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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24945-8.txt b/24945-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a72c3a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/24945-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9216 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mufti, by H. C. (Herman Cyril) McNeile + + +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: Mufti + + +Author: H. C. (Herman Cyril) McNeile + + + +Release Date: March 29, 2008 [eBook #24945] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MUFTI*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +MUFTI + +by + +HERMAN CYRIL McNEILE + +("Sapper") + +Author of + + "No Man's Land," "Men, Women and Guns," + "The Human Touch," "The Lieutenant and Others," + "Sergeant Michael Cassidy," etc. + + + + + + + +Hodder and Stoughton +London -- New York -- Toronto +MCMXIX + + + + + +To P. B. D. + + + + +MUFTI + + +PROLOGUE + +I + +The officer lying back in the home-made chair tilted the peak of his +cap over his eyes and let his book slip gently to the ground. A few +moments later, after various unavailing waves of the hand, he pulled +out a handkerchief of striking design and carefully adjusted it over +his face. Then, with his hands dug deep in his pockets to remove even +a square inch of skin from the ubiquitous fly, he prepared to slumber. +And shortly afterwards a gentle rise and fall of the centre bulldog, so +wonderfully portrayed on the bandana, announced that he had succeeded. + +To anyone fresh from England who desired to see War the scene would +have been disappointing. There were no signs of troops swinging down a +road, singing blithely, with a cheery smile of confidence on their +faces and demanding to be led back forthwith to battle with the Huns. +There were no guns belching forth: the grim Panoply of War, whatever it +may mean, was conspicuous by its absence. Only a very fat +quartermaster-sergeant lay asleep in the sun and snored, while an +ancient and dissolute old warrior, near by, was engaged in clearing out +a drain as part of his Field Punishment, and had just discovered a dead +dog in it. He was not singing blithely: he had no cheery smile of +confidence on his face: he was just talking--gently to himself. + +The field was on a slight ridge. Above the camp there floated one of a +line of sausage balloons, and the cable to which it was attached +stretched up taut from some point near the farmhouse behind. A +triangular flag, like a burgee, flew straight out in the breeze from +half-way up the cable, and the basket, looking absurdly small, hung +down like a black dot below the balloon. + +Peace was the keynote of the whole situation. In front the country lay +stretched out, with its hedges and trees, its fields and farmhouses. +In certain places there ran long rows of poles with strips of brown +material stretched between them, which a spectator would rightly +conclude was camouflage erected to screen the roads. Only from what? +Where was the Boche in this atmosphere of sleep and quiet? + +Beyond the silent countryside rose a line of hills. They seemed to +start and finish abruptly--an excrescence in the all-pervading +flatness. On the top of the near end of the line, clear cut against +the sky, the tower and spires of a great building; at the far end, on a +hill separated--almost isolated--from the main ridge, a line of stumps, +gaunt tooth-pick stumps standing stiffly in a row. There was no sign +of life on the hills, no sign of movement. They were dead and cold +even in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. Especially the isolated +one at the far end with its row of sentinel trees. There was something +ghostly about it--something furtive. + +And then suddenly a great column of yellow smoke rose slowly from its +centre and spread like a giant mushroom. Another and another appeared, +and the yellow pall rolled down the side twisting and turning, drifting +into the air and eddying over the dark, grim slope. Gradually it +blotted out that isolated hill, like fog reeking round a mountain top, +and as one watched it, fascinated, a series of dull booms came lazily +through the air. + +"Jerry gettin' it in the neck on Kemmel." Two men passing by were +regarding the performance with perfunctory interest, while the purple +bulldog still rose and fell, and the dissolute old warrior did not +cease talking to himself. + +"Derek scooped the bally lot as usual." An officer appeared at the +entrance of a tin structure in one corner of the field with a bundle of +letters in his hand. "Look at the dirty dog there--sleeping like a +hog--in the only decent chair." + +He disappeared inside to emerge again in a moment with a badminton +racket and a shuttlecock. "On the bulldog--one round rapid fire." He +fired and with a loud snort the sleeper awoke. + +"You are charged with conduct to the prejudice, etc.," said the +marksman severely, "in that you did spread alarm and despondency +amongst the troops by disguising yourself as a disease and making +noises indicative of pain." + +Derek Vane stretched himself and stood up. "We are feeling well, thank +you--and require nourishment. Does tea await me, and if not--why not?" +He took his mail and glanced through it. "How they love me, dear old +boy! What it is to be young and good looking, and charm. . . ." + +There was a loud shout and the deck chair became the centre of a +struggling mob. Shortly afterwards a noise of ripping canvas announced +that it had acted as deck chairs have acted before when five people sit +on them at the same moment. + +"Look out, you mugs, you've broken it." Vane's voice came dimly from +the ground. "And my face is in an ants' nest." + +"Are you good looking and charming?" demanded an inexorable voice. + +"No. Get off, Beetle; you've got bones on you like the human skeleton +at Barnum's." + +"What are you like?" pursued the same inexorable voice. + +"Horrible," spluttered Vane. "A walking nightmare; a loathly dream." + +"It is well--you may arise." + +The mass disintegrated, and having plucked the frame of the chair from +the body of an officer known to all and sundry as the Tank--for obvious +reasons--they moved slowly towards the mess for tea. + +In all respects an unwarlike scene, and one which would disappoint the +searcher after sensation. Save for the lorries which bumped +ceaselessly up and down the long straight road below, and the +all-pervading khaki it might have been a scene at home before the war. +The yellow fog had cleared away from Kemmel, and over the flat country +the heat haze rose, shimmering and dancing in the afternoon sun. In +the field next to the camp an ancient Belgian was ploughing, his two +big Walloon horses guided by a single cord, while from behind the farm +there came the soft thud-thud of a football. + +And then it came. In a few seconds the air was filled with the +thumping of Archie and the distant crackle of machine-guns. + +"By Jove! there he is," cried the Tank. "He's got him too." + +The officers halted and stared over the dead town of Poperinghe, where +flash after flash of bursting shrapnel proclaimed a Boche aeroplane. +They saw him dive at a balloon--falling like a hawk; then suddenly he +righted and came on towards the next. From the first sausage two black +streaks shot out, to steady after a hundred feet or so, and float down, +supported by their white parachutes. But the balloon itself was +finished. From one end there glowed for an instant a yellow furnace of +fire. Then a flame shot up, followed by clouds of black smoke. Like a +stone, the basket crashed down, passing the two white, drifting specks +on the way, and leaving behind it a long streak of black. + +Rolling from side to side like a drunken man, the aeroplane was coming +towards its next quarry. Lewis guns, machine-guns, Archies were now +all firing full blast, but the pilot continued on his course. Tracer +bullets shot up like lines of light, but so far he had come through +untouched. From the balloons the observers dived out until at one +moment there were ten in the air. And each balloon in turn followed +its owners, a flaming, smoking remnant . . . + +Then came the end--as suddenly as it had begun. A tracer bullet seemed +to pass right through the aeroplane. Like a tiny ball of fire the +bullet struck it, and then went out. The plane swerved violently, +righted and swerved again. Then it spun down, rocking from side to +side, while a burst of white flame roared all round it. And, falling a +little faster than the plane, two black spots, which did not steady +after a hundred feet. They crashed fifty yards from the tin hut, and +almost before they reached the ground the officers were on the spot. A +little distance away the aeroplane was blazing, and they could feel the +heat as they bent over the pilot and his observer. They were both +dead, and the pilot was unrecognisable; a bullet had entered the base +of his skull from behind. But the observer was not much damaged +outwardly. He lay--arms outstretched--looking up at the sky, on the +ground that the farmer had just ploughed. He seemed to smile cynically +at the hoarse cheering now spreading from field to field, from camp to +camp. Perhaps even then he had realised the futility of it all . . . + +For a few seconds Derek Vane looked at him gravely, while close by two +excited men from different units argued raucously as to which battalion +had brought the aeroplane down. + +"I tell yer I saw the ruddy bullet hit the perisher right in the +middle," cried one claimant. "It were old Ginger's gun, I tell yer. +E's a fair corker is Ginger with a Lewis." + +The smile spread till it was almost a grin on the dead man's face. +Muscular contraction, of course, but. . . . With a sudden movement +Vane stooped down and covered the face. + +"Sergeant-Major." He turned to the N.C.O. beside him. "Armed guard +round the plane at once till the Flying Corps arrive. Bring these two +bodies into the camp on stretchers." + + +Five minutes later they sat down to tea and an unopened mail. The +farmer had resumed his ploughing--the football enthusiasts their game. +Twenty-five Lewis guns and twelve Vickers sections were all composing +reports stating that their particular weapon had done the deed, and +somebody was putting another fog cloud on Kemmel. + +In fact, the only real difference in the scene after those ten short +minutes was that by the ruins of a deck chair two German airmen with +their faces covered lay very still on stretchers. . . . + + + +II + +Two hours later. Vane handed his steel helmet to his batman and swung +himself into the saddle on his old grey mare. There was touch of Arab +in her, and she had most enormous feet. But she fulfilled most of the +requirements a man looks for in a war horse, which are not of necessity +those he requires in a mount with the Grafton. She scorned guns--she +repudiated lorries, and he could lay the reins on her neck without her +ceasing to function. She frequently fell down when he did so; +but--_c'est la guerre_. The shadows were beginning to lengthen as he +hacked out of the camp, waving a farewell hand at a badminton four, and +headed for Poperinghe. + +Poperinghe lay about a mile up the road towards his destination, and +Vane had known it at intervals for over three years. He remembered it +when it had been shelled in April '15 at the time of the first gas +attack, and the inhabitants had fled in all directions. Then gradually +it had become normal again, until, after the Passchendaele fighting of +1917, it had excelled itself in gaiety. And now in May 1918 it was +dead once more, with every house boarded up and every window shuttered. +The big cobbled square; the brooding, silent churches, the single +military policeman standing near his sand-bagged sentry-box--and in the +distance the rumble of a wagon going past the station--such was +Poperinghe as Vane saw it that evening. + +A city of ghosts--deserted and empty, and as the old grey mare walked +sedately through the square. Vane felt that he understood the dead +airman's smile. + +Sometimes a random shot would take effect, but the bag was soon +removed. That very afternoon a driver with his two horses had been hit +direct. The man, or what was left of him, had been removed--only the +horses remained, and a red pool coated with grey dust. The mare edged +warily around them, and a swarm of flies, bloated, loathsome +brutes--buzzed angrily up as she passed. + +"It's not fair, old girl," said Vane bending over and patting her neck; +"but I s'pose it's only in keeping with everything else these +days--it's not fairness that counts; it's just luck--fatuous idiotic +luck. It's not even a game; it's a wild-cat gamble all over the world. +And may Heaven help us all when the bottom does drop out of the market." + +The grey mare ambled placidly on up the main Ypres road undisturbed by +his philosophy. The dead of her kind were already forgotten, and the +nose-bag on the saddle would be all the better for emptying. On each +side of the road were gun positions, and Vane kept a sharp look out as +he trotted on. If there was one thing he loathed above all others it +was the gunner humorist who, with malice aforethought, deliberately +waited to fire his gun until some helpless passer by was about a yard +from the muzzle. But at the moment everything seemed quiet. The +evening hate was not due yet; and Vane reached Brandhoek cross roads +without having his eardrums burst. + +On the Decauville track close by stood eight trains, stacked with rows +and rows of cylinders, and he contemplated them grimly. Each train was +drawn by an ugly-looking petrol electric engine. The whole eight would +shortly run at close intervals to the nearest point to the front line. +Then Vane, with a large pushing party, could man-handle the trains into +the position decided on--a few hundred yards behind the outpost line. +And as a method of fighting it struck him as poor. + +Whatever may be said about Might and Right, there is an element which +must appeal to every normal being in the triumph of strength and +hardihood over weakness. It may be wrong; it happens, however, to be +natural. But there is nothing whatever to appeal to the average man in +the ability of some professor of science, working in his laboratory +miles away, to produce a weapon which strikes down alike the strong and +the weakling with an agony which makes death a blessed relief. +Gas--just a refinement of modern war introduced by the brains of many +eminent gentlemen. And it must be in the nature of a personal triumph +for them to realise that their exhaustive experiments with guinea pigs +and rabbits have caused thousands to fear at first they were going to +die, and later to fear still more that they were not. . . . + +Vane nodded to the gas officer and got on board the little tractor +which was to take him to the front trenches. + +Chugging along through screen after screen of brown camouflage which +hid the little railway line from the watchful gaze of Kemmel, he seemed +to be passing through some mysterious land. By day it was hideous +enough; but in the dusk the flat dullness of it was transfigured. Each +pond with the shadows lying black on its unruffled surface seemed a +fairy lake; each gaunt and stunted tree seemed to clothe itself again +with rustling leaves. The night was silent; only the rattle of the +little train, as it rumbled over bridges which spanned some sluggish +brook or with a warning hoot crossed a road--broke the stillness. +Great shell-holes filled with rotting debris flashed by, the mouldering +ruins of an old château frowned down as they twisted and turned through +the grounds where once men had flirted and women had sighed. Now the +rose garden was used as a rubbish heap for tins; and by the over-grown +sundial, chipped and scarred by a stray shell, two wooden crosses stuck +out of the long rank grass. At last they reached the Canal, and the +engine stopped near the Lille road. + +Close by, the flares lobbed up, green against the night; and a white +mist covered the low-lying ground. Across the road lay trees in all +directions, while, through the few that remained standing, a cold +bright moon threw fantastic shadows. On each side of the road, +screened by the embankment from machine-gun fire, sat groups of men +waiting for the trains. + +At last Vane heard the first one--faintly in the distance. It loomed +up suddenly out of the mist and crept across the road. Without a word +the men detailed to push it seemed to rise out of the ground. Silently +they disappeared with it, like ghouls at some mysterious ceremony. +With muffled couplings it made no sound; and in a few minutes it was +ready in position, with its leading truck where once the owner of a +farm had sat before the fire, after the day's work. + +And so they came--eight in all. Any noise--any suspicion on the part +of the Boche, a bare quarter of a mile away, and a machine-gun would +have swept the ground. But the night was silent, the flares still went +peacefully up, and the wind had not changed. It blew gently and +steadily towards the German lines. Only there was now just a faint +smell of pineapple in the air; one of the cylinders was leaking. . . . + +Figures loomed up unexpectedly out of the mist; occasionally a low +curse could be heard as a man stumbled into a shell hole. . . . + +"Everything all right; everybody clear?" The gas expert peered at Vane +in the darkness. "Right! well, let her go." + +A series of reports sounded deafeningly loud, as the detonators of the +cylinders were fired by electricity; a steady, hissing noise as a great +wall of white vapour mingled with the mist and rolled forward towards +the Germans. The gas attack had begun. To an airman returning from a +bombing raid, who circled for a moment above, it looked like a sheet +being slowly spread over the country below; a beautiful--an +eerie--picture. To those on the ground who watched it, it seemed as a +solid wall of dense fog moving relentlessly forward--like the mist that +comes creeping over the Downs till those caught in it can scarce see +their hand in front of their face. To the Boche it was death. . . . + +Patrols going out the next night found men twisted and blackened with +the smell of pineapple still on their swollen lips; in the hospitals +behind, men writhed and muttered hoarsely, struggling for breath and +struggling in vain. The attack had been successful--and all was as it +should be. Undoubtedly the Germans started gas in a country where the +prevalent wind was south-west--and it doesn't pay in war to be a fool. +. . . + +Vane wished that one or two German men of science had been occupying +the Boche outpost line instead of. . . . War--modern war! + +"It will go clean through their helmets," said the gas expert. "One +hour in most cases, and when it gets weaker, twenty-four--or even more. +That's the stuff to give 'em." + +At last the performance was over, and the trains having delivered the +goods returned to their own place. + +"Most successful." The gas expert, rubbing his hands together, came up +to Vane as he stood on the Lille road. "I think we've got quite a +number of the blighters. And not a single casualty!" + +"Good," said Vane. "But what a filthy method of fighting." + +"The Germans started it," returned the other. + +"I know they did," laughed Vane. "That's probably why it's so filthy." + +The gas officer looked thoughtful. "I'm not certain that I agree with +you, Vane. War is such a filthy business, however you look at it, that +one would be a fool not to harness science in every possible way . . ." + +"Don't you believe it," scoffed Vane. "Science has harnessed us. +We've started the bally motor with the gear in, and now we're running +after it trying to catch up. Can I give you a lift back on my private +stink machine? . . ." + +They strolled up the road together to where the tractor was waiting. + +"Man no longer the master of his destiny, you mean?" said his companion. + +"Don't make me laugh too loud," returned Vane, "or the Boche might +hear; unless you've killed 'em all . . ." + +"You're wrong, my friend--utterly wrong." They came to where the +railway track crossed the road and he halted to pull out his pipe, +before getting on to the little engine. + +"I tell you, Vane . . ." + +And at that moment a flight of cockchafers seemed to sweep down the +road. Vane felt the stinging pain in his right shoulder, and then he +looked foolishly at the gas expert . . . + +"You were saying," he began . . . + +But his late companion had taken a machine-gun bullet through his heart. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +The beach at Paris Plage is associated in the minds of most people who +went there before the war with a certain amount of gaiety. There were +bands, and fair ladies, and various other delights generally connected +with popular French watering-places. Incidentally the beach is a +beach--not a collection of sharp boulders. There is real sand--lots of +it; the sort that gets hot and comforting in the sun, and invites +people who have eaten too much luncheon to sleep. And during the war, +though the bands and other delights have departed, the sand has +remained a source of pleasure to hundreds of people in need of a +temporary rest cure. They have come from the big hospitals at Etaples; +they have come from the officers' rest-house. Some have even come in +motor cars from the trenches just for the day, and one and all they +have lain on the beach and slept and then departed the better for it. + +On a certain afternoon during the height of the German offensive in the +spring of 1918 a girl was sitting on the beach staring out to sea. On +the horizon a black smudge of smoke stood up against the vivid blue of +the sky; while, close in shore, a small sailing boat was barely making +headway in the faint breeze. + +The girl was a V.A.D., and the large French family which had planted +itself close by cast little curious glances at her from time to time. +And she was worth looking at, with her fair hair, deep blue eyes and +that wonderful complexion which seems to be the exclusive property of +the British. Madame remarked on it to Monsieur, glancing at the white +faces of her own daughters three, and Monsieur grunted an assent. +Personally he was more occupied with the departed glories of Paris +Plage than with a mere skin of roses and milk; at least the worthy man +may have deemed it desirable to appear so. + +"Pauvre petite," went on the kindly matron, "but she looks tired . . . +so tired." She heaved a deep sigh. "Mais que voulez-vous? c'est la +guerre." She watched her offspring preparing to paddle, and once again +she sighed. There was no band, no amusement--"Mon Dieu! but it was +triste. This accursed war--would it never end?" + +Margaret Trent's looks did not lie; she was tired. The rush of work +just lately had almost broken her physical endurance, and there seemed +but little chance of any slackening in the near future. She felt that +all she wanted was rest--utter, complete rest, where such things as +bandages and iodine were unknown. And even as the longing came to her +she knew that a week of it would be all that she could stand. She +could see beyond the craving ache to stop--the well-nigh irresistible +cry of her body for rest. She could feel the call of spirit dominating +mere bodily weariness. And it drove her on--though every muscle cried +a halt. + +Before the war she had been in that set which drifted pleasantly +through life, and yet she had not been of it. She danced perfectly; +she played tennis and golf and went to the proper places at the proper +times--but she was different. She had in her a certain idealistic +dreaminess, an intense love of the beautiful in life. Sordid things +filled her with a kind of horror, and when the war came she tried to +banish it from her mind like a dreadful nightmare. But there were +stories in the papers, and there were letters from friends telling of +losses and unspeakable sufferings. There was war all round her and one +day the great unrest got hold of her, and would not be put aside. She +felt she had to do something . . . + +And so she became a V.A.D. and in the fulness of time arrived in +France. Her friends prophesied that she would last a month--that she +would never stand the sight of blood and wounds. Her answer had been +two years at Etaples. And to those who know, that is an answer +conducive of many things. + +At times she tried to recall her outlook on life four years ago. She +had enjoyed herself up to a point, but all the time she had been +groping towards something she did not possess. She had read carefully +and with discrimination, and the reading had only filled her with an +added sense of her own futility. She felt that she wanted to do +something--but what was there for her to do? + +Marriage, naturally, had come into her mental horizon. But there had +only been one man who had ever attracted her sufficiently to make it +anything but an idle speculation. There had been a time, one season in +London, when this man had been her constant companion, and she had been +far from disliking it. At times he had seemed to be serious, and as a +matter of fact the subtle difference between her and the stock pattern +crowd had interested him more than he admitted even to himself. Then +one day she discovered that a certain flat and its occupant were very +closely connected with his bank account. It was by pure accident that +she found it out. A chance remark which she overheard at a dinner +party. . . . And the night before at the Grafton Galleries she had +allowed him to kiss her as she had never before allowed a man . . . + +It revolted her; and the man, astonished at first at her sudden change +of manner, finally became annoyed, and the episode ceased. They still +met; there was no quarrel--but they met only as casual acquaintances. + +It was at that stage of her reflections that a shadow fell across her +and she looked up. For a moment the coincidence failed to strike her, +and then with a surprised little laugh she held out her hand. + +"Why, Derek," she said, "I was just thinking of you." + +Vane, his right arm tightly bound in a sling, sat down beside her. + +"I thought you looked pretty weary," he laughed. "Jove! but it's great +seeing you again, Margaret . . .! And the peace of it all." He waved +his left hand round the deserted beach. "Why, it's like old +times--before the world went mad" . . . He fumbled with his cigarette +case, until she took it out of his hand, and struck a match for him. + +"What ward are you in?" she asked, when he had made himself comfortable. + +"Number 13; got here yesterday." + +"I come on night duty there to-night. What's your trouble?" + +"Machine-gun," he answered briefly. "A nice clean one through the +shoulder. And the man beside me took the next bullet through his +heart." He laughed shortly. "What a gamble--what a dam silly gamble, +isn't it?" + +She looked thoughtfully out to sea. The train of ideas his sudden +appearance had interrupted was still half consciously occupying her +mind. + +"Four years, isn't it, since we met?" she said after a while. + +"Four centuries, you mean. Four wasted centuries. Nothing will ever +be the same again." + +"Of course it won't. But don't you think it's just as well?" She +faced him smilingly. "There was so much that was all wrong, Derek; so +much that was rotten." + +"And do you think that four years' insanity is going to prove the +remedy?" Vane laughed cynically. "Except that there are a few million +less men to carry on the rottenness"-- + +Margaret shook her head. "We wanted something to wake us up; it's been +drastic, but we're awake." + +"And what most of us want is to go to sleep again. Don't you feel +tired, Margaret, sometimes?" + +"Yes--I suppose I do. But it's the tiredness that comes with +doing--not drifting. . . . It's we who have got to make the new Heaven +and the new Earth, Derek . . ." + +Again Vane laughed. "Still as idealistic as ever, I see. Six months +after peace we shall be scrambling and fighting and snarling +again--after jobs and money and work." + +Margaret Trent was silent, tracing a pattern in the sand with her +finger. "The worry of scrambling after a job is not likely to hit you +very hard," she said at length. + +"Which is perhaps as well," he returned lightly; "for I'm certainly too +weary to take the trouble. I shall go away, if I'm alive to do it, to +the South Sea Islands and live on fruit. The only proviso is that it +should be sufficiently ripe to drop into my mouth, and save me the +trouble of picking it." + +The girl turned and looked at him suddenly. "You've got it rather bad, +old boy, haven't you?" + +"Got what?" he asked slowly. + +"Mental jaundice," she answered. "Your world askew." + +"Do you wonder?" he returned grimly. "Isn't the world askew?" + +"And if it is, someone has got to put it back." + +"That's what the little boy said when he pulled the chest of drawers +over on top of him and lay struggling under it. But he couldn't do it +himself. It's got beyond us, Margaret--and God seems to have +forgotten. There is just a blind, malignant Fate running the show." + +She looked at him gravely. "You're wrong, Derek--utterly wrong. The +game is still in our hands, and we've got to keep it there. What are +you smiling at?" + +"I was wondering," he answered, "whether the last time I was told I was +wrong, the sentence would have been concluded similarly. +Unfortunately, the speaker died in the middle, thereby proving his +contention." + +"Oh! but you're little," she cried, striking her hands together. +"Don't you see that you've got to look beyond the individual--that +you've got to think Big?" + +"We leave that to the newspaper men," he retorted cynically. "Our +smiling heroes; our undaunted soldiers! They are heroes, those +Tommies; they are undaunted, but it's because they've got to be. +They're up against it--and the Juggernaut of Fate knows he's got 'em. +And they know he's got 'em. They just eat and drink and are merry for +to-morrow they. . . . Ah! no; that's wrong. We never die out here, +Margaret; only the other fellow does that. And if we become the other +fellow, it's so deuced unexpected I don't suppose it matters much." + +"But, we've got to go through with it, haven't we?" she said quietly. + +"Of course we have," he answered with a laugh; "and the knowledge of +that fact cuts about as much ice with the men in the mud holes up there +as brave little Belgium or suffering little Serbia. I tell you we're +all dazed, Margaret--just living in a dream. Some of us take it worse +than others, that's all. You want the constitution of an elephant +combined with the intelligence of a cow to fight these days." + +"And yet," she said with a grave little smile, "under-lying it all, +there's the big ideal surely. . . . If I didn't think that, if I +didn't know that, I . . . I couldn't go on." + +"To which particular ideal do you allude?" he asked cynically. "The +League of Nations; or the triumph of Democracy, or the War to end War. +They all sound so topping, don't they? received with howls of applause +by the men who haven't had their boots off for a week." He thumped the +sand savagely. "Cut the cackle, my dear girl; cut the cackle. This +little performance was started by a few of the puppets who thought they +had a winning hand, and the other puppets called a show down. And then +the game passed out of their hands. They write books about it, and +discover new Gods, and pass new Acts of Parliament--but the thing takes +no notice. It just goes on--inexorably. Man has been dabbling with +stakes that are too big for him, Margaret. And the trouble is that the +cards up in the trenches are getting mighty tattered." + +She looked at him curiously. "I'd never have thought it would have +taken you like that, Derek . . . Not quite as badly." + +"You formed your opinion in the bad old days, didn't you?" he said +lightly. "When we danced and made love at the Grafton Galleries." She +flushed a little, but did not lower her eyes. "Such a serious girl you +were too, Margaret; I wonder how you ever put up with a brainless sort +of ass like me." + +"Because I liked you," she answered quietly, and suddenly it struck +Vane, almost with a feeling of surprise, that the girl sitting beside +him was more than attractive. He wondered why he had let her slip so +easily out of his life. And the train of thought once started seemed a +not unpleasant one. . . . "You'll get it back soon, Derek--your sense +of proportion. You've got to." + +"So that I can help build the new Heaven and the new Earth," he laughed. + +"So that you may help build the new Heaven and the new Earth," she +repeated gravely rising to her feet. "I must go back or I'll miss my +tea." + +"Have a cup with me in the village." Vane scrambled up and fell into +step beside her. They passed Monsieur still snoring, and Madame +nodding peacefully over her knitting, and crossed the deserted +promenade. Then in silence they walked up into the main street of the +little town in search of a tea shop. + +"Do you realise, Margaret," he remarked as they sat down at a small +marble-topped table, "that I haven't seen or spoken to a woman for six +months? . . . Heaven help us! Aren't there any cakes?" + +"Of course not," laughed Margaret, "nor milk, nor sugar. There's a war +on up the road. You want about ten drops of that liquid saccharine." +In the sunny street outside, soldiers in various stages of +convalescence, strolled aimlessly about. An occasional motor car, +containing officers--on duty, of course--slowed down at the corner +opposite and disgorged its load. A closer inspection of one of them +might have revealed a few suspicious looking gashes in the upholstery +and holes in the mud-guards. Of course--shrapnel--but, then shrapnel +did not occur by the sea. And on what duty could officers from the +shrapnel area be engaged on at Paris Plage? . . . However, let us be +discreet in all things. + +In a few hours that shrapnel scarred car would be carrying its freight +back to Boulogne, where a table at the restaurant Mony had already been +secured for dinner. Then back through the night, to call at various +dilapidated farms and holes in the ground, in the area where shrapnel +and crumps are not unknown. . . . But just for a few brief hours the +occupants of the car were going to soak themselves in the Waters of +Forgetfulness; they were going to live--even as the tripper from the +slums lives his little span at Margate. And they were no whit less +excited at the thought . . . + +They did not show it by an excessive consumption of indigestible fruit, +or by bursting into unmelodious song. True, the greatest of all the +"Q" men, who had come officially from a Nissen hut near Poperinghe to +study the question of salvaged materials at the base, had waved a +friendly hand at all the ladies--beautiful and otherwise--whom they +met. But then save for salvage he was much as other men. And with +that exception they just lay back in the car and thought; while the +trees that were green rushed past them, and war was not. + +Thus had they come to the sea. To-morrow once more the flat, dusty +country with the heat haze shimmering over it and every now and then +the dull drone of some bursting crump, or the vicious crack of high +explosive. Behind, the same old row of balloons; in front, the same +old holes in the ground. . . . But to-day--peace. . . . + +Vane thoughtfully stirred the pale straw-coloured concoction reputed to +be tea on the table in front of him. The remark Margaret had made to +him on the beach was running through his mind--"The new Heaven and the +new Earth." Yes, but on what foundations? And would they be allowed +to anyway? Reconstruction is work for the politician--not for the +soldier. . . . Most certainly not. . . . The soldier's ignorance on +every subject in the world except fighting is complete. And even over +that he's not all he might be: he requires quite a lot of help from +lawyers, doctors, and successful grocers. . . . In fact, the only +thing he is allowed to do quite on his own is to die . . . + +Vane smiled a little bitterly, and Margaret leaned across the table +towards him. "You'll get it back soon, Derek--believe me, old boy." + +"That's very possible. But will the people at home? I'm jangled, +Margaret, I know it--just for the time. . . . However, don't let's +talk about me. Tell me about yourself. . . ." + +The girl shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I don't know that there's +much to tell. I've never been so happy in my life as I am at +present . . ." + +"In spite of all that?" He pointed out of the window to two soldiers +limping painfully by on sticks. + +"Yes--in spite of all that. One gets accustomed to that--and one's +doing something. After all, Derek, you get accustomed to death and +mutilation up there in front. It doesn't affect you. . . ." + +"No, not to the same extent as it did. In a way, I suppose not at all. +But you--you were so different." He thoughtfully drained his tea cup, +and set it down again, and for a space neither of them spoke. + +"I can't help laughing at the comparison," said Margaret suddenly. +"Five years ago you and I were sitting in Rumpolmayer's, surrounded by +sugar cakes, being smart." + +"They're doing that now in London except for the sugar cakes." + +"We shouldn't have been silent for a moment, and we should have enjoyed +ourselves thoroughly . . . I wonder--" + +"It was our only standard, wasn't it?" + +"And now we can sit over a cup of weak and nasty tea--without milk and +not talk for effect. . . . What's going to happen, Derek, to you and +me afterwards? We can never go back to it?" + +"No--you can't put back the clock--and we've grown, Margaret, years and +years older. So have thousands of others--the boys up yonder, their +people at home. But what about the business train to Brighton, and the +occupants thereof? . . . Have they felt this war, except to make a bit +more boodle out of it?" + +"They're only a small minority." + +"Are they? They're a damned powerful one." He laughed a little +bitterly. "And they're artificial--just like we were before the war." + +"That's why it's we who have got to do the rebuilding. Even if it's +only the rebuilding the house in our own little tiny circle, with +simplicity and reality as the keystones. . . . You see, if you get +enough tiny circles sound and good, in time the others may +follow. . . ." + +"Dear lady, you've become very optimistic." Vane's eyes smiled at her. +"Let's hope you're right." He paused and looked at her quietly. +"Margaret. I've never asked you before--but you're different now--so +different. Incidentally so am I. What was it, that made you alter so +suddenly?" + +Margaret rose to her feet, and shook her head. "I'll tell you some +day, Derek, perhaps. Not just now. I must be getting back to the +hospital." + +"Will you come out and have tea with me to-morrow?" For a few moments +she looked at him as if undecided, and then suddenly she seemed to make +up her mind. + +"All right," she said with a smile. "I'll come, I want to deal with +this jaundice of yours. One must live up to a professional reputation." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A hospital is much the same anywhere, and number 13 General at Etaples +was no exception. On each side of the big marquee ran a row of beds in +perfect dressing. The sheets were turned down on the design so ably +portrayed in the War Office Sealed Pattern X.B.451.--"Method of turning +down sheets on Beds Hospital." On "Beds Barrack" the method is +slightly different and is just as ably shown on Sealed pattern X.B.452. +During moments of intense depression one is apt to fear the war-winning +properties of X.B.451 and 452 have not been sufficiently appreciated by +an unintelligent public. + +The period of strain incurred on entrance was over as far as Vane was +concerned. For the sixth time since leaving his battalion he had, in a +confidential aside, informed a minion of the B.A.M.O. that he was a Wee +Free Presbyterian Congregationalist; and for the sixth time the worthy +recipient of this news had retired to consult War Office Sealed List of +Religions A.F.31 to find out if he was entitled to be anything of the +sort. In each case the answer had been in the negative, and Vane had +been entered as "Other Denominations" and regarded with suspicion. One +stout sergeant had even gone so far as to attempt to convert him to +Unitarianism; another showed him the list, and asked him to take his +choice. + +In the bed next to him was a young Gunner subaltern, with most of his +right leg shot away, and they talked spasmodically, in the intervals of +trying to read month old magazines. + +"Wonderful sight," remarked the Gunner, interrupted for a moment in his +story by the eternal thermometer. "Firing at 'em over open sights: +shrapnel set at 0. Seemed to cut lanes through 'em; though, God be +praised, they came on for a bit, and didn't spoil our shooting." + +Vane, sucking a thermometer under his tongue, nodded sympathetically. + +"A bit better than sitting in a bally O.P. watchin' other fellows poop +at the mud." + +"How did you get yours?" he queried, as the Sister passed on. + +"Crump almost at my feet, just as I was going into my dug-out. . . . +Mouldy luck, and one splinter smashed the last bottle of whisky." The +gunner relapsed into moody silence at the remembrance of the tragedy. + +Two beds further along the Padre was playing a game of chess with a +Major in the Devons; and on the opposite side of the tent another +chaplain, grey haired and clean shaven, was talking and laughing with a +boy, whose face and head were swathed in bandages. + +The R.C. and the C. of E. exponents hunting in couples as these two +always did. . . . They are not the only two who before the war would +have relegated the other to the nethermost depths of the deepest Hell; +but whose eyes have been opened to wisdom now. + +Vane was no theologian--no more than are the thousands of others across +the water. Before the war he had been in the habit of dismissing any +religious question by the comforting assertion that if all one's pals +are in Hell, one might as well join them. But in the Game of Death the +thoughts of many men have probed things they passed over lightly +before. It is not doctrine they want; faith and belief in beautiful +formulas have become less and less satisfying. They are beginning to +think for themselves, which is anathema to the Church. Of old she +prevented such a calamity by a policy of terrorising her followers; of +later years she has adopted the simpler one of boring them. And yet it +is only simplicity they want; the simple creeds of helping on the other +fellow and playing the game is what they understand. But they will +have to be reminded of it from time to time. One wonders whether the +Church will be big enough to seize the opportunity that stares her in +the face. + +Vane nodded to the grey-haired Roman Catholic as he paused at the foot +of his bed. + +"Shoulder painful?" The priest held out a lighted match for Vane's +cigarette. + +"Throbs a bit, Padre; but it might be worse." He smiled and lay back +on his pillows. "An arm makes one feel so helpless." + +"I think I'd sooner lose an arm than a leg," remarked the Gunner from +the next bed. For a while they pursued this debatable point, much as +men discuss politics, and incidentally with far less heat. . . . It +was a question of interest, and the fact that the Gunner _had_ lost his +leg made no difference to the matter at all. An onlooker would have +listened in vain for any note of complaint. . . . + +"Time you were getting to sleep--both of you." Margaret's voice +interrupted the conversation, and Vane looked up with a smile. She was +shaking an admonitory finger at Father O'Rourke, and with a sudden +quickening of the pulse he realised how perfectly charming she looked. + +"Sister, dear," said the Gunner, "you're on my side, aren't you? It's +better to lose an arm than a leg, isn't it?" + +For a moment she affected to consider the point. Then suddenly she +smiled, and came between their beds. "Unless you both of you go to +sleep at once I'll come and wash you again." + +With a groan of horror the Gunner hid himself under the bed-clothes, +and Margaret, still smiling, turned to Vane. + +"Good night, Derek," she said very low. "Sometimes I just want to sit +down and howl. . . ." And Vane, looking up into her face, saw that her +eyes were a little misty. . . . + +Gradually the ward settled down into silence. Right at the other end a +man was groaning feebly; while just opposite, looking ghastly in the +dim light, a boy was staring round the tent with eyes that did not see. +For hours on end he lay unconscious, breathing the rattling breath of +the badly gassed; then suddenly he would lift his head, and his eyes, +fixed and staring, would slowly turn from bed to bed. He looked as a +man looks who is walking in his sleep, and Vane knew he was very near +the Great Divide. He had been hit in the chest by a piece of shell, +and a bit of his coat impregnated with mustard gas had been driven into +his lungs. . . . Every now and then Margaret passed noiselessly down +the centre between the two rows of beds. Once she lent over Vane and +he closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. But every time as she came +to the boy opposite she stopped and looked at him anxiously. Once she +was joined by a doctor, and Vane heard their muttered conversation . . . + +"I can't get him to take his medicine, Doctor. He doesn't seem able to +do anything." + +"It doesn't much matter, Nurse," he whispered--why is it that the +sick-room whisper seems to travel as far as the voice of the +Sergeant-Major on parade? "He won't get through to-night, and I'm +afraid we can't do anything." + +The doctor turned away, and Margaret went to the end of the tent and +sat down at her table. A reading lamp threw a light on her face, and +for a while Vane watched her. Then his eyes came back to the boy +opposite, and rested on him curiously. He was unconscious once again, +and it suddenly struck Vane as strange that whereas, up in front, he +had seen death and mutilation in every possible and impossible +form--that though he had seen men hit by a shell direct, and one man +crushed by a Tank--yet he had never been impressed with the same sense +of the utter futility of war as now, in face of this boy dying in the +bed opposite. To have come so far and then to pay the big price; it +was so hard--so very pitiful; and Vane turned over to shut out the +sight. He felt suddenly frightened of the thing that was coming nearer +and nearer to the dying boy; furious at the inability of the science +which had struck him down to save him. . . . + +Vane closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep was far away that +night. Whenever he opened them he saw Margaret writing at her table; +and once there came to him an irresistible temptation to