Mrs. Farquharson tapped at the door, John was teaching +Phyllis chess. + +"Just in time, Farquharson," said Phyllis. "I am routed horse and +foot--by a man without a queen, too." + +The chessboard was set aside; a chair brought forward; but Mrs. +Farquharson would not sit down; she rarely would when John was present. + +"No, my dear, no. I just dropped in for a minute--not to disturb ever. +Besides, Genevieve's walking out with her young man, and there's the +bell to watch. No, I just dropped in to say that Mr. Rowlandson--the +rooms over yours, Mr. Landless--Mr. Rowlandson says, 'Tell the young +lady she may like to go up to my rooms some morning when I am not there +to bother her,' he says, 'and look at my fans and patch-boxes. They're +pretty, too,' says he, 'as pretty as her valentines.' And so they are, +my deary dear, and you must go up and see them. Oh, yes, he knows all +about your valentines. He bought them for your uncle, at your father's +sale, and a pretty penny they cost. More than two hundred pounds. It +seems your uncle was bidding against some public institution." + +Mrs. Farquharson replaced the proffered chair. + +"Is the poetry book to be out soon, sir?" she asked. "I hope so, I am +sure. I'm that anxious to see your name in gold letters on the cover. +Good-night, sir. Good-night, my dear. Are you certain you don't want +more coals? Well, then, good-night." + +John and Phyllis had their usual good-night talk by the fire. + +"And so Mark Holroyd and the Honorable Margaret are engaged," said John, +replacing a fallen coal with the tongs. + +Phyllis put her feet on the low, brass fender, and tucked in her skirt. + +"Yes, they are engaged," she replied. "It is to be announced very soon. +Peggy says it shouldn't be called an engagement, but rather a two-year +probationary period. She could hardly wait to tell me. The darling! That +was why she was so anxious to help me unwrap the rug in the little +room." + +An old prayer-rug, with a golden tree of life in its deep blue center, +was the Honorable Margaret's wedding gift; Mark sent a coffee +percolator. + +Phyllis sighed. + +"She will have a beautiful wedding," she said softly. "Ah, John, you +don't know what that means to a girl." + +John poked the fire. + +Suddenly Phyllis laughed. + +"How could I have forgotten to tell you about the cards?" she continued. +"It was so funny, and so like Peggy Neville. You see,--her card was +fastened to the rug with a bit of ribbon--and on it was written---'With +love and sympathy.' When Peggy saw it she shrieked. 'Oh, Phyllis!' she +said, 'mother's cousin, Caroline Molesworth, has been at the hospital +for a week; day before yesterday she had her surgical operation, and +yesterday I sent flowers. I wrote the cards at home,--and they got +mixed. On hers is written--"May all your days be as full of joy as these +last few days have been!"'" + + * * * * * + +In the night Phyllis found herself wide awake. She lay quietly +considering a new thought that had come to her, somehow, while she +slept. If she only dared! Oh, no, no! She couldn't ask him. And +yet--She fell asleep again wondering whether--perhaps, just +possibly--she could do it, if she kept her mind firmly fixed on John's +book. + + + + +VIII + + +Bookshops are the most charming of all shops because they relate +themselves so intimately to their visitors. Mr. Rowlandson's gained by +its setting--at the corner of the green square. Not a very good place +for trade, you would say. However, he thrived. + +His shop-window does not differ from a score of others one may see, on a +morning's walk: a shallow bay-window, with small, square panes of +inferior glass; the familiar array of old books turn their mellow +title-pages toward the light; a window designed for lingering. Three +rows, or four, of books--and a few old prints--may be examined from the +front; these whet the appetite. But two other rows are so set in the +window as to necessitate sidelong inspection, and tempt the observer to +take two steps around the corner. Here, to be at ease, one must stand +with one foot on the first of the four stone stairs leading downward to +the door; stairs worn by the footfalls of four generations of +book-hunters. Just within the door one sees an alluring stack of books, +the topmost sustaining a neatly printed sign--"Sixpence--your choice." + +In short--the foot once placed upon the first of these descending stairs +returns not to its fellow. A little bell rings, and one is inside. + +Against the background of his overflowing shelves, with his +old-fashioned clothes, his stooping shoulders, his iron-gray hair, and +his firm, tender, and melancholy face,--you will never visit Samuel +Rowlandson's shop without wishing to frame him as he stands, and set him +in the window, among the other rare old prints. + +He must have known you a long, long time to intrude a particular book +upon your notice; and then with the air of consulting a connoisseur +rather than suggesting a purchase. Yet he is a shrewd dealer. Not for +Samuel Rowlandson is the fairly marked price on the fly-leaf; nor even +hieroglyphics representing cost. A book is worth what it will fetch; and +every customer's purchasing power is appraised with discrimination, +concealed, indeed, but most effective. + +The shop grows larger as your eyes become accustomed to the gloom of its +remoter part. There are four thousand books on those overweighted +shelves; all sorts and conditions of books; big folios and little +duodecimos, ragged books and books clothed by Riviere and Bedford. Once +he thought a Roger Payne binding had found its way to the shop, an +inadvertent bargain; but, alas! the encyclopaedia dashed his tremulous +hopes; years before the date on the title-page that seedy but glorious +craftsman had laid down his tools forever. + +The shelves are catholic: Samuel Pepys, immortally shameless; Adam +Smith, shaken; Beaumont and Fletcher, in folio as they should always be +found; Boswell's Johnson, of course, but Blackstone's "Commentaries" +also; Plutarch's "Lives" and Increase Mather's witches; all of Fielding +in four stately quarto volumes; Sterne, stained and shabby; Congreve, in +red morocco, richly gilt; Moliere, pocket size, in an English +translation; Gibbon in sober gray; Burton's "Anatomy"---- + +"The only book," says Mr. Rowlandson, "that ever put me to sleep two +hours before I wished." + +Here is Addison's "Spectator," its near neighbor Steele; the +"Gentleman's Magazine," a long run this, but not complete; rare Ben +Jonson, rubbed at the joints; Spenser's "Faerie Queen," with marginal +notes in a contemporary hand; the "History of the Valorous and Witty +Knight Errant," in sable morocco, with armorial decorations; Tacitus in +all his atrocity, Herbert, all gentleness. + +Overweighted shelves! Overweighted, indeed, for the books stand +double-breasted. One must never assume a volume is not in stock because +it is not in sight, though Mr. Rowlandson himself does not always know. + +"Otway," he ponders, in response to your inquiry; "let me think. H'm. +Yes, yes, to be sure, behind the set of 'English Men of Letters.' Not +there? H'm. Well, I must have sold him, then. Oh, no. You will find him +in that row of old dramatists, behind the--yes, there! A little to the +left--Ah! of course. Old Otway, and a very nice, sound copy, too." + +Not that all the books in Mr. Rowlandson's shop are old; his clientele +is too diversified. The moderns are there, too. Thackeray and Dickens; +Meredith and Carlyle; Tennyson; gallant old Sir Walter in various +editions. + +"Lockhart's 'Life,'" he would say, handling a volume from one hand to +the other. "The saddest true story in the world"; and then, brightening, +"Two pound, ten." + +Mr. Barrie is always handsomely represented on Mr. Rowlandson's shelves. +He is one of the few authors Mr. Rowlandson will recommend to casual +customers. He suggests "Margaret Ogilvy: A Memoir. By her Son." "But are +you sure it is by Barrie?"--they ask. He has sold more than four hundred +copies. Once a year for several years he has written a letter to Mr. +Barrie's publishers: "Why don't you bring out his Plays?" he pleads. +"Think of the thousands of people in the provinces and in America who +can't see them on the stage." + +Mr. Rowlandson treasures a half-promise from Mr. Hewlett that he will +write a novel around the picturesque, if unheroic, figure of Francois +Villon. "I am keeping his letter," says Mr. Rowlandson, "to insert in +the book--when it is published." + +Of De Morgan he observes, sententiously: "Too late." Joseph Conrad's +novels he shelves next to Stevenson's, significantly. He has a high +regard for Arthur Christopher Benson's essays. "But does the man think I +have as much shelving as the Museum?" he growls. + +But these newer books are the minority. The composed, brown calf +bindings give the shop its tone,--and its faint odor, too; a cultivated +taste, the liking for that odor of old books. + +Mr. Rowlandson's desk is in the alcove at the back of the shop; and in +its lowest drawer, oftener than elsewhere, his gray cat, Selima, +stretches her lazy length. + +On a bright, crisp morning, nearly a week after Phyllis had lain awake +thinking, Mr. Rowlandson sat at this desk, looking through his post, +which consisted chiefly of book-catalogues. Having laid these aside, he +opened a bulky parcel the post had brought. It proved to be a thick, +square, black volume; a most unattractive book. But Mr. Rowlandson +viewed it with interest. + +"My me! My me!" he exclaimed, and read the title-page; "'Proceedings of +the British Engineering Society for the Year 1848.' So, you have finally +come to light, old hide-and-seek! Sir Peter Oglebay will be pleased. +From Brussels, of all the unlikely--Well, well, I must remember to +cancel the advertisement in the 'Athenaeum.'" + +He picked up a blue saucer from the floor and stood, for a moment, +watching Selima's quick paw, engaged in ablutions. + +"Over your ear it goes," said he. "That means customers." + +He began his morning's work with a feather duster. Occasionally he +straightened a row of books. The bell tinkled, and Phyllis, in her brown +coat and hat, stood, hesitant, at the door. She carried a parcel. + +"Mr. Rowlandson?" she asked timidly. + +"My name," he replied. "And you are Mrs. Landless. I have seen you +before, although you have not seen me." + +"I have heard a great deal about you, though, from Farquharson," said +Phyllis. "And yesterday I took advantage of your invitation to see the +pretty things in your rooms; I want to thank you for the opportunity; +they are lovely old things." + +"Mrs. F. took you up, did she? Well, they are pretty, and I am glad they +pleased you. A foolish fancy, Mrs. Landless; a foolish fancy for an old +man like me. But I am very fond of my fans and patch-boxes." + +"I should think you would love them," said Phyllis. "Where in the world +did you find them all?" + +"Oh, in all sorts of odd nooks. They turn up when one is looking for +them. Everything does, Mrs. Landless. That is one of the queer things +about collecting. I could tell you some curious stories. Your old +valentines, now. My me! The attics