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+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-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
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+      See 23886-h.htm or 23886-h.zip:
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+      or
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+
+
+
+
+
+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.... Mother Carey is a real
+human mother and her children are a lively flock of real youngsters, all
+different and all worth knowing." _Springfield Republican._
+
+"A book to brighten and sweeten every home into which it enters."
+_British Weekly._
+
+
+
+
+Important Historical Books for the Young
+
+
+_Makers of England Series_
+
+By EVA MARCH TAPPAN, Ph.D.
+
+_In the Days of Alfred the Great_
+
+_In the Days of William the Conqueror_
+
+_In the Days of Queen Elizabeth_
+
+_In the Days of Queen Victoria_
+
+
+
+
+By CALVIN DILL WILSON
+
+_The Story of the Cid for Young People_
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD VALENTINES***
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