speak to her. +He felt that he wanted her near him, if only for a moment; he wanted to +lean on her--he wanted to be taken in her arms like a little child. +Angrily he closed his eyes again. It was ridiculous, absurd, +weak. . . . But there have been times in this war when the strongest +man has sobbed like a child in his weakness. . . . + +"Sister!" Vane hardly recognised it as his own voice calling. +"Sister!" Margaret came towards him down the ward. "Could you get me +something to drink?" + +In a moment she had returned with some lemonade. "I thought you were +asleep, Derek," she whispered. "Are you feeling feverish?" + +She put a cool hand on his forehead, and with a sigh of relief Vane lay +back. "I'm frightened, Margaret," he said so low that she scarce could +hear him. "Just scared to death . . . of that boy opposite. Ain't I a +damned fool?" + +Her only answer was the faintest perceptible pressure on his forehead. +Then his hand came up and took hers, and she felt the touch of his lips +on it. For a moment she let it rest there, and then gently withdrew +it, while with a tired sigh Vane closed his eyes. . . . + +He slept maybe for two hours, and then he found himself wide awake +again--every nerve intent, like a man aroused by a sudden noise. +Margaret was reading at her table; the man at the other end still +groaned feebly in his sleep; the boy was staring dazedly at nothing in +particular--but there was something else. He knew it. + +Suddenly Margaret put down her book, and half rose from her chair, as +if listening; and at the same moment the Gunner woke up. Then they all +heard it together--that high pitched, ominous drone which rises and +falls in a manner there is no mistaking. + +"Boche," said the Gunner, "Boche, for a tanner. And lots of them." + +"Damn the swine," muttered Vane. "Can't they even leave a hospital +alone?" The next minute any lingering hope was destroyed. Both men +heard it--the well-known whistling whooce of the bomb--the vicious +crack as it burst; both men felt the ground trembling through their +beds. That was the overture . . . the play was about to commence. . . . + +All around them bombs rained down till the individual bursts merged +into one continuous roar. The earth shook and palpitated, and, to make +matters worse, the lights suddenly went out. The last thing Vane saw +was Margaret as she made her way, calmly and without faltering, to the +boy's bed. He had a picture, printed indelibly on his brain, of a girl +with a sweet set face, of a gaping boy, stirred into some semblance of +remembrance by the familiar noise around him. And then, in the +darkness, he made his way towards her. + +There was a deafening crash close to him, and a fragment tore through +the side of the tent. He could see the blinding flash, and +involuntarily he ducked his head. Then, running and stumbling, he +reached her. He felt her standing rigid in the darkness, and even at +such a moment he felt a sudden rush of joy as her hands come out to +meet him. + +"Lie down," he shouted, "lie down at once. . . ." + +"The boy," she cried. "Help me with him, Derek." + +Together they picked him up, fumbling in the darkness, and laid him on +the ground beside his bed. Then Vane took her arm, and shouted in her +ear, "Lie down, I tell you, lie down . . . quite flat." Obediently she +lay down, and he stretched himself beside her on the ground. To the +crashing of the bombs were now added the shouts and curses of men +outside; and once Margaret made an effort to rise. + +"The patients, Derek. Let me go." + +With his one sound arm he kept her down by force. "You can do +nothing," he said roughly. He felt her trembling against him, and a +wave of fury against the airmen above took hold of him. He was no +novice to bombing; there had been weeks on end when the battalion had +been bombed nightly. But then it had been part of the show--what they +expected; here it was so different. + +A sense of utter impotence filled his mind, coupled with a raging +passion at the danger to the girl beside him. And suddenly his lips +sought hers. + +"It's all right, my dear," he kept on saying, "quite all right. It'll +be over soon." And so almost unconscious of what they said or did, +they lay and listened to the tornado of Death around them. . . . + +It is on record that one man once said that he thought it was rather +amusing to be in a raid. That man was a liar. He was also a +fool. . . . To be bombed is poisonous, rather more poisonous than to +be shelled. If there are no dug-outs there is only one thing to be +done, and that is what Vane was doing. + +To lie flat on the ground minimises the danger except from a direct +hit; and a direct hit is remarkably sudden. And so--since every +occupant of Number 13 was well aware of this fact, approximately five +seconds elapsed after the light went out before all the patients who +could move, and most of those who couldn't, were lying on the floor +beside their beds. + +Gradually the explosions became fewer and fewer; though the earth still +shook and throbbed like a living thing, and at last it seemed to Vane +that the raid was over. He was lifting himself on his elbow +preparatory to going outside and exploring, when an ominous whistling +noise seemed to pierce his very brain. He had just time to throw +himself on to the girl beside him so that he partially covered her, +when the last bomb came. He heard the top of the marquee rip: there +was a deafening roar in his ears: a scorching flame enveloped him. He +lay stiff and rigid, and the thought flashed through him that this was +the end. The next moment he knew he was safe, and that it was merely +another close shave such as he had not been unaccustomed to in the +past. The bomb had burst in the tent, but the Fate which ordained +things had decided it should miss him. It had done so before, and Vane +laughed to himself . . . + +"Close, my lady, very close," he whispered--"but not quite close +enough." With a quick, savage movement he turned Margaret's face +towards him, and kissed her on the lips. For a while she clung to him, +and then he felt her relax in his arms. She had fainted, and as he +realised this, he felt something pressing down on him. With his sound +arm he fumbled above his head, and found it was the canvas of the tent. + +Tugging and scrambling, he half dragged, half carried Margaret through +the entrance which still remained intact, and laid her down on the +grass outside. Men and nurses were moving about in the darkness, +stumbling over guy ropes and tent pegs. For the moment every one was +too intent on his own affairs to bother over a mere faint, and Vane +left her lying against the side of the tent. Then he cautiously felt +his way round to investigate the damage. A great crater midway between +Number 13 and the next tent showed where the first close one had +fallen, but he had no wish to explore that any further. He stumbled +round the edge and went on. Then in the faint light given by the moon, +he saw what had happened when the last bomb had burst. It was nothing +worse than many similar sights he had seen, but Vane as he looked at +the wreckage cursed bitterly and fluently. And then of a sudden he +stopped cursing, and drew a deep breath. . . . Staring up at him in +the cold white light was what was left of the Gunner subaltern. The +bomb had burst at the foot of his bed . . . A cheery soul . . . A +bitter end . . . + +Opposite, the bed blown in half, the boy who would not have lasted +through the night sprawled uncouthly on to the floor. God knows! a +merciful release. . . . A few hours sooner--that's all. . . . And to +both--Kismet. + +All around lay fragments and debris. For a few seconds he stood there +motionless, while every now and then the canvas heaved where it lay on +the ground, and someone crawled out into the open. Then he felt a +touch on his arm, and, turning, he saw Margaret. Dry-eyed, she watched +with him, while the wounded dragged themselves painfully past the still +smoking crater, and the acrid smell of high explosive tainted the air. + +In the far distance the drone of aeroplanes was getting fainter and +fainter. Success had crowned the raider's daring exploit; they were +entitled to their well-earned rest. And so for a space did Vane and +Margaret stand. . . . It was only when very gently he slipped his arm +round her waist that a hard dry sob shook her. + +"Oh! the devils," she whispered--"the vile devils." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The following afternoon Vane turned his steps once again towards the +beach at Paris Plage. The wreckage in the hospital had been cleared +away, and there were rows laid side by side in the mortuary. Over +everyone there breathed a sense of restless excitement and fierce +anger, and Vane wanted to get away by himself. He felt that he had to +think. + +For suddenly and quite unexpectedly Margaret Trent had become a factor +in his life. After long years their paths had touched again, and Vane +found that he could not turn away with the same careless indifference +as he had in the past. Though she had always attracted him, he had +never seriously contemplated the final step; he had had far too good a +time as a bachelor. And then when she had so unaccountably cooled +towards him, he had shrugged his shoulders and sought distraction +elsewhere. + +Before the war Derek Vane had been what is generally described as a +typical Englishman. That is to say, he regarded his own +country--whenever he thought about it at all--as being the supreme +country in the world. He didn't force his opinion down anyone's +throat; it simply was so. If the other fellow didn't agree, the +funeral was his, not Vane's. He had to the full what the uninitiated +regard as conceit; on matters connected with literature, or art, or +music his knowledge was microscopic. Moreover, he regarded with +suspicion anyone who talked intelligently on such subjects. On the +other hand, he had been in the eleven at Eton, and was a scratch +golfer. He had a fine seat on a horse and rode straight; he could play +a passable game of polo, and was a good shot. Possessing as he did +sufficient money to prevent the necessity of working, he had not taken +the something he was supposed to be doing in the City very seriously. +He had put in a periodical appearance at a desk and drawn pictures on +the blotting paper; for the remainder of the time he had amused +himself. He belonged, in fact, to the Breed; the Breed that has always +existed in England, and will always exist till the world's end. You +may meet its members in London and in Fiji; in the lands that lie +beyond the mountains and at Henley; in the swamps where the stagnant +vegetation rots and stinks; in the great deserts where the night air +strikes cold. They are always the same, and they are branded with the +stamp of the breed. They shake your hand as a man shakes it; they meet +your eye as a man meets it. Just now a generation of them lie around +Ypres and La Bassée; Neuve Chapelle and Bapaume. The graves are +overgrown and the crosses are marked with indelible pencil. Dead--yes; +but not the Breed. The Breed never dies. . . . + +We have it on reliable evidence that the breed has its faults; its +education is rotten. Men of great learning and understanding have +fulminated on the subject; women with their vast experience have looked +upon the Breed with great clarity of vision and have written as their +eyes have seen; even boys themselves who doubtless must be right, as +the question concerns them most, have contributed to current literature +one or two damning indictments. + +It may well be that hunting butterflies or dissecting rats are more +suitable pursuits for young Percival Johnson than doing scram practice +up against the playground wall. It may well be that it would be a far, +far better thing for mob adoration to be laid at the feet of the +composer of the winning Greek Iambic rather than at the cricketing +boots of the Captain of the Eleven. It may be so, but, then, most +assuredly it may not. . . . + +The system which has turned out hundreds of the Breed, and whose object +is to mould all who pass through it on the model of the Breed, is not +one to be dismissed lightly. Doubtless it has its faults; a little +more latitude both in games and work might be allowed; originality +encouraged more. But let us be very certain before we gaily pull the +system to pieces that the one we erect in its place will stand the +strain, and produce the one great result beside which everything else +is as nothing. For if, at the price of team work and playing for the +side, we can only buy two or three more years of individualism--at an +age when the value of individualism is, at best, a doubtful blessing +and, at worst, sheer blatant selfishness--we shall indeed have messed +things up. The cranks will be delighted; but the Empire will gnash its +teeth. + + +And now after nearly four years in the fiercest forcing house of +character Derek Vane found himself trying to take an inventory of his +own stock. And since the material question of money did not come in to +cloud the horizon, he felt he could do it impartially. There are many +now who, having sacrificed every prospect, find their outlook haunted +by the spectre of want; there are many more, formerly engaged in +skilled trades such as engineering or mining, who find that they have +four years of leeway to make up in their profession--four years of +increased knowledge and mechanical improvements--unknown to them, but +not to their competitors, who remained behind. But such prospects did +not trouble him. The future, as far as money was concerned, was +assured. + +Vane thoughtfully lit a cigarette. It seemed to him that he had wasted +four of the best years of his life, sitting, save for brief intervals, +on the same filthy piece of ground, with the sole object of killing +complete strangers before they killed him. In this laudable pastime he +had succeeded to the extent of two for certain and one doubtful. The +only man whom he had really wanted to slaughter--a certain brother +subaltern who offended him daily--he had been forced to spare owing to +foolish regulations. . . . And now this youth was at home as a +Temporary Lieutenant-Colonel in sole control of an ante-chamber in one +of the large hotels, with a staff of four flappers, who presented +papers for his signature every other Tuesday from 2.30 to 4. + +With a short laugh he got up and shook himself. In the distance some +sand dunes beckoned invitingly--sand dunes which reminded him of the +width of Westward Ho! and a certain championship meeting there long +ago. Slowly he strolled towards them, going down nearer the sea where +the sand was finer. And all the time he argued it out with himself. +Four years wasted! But had they been wasted? What had he got out of +them anyway? Wasn't he twice the man that he had been four years ago? +Or had it all been futile and useless? . . . + +No man who has been through the rapids can find his feet in an hour's +self-analysis. It takes time; and during that time much may happen, +good or ill, according to the manner of the finder. The great unrest +of the world is not felt by the men in the trenches. It seethes and +boils outside, and only when a man comes back to so-called peace does +he reach the whirlpool, which lies at the end of the rapids. Then, if +he be of the type of Vane, is the time of danger. To lose one's sense +of proportion in France is dangerous; to lose it in England may be +fatal. One has so much more freedom. + +At intervals during the War Vane had sampled the whirlpool, while on +leave, and the effect it had produced in him had been transitory. The +contrast was so immense that it had failed to move him permanently. +The time that he had been in its clutches was too short. He retained +just a fleeting picture of feverish gaiety which seemed out of +perspective; of profound bores who discussed the mistakes of the Higher +Command in the arm chairs of the Club; of universal chatter concerning +rations and meat coupons. Then he had left, and in a few short hours +had been back once more in the mud holes. A good leave? Oh! +undoubtedly, just as it should have been, where the one thing necessary +was contrast. But even then it had irritated him at times to realise +how completely they failed to understand. He would not have had them +understand--true. If the alternative had been put to him; if he had +been told that it was in his power to make these people see the things +that he had seen, and hear the things that he had heard, he would not +have done so. They were better as they were--affording the contrast; +enabling men to forget. + +But leave is one thing, permanence is another. And at the moment Vane +was faced with the latter. The doctor had talked airily of three or +four months, and after that in all probability a spell of light duty, +and to Vane that seemed like a permanency. It is one thing to drug +oneself in the waters of Lethe for a fortnight of one's own free will: +it is altogether different to be drugged by others for good. And dimly +he felt that either he or they would have to go under. Two totally +incompatible people cannot sit next one another at dinner for long +without letting some course get cold. Unless one of them happens to be +dumb. . . . + +But were they totally incompatible? That seemed to be the crux of the +whole matter. To the soldiers, pulling together, unselfishness, +grinning when the sky is black, that is the new philosophy. One +hesitates to call it new. It existed once, we are given to +understand--or at any rate it was preached and practised in days gone +by. Since then it has become unfashionable. . . . + +And what about _les autres_--who have kept the home fires burning? For +a moment Vane stopped and stared in front of him; then he laughed +aloud. As has been said, he was jangled--so perhaps he may be forgiven. + + +It was on the other side of the dunes that he suddenly found Margaret. +She had her back towards him as he came over the top, and in the sand +his footsteps made no noise. And so she continued her pursuit of +throwing stones at a bottle a few yards away, in ignorance of the fact +that she had an audience. It is a lazy occupation at the best of times +and her rendering of it was no exception to the rule. For whole +minutes on end she would sit quite still gazing out to sea; and then, +as if suddenly realising her slackness, she would continue the +bombardment furiously. + +For a while Vane watched her thoughtfully. Was she the answer? To go +right away with her somewhere--right away from the crowd and the strife +of existence: to be with her always, watching her grow from the wife to +the mother, seeing her with his children, feeling that she was his and +no one else's. God! but to think of the peace of it. . . . + +He watched the soft tendrils of hair curling under the brim of her hat; +the play of her body as she picked up the stones and threw them. +Around him the coarse grass bent slightly in the breeze and the murmur +of the sea came faintly over the dunes. Away in front of him stretched +the sand, golden in the warm sun, the surface broken every now and then +by the dark brown wooden groins. Not a soul was in sight, and save for +some gulls circling round they two seemed the only living things. . . . +With a sudden smile he stooped down and picked up a stone--several, in +fact, and fired a volley. There was a tinkling noise, and the bottle +fell. Then he waited for her to look round. For just a little while +there was silence, and then she turned towards him with a smile. . . . +And in that moment it seemed to him that he had found the answer he +sought. Surely it was just a dream, and in a moment he would wake up +and see the dreadful face of the mess waiter appearing down the dug-out +steps. It is impossible to stumble over sand dunes and find Margarets +in France. These things simply do not happen. One merely stumbles +over the cobbles and sees the woman who keeps the estaminet round the +corner washing the floor. And her lips do not part in the dawn of a +smile--mercifully; her eyes are not big and blue. It was all a dream! +last night was all a dream. Just one of those pictures he had seen +sometimes in the candle light, when it guttered in the draught, as the +big crump burst outside. . . . + +"Derek, that wasn't fair." With an effort he pulled himself together +and regarded her gravely. Then he scrambled down the sandy bank to her +side. + +"Do you mind pinching me?" he remarked, holding out his hand. +"Hard--very hard. . . . I want to make certain I'm not dreaming." + +"Why should you be?" Her voice was faintly tremulous. "And why have +you got your eyes shut?" + +"Pinch me, please, at once." Vane's hand was still held out, and she +gave it a gentle nip. "Go on, harder . . . Ah! that's better. Now +promise me you won't disappear if I open my eyes." + +"I promise," she answered solemnly, but struggling to withdraw her hand +from both of his, where he had caught it. . . . + +"Oh! my dear, my dear," he whispered. "It's just too wonderful to be +true. The peace of it, and the glory, and you. . . . I'll be waking +up in a minute, my lady, and find myself crawling round the outpost +line." + +He laughed gently and triumphantly, and drew her towards him. Only +when his arm was round her, did he pause. . . . And then it was the +look in her eyes, as much as her two hands pressed against his chest, +that stopped him. "What is it, Margaret, my lady? Aren't you going to +kiss me?" + +"No, Derek--not yet. Perhaps once before we go. . . . Please, take +your arm away." + +For a moment he hesitated. "Even after last night." + +She nodded. "Principally because of last night." + +With a little lift of his eyebrows Vane did as he was bid. "I knew +there was a catch somewhere," he murmured plaintively. "You don't want +me to go away and leave you, do you?" + +She shook her head and smiled. Then she patted the ground beside her. +"Come and sit down; I want to talk to you. No--not too near." + +"Don't you trust me?" he demanded half sullenly, as he took a seat +somewhat further removed from temptation. + +"My dear Derek, it would take more than a mere European war to make +some leopards I know of change their spots." + +In spite of himself Vane laughed. "Well, dash it, Margaret, there was +a distinct flavour of the pre-war about you last night." + +She closed her eyes, and her hands clenched. "Oh! don't, Derek; don't, +please. As long as I live I shall never forget it. It was too +horrible." She turned away from him shuddering. + +"Dear--I'm sorry." He leaned forward and took her hand. "I didn't +realise quite what it must mean to you. You see it was that poor boy +who was dying in the bed opposite mine that made me jumpy . . . +frightened . . . God knows what! The smash up of the raid itself left +me almost cold by comparison. . . . I suppose it was the other way +round with you. . . . It's just a question of what one is used +to--anyway, don't let's talk about it." + +For a while they sat in silence, and then Vane spoke again. "You know +I'm crossing to-morrow, I suppose?" + +"Yes." Margaret nodded. "I didn't think you'd stop long." + +"Are you sorry I'm going?" + +"Of course I am," she answered simply. "You know that. . . . But I +think perhaps it's just as well." + +"Just as well!" repeated Vane. "Why?" + +"Because . . . oh! because of a lot of things. You'd interfere with my +work for one." + +"How dreadful," said Vane with mock gravity. "You'd mix the medicines +and all that, I suppose." Then he turned to her impulsively. +"Margaret, my dear, what does it matter? This work of yours won't go +on for ever. And after the War, what then?" + +"That's just it," she said slowly. "What then?" + +"Well, as a preliminary suggestion--why not marry me?" + +She laughed--a low, rippling laugh. + +"Do you remember what you said to me in the tea shop yesterday about +not having seen a girl for six months?" + +"What on earth has that got to do with it?" said Vane frowning. "I'm +not a child or a callow boy. Do you suppose at my age I don't know my +own mind? Why, my dear girl. . . ." Her eyes met his, and the words +died away on his lips. + +"Don't, dear, don't. You're insulting both our intelligences." With a +slight laugh she leaned over and rested her hand on his. "You know +perfectly well what I mean." + +Vane grunted non-committally. He undoubtedly did know what she meant, +but at that moment it was annoying to find she knew it too. . . . + +"Listen, Derek; I want to put things before you as I see them." With +her elbows on her knee, and her chin cupped in the palms of her hand, +she was staring across the stretch of tumbled, grass-grown hillocks. + +"We know one another too well not to be perfectly frank. How much of +last night was just--what shall I say--nervous tension? Supposing some +other girl had been in my place?" + +Impetuously he started to speak, but once again the words died away on +his lips as he saw the half-tender, half-humorous look in her eyes. + +"Dear," she went on after a moment. "I don't want to hurt you. I know +you think you're in love with me to-day; but will you to-morrow? You +see, Derek, this war has given a different value to things. . . . +Whether one likes it or not, it's made one more serious. It hasn't +destroyed our capacity for pleasure, but it's altered the things we +take pleasure in. My idea of a good time, after it's over, will never +be the same as it was before." + +Vane nodded his head thoughtfully. "I'm not certain, dear, that that's +anything to worry about." + +"Of course it isn't--I know that. But don't you see, Derek, where that +leads us to? One can't afford to fool with things once they have +become serious. . . . And to kiss a man, as I kissed you last night, +seems to mean very much more to me than it did once upon a time. +That's why I want to make sure. . . ." She hesitated, and then, +seeming to make up her mind, she turned and faced him. "I would find +it easier now to live with a man I really loved--if that were the only +way--than to be kissed by two or three at a dance whom I didn't care +about. Do you understand?" + +"My dear, I understand perfectly," answered Vane. "The one is big--the +other is petty. And when we live through an age of big things we grow +ourselves." + +"I gave you that as a sort of example of what I feel, Derek," Margaret +continued after a time. "I don't suppose there is anything novel in +it, but I want you so frightfully to understand what I am going to say. +You have asked me to marry you--to take the biggest step which any +woman can take. I tell you quite frankly that I want to say 'Yes.' I +think all along that I've loved you, though I've flirted with other +men. . . . I was a fool five years ago. . . ." + +He looked at her quickly. "Tell me; I want to know." + +"I found out about that girl you were keeping." + +Vane started slightly. "Good Lord! But how?" + +"Does it matter, old man?" Margaret turned to him with a smile. "A +chance remark by Billy Travers, if you want to know. And then I asked +a few questions, and put two and two together. It seemed a deliberate +slight to me. It seemed so sordid. You see I didn't understand--then." + +"And now? Do you understand now?" He leaned towards her eagerly. + +"Should I have said to you what I have if I didn't?" She held out her +hand to him, and with a quick movement he put it to his lips. "I've +grown, you see . . . got a little nearer the true value of things. +I've passed out of the promiscuous kissing stage, as I told you. . . . +And I think I realise rather more than I did what men are. . . . One +doesn't make them up out of books now. All this has taught one to +understand a man's temptations--to forgive him when he fails." Then a +little irrelevantly--"They seem so petty, don't they--now?" + +Vane gently dropped the hand he was holding, and his face as he looked +at her was inscrutable. Into his mind there had flashed Lear's +question: "And goes thy _heart_ with this?" Then irritably he banished +it. . . . God bless her! She was all heart: of course she was. + +"Will you tell me where exactly you have arrived at?" he asked quietly. + +"At the certainty that there lies in front of you and me work to be +done. I don't know what that work will prove to be--but, Derek, we've +got to find out. It may be that we shall do it together. It may be +that my work is just to be with you. And it may be that it isn't that +you won't want me. Ah! yes, dear," as he made a quick, impatient +movement. "There is always the possibility. I want you to go and find +out, Derek, and I want you to make sure that you really want me--that +it isn't just six months in Flanders. Also," she added after a pause, +"I want to be quite sure about myself." For a while Vane stared out to +sea in silence. + +"Supposing," he said slowly, "the work in front of me is back to +Flanders again, as it probably will be. And supposing I'm not so lucky +next time. What then?" + +She turned and faced him. "Why then, dear, Fate will have decided for +us, won't she?" + +"A deuced unsatisfactory decision," grumbled Vane. "Margaret, I don't +want to worry you; I don't want to force myself on you . . . but won't +you give me some sort of a promise?" + +She shook her head. "I'll give you no promise at all, Derek. You've +got to find yourself, and I've got to find myself; and when we've both +done that we shall know how we stand to one another. Until then . . . +well just give it a miss in baulk, old man." + +Vane regarded her curiously. "If last night and this afternoon had +happened before the war, I wonder what your decision would have been?" + +"Does it matter?" she answered gently. "Before the war is just a +different age." For a while she was silent; then she drew a deep +breath. "Don't you feel it as I feel it?" she whispered. "The bigness +of it, the wonder of it. Underneath all the horror, underlying all the +vileness--the splendour of it all. The glory of human endurance. . . . +People wondered that I could stand it--I with my idealism. But it +seems to me that out of the sordid brutality an ideal has been born +which is almost the greatest the world has ever known. Oh! Derek, +we've just got to try to keep it alive." + +"It's the devil," said Vane whimsically. "Jove! lady dear, isn't the +blue of the sky and the sea and the gold of the sand just crying out to +be the setting of a lovers' paradise? Aren't we here alone just hidden +from the world, while the very gulls themselves are screaming: 'Kiss +her, kiss her?' And then the fairy princess, instead of being the +fairy princess to the wounded warrior, orders him to go back and look +for work. It's cruel. I had hoped for tender love and pity, and +behold I have found a Labour Bureau." + +Margaret laughed. "You dear! But you understand?" She knelt beside +him on the sand, and her face was very tender. + +"I understand," answered Vane gravely. "But, oh! my lady, I hope +you're not building fairy castles on what's going to happen after the +war. I'm afraid my faith in my brother man is a very, very small +flame." + +"All the more reason why we should keep it alight," she cried fiercely. +"Derek, we can't let all this hideous mutilation and death go for +nothing afterwards." + +"You dear optimist," Vane smiled at her eager, glowing face so close to +his own. "Do you suppose that we and others like us will have any say +in the matter?" + +She beat her hands together. "Derek, I hate you when you talk like +that. You've got it in you to do big things--I feel it. You mustn't +drift like you did before the war. You've got to fight, and others +like you have got to fight, for everything that makes life worth living +in our glorious, wonderful England." + +"Would the staff be a little more explicit in their Operation Orders, +please?" murmured Vane. "Whom do you propose I should engage in mortal +combat?" He saw the slight frown on her face and leant forward +quickly. "My dear, don't misunderstand me. I don't want to be +flippant and cynical. But I'm just a plain, ordinary man--and I'm +rather tired. When this show is over I want peace and rest and +comfort. And I rather feel that it's up to the damned fools who let us +in for it to clear up the mess themselves for a change." + +"But you won't later, old boy," said the girl; "not after you've found +yourself again. You'll have to be up and doing; it will stifle you to +sit still and do nothing." She looked thoughtfully out to sea and +then, as he kept silent, she went on slowly, "I guess we all sat still +before this war; drifted along the line of least resistance. We've got +to cut a new way, Derek, find a new path, which will make for the good +of the show. And before we can find the path, we've got to find +ourselves." + +She turned towards him and for a long minute they looked into one +another's eyes, while the gulls circled and screamed above them. Then +slowly she bent forward and kissed him on the mouth. . . . "Go and +find yourself, my dear," she whispered. "Go and make good. And when +you have, if you still want me, I'll come to you." + + * * * * * + +At the touch of her lips Vane closed his eyes. It seemed only a few +seconds before he opened them again, but Margaret was gone. And then +for a while he sat, idly throwing stones at the overturned bottle. +Just once he laughed, a short, hard laugh with no humour in it, before +he turned to follow her. But when he reached the top of the sand dune, +Margaret was almost out of sight in the distance. + +Next day he crossed to England in the _Guildford Castle_. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Derek Vane did not remain long in hospital. As soon as the dressings +for his shoulder had become quite straightforward, the machine, in the +shape of two doctors from Millbank who formed the Board, took him in +its clutches once more and deposited him at a convalescent home. Not +one of the dreary, routine-like places which have been in the past +associated with convalescence, but a large country house, kindly placed +at the disposal of the War Office by its owner. + +"Rumfold Hall for you, Vane," said the senior of the two doctors. "A +charming house; Lady Patterdale--a charming woman." + +"Rumfold Hall!" echoed Vane. "Good Heavens! I know it well. Danced +there often during the old _régime_." + +"The old régime?" The doctor looked puzzled. + +"Yes. It used to belong to the Earl of Forres. He couldn't afford to +keep it up and his other places as well, so he sold it to Sir John +Patterdale. . . . Made his money in hardware, did Sir John. . . . +Surely you know Patterdale's Patent Plate." + +The Board opined that it did not, and departed to the next case. It +even seemed to regard such flippancy with a certain amount of +suspicion; but then Medical Boards are things of some solemnity. . . . + +And so in the course of two or three days Vane drove up to the historic +gates of Rumfold Hall in an ambulance. The house, situated in the +heart of Surrey, was surrounded by extensive grounds. The view from it +was magnificent, stretching away for miles and miles to the south, and +terminating in the purple downs: and Vane, as the car waited for the +gates to be opened, felt that indefinable thrill of pride that comes to +every man when he looks on some glorious stretch of his own country. +He noticed that the lodge-keeper had changed since he was there last, +and not, it struck him, for the better. How well he remembered old +John, with his sweet old wife, and their perfectly kept patch of garden +and spotless little kitchen. . . . He had had two sons, both in the +Grenadiers, magnificent, strapping fellows--and Vane wondered what had +become of them. . . . + +Somehow he couldn't quite imagine old John not touching his hat as the +ambulance came in; whereas his successor merely gazed curiously at the +occupants, and then slouched back into the lodge. . . . Of course +hat-touching is a relic of feudalism, and, as such, too hideous to +contemplate in this age of democracy; but still--like a smile--it costs +little and gives much pleasure. + +From the condition of the grounds it did not seem that the present +owner had been very greatly troubled by the labour shortage. The +flower beds were a riot of colour; the grass was short and beautifully +kept. And as the ambulance rounded a corner of the drive and the house +opened up in front Vane saw that tennis was in full swing on the lawns. + +"Say--what sort of a guy is this fellow?" asked a New Zealander +opposite him suddenly. "It seems to me to be some house." + +Vane looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before replying, and the +car was already slowing down before he finally spoke. "He's a +substitute for the old order of things. And according to the labels of +all substitutes, they are the last word in modern efficiency." + +The car pulled up at that moment, and they stepped out to find Lady +Patterdale standing on the steps to welcome them. + +Let it be said at once that Lady Patterdale was a perfect dear. One +lost sight of her incredible vulgarity in view of the charming +kindliness of her heart. And, after all, vulgarity is only +comparative. In the sanctity of the little shop in Birmingham where +Sir John had first laid the foundations of his fortune, aspirates could +drop unheeded. What mattered then, as always, was whether the heart +was in the right place. With Lady Patterdale it was. . . . + +And because _au fond_, she was such a dear, it made it all the more +pathetic to see her in such surroundings. One felt, and one felt that +in the bottom of her heart she felt, that she would have been far more +happy in the kitchen. Except that in the kitchen her lost aspirates +would probably have been handed back to her on a salver, whereas in the +drawing-room they were ground into the carpet. . . . The spread of +education has made the kitchen a very dangerous place. + +In appearance Lady Patterdale was short and stout; eminently the type +of woman who, if clothed according to the dictates of common sense, +would be called a "comfortable old party." One could imagine her in a +cotton dress, with her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, displaying a +pair of plump forearms and wielding a rolling pin in front of a good +hot fire. Covered with flour--her face very red--she would have been +in her element. . . . As it was, the dictates of fashion had cast +their blight over the proceedings. + +The name of her dressmaker is immaterial. Originally Smith & Co. in +all probability, it had now become Smythe et Cie, and advertised in all +the most exclusive papers. Unfortunately, in the case of Lady +Patterdale they did not stop at advertising. They carried out their +dreadful threats and clothed her. The result was incredible. She +resembled nothing so much as a bursting melon. Onlookers shuddered at +times when they thought of the trust reposed by Providence and Lady +Patterdale in a few paltry hooks and eyes. The strain appeared so +terrific--the consequences of a disaster so appalling. + +As Vane stepped out of the ambulance Lady Patterdale, supported on +either side by one of the nursing staff, advanced to meet him. Her +jolly old face was wreathed in smiles; cordiality and kindliness oozed +from her. + +"Welcome, both of you," she cried. "Welcome to Rumfold 'all." + +The Sister on her left started as if a serpent had stung her, and Vane +decided that he did not like her. Then he turned to the kindly old +woman, and smiled. + +"Thank you, Lady Patterdale," he said, taking her outstretched hand. +"I'm sure it's going to be topping." + +"You're just in nice time for luncheon," she continued, as she turned +to welcome the New Zealander. "And after that you'll be able to find +your way about the 'ouse." + +Lunch was the only meal where all the convalescents met, as, generally, +some of them had retired before dinner. It was served in the old +banqueting hall, which, when Vane remembered it, had been used for +dancing. The officers had it to themselves, the nursing staff feeding +elsewhere. . . . + +The contrast struck Vane forcibly as he sat down at the long table. +The last time he had been in the room he and three or four kindred +spirits had emptied a fruit salad into a large wind instrument just +before the band played the final gallop. . . . + +"Beer, sir, or cider?" He half turned to answer, when suddenly the +voice continued, "Why, but surely, sir, it's Mr. Vane?" + +He looked up and saw the same butler who had been at the Hall in the +old days. + +"Why, Robert," he said delightedly, "you still here? Jove! but I'm +glad to see you. I thought Sir John had made a clean sweep of all the +staff." + +The butler nodded his head sadly. "All except me, sir--me and Mrs. +Hickson. She was the housekeeper, if you remember. And she couldn't +stand it--that is, she had to leave after a year." + +"Ah!" Vane's tone was non-committal. "And what's become of old +John--at the Lodge?" + +"He went, sir. Sir John found him too slow." Robert poured out a +glass of beer. "He's in the village, sir. One of his sons was killed +at Noove Chappel." + +"I'm sorry about that. I must go and see him." + +"He'd be proud, sir, if you'd be so kind. I often goes down there +myself for a bit of a chat about the old days." With a sigh the old +butler passed on, and Vane returned to his lunch. . . . + +"You seem to know our archaic friend," remarked the officer sitting +next him. "He's a dear old thing. . . ." + +"He's one of a dying breed," said Vane shortly. "I would trust old +Robert with everything in the world that I possessed. . . ." + +"That so?" returned the other. "Has he been here long?" + +"To my certain knowledge for twenty-five years, and I believe longer. +It almost broke his heart when he heard that Lord Forres was going to +sell the place." Vane continued his lunch in silence, and suddenly a +remark from the other side of the table struck his ears. + +"I say, old Side-whiskers hasn't given me my fair whack of beer." It +was a youngster speaking, and the remark was plainly audible to the old +butler two places away. For a moment his face quivered, and then he +returned to the speaker. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," he remarked quietly. "Let me fill your +glass." + +"Thanks, old sport. That's a bit better looking." Vane turned to his +neighbour with an amused smile. + +"Truly the old order changeth," remarked the other thoughtfully. "And +one's inclined to wonder if it's changing for the better." + +"Unfortunately in any consideration of that sort one is so hopelessly +biassed by one's own personal point of view," returned Vane. + +"Do you think so?" He crumbled the bread beside him. "Don't you think +one can view a little episode like that in an unbiassed way? Isn't it +merely in miniature what is going on all over the country? . . . The +clash of the new spirit with the one that is centuries old." + +"And you really regard that youth as being representative of the new +spirit?" + +"No one man can be. But I regard him as typical of a certain phase of +that spirit. In all probability a magnificent platoon commander--there +are thousands like him who have come into being with this war. The +future of the country lies very largely in their hands. What are they +going to make of it?" + +The same question--the same ceaseless refrain. Sometimes expressed, +more often not. ENGLAND in the melting pot--what was going to happen? +Unconsciously Vane's eyes rested on the figure of the old butler +standing at the end of the room. There was something noble about the +simplicity of the old man, confronted by the crashing of the system in +which he and his father, and his father's father had been born. A +puzzled look seemed ever in his eyes: the look of a dog parted from a +beloved master, in new surroundings amongst strange faces. And +officially, at any rate, the crash was entirely for the benefit of him +and his kind . . . . wherein lay the humour. + +Vane laughed shortly as he pushed back his chair. "Does anything +matter save one's own comfort? Personally I think slavery would be an +admirable innovation." + + +Sir John Patterdale was everything that his wife was not. The +unprecedented success of his Patent Plate had enabled him to pay the +necessary money to obtain his knighthood and blossom into a county +magnate. At one time he had even thought of standing for Parliament as +an old and crusted Tory; but up to date the War had prevented the +realisation of such a charming idyll. Instead he sat on the bench and +dispensed justice. + +In appearance he was an exact counterpart of his wife--short and fat; +and his favourite attitude was standing with his legs wide apart and +his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat. Strong men had been +known to burst into tears on seeing him for the first time arrayed as +the sporting squire; but the role was one which he persistently tried +to fill, with the help of a yellow hunting waistcoat and check +stockings. And when it is said that he invariably bullied the +servants, if possible in front of a third person, the picture of Sir +John is tolerably complete. He was, in short, a supreme cad, with not +a single redeeming feature. Stay--that is wrong. He still retained +the love of his wife, which may perhaps--nay, surely shall--be +accounted to him for righteousness. . . . + +To her he was never the vain, strutting little bounder, making himself +ridiculous and offensive by turn. She never got beyond the picture of +him when, as plain John Patterdale, having put up the shutters and +locked the door of the shop, he would come through into their little +living-room behind for his supper. First he would kiss her, and then +taking off his best coat, he would put on the old frayed one that +always hung in readiness behind the door. And after supper, they would +draw up very close together, and dream wonderful dreams about the +future. All sorts of beautiful things danced in the flames; but the +most beautiful thing of all was the reality of her John, with his arm +round her waist, and his cheek touching hers. + +Sometimes now, when the real truth struck her more clearly than +usual--for she was a shrewd old woman for all her kindness of +heart--sometimes when she saw the sneers of the people who ate his salt +and drank his champagne her mind went back with a bitter stab of memory +to those early days in Birmingham. What had they got in exchange for +their love and dreams over the kitchen fire--what Dead Sea Fruit had +they plucked? If only something could happen; if only he could lose +all his money, how willingly, how joyfully would she go back with him +to the niche where they both fitted. They might even be happy once +again. . . . + +He had needed her in those days: turned to her for comfort when +business was bad, taken her out on the burst--just they two alone--when +things looked up and there had been a good day's takings. The +excitement over choosing her best hat--the one with the bunches of +fruit in it. . . . As long as she lived she would never forget the +morning she tried it on, when he deserted the shop and cheered from the +bedroom door, thereby losing a prospective customer. + +But now, all he cared about was that she should go to the best people +and spare no expense. + +"We can afford it, my dear," he was wont to remark, "and I want you to +keep your end up with the best of 'em. You must remember my position +in the county." + +Even alone with her he kept up the pretence, and she backed him +loyally. Was he not still her man; and if he was happy, what else +mattered? And she would call herself a silly old woman. . . . + +But there was just once when he came back to her, and she locked away +the remembrance of that night in her secret drawer--the drawer that +contained amongst other things a little bunch of artificial grapes +which had once adorned the hat. . . . + +There had been a big dinner of the no-expense-spared type; and to it +had been invited most of the County. Quite a percentage had accepted, +and it was after dinner, just before the guests were going, that the +owner of a neighbouring house had inadvertently put his thoughts into +words, not knowing that his host was within hearing. + +"It makes me positively sick to see that impossible little bounder +strutting about round Rumfold." + +"Impossible little bounder." It hit the little man like a blow between +the eyes, and that night, in bed, a woman with love welling over in her +heart comforted her man. + +"It wasn't him that had been meant. . . . Of course not . . . . Why +the dinner had been a tremendous success. . . . Lady Sarah Wellerby +had told her so herself. . . . Had asked them over in return. . . . +And had suggested that they should give a dance, to which she and her +six unmarried daughters would be delighted to come." + +But she didn't tell him that she had overheard Lady Sarah remark to the +wife of Admiral Blake that "the atrocious little cook person had better +be cultivated, she supposed. One never knows, my dear. The ballroom +is wonderful and men will come anywhere for a good supper. . . ." No, +she didn't tell him that: nor mention the misery she had suffered +during dinner. She didn't say how terrified she was of the +servants--all except old Robert, who looked at her sometimes with his +kindly, tired eyes as if he understood. She didn't even take the +opportunity of voicing the wish that was dearest to her heart; to give +it all up and go right away. She just coaxed him back to +self-confidence, and, in the morning, Sir John was Sir John once +more--as insufferable as ever. And only a tired old woman knew quite +how tired she felt. . .. + + +One of Sir John's pet weaknesses was having his wife and the staff +photographed. Sometimes he appeared in the group himself, but on the +whole he preferred impromptu snap-shots of himself chatting with +wounded officers in the grounds. For these posed photographs Lady +Patterdale arrayed herself in a light grey costume, with large red +crosses scattered over it: and as Vane was strolling out into the +gardens after lunch, he ran into her in this disguise in the hall. + +"We're 'aving a little group taken, Captain Vane," she said as she +passed him. "You must come and be in it." + +"Why, certainly, Lady Patterdale; I shall be only too delighted. Is +that the reason of the war paint?" + +She laughed--a jolly, unaffected laugh. "My 'usband always likes me to +wear this when we're took. Thinks it looks better in a 'ospital." + +As Vane stepped through the door with her he caught a fleeting glimpse +of officers disappearing rapidly in all directions. Confronting them +was a large camera, and some servants were arranging chairs under the +direction of the photographer. Evidently the symptoms were well known, +and Vane realised that he had been had. + +This proved to be one of the occasions on which Sir John did not +appear, and so the deed did not take quite as long as usual. To the +staff it was just a matter of drill, and they arranged themselves at +once. And since they were what really mattered, and the half-dozen +patients merely appeared in the nature of a make weight, in a very +short time, to everyone's profound relief, the group had been +taken. . . . Vane, who had been sitting on the ground, with his legs +tucked under him to keep them in focus, silently suffering an acute +attack of cramp, rose and stretched himself. On the lawn, tennis had +started again; and she could see various officers dotted about the +ground in basket chairs. He was turning away, with the idea of a +stroll--possibly even of seeking out old John in the village, when from +just behind his shoulder came a musical laugh. + +"Delightful," said a low, silvery voice; "quite delightful." + +Vane swung round in time to catch the glint of a mocking smile--a pair +of lazy grey eyes--and then, before he could answer, or even make up +his mind if it had been he who was addressed, the girl who had spoken +moved past him and greeted Lady Patterdale. . . . + +He waited just long enough to hear that worthy woman's, "My dear Joan, +'ow are you?" and then with a faintly amused smile on his lips turned +towards the cool, shady drive. Margaret's remark in the sand dunes at +Etaples anent leopards and their spots came back to him; and the +seasoned war horse scents the battle from afar. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER V + +It was under the shade of a great rhododendron bush that Vane was first +privileged to meet Sir John. The bush was a blaze of scarlet and purple, +which showed up vividly against the green of the grass and the darker +green of the shrubs around. Through the trees could be seen glimpses of +the distant hills, and Vane, as he stumbled unexpectedly into this sudden +bit of fairyland, caught his breath with the glory of it. Then with +drastic suddenness he recalled that half-forgotten hymn of childhood, of +which the last line runs somewhat to the effect that "only man is vile." + +Sir John was in full possession, with an unwilling audience of one bored +cavalryman. It was one of his most cherished sentiments that nothing +aided convalescence so much as a little bright, breezy conversation on +subjects of general interest--just to cheer 'em up, and make 'em feel at +home. . . . + +At the moment of Vane's arrival he was discoursing fluently on the +problem of education. The point is really immaterial, as Sir John +discussed all problems with equal fluency, and the necessity for +answering was rare. He had a certain shrewd business-like efficiency, +and in most of his harangues there was a good deal of what, for want of a +better word, might be termed horse sense. But he was so completely +self-opinionated and sure of himself that he generally drove his audience +to thoughts of poisons that left no trace or even fire-arms. Especially +when he was holding forth on strategy. On that subject he considered +himself an expert, and regularly twice a week he emptied the smoking-room +at Rumfold by showing--with the aid of small flags--what he would have +done had he been in charge of the battle of the Somme in 1916. He was +only silenced once, and that was by a pessimistic and saturnine Sapper. + +"Extraordinary," he murmured. "I congratulate you, Sir John. The plan +you have outlined is exactly in every detail the one which the +Commander-in-Chief discussed with me when overlooking the charming little +village of Gueudecourt. 'Johnson,' he said, 'that is what we will do,' +and he turned to the Chief of Staff and ordered him to make a note of +it." The Sapper paused for a moment to relight his pipe. Then he turned +impressively to Sir John. "There was no Chief of Staff. The Chief of +Staff had gone: only a few bubbles welling out of the mud remained to +show his fate. And then, before my very eyes, the C.-in-C. himself +commenced to sink. To my fevered brain it seemed to be over in a minute. +His last words as he went down for the third time were 'Johnson, carry +on.' . . . Of course it was kept out of the papers, but if it hadn't +been for a Tank going by to get some whisky for the officers' mess, +which, owing to its pressure on neighbouring ground squeezed them all out +again one by one--you know, just like you squeeze orange pips from your +fingers--the affair might have been serious." + +"I did hear a rumour about it," said the still small voice of a +machine-gunner from behind a paper. + +"Of course," continued the Sapper, "the plan had to be given up. The +whole of G.H.Q. sat for days in my dug-out with their feet in hot water +and mustard. . . . A most homely spectacle--especially towards the end +when, to while away the time, they started sneezing in unison. . . ." + +A silence settled on the smoking-room, a silence broken at last by the +opening and shutting of the door. Sir John had retired for the +night. . . . + + +At the moment that Vane paused at the entrance to his bit of fairyland +Sir John was in full blast. + +"What, sir, is the good of educating these people? Stuffing their heads +with a lot of useless nonsense. And then talking about land +nationalisation. The two don't go together, sir. If you educate a man +he's not going to go and sit down on a bare field and look for +worms. . . ." He paused in his peroration as he caught sight of Vane. + +"Ah! ha!" he cried. "Surely a new arrival. Welcome, sir, to my little +home." + +Restraining with a great effort his inclination to kick him, Vane shook +the proffered hand; and for about ten minutes he suffered a torrent of +grandiloquence in silence. At the conclusion of the little man's first +remark Vane had a fleeting vision of the cavalry-man slinking hurriedly +round two bushes and then, having run like a stag across the open, going +to ground in some dense undergrowth on the opposite side. And Vane, to +his everlasting credit be it said, did not even smile. . . . + +After a while the flood more or less spent itself, and Vane seized the +occasion of a pause for breath to ask after old John. + +"I see you've got a new lodge-keeper, Sir John. Robert tells me that the +old man who was here under Lord Forres is in the village." + +"Yes. Had to get rid of him. Too slow. I like efficiency, my boy, +efficiency. . . . That's my motto." Sir John complacently performed +three steps of his celebrated strut. "Did you know the Hearl?" Though +fairly sound on the matter, in moments of excitement he was apt to +counterbalance his wife with the elusive letter. . . . + +Vane replied that he did--fairly well. + +"A charming man, sir . . . typical of all that is best in our old English +nobility. I am proud, sir, to have had such a predecessor. I number the +Hearl, sir, among my most intimate friends. . . ." + +Vane, who remembered the graphic description given him by Blervie--the +Earl's eldest son--at lunch one day, concerning the transaction at the +time of the sale, preserved a discreet silence. + +"A horrible-looking little man, old bean," that worthy had remarked. +"Quite round, and bounces in his chair. The governor saw him once, and +had to leave the room. 'I can't stand it,' he said to me outside, 'the +dam fellow keeps hopping up and down, and calling me His Grace. He's +either unwell, or his trousers are coming off.'" Lord Blervie had helped +himself to some more whisky and sighed. "I've had an awful time," he +continued after a while. "The governor sat in one room, and Patterdale +bounced in the other, and old Podmore ran backwards and forwards between, +with papers and things. And if we hadn't kept the little blighter back +by force he was going to make a speech to the old man when it was all +fixed up. . . ." + +At last Sir John left Vane to himself, and with a sigh of relief he sank +into the chair so recently vacated by the cavalryman. In his hand he +held a couple of magazines, but, almost unheeded, they slipped out of his +fingers on to the grass. He felt supremely and blissfully lazy. The +soft thud of tennis balls, and the players' voices calling the score, +came faintly through the still air, and Vane half closed his eyes. Then +a sudden rustle of a skirt beside him broke into his thoughts, and he +looked up into the face of the girl whom Lady Patterdale had greeted as +Joan. + +"Why it's my bored friend of the photograph!" She stood for a moment +looking at him critically, rather as a would-be purchaser looks at a +horse. "And have they all run away and left you to play by yourself?" +She pulled up another chair and sat down opposite him. + +"Yes. Even Sir John has deserted me." As he spoke he was wondering what +her age was. Somewhere about twenty-two he decided, and about ten more +in experience. + +"For which relief much thanks, I suppose?" + +"One shouldn't look a gift host in the stockings," returned Vane lightly. +"I think it's very charming of him and his wife to have us here." + +"Do you? It's hopelessly unfashionable not to do war work of some sort, +and this suits them down to the ground. . . . Why the Queen visited +Rumfold the other day and congratulated Lady Patterdale on her +magnificent arrangements." There was a mocking glint in her eyes, +otherwise her face was perfectly serious. + +"You don't say so." Vane gazed at her in amazement. "And did you dress +up as a nurse for the occasion?" + +"No, I watched from behind a gooseberry bush. You see, I'm a very busy +person, and my work can't be interrupted even for a Royal visit." + +"Would it be indiscreet," murmured Vane, "to inquire what your work is?" + +"Not a bit." The girl looked solemnly at him. "I amuse the poor wounded +officers." + +"And do you find that very hard?" asked Vane with becoming gravity. + +"Frightfully. You see, they either want to make love to me, or else to +confide that they love another. My chief difficulty as I wander from +bush to bush is to remember to which class the temporary occupant +belongs. I mean it's a dreadful thing to assure a man of your own +undying devotion, when the day before you were sympathising with him over +Jane not having written. It makes one appear of undecided intellect." + +"Why don't you institute a little system of labels?" asked Vane. "Blue +for those who passionately adore you--red for those who love someone +else. People of large heart might wear several." + +"I think that's quite wonderful." She leaned back in her chair and +regarded Vane with admiration. "And I see that you're only a +Captain. . . . How true it is that the best brains in the Army adorn the +lower positions. By the way--I must just make a note of your name." She +produced a small pocketbook from her bag and opened it. "My duties are +so arduous that I have been compelled to make lists and things." + +"Vane," he answered, "Christian--Derek." + +She entered both in her book, and then shut it with a snap. "Now I'm +ready to begin. Are you going to amuse me, or am I going to amuse you?" + +"You have succeeded in doing the latter most thoroughly," Vane assured +her. + +"No--have I really? I must be in good form to-day. One really never can +tell, you know. An opening that is a scream with some people falls as +flat as ditch-water with others." She looked at him pensively for a +moment or two, tapping her small white teeth with a gold pencil. + +Suddenly Vane leaned forward. "May I ask your age, Joan?" + +Her eyebrows went up slightly. "Joan!" she said. + +"I dislike addressing the unknown," remarked Vane, "and I heard Lady +Patterdale call you Joan. But if you prefer it--may I ask your age, Miss +Snooks?" + +She laughed merrily. "I think I prefer Joan, thank you; though I don't +generally allow that until the fourth or fifth performance. You see, if +one gets on too quickly it's so difficult to fill in the time at the end +if the convalescence is a long one." + +"I am honoured," remarked Vane. "But you haven't answered my question." + +"I really see no reason why I should. It doesn't come into the rules--at +least not my rules. . . . Besides I was always told that it was rude to +ask personal questions." + +"I am delighted to think that something you were taught at your mother's +knee has produced a lasting effect on your mind," returned Vane. +"However, at this stage we won't press it. . . . I should hate to +embarrass you." He looked at her in silence for a while, as if he was +trying to answer to his own satisfaction some unspoken question on his +mind. + +"I think," she said, "that I had better resume my official duties. What +do you think of Rumfold Hall?" + +"It would be hard in the time at my disposal, my dear young lady, to give +a satisfactory answer to that question." Vane lit a cigarette. "I will +merely point out to you that it contains a banqueting chamber in which +Bloody Mary is reported to have consumed a capon and ordered two more +Protestants to be burned--and that the said banqueting hall has been used +of recent years by the vulgar for such exercises as the fox trot and the +one step. Further, let me draw your attention to the old Elizabethan +dormer window from which it is reported that the celebrated Sir Walter +Raleigh hung his cloak to dry, after the lady had trodden on it. On the +staircase can be seen the identical spot where the dog basket belonging +to the aged pug dog of the eighteenth Countess of Forres was nightly +placed, to the intense discomfiture of those ill-behaved and rowdy guests +who turned the hours of sleep into a time for revolting debauches with +soda water syphons and flour. In fact it is commonly thought that the +end of the above-mentioned aged pug dog was hastened by the excitable +Lord Frederick de Vere Thomson hurling it, in mistake for a footstool, at +the head of his still more skittish spouse--the celebrated Tootie Rootles +of the Gaiety. This hallowed spot has been roped off, and is shown with +becoming pride by the present owner to any unfortunate he can inveigle +into listening to him. Finally I would draw your attention. . . ." + +"For Heaven's sake, stop," she interrupted weakly. "The answer is +adjudged incorrect owing to its length." + +"Don't I get the grand piano?" he demanded. + +"Not even the bag of nuts," she said firmly. "I want a cigarette. +They're not gaspers, are they?" + +"They are not," he said, holding out his case. "I am quite ready for the +second question." + +She looked at him thoughtfully through a cloud of smoke. "Somehow I +don't think I will proceed along the regular lines," she remarked at +length. "Your standard seems higher." + +"Higher than whose?" Vane asked. + +"Than most of the others." Her smile was a trifle enigmatic. "There is +a cavalryman here and one or two others--but . . . well! you know what I +mean." + +"I do know what you mean--exactly," he remarked quietly. "And, Joan, +it's all wrong." + +"It's all natural, anyway. Their ways are not our ways; their thoughts +are not our thoughts. . . . I can't help whether I'm being a poisonous +snob or not; it's what I feel. Take Sir John. Why, the man's an offence +to the eye. He's a complete outsider. What right has he got to be at +Rumfold?" + +"The right of having invented a patent plate. And if one looks at it +from an unbiassed point of view it seems almost as good a claim as that +of the descendant of a really successful brigand chief." + +"Are you a Socialist?" she demanded suddenly. + +"God knows what I am," he answered cynically. "I'm trying to find out. +You see something has happened over the water which alters one's point of +view. It hasn't happened over here. And just at the moment I feel +rather like a stranger in a strange land." He stared thoughtfully at a +thrush which was dealing with a large and fat worm. Then he +continued--"You were talking about outsiders. Lord! my dear girl, don't +think I don't know what you mean. I had a peerless one in my +company--one of the first and purest water--judged by our standards. He +was addicted to cleaning his nails, amongst other things, with a prong of +his fork at meals. . . . But one morning down in the Hulluch sector--it +was stand to. Dawn was just spreading over the sky--grey and sombre; and +lying at the bottom of the trench just where a boyau joined the front +line, was this officer. His face was whiter than the chalk around him, +but every now and then he grinned feebly. What was left of his body had +been covered with his coat: because you see a bit of a flying pig had +taken away most of his stomach." + +The girl bit her lip--but her eyes did not leave Vane's face. + +"He died, still lying in the wet chalky sludge, still grinning, and +thanking the stretcher bearers who had carried him." He paused for a +moment--his mind back in the Land over the Water. "There are thousands +like him," he went on thoughtfully, "and over there, you see, nothing +much matters. A man, whether he's a duke or a dustman, is judged on his +merits in the regimental family. Everyone is equally happy, or equally +unhappy--because everyone's goal is the same." + +"And over here," put in the girl, "everyone's goal is different. How +could it be otherwise? It's when you get a man trying to kick the ball +through the wrong goal--and succeeding--that the trouble comes." + +"Quite right," agreed Vane. "Personally I'm trying to find out what my +own goal is." + +"What was it before the war?" + +"Soda water syphons and flour; hunting, cricket and making love." + +"And you don't think that would still fill the bill?" + +"The Lord knows!" laughed Vane. "In the fulness of time probably I shall +too." + +"And how do you propose to find out?" persisted + the girl. + +Once again Vane laughed. "By the simple process of doing nothing," he +answered. "I shall--as far as my arduous military duties allow me--carry +on. . . . I believe everyone is carrying on. . . . It's the phase, +isn't it? And in the process, as far as it progresses before I have to +return to France--I may get some idea as to whether I am really a +pronounced Pacifist or a Last Ditcher." + +For a while she looked at him curiously without speaking. "You're +somewhat different from most of my patients," she announced at last. + +He bowed ironically. "I trust that in spite of that, I may find favour +in your sight. It's something, at any rate, not to be labelled G.S., as +we say in the Army." + +"Frankly and honestly, you despise me a little?" + +Vane considered her dispassionately. "Frankly and honestly, I do. And +yet . . . I don't know. Don't you see, lady, that I'm looking at your +life through my spectacles; you look at it through your own. For all I +know you may be right, and I may be wrong. In fact," he continued after +a short pause, "it's more than likely it is so. You at any rate have not +been qualifying for a lunatic asylum during the past four years." + +She rose from her chair, and together they strolled towards the lawn. +Tennis was still in full swing, and for a time they watched the game in +silence. + +"Do those men think as you think?" she asked him suddenly. "Are they all +asking the why and the wherefore--or is it enough for them to be just out +of it?" + +"It's enough for us all for the time," he answered gravely. "And then it +tugs and it pulls and we go back to it again. . . . It's made everyone a +bit more thoughtful; it's made everyone ask the why and the wherefore, +insistently or casually, according to the manner of the brute. But Hell +will come if we don't--as a whole--find the same answer. . . ." + +She idly twisted her parasol, and at that moment the cavalryman lounged +up. "Thought you'd deserted us, Miss Devereux." He glanced at Vane and +grinned. "I appeal to you," he cried, "as an infantry soldier to state +publicly whether you have ever seen a more masterly bit of scouting than +mine when the old man buttonholed you. Jove! you should have seen it. +Purple face caught him by the rhododendron bush, where he'd been +inflicting himself on me for a quarter of an hour; and in one minute by +the clock I'd got to ground in the parsley bed." + +They all laughed, and for a few minutes the two men chatted with her; +then Vane disappeared into the house to write letters. It was a slow and +laborious process, and, as a rule, he wrote as few as possible. But +there was one he had to get off his conscience, though he dreaded doing +so. A promise to a dead pal is sacred. . . . + +At length the scrawl was finished, and looking up from the writing table +he saw Joan Devereux passing through the hall. He got up and hurried +after her. "Would you mind addressing this for me?" He held out the +envelope. "I've managed to spoil the paper inside, but I don't want to +tax the postman too highly." + +With a smile she took the letter from him, and picked up a pen. "Well," +she said after a moment, "I'm waiting." + +She looked up into his face as he stood beside her at the table, and a +glint of mischief came into her eyes as they met his. He was staring at +her with a thoughtful expression, and, at any rate for the moment he +seemed to find it a pleasant occupation. + +"And what may the seeker after truth be thinking of now?" she remarked +flippantly. "Condemning me a second time just as I'm trying to be useful +as well as ornamental?" + +"I was thinking. . . ." he began slowly, and then he seemed to change his +mind. "I don't think it matters exactly what I was thinking," he +continued, "except that it concerned you. Indirectly, perhaps--possibly +even directly . . . you and another. . . ." + +"So you belong to the second of my two classes, do you?" said the girl. +"Somehow I thought you were in the first. . . ." + +"The class you embrace?" asked Vane drily. + +With a quick frown she turned once more to the table. "Supposing you +give me the address." + +"I beg your pardon," said Vane quietly. "The remark was vulgar, and +quite uncalled for. After four years in the Army, one should be able to +differentiate between official and unofficial conversation." + +"May I ask what on earth you mean?" said the girl coldly. + +"I take it that your preliminary remarks to me in the garden were in the +nature of official patter--used in your professional capacity. . . . +When off duty, so to speak, you're quite a normal individual. . . . +Possibly even proper to the point of dulness." He was staring idly out +of the window. "In the States, you know, they carry it even +further. . . . I believe there one can hire a professional female +co-respondent--a woman of unassailable virtue and repulsive aspect--who +will keep the man company in compromising circumstances long enough for +the wife to establish her case." + +The girl sprang up and confronted him with her eyes blazing, but Vane +continued dreamily. "There was one I heard of who was the wife of the +Dissenting Minister, and did it to bolster up her husband's +charities. . . ." + +"I think," she said in a low, furious voice, "that you are the most +loathsome man I ever met." + +Vane looked at her in surprise. "But I thought we were getting on so +nicely. I was just going to ask you to have lunch with me one day in +town--in your official capacity, of course. . . ." + +"If you were the last man in the world, and I was starving, I wouldn't +lunch with you in any capacity." Her breast was rising and falling +stormily. + +"At any rate, it's something to know where we stand," said Vane +pleasantly. + +"If I'd realised that you were merely a cad--and an outsider of the worst +type--do you suppose that I would have talked--would have allowed. . . ." +The words died away in her throat, and her shoulders shook. She turned +away, biting furiously at her handkerchief with her teeth. "Go away--oh! +go away; I hate you." + +But Vane did not go away; he merely stood there looking at her with a +faint, half-quizzical smile on his lips. + +"Joan," he said, after a moment, "I'm thinking I have played the deuce +with your general routine. All the earlier performances will be in the +nature of an anti-climax after this. But--perhaps, later on, when my +abominable remarks are not quite so fresh in your mind, you won't regard +them as quite such an insult as you do now. Dreadful outsider though I +am--unpardonably caddish though it is to have criticised your war +work--especially when I have appreciated it so much--will you try to +remember that it would have been far easier and pleasanter to have done +the other thing?" + +Slowly her eyes came round to his face, and he saw that they were +dangerously bright. "What other thing?" she demanded. + +"Carried on with the game; the game that both you and I know so well. +Hunting, cricket and making love. . . . Is it not written in 'Who's +Who'--unless that interesting publication is temporarily out of print?" + +"It strikes me," the girl remarked ominously, "that to your caddishness +you add a very sublime conceit." + +Vane grinned. "Mother always told me I suffered from swelled +head. . . ." He pointed to the envelope still unaddressed, lying between +them on the writing table. "After which slight digression--do you mind?" + +She picked up the pen, and sat down once again. "I notice your tone +changes when you want me to help you." + +Vane made no answer. "The address is Mrs. Vernon, 14, Culman Terrace, +Balham," he remarked quietly. + +"I trust she is doing war work that pleases you," sneered the girl. She +handed him the envelope, and then, as she saw the blaze in his eyes, she +caught her breath in a little quick gasp. + +"As far as I know," he answered grimly, "Mrs. Vernon is endeavouring to +support herself and three children on the large sum of one hundred and +fifty pounds a year. Her husband died in my arms while we were +consolidating some ground we had won." He took the envelope from her +hand. "Thank you; I am sorry to have had to trouble you." + +He walked towards the door, and when he got to it, he paused and looked +back. Joan Devereux was standing motionless, staring out of the window. +Vane dropped his letter into the box in the hall, and went up the stairs +to his room. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +There was no objection to Vane going to London, it transpired. He had +merely to write his name in a book, and he was then issued a half-fare +voucher. No one even asked him his religion, which seemed to point to +slackness somewhere. + +It was with feelings the reverse of pleasant that Vane got into the +first-class carriage one morning four days after he had written to Mrs. +Vernon. She would be glad to see him, she had written in reply, and +she was grateful to him for taking the trouble to come. Thursday +afternoon would be most convenient; she was out the other days, and on +Sundays she had to look after the children. . . . + +Vane opened the magazine on his knees and stared idly at the pictures. +In the far corner of the carriage two expansive looking gentlemen were +engaged in an animated conversation, interrupted momentarily by his +entrance. In fact they had seemed to regard his intrusion rather in +the light of a personal affront. Their general appearance was not +prepossessing, and Vane having paused in the doorway, and stared them +both in turn out of countenance, had been amply rewarded by hearing +himself described as an impertinent young puppy. + +He felt in his blackest and most pugilistic mood that morning. As a +general rule he was the most peaceful of men; but at times, some strain +inherited from a remote ancestor who, if he disliked a man's face hit +it hard with a club, resurrected itself in him. There had been the +celebrated occasion in the Promenade at the Empire, a few months before +the war, when a man standing in front of him had failed to remove his +hat during the playing of "The King." It was an opera hat, and Vane +removed it for him and shut it up. The owner turned round just in time +to see it hit the curtain, whence it fell with a thud into the +orchestra. . . . Quite inexcusable, but the fight that followed was +all that man could wish for. The two of them, with a large +chucker-out, had finally landed in a heap in Leicester Square--with the +hatless gentleman underneath. And Vane--being fleet of foot, had +finally had the supreme joy of watching from afar his disloyal opponent +being escorted to Vine Street, in a winded condition, by a very big +policeman. . . . + +Sometimes he wondered if other people ever felt like that; if they were +ever overcome with an irresistible desire to be offensive. It struck +him that the war had not cured this failing; if anything it had made it +stronger. And the sight of these two fat, oily specimens complacently +discussing business, while a woman--in some poky house in Balham--was +waiting to hear the last message from her dead, made him gnash his +teeth. + +Of course it was all quite wrong. No well-brought-up and decorous +Englishman had any right to feel so annoyed with another man's face +that he longed to hit it with a stick. But Vane was beginning to doubt +whether he had been well brought up; he was quite certain that he was +not decorous. He was merely far more natural than he had ever been +before; he had ceased to worry over the small things. + +And surely the two other occupants of the carriage were very small. At +least they seemed so to him. For all he knew, or cared, they might +each of them be in control of a Government Department; that failed to +alter their littleness. + +Fragments of their conversation came to him over the rattle of the +wheels, and he became more and more irate. The high price of whisky +was one source of complaint--it appeared, according to one of them, +that it was all going to France, which caused a shortage for those at +home. Then the military situation. . . . Impossible, grotesque. . . . +Somebody ought to be hanged for having allowed such a thing to happen. +After four years to be forced back--inexcusable. What was wanted was +somebody with a business brain to run the Army. . . . In the meantime +their money was being wasted, squandered, frittered away. . . . + +Vane grew rampant in his corner as he listened; his mental language +became impossibly lurid. He felt that he would willingly have given a +thousand or two to plant them both into that bit of the outpost line, +where a month before he had crawled round on his belly at dawn to see +his company. Grey-faced and grey-coated with the mud, their eyes had +been clear and steady and cheerful, even if their chins were covered +with two days' growth. And their pay was round about a shilling a +day. . . . + +It was just as the train was slowing down to enter Victoria that he +felt he could contain himself no longer. The larger and fatter of the +two, having concluded an exhaustive harangue on the unprecedented +wealth at present being enjoyed by some of the soldiers' wives in the +neighbourhood--and unmarried ones, too, mark you!--stood up to get his +despatch case. + +"It seems a pity, gentlemen, you bother to remain in the country," +remarked Vane casually. "You must be suffering dreadfully." + +Two gentlemen inferred icily that they would like to know what he meant. + +"Why not return to your own?" he continued, still more casually. +"Doubtless the Egyptian Expeditionary Force will soon have it swept and +garnished for you." + +The train stopped; and Vane got out. He was accompanied to the barrier +by his two late travelling companions, and from their remarks he +gathered that they considered he had insulted them; but it was only +when he arrived at the gate that he stopped and spoke. He spoke at +some length, and the traffic was unavoidably hung up during the +peroration. + +"I have listened," said Vane in a clear voice, "to your duologue on the +way up, and if I thought there were many like you in the country I'd +take to drink. As it is, I am hopeful, as I told you, that Jerusalem +will soon be vacant. Good morning. . . ." + +And the fact that two soldiers on leave from France standing close by +burst into laughter did not clear the air. . . . + +"Jimmy," said Vane half an hour later, throwing himself into a chair in +his club next to an old pal in the smoking-room, "I've just been a +thorough paced bounder; a glorious and wonderful cad. And, Jimmy! I +feel so much the better for it." + +Jimmy regarded him sleepily from the depths of his chair. Then his +eyes wandered to the clock, and he sat up with an effort. "Splendid, +dear old top," he remarked. "And since it is now one minute past +twelve, let's have a spot to celebrate your lapse from virtue." + +With the conclusion of lunch, the approaching ordeal at Balham began to +loom large on his horizon. In a vain effort to put off the evil hour, +he decided that he would first go round to his rooms in Half Moon +Street. He had kept them on during the war, only opening them up +during his periods of leave. The keys were in the safe possession of +Mrs. Green, who, with her husband, looked after him and the other +occupants of the house generally. As always, the worthy old lady was +delighted to see him. . . . + +"Just cleaned them out two days ago, Mr. Vane, sir," she remarked. +New-fangled Army ranks meant nothing to her: Mr. Vane he had +started--Mr. Vane he would remain to the end of the chapter. + +"And, Binks, Mrs. Green?" But there was no need for her to answer that +question. There was a sudden scurry of feet, and a wire-haired +fox-terrier was jumping all over him in ecstasy. + +"My son, my son," said Vane, picking the dog up. "Are you glad to see +your master again? One lick, you little rascal, as it's a special +occasion. And incidentally, mind my arm, young fellow-me-lad." + +He put Binks down, and turned with a smile to Mrs. Green. "Has he been +good, Mrs. Green?" + +"Good as good, sir," she answered. "I'm sure he's a dear little dog. +Just for the first week after you went--the same as the other +times--he'd hardly touch a thing. Just lay outside your door and +whined and whined his poor little heart out. . . ." + +The motherly old woman stooped to pat the dog's head, and Binks licked +her fingers once to show that he was grateful for what she'd done. +But--and this was a big but--she was only a stop-gap. Now--and with +another scurry of feet, he was once again jumping round the only one +who really mattered. A series of short staccato yelps of joy too great +to be controlled; a stumpy tail wagging so fast that the eye could +scarcely follow it; a dog. . . . + +"I believe, Mrs. Green," said Vane quietly, "that quite a number of +people in England have lately been considering whether it wouldn't be a +good thing to kill off the dogs. . . ." + +"Kill off the dogs, sir!" Mrs. Green's tone was full of shrill +amazement. "Kill Binks? I'd like to see anyone try." . . . Vane had +a momentary vision of his stalwart old landlady armed with a poker and +a carving knife, but he did not smile. + +"So would I, Mrs. Green. . . . So would I. . . ." And with a short +laugh he took the key from her and went upstairs. + +The room into which he went first was such as one would have expected +to find in the abode of a young bachelor. Into the frame of the mirror +over the fireplace a score of ancient invitations were stuck. Some +heavy silver photo frames stood on the mantel-piece, while in the +corner a bag of golf clubs and two or three pairs of boxing gloves gave +an indication of their owner's tastes. The room was spotlessly clean, +and with the sun shining cheerfully in at the window it seemed +impossible to believe that it had been empty for six months. A few +good prints--chiefly sporting--adorned the walls; and the books in the +heavy oak revolving bookcase which stood beside one of the big leather +chairs were of the type generally described as light. . . . + +For a time Vane stood by the mantelpiece thoughtfully staring out of +the window; while Binks, delirious with joy, explored each +well-remembered corner, and blew heavily down the old accustomed cracks +in the floor. Suddenly with a wild scurry, he fled after his principal +joy--the one that never tired. He had seen Vane throw it into the +corner, and now he trotted sedately towards this wonderful master of +his, who had so miraculously returned, with his enemy in his mouth. He +lay down at Vane's feet; evidently the game was about to begin. + +The enemy was an indiarubber dog which emitted a mournful whistling +noise through a hole in its tummy. It was really intended for the use +of the very young in their baths--to enable them to squirt a jet of +water into the nurse's eye; but it worried Binks badly. The harder he +bit, the harder it whistled. It seemed impossible to kill the damn +thing. . . . + +For a while he bit the whistling atrocity to his heart's content; then +with it still between his fore paws he looked up into Vane's face. +Surely his master had not forgotten the rules of the game. Really--it +was a little steep if it was so. But Vane, as far as Binks could see, +was looking at one of the photographs on the mantelpiece with a slight +smile on his face. One or two mournful whistles produced no apparent +result. So Binks decided it was time for desperate measures. He stood +up; and, with his head on one side, he contemplated his hated +adversary, prone on the carpet. Then he gave a short sharp bark--just +as a reminder. . . . + +It was quite sufficient, and Vane apologised handsomely. "Beg your +pardon, old man," he remarked. "For the moment I was thinking of +trivialities." He moved his foot backwards and forwards close to the +indiarubber dog, and Binks, with his ears pricked up, and his head +turning slightly as he followed the movement of his master's foot, +waited. Shortly, he knew that this hereditary enemy of his would fly +to one side of the room or the other. The great question was--which? +It would hit the wall, and rebound on to the floor, where it would be +seized, and borne back with blood curdling growls for the process to be +repeated . . . The game, it may be said, was not governed by any +foolish time limit. . . . + +Suddenly the swinging leg feinted towards the left, and Binks dashed in +that direction. Curse it--he was stung again. His adversary flew to +the right, and was comfortably settled on the floor before Binks +appeared on the scene. However, his tail was still up, as he brought +it back, and he gave it an extra furious bite, just to show that he +would tolerate no uppishness on account of this preliminary +defeat. . . . Vane laughed. "You funny old man," he said. He stopped +and picked up the toy, replacing it on the mantelpiece. "That ends the +game for to-day, Binks, for I've got to go out. Would you like to +come, too?" The brown eyes looked adoringly up into his. Binks failed +to see why the first game after such a long time should be so short; +but--his not to reason why on such matters. Besides his master was +talking and Binks liked to have his opinion asked. + +Once again Vane's eyes went back to the photograph he had been +studying. It was one of Margaret--taken years ago. . . . And as he +looked at it, a pair of grey eyes, with the glint of a mocking smile in +them, seemed to make the photo a little hazy. + +"Come on, old man. We're going to Balham. And I need you to support +me." + + +Culman Terrace was not a prepossessing spectacle. A long straight road +ran between two rows of small and dreary houses. Each house was +exactly the same, with its tiny little plot of garden between the front +door and the gate. In some of the plots there were indications that +the owner was fond of gardening; here a few sweet peas curled lovingly +up the sticks put in for them--there some tulips showed signs of +nightly attention. But in most the plot was plain and drab as the +house--a dead thing; a thing without a soul. Individuality, +laughter--aye, life itself--seemed crushed in that endless road, with +its interminable rows of houses. + +As Vane walked slowly up it looking for No. 14, the sun was shining. +For the moment it seemed clothed in some semblance of life; almost as +if it was stirring from a long sleep, and muttering to itself that love +and the glories of love were abroad to-day. . . . And then the sun +went behind a cloud, and everything was grey and dead once more. + +Vane pictured it to himself on damp dark mornings in the winter--on +evenings when the days were shortening, and the gas lamps shone through +the gloom. He saw the doors opening, and each one disgorging some +black coated, pallid man, who passed through the gate, and then with +quick nervous steps walked towards the station. The 8.30 was their +train; though in some very rare cases the 9.3 was early enough. . . . +But as a rule the 9.3 crowd did not live in Culman Terrace. Just a few +only, who had come there young and eager, and had died there. True, +they caught the 9.3, but they were dead. And the pretty laughing girls +who had married them when the lamp was burning with the divine fire of +hope, had watched them die . . . hopelessly, helplessly. . . . Love +will stand most things; but the drab monotony of the successful +failure--the two hundred pound a year man who has to keep up +appearances--tries it very high. . . . + +Some of them turned into shrews and nagged; some of them ran to fat and +didn't care; but most of them just sank quietly and imperceptibly into +the dreariness and smallness of their surroundings. At rare intervals +there flashed across their horizon something of the great teeming world +outside; they went to a bargain sale, perhaps, and saw the King drive +past--or they went to the movies and for a space lived in the Land of +Make Believe. . . . But the coils of Culman Terrace had them fast, and +the excitement was only momentary--the relapse the more complete. And, +dear Heavens, with what high ideals they had all started. . . . It +struck Vane as he walked slowly along the road that here, on each side +of him, lay the Big Tragedy--bigger far than in the vilest slum. For +in the slum they had never known or thought of anything better. . . . + +Odd curtains were pulled aside as he walked, and he felt conscious of +people staring at him. He pictured them getting up from their chairs, +and peering at him curiously, wondering where he was going--what he was +doing--who he was. . . . It was the afternoon's excitement--a wounded +officer passing the house. + +A familiar singing noise behind him made him look round and whistle. +Long experience left no doubt as to what was happening, and when he saw +Binks on his toes, circling round a gate on which a cat was spitting +angrily, he called "Binks" sharply once, and walked on again. It was +the greatest strain Binks was ever called on to face, but after a +moment of indecision he obeyed as usual. Cats were his passion; but +ever since he had carried the Colonel's wife's prize Persian on to +parade and deposited it at Vane's feet he was discreet in the matter. +The infuriated pursuit by the lady in question on to the parade ground, +armed with an umbrella in one hand and a poker in the other, had not +tended towards steadiness in the ranks. In fact, something like alarm +and despondency had been caused amongst all concerned--especially +Binks. . . . + +"Lord! old man," muttered his master, "here we are." Vane turned in at +the gate of No. 14 and rang the bell. There was an unpleasant sinking +feeling in the pit of his stomach and he nervously dried his left hand +on his handkerchief. + +"Pray Heaven she doesn't cry," he