of the Continent must have been +ransacked for them. It is very interesting. But the scattering of a +collection is the sad part; saddest when books are dispersed. Only the +other day I saw an autograph letter of De Quincey's,--the opium-eater, +you know; it was written to the auctioneer who sold his library. It +seems De Quincey had his son buy a few of the books at his own auction. +The poor old fellow could not bear the thought of parting with them, I +fancy, when it came to the pinch." + +Mr. Rowlandson waited for Phyllis to say something. Poor Phyllis! It was +even more difficult than she had expected. She was tempted to retreat; +but she thought of John's book. + +"A remarkable coincidence,--your finding your way to Mrs. F.'s," +continued Mr. Rowlandson. "And a very happy one for her." + +"For me, too," said Phyllis. "We have you to thank for that." + +"Well--in a way." Mr. Rowlandson nodded. "It is strange what fortuitous +circumstances seem to direct the current of our lives. I say they seem +to, Mrs. Landless, for it may be only seeming. Perhaps all is planned +for us, even when our decisions rest on the toss of a penny." + +A gentle pressure against her skirt attracted Phyllis's attention. +Selima's arched back invited her caress. + +"Isn't that an unusual name for a cat?" she asked, when told of it. + +Mr. Rowlandson's eyes twinkled and he began to quote, straightway. His +voice was pleasant to hear:-- + + "'Twas on a lofty vase's side + Where China's gayest art had dy'd + The azure flowers, that blow; + Demurest of the tabby kind, + The pensive Selima reclin'd + Gazed on the lake below. + +"Thomas Gray, the poet, Mrs. Landless. The cat is historic. She was one +of Horace Walpole's pets at Strawberry Hill, his country-seat, when Gray +visited him there. Gray's first book was printed privately by Horace, +who had ample means and recognized genius. The book is scarce now; it +fetches five pounds and upward." + +He resumed the quotation:-- + + "Still had she gaz'd; but midst the tide + Two angel forms were seen to glide, + The Genii of the stream: + Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue + Thro' richest purple to the view + Betray'd a golden gleam. + + "The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: + A whisker first and then a claw, + With many an ardent wish, + She stretched in vain to reach the prize. + What female heart can gold despise? + What Cat's averse to fish? + +"Your husband doubtless knows the poem, Mrs. Landless. Mrs. F. tells me +he writes poetry himself. Some one once said of Gray that no other poet +entered the portals of fame with so slender a volume under his arm. He +wrote very little, Mrs. Landless, but he polished every letter of every +word until the lines were flawless as the facets of a diamond." + +"Did puss get the fish?" asked Phyllis, stooping to stroke Selima's +sleek, gray side again. + +"No," replied Mr. Rowlandson. "'The slipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd, +she tumbled headlong in.' But cats have nine lives, you know. + + "Eight times emerging from the flood + She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god + Some speedy aid to send. + No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, + Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. + A Fav'rite has no friend. + +"Now comes the moral," he continued. "Poets, in those days realized +their obligation to society: to tell it something for its own good." + +His eyes twinkled again; bright blue they were; friendly eyes, Phyllis +thought. + + "From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, + Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd, + And be with caution bold. + Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, + And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; + Nor all that glisters, gold." + +Mr. Rowlandson concluded, smiling. Phyllis returned his smile. The task +before her was still difficult, but she felt she had known this dear old +man a long, long time. She took the plunge. + +"Mr. Rowlandson, I came in to thank you for letting me see your +patch-boxes and fans; and to thank you, also, for having directed Mr. +Landless to Farquharson's house. But there was something else,--too." +She caught her breath prettily, in that quick way of hers. "It is a--a +matter of--of business." + +He bowed slightly, and awaited the expression of her wish. "I shall +recommend something of Barrie's; or else 'Lorna Doone,'" he reflected. + +"May I be seated?" asked Phyllis. + +"My me! My me!" exclaimed Mr. Rowlandson. "Here is a chair. I beg your +pardon Mrs. Landless." He seated himself on the third step of the +convenient ladder, leaning against the high, book-laden shelves. + +"You cannot imagine the nature of my errand," began Phyllis. It was +dreadfully hard to go on. Her eyes were brimming, but they should not +overflow if she could help it. + +Mr. Rowlandson looked at the parcel in her lap; and then at her face; +and then at the parcel again. She was not the first embarrassed visitor +he had seen--nor the twenty-first. + +"Shall I untie this for you?" he asked gently. + +Phyllis nodded; she could not speak. + +About twenty of the prettiest valentines were in the parcel. Mr. +Rowlandson laid them on a little table and looked through them quietly, +while Phyllis recovered her composure. + +"May I see if I can save your feelings a little?" his pleasant voice +said finally. "Mrs. Farquharson has told me of your--your quarrel with +Sir Peter. A pity; a great pity. And so, perhaps I can guess the rest. +The profession of poetry, inspiring as it is, is not--not exactly +remunerative; not--not in a large way. No, I fancy the returns are not +what you would call--well, say, generous. Things are not going quite so +smoothly and easily for you as you--that is, as they should for two +young people who have just started life together. And so it occurred to +you that these old valentines might be sacri--sold, to help, a little." + +He paused; Phyllis's handkerchief was at her eyes. + +"Ah, yes," he added, "I feared that was it." + +He gazed thoughtfully out of the window before he continued:-- + +"I am very sorry, my dear young lady. I am really very sorry. But I find +it necessary to confine my purchases strictly to books. My me! Yes, +strictly to books. If you had a few books, now, that you had ceased to +care for, I might allow you something eh?" + +"I have only the valentines, Mr. Rowlandson" said Phyllis. "It was very +silly and wrong for me to come to you. I can see that now. Of course, +you only buy and sell books." + +"Except when commissioned by customers," said Mr. Rowlandson. "An +invariable rule. If I could break it for any one, I--" + +"You have been very kind," said Phyllis, rising. "So kind that I think I +cannot leave you under a misapprehension. Mr. Landless's income is quite +sufficient for our modest needs." A sudden thought made her heart beat +rapidly. "Oh, Mr. Rowlandson! You must not think he knows I am here! +Although, of course, I meant to tell him if--if I had been successful." + +She hesitated again, and then, with a little appealing gesture, went +hurriedly on. + +"I think I should be quite frank with you. Mr. Landless has a book of +poems--I mean--poems enough to make a book. But, although he has tried +everywhere, he cannot find a publisher who is willing to undertake his +little book. It is such a very little one, too. One firm of publishers +offered to issue it if he would pay the cost, amounting to about fifty +pounds. They wanted the copyright, too, but they have yielded that +point. Farquharson told me you said that my uncle paid nearly two +hundred pounds for my valentines when--at the time of my father's sale; +and I thought, perhaps--perhaps----Do you see? I brought a few of the +prettiest ones to show you. I thought you might have forgotten how +pretty they are. I want so badly to have John's book published, because +he is certain to succeed if only this first little book can be brought +out." + +The bookseller made no reply. He sat on the step of the ladder, gazing +absently out of the window, over Phyllis's head. + +Be careful, Samuel Rowlandson, you old sentimentalist, with your faded +old patch-boxes and tattered old fans. You very nearly said something +then, quite out of the line of trade. Fortunately you thought it over, +for a minute or two, while Phyllis turned her pretty eyes away, to hide +the tears that filled them. Be careful, Samuel Rowlandson, or you will +say it now, as she tries to smile at you, with the corners of her sweet +mouth trembling. Be care--It is of no use; he will say it. + + * * * * * + +"I have thought of a way I might be of service to you," said Mr. +Rowlandson meditatively. "You see--it is not as though I did not know +the value of that collection of valentines. They are worth one hundred +pounds, at the lowest figure. Now--if you would not take offense, and +you should not, I am sure, when no offense is meant; I might offer to +lend you--say, fifty pounds, or half their lowest value, accepting the +valentines as security, and--" + +Phyllis's face lighted eagerly; then clouded again. + +"But, Mr. Rowlandson," she objected, "that wouldn't be--quite--you +know--businesslike, would it? I shouldn't like to do anything that John +would feel was not quite regular and proper." + +Mr. Rowlandson swallowed something in his throat. + +"I should make it very businesslike, indeed by asking you to sign a +note; drawn in the strictest, legal terms," he said gravely. "And I +should charge you interest, at the rate of five per cent, payable +half-yearly; on the appointed day." + +Phyllis considered his face with serious eyes; Mr. Rowlandson slowly +repeated:-- + +"Five percent? payable half-yearly; on the appointed day." + +"It really sounds quite--quite businesslike and regular," she said. "Are +you certain you can spare so large a sum?--without the slightest +inconvenience?" + +[Illustration: ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU CAN SPARE SO LARGE A SUM?] + +"Quite certain," said Mr. Rowlandson; and then added, "I always have a +little ready money laid by--waiting for a really safe investment--like +this one--at five per cent." + +Half an hour later Phyllis shook hands with the old bookseller. She had +an afterthought. + +"A few of the valentines are framed. Does that make any difference? And, +tell me, Mr. Rowlandson, how can they be taken from our rooms and +delivered at your shop?" + +"Well, now," said Mr. Rowlandson, pondering, "I am so much afraid of +fire in the shop it would really be a favor to me if you would let them +remain where they are--for the present; for the present, at least." + +Phyllis shook hands again. The little bell tinkled. She was gone. In her +purse were five ten-pound notes. In her heart was a glad song. + +Through the shop-window, Mr. Rowlandson watched her cross the street +swiftly. Then he turned. The valentines lay on the table, where she had +left them,--samples of the wares she brought to market. He wrapped them, +tied the parcel neatly, and carried it back to his desk. The square, +black volume labeled "Proceedings of the British Engineering Society" +caught his attention. He stared at it for some moments Then his blue +eyes twinkled. + + + + +IX + + +The copper coffee percolator bubbled genially on the snowy dinner table. +John and Phyllis were seated. Mrs. Farquharson set the soup tureen +before him, and hovered near. In the small grate a fire blazed +cheerfully; the firelight gleamed on the fine mahogany and ivory inlay +of the Sheraton desk. There lay John's manuscript,--returned this +afternoon from Oxford, with the stereotyped politeness that was so +disheartening. + +Phyllis's suppressed excitement gave her cheeks their color; John +feigned higher spirits than the occasion warranted; he made a point of +eating his soup; Phyllis tasted hers. + +Mrs. Farquharson served the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding (her +specialty), received due plaudits, and withdrew. John attacked the +dinner; Phyllis's fork toyed with her greens. The all-important subject +was not mentioned until Genevieve had cleared the table. Phyllis passed +John a small cup of black coffee. + +"Well, Phyllis," he said, "Byrne, the Dublin publisher, remains to us. +Oxford declines Cambridge verses." + +Then Phyllis, blushing like a rose, laid in his hand the five ten-pound +notes. He looked at her with perplexed eyes. + +"'"Old Valentines, and Other Poems," by John Landless, will appear +shortly,'" she fictitiously quoted. She had read such announcements +weekly, in his "Academy." + +"Oh, John, those horrid publishers won't retract their offer, will +they?" + +"My darling girl, where did you get this money?" + +"I will tell you all about it, John, dear; but first answer my +question? There isn't any doubt, is there? The book can be published +now?" + +"Why--no; or rather--yes," he said slowly. "If the money is really ours, +to do with as we please,--even to embark on so wild an adventure as a +book of poems. I can't conceive how you came by it, though, dearest." + +John held the ten-pound notes in his hand; he looked at them now, as if +half surprised to find them still there. + +Then Phyllis told him of her call at Mr. Rowlandson's shop; she +remembered every word of the conversation; and came out especially +strong on the rigid regularity of the transaction; the signed note, and +the five per cent, payable half-yearly, on the appointed day. John's +face was a study. + +"Oh, Phyllis! Phyllis!" he said softly, when she had finished. "You +would have sold your valentines--that you love so dearly! the old +valentines that are entwined with your memories of your mother. You +would have sold them! For me!" + +Phyllis smiled happily at him and gave him both of her hands, across the +little dinner table. When he could trust his voice, he said,-- + +"I am confident of my book. If I were not, of course, I couldn't let you +do this, darling; dear as it was of you to think of it,--and to execute +it so cleverly--so very cleverly. Old Rowlandson is a brick." + +"He is a very shrewd man of business," said Phyllis, looking at John +with misgivings "He always has a sum of ready money laid by, for +perfectly businesslike investments." + +"Of course," he reassured her. + +He knew he could meet the interest on Phyllis's note. As to the +principal--well, if worst came to worst he would be justified in +breaking his promise to his father that he would never borrow on his +expectations. Justified! John could almost see his father's smile of +approval. + +They sat in the big armchair together, and read the poems to be included +in the little book. + +"If I succeed in my profession I shall owe it all to you," said John to +Phyllis; and, when she would have made remonstrance, he added,--"Ah, my +dear, I like to have it so." + + * * * * * + +At the same hour, that evening, Sir Peter sat before his library fire. +An open magazine lay on his knee, pages downward. He held an unlighted +cigar in his hand. He stared moodily into the glowing coals. There were +new, sad lines in his stern face. + +Burbage entered. "Mr. Rowlandson to see you, sir. A very particular +matter, sir, he says." + +Sir Peter rose slowly when Mr. Rowlandson was shown into the room. Under +his arm were three parcels. + +"Glad to see you, Rowlandson," said Sir Peter. "How have you been since +we met last? H'm. It must be two years, or longer." + +"Thank you. I have enjoyed very good health, Sir Peter. Yes, it is all +of two years. I hope you are quite well, sir." + +"Fair; fair," said Sir Peter. + +"We do not get younger as we grow older," observed Mr. Rowlandson. He +laid two of the parcels on the big table, under the reading-lamp, and +proceeded to untie the other. + +A smile flickered across Sir Peter's face; he liked the old bookseller's +sturdy, independent ways. He had been dealing with him for a quarter of +a century. + +"My lad failed me to-day," Mr. Rowlandson explained, "and as I had an +old print of Charterhouse to be delivered to a customer, not far from +here, I thought I would bring you something that came this morning--a +book. A book for which you have waited a long time." + +Sir Peter drew his eyeglass from his pocket, and straightened the heavy, +black silk cord. + +"Well, well!" said he, when Mr. Rowlandson handed him the book, opened +at the title-page, with a little air of triumph. "The 'Proceedings' for +1848. This volume completes my set. It has given you a good bit of +trouble, eh?" He leafed it through, and examined one of the plates with +interest. + +"Oh, nothing to speak of," replied the bookseller, rubbing his hands +together with satisfaction, nevertheless. + +Sir Peter drew a check-book from a drawer; the amount was named. + +"Take a chair, Rowlandson," said Sir Peter. The check was written. Mr. +Rowlandson folded it precisely and put it into his pocketbook. They sat +for a moment or two without speaking. If the bookseller was expected to +take his departure, Sir Peter was too courteous to say so. + +"Will you drink a glass of sherry?" he asked, and touched a button, near +the fireplace. The sherry was served. The old bookseller squinted +through his glass at the light. + +"About the same date as the 'Proceedings,' or thereabouts?" he remarked +interrogatively. + +Sir Peter nodded. "Fifty-two. A choice year." + +"I was growing a great lad, then," commented Mr. Rowlandson. "You have +the advantage of me by several years, I fancy." + +"I shall not see sixty again," said Sir Peter; after a pause he +added,--"I hope your trade is good; but everything is going to the +devil, and I assume the bookselling business goes with the rest. The +radicals are in the saddle--and driving headlong to destruction." + +"I remember an aunt of mine, many years ago, who had fears for her +country," was Mr. Rowlandson's rejoinder. "She stopped taking in the +county paper, and depended on 'The Religious Weekly' for news, the rest +of her days. She said there were no signs of change in that. Old Aunt +Deborah! My me! But the bookselling trade does very well, thank you, Sir +Peter. The magazines are the only retarding influence." + +Mr. Rowlandson moved one of the parcels on the table a little nearer to +him and slyly loosened the string. + +"Occasionally I do a bit of business a little out of my line," he +continued. "This morning, for example, I made a deal that promises a +profit--a very pretty profit. Now that I come to think, it might be of +interest to you to hear of it. It was a deal in old valentines? I recall +you once bought a collection." + +Sir Peter started. + +"These old valentines were brought to the shop by a young woman in +reduced circumstances She did not want to sell them, I fancy. She seemed +rather fond of them." Mr. Rowlandson sipped his sherry; he lingered over +it. "Yes, I should say she was rather fond of them. Well,--that isn't my +affair. I advanced some money on them? just enough to tide over the +present difficulty. Of course, she and her young husband----" + +Sir Peter looked up quickly; he had been gazing into the fire. Mr. +Rowlandson's face was placid. + +"She and her young husband will want more money," he continued. "Yes, +they will certainly want more money. And when the proper time +comes----" He hesitated as though at a loss for the right words. "Down +I come on them--pounce! and sell out the valentines--and take my profit." +Mr. Rowlandson took another sip of sherry with evident enjoyment. + +Their eyes met. Sir Peter scowled. + +"She--was--my niece?" he inquired. + +"Well, bless my soul!" pondered Mr. Rowlandson, as though the thought +struck him for the first time. "They may have been the same valentines +you bought at that sale--whose was it?--so many years ago. Of course, +they may have been. I have a few of them with me--" He reached for the +parcel with the loosened string. + +"You know they are the same," said Sir Peter savagely. "Let this farce +end at once. You should be ashamed, Rowlandson, to seek your shabby +profit in the helplessness of a misguided child, ignorant of the +world--and its hard, rough usage. I am surprised that you would do +it--but that you should tell of it--even boast of it, amazes me. +However--trade blunts a certain delicacy of feeling that--" + +Sir Peter gave the bookseller a sharp look. Then he added,-- + +"I see your purpose in coming here now. You calculated shrewdly. +Well--you were right. I will pay you the sum advanced to her." + +Whatever emotion Mr. Rowlandson experienced he concealed. + +Sir Peter opened his check-book again, and dipped his pen. + +"How much did you say?" he asked. + +"The amount advanced was fifty pounds," said Mr. Rowlandson mildly. + +"Fifty pounds!" exclaimed Sir Peter. + +Mr. Rowlandson held his wine-glass to the light again, and looked +through it with half-closed eyes. + +"Fifty pounds," he quietly repeated, "and took her note, with interest +at five per cent. I could have made it six as well as not, she wanted +the money so badly." + +Sir Peter turned his back on the bookseller the pen busied itself with +the check. A moment later it was offered to him. + +"Thank you, Sir Peter. My interest in this transaction is not for sale." +Mr. Rowlandson spoke in a low tone, firmly. + +"But I say my niece shall not be indebted to you! Not one penny!" + +Sir Peter's fist came down on one of the parcels lying on the table. +There was a crash of broken glass. Mr. Rowlandson's eyes twinkled +merrily. + +"That is the Charterhouse print," said he. "My customer will be +disappointed. It was promised for this evening." + +The trivial incident cooled Sir Peter's wrath. + +"I insist on your taking the check, Rowlandson" he said sternly. "You +will understand it is an impossible situation. My niece is not under the +necessity of seeking aid from strangers. She knows that all I have is +hers. That I would----" He stopped abruptly. + +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Rowlandson, leaning forward. "Let us talk about +her--and her young poet. What an upstanding, fine, frank lad he appears +to be. Do you think he has great talent?" + +"I do not know that he has any talent whatever!" replied Sir Peter +angrily. "I know he stole my niece from me? the puppy!" + +"Well, well," said Mr. Rowlandson gently. "That was