said to himself fervently, and at +that moment the door opened. A pale, grave-eyed woman in black +confronted him, and after a moment or two she smiled very slightly and +held out her hand. Vane took it awkwardly. + +"It is good of you to take the trouble to come, Captain Vane," she said +in a singularly sweet voice. "Won't you come inside?" + +He followed her into the small drawing-room and sat down. It was +scrupulously clean, and it was more than that--it was homely. . . . It +was the room of a woman who loved beautiful things, and who had with +perfect taste banished every single object which might jar on the +fastidious mind. It struck Vane that it was probably a unique room in +Culman Terrace; he felt certain that the rest of the house was in +keeping. . . . + +"What a charming room," he said involuntarily, and it was only when she +looked at him with a little lift of her eyebrows that he realised she +might regard the remark as impertinent. Why shouldn't the room be +charming? . . . + +But Mrs. Vernon quickly removed his embarrassment. "It's always been a +passion of mine--my house," she said quietly. "And now--more than +ever. . . . It's a duty, even, though a pleasant one---- After all, +whatever may go on outside, whatever wretchedness worries one--it's +something to have a real sanctuary to come to. I want the children to +feel that--so much. I want them to love the beautiful things in life," +she went on passionately, "even though they live in these +surroundings." She stared out of the window for a moment, and then she +turned with a sudden quick movement to Vane. "But, forgive me. I +don't know why I should inflict my ideas on you. Will you tell me +about Philip?" + +It was the moment he had been dreading, and yet, now that it had come, +he found it easier than he had expected. There was something about +this quiet, steadfast woman which told him that she would not make a +scene. And so, gently and quietly, with his eyes fixed on the empty +fireplace, he told her the story. There are thousands of similar +stories which could be told in the world to-day, but the pathos of each +one is not diminished by that. It was the story of the ordinary man +who died that others might live. He did not die in the limelight; he +just died and was buried and his name, in due course appeared in the +casualty list. . . . + +Not that Vane put it that way. He painted his picture with the touch +of glamour; he spoke of a charge, of Vernon cheering his men on, of +success. Into the peaceful drawing-room he introduced the atmosphere +of glory--unwittingly, perhaps, he fell back on the popular conception +of war. And the woman, who hung on every word, silent and tearless, +thrilled with the pride of it. Her man, running at the head of +others--charging--dying at the moment of victory. . . . It would be +something to tell her two boys, when their turn came to face the battle +of life; something which would nerve them to the success which her man +would have won except for. . . . + +Vane's voice died away. He had finished his story, he had painted his +picture. No suspicion had he given that a stray bit of shell had torn +Vernon to bits long after the tumult and the shouting had ceased. +After all, he was dead . . . it was the living who counted. No man +could have done more. Surely he deserved the white lie which pictured +his death more vividly--more grandly. . . . + +"He died in my arms," went on Vane after a little pause, "and his last +words were about you." He told her the few simple sentences, repeated +to her the words which a man will say when the race is run and the tape +is reached. God knows they are commonplace enough--those short +disjointed phrases; but God knows also that it is the little things +which count, when the heart is breaking. . . . + +And, then, having told her once, perforce he had to tell her +again--just the end bit. . . . With the tears pouring down her cheeks +she listened; and though each word stabbed her to the heart +afresh--woman-like, she gloried in her pain. + +"'God bless you, Nell,' and then he died," she said softly to herself, +repeating Vane's last sentence. "Ah! but you made good, my man. I +always knew you would some day. . . ." + +It seemed to the man staring into the fireplace that he was very near +to holy ground; and suddenly he rose and strode to the window. With +eyes that were a trifle dim he saw the beautifully kept little +garden--a mass of colour; he saw the name plate, "Sea View," on the +gate, glinting bravely in the sun. Something of the hopeless tragedy +of that "Some day" was getting him by the throat. . . . "Made +good"--dear Lord! and he thought of his two travelling companions in +the morning. . . . + +For perhaps five minutes he stood there silently, and then he turned +back into the room. It had come to him quite clearly that Philip +Vernon had indeed made good; that the real tragedy would have been his +return to "Sea View." By his death he had justified himself; in his +life he would have failed. . . . For he had been branded with the +brand of Culman Terrace, and there is no need to say more. He was +relieved to see that Mrs. Vernon was quite composed again. He had +performed the first part of his mission, and now the second required +tackling. And something warned him that he would have to tread very +delicately; any suspicion of the word charity would be fatal to +success. . . . + +"About your eldest boy, Mrs. Vernon," he began; "your husband often +spoke about him to me. Let me see--what age is he?" + +"Jack is fifteen, Captain Vane," she said quietly. + +"Fifteen! Couldn't be better. Now I was wondering, Mrs. Vernon, +whether you would care in a year or two, to let him come to me. I'm in +a very big business in the City, and my boss is always on the look out +for bright boys. I know your boy is clever--but so much depends on +getting a good start these days. Of course he'd be judged entirely on +his merits . . . but he'd start with a real good chance of making the +best of his talents." He looked quickly at her, and found she was +watching him gravely. "It's part of the privilege of the brotherhood +of the trenches, Mrs. Vernon, to be allowed to make such an +offer. . . ." He was finding it easier now. "To do anything for your +husband's son would be a real pleasure; though, I need hardly say that, +beyond giving him the chance, I could offer nothing else. It would be +up to him to make good." + +For a while Mrs. Vernon was silent, and he flashed a quick look at her. +Had he put it well? Had he kept every suspicion of patronage out of +his offer? + +"Thank you very much, Captain Vane," she said at last, "for your offer. +I hope you won't think me ungrateful when I refuse. Four years ago I +think I should have accepted it with gratitude; but now . . ." She +shook her head "A lot of the shams have gone; we see clearer--some of +us. . . . And I tell you that I would not willingly condemn Jack to +such a life as his father led--even if I was penniless. Wait--let me +finish"--as Vane started to speak--"Of course with you he would have +better chances than his father had before him--but the city life would +kill him--even as it has killed thousands of others. . . . I wonder if +you can realise the hideous tragedy of the poor clerk. He can't strike +for higher wages, like the British working man. He just goes on and on +and suffers in silence. . . . In Jack's case it would be the +same. . . . What--four hundred a year?" She laughed a little +scornfully. "It's not much to bring up a family on, Captain +Vane. . . . Four hundred a year, and Acacia Avenue--two streets +up. . . . Acacia Avenue doesn't call on Culman Terrace, you +know. . . ." Again she laughed. "No, Jack isn't made for that sort of +life, thank God. He aches for the big spaces in his boyish way, for +the lands where there are big things to be done. . . . And I've +encouraged him. There'll be nobody there to sneer if his clothes get +frayed and he can't buy any more--because of the children's boots. +There'll be no appearances to keep up there. And I'd a thousand times +rather that Jack should stand--or fall--in such surroundings, than that +he should sink slowly . . . here." + +She paused for a moment, and then stood up and faced him. "It's +emigration, Captain Vane, that I and people like me have got to turn to +for our boys. For ourselves--it doesn't much matter; we've had our +day, and I don't want you to think the sun never shined on us, for it +did. . . . Just wonderfully at times. . . ." She gave a quick sigh. +"Only now . . . things are different. . . . And up till now, Culman +Terrace hasn't considered emigration quite the thing. It's not quite +respectable. . . . Only aristocratic ne'er-do-wells and quite +impossibly common men emigrate. It's a confession of failure. . . . +And so we've continued to swell the ranks of the most pitiful class in +the country--the gentleman and his family with the small fixed income. +The working man regards him with suspicion because he wears a black +coat--or, with contempt because he doesn't strike; the Government +completely ignores him because they know he's too much a slave to +convention to do anything but vote along so-called gentlemanly lines. +What do you suppose would be the result if the enormous body of middle +class slaves in this country did, one day, combine and refuse to be +bled by every other class? We're bled by the people on top for their +own advantage; and then we're bled again for the advantage of the dear +workman. . . ." She laughed a little. "Forgive me talking so much; +but not for Jack, thank you." + +Vane bowed. "Mrs. Vernon, I think you're perfectly right--and I wish +you and him the very best of luck." He shook hands gravely and a few +moments later he was walking back towards the station with Binks +trotting sedately at his heels. In all probability he would never see +Mrs. Vernon again; war and its aftermath had brought their paths +together for a space, and now they were diverging again. But that +short space had been enough to make him feel ashamed and proud. +Ashamed of himself for his cynicism and irritability; proud of the +woman who, with her faith clear and steadfast, could face the future +without faltering. Her man's job had been laid upon her; she would +never fail him till the time came for her to join him. . . . And by +then she would have earned her reward--rest. . . . She will deserve +every moment of it. . . . Surely the Lord of True Values will not +grudge it to her. . . . + +And though he had said nothing to her of his thoughts--men when deeply +moved are so hopelessly inarticulate--somehow he wished going up in the +train that he had. Falteringly, crudely, he might have said something, +which would have helped her. If only a man had the power of expressing +sympathy without words. He needn't have worried, had he known . . . +and Binks, who was looking out of the window with interest, could not +tell him. Anyway, it was not anything to make a song or dance +about--putting a cold wet nose into a hand that hung down from a chair, +and letting it rest there--just for a while. . . . But it was not the +first time, and it will not be the last, that the Peace that passeth +all understanding has been brought to the human heart by the touch of a +dog. . . . Binks had justified his inclusion in the trip. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +The days that followed passed pleasantly enough. Gradually the +jaundice was disappearing, and Vane was becoming normal again. The war +seemed very far away from Rumfold; though occasionally a newcomer +brought some bit of intimate gossip about Crucifix Alley or Hell Fire +Corner, or one of the little places not shown on any map, which mean so +much more to the actual fighting man than all the big towns rolled +together. Pipes would come out and men would draw together in the +smoking-room--while in imagination the green flares would go hissing up +again, silhouetted against the velvet of the night. But for the most +part the war had ceased to count; tennis and golf, with a visit now and +then to London, filled the days. + +Vane's arm prevented him playing any game, but the country around was +admirably suited for walking, and most afternoons he found himself +strolling out past the lodge gates for a ramble. Sometimes one of the +other officers accompanied him; but more often he went alone. And on +those long lonely walks he found himself obeying Margaret's +injunctions, given to him at Paris Plage--"Go and find out. . . ." + +In common with many others who were beginning, almost unconsciously, to +think for the first time, he found considerable difficulty in knowing +where to start the quest. Vane was no fool, but in days gone by he had +accepted a certain order of things as being the only possible +order--just as England had been the only possible country. But now it +seemed to him that if England was to remain the only possible country +an alteration would have to be made in the order. Before, any danger +to her supremacy had come from without--now the trouble lay within. + +Each day, alongside the war news, he read of strikes and rumours of +strikes, and when he came to ask himself the reason why, he was +appalled at his own ignorance. Something was wrong somewhere; +something which would have to be put right. And the trouble was that +it did not seem a matter of great ease to put it right. He felt that +the glib phrases about Capital and Labour pulling together, about +better relations between employers and men, about standing shoulder to +shoulder, failed to hit the point. They were rather like offering a +hungry lion a halfpenny bun. They could always be relied on to raise a +cheer from a political platform provided the right audience was +present; but it seemed doubtful whether even such a far-reaching result +as that was quite enough. + +At times his natural indolence made him laugh inwardly. "What on earth +is the use?" he would mutter, throwing pebbles into the pond below him. +"What has to be--has to be." It was a favourite haunt of his--that +pond; in the heart of a wood, with a little waterfall trickling over +some rounded stones and falling musically into the pond a few feet +below. The afternoon sun used to shine through the branches of some +great beech trees, and the dense undergrowth around screened him from +the observation of any chance passer by walking along the path +behind. . . . "You can't do anything," the mocking voice would +continue. "So why worry?" + +But the mental jaundice was passing--and the natural belief of man in +himself was coming back. Ho felt the gas expert had been right, even +though he had died. And so Vane became a reader of books of a type +which had not formerly been part of his daily programme. He was +groping towards knowledge, and he deliberately sought every help for +the way. He tried some of H. G. Wells's to start with. . . . +Previously he had read the "First Men in the Moon," because he'd been +told it was exciting; and "Ann Veronica," because he had heard it was +immoral. Now he tried some of the others. + +He was engaged thus when Joan Devereux found him one afternoon in his +favourite haunt. She had stumbled on his hiding place by mistake, and +her first instinct was to retire as quickly as she had come. Since +their first meeting, their conversation, on the rare occasions they had +met at Rumfold Hall, had been confined to the most commonplace remarks, +and those always in the presence of someone else. Any possibility of a +_tête-à-tête_ she had avoided; and the necessary mental effort had +naturally caused her to think all the more about him. Now, just as she +halted in her tracks and prepared to back out through the undergrowth, +Vane looked up at her with his slow lazy smile. + +"Discovered!" he remarked scrambling to his feet, and saluting her. +"Joan, you have come in the nick of time." + +"I would prefer you not to call me Joan," she answered coldly. "And +after your abominable rudeness last time we were alone together, I +don't want to talk to you at all." + +"I suppose I was rather rude," answered Vane reflectively. "Though, if +it's any comfort to you to know, I was much ruder to two men going up +in the train a few days later. . . ." + +"It isn't of the slightest interest to me," she returned, "whom you're +rude to, or how you spend your spare time. The habits of an +ill-mannered boor are not of great importance, are they?" She turned +her back on him, and parted the undergrowth with her hands, preparatory +to leaving. + +"Don't go." His voice close behind her made her pause. "I need +you--officially." + +She looked round at him, and despite herself the corners of her lips +began to twitch. "You really are the most impossible person," she +remarked. "What do you need me for?" + +He stepped back to his usual seat, and pointed to a small mossy bank +beside him. "Come and sit down there, and let's think. . . ." + +After a moment's hesitation she did as he said. + +"It's rather a knotty problem, isn't it?" he continued after a moment. +"I might want you to flirt with me in order to avert my suicide in the +pond through boredom. . . ." + +"You may want," she retorted. + +"But it's in the official programme?" + +"You're not on the official list," she flashed back. + +"Worse and worse," he murmured. "I begin to despair. However, I won't +try you as highly as that. I will just ask you a plain, honest +question. And I rely on you to answer me truthfully. . . . Do you +think I should be a more attractive being; do you think I should be +more capable of grappling with those great problems which--ah--surround +us on all sides, if I could dissect rats--or even mice?" he added +thoughtfully after a pause. + +The girl looked at him in amazement. "Are you trying to be funny?" she +asked at length. + +"Heaven forbid!" he said fervently. "I was never more serious in my +life. But, in that book,"--he pointed to one lying between +them--"everybody, who is anybody dissects rodents." + +She picked up the book and gazed at the title. "But this is the book +everybody's talking about," she said. + +"I am nothing if not fashionable," returned Vane. + +"And do they dissect rats in it?" + +"Don't misunderstand me, and take too gloomy a view of the situation," +said Vane reassuringly. "They do other things besides. . . . +Brilliant things, all most brilliantly written about; clever things, +all most cleverly told. But whenever there's a sort of gap to be +filled up, a _mauvais quart d'heure_ after luncheon, the hero runs off +and deals with a mouse. And even if he doesn't, you know he +could. . . . And the heroine! It's a fundamental part of all their +educations, their extraordinary brilliance seems to rest on it as a +foundation." + +She looked at him curiously. "I'm not particularly dense," she said +after a while, "but I must admit you rather defeat me." + +"Joan," answered Vane seriously, and she made no protest this time at +the use of her name, "I rather defeat myself. In the old days I never +thought at all--but if I ever did I thought straight. Now my mind is +running round in circles. I chase after it; think I'm off at last--and +then find myself back where I started. That's why I've put up the +S.O.S., and am trying to get help." He laid his hand on the book +beside him. + +"Are you reading all the highbrows?" she asked. + +"Most of 'em," he answered. "In the first place they're all so +amazingly well written that it's a pleasure to read them for that +alone; and, secondly--I'm hoping . . . still hoping. . . ." He took +out his cigarette case and offered it to her. "I feel that it's I who +am wrong--not they--that it's my lack of education that huffs me. I +expect it's those damned rats. . . ." + +Joan laughed, and lit a cigarette. "They're all so frightfully clever, +Joan," went on Vane blowing out a cloud of smoke. "They seem to me to +be discussing the world of men and women around them from the pure cold +light of reason. . . . Brain rules them, and they make brain rule +their creations. Instead of stomach--stomach really rules the world, +you know." For a while they sat in silence, watching a dragon-fly +darting like a streak of light over the pond below them. + +"I wouldn't bother if I were you," said the girl after a while. "After +all, if one is happy oneself, and tries to make other people happy too, +it's bound to help things along a bit, isn't it? It strikes me that +whatever people write, or say, everything will go on much the same. +Besides--it's so impertinent. You don't want to be reconstructed; nor +does anybody else. So why worry?" + +"But, my dear girl," said Vane feebly, "don't you think one +ought. . . ." + +"No, I don't," she interrupted. "You listen to me for a bit, my +friend; and you can take it or leave it, just as you like. It strikes +me you're a great deal too occupied about other people, and you don't +pay sufficient attention to yourself. You've got to live your own +life--not the man's next door. And you'll do most good by living that +life, as you want to live it. If you really want to reform other +people--well go and do it, and get a thick ear. . . . It's part of +your job. But if you don't want to, there's no earthly use trying to +pretend you do; you're merely a hypocrite. There's no good telling me +that everybody can be lumped into classes and catered for like so many +machines. We're all sorts and conditions, and I suppose you'd say I +was one of the supremely selfish sort. In fact, you have said so," she +said defiantly. + +"All right--we'll leave it at that," she went on before he could speak. +"But I'm happy--and I'm sincere. I do the most awful things at +times--because I like doing them. I should loathe to be a nurse, and +the W.A.A.C. uniform makes me look a fright. I may not realise the +horrors over the water; I don't want to. And do you suppose half these +women who talk about them so glibly do either? . . . . Of course they +don't; they're just posing. They pretend it's awful and horrible to +dance and play the fool; and all the while their teeth are chattering +with envy and malice. . . ." + +"We seem," remarked Vane, taking advantage of a temporary lull in the +flood, "to have arrived at rather a personal discussion." + +"Of course we have," she took him up. "Isn't it I--I--I everywhere? +Only a lot of people aren't sufficiently truthful to admit it. It's +Number One first all the way through, right from the people up at the +top down to the poor brutes in the slums. All the wonderful schemes of +reform are for the glory of the schemer first, with the happy +recipients amongst the also rans." She paused a moment, and a sudden +tender look came into her eyes. "Of course there are exceptions. +There's a boy I know--he's a cousin of mine--with weak lungs. Rejected +for the Army three times as totally unfit. For the last four years +he's been living in a slum off Whitechapel and the people there love +him. . . . He just walks in and planks down a pork chop in the back +room; or a bottle of Basa, or something and has a talk to the +woman . . . he's dying . . . but he's dying happy. . . . I couldn't do +that; no more could you. . . . We should loathe it, and so we should +be fools to attempt it. . . ." + +"I wonder," said Vane slowly. . . . "I wonder." + +"No, you don't," she cried. "You don't wonder. . . . You know I'm +right. . . . If you loved such a life you'd just do it. . . . And +you'd succeed. The people who fail are the people who do things from a +sense of duty." + +"What a very dangerous doctrine," smiled Vane. + +"Perhaps it is," she answered. "Perhaps in my own way I'm groping too; +perhaps," and she laughed a little apologetically, "I've fitted my +religion to my life. At any rate it's better than fitting other +peoples' lives to one's religion. But it seems to me that God," she +hesitated, as if at a loss for words to express herself--"that God--and +one's surroundings--make one what one is. . . . And unless one is very +certain that either God or the surroundings are wrong, it's asking for +trouble to go on one's own beaten track. . . . I suppose you think I'm +talking out of my turn." She turned and faced him with a slight smile. + +"On the contrary," answered Vane, "you have interested me immensely. +But you've dodged the one vital question--for me, at any rate. What is +the beaten track? Just at present I can't find it?" + +"You'll not find it any easier by looking for it too hard," she said +thoughtfully. "I'm certain of that. . . . It'll come in a flash to +you, when you least expect it, and you'll see it as clear as daylight." + +For a while they sat in silence, both busy with their own thoughts. +Then the girl laughed musically. + +"To think of me," she gurgled, "holding forth like this. . . . Why, +I've never done such a thing before that I can remember." Then of a +sudden she became serious. The big grey eyes looked steadily, almost +curiously, at the face of the man beside her. "I wonder why," she +whispered almost below her breath. "You've been most poisonously rude +to me, and yet . . . and yet here am I talking to you as I've never +talked to any other man in my life." + +Vane stared at the pool for a few moments before he answered. He was +becoming uncomfortably aware that grey eyes with a certain type of chin +were attractive--very attractive. But his tone was light when he spoke. + +"A quarrel is always a sound foundation." He looked up at her with a +smile, but her eyes still held that half speculative look. . . . + +"I wonder what you would have thought of me," she continued after a +moment, "if you'd met me before the war. . . ." + +"Why, that children of fifteen should be in bed by ten," he mocked. + +"Yes, but supposing I was what I am now, and you were what you were +then--and you weren't filled with all these ideas about duty and +futures and things. . . ." + +"You would have added another scalp to the collection, I expect," said +Vane drily. + +They both laughed, then she bent slightly towards him. "Will you +forgive me for what I said about--about that woman you were going to +see?" + +"Why--sure," answered Vane. "I guess you owed me one." + +Joan laughed. "We'll wash the first lesson out. Except, of course, +for that one thing you said. I mean about--the other. . . . I'd just +hate to forget that there's a wedding coming on, and do anything that +would make it awkward for me to be asked to the church. . . ." + +"You little devil, Joan," said Vane softly, "you little devil." + +She laughed lightly and sprang to her feet. "I must be going," she +said. "At least three Colonials are waiting for my ministrations." +She stood looking down at him. . . . "Are you going to walk back with +me, or to resume your study of rodents?" + +Vane slipped the book in his pocket. "I'm afraid," he remarked, "that +I should not be able to bring that undivided attention to bear on the +subject which is so essential for my education. Besides--perhaps +you'll have a few minutes to spare after you have dealt with the +Colonials. . . ." He parted the branches for her. + +"My dear man," she retorted, "You've had far more than your fair +official share already. . . ." She scrambled on to the path and Vane +fell into step beside her. "And don't forget that you've only just +been forgiven. . . ." + +"Which makes it all the more essential for me to have continual +evidence of the fact," retorted Vane. + +"It strikes me," she looked at him suddenly, "that you're not quite as +serious as you make out. You've got all the makings of a very pretty +frivoller in you anyway." + +"I bow to your superior judgment," said Vane gravely. "But I've been +commissioned to--er--go and find myself, so to speak, by one who must +be obeyed. And in the intervals between periods of cold asceticism +when I deal with the highbrows, and other periods when I tackle +subjects of national importance first hand, I feel that I shall want +relaxation. . . ." + +"And so you think you'd like me to fill the role of comic relief," she +said sweetly. "Thanks a thousand times for the charming compliment." + +"It doesn't sound very flattering put that way, I must admit," conceded +Vane with a grin. "And yet the pleasures of life fill a very important +part. I want to find myself in them too. . . ." + +"I'm glad to see traces of comparative sanity returning," she said, as +they turned into the Lodge Gates. "Do you think it's safe to trust +yourself to such an abandoned character as I am? What would She who +must be obeyed say?" + +She looked at him mockingly, and involuntarily Vane frowned slightly. +At the moment he felt singularly unwilling to be reminded of Margaret. +And he was far too old a stager not to realise that he was heading +directly for waters which, though they ran amongst charming scenery, +contained quite a number of hidden rocks. + +She saw the sudden frown, and laughed very gently. "Poor young man," +she murmured; "poor serious young man. Dare you risk it?" + +Then Vane laughed too. They had come to the lawn, and her three +Colonial patients were approaching. "Put that way," he said, "I feel +that it is my bounden duty to take a prolonged course of those +pleasures." + +"Splendid," she cried, and her eyes were dancing merrily. "Come over +and lunch to-morrow. You can have Father and Aunt Jane first. You'll +like Aunt Jane, she's as deaf as a post and very bloodthirsty--and then +you can begin the course afterwards. One o'clock, and it's about half +an hour's walk. . . ." + +With a nod she turned and left him. And if those of her friends who +knew Joan Devereux well had seen the look in her eyes as she turned to +her three Canadians, they would have hazarded a guess that there was +trouble brewing. They would further have hazarded a second guess as to +the form it was likely to take. And both guesses would have been +right. A young man, remarked Joan to herself, who would be all the +better for a fall; a young man who seemed very much too sure of +himself. Joan Devereux was quite capable of dealing with such cases as +they deserved, and she was a young woman of much experience. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was the following morning that Vane received a second letter from +Margaret. He had written her once--a letter in which he had made no +allusion to their last meeting--and she had answered it. Cases were +still pouring in and she was very busy. When she did have a moment to +herself she was generally so tired that she lay down and went to sleep. +It was the letter of a girl obsessed with her work to the exclusion of +all outside things. + +Of course he admired her for it--admired her intensely. It was so +characteristic of her, and she had such a wonderful character. +But--somehow . . . he had wished for something a little more basely +material. And so with this second one. He read it through once at +breakfast, and then, with a thoughtful look in his eyes, he took it +with him to a chair on the big verandah which ran along the whole of +the front of Rumfold Hall. The awning above it had been specially +erected for the benefit of the patients and Vane pulled one of the +lounge chairs back from the stone balustrade, so that his face was +shaded from the sun. It was a favourite spot of his, and now, with +Margaret's letter outspread beside him, and his pipe held between his +knees, he commenced to fill the bowl. He was becoming fairly quick at +the operation, but long after it was well alight he was still staring +at the misty line of distant hills. Away, out there, beyond, the thing +called war was in full swing--the game was at its height. And the +letter beside him had taken him back in spirit. . . . After a while he +picked it up again and commenced to re-read the firm, clear +handwriting. . . . + + +No. 24, STATIONARY HOSPITAL. + +MONDAY. + +Derek, dear, I've been moved as you see from No. 13. I'm with the men +now, and though I hated going at first--yet, now, I think I almost +prefer it. With the officers there must always be a little +constraint--at least, I have never been able to get rid of the feeling. +Perhaps with more experience it would vanish _je ne sais pas_ . . . but +with the men it's never there. They're just children, Derek, just dear +helpless kiddies; and so wonderfully grateful for any little thing one +does. Never a whimper; never the slightest impatience. . . . they're +just wonderful. One expects it from the officers; but somehow it +strikes one with a feeling almost of surprise when one meets it in the +men. There's one of them, a boy of eighteen, with both his legs blown +off above the knee. He just lies there silently, trying to understand. +He never worries or frets--but there's a look in his eyes--a puzzled, +questioning look sometimes--which asks as clearly as if he spoke--"Why +has this thing happened to _me_?" He comes from a little Devonshire +fishing village, he tells me; and until the war he'd never been away +from it! Can you imagine the pitiful, chaotic, helplessness in his +mind? Oh! doesn't it all seem too insensately brutal? . . . It's not +even as if there was any sport in it; it's all so utterly ugly and +bestial. . . . One feels so helpless, so bewildered, and the look in +some of their eyes makes one want to scream, with the horror of +it. . . . + +But, old man, the object of this letter is not to inflict on you my +ideas on war. It is in a sense a continuation, and a development, of +our talk on the beach at Paris Plage. I have been thinking a good deal +lately about that conversation, and now that I have almost definitely +made up my mind as to what I propose to do myself after the war, I +consider it only fair to let you know. I said to you then that perhaps +my job might only be to help you to fulfil your own destiny, and +nothing which I have decided since alters that in any way. If you +still want me after the war--if we find that neither of us has made a +mistake--I can still help you, Derek, I hope. But, my dear, it won't +be quite a passive help, if you understand what I mean. I've got to be +up and doing myself--actively; to be merely any man's echo--his +complement--however much I loved him, would not be enough. I've come +to that, you see. + +And so I've decided--not quite definitely as I said, but almost so--to +read for Medicine. I'm a little old, perhaps, though I'm only +twenty-four: but these years in France have at any rate not been +wasted. The question of money does not come in luckily, and the work +attracts me immensely. Somehow I feel that I might be helping to +repair a tiny bit of the hideous destruction and mutilation which we're +suffering from now. + +And that's enough about myself. I want to suggest something to you. +You may laugh, old boy--but I'm in earnest. I remember you're telling +me once that, when you were up at the 'Varsity, you used to scribble a +bit. I didn't pay much attention; in those days one didn't pay +attention--ever. But now your words have come back to me once or +twice, during the night, when I've been seeing dream pictures in my +reading lamp and the ward has been asleep. Have you thought that +possibly that is the line along which you might develop? Don't you +think it's worth trying, Derek? And then, perhaps--this is my wildest +dream, the raving of a fevered brain--the day will come when you and I +can stand together and realise that each of us in our own way has made +good--has done something to help on--_les autres_. Oh! Derek--it's +worth trying, old man--surely it's worth trying. We've just got to do +something that's worth while, before we come to the end--if only to +balance a little of the hideous mass of worthlessness that's being +piled up to-day. . . . + +Don't bother to answer this, as I know you find writing difficult. I +hope to be getting some leave soon: we can have a talk then. How goes +the arm? _A toi, mon cheri_. + +MARGARET. + +PS.--There's rather a dear man living fairly close to Rumfold, old Sir +James Devereux. His house is Blandford--a magnificent old place; +almost if not quite as fine as Rumfold, and the grounds are bigger. +His wife died when the son was born, and I rather think there is a +daughter, but she was away at a finishing school when I knew them, Go +over and call; from what I heard there's a distinct shortage of +money--at least of enough to keep the place going. + +P.PS.--He's not really old--about only fifty. Say you know Daddy; they +used to shoot together. + + +With something like a sigh Vane laid down the last sheet, and, striking +a match, relit his pipe. Then once again his eyes rested on the misty, +purple hills. Margaret a successful doctor; himself literary educator +of the public taste. . . . It was so entirely different from any +picture he had previously contemplated, on the rare occasions when he +had thought about matrimony or the future at all, that it left him +gasping. It was perfectly true that he had scribbled a certain amount +in years gone by, when he was at the 'Varsity: but not seriously. . . . +An essay or two which he had been told showed distinct ability: a short +story, of possible merit but questionable morality, which had been +accepted on the spot by a not too particular periodical and had never +been paid for--that was the extent of his scribbling. And +yet--Margaret might be right. . . . One never knows till one tries: +and Vane grinned to himself as that hoary platitude floated through his +mind. . . . Then his thoughts passed to the other side of the picture. +Margaret, dispensing admonition and pills, in her best professional +manner, to long queues of the great unwashed. He felt certain that she +would prefer that section of the community to any less odoriferous +one. . . . And she'd probably never charge anything, and, if she did, +he would have to stand at the door and collect it, probably in penny +stamps. Vane's shoulders shook a little as this engaging tableau +presented itself. . . . What about the little hunting box not far from +Melton, where, in the dear long ago, he had always pictured himself and +his wife wintering? Provided always the mythical She had some money! +There would be stabling for six nags, which, with care, meant five days +a fortnight for both of them. Also a garage, and a rather jolly squash +racquet court. Then a month in Switzerland, coming back towards the +end of January to finish the season off. A small house of course in +Town--some country house cricket: and then a bit of shooting. . . . +One needn't always go to Switzerland either in the winter; Cairo is +very pleasant, and so is Nice. . . . It was an alluring prospect, no +less now than formerly; but it meant that Margaret's patients would +have to hop around some. . . . And they'd probably leave her if he +stood at the door in a pink coat and a hunting topper collecting +postage stamps. They are rather particular over appearances, are the +ragged trousered and shredded skirt brigade. . . . + +The thing was grotesque; it was out of the question, Vane told himself +irritably. After all, it is possible to push altruism too far, and for +Margaret, at her age and with her attractions, to go fooling around +with medicine, with the mistaken idea that she was benefiting humanity, +was nothing more or leas than damned twaddle. If she wanted to do +something why not take up her music seriously. .. . . + +And it was at this point in his deliberations that a sentence vibrated +across his memory. It was so clear that it might almost have been +spoken in his ear: "If you loved such a life you'd just do it. . . . +And you'd succeed." + +Vane folded Margaret's letter, and put it in his pocket. If she really +loved the thought of such a life she would just do it. . . . And she +would succeed. As far as he was concerned there would be nothing more +to say about it; she had a perfect right to decide for herself. She +left him free--that he knew; he could still carry out his hunting box +programme in full. Only he would have to play the part alone--or with +someone else. . . . Someone else. Abruptly he rose from his chair, +and found himself face to face with Lady Patterdale. . . . + +"Good morning, Captain Vane," she remarked affably. "'Ad a good night?" + +"Splendid, thank you, Lady Patterdale." + +"Ain't the news splendid? Marshal Foch seems to be fair making the +'Uns 'um." + +Vane laughed. "Yes, they seem to be sitting up and taking notice, +don't they?" + +"Sir John is marking it all up in the 'All on the map, with flags," +continued the worthy old woman. "I can't make 'ead or tail of it all +myself--but my 'usband likes to 'ave everything up to date. 'E can't +form any real opinion on the strategy, he says, unless he knows where +everybody is." + +Vane preserved a discreet silence. + +"But as I tells 'im," rambled on Lady Patterdale, "it doesn't seem to +me to be of much account where the poor fellows are. You may move a +pin from 'ere to there, and feel all pleased and joyful about it--but +you wouldn't feel so 'appy if you was the pin." + +Vane laughed outright. "You've got a way of putting things, Lady +Patterdale, which hits the nail on the head each time." + +"Ah! you may laugh, Captain Vane. You may think I'm a silly old woman +who doesn't know what she's talking about. But I've got eyes in my +'ead; and I'm not quite a fool. I've seen young men go out to France +laughing and cheerful; and I've seen 'em come back. They laugh just as +much--perhaps a bit more; they seem just as cheerful--but if you love +'em as I do you come to something which wasn't never there before. +They've been one of the pins. Lots of us 'ave been one of the pins, +Captain Vane; though we ain't been to France you can lose other things +besides your life in this world." + +She nodded her head at him solemnly and waddled on, while Vane stood +for a moment looking after her. Assuredly this common old woman +possessed in her some spark of the understanding which is almost +Divine. . . . And Vane, with a quick flash of insight, saw the proud +planting of the pin on Rumfold Hall--a strategic advance, but the +casualty list had never been published. . . . + +He strolled along the veranda and into the hall. Sir John with a very +small audience--mostly newcomers--around him was holding forth on the +new developments in France and Vane paused for a moment to listen. + +"You mark my words, me boys," he was saying, "this is the big thing. I +put my trust in Foch: he's the fellow who's got my money on him. No +nonsense about Foch. Of course it's going to be costly, but you can't +have omelettes without breaking eggs. An old proverb, me boys--but a +true one." + +"More than true, Sir John," remarked Vane quietly. "And one that from +time immemorial has proved an immense comfort to the egg." + +He went on up to his room. It was too early yet to start for +Blandford, but Vane was in no mood for his own thoughts. They had +reached a stage, indeed, whence he preferred not to follow them +further. Doubtless by the time Margaret returned on leave, the beaten +track would have revealed itself; until then--_cui bono_? . . . . + +He looked at his watch, and it occurred to him that he would just have +comfortable time to pay a visit to old John before starting on his walk +through the woods. From Robert he had found out where the old man was +living in the village, and, a few minutes later, he was strolling down +the drive towards his house. He found the little garden, just as +perfectly kept as had been the one at the Lodge: the white muslin +curtains in the front rooms were just as spotless. And old John +himself was watering a row of sweet peas as he came to the little +gate. . . . + +"Ah! Mr. Vane, sir," he remarked, putting down his can and hobbling +forward. "I'm honoured to see you, sir." Then as he saw the three +stars on Vane's sleeve, he corrected himself. "Captain Vane, sir, I +should have said. . . ." + +"I don't think we're likely to fall out over that, John," laughed Vane. +"One never knows what anybody is these days. You're a Colonel one +minute, and a subaltern the next." + +Old John nodded his head thoughtfully. "That's true, sir--very true. +One doesn't seem to know where one is at all. The world seems +topsy-turvy. Things have changed, sir--and I'm thinking the missus and +I are getting too old to keep pace with them. Take young Blake, +sir--down the village, the grocer's son. Leastways, when I says +grocer, the old man keeps a sort of general shop. Now the boy, sir, is +a Captain. . . . I mis'remember what regiment--but he's a Captain." + +"And very likely a devilish good one too, John," said Vane smiling. + +"He is, sir. I've seen reports on him--at schools and courses and the +like--which say he's a fine officer. But what's going to happen +afterwards, sir, that's what I want to know? Is young Bob Blake going +to put on his white apron again, and hand the old woman her bit of +butter and sugar over the counter? What about that, sir?" + +"I wish to Heaven I could tell you, John," said Vane. "Bob Blake isn't +the only one, you know." + +"Them as is sound, sir," went on the old man, "won't be affected by it. +They won't have their heads turned by having mixed with the gentry as +their equals--like. And the real gentry won't think no more nor no +less of them when they goes back to their proper station. . . . But +there'll be some as will want to stop on in a place where they don't +rightly belong. And it'll make a world of unhappiness, sir, for all +concerned. . . ." + +Unconsciously the old man's eyes strayed in the direction of Rumfold +Hall, and he sighed. + +"You can't alter the ways of the Lord, sir," continued old John. "We +read in the Book that He made them richer and poorer, and some of one +class, and some of another. As long as everybody remembers which class +he's in, he'll get what happiness he deserves. . . ." + +Vane did not feel inclined to dispute this from the point of view of +Holy Writ. The trouble is that it takes a stronger and more level head +than is possessed by every boy of twenty to understand that a khaki +uniform unlocks doors on which a suit of evening clothes bought off the +peg and a made up tie fail to produce any impression. If only he +realises that those doors are not worth the trouble of trying to +unlock, all will be well for him; if he doesn't, he will be the +sufferer. . . . Which is doubtless utterly wrong, but such is the Law +and the Prophets. + +"I reckons there are troublous times ahead of us, sir," went on the old +man. "More troublous than any we are going through now--though them's +bad enough, in all conscience. Why, only the other evening, I was down +at the Fiddlers' Arms, for a glass of what they do call beer--'tis +dreadful stuff, sir, that there Government beer. . . ." Old John +sighed mournfully at the thought of what had been. "I was sitting in +there, as I says, when in comes some young feller from Grant's garage, +up the road. Dressed classy he was--trying to ape his betters--with a +yellow forefinger from smoking them damned stinking fags--and one of +them stuck behind his ear. + +"'Hullo, gaffer,'" he says, 'how's the turnips?' + +"'Looking worse in France than they do in England,' says I. 'Have you +been to see?' + +"That hit him, sir, that did," chuckled old John. "He fair squirmed +for a moment, while the others laughed. 'Don't you know I'm on work of +national importance?' he says. 'I'm exempted.' + +"'The only work of national importance you're ever likely to do, my +lad,' says I, 'won't be done till you're dead. And not then if you're +buried proper.' + +"'What do you mean?' he asks. + +"'You might help the turnips you're so anxious about,' says I, 'if they +used you as manure.'" Old John, completely overcome by the remembrance +of this shaft, laughed uproariously. + +"You should have seen his face, sir," he went on when he had partially +recovered. "He got redder and redder, and then he suddenly says, 'e +says, 'Weren't you the lodge keeper up at Rumfold Hall?' + +"'I was,' I answered quiet like, because I thought young Master +Impudence was getting on dangerous ground. + +"'One of the poor wretched slaves,' he sneers, 'of a bloated +aristocrat. . . . We're going to alter all that,' he goes on, and then +for a few minutes I let him talk. He and his precious friends were +going to see that all that wretched oppression ceased, and then he +finished up by calling me a slave again, and sneering at his Lordship." + +Old John spat reflectively. "Well, sir, I stopped him then. In my +presence no man may sneer at his Lordship--certainly not a callow pup +like him. His Lordship is a fine man and a good man, and I was his +servant." The old man spoke with a simple dignity that impressed Vane. +"I stopped him, sir," he continued, "and then I told him what I thought +of him. I said to him, I said, 'Young man, I've listened to your +damned nonsense for five minutes--now you listen to me. When you--with +your face all covered with pimples, and your skin all muddy and +sallow--start talking as you've been talking, there's only one thing +should be done. Your mother should take your trousers down and smack +you with a hair brush; though likely you'd cry with fright before she +started. I was his Lordship's servant for forty-two years, and I'm +prouder of that fact than anyone is likely to be over anything you do +in your life. And if his Lordship came in at that door now, he'd meet +me as a man meets a man. Whereas you--you'd run round him sniffing +like the lickspittle you are--and if he didn't tread on you, you'd go +and brag to all your other pimply friends that you'd been talking to an +Earl. . . .'" + +"Bravo! old John . . . bravo!" said Vane quietly. "What did the whelp +do?" + +"Tried to laugh sarcastic, sir, and then slunk out of the door." The +old man lit his pipe with his gnarled, trembling fingers. "It's +coming, sir--perhaps not in my time--but it's coming. Big +trouble. . . . All those youngsters with their smattering of +edication, and their airs and their conceits and their 'I'm as good as +you.'" He fell silent and stared across the road with a troubled look +in his eyes. "Yes, sir," he repeated, "there be bad days coming for +England--terrible bad--unless folks pull themselves together. . . ." + +"Perhaps the Army may help 'em when it comes back," said Vane. + +"May be, sir, may be." Old John shook his head doubtfully. "Perhaps +so. Anyways, let's hope so, sir." + +"Amen," answered Vane with sudden earnestness. And then for a while +they talked of the soldier son who had been killed. With a proud lift +to his tired, bent shoulders old John brought out the letter written by +his platoon officer, and showed it to the man who had penned a score of +similar documents. It was well thumbed and tattered, and if ever Vane +had experienced a sense of irritation at the exertion of writing to +some dead boy's parents or wife he was amply repaid now. Such a little +trouble really; such a wonderful return of gratitude even though it be +unknown and unacknowledged. . . . "You'll see there, sir," said the +old man, "what his officer said. I can't see myself without my +glasses--but you read it, sir, you read it. . . . 'A magnificent +soldier, an example to the platoon. I should have recommended him for +the stripe.' How's that, sir. . . .? And then there's another +bit. . . . 'Men like him can't be replaced.' Eh! my boy. . . . Can't +be replaced. You couldn't say that, sir, about yon pimply ferret I was +telling you about." + +"You could not, old John," said Vane. "You could not." He stood up +and gave the letter back. "It's a fine letter; a letter any parent +might be proud to get about his son." + +"Aye," said the old man, "he was a good boy was Bob. None o' this +new-fangled nonsense about him." He put the letter carefully in his +pocket. "Mother and me, sir, we often just looks at it of an evening. +It sort of comforts her. . . . Somehow it's hard to think of him +dead. . . ." His lips quivered for a moment, and then suddenly he +turned fiercely on Vane. "And yet, I tells you, sir, that I'd sooner +Bob was dead over yonder--aye--I'd sooner see him lying dead at my +feet, than that he should ever have learned such doctrines as be flying +about these days." + +Thus did Vane leave the old man, and as he walked down the road he saw +him still standing by his gate thumping with his stick on the pavement, +and shaking his head slowly. It was only when Vane got to the turning +that old John picked up his can and continued his interrupted +watering. . . . And it seemed to Vane that he had advanced another +step towards finding himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Vane, conscious that he was a little early for lunch, idled his way +through the woods. He was looking forward, with a pleasure he did not +attempt to analyse, to seeing Joan in the setting where she belonged. +And if occasionally the thought intruded itself that it might be +advisable to take a few mental compass bearings and to ascertain his +exact position before going any further, he dismissed them as +ridiculous. Such thoughts have been similarly dismissed before. . . . +It was just as Vane was abusing himself heartily for being an ass that +he saw her coming towards him through a clearing in the undergrowth. +She caught sight of him at the same moment and stopped short with a +swift frown. + +"I didn't know you knew this path," she said as he came up to her. + +"I'm sorry--but I do. You see, I knew Rumfold pretty well in the old +days. . . . Is that the reason of the frown?" + +"I wasn't particularly anxious to see you or anybody," she remarked +uncompromisingly. "I wanted to try to think something out. . . ." + +"Then we are a well met pair," laughed Vane. "I will walk a few paces +behind you, and we will meditate." + +"Don't be a fool," said Joan still more uncompromisingly. "And anyway +you're very early for lunch." She looked at her wrist watch. . . . "I +said one o'clock and it's only half past twelve. The best people don't +come before they're asked. . . ." + +"I throw myself on the mercy of the court," pleaded Vane solemnly. +"I'll sit on this side of the bush and you sit on the other and in a +quarter of an hour we will meet unexpectedly with all the usual +symptoms of affection and joy. . . ." + +The girl was slowly retracing her steps, with Vane just behind her, and +suddenly through an opening in the trees Blandford came in sight. It +was not the usual view that most people got, because the path through +the little copse was not very well known--but from nowhere could the +house be seen to better advantage. The sheet of placid, unruffled +water with its low red boathouse: the rolling stretch of green sweeping +up from it to the house broken only by the one terrace above the tennis +lawns; the rose garden, a feast of glorious colour, and then the house +itself with its queer turrets and spires and the giant trees beyond it; +all combined to make an unforgettable picture. + +Joan had stopped and Vane stood silently beside her. She was taking in +every detail of the scene, and Vane, glancing at her quickly, surprised +a look of almost brooding fierceness in her grey eyes. It was a look +of protection, of ownership, of fear, all combined: a look such as a +tigress might give if her young were threatened. . . . And suddenly +there recurred to his mind that phrase in Margaret's letter about +financial trouble at Blandford. It had not impressed him particularly +when he read it; now he found himself wondering. . . . + +"Isn't it glorious?" The girl was speaking very low, as if unconscious +that she had a listener. Then she turned on Vane swiftly. "Look at +that!" she cried, and her arm swept the whole perfect vista. "Isn't it +worth while doing anything--anything at all--to keep that as one's own? +That has belonged to us for five hundred years--and now! . . . My +God! just think of a second Sir John Patterdale--here"--the brooding +wild mother look was in her eyes again, and her lips were shut tight. + +Vane moved restlessly beside her. He felt that the situation was +delicate; that it was only his unexpected and unwelcome arrival on the +scene that had made her take him into his confidence. Evidently there +was something gravely the matter; equally evidently it was nothing to +do with him. . . . + +"I hope there's no chance of such a tragedy as that," he said gravely. + +She turned and faced him. "There's every chance," she cried fiercely. +"Dad is up against it--I know he is, though he doesn't say much. And +this morning . . ." She bit her lip, and once more her eyes rested on +the old house. "Oh! what's the good of talking?" she went on after a +moment. "What has to be--has to be; but, oh! it makes me mad to think +of it. What good does it do, what purpose in the scheme of things you +may talk about, does it serve to turn out a man, who is beloved for +miles around, and put in his place some wretched pork butcher who has +made millions selling cat's meat as sausages?" + +She faced Vane defiantly, and he wisely remained silent. + +"You may call it what you like," she stormed; "but it's practically +turning him out. Is it a crime to own land, and a virtue to make a +fortune out of your neighbours in trade? Dad has never swindled a +soul. He's let his tenants down easy all through the war when they've +had difficulties over their rent; he's just idolised by them all. And +now he's got to go--unless. . . ." She paused and her two hands +clenched suddenly. Then she continued, and her voice was quite calm. +"I know I'm talking rot--so you needn't pay any attention. The great +thinkers are all agreed--aren't they?--that the present land system is +wrong--and they must know, of course. But I'm not a great thinker, and +I can't get beyond the fact that it's not going to increase anybody's +happiness--and there are a good many to be considered--if Dad goes, and +a pork butcher comes in. . . . And that's that. . . ." + +"Supposing," said Vane curiously, "it wasn't a pork butcher? Suppose +it was someone who--well, let's say whom you wouldn't mind going in to +dinner with." + +"It would be just the same," she answered after a moment. "Just the +same. It's ours, don't you see?--it's _ours_. It's always been ours." +And the brooding, animal look had come back into her eyes. . . . + +Then with a laugh she turned to him. "Come on; you've got to make a +bow to Aunt Jane. Mind you tell her you've killed a lot of Germans. +She'll adore you for ever. . . ." + +She threw off her fit of depression and chatted gaily all the way up to +the house. + +"I've told Dad you're a very serious young man," she remarked, as they +reached the drive; "so you'd better live up to your reputation." + +Vane groaned. "Your sins be upon your own head," he remarked. "I've +already had one serious dissertation this morning from old John, who +used to be lodgekeeper at Rumfold." + +"I know him well," cried the girl. "A dear old man. . . ." + +"Who shares your views on the land question," said Vane with a smile. + +She stopped and faced him. "Don't you?" she demanded quietly. + +"In your own words, Joan--I am a very serious young man; and I am +seeking for knowledge." + +For a moment she seemed about to reply, and then, with a short laugh, +she turned on her heel and walked on. It was just as they were +entering the drawing-room that she looked at him over her shoulder. "I +hope your search will be successful," she remarked; "and I hope still +more that when it is successful you won't commit suicide. To have +knowledge, to know to-day what is the truth, would be, I think, the +most terrible burden any man could bear. Have you ever thought how +tired God must be?" + +Before he could answer she was shouting down her aunt's ear-trumpet. +And Vane was left wondering at the strange mixture which went to make +up Joan Devereux. + + * * * * * + +Sir James was cordially delighted to see him, especially when he +discovered that Vane knew Mr. Trent. + +"Where's the little girl?" he asked as they eat down to luncheon. +"Margaret was her name, I think." + +To his intense annoyance Vane found himself colouring slightly, and at +the same moment he became acutely aware that a pair of grey eyes were +fixed on him from the other side of the table. + +"She is nursing at Etaples, I believe," he answered casually, but a +soft gurgle of laughter told him it was useless. + +"Captain Vane, Dad, is the soul of discretion," mocked Joan. "I +shouldn't be surprised if he wasn't nursed by her. . . ." + +"Devilish nice girl to be nursed by, too, my dear," chuckled her +father, "from what I remember of her. What do you think, Vane?" He +was mercifully spared the necessity of answering by the intervention of +Aunt Jane, who had pursued her own train of thought, blissfully +unconscious of any change of conversation. + +"How many of the brutes did you say you'd killed, young man?" she +boomed at him, at the same time putting her ear-trumpet at the "ready." + +"Two for certain," howled Vane; "perhaps three." + +She resumed her lunch, and Sir James laughed. "My sister," he +remarked, "is full of war. . . . Rather fuller--like a good many of +those who have stayed behind--than you fellows. . . ." + +"It's very much nicer," said Vane with a laugh, "to kill--even a +Boche--in imagination than in reality. . . . Though I've seen many +men," he added thoughtfully, "go blood mad." + +"Do you remember that description of Kipling's," said Sir James, "of +the scrap between the Black Tyrone and the Pathans? Mulvaney was sick, +and Ortheris cursed, and Learoyd sang hymns--wasn't it?" + +"I've seen them all those ways," said Vane thoughtfully, "and the worst +of the lot are the silent ones. . . . There was one fellow I had who +never uttered a word from the time we went over till the finish, and he +never--if he could avoid it--struck a man anywhere except in the +stomach. . . . And incidentally he could quote more from the Bible +than most Bishops. . . . In fact, if he ever did speak, so I'm told, +when he was fighting it was just to remark, 'And the Lord said'--as he +stabbed." + +Sir James nodded, and then half-closed his eyes. "One just can't get +it," he said. "None of us who haven't been there will ever get it--so +I suppose it's not much use trying. But one can't help thinking that +if only a few of the people who count over here could go and see, it +might make a difference. We might not be having so much trouble. . . ." + +"See the reality and clear away the humbug," said Vane. "Can't be +done, Sir James. I know Staff Officers who would willingly give a +year's pay to shepherd a personally conducted Cook's party to France of +the British working man. They get their legs pulled right and left by +everybody out there; and do you wonder?" He laughed shortly. "Tommy's +no fool: six pounds a week instead of a shilling a day. And +comparisons are odious." + +"But couldn't they be taken really into things?" asked his host. + +"I can't quite see the party popping the parapet," grinned Vane. "It's +not a thing which anyone does for pleasure. . . ." + +It was at that moment that with a loud booming noise Aunt Jane again +contributed to the conversation. "I'm afraid you've wasted your time +out there, young man." + +"She means that two Germans and one doubtful isn't enough," gurgled +Joan, as she saw Vane's look of bewilderment. To his relief the old +lady did not adjust her trumpet, so he assumed rightly that he would be +allowed to suffer her displeasure in silence. . . . + +"Well," said Sir James after a pause. "I suppose there are +unsurmountable difficulties in making people understand. But if I had +my way I'd take some of these blackguards who are fattening on the +country's helplessness and I'd put 'em in the front line +trenches. . . ." + +"With a trench mortar bombardment on," supplemented Vane laughing. + +"And I'd let 'em stop there and rot," continued Sir James. "It's +wicked; it's vile; it's abominable--exploiting their country's danger +for their own pockets. . . . What's going to happen when the war is +over, God alone knows." + +"Your fish will get cold, Daddy, unless you go on with it," said Joan +soothingly. + +But Sir James was started on his favourite hobby. It would have taken +more than the possibility of cold fish to stem the torrent, and Vane, +supported by the most fleeting of winks from Joan, made no attempt to +do so. He had heard it all before; the worthy Baronet's views, were +such as are delivered daily by the old order in every part of the +country. And the thing that perplexed Vane more and more as he +listened, and periodically returned a non-committal "Yes" or "No," was +where the fallacy lay. These were the views he had been brought up on; +they were the views with which, in his heart of hearts, he agreed. And +yet he felt dimly that there must be another side to the question: he +knew there was another side. Otherwise . . . but Sir James, when he +got into his stride, did not permit much meditation on the part of his +audience. + +"Organised labour," he thundered, "has found itself, because we are at +war, all powerful. We depend on the organised workers, and they know +it. The lives of our men are at stake. . . . Their brothers, mark +you, Vane. What do they care? Not a dam, sir, not a dam. More money, +money--that's all they want. They know the State won't dare a +lock-out--and they trade on it. . . . Why don't they conscript 'em, +sir?--why don't they put the whole cursed crowd into khaki? Then if +they strike send 'em over into the trenches as I said, and let 'em rot +there. That would soon bring 'em to their senses. . . ." Sir James +attacked his chicken viciously. + +"What's going to happen," he went on after a moment, "when we return to +peace conditions? The private employer can't pay these inflated +wages. . . . He simply can't do it, and that's an end of it. But now, +of necessity it's been a case of surrender--surrender--surrender to any +demands the blackguards like to put up. And they've got it each time. +Do you suppose they're going to stop?" + +"But surely there's such a thing as common sense," interrupted Vane. +"Surely the matter can be put in front of them so that they will +understand? . . . If not, it's a pretty useful confession of +ineptitude." + +Sir James laughed shortly. "There are several floating round at the +moment. . . . But it isn't quite as easy as all that, my dear fellow. +In times of unrest power comes automatically more and more into the +hands of the man who can talk; men like Ramage, and others of his +kidney. A few meaningless but high flown phrases; a few such parrot +cries as 'Down with the Capitalist and the Future is for the Worker,' +and you've got even the steadiest man unsettled. . . . Especially if +he's one of a crowd; mob psychology is the devil. . . ." Sir James +paused and stared out of the window. "I don't fear for the decent +fellow in the long run; it's in the early stages he may get +blown. . . ." + +"What are you two men talking about so busily?" Aunt Jane once again +presented her trumpet to Vane. + +"Labour trouble, Miss Devereux," he roared. "Trouble in the labour +market." + +The old lady's face set grimly. "My convictions on that are well +known," she boomed. "Put them in a row against a wall and shoot them." + +"My sister's panacea for all evil," said Sir James with a smile. + +"There are others as well as Miss Devereux who would recommend the same +thing," said Vane with a short laugh. + +"Shoot 'em," rasped the old lady; "shoot 'em, and go on shooting till +there are no more left to shoot. I'm sure we'd get along very well +without the brutes." + +"What's going to stop 'em?" Sir James returned to his former question. +"Nothing--until they've tried everything, and found they're wrong. And +while they're finding out the simple fact that no employer can pay a +guinea for a pound's worth of work the country will crash. We'll have +anarchy, Vane--Bolshevism like Russia, unless a miracle saves us. . . . +Financed by the Boche probably into the bargain." + +"Dear old Daddy," laughed Joan. "You're such an optimist, aren't you?" + +"It's no laughing matter, my dear," snorted her father. "There's a +wave of madness over the world . . . absolute madness. The more you +give into them--the more decently you treat 'em--the more they +want. . . . People talk about the old order changing; what I want to +know is what they're going to put in its place? When they've broken up +the Empire and reduced England to a fifth-rate Power, they'll probably +want the old order back. . . . It'll be too late to want then." + +"I gather, Sir James, that you are not exactly a Socialist," murmured +Vane gravely, with a side glance at Joan. + +His host rose to the bait. "I--a Socialist--I! Why--why! . . ." he +spluttered, and then he saw his daughter's face. She was dimpling with +laughter, and suddenly Sir James laughed too. + +"You nearly had me then, my boy," he cried; "very nearly. But it's on +that point, Vane, that I get so wild with these intellectual men--men +who should know better. Men like Ramage, and Johnson and all that lot. +They know themselves that Socialism is a wild impossibility; they know +that equality is out of the question, and yet they preach it to men who +have not got their brains. It's a dangerously attractive doctrine; the +working man who sees a motor flash past him wouldn't be human if he +didn't feel a tinge of envy. . . . But the Almighty has decreed that +it should be so: and it's flying in His Face to try to change it." + +Vane looked thoughtfully at his host. "I fancy the Almighty's dictates +are less likely to be questioned by the motor car owner than by the +working man." + +"I agree with you, Vane," returned Sir James at once. "But that +doesn't alter the principle of the thing. . . . By all means improve +their conditions . . . give them better houses . . . stop sweated +labour. That is our privilege and our duty. But if they continue on +their present line, they'll soon find the difference. Things we did +for 'em before, they'll have to whistle for in the future." + +"You're getting your money's worth this time, aren't you, Captain +Vane?" said Joan demurely. + +But Vane only smiled at her gravely and did not answer. Here were the +views, crudely expressed, perhaps, of the ordinary landed gentleman. +The man who of all others most typically represented feudalism. +Benevolent, perhaps--but feudalism. . . . The old order. "They talk +about 'back to the land,'" snorted Sir James suddenly, "as the +sovereign cure for all evils. You can take it from me, Vane, that +except in a few isolated localities the system of small holdings is +utterly uneconomical and unsuccessful. It means ceaseless work, and a +mere pittance in return. You know Northern France--well, you've got +the small holdings scheme in full blast there. What time do they get +up in the morning; what time do they go to bed at night? What do they +live on? And from what you know of your own fellow countrymen, do you +think any large percentage would tackle such a life? Believe me, these +days, none of us want to keep land very much." Sir James frowned +slightly. "Unless one has old family traditions. . . . And even those +will have to go by the board--sooner or later. . . . It doesn't pay, +Vane, you can take it from me. . . . And to split it up into small +holdings, and invite men of varying degrees of inefficiency to earn a +livelihood on it, won't help matters." + +Sir James pushed back his chair and they rose from the table. + +"I have victimised you enough, my dear boy," he remarked. "I think +Joan had better carry on the good work." She put her arm round his +waist, and her father looked down at her lovingly. "What are you going +to do with him, old lady?" + +"Are you busy, Dad, this afternoon?" she asked. + +Sir James nodded, and he seemed to Vane to have grown very old. "The +old order is changing--what are they going to put in its place? . . ." +A sudden fear caught him in its grip. He turned quickly and stared out +of the window; at the wonderful bit of England that lay before him. +Quiet and smiling in the warm sun, it lay there--a symbol of the thing +for which Englishmen have laid down their lives since time started. At +that very second men were dying for it--over the water. Was it all to +be in vain? + +"Yes, girlie," Sir James was speaking. "I've got a lot of business to +attend to. That wretched fellow Norton can't pay his rent again. . . ." + +"Oh! Dad, he is a bit steep," cried the girl. "That's the third time." + +Sir James laughed. "I know, my dear; but things are bad. After all, +he has lost one of his sons in Mesopotamia." + +"A drunken waster," cried the girl. + +"He died, Joan," said her father simply. "No man may do more." + +"You're too kind-hearted, Dad," she said, patting his arm, and looking +up into his face. "I wouldn't be." + +Sir James laughed. "Oh! yes, you would. Besides, I sha'n't have a +chance much longer." With a quick sigh, he bent and kissed her. "Run +along and take Vane out on the lake. I'll come down later and shout at +you from the bank." She watched her father leave the room, and then +she turned to Vane. + +"Would you care to come on the lake?" she asked, and in her eyes there +was a strange, inscrutable look which set him wondering. + +"I'd love it," said Vane. He followed her into the open window and +together they stepped on to the lawn. + +Aunt Jane had already taken her usual position, preparatory to her +afternoon nap; but Vane's sudden appearance apparently stirred some +train of thought in her mind. As he came up to her she adjusted her +trumpet and boomed, "Shoot 'em, young man--shoot 'em until there are +none left." + +"Why, certainly, Miss Devereux," he shouted. "That's what I think." +She nodded her approval at meeting such a kindred spirit, and replaced +the foghorn on the ground beside her. He felt that his poor record of +dead Huns was forgiven him, and rejoined Joan with a smile. + +"How easy it would be, if that was the way," she said quietly. "Dear +old Aunt Jane--I remember sitting up with her most of one night, trying +to comfort her, when her pug dog went lame on one foot." + +Vane laughed, and as they came to a turn in the path, they looked back. +The old lady was already dozing gently--at peace with all the world. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"If you say one word to me this afternoon which might even be remotely +twisted into being serious," said Joan, "I shall upset you in the middle +of the lake." + +An inspection of the general lines of the boat prevented Vane from taking +the threat too seriously; with anything approaching luck a party of four +could have crossed the Atlantic in it. Innumerable cushions scattered +promiscuously served to make it comfortable, and as the girl spoke Vane +from his seat in the stern was helping to push the boat from the +boat-house. + +"You terrify me, lady," he murmured. "What shall I talk to you about?" + +The girl was pulling lazily at the oars, and slowly they drifted out into +the sunshine. "So she who must be obeyed is Margaret Trent, is she?" + +"The evidence seems a trifle slight," said Vane. "But as I rather gather +you're an insistent sort of person, I will plead guilty at once, to save +bother." + +"You think I generally get my own way, do you?" + +"I do," answered Vane. "Don't you?" + +The girl ignored the question. "What is she like? I've often heard dad +speak about Mr. Trent; and I think she came once to Blandford, when I was +away." + +"I gather that you were being finished." Vane started filling his pipe. +"At least she said so in a letter I got this morning." + +Joan looked at him for a moment. "Did you write to her about me?" + +"I don't think she even knows you're at home," said Vane shortly, "much +less that I've met you." + +"Would you mind her knowing?" persisted the girl. + +"Why on earth should I?" demanded Vane with a look of blank surprise. + +She took a few strokes, and then rested on her oars again. "There are +people," she said calmly, "who consider I'm the limit--a nasty, fast +hussy. . . ." + +"What appalling affectation on your part," jeered Vane lighting his pipe. +"What do you do to keep up your reputation--sell flags in Leicester +Square on flag days?" The girl's attention seemed to be concentrated on +a patch of reeds where a water-hen was becoming vociferous. "Or do you +pursue the line taken up by a woman I met last time I was on leave? She +was a Wraf or a Wren or something of that kind, and at the time she was +in mufti. But to show how up to date she was she had assimilated the +jargon, so to speak, of the mechanics she worked with. It almost gave me +a shock when she said to me in a confidential aside at a mutual friend's +house, 'Have you ever sat down to a more perfectly bloody tea?'" + +"I think," said Joan with her eyes still fixed on the reeds, "that that +is beastly. It's not smart, and it does not attract men . . ." + +"You're perfectly right there," returned Vane, grimly. "However, arising +out of that remark, is your whole object in life to attract men?" + +"Of course it is. It's the sole object of nine women out of ten. Why +ask such absurd questions?" + +"I sit rebuked," murmured Vane. "But to return--in what way do your +charitable friends consider you the limit?" + +"I happen to be natural," said Joan, "and at times that's very dangerous. +I'm not the sort of natural, you know, that loves cows and a country +life, and gives the chickens their hard-boiled eggs, or whatever they +eat, at five in the morning." + +"But you like Blandford," said Vane incautiously. + +"Blandford!" A passionate look came into her face, as her eyes looking +over his head rested on the old house. "Blandford is just part of me. +It's different. Besides, the cow man hasn't been called up," she added +inconsequently. "He's sixty-three." + +"A most tactful proceeding," said Vane, skating away from thin ice. + +"I'm natural in another way," she went on after a short silence. "If I +want to do a thing--I generally do it. For instance, if I want to go and +talk to a man in his rooms, I do so. Why shouldn't I? If I want to +dance a skirt dance in a London ballroom, I do it. But some people seem +to think it's fast. I made quite a lot of money once dancing at a +restaurant with a man, you know--in between the tables. Of course we +wore masks, because it might have embarrassed some of the diners to +recognise me." The oars had dropped unheeded from her hands, and she +leaned forward, looking at Vane with mocking eyes. "I just loved it." + +"I'll bet you did," laughed Vane. "What made you give it up?" + +"A difference of opinion between myself and some of the male diners, +which threatened to become chronic," she returned dreamily. "That's a +thing, my seeker after information, which the war hasn't changed, anyway." + +For a while he made no answer, but lay back against the cushions, puffing +at his pipe. Occasionally she pulled two or three gentle strokes with +the oars, but for the most part she sat motionless with her eyes brooding +dreamily over the lazy beauty of the water. + +"You're a funny mixture, Joan," he said at length. "Devilish +funny. . . ." And as he spoke a fat old carp rose almost under the boat +and took an unwary fly. "The sort of mixture, you know, that drives a +man insane. . . ." + +She was looking at the widening ripples caused by the fish and she smiled +slightly. Then she shrugged her shoulders. "I am what I am. . . . And +just as with that fly, fate comes along suddenly, doesn't it, and +pouf . . . it's all over! All its little worries settled for ever in a +carp's tummy. If only one's own troubles could be settled quite as +expeditiously. . . ." + +He looked at her curiously. "It helps sometimes, Joan, to shoot your +mouth, as our friends across the water say. I'm here to listen, if it's +any comfort. . . ." + +She turned and faced him thoughtfully. "There's something about you, +Derek, that I rather like." It was the first time that she had called +him by his Christian name, and Vane felt a little pleasurable thrill run +through him. But outwardly he gave no sign. + +"That is not a bad beginning, then," he said quietly. "If you're +energetic enough let's get the boat under that weeping willow. I'm +thinking we might tie her up, and there's room for an army corps in the +stern here. . . ." + +The boat brushed through the drooping branches, and Vane stepped into the +bow to make fast. Then he turned round, and stood for a while watching +the girl as she made herself comfortable amongst the cushions. . . . +"There was once upon a time," he prompted, "a man. . . ." + +"Possessed," said Joan, "of great wealth. Gold and silver and precious +stones were his for the asking. . . ." + +"It's to be assumed that the fortunate maiden who was destined to become +his wife would join in the chorus with average success," commented Vane +judicially. + +"The assumption is perfectly correct. Is not the leading lady worthy of +her hire?" She leaned back in her cushions and looked up at Vane through +half-closed eyes. "In the fulness of time," she went on dreamily, "it +came to pass that the man possessed of great wealth began to sit up and +take notice. 'Behold,' he said to himself, 'I have all that my heart +desireth, saving only one thing. My material possessions grow and +increase daily, and, as long as people who ought to know better continue +to kill each other, even so long will they continue growing.' I don't +think I mentioned, did I, that there was a perfectly 'orrible war on +round the corner during the period under consideration?" + +"These little details--though trifling--should not be omitted," remarked +Vane severely. "It is the duty of all story tellers to get their +atmosphere correct. . . ." He sat down facing her and started to refill +his pipe. . . . "What was this one thing he lacked?" + +"Don't interrupt. It is the duty of all listeners to control their +impatience. Only the uninitiated skip." + +"I abase myself," murmured Vane. "Proceed, I pray you." + +"So the man of great wealth during the rare intervals which he could +snatch from amassing more--continued to commune with himself. 'I will +look around,' he said to himself, 'and select me a damsel from amongst +the daughters of the people. Peradventure, she may be rich--peradventure +she may be poor; but since I have enough of the necessary wherewithal to +support the entire beauty chorus which appears nightly in the building +down the road known as the House of Gaiety--the question of her means is +immaterial. Only one thing do I insist upon, that she be passing fair to +look upon. Otherwise--nix doing for this child. . . .'" + +Joan stirred restlessly, and her fingers drummed idly on the side of the +boat. And Vane--because he was a man, and because the girl so close to +him was more than passing lovely--said things under his breath. The +parable was rather too plain. + +"And behold one night," went on Joan after a while, "this man of great +wealth partook of his dried rusk and Vichy water--his digestion was not +all it might be--at the house of one of the nobility of his tribe. The +giver of the feast had permitted his name to be used on the prospectus of +some scheme organised by the man of wealth--thereby inspiring confidence +in all who read, and incidentally pouching some of the Bradburys. He +further considered it possible that by filling his guest with food and +much wine, he might continue the good work on other prospectuses, thereby +pouching more Bradburys. In the vulgar language in vogue at the period, +however, Vichy water put the lid on that venture with a bang. . . . But +even with champagne it is doubtful whether there would have been much +doing, because--well, because--the man of wealth had his attention for +the moment occupied elsewhere. To be exact on the other side of the +table. . . ." + +"Ah!" said Vane, and his breath came in a sort of sigh. "I'm thinking +you had better let me tell this bit. It was just after the slaves had +thrown open the doors, and the guests had seated themselves, that the man +of great wealth chanced to look up from his rusk. He frequently did look +up when consuming these delicacies, otherwise he found they made him +excited, and calmness is necessary for the poor digestion. He looked up +then, as usual, and suddenly he caught his breath. Over a great silver +bowl filled with roses. . . ." + +"Carnations sound better," said Joan. + +"Filled with carnations he saw a girl. . . . They were pink and red +those carnations--glorious in the shaded light; and the silver and the +glass with which this tribe was wont to feed its face glittered and shone +on the polished table. But the man of wealth had silver and glass as +good, and he had no eyes for that. . . . For it had come to him, and he +was a man who was used to making up his mind quickly, that he had found +the damsel he required. She was dressed--ah! how was she dressed, lady? +She was dressed in a sort of grey gauzy stuff, and her neck and shoulders +gleamed white--gloriously white. A great mass of brown hair which +shimmered as if it was alive; a little oval face, with cheeks that seemed +as if the sun had kissed them. A mouth quite small, with lips that +parted in a mocking smile; a nose--well, just a nose. But crowning +everything--dominating everything--a pair of great grey eyes. What eyes +they were! They made the man of wealth bolt his rusk. There was one +mouthful he only chewed fifteen times instead of the customary +thirty-two. They contained all Heaven, and they contained all Hell; in +them lay the glory of a God, the devilment of a Siren, and the peace of a +woman . . . . And just once she looked at him during dinner--the look of +a stranger--cool and self-possessed. Just casually she wondered whether +it was worth while to buy money at the cost of a rusk diet; then she +turned to the man next her. . . . Let's see--he was a warrior, snatching +a spell of rest from the scrap round the corner. And she didn't even +hear the man of great wealth choke as the half-chewed rusk went down +wallop." + +The girl looked at Vane for a moment. "But you are really rather a +dear," she remarked thoughtfully. + +"It's your turn now," said Vane shortly. + +"The donor of the feast," she resumed at once, "was going a mucker. The +possession of extra Bradburys, coupled with a wife who combined a +champagne taste with his gin income, had inspired him to give a dance. +He hoped that it might help to keep the damn woman quiet for a bit; and, +besides everybody was giving dances. It was the thing to do, and +warriors fresh from the fierce battle were wont to step lightly on the +polished floor. As a matter of historical interest nine out of every ten +of the warriors who performed nightly at different houses were fresh from +the office stool at the House of War--a large edifice, completely filled +with girl scouts and brain-storms. . . ." + +"Beautiful," chuckled Vane; "quite beautiful." + +"You see the actual warriors didn't get much of a look in. By the time +they got to know anybody they had to go back round the corner again and +they got tired of propping up the walls and looking on. Besides what +made it even more dangerous for them was that kind-hearted women took +compassion on them, and their own empty programmes and introduced +themselves. And in the vernacular they were the snags. But all these +things were hidden from the man of great wealth. . . ." + +"Contrary to a life-long habit," said Vane, "he remained after dinner and +haunted the door. Just every now and then a girl in grey gauzy stuff +floated past him--and once, only once, he found himself looking into +those big grey eyes when she passed quite close to him going out to get +some lemonade. And the rusk did a somersault. . . ." + +"But he didn't haunt the door," gurgled Joan. "He got roped in. He fell +an easy victim to the snag parade--and women fainted and men wept when +the man of great possessions and the pointed woman took the floor. . . ." + +"Pointed?" murmured Vane. + +"All jolts and bumps," explained the girl. "Her knees were like steel +castings. I think that if the--if the girl in grey gauzy stuff had +realised that the man of wealth had stopped behind for her, she might, +out of pity, have given him one dance. But instead all she did was to +shake with laughter as she saw him quivering in a corner held fast in the +clutch of the human steam engine. She heard the blows he was receiving; +they sounded like a hammer hitting wood; and then later she saw him +limping painfully from the room--probably in search of some Elliman's +embrocation. But, as I say, she didn't realise it. . . . She only +thought him a silly old man. . . ." + +"Old," said Vane slowly. . . . "How old?" + +"About fifty," said the girl vaguely. Then she looked at Vane. "She +found out later that he was forty-eight, to be exact." + +"Not so very old after all," remarked Vane, pitching a used match into +the water, and stuffing down the tobacco in his pipe with unusual care. + +"It was towards the end of the dance," she resumed, "that the man of +great wealth was introduced to the girl in grey, by the donor of the +feast. The band had gathered in all the coal-scuttles and pots it could, +and was hitting them hard with pokers when the historical meeting took +place. You see it was a Jazz band and they always economise by borrowing +their instruments in the houses they go to. . . ." + +"And did she dance with him?" asked Vane. + +"I don't think he even asked her to," said Joan. "But even as she went +off with a boy in the Flying Corps she realised that she was face to face +with a problem." + +"Quick work," murmured Vane. + +"Most of the big problems in life are quick," returned the girl. "You +see the man of great possessions was not accustomed to disguising his +feelings; and the girl--though she didn't show it--was never far removed +from the skeleton in her cupboard." + +She fell silent, and for a while they neither of them spoke. + +"It developed along the accepted lines, I suppose," remarked Vane at +length. + +"Everything quite conventional," she answered. "A fortnight later he +suggested that she should honour him by accepting his name and wealth. +He has repeated the suggestions at frequent intervals since. . . ." + +"Then she didn't say 'Yes' at once," said Vane softly. + +"Ah! no," answered the girl. "And as a matter of fact she hasn't said it +yet." + +"But sometimes o' nights," said Vane, "she lies awake and wonders. And +then she gets out of bed, and perhaps the moon is up, shining cold and +white on the water that lies in front of her window. And the trees are +throwing black shadows, and somewhere in the depths of an old patriarch +an owl is hooting mournfully. For a while she stands in front of her +open window. The air is warm, and the faint scent of roses comes to her +from outside. A great pride wells up in her--a great pride and a great +love, for the sleeping glory in front of her belongs to her; to her and +her father and her brother." The girl's face was half-turned away, and +for a moment Vane watched the lovely profile gravely. "And then," he +went on slowly, "with a sigh she sits down in the big arm-chair close to +the window, and the black dog comes in and settles on her. In another +room in the house she sees her father, worrying, wondering whether +anything can be done, or whether the glory that has been theirs for +hundreds of years must pass into the hands of a stranger. . . . And +after a while the way out comes into her thoughts, and she stirs +restlessly in her chair. Because, though the girl in grey is one of the +set in her tribe who dance and feed in many public places, and which has +nothing in common with those who sit at home doing good works; yet she +possesses one or two strange, old-fashioned ideas, which she will hardly +ever admit even to herself. Just sometimes o' night they creep out as +she stares through the window, and the weird cries of the wild come +softly through the air. 