wrong. Wrong, +indeed. And I suppose you had showed him clearly that by proceeding +openly he had a fair field to win her, too?" + +Sir Peter set his teeth. The old bookseller repeated his question:-- + +"You did not discourage the lad, I am sure? He knew he had a chance, +eh?" + +"I must decline to discuss that with you, Rowlandson." + +"Chut! Chut!" murmured Mr. Rowlandson. "We are just two old fellows +jogging toward the grave together, even if you are a knight, and I am a +bookseller. Come, now, Sir Peter, tell me all about it. It will do you +good. I will wager you have been eating your heart out, for a month, in +this great, lonely house, with no one to whom you could talk of your +sorrow. Come, come, Sir Peter." Mr. Rowlandson rose. "Do not twenty-five +years of honest dealing with you entitle me to a little of your +confidence?" + +Sir Peter stood silently by the fireplace, his back turned to the old +bookseller. Mr. Rowlandson set his empty wine-glass carefully on the +table, and then drew from their paper the valentines Phyllis had left at +the shop. + +"I read an essay of Mr. Benson's, last night,--and one bit comes to me +now," he said. "The essay opens with an old French proverb, 'To make +one's self beloved is the best way to be useful.' Then the essayist goes +on to say that this is one of the deep sayings which young men, and even +young women, ignore; which middle-aged folk hear with a certain troubled +surprise? and which old people discover to be true, and think, with a +sad regret, of opportunities missed, and of years devoted, how +unprofitably, to other kinds of usefulness. We expect, like Joseph in +his dreams, says Mr. Benson, that the sun and moon and the eleven stars, +to say nothing of the sheaves, will make obeisance to us. And then, as +we grow older the visions fade. The eleven stars seem unaware of our +existence and we are content if, in a quiet corner, a single sheaf gives +us a nod of recognition." + +Mr. Rowlandson smiled pleasantly, and patted the old valentines under +his hand. + +"And then," he continued, "the essayist says, we make further +discoveries that give us pain; that when we have seemed to ourselves +most impressive, we have only been pretentious; that riches are only a +talisman against poverty; that influence comes mostly to people who do +not pursue it, and do not even know they possess it; and that the real +rewards of life have fallen to simple-minded and unselfish people who +have not sought them. I fear I have not quoted the essay quite +accurately. I had a wonderful memory, once. It fails--it fails. But it +is very prettily put, in the book, and of course it is all quite true." + +Mr. Rowlandson smiled again, at Sir Peter's back. He turned the +valentines over, one at a time:-- + +"My me! My me!" he mused, aloud. "Think of all the old loves, of bygone +years, these represent. School-boy and schoolgirl loves--most of them, +probably; springtime loves. The perfume will always linger in these +poor, faded leaves. You never married, Sir Peter, did you? Nor I; nor I. +My me! My me! I remember a girl--when I was twenty; in Hertfordshire--my +old home. Bessy was her name. She had the softest brown hair--in a +thick braid. She wore pink-checked gingham. My me! She married a +farrier, fifty years ago." + +Mr. Rowlandson bent over one of the valentines, to read the verses, +finely engraved, beneath a spray of blue forget-me-nots:-- + + "Wilt thou be mine? + Dear love, reply, + Sweetly consent, or else deny. + Whisper softly; none shall know. + Wilt thou be mine? + Say aye, or no." + +He looked up, smiling still, and went on,--"I fancy, Sir Peter, you, +too, have your memories; you can recall some sweet face of your youth, +for which you would have thought the world well lost; you can bring back +the memory of some fragrant day when you and she looked forward with +bright hopes to happy years that never were to be. A golden day; a +golden day." + +Sir Peter still stood by the fireplace, silent. + +"And now this dear girl of yours--your niece--has strayed away from you, +with the boy of her heart! But, how willingly,--how gladly, she would +come back to you, and be yours again--as well as his, if you only opened +your arms for her--and said the right words of welcome to her--and to +him. She would come back and renew your faith in youth, and hope, and +love, and all the beautiful things of this old earth--which we shall +leave so soon; so soon, that every lost day should be mourned. Ah, yes! +I am sure she waits only for the welcoming words." + +Mr. Rowlandson shook his head, slowly, as he concluded,-- + +"I am proud for myself, and sad for you, that I should be the one to +launch his little book; the little book for which she was willing to +sell her precious valentines. The little book may not set the Thames +afire, but--ah! how the thought of it has kindled their young hearts." + +Sir Peter turned from the fireplace and walked the length of the long +library; then, slowly, back to the table again. + +"You can take the check now, Rowlandson," he said, brokenly; "I shall go +to her--and bring them home to-morrow." + +He dropped into his chair, and covered his face with his hands; Mr. +Rowlandson turned to the fireplace. He drew from his pocketbook the note +Phyllis had signed, and held it in the grate until it blazed. Then he +puckered his mouth, curiously, as if trying to whistle. When he faced +Sir Peter again, his blue eyes twinkled. + +"You owe me a shilling for a new glass for my Charterhouse print," said +he. + +Ten minutes later, when Mr. Rowlandson left the house, Burbage opened +the door. He carried a parcel that clinked, as he stepped out, briskly. + +"Will you require anything further, Sir Peter?" asked Burbage. + +"Yes. Have Miss Phyllis's little study-room, and the two adjoining +bedrooms made ready, Burbage. My niece and her husband are coming home +to-morrow." + + + + +X + + +As John lay between sleep and waking, the next morning, he was conscious +that in a moment he would capture an elusive, happy thought. + +He had it! The book could now be published! + +While he dressed he sang an ancient ballad, at the top of his voice, to +an air he improvised. + + "Phillida was a fair maide + As fresh as any flower; + Whom Harpalus the herd-man praide + To be his paramoure. + + "Harpalus and eke Corin, + Were herd-men both ysere; + And Phillida would twist and spinne, + And thereto sing ful clere. + +"Phyllis!" cried John. "Can you hear in the bedroom? I sing of thee!" + +"I thought her name was Phillida," said Phyllis, setting the bedroom +door ajar. + +"Phillida is Old English for Phyllis," he explained. + +"Oh!" said Phyllis. + + "But Phillida was al to coye, + For Harpalus to winne; + For Corin was her only joye, + Who forst her not a pinne. + + "How often would she flowers twine! + How often garlants make + Of cowslips and of columbine; + And all for Corin's sake. + + "Harpalus prevayled nought, + His labour all was lost; + For he was farthest from her thought, + And yet he loved her most. + +"Phyllis! I say, Phyllis!" cried John, working his hairbrushes +alternately. "I am Corin. Who was Harpalus?" + +"You flatter yourself, sir," replied Phyllis "I am pining for Harpalus." + +"Tell me his last name, then, that I may seek and slay him!" said John. + +Between stanzas, John forgot the air, but he improvised anew, and sang +on, regardless. + + "'Oh, Harpalus!' thus would he say; + Unhappiest under sunne! + The cause of thine unhappy daye, + By love was first begunne. + + "'But wel-a-way! that nature wrought + Thee, Phillida, so faire: + For I may say that I have bought + Thy beauty al to deare.'" + +"Cheer up, Harpalus!" Phyllis waved her hand through the half-open +doorway. "Faint heart never won fair lady!" + +"He is too far gone," said John. "Besides, I, Corin, have nine-tenths of +the law on him. + + "'O Cupide, graunt this my request, + And do not stoppe thine eares.'" + +The song ceased while John tugged at his collar. When the button finally +slipped in, he muttered:-- + +"There is a musical line for you? 'And do not stoppe thine eares.' I +would rather have written that line than take Quebec. + + "'O Cupide, graunt this my request, + And do not stoppe thine eares, + That she may feel within her breste + The paines of my dispaire.'" + +John ended upon a mournful quaver. + +"Phillida has pangs of a different sort, thank you," said Phyllis, +coming into the sitting-room. "Pangs of hunger. Good-morning, Genevieve. +Is breakfast served? Yes, indeed, it is a beautiful morning." + +"Heartless creature!" said John. He was putting on his coat now. + +"Good-morning, fair Genevieve. Wags the world well with you? M-m-m. +Doesn't the bacon smell good?" + +"Poor Harpalus," said Phyllis, pouring tea. "I was very fond of +Harpalus." + +John's eyes were mischievous. + +"Why didn't you propose to _him_, then?" he asked, accenting the second +pronoun. + +Phyllis threatened him with a buttered muffin. + +"John Landless! I shall not speak to you again for--ten minutes." + +It was the jolliest breakfast. Mrs. Farquharson's bacon was always +crisp; she could tell a strictly fresh egg as far as she could see it; +if you had tossed one of her muffins into the air it would have floated +out of the open window. "Tell her I said so," said John to little +Genevieve. + +It is a pity we know so little of Genevieve. One has an uneasy sense of +having neglected her. Well--her young man loved her; and that is enough +for Genevieve. + +John stuffed the manuscript into his greatcoat pocket. + +"Oh, dear, if I could only wish myself invisible for an hour and go with +you to the publishers," said Phyllis. "It doesn't seem possible to wait +until afternoon to hear what they say." + +John reflected. + +"You were going to Saint Ruth's this morning, weren't you?" he asked. + +"Yes, I shall be there the whole morning. I don't believe one of those +blessed babies will remember me. I have a little shopping to do, too." + +"Why not do your shopping about eleven; meet me at Mildmay's, for +luncheon, at one; and we will 'bus over to Saint Ruth's together, and +make an afternoon of it." + +Phyllis kissed him. + +"What a perfectly delightful plan!" she exclaimed. "How shall I find +Mildmay's? Oh! John, dear; how much has happened since then." + +"No regrets yet?" he asked, searching her eyes. + +She put her hands on the lapels of his coat. + +"Not even one tiny, little regret," said Phyllis. + +As he ran down the stairs, however, she called after him. + +"Oh, John! I forgot. I have one regret." + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Harpalus"--whispered Phyllis, leaning over the banister; and kissed her +hand to him. + +Phyllis's truthful eyes had not hidden from John, this morning, or ever, +that her heart was often saddened by thoughts of her uncle. She knew +his way of life so well; could tell, at any hour, what he was probably +doing. She could picture his lonely evenings. Alas, she knew his pride; +and her own; John's, too. She often thought of her letter to him, with +its hint of reconciliation; she wondered if she should have said more. +Then his cruel words about her mother--As often she concluded she