'Somewhere, there is a Prince Charming,' they +whisper, and with a sigh she lets herself dream. At last she creeps back +to bed--and if she is very, very lucky the dreams go on in her sleep." +Vane knocked out his pipe on the side of the boat. + +"It's only when morning comes," he went on, and there was a hint of +sadness in his voice, "that the strange, old-fashioned ideas creep shyly +into the corner. Along with the tea have come some of the new smart ones +which makes them feel badly dressed and dull. They feel that they are +gauche--and yet they know that they are beautiful--wonderfully beautiful +in their own badly dressed way. Timidly they watch from their +corner--hoping, hoping. . . . And then at last they just disappear. +They're only dream ideas, you see; I suppose they can't stand daylight +and tea with saccharine in it, and reality. . . . It's as they float +towards the window that sometimes they hear the girl talking to herself. +'Don't be a fool,' she says angrily, 'you've got to face facts, my dear. +And a possible.' Charming without a bean in the world isn't a fact--it's +a farce. It simply can't be done. . . . And three new very smart ideas +in their best glad rags make three long noses at the poor little dowdy +fellows as they go fluttering away to try to find another home." + +Vane laughed gently, and held out his cigarette case to the girl. And it +was as she turned to take one that he saw her eyes were very bright--with +the starry brightness of unshed tears. "Sure--but it's nice to talk rot +at times, my lady, isn't it?" he murmured. "And, incidentally, I'm +thinking I didn't tell the grey girl's story quite right. Because it +wasn't herself that she was thinking of most; though," and his eyes +twinkled, "I don't think, from my ideas of her, that she is cut out for +love in a cottage, with even the most adorable Prince Charming. But it +wasn't herself that came first; it was pride and love of home and pride +and love of family." + +The girl bit her lip and stared at him with a troubled look. "Tell me, +oh man of much understanding," she said softly, "what comes next?" + +But Vane shook his head with a laugh. "Cross my palm with silver, pretty +lady, and the old gipsy will tell your fortune. . . . I see a girl in +grey surrounded by men-servants and maid-servants, and encased in costly +furs and sparkling gems. Standing at the door outside is a large and +expensive Limousine into which she steps. The door is shut, and the car +glides off, threading its way through the London traffic. At last the +road becomes clearer, the speed increases, until after an hour's run the +car swings in between some old lodge gates. Without a sound it sweeps up +the drive, and the girl sees the first glint of the lake through the +trees. There is a weeping willow too, and as her eyes rest on it she +smiles a little, and then she sighs. The next moment the car is at the +front door, and she is in the arms of a man who has come out to meet her. +She calls him 'Dad,' and there's a boy just behind him, with his hands in +his pockets, who has eyes for nothing except the car. Because it's +'some' car. . . . She spends the day there, and when she's leaving, the +man she calls 'Dad' puts his hand on her arm. He just looks at +her--that's all, and she smiles back at him. For there's no worry now on +his face, no business trouble to cut lines on his brow. But +sometimes--he wonders; and then she just smiles at him, and his doubts +vanish. They never put it into words those two, and perhaps it is as +well. . . . A smile is so easy, it conceals so much. Not that there's +much to hide on her part. With her eyes wide open she made her choice, +and assuredly it had been worth while. Her father was happy; the old +house was safe and her husband was kind. . . . Only as the car glides +away from the door, her grey eyes once again rest on a weeping willow. A +fat old carp rises with a splash and she sees the ripples widening. . . . +And the smile fades from her lips, because--well, thoughts are capricious +things, and the weeping willow and the carp remind her of a certain +afternoon, and what a certain foolish weaver of fantasies said to +her. . . once in the long ago. Much has she got--much has she given to +others. It may have been worth while--but she has lost the biggest thing +in Life. That has passed her by. . . ." + +"The biggest thing in Life," she whispered. "I wonder; oh! I wonder." + +"Maybe she would never have found it," he went on, "even if she had not +married the man of great possessions. And then, indeed, she could have +said with reason--'I sure have made a damn fool of myself.' To throw +away the chances of costly furs and sparkling gems; to see _les papillons +noirs_ fluttering round her father's head in increasing numbers--and not +to find the biggest thing in Life after such a sacrifice--yes, that would +be too cruel. So, on balance, perhaps she had chosen wisely. . . ." + +"And is that all!" she asked him. "Is there no other course?" She +leaned towards him, and her lips were parted slightly. For a moment or +two he watched the slow rise and fall of her bosom, and then with a +short, hard laugh he turned away. + +"You want a lot for your money, my lady," he said, and his voice shook a +little. "But I will paint you another picture, before we drift through +the branches back to the boat-house and--reality. I see another +house--just an ordinary nice comfortable house--four reception, ten bed, +h. & c. laid on, with garage. Close to good golf links. A girl in grey +is standing in the hall, leaning over a pram in which the jolliest, +fattest boy you've ever thought of is sitting and generally bossing the +entire show. He is reputed by his nurse, who is old enough to know +better, to have just spoken his first consecutive sentence. To the +brutal and unimaginative father who is outside with his golf clubs it had +sounded like 'Wum--wah!' According to the interpreter it meant that he +wanted an egg for tea; and it was being duly entered up in a book which +contained spaces for Baby's first tooth, the first time he was sick, when +he smashed his first toy--and other milestones in his career. . . . Ah! +but it's a jolly house. There are no crowds of men-servants and +maid-servants; there is no priceless Limousine. And the girl just wears +a grey silk jersey with a belt, and a grey skirt and grey brogues. And, +ye Gods! but she looks topping, as she steps out to join the brutal man +outside. Her golf clubs are slung over her shoulder, and together they +foot it to the first tee. . . . He is just scratch, and she. . . . let's +think. . . ." + +"Eight would be a good sort of handicap," murmured the girl. + +"Eight it is," said Vane. "That means he gives her six strokes, and +generally beats her." + +"I'll bet he doesn't," cried the girl. + +"You must not interrupt the old gipsy, my lady," rebuked Vane, "You see, +it doesn't matter to those two which wins--not a little bit, for the most +important hole in the course is the tenth. It's a short hole, with the +most enormous sand bunker guarding the green on the right. And though +for nine holes neither of them has sliced, at the tenth they both do. +And if by chance one of them doesn't, that one loses the hole. You see +it's the most dreadful bunker, and somehow they've got to get to the +bottom of it. Well--it would be quite unfair if only one of them went +there--so the non-slicer loses the hole." + +The girl's face was dimpling gloriously. . . . + +"Then when they've got there--he just takes her in his arms and kisses +her; and she kisses him. Just now and then she'll whisper, 'My dear, my +dear--but it's good to be alive,' but most times they just kiss. Then +they go on and finish their game. Except for that interlude they are +really very serious golfers." + +"And when they've finished their game--what then?" + +"They go back and have tea--a big fat tea with lots of scones and +Devonshire cream. And then, after tea, the man goes round to the garage +and gets the car. Just a jolly little two-seater that does fifty on the +level. The girl gets in and they drive away to where the purple heather +merges into the violet of the moors! And it's great. Perhaps they'll +come back to dinner, or perhaps they'll have it somewhere and come home +when the sun has set and the stars are gleaming above them like a +thousand silver lamps. They don't know what they're going to do when +they start--and they don't care. They'll just be together, and that's +enough. . . . Of course they're very foolish and inconsequent +people. . ." + +"Ah! but they're not," she cried quickly. "They're just the wisest +people in the world. Only don't you see that one day after their golf +they drive on and on, and suddenly it seemed to the girl in grey that the +road was getting familiar? There was an old church she recognised and +lots of landmarks. And then suddenly they drive past some lodge gates, +and there--in the middle of the road--stands a dreadful man smoking a +cigar with a band round it. All the glory has gone from the drive, and +the girl feels numb and sick and mad with fury. . . ." + +"But that was bad steering on the man's part," said Vane. "He ought to +have avoided that road." + +"The girl could never avoid it, Derek," she answered sadly. "Even in the +bunker at the tenth she'd be seeing that cigar. . . ." + +"I don't believe it," said Vane. + +"I know it," answered the girl. + +A sudden hail of "Joan" came ringing over the water, and she gave an +answering hail. + +"There's Dad," she said. "I suppose we ought to be going. . . ." + +With a sigh Vane rose and stood over her. "Come on," he laughed, holding +out his hand to help her up. "And then I'll untie the boat. . . ." + +He swung her up beside him and for a moment they looked into one +another's eyes. + +"I hope," he said, "that you'll be happy, my dear, so happy." And his +voice was very tender. . . . + +They rowed back towards the boat-house, where Sir James was waiting for +them. + +"Come and have tea, you two," he cried cheerily, and Joan waved her hand +at him. Then she looked at Vane. + +"It's been a wonderful afternoon of make-believe," she said softly. +"I've just loved it. . . ." Vane said nothing, but just as they were +stepping out of the boat he took her arm gently. + +"Are you quite certain, lady," he whispered, "that it must +be--make-believe? . . ." + +For a while she stood motionless, and then she smiled "Why, of +course. . . . There's your beaten track to find, and there's She who +must be obeyed. And there's also. . . ." + +"The cigar with the band round it." Vane's hand dropped to his side. +"Perhaps you're right. . . ." + +They strolled together towards Sir James. And it was just before they +came within earshot that Vane spoke again. "Would you care to play the +game again, grey girl?" + +"Why, yes," she said, "I think I would. . . . I think I would." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +During the days that followed his afternoon on the lake at Blandford +Vane found himself thinking a good deal more of Joan than augured well +for his peace of mind. He had been over to call, and had discovered +that she had gone North very suddenly, and it was not certain when she +would return. And so he escaped from Aunt Jane as soon as he politely +could, and strolled back through the woods, conscious of a sense of +acute disappointment. + +He went to his customary hiding place by the little waterfall, and, +lighting his pipe sat down on the grass. + +"My son," he murmured to himself, "you'd better take a pull. Miss Joan +Devereux is marrying a millionaire to save the family. You are +marrying Margaret Trent--and it were better not to forget those two +simple facts. . . ." + +He pulled Margaret's letter out of his pocket, and started to read it +through again. But after a moment it dropped unheeded on the ground +beside him, and he sat motionless, staring at the pool. He did not see +the green of the undergrowth; he did not hear a thrush pouring out its +little soul from a bush close by. He saw a huddled, shapeless thing +sagging into a still smoking crater; he heard the drone of engines +dying faintly in the distance and a voice whispering, "The devils . . . +the vile devils." + +And then another picture took its place--the picture of a girl in grey, +lying back on a mass of cushions, with a faint mocking light in her +eyes, and a smile which hovered now and then round her lips. . . . + +A very wise old frog regarded him for a moment and then croaked +derisively. "Go to the devil," said Vane. "Compared with Margaret, +what has the other one done in this war that is worth doing?" + +"You must be even more damn foolish than most humans," it remarked, "if +you try to make yourself think that the way of a man with a maid +depends on the doing of things that are worth while." The speaker +plopped joyfully into the pool, and Vane savagely beheaded a flower +with his stick. + +"C-r-rick, C-r-rick," went the old frog, who had come up for a +breather, and Vane threw a stone at it. Try as he would he could not +check a thought which rioted through his brain, and made his heart +pound like a mad thing. Supposing--just supposing. . . . + +"Then why did she go up North so suddenly," jeered the frog. "Without +even leaving you a line? She's just been amusing you and herself in +her professional capacity." + +Vane swore gently and rose to his feet. "You're perfectly right, my +friend," he remarked; "perfectly right. She's just an ordinary common +or garden flirt, and we'll cut it right out. We will resume our +studies, old bean; we will endeavour to find out by what possible +method Bolshevism--_vide_ her august papa--can be kept from the +country. As a precautionary measure, a first-class ticket to +Timbuctoo, in case we fail in our modest endeavour, might be a good +speculation. . . ." + +For a moment he stood motionless, staring into the cool shadows of the +wood, while a curious smile played over his face. And may be, in spite +of his derisive critic, who still croaked from the edge of the pool, +his thoughts were not entirely centred on his proposed modest +endeavour. Then with a short laugh he turned on his heel, and strode +back towards Rumfold. + + +Two days later he found himself once again before a Medical Board. +Space, even in convalescent homes, was at a premium, and Vane, to his +amazement, found himself granted a month's sick leave, at the +expiration of which he was to go before yet another Board. And so +having shaken hands with Lady Patterdale and suffered Sir John to +explain the war to him for nearly ten minutes, Vane departed for London +and Half Moon Street. + +He wrote Margaret a long letter in reply to hers telling him of her +decision to take up medicine. He explained, what was no more than the +truth, that her suggestion had taken him completely by surprise, but +that if she considered that she had found her particular job he, for +one, would most certainly not attempt to dissuade her. With regard to +himself, however, the matter was somewhat different. At present he +failed to see any budding literary signs, and his few efforts in the +past had not been of the nature which led him to believe that he was +likely to prove a formidable rival to Galsworthy or Arnold +Bennett. . . . + +"I'm reading 'em all, Margaret--the whole blessed lot. And it seems to +me that with the world as it is at present, bread-and-butter is wanted, +not caviare. . . . But probably the mistake is entirely mine. There +seems to me to be a spirit of revolt in the air, which gives one most +furiously to think. Everybody distrusts everybody else; everybody +wants to change--and they don't know what they want to change to. +There doesn't seem to be any single connected idea as to what is +wanted--or how to get it. The only thing on which everyone seems +agreed is More Money and Less Work. . . . Surely to Heaven there must +be a way out; some simple way out. We didn't have this sort of thing +over the water. We were pals over there; but here every single soul +loathes every other single soul like poison. . . . Can it be that only +by going back to the primitive, as we had to do in France, can one find +happiness? The idea is preposterous. . . . And, yet, now that I'm +here and have been here these months, I'm longing to come back. I'm +sick of it. Looking at this country with what I call my French +eyes--it nauseates me. It seems so utterly petty. . . . What the +devil are we fighting for? It's going to be a splendid state of +affairs, isn't it, if the immediate result of beating the Boche is +anarchy over here? . . . . And one feels that it oughtn't to be so; +one feels that it's Gilbertian to the pitch of frenzied lunacy. You've +seen those boys in hospital; I've seen 'em in the line--and they've +struck me, as they have you, as God's elect. . . . Then why, WHY, WHY, +in the name of all that is marvellous, is this state of affairs +existing over here? . . . . + +"I went to lunch with Sir James Devereux before I left Rumfold. A nice +old man, but money, or rather the lack of it, is simply rattling its +bones in the family cupboard. . . ." + +Vane laid down his pen as he came to this point, and began to trace +patterns idly on the blotting paper. After a while he turned to the +sheet again. + +"His daughter seems very nice--also his sister, who is stone deaf. One +screams at her through a megaphone. He, of course, rants and raves at +what he calls the lack of patriotism shown by the working man. Fears +an organised strike--financed by enemy money--if not during, at any +rate after, the war. The country at a standstill--anarchy, Bolshevism. +'Pon my soul, I can't help thinking he's right. As soon as men, even +the steadiest, have felt the power of striking--what will stop +them? . . . And as he says, they've had the most enormous concessions. +By Jove! lady--it sure does make me sick and tired. . . . + +"However, in pursuance of your orders delivered verbally on the beach +at Paris Plage, I am persevering in my endeavours to find the beaten +track. I am lunching to-day with Nancy Smallwood, who has a new craze. +You remember at one time it used to be keeping parrots--and then she +went through a phase of distributing orchids through the slums of +Whitechapel, to improve the recipients' aesthetic sense. She only gave +that up, I have always understood, when she took to wearing black +underclothes! + +"I met her yesterday in Bond Street, and she tackled me at once. + +"'You must lunch to-morrow . . . Savoy . . . 1.15 . . . Meet Mr. +Ramage, Labour leader . . . Intensely interesting. . . .' + +"You know how she talks, like a hen clucking. 'Coming, man. . . . Has +already arrived, in fact. . . . One must make friends with the mammon +of unrighteousness these days. . . . Life may depend on it. . . . +He's such a dear, too. . . . Certain he'll never let these dreadful +men kill me. . . . But I always give him the very best lunch I +can. . . . In case, you know. . . . Good-bye.' + +"I feel that she will sort of put down each course on the credit side +of the ledger, and hope that, if the total proves sufficiently +imposing, she may escape with the loss of an arm when the crash comes. +She'll probably send the receipted bills to Ramage by special +messenger. . . . I'm rather interested to meet the man. Sir James was +particularly virulent over what he called the intellectuals. . . . + +"Well, dear, I must go. Don't do too much and overtire +yourself. . . ." He strolled out of the smoking-room and posted the +letter. Then, refusing the offer of a passing taxi, he turned along +Pall Mall on his way to the Savoy. + + +As Vane had said in his letter, Nancy Smallwood had a new craze. She +passed from one to another with a bewildering rapidity which tried her +friends very highly. The last one of which Vane had any knowledge was +when she insisted on keeping a hen and feeding it with a special +preparation of her own to increase its laying capacity. This +necessitated it being kept in the drawing-room, as otherwise she forgot +all about it; and Vane had a vivid recollection of a large and +incredibly stout bird with a watery and furtive eye ensconced on +cushions near the piano. + +But that was years ago, and now the mammon of unrighteousness, as she +called it, apparently held sway. He wondered idly as he walked along +what manner of man Ramage would prove to be. Everyone whom he had ever +met called down curses on the man's head, but as far as he could +remember he had never heard him described. Nor did he recollect ever +having seen a photograph of him. "Probably dressed in corduroy," he +reflected, "and eats peas with his knife. Damn clever thing to do too; +I mustn't forget to congratulate him if he does. . . ." + +He turned in at the courtyard of the hotel, glancing round for Nancy +Smallwood. He saw her almost at once, looking a little worried. +Incidentally she always did look worried, with that sort of helpless +pathetic air with which very small women compel very big men to go to +an infinity of trouble over things which bore them to extinction. + +"My dear man," she cried as he came up to her. "Mr. Ramage hasn't come +yet. . . . And he's always so punctual. . . ." + +"Then let us have a cocktail, Nancy, to keep the cold out till he +does." He hailed a passing waiter. "Tell me, what sort of a fellow is +he? I'm rather curious about him." + +"My dear," she answered, "he's the most fascinating man in the world." +She clasped her hands together and gazed at Vane impressively. "So +wonderfully clever . . . so quiet . . . so . . . so . . . gentlemanly. +I am so glad you could come. You would never think for a moment when +you saw him that he sympathised with all these dreadful Bolsheviks and +Soviets and things; and that he disapproved of money and property and +everything that makes life worth living. . . . Sometimes he simply +terrifies me, Derek." She sipped her cocktail plaintively. "But I +feel it's my duty to make a fuss of him and feed him and that sort of +thing, for all our sakes. It may make him postpone the +Revolution. . . ." + +Vane suppressed a smile, and lit a cigarette gravely. "They'll +probably give you a vote of thanks in Parliament, Nancy, to say nothing +of an O.B.E. . . . Incidentally does the fellow eat all right?" + +With a gesture of horrified protest, Nancy Smallwood sat back in her +chair. "My dear Derek," she murmured. . . . "Far, far better than you +and I do. I always mash my bread sauce up with the vegetables if no +one's looking, and I'm certain he never would. He's most +respectable. . . ." + +"My God!" said Vane, "as bad as that! I was hoping he'd eat peas with +his knife." + +She looked towards the door and suddenly stood up. "Here he is, coming +down the stairs now. . . ." She held out her hand to him as he came +up. "I was afraid you weren't going to come, Mr. Ramage." + +"Am I late?" he answered, glancing at his watch. "A thousand +apologies, Mrs. Smallwood. . . . A committee meeting. . . ." + +He turned towards Vane and she introduced the two men, who followed her +into the restaurant. And in his first quick glance Vane was conscious +of a certain disappointment, and a distinct feeling of surprise. + +Far from being clad in corduroy, Ramage had on a very respectable +morning coat. In fact, it struck him that Nancy Smallwood's remark +exactly described him. He looked _most_ respectable--not to say dull. +By no stretch of imagination could Vane imagine him as the leader of a +great cause. He might have been a country lawyer, or a general +practitioner, or any of those eminently worthy things with which +utility rather than brilliance is generally associated. He recalled +what he had read in the papers--paragraphs describing meetings at which +Mr. Ramage had taken a prominent part, and his general recollection of +most of them seemed to be summed up in the one sentence . . . "the +meeting then broke up in disorder, Mr. Ramage escaping with difficulty +through a window at the back." Somehow he could not see this decorous +gentleman opposite escaping through windows under a barrage of bad +eggs. He failed to fill the part completely. As a cashier in a local +bank gravely informing a customer that his account was overdrawn--yes; +but as a fighter, as a man who counted for something in the teeming +world around--why no. . . . Not as far as appearance went, at any +rate. And at that moment the eyes of the two men met for an instant +across the table. . . . + +It seemed to Vane almost as if he had received a blow--so sudden was +the check to his mental rambling. For the eyes of the man opposite, +deep set and gleaming, were the eyes of greatness, and they triumphed +so completely over their indifferent setting that Vane marvelled at his +previous obtuseness. Martyrs have had such eyes, and the great +pioneers of the world--men who have deemed everything well lost for a +cause, be that cause right or wrong. And almost as if he were standing +there in the flesh, there came to him a vision of Sir James raving +furiously against this man. + +He watched him with a slightly puzzled frown for a moment. This was +the man who was deliberately leading the masses towards discontent and +revolt; this was the man of intellect who was deliberately using his +gift to try to ruin the country. . . . So Sir James had said; so Vane +had always understood. And his frown grew more puzzled. + +Suddenly Ramage turned and spoke to him. A faint smile hovered for a +second around his lips, as if he had noticed the frown and interpreted +its cause aright. + +"Things seem to be going very well over the water, Captain Vane." + +"Very well," said Vane abruptly. "I think we've got those arch swine +beaten at last--without the help of a negotiated peace." + +For a moment the deep-set eyes gleamed, and then, once more, a faint +smile hovered on his face. "Of which much maligned substitute for war +you doubtless regard me as one of the High Priests?" + +"Such is the general opinion, Mr. Ramage." + +"And you think," returned the other after a moment, "that the idea was +so completely wrong as to have justified the holders of the opposite +view expending--what, another two . . . three million lives?" . . . + +"I am afraid," answered Vane a little curtly, "that I'm in no position +to balance any such account. The issues involved are a little above my +form. All I do know is, that our dead would have turned in their +graves had we not completed their work. . . .' + +"I wonder?" said the other slowly. "It always seems to me that the +dead are saddled with very blood-thirsty opinions. . . . One sometimes +thinks, when one is in a particularly foolish mood, that the dead might +have learned a little common sense. . . . Very optimistic, but +still. . . ." + +"If they have learned anything," answered Vane gravely, "our dead over +the water--they have learned the sublime lesson of pulling together. +It seems a pity, Mr. Ramage, that a few of 'em can't come back again +and preach the sermon here in England." + +"Wouldn't it be too wonderful?" chirruped their hostess. "Think of +going to St. Paul's and being preached to by a ghost. . . ." For the +past minute she had been shooting little bird-like glances at a +neighbouring table, and now she leaned forward impressively. "There +are some people over there, Mr. Ramage, and I'm sure they recognise +you." This was better, far better, than feeding a hen in the +drawing-room. + +He turned to her with a faintly amused smile. "How very annoying for +you! I am so sorry. . . . Shall I go away, and then you can discuss +my sins in a loud voice with Captain Vane?" + +Nancy Smallwood shook an admonishing finger at him, and sighed +pathetically. "Do go on talking, you two. I do so love to hear about +these things, and I'm so stupid myself. . . ." + +"For Heaven's sake, Nancy," laughed Vane, "don't put me amongst the +highbrows. I'm groping . . . crumbs from rich man's table sort of +business." + +"Groping?" Ramage glanced at him across the table. + +"Yes," said Vane taking the bull by the horns. "Wondering why the +devil we fought if the result is going to be anarchy in England. Over +there everybody seems to be pals; here. . . . Great Scott!" He +shrugged his shoulders. After a while he went on--"Over there we got +rid of class hatred; may I ask you, Mr. Ramage, without meaning in any +way to be offensive, why you're doing your utmost to stir it up over +here?" + +The other put down his knife and fork and stared at Vane thoughtfully. +"Because," he remarked in a curiously deep voice, "that way lies the +salvation of the world. . . ." + +"The machine-gun at the street corner," answered Vane cynically, "is +certainly the way to salvation for quite a number." + +Ramage took no notice of the interruption. "If labour had controlled +Europe in 1914, do you suppose we should have had a war? As it was, a +few men were capable of ordering millions to their death. Can you +seriously contend that such a state of affairs was not absolutely +rotten?" + +"But are you going to alter it by fanning class hatred?" demanded Vane +going back to his old point. + +"Not if it can be avoided. But--the issue lies in the hands of the +present ruling class. . . ." + +Vane raised his eyebrows. "I have generally understood that it was +Labour who was bringing things to a head." + +"It rather depends on the way you look at it, doesn't it? If I possess +a thing which by right is yours, and you demand the return of it, which +of us two is really responsible for the subsequent fight?" + +"And what does the present ruling class possess which Labour considers +should be returned to it?" asked Vane curiously. + +"The bond note of slavery," returned the other. "If the present rulers +will tear up that bond--willingly and freely--there will be no +fight. . . . If not. . . ." He shrugged his shoulders. "Labour may +be forcing that issue, Captain Vane; but it will be the other man who +is responsible if the fight comes. . . . Labour demands fair +treatment--not as a concession, but as a right--and Labour has felt its +power. It will get that treatment--peacefully, if possible; but if +not"--and a light blazed in his eyes--"it will get it by force." + +"And the referee as to what is just is Labour itself," said Vane +slowly; "in spite of the fact that it's the other man who is running +the financial risk and paying the piper. It sounds wonderfully fair, +doesn't it? Surely some rights must go with property--whether it's +land or a coal mine, or a bucket shop. . . . Surely the owner must +have the principal say in calling the tune." For a few moments he +stared at the man opposite him, and then he went on again, with +increasing earnestness--with almost a note of appeal in his voice. "I +want to get at your point of view, Mr. Ramage--I want to understand +you. . . . And I don't. There are thousands of men like me who have +been through this war--who have seen the glory underneath the dirt--who +want to understand too. We hoped--we still hope--that a new England +would grow out of it; but somehow. . . ." Vane laughed shortly, and +took out his cigarette case. + +"And we are going to get that new England for which you have fought," +burst out the other triumphantly. Then with a slight smile he looked +at Vane. "We must not forget our surroundings--I see a waiter +regarding me suspiciously. Thanks--no; I don't smoke." He traced a +pattern idly on the cloth for a moment, and then looked up quickly. "I +would like you to try to understand," he said. "Because, as I said, +the whole question of possible anarchy as opposed to a constitutional +change lies in your hands and the hands of your class." + +Vane gave a short, incredulous laugh, and shook his head. + +"In your hands," repeated the other gravely. "You see, Captain Vane, +we approach this matter from a fundamentally different point of view. +You look around you, and you see men striking here and striking there. +And you say 'Look at the swine; striking again!' But there's one thing +that you fail to grasp, I think. Underneath all these strikes and +violent upheavals, bursting into flame in all sorts of unexpected +places--there is the volcano of a vital conflict between two +fundamental ideas. Though the men hardly realise it themselves, it's +there, that conflict, all the time. . . . And we, who see a little +further than the mob, know that it's there, and that sooner or later +that conflict will end in victory for one side or the other. Which +side, my friend? Yours _or_ ours. . . . Or both. Yours _and_ +ours. . . . England's." He paused for a moment as the waiter handed +him the coffee. Then he went on--"To the master-class generally there +is a certain order of things, and they can imagine nothing else. They +employ workers--they pay them, or they 'chuck' them, as they like. +They hold over them absolute power. They are kind in many cases; they +help and look after their employees. But they are the masters--and the +others are the men. That is the only form of society they can conceive +of. Any mitigation of conditions is simply a change within the old +order. That is one point of view. . . . Now for the other." He +turned with a smile to his hostess. "I hope I'm not boring you. . . ." + +"Why, I'm thrilled to death," she cried, hurriedly collecting her +thoughts from an adjacent hat. "Do go on." + +"The other point of view is this. We do not wish for mitigation of +conditions in a system which we consider wrong. We want the entire +system swept away. . . . We want the entire propertied class removed. +We deny that there are any inherent rights which go with the possession +of property; and even if there are, we claim that the rights of the +masses far outweigh the property rights of the small minority of +owners. . . ." + +"In other words," said Vane briefly, "you claim for the masses the +right to commit robbery on a large scale." + +"For just so long as that view of robbery holds, Captain Vane, for just +so long will there fail to be any real co-operation between you and us. +For just so long as you are convinced that your vested right is the +true one, and that ours is false--for just so long will the final +settlement by quiet methods be postponed. But if you make it too long +the final settlement will not come by quiet means." + +"Your proposal, then, is that we should commit suicide with a good +grace?" remarked Vane. "Really, Mr. Ramage, it won't do. . . . I, +personally, if I owned property, would go into the last ditch in +defence of what was mine." Into his mind there flashed Joan's +words. . . . "It's ours. I tell you, ours," and he smiled grimly. +"Why, in the name of fortune, I should give what I possess to a crowd +of scally wags who haven't made good, is more than I can fathom. . . ." + +"It is hardly likely to go as far as that," said the other with a +smile. "But the time is coming when we shall have a Labour +Government--a Government which at heart is Socialistic. And their +first move will be to nationalise all the big industries. . . . How +far will property meet them and help them? Will they fight--or will +they co-operate? . . . It's up to property to decide. . . ." + +"Because you will have forced the issue," said Vane; "an issue which, I +maintain, you have no right to force. Robbery is robbery, just the +same whether its sanctioned by an Act of Parliament, or whether it's +performed by a man holding a gun at your head. . . . Why, in God's +name, Mr. Ramage, can't we pull together for the side? . . ." + +"With you as the leaders--the kind employers?" + +"With those men as the leaders who have shown that they can lead," said +Vane doggedly. "They will come to the top in the future as they have +in the past. . . ." + +"By all manner of means," cried Ramage. "Leaders--brains--will always +rise to the top; will always be rewarded more highly than mere manual +labour. . . . They will occupy more remunerative positions under the +State. . . . But the fruits of labour will only be for those who do +the work--be it with their hands or be it with their heads. The +profiteer must go; the private owner must go with his dole here and his +dole there, generally forced from him as the result of a strike. I +would be the last to say that there are not thousands of good +employers--but there are also thousands of bad ones, and now labour +refuses to run the risk any more." + +"And what about depreciation--fresh plant? Where's the capital coming +from?" + +"Why, the State. It requires very little imagination to see how easy +it would be to put away a certain sum each year for that. . . . A +question of how much you charge the final purchaser. . . . And the +profiteer goes out of the picture. . . . That's what we're aiming at; +that is what is coming. . . . No more men like the gentleman sitting +three tables away--just behind you; no more of the Baxters fattening on +sweated labour." His deep-set eyes were gleaming at the vision he saw, +and Vane felt a sense of futility. + +"Even assuming your view is right, Mr. Ramage," he remarked slowly, "do +you really think that you, and the few like you, will ever hold the +mob? . . . You may make your new England, but you'll make it over +rivers of blood, unless we all of us--you, as well as we--see through +the glass a little less darkly than we do now. . . ." + +"Every great movement has its price," returned the other, staring at +him gravely. + +"Price!" Vane's laugh was short and bitter. "Have you ever seen a +battalion, Mr. Ramage, that has been caught under machine-gun fire?" + +"And have _you_, Captain Vane, ever seen the hovels in which some of +our workers live?" + +"And you really think that by exchanging private ownership for a +soulless bureaucracy you find salvation?" said Vane shortly. "You're +rather optimistic, aren't you, on the subject of Government +departments? . . ." + +"I'm not thinking of this Government, Captain Vane," he remarked +quietly. He looked at his watch and rose. "I'm glad to have met you," +he said holding out his hand. "It's the vested interest that is at the +root of the whole evil--that stands between the old order and the new. +Therefore the vested interest must go." . . . He turned to his +hostess. "I'm sorry to run away like this, Mrs. Smallwood, but--I'm a +busy man. . . ." + +She rose at once; nothing would have induced her to forgo walking +through the restaurant with him. Later she would describe the progress +to her intimates in her usual staccato utterances, like a goat hopping +from crag to crag. + +"My dear. . . . So thrilling. . . . He means wholesale murder. . . . +Told us so. . . . And there was a man close by, watching him all the +time. . . . A Government spy probably. . . . Do you think I shall be +arrested? . . . If only he allows Bill and me to escape when it +comes. . . . The revolution, I mean. . . . I think Monte is the +place. . . . But one never knows. . . . Probably the croupiers will +be armed with pistols, or something dreadful. . . . Except that if +it's the labouring classes who are rising, we ought to shoot the +croupiers. . . . It is so difficult to know what to do." + +Vane turned to follow her, as she threaded her way between the tables, +and at that moment he saw Joan. The grey eyes were fixed on him +mockingly, and he felt as if everyone in the room must hear the sudden +thumping of his heart. With a murmured apology to his hostess, he left +her and crossed to Joan's table. + +"This is an unexpected surprise," she remarked as he came up. + +"Do you know Mr. Baxter--Captain Vane. . . ." + +Vane looked curiously at the man who had invoked his late companion's +wrath. Then his glance fell on the bottle of Vichy in front of the +millionaire, and his jaw tightened. + +"You left Blandford very unexpectedly, Miss Devereux," he said politely. + +"Yes--I had to go North suddenly." She looked at him with a smile. +"You see--I was frightened. . . ." + +"Frightened. . . ." murmured Vane. + +"A friend of mine--a very great friend of mine--a girl, was in danger +of making a fool of herself." Her eyes were fixed on the band, and his +heart began to thump again. + +"I trust the catastrophe was averted," he remarked. + +"One never knows in these cases, does one?" she answered. He saw the +trace of a smile hover on her lips; then she turned to her companion. +"Captain Vane was one of the convalescents at Rumfold Hall," she +explained. + +Mr. Baxter grunted. "Going over again soon?" he asked in a grating +voice. + +"I'm on leave at present," said Vane briefly. + +"Well, if you'll forgive my saying so," continued Baxter in his harsh +voice, "your luncheon companion to-day is a gentleman you want to be +careful with. . . ." + +Vane raised his eyebrows. "You are more than kind," he murmured. "But +I think. . . ." + +Mr. Baxter waved his hand. "I mean no offence," he said. "But that +man Ramage is one of the men who are going to ruin this country. . . ." + +"Funnily enough, Mr. Baxter, he seems to be of the opinion that you are +one of the men who have already done so." + +The millionaire, in no wise offended, roared with laughter. Then he +became serious again. "The old catchwords," he grated. "Bloated +capitalist--sweated labour, growing fat on the bodies and souls of +those we employ. . . . Rot, sir; twaddle, sir. There's no business +such as mine would last for one moment if I didn't look after my +workpeople. Pure selfishness on my part, I admit. If I had my way I'd +sack the lot and instal machines. But I can't. . . . And if I could, +do you suppose I'd neglect my machine. . . . Save a shilling for +lubricating oil and do a hundred pounds' worth of damage? Don't you +believe it, Captain Vane. . . . But, I'll be damned if I'll be +dictated to by the man I pay. . . . I pay them a fair wage and they +know it. And if I have any of this rot of sympathetic strikes after +the war, I'll shut everything down for good and let 'em starve. . . ." +He looked at Joan. . . . "I wouldn't be sorry to have a long rest," he +continued thoughtfully. + +"Captain Vane is a seeker after truth," she remarked. "It must be most +valuable," she turned to Vane, "to hear two such opinions as his and +Mr. Ramage's so close together." Her eyes were dancing merrily. + +"Most valuable," returned Vane. "And one is so struck with the +pugilistic attitude adopted by both parties. . . . It seems so +extraordinarily helpful to the smooth running of the country +afterwards." He had no occasion to like Baxter from any point of +view--but apart altogether from Joan, he felt that if there was any +justification in his late luncheon companion's views, men such as +Baxter supplied it. + +With a movement almost of distaste he turned to Joan. "I was sorry +that we didn't have another game before I left Rumfold," he said +lightly. + +"It was so very even that last one," she returned, and Vane's knuckles +showed white on the table. + +"My recollection is that you won fairly easily," he murmured. + +"Excuse me a moment, will you?" said Mr. Baxter to Joan. "There's a +man over there I must speak to. . . ." He rose and crossed the +restaurant. Joan watched him as he moved between the tables; then she +looked at Vane. "Your recollections are all wrong," she said softly. +The grey eyes held no hint of mockery in them now, they were sweetly +serious, and once again Vane gripped the table hard. His head was +beginning to swim and he felt that he would shortly make a profound +fool of himself. + +"Do you think you're being quite kind, grey girl," he said in a low +voice which he strove to keep calm. + +For a few moments she played with the spoon on her coffee cup, and +suddenly with a great rush of pure joy, which well-nigh choked him, +Vane saw that her hand was trembling. + +"Are _you_?" He scarcely heard the whispered words above the noise +around. + +"I don't care whether I am or not." His voice was low and exultant. +He looked round, and saw that Baxter was threading his way back towards +them. "This afternoon, Joan, tea in my rooms." He spoke swiftly and +insistently. "You've just got to meet Binks. . . ." + +And then, before she could answer, he was gone. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Vane walked along Piccadilly a prey to conflicting emotions. Dominant +amongst them was a wild elation at what he had seen in Joan's eyes, but +a very good second was the uncomfortable remembrance of Margaret. What +did he propose to do? + +He was not a cad, and the game he was playing struck him rather +forcibly as being uncompromisingly near the caddish. Did he, or did he +not, mean to make love to the girl he had just left at the Savoy? And +if he did, to what end? + +A crowd of lunchers coming out of Prince's checked him for a moment or +two, and forced him into the arms of an officer and a girl who were +standing, apparently waiting for a taxi. Almost unconsciously he took +stock of them, even as he apologised. . . . + +The girl, a pretty little thing, but utterly mediocre and +uninteresting, was clinging to the officer's arm, a second lieutenant +in the Tank Corps. + +"Do you think we ought to take a taxi, Bill? Let's go on a 'bus. . . ." + +"No damn fear," returned Bill. "Let's blow the lot while we're about +it. I'm going back to-morrow. . . ." + +Then Vane pushed past them, with that brief snapshot of a pair of lives +photographed on his brain. And it would have effaced itself as quickly +as it had come, but for the very new wedding ring he had seen on the +girl's left hand--so new that to conceal it with a glove was simply not +to be thought of. + +Money--money--money; was there no getting away from it? + +"Its value will not be measured by material things. It will leave +nothing. And yet it will have everything, and whatever one takes from +it, it will still have, so rich will it be. . . ." And as the words of +Oscar Wilde came to his mind Vane laughed aloud. + +"This is London, my lad," he soliloquised. "London in the twentieth +century. We've a very nice war on where a man may develop his +personality; fairy tales are out of date." + +He strolled on past the Ritz--his mind still busy with the problem. +Joan wanted to marry money; Joan had to marry money. At least he had +gathered so. He had asked Margaret to marry him; she had said that in +time she would--if he still wanted her. At least he had gathered so. +Those were the major issues. + +The minor and more important one--because minor ones have a way of +influencing the big fellows out of all proportion to their size--was +that he had asked Joan to tea. + +He sighed heavily and turned up Half Moon Street. Whatever happened +afterwards he had his duty as a host to consider first. He decided to +go in and talk to the worthy Mrs. Green, and see if by any chance that +stalwart pillar would be able to provide a tea worthy of the occasion. +Mrs. Green had a way with her, which seemed to sweep through such +bureaucratic absurdities as ration cards and food restrictions. Also, +and perhaps it was more to the point, she had a sister in Devonshire +who kept cows. + +"Mrs. Green," called Vane, "come up and confer with me on a matter of +great importance. . . ." + +With a wild rush Binks emerged from below as if shot from a +catapult--to be followed by Mrs. Green wiping her hands on her apron. + +"A most important affair, Mrs. Green," continued Vane, when he had let +himself into his rooms, and pacified Binks temporarily with the squeaky +indiarubber dog. "Only you can save the situation. . . ." + +Mrs. Green intimated by a magnificent gesture that she was fully +prepared to save any situation. + +"I have visitors for tea, or rather, to be correct--a visitor. A lady +to comfort me--or perhaps torment me--as only your sex can." His eyes +suddenly rested on Margaret's photo, and he stopped with a frown. Mrs. +Green's motherly face beamed with satisfaction. Here was a Romance +with a capital R, which was as dear to her kindly heart as a Mary +Pickford film. + +"I'm sure I hope you'll be very happy, sir," she said. + +"So do I, Mrs. Green--though I've a shrewd suspicion, I shall be +profoundly miserable." He resolutely turned his back on the photo. +"I'm playing a little game this afternoon, most motherly of women. +Incidentally it's been played before--but it never loses its charm +or--its danger. . . ." He gave a short laugh. "My first card is your +tea. Toast, Mrs. Green, covered with butter supplied by your sister in +Devonshire. Hot toast in your priceless muffin dish--running over with +butter: and wortleberry jam. . . . Can you do this great thing for me?" + +Mrs. Green nodded her head. "The butter only came this morning, Mr. +Vane, sir. And I've got three pounds of wortleberry jam left. . . ." + +"Three pounds should be enough," said Vane after due deliberation. + +"And then I've got a saffron cake," went on the worthy woman. "Fresh +made before it was sent on by my sister. . . ." + +"Say no more, Mrs. Green. We win--hands down--all along the line. Do +you realise that fair women and brave men who venture out to tea in +London to-day have to pay half a crown for a small dog biscuit?" Vane +rubbed his hands together. "After your tea, and possibly during it--I +shall play my second card--Binks. Now I appeal to you--Could any girl +with a particle of natural feeling consent to go on living away from +Binks?" + +The Accursed Thing emitted a mournful hoot, as Binks, hearing his name +spoken, raised his head and looked up at his master. His tail thumped +the floor feverishly, and his great brown eyes glowed with a mute +inquiry. "To walk, or not to walk"--that was the question. The answer +was apparently in the negative, for the moment at any rate, and he +again returned to the attack. + +"You see my guile, Mrs. Green," said Vane. "Softened by toast, +floating in Devonshire butter and covered with wortleberry jam; +mellowed by saffron cake--Binks will complete the conquest. Then will +come the crucial moment. No one, not even she, can part me from my +dog. To have Binks--she must have me. . . . What do you think of +it--as a game only, you know?" + +Mrs. Green laughed. "I surely do hope you're successful, my dear," she +said, and she laid a motherly hand on his arm. In moments of extreme +feeling she sometimes reverted to the language of her fathers, with its +soft West Country burr. . . . "When Green come courtin' me, he just +tuk me in tu his arms, and give me a great fat little kiss. . . ." + +"And, by Jove, Mrs. Green, he was a damn lucky fellow to be able to do +it," cried Vane, taking the kindly old hand in both his own. "If I +wasn't afraid of him coming for me with a broomstick, I'd do the same +myself. . . ." + +She shook a reproving finger at him from the door, and her face was +wreathed in smiles. "You ring when you want the tea, Mr. Vane, sir," +she said, "and I'll bring it up to you. . . ." + +She closed the door, and Vane heard the stairs creaking protestingly as +she descended. And not for the first time did he thank his lucky stars +that Fate had put him into such hands when he left Oxford. . . . + +For a while he stood staring at the door with a slight frown, and then +he turned to Binks. + +"I wonder, young fellow my lad," he muttered. "I wonder if I'm being +the most arrant blackguard!" + +He wandered restlessly round the room taking odd books from one table +and putting them on another, only to replace them in their original +positions on the return journey. He tidied up the golf clubs and a +bundle of polo sticks, and pitched the boxing gloves under a settee in +the corner from which Binks promptly retrieved them. In fact, he +behaved as men will behave when they're waiting for the unknown--be it +the answer of a woman, or zero hour at six thirty. And at last he +seemed to realise the fact. . . . + +"Oh! Hell, Binks," he laughed. "I've got it bad--right where the +boxer puts the sleep dope. . . . I think I'll just go and wash my +hands, old boy; they strike me as being unpleasantly excited. . . ." + +But when he returned Binks was still exhaling vigorously at a hole in +the wainscot, behind which he fancied he had detected a sound. With +the chance of a mouse on the horizon he became like Gamaliel, and cared +for none of these things. . . . + +A taxi drove up to the door, and Vane threw down the book he was +pretending to read, and listened with his heart in his mouth. Even +Binks, scenting that things were afoot, ceased to blow, and cocked his +head on one side expectantly. Then he growled, a low down, purring +growl, which meant that strangers were presuming to approach his domain +and that he reserved his judgment. . . . + +"Shut up, you fool," said Vane, as he sprang across the room to the +door, which at once decided the question in Binks's mind. Here was +evidently an enemy of no mean order who dared to come where angels +feared to tread when he was about. He beat Vane by two yards, giving +tongue in his most approved style. . . . + +"Down, old man, down," cried Vane, as he opened the door--but Binks had +to justify his existence. And so he barked twice at the intruder who +stood outside, watching his master with a faint smile. True the second +bark seemed in the nature of an apology; but damn it, one must do +something. . . . + +"You've come," said Vane, and with the sight of her every other thought +left his head. "My dear--but it's good of you. . . ." + +"Didn't you expect me?" she asked coming into the room. Still with the +same faint smile, she turned to Binks. "Hullo, old fellow," she said. +"You sure have got a great head on you." She bent over him, and put +her hand on the browny-black patch behind his ears. . . . Binks +growled; he disliked familiarity from people he did not know. + +"Look out, Joan," said Vane nervously. "He's a little funny with +strangers sometimes." + +"Am I a stranger, old chap?" she said, taking off her glove, and +letting her hand hang loosely just in front of his nose, with the back +towards him. Vane nodded approvingly, though he said nothing; as a +keen dog lover it pleased him intensely to see that the girl knew how +to make friends with them. And not everyone--even though they know the +method to use with a doubtful dog--has the nerve to use it. . . . + +For a moment Binks looked at her appraisingly; then he thrust forward a +cold wet nose and sniffed once at the hand in front of him. His mind +was made up. Just one short, welcoming lick, and he trotted back to +his hole in the wainscot. Important matters seemed to him to have been +neglected far too long as it was. . . . + +"Splendid," said Vane quietly. "The other member of the firm is now in +love with you as well. . . ." + +She looked at Vane in silence, and suddenly she shivered slightly. "I +think," she said, "that we had better talk about rather less dangerous +topics. . . ." She glanced round her, and then went to the window and +stood looking out into the bright sunlight. "What topping rooms you've +got," she said after a moment. + +"They aren't bad, are they?" remarked Vane briefly. "What do you say +to some tea? My devoted landlady is preparing a repast which +millionaires would squander their fortunes for. Her sister happens to +live in Devonshire. . . ." + +"So you were expecting me?" she cried, turning round and facing him. + +"I was," answered Vane. + +She laughed shortly. "Well--what do you think of dyspepsia and Vichy?" + +"I've been trying not to think of him ever since lunch," he answered +grimly. She came slowly towards him, and suddenly Vane caught both her +hands. "Joan, Joan," he cried, and his voice was a little hoarse, "my +dear, you can't. . . . You just can't. . . ." + +"What great brain was it who said something really crushing about that +word 'Can't?'" she said lightly. + +"Then you just mustn't." His grip almost hurt her, but she made no +effort to take away her hands. + +"The trouble, my very dear friend, seems to me to be that--I just +must." Gently she disengaged her hands, and at that moment Mrs. Green +arrived with the tea. + +"The dearest and kindest woman in London," said Vane with a smile to +Joan. "Since the days of my callow youth Mrs. Green has watched over +me like a mother. . . ." + +"I expect he wanted some watching too, Mrs. Green," cried Joan. + +Mrs. Green laughed, and set down the tea. "Show me the young gentleman +that doesn't, Miss," she said, "and I'll show you one that's no manner +of use to anybody. . . ." + +She arranged the plates and cups and then with a final--"You'll ring if +you want more butter, sir"--she left the room. + +"Think of it, Joan," said Vane. "Ring if you want more butter! Is it +a phrase from a dead language?" He pulled up a chair. . . . "Will you +preside, please, and decant the juice?" + +The girl sat down and smiled at him over the teapot. "A big, fat tea," +she murmured, "with lots of scones and Devonshire cream. . . ." + +"I thought you suggested talking about rather less dangerous topics," +said Vane quietly. Their eyes met, and suddenly Vane leaned forward. +"Tell me, grey girl," he said, "did you really mean it when you said +the last game was very nearly even?" + +For a moment she did not answer, and then she looked at him quite +frankly. "Yes," she said; "I really meant it. I tell you quite +honestly that I had meant to punish you; I had meant to flirt with +you--teach you a lesson--and give you a fall. I thought you wanted +it. . . . And then. . . ." + +"Yes," said Vane eagerly. . . . "What then?" + +"Why--I think I changed my mind," said the girl. "I didn't know you +were such a dear. . . . I'm sorry," she added after a moment. + +"But why be sorry?" he cried. "It's just the most wonderful thing in +the world. I did deserve it--I've had the fall. . . . And oh! my +dear, to think you're crashed as well. . . . Or at any rate slid a +bit." He corrected himself with a smile. + +But there was no answering smile on the girl's face. She just stared +out of the window, and then with a sort of explosive violence she +turned on Vane. "Why did you do it?" she stormed. "Why . . . +why . . .?" For a while they looked at one another, and then she +laughed suddenly. "For Heaven's sake, let's be sensible. . . . The +toast is getting cold, my dear man. . . ." + +"I can't believe it," said Vane gravely. "We've done nothing to +deserve such a punishment as that. . . ." + +And so for a while they talked of trivial things--of plays, and books, +and people. But every now and then would fall a silence, and their +eyes would meet--and hold. Just for a moment or two; just for long +enough to make them both realise the futility of the game they were +playing. Then they would both speak at once, and contribute some gem +of sparkling wit, which would have shamed even the writer of mottoes in +crackers. . . . + +A tentative paw on Joan's knee made her look down. Binks--tired of his +abortive blasts at an unresponsive hole--desired refreshment, and from +time immemorial tea had been the one meal at which he was allowed to +beg. He condescended to eat two slices of saffron cake, and then Vane +presented the slop basin to Joan. + +"He likes his tea," he informed her, "with plenty of milk and sugar. +Also you must stir it with your finger to see that it isn't too hot. +He'll never forgive you if it burns his nose." + +"You really are the most exacting household," laughed Joan, putting the +bowl down on the floor. + +"We are," said Vane gravely. "I hope you feel equal to coping with +us. . . ." + +She was watching Binks as he stood beside her drinking his tea, and +gave no sign of having heard his remark. + +"You know," he continued after a while, "your introduction to Binks at +such an early stage in the proceedings has rather spoilt the masterly +programme I had outlined in my mind. First you were to be charmed and +softened by Mrs. Green's wonderful tea. Secondly, you were to see +Binks; be formally introduced. You were to fall in love with him on +sight, so to speak; vow that you could never be parted from such a +perfect dog again. And then, thirdly. . . ." + +"His appearance is all that I could desire," she interrupted +irrelevantly; "but I beg to point out that he is an excessively dirty +feeder. . . ." + +Vane stood up and looked at the offender. "You mean the shower of tea +drops that goes backwards on to the carpet," he said reflectively. +"'Twas ever thus with Binks." + +"And the tea leaves adhering to his beard." She pointed an accusing +finger at the unrepentant sinner. + +"You should have poured it through that sieve affair," said Vane. +"Your own manners as a hostess are not all they might be. However, +Binks and I are prepared to overlook it for once, and so we will pass +on to the thirdly. . . ." + +He handed her the cigarette box, and with a faint smile hovering round +her lips, she looked up at him. + +"Is your thirdly safe?" she asked. + +"Mrs. Green thought it wonderful. A suitable climax to a dramatic +situation." + +"You've had a rehearsal, have you?" + +"Just a preliminary canter to see I hadn't forgotten anything." + +"And she approved?" + +"She suggested an alternative that, I am rather inclined to think, +might be better," he answered. "It's certainly simpler. . . ." + +Again she smiled faintly. "I'm not certain that Mrs. Green's simpler +alternative strikes me as being much safer than your thirdly," she +murmured. "Incidentally, am I failing again in my obvious duties? It +seems to me that Binks sort of expects something. . . ." Another +fusillade of tail thumps greeted the end of the sentence. + +"Great Scott!" cried Vane, "I should rather think you were. However, I +don't think you could very well have known; it's outside the usual +etiquette book." He handed her the indiarubber dog. "A feint towards +the window, one towards the door--and then throw." + +A quivering, ecstatic body, a short, staccato bark--and Binks had +caught his enemy. He bit once; he bit again--and then, a little +puzzled, he dropped it. Impossible to conceive that it was really dead +at last--and yet, it no longer hooted. Binks looked up at his master +for information on the subject, and Vane scratched his head. + +"That sure is the devil, old son," he remarked. "Have you killed it +for keeps. Bring it here. . . ." Binks laid it obediently at Vane's +feet. "It should squeak," he explained to Joan as he picked it up, +"mournfully and hideously." + +She came and stood beside him and together they regarded it gravely, +while Binks, in a state of feverish anticipation, looked from one to +the other. + +"Get on with it," he tail-wagged at them furiously; "get on with it, +for Heaven's sake! Don't stand there looking at one another. . . ." + +"I think," his master was speaking in a voice that shook, "I think the +metal squeak has fallen inside the animal's tummy. . . ." + +"You ought to have been a vet," answered the girl, and her voice was +very low. "Give it to me; my finger is smaller." + +She took the toy from Vane's hand and bent over it. + +"Thank goodness somebody takes an intelligent interest in matters of +import," thought Binks--and then with a dull, unsqueaking thud his +enemy fell at his feet. + +"My dear--my dear!" His master's voice came low and tense and pretence +was over. With hungry arms Vane caught the girl to him, and she did +not resist. He kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips, while she lay +passively against him. Then she wound her arms round his neck, and +gave him back kiss for kiss. + +At last she pushed him away. "Ah! don't, don't," she whispered. "You +make it so hard, Derek--so awfully hard. . . ." + +"Not on your life," he cried exultingly. "It's easy that I've made it, +my darling, so awfully easy. . . ." + +Mechanically she patted her hair into shape, and then she stooped and +picked up the toy. + +"We're forgetting Binks," she said quietly. She managed to get the +circular metal whistle out of the inside of the toy, and fixed it in +its appointed hole, while Vane, with a glorious joy surging through +him, leaned against the mantelpiece and watched her in silence. Not +until the squeaking contest was again going at full blast in a corner +did he speak. + +"That was Mrs. Green's simpler alternative," he said reflectively. +"Truly her wisdom is great." + +In silence Joan went towards the window. For a while she looked out +with unseeing eyes, and then she sank into a big easy chair with her +back towards Vane. A thousand conflicting emotions were rioting +through her brain; the old battle of heart against head was being +waged. She was so acutely alive to his presence just behind her; so +vitally conscious of his nearness. Her whole body was crying aloud for +the touch of his hands on her again--and then, a vision of Blandford +came before her. God! what did it matter--Blandford, or her father, or +anything? There was nothing in the world which could make up for--what +was it he had called it?--the biggest thing in Life. + +Suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulders; she felt them stealing +down her arms. She felt herself lifted up towards him, and with a +little gasp of utter surrender she turned and looked at him with +shining eyes. + +"Derek, my darling," she whispered. "Que je t'adore. . . ." + +And then of her own accord, she kissed him on the lips. . . . + +It was Binks's expression, about a quarter of an hour later, which +recalled them to earth again. With an air of pained disgust he +regarded them stolidly for a few minutes. Then he had a good scratch +on both sides of his neck, after which he yawned. He did not actually +say "Pooh," but he looked it, and they both laughed. + +"Dear man," she whispered, "wouldn't it be just too wonderful if it +could always be just you and me and Binks? . . ." + +"And why shouldn't it be, lady?" he answered, and his arm went round +her waist. "Why shouldn't it be? We'll just sometimes have to see +some horrible outsider, I suppose, and perhaps you or somebody will +have to order food every year or so. . . . But except for that--why, +we'll just slip down the stream all on our own, and there won't be a +little bit of difficulty about keeping your eyes in the boat, grey +girl. . . ." + +She smiled--a quick, fleeting smile; and then she sighed. + +"Life's hell, Derek--just hell, sometimes. And the little bits of +Heaven make the hell worse." + +"Life's pretty much what we make it ourselves, dear," said Vane gravely. + +"It isn't," she cried fiercely. "We're what life makes us. . . ." + +Vane bent over and started pulling one of Binks's ears. + +"You hear that, old man," he said. "The lady is a base materialist, +while I--your funny old master--am sprouting wings and growing a halo +as a visionary." Vane looked sideways at the girl. "He manages to +make his own life, Joan. He'd be as happy with me in a garret as he +would in a palace. . . . Probably happier, because he'd mean more to +me--fill a bigger part of my life." + +Suddenly he stood up and shook both his fists in the air. "Damn it," +he cried, "and why can't we cheat 'em, Joan? Cheat all those grinning +imps, and seize the Blue Bird and never let it go?" + +"Because," she answered slowly, "if you handle the Blue Bird roughly or +snatch at it and put it in a cage, it just pines away and dies. And +then the imps grin and chuckle worse than ever. . . ." + +She rose and put her hands on his shoulders. "It's here now, my dear. +I can hear it fluttering so gently near the window. . . . And that +noise from the streets is really the fairy chorus. . . ." + +A motor car honked discordantly and Vane grinned. + +"That's a stout-hearted little fellow with a good pair of lungs on +him." She smiled back at him, and then she pushed him gently backwards +and forwards with her hands. + +"Of course he's got good lungs," she said. "He toots like that +whenever anybody falls in love, and twice when they get married, and +three times when. . . ." + +Vane's breath came in a great gasp, and he pushed her away almost +roughly. + +"Don't--for God's sake, don't, Joan. . . ." + +"My dear," she cried, catching his arm, "forgive me. The Blue Bird's +not gone, Derek--it's still there. Don't frighten it--oh! don't. We +won't snatch at it, won't even think of making any plans for caging +it--we'll just assume it's going to stop. . . . I believe it will +then. . . . And afterwards--why what does afterwards matter? Let's be +happy while we may, and--perhaps, who knows--we will cheat those +grinning imps after all. . . ." + +"Right," cried Vane, catching her hands, "right, right, right. What +shall we do, my dear, to celebrate the presence of our blue +visitor? . . ." + +For a moment she thought, and then her eyes lit up. "You're still on +leave, aren't you?" + +"Even so, lady." + +"Then to-morrow we will take a car. . . ." + +"My car," interrupted Vane. "And I've got ten gallons of petrol." + +"Glorious. We'll take your car, and will start ever so early, and go +to the river. Sonning, I think--to that ripping pub where the roses +are. And then we'll go on the river for the whole day, and take Binks, +and an invisible cage for the Blue Bird. . . . We'll take our food, +and a bone for Binks and the squeaky dog. Then in the evening we'll +have dinner at the White Hart, and Binks shall have a napkin and sit up +at table. And then after dinner we'll come home. My dear, but it's +going to be Heaven." She was in his arms and her eyes were shining +like stars. "There's only one rule. All through the whole day--no +one, not even Binks--is allowed to think about the day after." + +Vane regarded her with mock gravity. "Not even if we're arrested for +joy riding?" he demanded. + +"But the mascot will prevent that, silly boy," she cried. "Why would +we be taking that cage for otherwise?" + +"I see," said Vane. "It's the most idyllic picture I've ever even +thought of. There's only one thing. I feel I must speak about it and +get it over." He looked so serious that for a moment her face clouded. +"Do not forget--I entreat of you, do not forget--your meat coupon." +And then with the laughter that civilisation has decreed shall not be +heard often, save on the lips of children, a man and a girl forgot +everything save themselves. The world of men and matters rolled on and +passed them by, and maybe a year of Hell is fair exchange for that +brief space. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +The next morning dawned propitious, and Vane, as he drove his +two-seater through the park to Ashley Gardens, sang to himself under +his breath. He resolutely shut his eyes to the hurrying streams of +khaki and blue and black passing in and out of huts and Government +buildings. They simply did not exist; they were an hallucination, and +if persisted in might frighten the mascot. + +Joan was waiting for him when he drove up at half-past nine, with Binks +sitting importantly on the seat beside him. + +"Get right in, lady," cried Vane, "and we'll be on to the Land of the +Pixies. But, for the love of Mike, don't put anything on Binks's +adversary in the hood. He hasn't had his proper morning battle yet, +and one squeak will precipitate a catastrophe." + +Never had he seen Joan looking so charming. Of course she was in +grey--that was in the nature of a certainty on such an occasion, but +she might have been in sackcloth for all the attention Vane paid to her +clothes. It was her face that held him, with the glow of perfect +health on her cheeks, and the soft light of utter happiness in her +eyes. She was pretty--always; but with a sudden catch of his breath +Vane told himself that this morning she was the loveliest thing he had +ever seen. + +"I've got the cage, Derek," she said, "and the beautifullest bone for +Binks that he's ever thought of. . . ." + +"You dear," answered Vane, and for a moment their eyes met. "You +absolute dear. . . ." Then with a quick change of tone he laughed. +"Jump in, grey girl--and avaunt all seriousness. Do you mind having +Binks on your lap?" + +"Do I mind?" she answered reproachfully. "Did you hear that, Binkie? +He's insulting you." + +But Binks was claiming his share of the Blue Bird and refused to take +offence. He just opened one brown eye and looked at her, and then he +went peacefully to sleep again. He rather liked this new acquisition +to the family. . . . + +And so began the great day. They didn't go far from the hotel; just +under the old bridge and up a little way towards Sonning lock, where +the river forks, and the trees grow down to the water's edge. To every +man whose steps lead him on to the Long Trail, there is some spot in +this island of ours the vision of which comes back to him when the +day's work is done and he lies a-dreaming of Home. To some it may be +the hills in the Highlands with the wonderful purple mist over them +growing black as the sun sinks lower and lower; to others a little +golden-sanded beach with the red sandstone cliffs of Devon rising sheer +around it, and the tiny waves rippling softly through the drowsy +morning. It is not always thus: sometimes the vision shows them a +heaving grey sea hurling itself sullenly on a rock-bound coast; a grey +sky, and driving rain which stings their faces as they stand on the +cliffs above the little cove, looking out into the lands beyond the +water, where the strange roads go down. . . . + +And then to some it may be the roar and bustle of Piccadilly that comes +back to haunt them in their exile--the theatre, the music and the +lights, the sound of women's skirts; or the rolling Downs of Sussex +with the white chalk quarries and great cockchafers booming past them +through the dusk. + +To each and everyone there is one spot hallowed by special memory, and +that spot claims pride of place in day dreams. But when the mind +rambles on, and the lumber-room of the past is open--to all who have +tasted of its peaceful spell there comes the thought of The River. +Spell it with Capitals; there is only one. Whether it be Bourne End +with its broad reach and the sailing punts, or the wooded heights by +Clieveden; whether it be Boulter's Lock on Ascot Sunday, or the quiet +stretch near Goring--there is only one River. Henley, Wargrave, +Cookham--it matters not. . . . They all go to form The River. And +it's one of them, or some of them, or all of them that brings that +faint smile of reminiscence to the wanderer's face as he stirs the fire +with his boot. + +It's so wonderful to drift--just once in a while. And those of the +River always drift when they worship at her shrine. Only people who +make money in tinned goods and things, and are in all respects +dreadful, go on the River in launches, which smell and offend people. +And they are not of the River. . . . + +"If," said Joan lazily, "you had suggested paddling to Reading, or +punting several miles towards Henley, I should have burst into tears. +And yet there are some people who deliberately set out to go +somewhere. . . ." + +"There are two things which precluded such an insane possibility," he +said. "The first is Binks; he likes to run about. And the second is +that unless I have a kiss within one second I shall blow up. . . ." + +"Of course you've known Binks longer than me, so I suppose I mustn't +object to the order of precedence." She looked at him mockingly, then, +with a quick, fierce movement, she took his face between her hands. +And an intelligent and bewhiskered old water rat regarded the +subsequent proceedings with a tolerant eye. + +"More of 'em at it, my dear," he told his spouse, in his fastness under +a gnarled tree root. "However, there's no objection to the children +having a look if it amuses them." He cast a discriminating eye round +the larder, and frowned heavily. "Hell! you don't mean to say that +we've got that damned ham bone again," he growled. "However, we ought +to pick up something when they've finished the exhibition and get down +to their lunch. . . ." He thoughtfully pulled his left whisker. "And +by the way, my love, tell Jane not to go wandering about this +afternoon, even if she is in love. There's an abominable dog of the +most dangerous description on the warpath. Let me know when those +fools stop." + +He composed himself for a nap, and the wash of a passing launch which +flopped against the punt outside lulled him to sleep. . . . He was a +prosaic old gentleman, that water rat, so his peevishness may be +forgiven him. After all, a ham bone is a ham bone and pretty poor at +that, and when one has been the father of several hundreds, the +romantic side of life pales considerably in the light of the +possibilities of lunch. + +But up above, in the punt, the fools were busy according to their +foolishness, quite unmindful of their disapproving audience. Maybe it +is dangerous to try to cheat reality; but success justifies any +experiment. And the day was successful beyond their wildest dreams. +Binks grubbed about in the bank and incidentally gave the love-sick +Jane the fright of her young life; until at last, tired and dirty and +happy, he lay down on the grass just above Vane's head, and went on +hunting in his dreams. . . . + +As for the two chief fools, the day passed as such days have always +passed since Time began. And the absolute happiness which comes with +the sudden touch of a hand, the quick, unexpected glance, the long, +passionate kiss, is not to be put on paper. They talked a little about +aimless, intimate things; they were silent a great deal--those +wonderful silences which become possible only with perfect +understanding. And gradually the shadows lengthened, and the grey +water began to grow darker. . . . Sometimes from the old bridge came +the noise of a passing car, and once an electric canoe went past them +in the main stream, with a gramophone playing on board. The sound of +the record came to them clearly over the water--the Barcarolle from +"Les Contes d'Hoffmann," and they listened until it died faintly away +in the distance. + +Then at last, with a great sigh Vane stood up and stretched himself. +For a long while he looked down at the girl, and it seemed to her that +his face was sad. Without a word he untied the punt, and, still in +silence, they paddled slowly back towards the hotel. + +It was only as they were drifting under the bridge that he spoke, just +one short sentence, in a voice which shook a little. + +"My dear," he whispered, "I thank you," and very gently he raised her +hand to his lips. . . . + +But at dinner he had banished all traces of sadness from his mood. +They both bubbled with the spontaneous happiness of two children. +Binks, to his intense disgust, had to submit to the indignity of a +table napkin tied round his neck, and all the occupants of the hotel +thought them mad. Incidentally they were--quite mad, which was just as +it should be after such a day. Only when they were leaving did they +become sane again for a moment. + +"Just one more look at the river, my lady," said Vane to her, "before +we start. There's a little path I know of, leading out of the rose +garden where one can't be seen, and we've just got to say our good-bye +to the water alone." + +He led the way and Joan followed with Binks trotting sedately between +them. And then with his arm round her waist, and her head on his +shoulder, they stood and watched the black water flowing smoothly by. + +"I've stuck to the rule, grey girl." Vane's arm tightened round her; +"I've said not a word about the future. But to-morrow I am going to +come to you; to-morrow you've got to decide." + +He felt her shiver slightly against him, and he bent and kissed her +passionately. "There can only be one answer," he whispered fiercely. +"There shall only be one answer. We're just made for one +another. . . ." + +But it seemed to both of them that the air had become colder. . . . + + +"You'll come in, Derek," said Joan as the car drew up in Ashley +Gardens. "Come in and have a drink; my aunt would like to see you." + +Barely a word had been spoken on the drive home, and as Vane followed +her into the flat it struck him that her face seemed a little white. + +"Are you feeling cold, dear?" he asked anxiously. "I ought to have +taken another rug." + +"Not a bit," Joan smiled at him. "Only a little tired. . . . Even the +laziest days are sometimes a little exacting!" She laughed softly. +"And you're rather an exacting person, you know. . . ." + +She led the way into the drawing-room, and Vane was duly introduced to +Lady Auldfearn. + +"There are some letters for you, Joan," said her aunt. "I see there's +one from your father. Perhaps he'll say in that whether he intends +coming up to town or not. . . ." + +With a murmured apology Joan opened her mail, and Vane stood chatting +with the old lady. + +"I hope you won't think me rude, Captain Vane," she said after a few +commonplaces; "but I have arrived at the age when to remain out of bed +for one instant after one wishes to go there strikes me as an act of +insanity." She moved towards the door and Vane opened it for her with +a laugh. "I hope I shall see you again." She held out her hand, and +Vane bent over it. + +"It's very good of you, Lady Auldfearn," he answered. "I should like +to come and call. . . ." + +"You can ask at the door if Joan is in," she continued. "If she isn't, +I sha'n't be at all offended if you go away again." + +Vane closed the door behind her, and strolled back towards the +fireplace. "A woman of great discernment is your aunt, Joan." He +turned towards her, and suddenly stood very still. "What is it, my +dear? . . . Have you had bad news?" + +With a letter crumpled up in her hand she was staring at the floor, and +she gave a little, bitter laugh. "Not even one day, Derek; the kindly +Fates wouldn't even give us that. . . ." + +She looked at the letter once again, and read part of it, while Vane +watched her with a hopeless feeling of impending trouble. + +"You'd better read it," she said wearily. "It's from Father." She +handed it to him, and then pointed to the place. "That bit +there. . . . 'So I'm sorry to say, little Joan, it's come at last. +I've been hoping against hope that I might be able to pull things +through, but it simply can't be done. The less will not contain the +greater, and my irreducible minimum expenditure is more than my income. +Humanly speaking, as far as one can see, there can be no considerable +fall in the cost of living and income tax for many years after the +war.' . . ." + +Vane's eyes skimmed on over the short, angular writing, picking up a +phrase here and there. "Gordon to be considered. . . . It means +practical penury at Blandford, comparative affluence if we go. . . . + +"If I could lay my hand on a hundred thousand it might pull things +through till the country is more or less settled once again; that is if +it ever does get settled. If labour goes on as it is at present, I +suppose we shall have to be grateful for being allowed to live at +all. . . ." + +Vane looked at Joan, who was still staring at the floor in front of +her, and almost mechanically he returned her the letter. . . . + +"You've known this was coming, Joan," he said at last. . . . + +"Of course," she answered. "But it doesn't make it any better now it +has. One always hopes." She shrugged her shoulders, and looked up at +him. "Give me a cigarette, Derek, I don't think I'd have minded quite +so much if it hadn't come to-day. . . ." + +He held out the match for her, and then with his elbow on the +mantelpiece he stood watching her. She seemed inert, lifeless, and the +contrast with the laughing, happy girl at dinner hit him like a blow. +If only he could help--do something; but a hundred thousand was an +absurdity. His total income was only about fifteen hundred a year. +And as if to torment him still more there rose before his mind the +cold, confident face of Henry Baxter. . . . + +"Joan--does it matter so frightfully much giving up Blandford?" + +She looked at him for a moment, with a sort of amazement on her face. +"My dear," she said, "I simply can't imagine life without Blandford. +It's just part of me. . . ." + +"But when you marry you wouldn't live there yourself," he argued. + +She raised her eyebrows. "Pride of place belongs to women as much as +to men," she answered simply. "Why, Derek, don't try to pretend that +you don't understand that." She gave a little tired laugh. "Besides, +it's Dad--and Gordon. . . ." + +"And you'd sacrifice yourself for them," he cried. "Not to keep them +from want, don't forget--but to keep them at Blandford!" She made no +answer, and after a while he went on. "I said I'd come to-morrow, +Joan, and ask you to decide; but this letter alters things a bit, my +dear. I guess we've got to have things out now. . . ." + +The girl moved restlessly and rested her head on her hand. + +"You've said it once, lady; I want to hear you say it again. 'Do you +love me?'" + +"Yes; I love you," she said without the slightest hesitation. + +"And would you marry me if there was no Blandford?" + +"To-morrow," she answered simply, "if you wanted it." + +With a sudden ungovernable rush of feeling Vane swept her out of the +chair into his arms, and she clung to him panting and breathless. + +"My dear," he said exultantly, "do you suppose that after that I'd let +you go? Not for fifty Blandfords. Don't you understand, my grey girl? +You've got your sense of proportion all wrong. You're mine--and +nothing else on God's green earth matters." + +So for a while they stood there, while he smoothed her hair with hands +that trembled a little and murmured incoherent words of love. And then +at last they died away, and he fell silent--while she looked at him +with tired eyes. The madness was past, and with almost a groan Vane +let his arms fall to his side. + +"Dear man," she said, "I want you to go; I can't think when you're with +me. I've just got to worry this thing out for myself. I don't want +you to come and see me, Derek, until I send for you; I don't want you +even to write to me. I don't know how long it will take. . . . but +I'll let you know, as soon as I know myself." + +For a while he argued with her--but it was useless. In the bottom of +his heart he knew it would be even as he pleaded and stormed. And, +because he recognised what lay behind her decision, he loved her all +the more for her refusal. There was a certain sweet wistfulness on her +face that tore at his heart, and at last he realised that he was +failing her, and failing her badly. It was a monstrous thing from one +point of view that such a sacrifice should be possible--but it came to +Vane with cynical abruptness that life abounds in monstrous things. + +And so, very gently, he kissed her. "It shall be as you say, dear," he +said gravely. "But try not to make it too long. . . ." + +At the door he stopped and looked back. She was standing as he had +left her, staring out into the darkness, and as he paused she turned +and looked at him. And her eyes were very bright with unshed +tears. . . . + +Mechanically he picked up his hat and gloves, and drove back to his +rooms. He helped himself to a whisky and soda of such strength that +Binks looked at him with an apprehensive eye, and then he laughed. + +"Hell, Binks," he remarked savagely--"just Hell!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +During the weeks that followed Vane did his best to put Joan out of his +mind. He had given her his promise not to write, and as far as in him +lay he tried his hardest not to think. A Medical Board passed him fit +for light duty, and he joined up at the regimental depot in the +cathedral city of Murchester. Once before he had been there, on a +course, before he went overseas for the first time, and the night he +arrived he could not help contrasting the two occasions. On the first +he, and everyone else, had had but one thought--the overmastering +desire to get across the water. The glamour of the unknown was calling +them--the glory which the ignorant associate with war. Shop was +discussed openly and without shame. They were just a band of wild +enthusiasts, only longing to make good. + +And then they had found what war really was--had sampled the reality of +the thing. One by one the band had dwindled, and the gaps had been +filled by strangers. Vane was sitting that night in the chair where +Jimmy Benton had always sat. . . . He remembered Jimmy lying across +the road near Dickebush staring up at him with sightless eyes. So had +they gone, one after another, and now, how many were left? And the +ones that had paid the big price--did they think it had been worth +while . . . now? . . . They had been so willing to give their all +without counting the cost. With the Englishman's horror of +sentimentality or blatant patriotism, they would have regarded with the +deepest mistrust anyone who had told them so. But deep down in each +man's heart--it was England--his England--that held him, and the glory +of it. Did they think their sacrifice had been worth while . . . now? +Or did they, as they passed by on the night wind, look down at the +seething bitterness in the country they had died for, and whisper +sadly, "It was in vain--You are pulling to pieces what we fought to +keep standing; you have nothing but envy and strife to put in its +place. . . . Have you not found the truth--yet? . . ." + +Unconsciously, perhaps, but no less certainly for that, Vane was +drifting back into the same mood that had swayed him when he left +France. If what Ramage had said to him was the truth; if, at the +bottom of all the ceaseless bickering around, there was, indeed, a +vital conflict between two fundamentally opposite ideas, on the +settlement of which depended the final issue--it seemed to him that +nothing could avert the catastrophe sooner or later. It was against +human nature for any class to commit suicide--least of all the class +which for generations had regarded itself and been regarded as the +leading one. And yet, unless this thing did happen; unless +voluntarily, the men of property agreed to relinquish their private +rights, and sink their own interests for the good of the others, Ramage +had quite calmly and straightforwardly prophesied force. Apparently +the choice lay between suicide and murder. . . . + +It all seemed so hopelessly futile to Vane. He began to feel that only +over the water lay Reality; that here, at home, he had discovered a +Land of Wild Imaginings. . . . + +Though he refused to admit it to himself, there was another, even more +potent, factor to account for his restlessness. Like most Englishmen, +however black the outlook, however delirious the Imagining, he had, +deep down in his mind, the ingrained conviction that the country would +muddle through somehow. But the other factor--the personal +factor--Joan, was very different. Try as he would he could not dismiss +her from his mind entirely. Again and again the thought of her came +back to torment him, and he began to chafe more and more at his forced +inaction. Where large numbers of officers are continually passing +through a depot, doing light duty while recovering from wounds, there +can be nothing much for the majority to do. Twice he had begun a +letter to Margaret, to tell her that after all she had been right--that +it had been nervous tension--that it wasn't her after all. And twice +he had torn it up after the first few lines. It wasn't fair, he +pacified his conscience, to worry her when she was so busy. He could +break it far more easily by degrees--when he saw her. And so the +restlessness grew, and the disinclination to do anything but sit in the +mess and read the papers. His arm was still too stiff for tennis, and +the majority of the local people bored him to extinction. Occasionally +he managed to get ten minutes' work to do that was of some use to +somebody; after that his time was his own. + +One day he tried his hand at an essay, but he found that the old easy +style which had been his principal asset had deserted him. It was +stiff and pedantic, and what was worse--bitter; and he tore it up +savagely after he had read it through. He tried desperately to recover +some of his old time optimism--and he failed. He told himself again +and again that it was up to him to see big, to believe in the future, +and he cursed himself savagely for not being able to. + +There was a woman whom he had met at lunch on one of his periodical +visits to London. She was a war widow, and a phrase she had used to +him rang in his brain for many days after. It seemed to him to express +so wonderfully the right feeling, the feeling which in another form he +was groping after. + +"It wouldn't do," she had said very simply, "for the Germans to get a +'double casualty.'" It was the sort of remark, he thought, that he +would have expected Margaret to make. With all the horror of genteel +pauperism staring her in the face, that woman was thinking big, and was +keeping her head up. With all the bitterness of loss behind her, she +had, that very day, so she told him, been helping another more +fortunate one to choose frocks for her husband's next leave. . . . + +Try as he might, he could not rid himself of the mocking question "Cui +bono?" What was the use of this individual heroism to the country at +large? As far as the woman herself was concerned it kept her human, +but to the big community . . .? Would even the soldiers when they came +back be strong enough, and collected enough, to do any good? And how +many of them really thought . . .? + +Surely there must be some big, and yet very simple, message which the +war could teach. Big because the result had been so wonderful; simple +because the most stupid had learned it. And if they had learned it +over the water, surely they could remember it afterwards. . . . pass it +on to others. It might even be taught in the schools for future +generations to profit by. + +It was not discipline or so-called militarism; they were merely the +necessary adjuncts to a life where unhesitating obedience is the only +thing which prevents a catastrophe. It was not even tradition and +playing the game, though it seemed to him he was getting nearer the +answer. But these were not fundamental things; they were to a certain +extent acquired. He wanted something simpler than that--something +which came right at the beginning, a message from the bedrock of the +world; something which was present in France--something which seemed to +be conspicuous by its absence in England. + +"We've caught these fellows," he said one evening after dinner to a +regular Major whose life had taken him all over the world, "and we've +altered 'em. Their brothers are here at home; they themselves were +here a short while ago--will be back in the future. They are the same +breed; they come from the same stock. What is this thing that has done +it? What gospel has been preached to 'em to turn them into the salt of +the earth, while at home here the others are unchanged, except for the +worse?" + +The Major shifted his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. +"The gospel that was preached two thousand odd years ago," he answered +shortly. Vane looked at him curiously. "I admit I hardly expected +that answer, Major," he said. + +"Didn't you?" returned the other. "Well, I'm not an authority on the +subject; and I haven't seen the inside of a church for business +purposes since before the South African War. But to my mind, when +you've shorn it of its trappings and removed ninety per cent. of its +official performers into oblivion, you'll find your answer in what, +after all, the Church stands for." He hesitated for a moment, and +glanced at Vane, for he was by nature a man not given to speech. "Take +a good battalion in France," he continued slowly. "You know as well as +I do what's at the bottom of it--good officers. Good leaders. . . . +What makes a good leader? What's the difference between a good officer +and a dud? Why, one has sympathy and the other hasn't: one will +sacrifice himself, the other won't. . . . There's your gospel. . . ." +He relapsed into silence, and Vane looked at him thoughtfully. + +"Sympathy and sacrifice," he repeated slowly. "Is that your summing up +of Christianity? + +"Isn't it?" returned the other. "But whether it is or whether it +isn't, it's the only thing that will keep any show going. Damn it, +man, it's not religion--it's common horse sense." The Major thumped +his knee. "What the deuce do you do if you find things are going wrong +in your company? You don't snow yourself in with reports in triplicate +and bark. You go and see for yourself. Then you go and talk for +yourself; and you find that it is either a justifiable grievance which +you can put right, or an error or a misunderstanding which you can +explain. You get into touch