had +said all there was to say. And she would turn her thoughts elsewhere, so +that the bitter remembrance might not spoil the sweetness of these days. + +John waited for her at the entrance to Mildmay's. The moment she saw him +she knew all was well. + +As they went in she nudged him. + +"To the left, John. I want to sit at our little table." + +The same waitress, too;--what smiles! Phyllis had chocolate because she +liked chocolate; but John must have tea--because he had it before. + +He told her of the interview with the publishers; the little book would +appear in April; May at the latest. + +The top of the motor-bus, of course. + +From the crossing where they alighted one should take the street to the +right to Saint Ruth's. John turned to the left, at once. + +"I should never have forgiven you if you hadn't," said Phyllis, as they +started eagerly down the mean street, in which noisy trams threatened +the lives of ragged, venturesome children. Here was the very place! How +slowly they had walked there, while he told her of his love. How long +ago it seemed. Phyllis's hand found its way into John's pocket--and was +welcomed there. + +They got to Saint Ruth's, finally. Dr. Thorpe's greeting was cordial; +Mrs. Thorpe kissed Phyllis affectionately. The men went to the warden's +office; Mrs. Thorpe took Phyllis to her room. They had a long talk. +Phyllis found Mrs. Thorpe could be plain-spoken as well as kind. + +"You did wrong, dear girl," she said, with her arms around her. "I know +how hard it was to hear him utter those terrible untruths; but you +should have been more patient. Nothing he said could injure any +one--least of all your mother, who is now where there is no +misunderstanding--and no pain. Your wounded heart impelled you to a mad +act, dear girl; but your pride has kept you in the wrong. John Landless +is a dear fellow--and Donald thinks he is a true poet. I have laughed at +him until he is shy about mentioning his 'profession' to me. It is +possible for you to be very happy. Soften your heart, dear girl, and you +will find the truest happiness in the happiness of your uncle. Your +mother would be the first to tell you to go to him and comfort his +loneliness--if she could. The best joys of life come to us through +self-surrender." + +Phyllis laid her head in Mrs. Thorpe's lap and had a good cry; then she +felt better. + +"Promise?" asked Mrs. Thorpe, smiling. + +"No, I won't promise," said Phyllis. "I couldn't promise now. But I will +try." + +"And now," said Mrs. Thorpe, "let's go and see the babies. There are +some new ones since you were here; but one wee mite is gone, forever." + +Phyllis sat on the floor among the babies, and played with them, until +her cheeks were rosy and her golden hair disheveled. Between romps she +told Mrs. Thorpe that John's book would soon be published. + +"Well, that is good news!" exclaimed Mrs. Thorpe. "Donald will be so +happy to hear of that. It is remarkable that he should have a book +published so soon. Poems, too." + +"Yes, it is remarkable," replied Phyllis demurely. "But then, John's +talent is remarkable." + +Meanwhile, in the warden's office, Dr. Thorpe sat at his desk and John +sat on it, and swung his long legs. He told him about the book. + +"By Jove! I congratulate you, with all my heart," said Dr. Thorpe +warmly. "You will let me know the first day it is on sale. I shall wish +to buy a copy." + +"Buy a copy!" John demurred. "Well, upon my word! You and Mrs. Thorpe +will receive a copy, affectionately inscribed by the author; the first +copy off the press--the second, I should say." + +Dr. Thorpe grinned. + +"Let me buy it, John," he said. "I shall go from one bookshop to +another, and in each I shall say,--'What! You haven't a copy of John +Landless's book! The sensation of the hour! The book London is so eager +to read that the presses can't turn them out fast enough! The book--'" + +John threw his cap at him. They looked at each other in the abashed way +of men between whom there is deep affection. + +"Your publisher's telephone wires would be hot for an hour with orders," +Dr. Thorpe concluded. + +"You should be a man of business," said John. "If you were a publisher I +should have had an easier time." + +"Nonsense! You had little or no trouble--" began Dr. Thorpe. + +"You are mistaken, Doctor," said John. "I had failed, and then Phyllis +pulled the strings. I can't tell you how, though. That is a secret." + +"I am prepared to believe anything of her. How buoyant and beautiful +she is. By the way--anything from Sir Peter?" + +"Not a word. She wrote him a note, asking for her collection of +valentines. They were her mother's, and she wanted them. He sent the +valentines, but no reply to her note." + +"Poor old buffer," said Dr. Thorpe. "Of course, he misses her +dreadfully." + +"I should think he would; and she misses him, too. I would be glad to +see them good friends again if--if I needn't be put in a false position. +He is--disgustingly rich, you know." John hesitated. He looked at the +floor, and traced the pattern of the carpet with his stick. "He called +me a sneak--and ordered me out of the house. But I can afford to forgive +that. It was horribly sudden for the poor old chap--and--all that." + +Dr. Thorpe's eyes were moist. + +"I meant to look into your spiritual state, later," he said. "But I see +it isn't necessary." + +When the four of them met, in the hall, it was understood that John and +Phyllis would resume their work at Saint Ruth's. + +"Nothing like it to keep your sense of relative values normal," said Dr. +Thorpe to John. + +Mrs. Thorpe stood with her arm around Phyllis. + +"Saint Ruth's neighbors will be glad to see you again, dear girl. Did I +tell you what old Mrs. Lester said to me? You remember her poor hands, +all twisted with rheumatism and yet what beautiful needlework she does. +She said, 'I should like to make her a pretty handkerchief, for a +wedding gift. Do you think she would care for it?'" + +Mrs. Thorpe had been looking through the open doorway. + +"Here comes trouble, Donald," she said, in a low voice. + +John and Phyllis glanced back as they walked out. + +Dr. Thorpe was shaking hands, heartily, with a big, sodden fellow, in +shabby clothes, his virile face marred by excesses; the frail little +woman with him looked up at him with a world of anxious love in her +eyes; and then Mrs. Thorpe led her away, talking cheerily. + +All the way home John discoursed on Art. Phyllis drank it in. She +thought him a wonderful being. + +"The trouble with these literary chaps is that they revolve in a +circle," he declared, posing securely on his new pedestal. "They have +their writing rooms, all strewn with carefully disarranged +paraphernalia; and they have their clubs, where they meet only each +other and praise each other's work, and damn the work of the absent +ones: and they go prowling about looking for a bohemia that never +existed, and can never exist for them; for bohemia is simply youth and +poverty and high aspirations, combined, and can't be found by search. If +these literary chaps are exceptionally fortunate, they are invited to +great houses, where they dine with stupid, overfed people who pretend +they have read their books, though they haven't, unless they are unfit +to read. And so they go on wearily turning that treadmill--and wonder +why their work has lost freshness, and convince themselves it has gained +style. I am not a literary chap, and I don't wish to be one. I am a +poet. Poetry is my profession. And the only way I can succeed in it, the +only way it is worth succeeding in, is to relate it to life, real life, +the big, elemental struggle for existence that is going on, here in +London, and everywhere; to wed Art to Reality, lest the jade saunter the +streets, a light o' love, seeking to sell her soul." + +As they walked past the bookshop, and through the little square, John +said:-- + +"I should like to live in London eight months of the year, and give most +of my time to Saint Ruth's. And the rest of the year I should like to +live in a village, like Rosemary, Sussex, where I lived as a boy; on the +outskirts of a little village, near the green country; and do my writing +there, under the blue sky--with God looking over my shoulder, to see the +work well done." + + + + +XI + + +There was a motor-car in front of the house; its blinding lights +illuminated the windows at the other end of the square. + +Mrs. Farquharson met them at the door. + +"He's upstairs in your room. Sir Peter Oglebay--your uncle," she said, +in an excited whisper. "Three times he has called this day; once at +eleven, once at two; and now again at six. 'Sit down and wait,' I says +to him, the last time; 'they will surely be home for dinner; never have +they missed since first they came,' says I; and sit down he did--and +there he sits; and doesn't he look noble, sitting there! Genevieve's +that nervous she drops everything she touches." + +John and Phyllis exchanged looks. He smiled as easily as he could. + +"Would you like it if I walked about a bit--or dropped in on old +Rowlandson, while you talk with your uncle?" he asked. + +"I want you with me, John. I need you," said Phyllis. + +"Together's the word," he replied, and they mounted the stairs. + +So far as Phyllis was concerned, it was all over in a moment. + +Sir Peter rose when they entered. She gave one look at his sad, white +face, and drawn mouth. + +"Oh, Uncle Peter!" she cried; and was in his arms. + +He tried to say the words he had humbly learned. + +"I have your pardon to ask, my dear--" + +That was as far as he got. She put both hands over his mouth; and +withdrew them only to kiss him and whispered-- + +"It is I who should ask your pardon, Uncle Peter. I have been very, very +naughty, And I am very, very sorry." + +Now, when Sir Peter heard that childish formula, he seemed to hold in +his arms the little girl who had repeated it, many times, under the +instructions of Mrs. Burbage. The years slipped away. He held her close; +the wounds were healed. + +When two men have a disagreeable interview before them, each maneuvers +for position. The one who gets the fireplace back of him has an +advantage. It isn't impregnable, but the other fellow must force the +fighting. The place may be carried by storm; but it takes a spirited +action. John executed a flank movement, while his ally engaged the +enemy. He got the fireplace; it was a small one, but it was his own. + +One wishes John well out of this scene; our hopes are high for him; but +he is a queer chap; you never know how to take him, nor what he will +say, or do. We can only wish him well; and observe that he carries his +chin high. + +Sir Peter released Phyllis, and then turned to John. + +"I wish to apologize to you, Landless," said Sir Peter, and crossed the +room; he offered his hand; John took it and they stood for a moment so, +neither speaking. + +"I hope you can forgive what I said," Sir Peter concluded. + +"I did that before we left your house--that morning," said John. "Don't +say anything more about it, sir, please. I should have been as angry as +you were--under the same circumstances. I am sure there is need of +forbearance on both sides." + +Sir Peter dropped John's hand, and strode to the window. In a moment he +faced about again. + +"I can't have it that way," said he. "It was unspeakable----" + +John stopped him. + +"I beg you to say no more, sir. I assure you there is not an unkind +thought in my heart. Let the dead past bury its dead." John hesitated; +then stammered out--"Fine weather we are having, sir." + +Sir Peter offered his hand again; their grasp was cordial. Each looked +straight into the other's eyes. + +"Oh, dear," said Phyllis, pushing the big armchair nearer the fire. +"Isn't everything lovely!" + +She coaxed her uncle into the chair with a pretty gesture, and seated +herself in a smaller one, with a happy little sigh. + +There was a tap at the door. + +John opened to Mrs. Farquharson; she curtseyed. + +"You were wishful to see me, my d----ma'am?" she asked. + +Phyllis laughed gayly. "You are wonderful, Farquharson," she said. "I +have been thinking for five minutes how nice it would be if my uncle +dined with us; if it were quite convenient for you." + +"As ever could be," said Mrs. Farquharson. "I sent Genevieve for another +chicken as soon as ever he was in this room. You never saw a plumper." + +"Isn't she wonderful?" Phyllis turned to her uncle. "Uncle Peter, you +must be formally presented to my dear Farquharson, my old nurse. +Farquharson--Sir Peter Oglebay, my uncle." + +Mrs. Farquharson curtseyed again; Sir Peter rose and bowed gravely. + +"A great many years ago I heard how wonderful you were, Farquharson," +he said, "from a little girl, who is now grown,--and married,--but is of +the same opinion still. It was a piece of good fortune, indeed that +brought these children of mine to your house." + +"Thank you, sir. Thank you, Sir Peter," replied Mrs. Farquharson, her +gray eyes very large. "I should have made your acquaintance years ago if +that Mrs.--Well, least said, soonest mended. But sorry I am that never +did those advertisements meet my eye if ever they were printed. The +expense of them, too, sir, in every paper in London, every day for three +months. Not that you minded that!" Mrs. Farquharson had told the story +to the first-floor front; the first-floor front who had been in +stocks--and seen better days; it had not lost in the telling. + +"If you are certain--" said Sir Peter to Mrs. Farquharson. "Very well, +I shall be glad to dine." + +On the way to the lower regions, Mrs. Farquharson dropped in on the +first floor. + +"Sir Peter Oglebay's dining with us tonight," she said. "I was +frightened of him at first, but, pooh! he's as easy as an old shoe." + +John still held the fireplace; he knew the worst was yet to come. + +"There are great preparations at home, my dear," said Sir Peter to +Phyllis. "Your little study-room has been polished till it shines, and +the two adjoining rooms have been rearranged three times since this +morning." He looked at John. "Burbage has been told that I hope to have +both of you home again. Her efforts are Herculean to anticipate every +wish Phyllis may have." + +"I hope you won't be hurt, sir," said John, "but I fear that is out of +the question I ask you to believe there isn't an iota of unfriendliness +in it, but--you see, sir, Phyllis and I must live within our own income; +and independence is as necessary to me as air. I am sorry if you are +disappointed." + +"I appreciate your point of view perfectly," said Sir Peter. "I am +coming to that. But first I ask you to sympathize with mine, a little. +My house is so large that I am lost in it, unless there are others +there. And as one grows older there are so few who care to come. The old +friends have new interests; children about them; and the wider circle +that means. The house has never seemed so large and so lonely as during +the past month. For many years my brother Robert, Phyllis's father, +lived with me there. It will be hard for you to believe I was ever gay, +but it was really a gay house then. His friends were a light-hearted +lot, and they were as welcome there as my own; mine were few by +comparison. We talked pictures most of the time; his friends were +painters. What dreams for the future I heard from them! The best of them +loved Robert--and believed in him. No one could help loving him. I +remember a remark Thorburg, the sculptor, made one night, at a dinner in +his honor. Thorburg had just done some extraordinary thing--I have +forgotten what; his 'Grief,' perhaps. 'Oglebay,' said he to Robert, +'there isn't a man in this room who doesn't envy you. We all have +talent; but yours touches the highest mark. I will not say it is genius, +but it is near it; we shall bare our heads before one of your pictures, +some day.' Little Singleton spoke up then. 'The great god Thor hath said +it, Oglebay, but we all think it.' They were all there that night; +there must have been twenty of us at the table. I can see their faces +now, clearly, and hear little Singleton's piping voice. Singleton, +Knowles, and Leonard--the inseparable trio, they called them." + +Sir Peter paused. + +"As I said, the house was gay then. The Oglebay Prize was the result of +just such a dinner. Robert suggested it. Thorburg was one of the +trustees until he died; it has helped many a lad through his days in the +Latin Quarter. I have had some fine letters from those lads. One or two +of them have turned out really good work; good enough to have satisfied +Robert that the prize was worth while. Yes,--the Oglebay Prize is one of +the few things I look back upon with unalloyed pleasure; my bridge in +Natal is another." + +Phyllis had moved her chair nearer to her uncle; while he spoke of her +father, he held her hand, on the arm of his chair. Now she spoke +quickly, with that pretty catch in her breath. + +"Oh, Uncle Peter. Tell John about the Natal bridge. It is more +interesting and more exciting than the best novel you ever read." + +"I should like to hear the story, sir," said John; it was pleasant to +see the sincerity of his interest. + +"I will tell it to you some day, John," replied Sir Peter. He smiled. +"You will probably hear it a great many times. We all have our failings; +that story is mine. My cronies at the club tell me I lead up to it so +skillfully they cannot always stop me in time." + +"Do tell it, Uncle Peter," said Phyllis. + +Sir Peter thought for a moment. + +"Some time I will, my dear," he said. "But not now. My mind is on +something else." He addressed his remarks to John again. "We were +talking about the days when there was overflowing life in my old house." + +John stood with his back to the fire; his face was attentive, serious, +considering; but every line in it expressed determination. + +"Those days ended when Robert married," Sir Peter continued. "I +quarreled with him and we parted. I never saw him again. And for ten +years my house was a mausoleum, haunted by memories; a torture-house of +vain regrets and useless longings." + +His voice broke; he rose suddenly and walked to the window again. They +were silent until he returned to his chair. Phyllis seated herself on +the broad arm of it, and laid a caressing hand on his shoulder. He took +the hand and held it. + +"Then came the news from the North--that my little girl was +motherless--and fatherless; and then came my little girl herself. She +was a very little girl then; a sad and lonely little girl; but"--Sir +Peter cleared his throat, and spoke huskily and slowly--"but she brought +comfort to me. There was something in life for me again--besides my +work. My work I always had. I thanked God for that. I need not tell you, +John, how this little girl crept into my heart, nor how her small +fingers smoothed away the wrinkles from my gloomy old face." Sir Peter +looked up at her and pressed the hand he held. "And so the years rolled +on--and she grew, and grew, and grew, until she became a young woman. +A--a passably good-looking young woman--eh, John? Wouldn't you say +so--passably good-looking?" + +John smiled. + +"I might say so to you, sir--privately," he admitted. + +"And when she was certain of her conquest of me," continued Sir Peter, +"she looked about, as it were, for other worlds to conquer. And along +came a--er--h'm--along came a young prince. Precisely so--along came a +young prince upon whom the fairies had bestowed marvelous gifts." Sir +Peter fairly chuckled as he completed this unusual imaginative flight. +"Marvelous gifts," he repeated. "Eh, Phyllis? Would you say he had +marvelous gifts?" + +"If we were quite alone, Uncle Peter, I might say so," confessed +Phyllis. + +"And this passably good-looking young woman and this prince of the +marvelous gifts proceeded to fall in love with each other in the most +natural way in the world," Sir Peter went on. "Precisely so. In the most +natural way in the world; as any one but a grumpy old fellow would have +foreseen they would. And having fallen in love with each other, what in +the world was there for them to do but to be married at once--eh? And +yet, will you believe it?--there was a grumpy old fellow who wished to +prevent it. Now, what could you say to an old fellow as grumpy as that?" +Sir Peter adjusted his eyeglass and looked first at John, and then at +Phyllis, quizzically. + +"I should say no one could blame him," said John promptly. + +"I shouldn't say anything. I should just hug him," said Phyllis, and +carried out the threat with spirit. + +"And now we come to the point of this long story," resumed Sir Peter, +readjusting his eyeglass, which had fallen during Phyllis's +demonstration, "These two having married have no other duty before them +than to--er--eh? Of course. Precisely! No other duty than to live +happily ever afterward--eh? As they always do in stories. But the +question is--where? Precisely! Where shall they live happily ever +afterward? Shall they live all by themselves? Or shall they share their +happiness--a little of it--with the grumpy old fellow aforesaid? He does +not like to base his plea to them on his need of the little girl he has +loved so many years; nor on his need of the marvelous gifts of the young +prince, though they are especially needed just at this time, as I shall +tell you. Now, John," said Sir Peter, in his most engaging way, "advise +me about this. What ground should he base his petition upon in order to +win his case? Because he is more anxious to win this case than he was to +finish the Natal bridge,--and he was terribly anxious about that,--as +you will hear, one of these days." + +John glanced toward Phyllis; she instantly turned her head, and looked +resolutely in the opposite direction. She felt that the answer to Sir +Peter's question belonged to John. Sir Peter saw John waver; he caught +his glance at Phyllis; and, like a good campaigner, followed up the +attack. + +"I need your assistance just now, John, very badly," said Sir Peter. +"For years my friends in the British Engineering Society have been +urging me to prepare and publish my recollections. Some of them went to +Allan Robertson's Sons, the publishers, about it and they have given me +no peace since I was weak enough to make a promise that they should have +the book. 'Recollections of an Engineer, 1874-1910,' it is to be called. +Now,--if you would help me I could do it easily. And we would have some +good times over it, I hope." + +John glanced at Phyllis again; but she would not look at him. It was +very hard not to at the time; but Phyllis was so glad afterward that she +didn't. + +Sir Peter got up from his chair, and stood in front of John, both hands +on his shoulders. + +"Dear lad," he said. "In a few years you and Phyllis will have all that +is mine in the world. You can't prevent that--with all your pride--for +which I honor you. In a few years it will all be yours. For those few +years will you not share it with me--and let them be peaceful and happy +years?" + +John turned his face away. + +"Very well, sir," he said. "We will go to your home--to-morrow. That +is--if Phyllis says so, too." + +Phyllis flashed him a radiant look. + +"But you must let me contribute my little pittance to the general +fund," added John. "It isn't much--but it is all I have." + +"With all my heart!" said Sir Peter. + +The white tablecloth was laid; the coffee percolator hummed its +contented little song. The broiled chicken was delicious; and the +browned potatoes. There was a grape jelly; Sir Peter was helped twice to +this. + +"Do you make it yourself?" he asked Mrs. Farquharson. + +"Whoever else?" she answered. + +"But you should taste her marmalade at breakfast!" exclaimed John. + +"I like a good marmalade; we have the 'Dundee'; which is yours?" asked +Sir Peter. He fell into their informal ways so easily. + +"We make our own," said Mrs. Farquharson proudly. + +"Upon my word," said Sir Peter, as he stirred his coffee with a tiny +spoon, and accepted a match for his cigar--"upon my word, I haven't +eaten such a dinner in years. So--er--companionable--you know." + +At eleven, when they went with him to the door, Mrs. Farquharson met +them in the hall. + +"Good-night, Farquharson," said Sir Peter. + +"Good-night, sir," said Mrs. Farquharson, and handed him a parcel. +"Would you please to slip these glasses into your greatcoat pocket: two +of the jelly, and two of the marmalade. Here are the recipes, written on +this paper; Genevieve has copied them out very plain and large. That +Mrs. Burbage can read them--with her spectacles." + + + + +XII + + +Two happy, eventful years passed. + +One evening, as they sat in the long library, John happened to mention +Rosemary Sussex,--and the old parsonage, where his boyhood had been +spent, untenanted now--in disrepair. Sir Peter asked a casual question +or two. For the rest of the evening he schemed in silence. + +Shortly thereafter his mysterious absences began. He required an earlier +breakfast on certain days; and John and Phyllis sometimes dined alone. + +The new parsonage at Rosemary is nearer the church than the old,--but +the old parsonage has more land, and its garden slopes gently downward +to the little river, slipping murmurously away to the sea. + +So long as Sir Peter tried to keep part of his plan a secret from the +vestry, he had one failure after another for his pains. Time after time +he returned on the early evening train to London, growling into his +white mustache. They would not say no, and they did not say yes; he made +no progress. But when he pledged a discreet vestryman to confidence, and +told him he sought to buy the old parsonage for the son of its former +occupant, the Reverend Hugh Landless, and for his wife, the ways were +smoothed at once. A morning came, at last, when he could tell them he +had a surprise in store for them, and could place the title-deed in +Phyllis's hands. + +"It is my belated wedding-gift," said Sir Peter. + +Phyllis will never forget her first glimpse of the gray old house. As +the motor-car neared the curve in the road which discloses the view +John knew and loved so well, he said to her:-- + +"Now, dearest; in just a moment. There!" + +The house is screened from the road by an ivy-covered wall, great trees, +and the shrubbery. But Phyllis caught the very view John wished her to +have,--a bit of the west gable, and the window from which his mother's +handkerchief had fluttered many gay farewells to him. + +Sir Peter stood by the sun-dial, in the garden, and listened, well +pleased, to John's eager voice, as he pointed out the spots endeared to +him by memories of childhood. The sun-dial! How he had pondered over the +quatrain, chiseled in the stone:-- + + "The Moving Finger writes; and having writ + Moves on--nor all your Piety nor Wit + Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, + Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it." + +"My father used to sit reading aloud to my mother, near that hawthorn," +said John, "and if she asked him for the time of day he was whimsical +enough to walk over here and consult the sun-dial, rather than his +watch." + +They loitered in the neglected, overgrown garden,--soon to be bright +with flowers again,--a trysting-place for birds. + +"My mother planned her garden anew each winter," said John. "She could +hardly wait for the soft air of spring to carry out her plans. She loved +the flowers. I remember her so clearly, working here, in a broad-brimmed +hat, with a pair of my father's gloves on her hands, while I played near +by. I had desperate adventures in this garden, and my play often ended +in my being half frightened--and seeking safety from imagined terrors, +in the refuge of her lap." + +They went into every room of the old house; sunny rooms; there was need +of repairs, indeed, but Phyllis declared there should be no alteration. + +"I want it to be just as it was," she said to Sir Peter. + +And so, in June, they were at home there--and the garden was a riot of +color. + +On a particular afternoon in June, Sir Peter, with his cigar, and John, +in flannels, writing, at a table under the trees, both looked up to see +Phyllis coming toward them, from the house, with her baby in her arms. + +The garden was full of the perfume of roses. They blossomed everywhere. +There was a pink bud in John's buttonhole, and a red one in Sir Peter's. +Phyllis had a great bunch of white roses at her waist. Her gown was +white, too: soft and lacy and clinging. That would have been John's +description of it; and he is a poet. + +"Hullo, Phyllis," said John. + +"S-h-h," said Phyllis. + +"S-h-h, John," said Sir Peter. + +Phyllis laid her precious burden in the perambulator, near Sir Peter's +chair. + +"Mark and Peggy will be here in half an hour," she announced. "She +telephoned from Whinstead. Isn't it characteristic of Peggy?--a +motor-car wedding-journey. They are having the most glorious time, she +said. They can't stay, though; just a call." + +"Whinstead, eh?" said John. "Well, if Mark is driving, he will cut that +thirty minutes to twenty. I shall barely finish this page before they +get here." + +He was engaged upon the revision of "Old Valentines, and Other Poems," +for the second edition. The little book, bound in red, with golden +cupids, lay open on the table. + +"Uncle Peter, see how beautifully baby is sleeping," said Phyllis. + +Sir Peter adjusted his eyeglass, and peeped under the parasol. + +"I must speak to Burbage about tea," added Phyllis. "Just keep half an +eye--" + +"Both eyes, my dear," said Sir Peter. With his foot he drew the +perambulator a little nearer to him. + +John looked up from his writing. + +"Give me a synonym for 'austerity,'" he commanded. + +"'Sternness,'" suggested Phyllis. + +"'Severity,'" said Sir Peter. + +"'Severity' introduces a rhyme, which won't do at all; 'sternness' +doesn't convey asceticism, as 'austerity' does. Give me others." + +"'Gravity,'" said Phyllis. "Or seriousness.'" + +"'Asperity,'" suggested Sir Peter. + +"I have it!" said John. "'His stern simplicity.'" + +"Why didn't you say we could have two words?" asked Sir Peter. + +John's pen was busy; obviously he did not hear. + +"Burbage will serve tea here, Uncle Peter," said Phyllis. "John, you +will try to make Mark talk, won't you? He is so shy." + +John gazed at nothing, with vacant eyes. Phyllis looked at her uncle, +comically. + +"Uncle Peter, you tell him about Mark the next time he gives evidence of +belonging to the human family." + +She walked toward the house, intent on arrangements. At the door she +glanced over her shoulder. + +"Uncle Peter," she called to him, "you were pushing the perambulator +forward and backward with your foot. It isn't allowed." + +"They always did it in my day," said Sir Peter. + +"Well, they don't now," replied Phyllis. + +"Very well, my dear," said Sir Peter meekly. + +Phyllis went into the house. Sir Peter observed the windows keenly; when +he thought the coast was clear he gently pushed the perambulator forward +and backward with his foot. + +Twenty minutes later a big gray car deposited three dusty persons on the +little porch. Peggy and Phyllis cooed over each other. Mark pointed to +Mrs. Farquharson. + +"We picked her up," he said. "She had started to walk from the railway +station." + +Mrs. Farquharson surveyed him with an austerity that required no +synonym. + +"Never again," said she. "Pony-cart or no pony-cart. A hundred miles an +hour, my dear, if ever he went one." + +She retired to the rear, where Burbage could be found, with whom she had +come to take tea and pass the afternoon. + +"Lead me to the infant!" demanded Peggy. "I haven't seen him for so long +I am prepared to find him in knickerbockers, smoking a cigarette." + +"Peggy! only two weeks," exclaimed Phyllis. + +"Two weeks!" rejoined Peggy. "Oh, in time, of course; but aeons in +experience. We have had tire trouble--" + +"Oh, cut that, Peg," suggested Mark. + +"I will not," retorted Peggy. "We have paid enough for new tires since +we started to endow Saint Ruth's. Each time our troubles have occurred +in the exact center of population. I have been stared at from front and +rear by the entire British people. And Mark has given the recording +angel the time of his life. Everything has happened that could wreck our +married happiness, but we are now armor-clad against infelicity. We have +really had the most beau-ti-ful time! We haven't eaten a meal in an inn +except breakfast. Simple life by the wayside for us! Two alcohol +stoves--I am starved now, though! Perhaps we had better have tea before +I see the baby--I might be tempted beyond my strength." + +"And you are well, Mark?" asked Phyllis. + +"Finer than a new crank-shaft," he replied, grinning. "I am also in the +breadline though." + +"One result of our difficulties was the development of Mark's +conversational powers," whispered Peggy to Phyllis. "He is almost a +self-starter now." + +"How well you both look, brown as--" + +"Don't say gypsies!" urged Peggy. "We have heard it everywhere." + +"Indians, then," said Phyllis. + +Tea was served under the trees. The baby awakened as though for Peggy's +express benefit. He spluttered and gurgled, and made queer faces in his +charming way, selecting Peggy for the most fascinating attentions After +tea, Phyllis and Peggy went into the house to exchange confidences. +Peggy carried the baby. + +Sir Peter and John did their utmost with Mark. Motoring, cricket, +tennis, golf--all had their turn. He was amiability itself, but he would +not and could not be made to talk. They were at their wit's end when +Phyllis and Peggy rejoined them, and Phyllis took Mark off to the +garden. + +Peggy sat with the men, chatting volubly. John's eyes followed Mark and +Phyllis. When he could do so unobserved, he touched Sir Peter's arm +quietly, and directed his attention to them. Mark was talking at full +speed; Phyllis was listening, and cutting roses into a basket. + +"Yes," said Peggy, "we have had some ripping times. The most ripping was +yesterday. We almost robbed England of her greatest living poet, by +nearly running Mr. Kipling down, near Pevensey. It was in a narrow lane +and he was walking with his chin on his chest. We supposed, of course, +he heard us. Mark used the emergency brake; the car slewed around; he +wasn't even grazed. And he took it as coolly as you please. John, if we +had hit him, would you be next in line for laureate?" + +"I hope he was thinking out a sequel to 'Kim,'" said Sir Peter. "I +picked that book up in the club library one day when I had a quarter of +an hour to kill. I sat there all the afternoon. I have read it three +times, since." + +"I liked 'Stalky' best. How do the pretty little jingles go, John?" +asked Peggy. She took a copy of "The Spectator" from the table, and +turned the leaves, idly. + +"Oh, jinglewise," answered John. + +"My word! Listen to this," exclaimed Peggy; and then read--"'We should +hesitate to say that Mr. Landless's name will stand higher than the +second rank of poets. But so much praise he has fairly wrested from even +the most captious reviewer. Indeed his "Lyrics" invite one to the +dangerous pastime of prophecy; and prophecy of a bright future for this +newest of our versifiers. Certainly, if the more serious work we are +promised in "London: A Poem" (which is announced for the autumn) exceeds +in dignity and restraint the best of his "Lyrics," we shall throw +caution to the winds and predict great things for him. We observe two +typographical errors on page--' Oh! who cares about the old +typographical errors! Well, well, John. Isn't that splendid! What a +happy girl Phil must be!" + +"We are all very happy, Margaret," said Sir Peter. "And very proud to be +related to him--even by marriage." + +"And Phil tells me you have turned author, too," said Peggy to Sir +Peter. "A young fellow like you to be writing your 'Recollections'! +Think how much more you will have to recollect if you wait a few years." + +Sir Peter shook his finger at her. + +"If you are not careful, young woman, I will put you into them--as I +first remember you, very red and wrinkled." + +Mark's and Peggy's stay was short--all too short. Mark settled down +behind the wheel. "London, next," said he. Peggy's face was buried in +roses as they drove off. + +When they were seated again, under the trees, Phyllis regarding the baby +with rapt eyes, John's curiosity suggested a question. + +"Phyllis, please tell us what you set Mark to talking about. We tried +everything." + +"Why, about Peggy, of course," said Phyllis. "Silly! Couldn't you think +of that?" + +Mrs. Farquharson had awaited the departure of the Holroyds, and now, in +her best black silk, came out to see the baby, and remained to chat for +a few minutes. Her great news was that the first-floor front was in +stocks again--with a prospect of seeing better days. + +"And how is Mr. Rowlandson?" asked Phyllis. + +"Odder than ever," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "He is getting a little +childish, I think. The other night he told me the greatest rigmarole +about some collector or other in Birmingham. He collected weapons, of +all things! He had Mr. Rowlandson buy him swords, and daggers, and +spears, and even bows and arrows from America, until his house fairly +rattled with them. Finally, says Mr. Rowlandson, he got him the stone +that David flung at Goliath, and the jawbone that Samson smote the +Philistines with. 'Now,' says he, 'I am looking for the club that Cain +slew Abel with, and then he will be complete.' Did ever you hear such a +farrago? And his eyes twinkling all the time as though he was as +sensible as ever could be! Yesterday I told him I was coming down here +to take tea with Mrs. Burbage. 'With Mrs. Burbage!' says he. 'Well, what +next?' 'Now, heed my words,' says I. 'That woman is not as black as +she's been painted.' And then he laughs. Childish, I say. But he's +terrible down on you, Mr. Landless, because the baby's a boy. 'Mr. +Landless has disappointed me,' says he. 'He knows her name should be +Valentine.' 'But, Mrs. Landless wanted a boy,' says I, 'to call him +Peter'; as she has, bless his darling little heart, that knows his old +Farquharson! 'Well,' says he, 'Mr. Landless put her up to it.'" + +When she had returned to Burbage, John and Sir Peter began work on the +proofs of "Recollections of an Engineer." The publishers had wished to +call it "Recollections of a Great Engineer." Sir Peter told them quietly +there would be no recollections if they insisted on the word. + +The story of the Natal bridge would have been the making of this twelfth +chapter. But the Natal story has a chapter of its own in the +"Recollections" (chapter XXII--p. 227), and as the copyright +restrictions are in force you will have to look for it there. Mr. +Rowlandson has the book for sale--if you don't find it elsewhere. + +The work on the proofs was interrupted when the baby insisted on having +the red rose from Sir Peter's buttonhole. Sir Peter cut the thorns from +its stem before he gave it into the tiny fingers. + +[Illustration: SIR PETER GAVE IT INTO THE TINY FINGERS] + +Burbage and Farquharson stood by the garden-gate, looking in. The golden +glow of late afternoon was over all. The roses nodded their heavy heads +all about them. The gentle murmur of the flowing river, lapping the old +stairs at the end of the garden, could be faintly heard. + +Sir Peter cut the thorns from the rose, and gave it to the baby, leaning +forward in its young mother's arms. + +"Isn't it a pretty sight?" whispered Burbage. + +"The prettiest sight that ever was in the world," said Farquharson, +fumbling for her handkerchief. + + +THE END + + + * * * * * + + +Published by HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + + + + +THE INVADERS + +By FRANCES N.S. ALLEN + + +"A warm, rich, human story, which takes its substance from the +successful inroads of thrifty Irish and Polack and the whole whatnot of +foreign newcomers upon the lean New England land, with the desperate +resentments growing out of this usurpation and the futile attempts to +stem the tide of encroachment."--_Washington Evening Star._ + +"A capital story, but also a fine piece of workmanship and a +contribution to sociology."--_Congregationalist._ + +"A clean, wholesome, stimulating story pleasantly told."--_Detroit Free +Press._ + +"Deals wisely and sympathetically with one of the big social problems +which beset changing New England."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + + + +V.V.'S EYES + +By HENRY SYDNOR HARRISON + + +"'V.V.'s Eyes' is a novel of so elevated a spirit, yet of such strong +interest, unartificial, and uncritical, that it is obviously a +fulfillment of Mr. Harrison's intention to 'create real +literature.'"--_Baltimore News._ + +"In our judgment it is one of the strongest and at the same time most +delicately wrought American novels of recent years."--_The Outlook._ + +"'V.V.'s Eyes' is an almost perfect example of idealistic realism. It +has the soft heart, the clear vision and the boundless faith in humanity +that are typical of our American outlook on life."--_Chicago +Record-Herald._ + +"A delicate and artistic study of striking power and literary quality +which may well remain the high-water mark in American fiction for the +year.... Mr. Harrison definitely takes his place as the one among our +younger American novelists of whom the most enduring work may be hoped +for."--_Springfield Republican._ + + + + +STORIES OF CHARM + +By WILLIAM JOHN HOPKINS + + +THE CLAMMER + + +"It is seldom that one comes upon a bit of fiction which combines so +much clever fancy with so much delicacy, or which blends light comedy so +skillfully with deep feeling."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + +OLD HARBOR + + +"A tale to chuckle over.... It is not often that a reader has an +opportunity in the pages of a book to come in touch with such a group of +genial and lovable people."--_Minneapolis Journal._ + + +THE MEDDLINGS OF EVE + + +"Brings us once again into touch with those delightful and very human +people that we learned to know in 'The Clammer.'"--_The Bookman._ + + +CONCERNING SALLY + + +"The story is at once so human and so unusual that it excites deep +interest.... Sally is a real person, a person whose woes and joys the +reader cannot choose but share."--_Boston Herald._ + + + + +A SAFETY MATCH + +By IAN HAY + + +"Delineates the progress of a marriage of convenience with an agreeably +delicate touch." _New York Sun._ + +"The story is well written and of the variety which, once commenced, +keeps the candle burning regardless of the hour until the end." _Boston +Herald._ + +"The 'handsome rectory children' of the early chapters, their vague +father, and their muddled but affectionate home life, are things of pure +joy." _London Punch._ + +"Simple, yet strong, and strong because its simplicity is natural, the +book will commend itself to all who love sane, wholesome and cheerful +fiction." _San Francisco Chronicle._ + +"There is humor everywhere of the sparkling rather than the gleaming +variety, and it makes the book delightful to read." _The Dial._ + +"Its homely, human humor, and its wonderful narrative of events, both +commonplace and extraordinary, hold the interest of the reader +unswervingly from the first chapter to the last." _St. Louis +Post-Dispatch._ + + + + +A COUNTRY LAWYER + +By HENRY A. SHUTE + + +"Rarely do we find a book so full of wholesome sentiment.... Fairly +bubbles with good humor.... A book well worth reading and then well +worth remembering." _Boston Globe._ + +"Judge Shute has told a good story, at the same time incorporating into +it the stir, bustle and ginger of a New Hampshire town." _Milwaukee Free +Press._ + +"Humor and clever portrayal of country character prevail in this story." +_Detroit Free Press._ + +"Judge Shute has told a thoroughly readable story, and one which has the +added charms of freshness and spirit." _Minneapolis Journal._ + + + + +MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS + +By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN + + +"A fitting successor to the far-famed Rebecca." _Boston Transcript._ + +"Mother Carey is one of the sweetest and truest models of motherhood +imaginable." _The Outlook._ + +"A book to enjoy, a book to love, and a book to be grateful for." +_Westminster Gazette._ + +"A delightful book for girls, not to mention the boys and the mothers +and fathers, is 'Mother Carey's Chickens,' one of the best of the many +good stories that Mrs. Wiggin has written.... 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