with them. . . . Sympathy. Sacrifice. +Have a drink?" He pressed the bell and sank back exhausted. As has +been said, he was not addicted to speech. + +Neither of them spoke until the waiter had carried out the order, and +then suddenly the Major started again. Like many reserved men, once +the barrier was broken down, he could let himself go with the best. +And Vane, with his eyes fixed on the quiet face and steady eyes of the +elder man, listened in silence. + +"I'm a fool," he jerked out. "Every Regular officer is a fool. +Numbers of novelists have said so. Of course one bows to their +superior knowledge. But what strikes me in my foolishness is +this. . . . You've got to have leaders and you've got to have led, +because the Almighty has decreed that none of us have the same amount +of ability. Perhaps they think He's a fool too; but even they can't +alter that. . . . If ability varies so must the reward--money; and +some will have more than others. Capital and Labour; leader and led; +officer and man. . . . In the old days we thought that the best leader +for the Army was the sahib; and with the old army we were right. +Tommy . . . poor, down-trodden Tommy, as the intellectuals used to call +him, was deuced particular. He was also mighty quick on the uptake at +spotting the manner of man he followed. Now things have changed; but +the principle remains. And it answers. . . . You'll always have an +aristocracy of ability who will be the civilian leaders, you'll always +have the rank and file who will be led by them. The same rules will +hold as you apply in the army. . . . You'll have good shows and bad +shows, according to whether the leader has or has not got sympathy. A +good many now should have it; they've learned the lesson over the +water. And on their shoulders rests the future. . . ." + +"You put the future on the leaders, too," said Vane a little curiously. + +"Why, naturally," returned the other. "What else fits a man to lead?" + +"But your broad doctrine of sympathy"--pursued Vane. "Don't you think +it's one of those things that sounds very nice in a pulpit, but the +practical application is not quite so easy. . . ." + +"Of course it isn't easy," cried the other. "Who the deuce said it +was? Is it easy to be a good regimental officer? Sympathy is merely +the--the spiritual sense which underlies all the work. And the work is +ceaseless if the show is going to be a good one. You know that as well +as I do. You take an officer who never talks to his men, practically +never sees 'em--treats 'em as automatons to do a job. Never sacrifices +his own comfort. What sort of a show are you going to have?" + +"Damn bad," said Vane, nodding his head. + +"And you take a fellow who talks to 'em, knows 'em well, is a friend to +'em, and explains things--that's the vital point--explains things; +listens to what they have to say--even makes some small amendments if +he thinks they're right. . . . A fellow who makes them take a pride in +their show. . . . What then?" + +"But could you apply it to civil life?" queried Vane. + +"Don't know," returned the other, "because I'm a fool. Everybody says +so; so I must be. But it seems to me that if you take a concern, and +every week the boss sends for his men, or some chosen representative of +theirs, and explains things to 'em, it won't do much harm. Shows 'em +how the money is going--what it's being spent on, why he's putting in +fresh plant, why his dividends ain't going to be as big this year as +they were last--all that sort of thing. Don't play the fool with +them. . . . Dividends may be bigger, and he'll have to stump up. . . . +A good many of the bosses will have to alter their ways, incidentally. +No man is going to sweat himself in order that someone else up the road +can keep a second motor car, when the man himself hasn't even a donkey +cart. You wouldn't yourself--nor would I. Up to a point it's got to +be share and share alike. Over the water the men didn't object to the +C.O. having a bedroom to himself; but what would they have said if he'd +gone on to battalion parade in a waterproof one bad day, while they +were uncloaked?" + +"Yes, but who is going to decide on that vital question of money?" +pursued Vane. "Supposing the men object to the way the boss is +spending it. . . ." + +The other thoughtfully filled his pipe. "Of course, there will always +be the risk of that," he said. "Seventeen and twenty per cent. +dividends will have to cease--I suppose. And after all--not being a +Croesus myself I'm not very interested--I'm blowed if I see why man +should expect more than a reasonable percentage on his money. I +believe the men would willingly agree to that if they were taken into +his confidence and sure he wasn't cooking his books. . . . But when +one reads of ten, herded together in one room, and the company paying +enormous dividends, do you wonder they jib? I would. Why shouldn't +the surplus profit above a fair dividend be split up amongst the +workmen? I'm no trade expert, Vane. Questions of supply and demand, +and tariffs and overtime, leave me quite cold. But if you're going to +get increased production, and you've got to or you're going to starve, +you can't have civil war in the concern. And to ensure that you must +have all the cards on the table. The men must understand what they're +doing; the boss must explain. + +"What made a man understand the fact of dying over the water? What +made thousands of peace-loving men go on in the filth and dirt, only to +die like rats at the end. . . . What made 'em keep their tails up, and +their chests out? Why--belief and trust in their leaders. And how was +it inculcated? By sympathy--nothing more nor less. God above--if it +was possible when the stakes were life and death--can't it be done over +here in the future? The men won't strike if only they understand; +unless in the understanding they find something they know to be wrong +and unjust." + +"I was talking to that Labour fellow--Ramage--the other day," said Vane +thoughtfully. "According to him State control of everything is the +only panacea. And he says it's coming. . . ." + +"Dare say it will," returned the other. "The principle remains the +same. With sympathy nine out of ten strikes will be averted +altogether. Without it, they won't. The leaders will be in touch with +their men; as leaders they will be able to feel the pulse of their men. +And when things are going wrong they'll know it; they'll anticipate the +trouble. . . . Sympathy; the future of the Empire lies in sympathy. +And this war has taught many thousands of men the meaning of the word. +It has destroyed the individual outlook. . . . There, it seems to me, +lies the hope of our salvation." He finished his drink and stood up. +"If we're going to continue a ceaseless war between leaders and +led--it's me for Hong-Kong. And it is only the leaders who can avert +it. . . ." + +"Incidentally that's what Ramage said," remarked Vane. "Only he +demands complete equality . . . the abolition of property. . . ." + +The other paused as he got to the door. "Then the man's a fool, and a +dangerous fool," he answered gravely. "Night-night. . . ." + +For a long while Vane sat on, staring at the fire. Though only early +in October, the night was chilly, and he stretched his legs gratefully +to the blaze. After a time he got up and fetched an evening paper. +The great push between Cambrai and St. Quentin was going well; behind +Ypres the Boche was everywhere on the run. But to Vane gigantic +captures in men and guns meant a very different picture. He saw just +the one man crawling on his belly through the mouldering bricks and +stinking shell-holes of some death-haunted village. He saw the sudden +pause--the tense silence as the man stopped motionless, listening with +every nerve alert. He felt once again the hideous certainty that he +was not alone; that close to, holding his breath, was someone +else . . . then he saw the man turn like a flash and stab viciously; he +heard the clatter of falling bricks--the sob of exultation as the Boche +writhed in his death agony. . . . And it might have been the other way +round. + +Then he saw the other side; the long weary hours of waiting, the filthy +weariness of it all--the death and desolation. Endured without a +murmur; sticking it always, merry, cheerful, bright--so that the glory +of the British soldier should be written on the scroll of the immortals +for all eternity. + +Was it all to be wasted, thrown away? His jaw set at the thought. +Surely--surely that could never be. Let 'em have their League of +Nations by all manner of means; but a League of Britain was what these +men were fighting for. And to every Britisher who is a Britisher--may +God be praised there are millions for whom patriotism has a real +meaning--that second League is the only one that counts. + +The door opened and Vallance, the Adjutant, came in. "There's a letter +for you, old boy, outside in the rack," he remarked. He walked over to +the fire to warm his hands. "Bring me a large whisky and a small +soda," he said to the waiter, who answered his ring. "Drink, Vane?" + +Vane looked up from the envelope he was holding in his hand and shook +his head. "No, thanks, old man," he answered. "Not just now. . . . I +think I'll read this letter first." And the Adjutant, who was by +nature an unimaginative man, failed to notice that Vane's voice was +shaking a little with suppressed excitement. + +It was ten minutes before either of them spoke again. Twice Vane had +read the letter through, and then he folded it carefully and put it in +his pocket. + +"Contrary to all service etiquette, old boy," he said, "I am going to +approach you on the subject of leave in the mess. I want two or three +days. Can it be done?" + +Vallance put down his paper, and looked at him. + +"Urgent private affairs?" he asked lightly. + +"Very urgent," returned Vane grimly. + +"I should think it might be managed," he said. "Fire in an application +and I'll put it up to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Vane briefly, "I will." + +For a moment or two after he had left the room Vallance looked at the +closed door. Then he picked the envelope out of the grate, and studied +the handwriting. + +"Confound these women," he muttered, and consigned it to the flames. +He liked to think himself a misogynist, and, incidentally, thoughts of +drafts were worrying him. + +Up in his own room Vane was poking the fire. His face was stern, and +with care and deliberation he pulled up the arm chair to the blaze. +Then he took the letter out of this pocket, and proceeded to read it +through once again. + + +MELTON HOUSE, + OFFHAM, NEAR LEWES. + +MY DEAR,--It's just on midnight, but I feel in the mood for doing what +I've been shirking for so long. Don't you know the feeling one gets +sometimes when one has put off a thing again and again, and then there +suddenly comes an awful spasm and one fairly spreads oneself? . . . +Like putting one's bills away for months on end, and then one day +becoming insane and paying the whole lot. I've been putting this off, +Derek, for what I'm going to write will hurt you . . . almost as much +as it hurts me. I'm not going to put in any of the usual cant about +not thinking too hardly of me; I don't think somehow we are that sort. +But I can't marry you. I meant to lead up to that gradually, but the +pen sort of slipped--and, anyway you'd have known what was coming. + +I can't marry you, old man--although I love you better than I ever +thought I'd love anyone. You know the reasons why, so I won't labour +them again. They may be right and they may be wrong; I don't +know--I've given up trying to think. I suppose one's got to take this +world as it is, and not as it might be if we had our own way. . . . +And I can't buy my happiness with Blandford, Derek--I just can't. + +I went down there the morning after Our Day--oh! my God! boy, how I +loved that time--and I saw Father. He was just broken down with it +all; he seemed an old, old man. And after luncheon in the study he +told me all about it. I didn't try to follow all the facts and +figures--what was the use? I just sat there looking out over +Blandford--my home--and I realised that very soon it would be that no +longer. I even saw the horrible man smoking his cigar with the band on +it in Father's chair. + +Derek, my dear--what could I do? I knew that I could save the +situation if I wanted to; I knew that it was my happiness and yours, my +dear, that would have to be sacrificed to do it. But when the old Dad +put his arm round my waist and raised his face to mine--and his dear +mouth was all working--I just couldn't bear it. + +So I lied to him, Derek. I told him that Mr. Baxter loved me, and that +I loved Mr. Baxter. Two lies--for that man merely wants me as a +desirable addition to his furniture--and I, why sometimes I think I +hate him. But, oh! my dear, if you'd seen my Father's face; seen the +dawning of a wonderful hope. . . . I just couldn't think of anything +except him--and so I went on lying, and I didn't falter. Gradually he +straightened up; twenty years seemed to slip from him . . .. + +"My dear," he said. "I wouldn't have you unhappy; I wouldn't have you +marry any man you didn't love. But if you do love him, little Joan, if +you do--why it just means everything. . . . Baxter's worth +millions. . . ." + +But it makes one laugh, my Derek, doesn't it? laugh a little bitterly. +And then after a while I left him, and went down to the boat-house, and +pulled over to our weeping willow. But I couldn't stop there. . . . I +can't try myself too high. I guess I'm a bit weak where you're +concerned, boy--a bit weak. And I've got to go through with this. +It's my job, and one can't shirk one's job. . . . Only sometimes it +seems that one gets saddled with funny jobs, doesn't one? Try to see +my point of view, Derek; try to understand. If it was only me, why, +then, my dear, you know what would be the result. I think it would +kill me if you ever thought I was marrying Mr. Baxter for money for +myself. . . . + +And you'll forget me in time, dear lad--at least, I'm afraid you will. +That's foolish, isn't it?--foolish and weak; but I couldn't bear you to +forget me altogether. Just once or twice you'll think of me, and the +Blue Bird that we kept for one day in the roses at Sonning. You'll go +to She who must be obeyed and I hope to God I never meet her. . . . +For I'll hate her, loathe her, detest her. + +I'm engaged to Mr. Baxter. I've exacted my full price to the uttermost +farthing. Blandford is saved, or will be on the day I marry him. We +are neither of us under any illusions whatever; the whole thing is on +an eminently business footing. . . . We are to be married almost at +once. + +And now, dear, I am going to ask you one of the big things. I don't +want you to answer this letter; I don't want you to plead with me to +change my mind. I daren't let you do it, my man, because, as I said, +I'm so pitifully weak where you are concerned. And I don't know what +would happen if you were to take me in your arms again. Why, the very +thought of it drives me almost mad. . . . Don't make it harder for me, +darling, than it is at present--please, please, don't. + +Mr. Baxter is not here now, and I'm just vegetating with the Suttons +until the sale takes place--my sale. They were talking about you at +dinner to-night, and my heart started pounding until I thought they +must have heard it. Do you wonder that I'm frightened of you? Do you +wonder that I ask you not to write? + +It's one o'clock, my Derek, and I'm cold--and tired, awful tired. I +feel as if the soul had departed out of me; as if everything was +utterly empty. It is so still and silent outside, and the strange, +old-fashioned ideas--do you remember your story?--have been sitting +wistfully beside me while I write. Maybe I'll hear them fluttering +sadly away as I close down the envelope. + +I love you, my darling, I love you. . . . I don't know why Fate should +have decreed that we should have to suffer so, though perhaps you'll +say it's my decree, not Fate's. And perhaps you're right; though to me +it seems the same thing. + +Later on, when I'm a bit more used to things, we might meet. . . . I +can't think of life without ever seeing you again; and anyway, I +suppose, we're bound to run across one another. Only just at the +moment I can't think of any more exquisite torture than seeing you as +another woman's husband. . . . + +Good-night, my dear, dear Love, God bless and keep you. + +JOAN. + +Oh! Boy--what Hell it all is, what utter Hell! + + +The fire was burning low in the grate as Vane laid the letter down on +the table beside him. Bolshevism, strikes, wars--of what account were +they all combined, beside the eternal problem of a man and a woman? +For a while he sat motionless staring at the dying embers, and then +with a short, bitter laugh he rose to his feet. + +"It's no go, my lady," he muttered to himself. "Thank Heaven I know +the Suttons. . . ." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Vane stepped into the train at Victoria the following afternoon, and +took his seat in the Pullman car. It was a non-stop to Lewes, and a +ticket for that place reposed in his pocket. What he was going to +do--what excuse he was going to make, he had not yet decided. Although +he knew the Suttons very well, he felt that it would look a little +strange if he suddenly walked into their house unannounced; and he had +been afraid of wiring or telephoning from London in case he should +alarm Joan. He felt vaguely that something would turn up which would +give him the excuse he needed; but in the meantime his brain was in an +incoherent condition. Only one thought rose dominantly above all the +others, and it mocked him, and laughed at him, and made him twist and +turn restlessly in his seat. Joan was going to marry Baxter. . . . +Joan was going to marry Baxter. . . . + +The rattle of the wheels sang it at him; it seemed to fit in with their +rhythm, and he crushed the paper he was holding savagely in his hand. +By Heaven! she's not. . . . By Heaven! she's not. . . . Fiercely and +doggedly he answered the taunting challenge, while the train rushed on +through the meadows and woods of Sussex. It slowed down for the +Wivelsfield curve, and then gathered speed again for the last few miles +to Lewes. With gloomy eyes he saw Plumpton race-course flash by, and +he recalled the last meeting he had attended there, two years before +the war. Then they roared through Cooksbridge and Vane straightened +himself in his seat. In just about a minute he would come in sight of +Melton House, lying amongst the trees under the South Downs. And Vane +was in the condition when a fleeting glance of the house that sheltered +Joan was like a drink of water to a thirsty man. It came and went in a +second, and with a sigh that was almost a groan he leaned back and +stared with unseeing eyes at the high hills which flank the valley of +the Ouse, with their great white chalk pits, and rolling grass slopes. + +He had determined to go to an hotel for the night, and next day to call +at Melton House. During the evening he would have to concoct some +sufficiently plausible tale to deceive the Suttons as to the real +reason for having come--but sufficient unto the evening was the worry +thereof. He walked slowly up the steep hill that led into the High +Street, and booked a room at the first inn he came to. Then he went +out again, and sauntered round aimlessly. + +The town is not full of wild exhilaration, and Vane's previous +acquaintance with it had been formed on the two occasions when he had +attended race-meetings there. Moreover, it is very full of hills and +after a short while Vane returned to his hotel and sat down in the +smoking-room. It was unoccupied save for one man who appeared to be of +the genus commercial traveller, and Vane sank into a chair by the fire. +He picked up an evening paper and tried to read it, but in a very few +moments it dropped unheeded to the floor. . . . + +"Know these parts well, sir?" the man opposite him suddenly broke the +silence. + +"Hardly at all," returned Vane shortly. He was in no mood for +conversation. + +"Sleepy old town," went on the other; "but having all these German +prisoners has waked it up a bit." + +Vane sat up suddenly. "Oh! have they got prisoners here?" The excuse +he had been looking for seemed to be to hand. + +"Lots. They used to have conscientious objectors--but they couldn't +stand them. . . ." He rattled on affably, but Vane paid no heed. He +was busy trying to think under what possible pretext he could have been +sent down to deal with Boche prisoners. And being a man of discernment +it is more than likely he would have evolved something quite good, but +for the sudden and unexpected arrival of old Mr. Sutton himself. . . . + +"Good Heavens! What are you doing here, my dear boy?" he cried, +striding across the room, and shaking Vane's hand like a pump handle. + +"How'd you do, sir," murmured Vane. "I--er--have come down to inquire +about these confounded conscientious prisoners--Boche objectors--you +know the blighters. Question of standardising their rations, don't you +know. . . . Sort of a committee affair. . . ." + +Vane avoided the eye of the commercial traveller, and steered rapidly +for safer ground. "I was thinking of coming out to call on Mrs. Sutton +to-morrow." + +"To-morrow," snorted the kindly old man. "You'll do nothing of the +sort, my boy. You'll come back with me now--this minute. Merciful +thing I happened to drop in. Got the car outside and everything. How +long is this job, whatever it is--going to take you?" + +"Three or four days," said Vane hoping that he was disguising any +untoward pleasure at the suggestion. + +"And can you do it equally well from Melton?" demanded Mr. Sutton. "I +can send you in every morning in the car." + +Vane banished the vision of breakers ahead, and decided that he could +do the job admirably from Melton. + +"Then come right along and put your bag in the car." The old +gentleman, with his hand on Vane's arm, rushed him out of the +smoking-room, leaving the commercial traveller pondering deeply as to +whether he had silently acquiesced in a new variation of the confidence +trick. . . . + +"We've got Joan Devereux staying with us," said Mr. Sutton, as the +chauffeur piled the rugs over them. "You know her, don't you?" + +"We have met," answered Vane briefly. + +"Just engaged to that fellow Baxter. Pots of money." The car turned +out on to the London road, and the old man rambled on without noticing +Vane's abstraction. "Deuced good thing too--between ourselves. Sir +James--her father, you know--was in a very queer street. . . . Land, +my boy, is the devil these days. Don't touch it; don't have anything +to do with it. You'll burn your fingers if you do. . . . Of course, +Blandford is a beautiful place, and all that, but, 'pon my soul, I'm +not certain that he wouldn't have been wiser to sell it. Not certain +we all wouldn't be wiser to sell, and go and live in furnished rooms at +Margate. . . . Only if we all did, it would become the thing to do, +and we'd soon get turned out of there by successful swindlers. They +follow one round, confound 'em--trying to pretend they talk the same +language." + +"When is Miss Devereux going to be married?" asked Vane as the old man +paused for breath. + +"Very soon. . . . Fortnight or three weeks. Quite a quiet affair, you +know; Baxter is dead against any big function. Besides, he has to run +over to France so often, and so unexpectedly, that it might have to be +postponed a day or two at the last moment. Makes it awkward if half +London has been asked." + +The car swung through the gates and rolled up the drive to the house. +The brown tints of autumn were just beginning to show on the trees, and +an occasional fall of dead leaves came fluttering down as they passed +underneath. Then, all too quickly for Vane, they were at the house, +and the chauffeur was holding open the door of the car. Now that he +was actually there--now that another minute would bring him face to +face with Joan--he had become unaccountably nervous. + +He followed Mr. Sutton slowly up the steps, and spent an unnecessarily +long time taking off his coat. He felt rather like a boy who had been +looking forward intensely to his first party, and is stricken with +shyness just as he enters the drawing-room. + +"Come in, come in, my boy, and get warm." Mr. Sutton threw open a +door. "Mary, my dear, who do you think I found in Lewes? Young Derek +Vane--I've brought him along. . . ." + +Vane followed him into the room as he was speaking, and only he noticed +that Joan half rose from her chair, and then sank back again, while a +wave of colour flooded her cheeks, and then receded, leaving them +deathly white. With every pulse in his body hammering, but outwardly +quite composed, Vane shook hands with Mrs. Sutton. + +"So kind of your husband," he murmured. "He found me propping up the +hotel smoking-room, and rescued me from such a dreadful +operation. . . ." + +Mrs. Sutton beamed on him. "But it's delightful, Captain Vane. I'm so +glad you could come. Let me see--you know Miss Devereux, don't you?" + +Vane turned to Joan, and for the moment their eyes met. "I think I +have that pleasure," he said in a low voice. "I believe I have to +congratulate you, Miss Devereux, on your approaching marriage." + +He heard Joan give a gasp, and barely caught her whispered answer: "My +God! why have you come?" + +He turned round and saw that both the old people were occupied for a +moment. "Why, just to congratulate you, dear lady . . . just to +congratulate you." His eyes burned into hers, and his voice was +shaking. "Why else, Joan, why else?" + +Then Mrs. Sutton began to talk, and the conversation became general. + +"It's about these German prisoners; they're giving a bit of trouble," +Vane said in answer to her question. "And so we've formed a sort of +board to investigate their food and general conditions . . . and--er--I +am one of the board." + +"How very interesting," said the old lady. "Have you been on it for +long?" + +"No--not long. In fact," said Vane looking fixedly at Joan, "I only +got my orders last night. . . ." With the faintest flicker of a smile +he watched the tell-tale colour come and go. + +Then she turned on him, and her expression was a little baffling. "And +have you any special qualification, Captain Vane, for dealing with such +an intricate subject?" + +"Intricate?" He raised his eyebrows. "I should have thought it was +very simple. Just a matter of common sense, and making . . . er . . . +these men--well--get their sense of proportion." + +"You mean making them get your sense of proportion?" + +"In some cases there can be only one," said Vane gravely. + +"And that one is your own. These--German prisoners you said, didn't +you?--these German prisoners may think it their duty to disagree with +your views. Doubtless from patriotic motives. . . ." + +"That would be a great pity," said Vane. "It would then be up to me to +make them see the error of their ways." + +"And if you fail?" asked the girl. + +"Somehow I don't think I shall," he answered slowly. "But if I do--the +trouble of which I spoke will not diminish. It will increase. . . ." + +"We pander too much to these swine," grumbled Mr. Sutton. "It makes me +sick when I hear of the way our boys are treated by the brutes. A damn +good flogging twice a day--you'll pardon my language, is what they +want." + +"Yes--drastic measures can be quite successful at times," said Vane, +with a slight smile. "Unfortunately in our present advanced state of +civilisation public opinion is against flogging. It prefers violence +against the person to be done mentally rather than physically. . . . +And it seems so short-sighted, doesn't it? The latter is transitory, +while the other is permanent. . . ." + +Joan rose and looked at him quietly. "How delightful to meet a man who +regards anything as permanent these days. I should have thought we +were living in an age of ever-changing values. . . ." + +"You're quite wrong, Miss Devereux," said Vane. "Quite, quite wrong. +The little things may change--the froth on the top of the pool, which +everyone sees and knows about; but the big fundamental things are +always the same. . . ." + +"And what are your big fundamental things?" she demanded. + +Vane looked at her for a few moments before he answered her lightly. +"Things on which there can be no disagreement even though they are my +own views. Love and the pleasure of congenial work, and health. . . . +Just think of having to live permanently with anybody whose digestion +has gone. . . ." + +"May you never _have_ to do it," said the girl quietly. Then she +turned and walked towards the door. "I suppose it's about time to +dress, isn't it?" She went out of the room and Mr. Sutton advanced on +Vane, with his hand upraised, like the villain of a melodrama when on +the point of revealing a secret, unaware of the comic relief ensconced +in the hollow tree. + +"My dear fellow," he whispered hoarsely. "You've said the wrong +thing." He peered round earnestly at the door, to make sure Joan had +not returned. "Baxter--the man she's going to marry--is a perfect +martyr to indigestion. It is the one thorn in the rose. A most +suitable match in every other way, but he lives"--and the old gentleman +tapped Vane on the shoulder to emphasise this hideous thing--"he lives +on rusks and soda-water." + +Vane threw the end of his cigarette in the fire and laughed. "There's +always a catch somewhere, isn't there, Mr. Sutton? . . . . I'm afraid +I shall have to ask you to excuse my changing; I've only got this khaki +with me." + + +Vane was standing in front of the big open hearth in the hall when Joan +came down for dinner. It was the first time he had seen her in an +evening dress, and as she came slowly towards him from the foot of the +stairs his hands clenched behind his back, and he set his teeth. In +her simple black evening frock she was lovely to the point of making +any man's senses swim dizzily. And when the man happened to be in love +with her, and knew, moreover, that she was in love with him, it was not +to be wondered at that he put both hands to his head, with a sudden +almost despairing movement. + +The girl, as she reached him, saw the gesture, and her eyes grew very +soft. Its interpretation was not hard to discover, even if she had not +had the grim, fixed look on his face to guide her; and in an instant it +swept away the resolve she had made in her room to treat him coldly. +In a flash of clear self-analysis just as she reached him, she +recognised the futility of any such resolve. It was with that +recognition of her weakness that fear came. . . . All her carefully +thought out plans seemed to be crumbling away like a house of cards; +all that she wanted was to be in his arms . . . to be kissed. . . . +And yet she knew that that way lay folly. . . . + +"Why have you come?" she said very low. "It wasn't playing the game +after what I wrote you. . . ." + +Vane looked at her in silence for a moment and then he laughed. "Are +you really going to talk to me, Joan, about such a thing as playing the +game?" + +She stood beside him with her hands stretched out towards the blazing +logs. "You know how utterly weak it makes me--being near you. . . . +You're just trading on it." + +"Well," said Vane fiercely, "is there any man who is a man who wouldn't +under the circumstances?" + +"And yet," she said, turning and facing him gravely, "you know what is +at stake for me." Her voice began to quiver. "You're playing with +sex . . . . sex . . . . sex, and it's the most powerful weapon in the +world. But its effects are the most transitory." + +"You lie, Joan, and you know it," Vane gripped her arm. "It's not the +most transitory." + +"It is," she cried stamping her foot, "it is. Against it on the +other side of the balance lie the happiness of my father and +brother--Blandford--things that last. . . ." + +"But what of your own happiness?" he asked grimly. + +"Why do you think I shouldn't be happy?" she cried. "I've told you +that it's a purely business arrangement. Henry is very nice and kind, +and all that I'll be missing is a few months of the thing they call +Love. . . ." + +Vane took his hand from her arm, and let it fall to his side. "I'm +afraid I've marked your arm," he said quietly. "I didn't know how hard +I was gripping it. There is only one point which I would like to put +to you. Has it occurred to you that in the business arrangement which +you have outlined so delightfully, it may possibly strike Mr. +Baxter--in view of his great possessions--that a son and heir is part +of the contract?" As he spoke he raised his eyes to her face. + +He saw her whole body stiffen as if she had been struck; he saw her +bite her lip with a sudden little gasp, he saw the colour ebb from her +cheeks. Then she recovered herself. + +"Why, certainly," she said. "I have no doubt that that will be part of +the programme. It generally is, I believe, in similar cases." + +Vane's voice was very tender as he answered. "My grey girl," he +whispered, "it won't do. . . . It just won't do. If I believed that +what you say really expressed what you think, don't you know that I'd +leave the house without waiting for dinner? But they don't. You can't +look me in the eyes and tell me they do. . . ." + +"I can," she answered defiantly; "that is what I think. . . ." + +"Look me in the eyes, I said," interrupted Vane quietly. + +Twice she tried to speak, and twice she failed. Then with a little +half-strangled gasp she turned away. . . . "You brute," she said, and +her voice was shaking, "you brute. . . ." + +And as their host came down the stairs to join them, Vane laughed--a +short, triumphant laugh. . . . + +Almost at once they went in to dinner; and to Vane the meal seemed to +be a succession of unknown dishes, which from time to time partially +distracted his attention from the only real thing in the room--the girl +sitting opposite him. And yet he flattered himself that neither his +host nor hostess noticed anything remarkable about his behaviour. In +fact he considered that he was a model of tact and discretion. . . . + +Vane was drunk--drunk as surely as a man goes drunk on wine. He was +drunk with excitement; he was mad with the madness of love. At times +he felt that he must get up, and go round the table and gather his girl +into his arms. He even went so far as to picture the butler's +expression when he did it. Unfortunately, that was just when Mrs. +Sutton had concluded a harrowing story of a dead soldier who had left a +bedridden wife with thirteen children. Vane had not heard a word of +the story, but the butler's face had crossed his mental horizon +periodically, and he chose that moment to laugh. It was not a +well-timed laugh, but he floundered out of it somehow. . . . + +And then just as the soup came on--or was it the savoury?--he knew, as +surely as he could see her opposite him, that his madness was affecting +Joan. Telepathy, the wiseacres may call it, the sympathy of two +subconscious minds. . . . What matter the pedagogues, what matter the +psychological experts? It was love--glorious and wonderful in its very +lack of restraint. It was the man calling the woman; it was the woman +responding to the man. It was freedom, beauty, madness all rolled into +one; it was the only thing in this world that matters. But all the +time he was very careful not to give away the great secret. Just once +or twice their eyes met, and whenever that happened he made some remark +more inordinately witty than usual--or more inordinately foolish. And +the girl opposite helped him, and laughed with him, while over the big +mahogany table there came leaping her real message--"My dear, I'm +yours. . . ." It whispered through the flowers in the big cut-glass +bowl that formed the centrepiece; it echoed between the massive silver +candlesticks with their pink shaded lights. At times it sounded +triumphantly from every corner of the room, banishing all the +commonplace surroundings with the wonder of its voice; at times it +floated softly through the warm, scented air, conjuring up visions of +nights on the desert with the Nile lapping softly on the hot sand, and +the cries of the waterboys coming faintly through the still air. + +But ever and always it was there, dominating everything, so insistent +was its reality. As assuredly as if the words had been spoken did they +see into one another's hearts that evening at dinner while a worthy old +Sussex squire and his wife discussed the war, and housing problems, and +the futility of fixing such a price on meat that it paid farmers to put +their calves to the cow, instead of selling the milk. After all, the +words had been spoken before, and words are of little account. There +are times--not often, for artificiality and civilisation are stern +taskmasters--but there are times when a man and woman become as Gods +and know. What need of words between them then; a mathematician does +not require to consult the multiplication table or look up the rules +that govern addition and subtraction. + +But the condition is dangerous--very dangerous. For the Law of the +Universe has decreed that for every Action there is an equal and +opposite Reaction. No account may be taken of madness--even though it +be Divine. It avails not one jot when the time comes to foot the bill. +By that time the madness has passed, like a dream in the night; and +cold sanity is the judge before which a man must stand or fall. A few, +maybe, there are who cheat the reckoning for a space; but they live in +a Fools' Paradise. Sooner or later the bill is presented. It must +be--for such is the Law of Things as they Are . . . . And all that a +man may pray for is that he gets good value for his money. + +After dinner Joan sang once or twice, and Vane, from the depths of a +chair near the fire, watched her through half-closed eyes. His hostess +was placidly knitting and the old gentleman was openly and unashamedly +asleep. The girl had a small voice, but very sweet and pure; and, +after a while Vane rose and went over to the piano. With his elbow +resting on it he stood there looking down at her, and once, as their +eyes met, her voice faltered a little. + + "Ah! when Love comes, his wings are swift, + His ways are full of quick surprise; + 'Tis well for those who have the gift + To seize him even as he flies. . . ." + + +She sang the simple Indian love song with a sort of wistful tenderness, +and it seemed to the man watching her as if she was singing to herself +rather than to him. It was as the last note of the refrain trembled +and died away that Mr. Sutton awoke with a loud snort and looked round +guiltily. Quite satisfied that no one had observed his lapse, he got +up and strode over to the piano. + +"Delightful, my dear, delightful," he said heartily. "My favourite +tune." The number of the old gentleman's favourite tunes heard under +similar circumstances was large. + +"Come along, my boy," he went on, turning to Vane. "Pool or billiards, +and let's see if the old man can't show you a thing or two." + +With an inward groan Vane professed himself delighted. "Perhaps Miss +Devereux will come and score for us," he murmured. + +"Do, my love," said Mrs. Sutton. "And then I'll go to bed." + +If Vane remembered little of dinner that evening, he remembered still +less about the game of billiards except that he was soundly beaten, to +Mr. Sutton's great delight, and that he laughed quite a lot over silly +little jokes. Every now and then he stood beside Joan at the scoring +board, and touched her arm or her hand; and once, when his host, intent +on some shot, had his back towards them, he bent very quickly and +kissed her on the lips. And he felt her quiver, and then grow rigid at +his touch. + +He played execrably, and when he tried to pull himself together to get +the game done quicker, he played worse. If only the old man would go +to bed, or something, and leave them. . . . If only he could get a few +moments alone with Joan, just to kiss her, and take her in his arms. +But the old man showed no signs of doing anything of the sort. He did +not often get a game of billiards; he still less often beat anybody, +and he fully intended to make the most of it. Then at last, when the +game was finally over, he played half of his shots over again for +practice. And Vane, with his cue grasped in both hands, contemplated +braining him with the butt. . . . + +But worse was still to come. Mr. Sutton prided himself on being old +fashioned. Early to bed and early to rise, a proverb which Vane had +always considered the most detestable in the English language, was one +of his host's favourite texts. Especially when applied to other +people. . . . + +"Now, my dear," he said to Joan after he had missed an easy cannon +three times, and felt he required a little justification, "off you go +to bed. Can't have you missing your beauty sleep so close to your +marriage, or I'll have Baxter down on me like a ton of bricks." + +Vane turned abruptly to the fire, and it is to be feared that his +thoughts were not all they might have been. In fact, he registered a +mental vow that if ever he was privileged to meet a murderer, he would +shake him warmly by the hand. + +"Good night, Captain Vane." Joan was standing beside him, holding out +her hand. "I don't think you were playing very well to-night, were +you?" + +The next moment the door had closed behind her, and Vane turned slowly +to answer some question of his host's. And as he turned he laughed +softly under his breath. For Joan had not even looked at him as she +said "Good night," and though the room was warm, almost to stuffiness, +her hand had been as cold as ice. + + +Vane closed the door of his room, and went thoughtfully over to the +fire. He was feeling more or less dazed, like a man who has been +through a great strain, and finds for the moment some temporary respite. + +He did not profess to account for it; he did not even try to. There +had been other days that he had spent with Joan--days when he had been +far more physically close to her than he had been that evening. Save +for that one brief kiss in the billiard-room he had barely touched her. +And yet he felt more vividly alive to her presence than he had ever +been before. + +Vane was no psychologist, and any way the psychology of sex follows no +rules. It makes its own as it goes along. And the one thought which +stood out from the jumbled chaos in his brain was a fierce pleasure at +having beaten Baxter. The primitive Cave man was very much alive in +him that night. . . . + +Joan was _his_; he knew it, and she knew it--and there was no more to +be said. And with a short, exultant laugh Vane drew up an easy chair +to the fire and lit a cigarette. He heard Mr. Sutton pass along the +passage and go to his own room; and then gradually the house grew +still. Outside the night was silent, and once he rose and went to the +window. He stood there for a time staring out into the darkness, with +his hands thrust deep in his pockets; then he returned to his chair +again. He felt no wish to go to bed; he just wanted to sit and think +of his girl. + +Three days is a long time when one is at the beginning of it; and in +all probability they would give him an extension. Three days with +Joan--three whole complete days. . . . + +They would go for a few long glorious tramps over the Downs, where the +turf is springy to the foot, and the wind comes straight from the grey +Atlantic, and the salt tang of it makes it good to be alive. And then +one afternoon when they got home Joan would find a telegram awaiting +her to say that coal had been discovered at Blandford, and did she +think it would matter having the main shaft opening into the +dining-room? + +Something like that was bound to happen, and even if it didn't things +would be no worse off than they were now. And in the meantime--three +days. . . . For Vane had passed beyond the thinking stage; he was +incapable of arguing things out or calling a halt even if he wanted to. +It seemed to him that everything was so immeasurably little compared +with the one great fact that Joan loved him. + +He whistled softly under his breath, and started to unlace his shoes. +"We'll cheat 'em yet," he muttered, "some old how." And even as he +spoke he stiffened suddenly and stared at the door. On it had come two +low faltering knocks. . . . + +For a moment he remained where he was, incapable of movement, while his +cigarette, bent in two and torn, fell unheeded in the grate. Every +drop of blood in his body seemed to stand still, and then to pound +madly on again, as the certainty of who was outside came to him. Then +with two great strides he crossed to the door, and opened it. . . . + +"Joan," he whispered, "my dear. . . ." + +She was in a silk dressing-gown, and he could see the lace of her +nightdress through the opening at her neck. Without a word she passed +by him into the room, and crouched over the fire; while Vane, with his +back to the door, stood, watching her with dilated eyes. + +"Lock the door." He heard her words come faintly through the roaring +in his ears, and mechanically he did as she asked. + +Slowly, with short, hesitating steps he came towards the fire, and +stood beside her, while his nails cut into the palms of his hands. +Then she rose and stood facing him. + +"You've won," she said simply. "I've come to you." She swayed into +his arms, and so for a long while did they stand, while the man twisted +the great masses of hair that hung over her shoulders round and round +his fingers. He touched her forehead and her cheeks with hands that +shook a little, and suddenly he kissed her fiercely on the lips--so +that she gasped, and began to tremble. He could feel her body against +him through the thin silk wrap, and he clasped her tighter in his arms +as if to warm her. + +"My darling," he whispered, "you're cold . . . so cold. . . . Take my +dressing gown. . . ." + +But the girl only clung to him the more, and the man, being just a man, +felt his senses beginning to swim with the wonder of it. + +And then of a sudden she pushed him away, and with her hands on the +mantelpiece stared into the fire. + +Vane's breath came quickly. She looked so utterly desirable with the +red glow of the fire lighting up her face, and her hair falling about +her. He stretched out his hand and put it on her arm, as if to make +sure that it was not a dream, and with the touch of his fingers +something seemed to snap. A great wave of colour flooded her face, +spreading down to her neck, and she began to shake uncontrollably. He +bent over her, whispering in her ear, and suddenly she put both her +arms round his neck. And then like a little child who goes to its +mother for comfort she laid her head on his shoulder, and the tears +came. + +He soothed her gently, stroking her hair with his hand, and gradually, +as the minutes went by, the raging storm in his mind died down, and +gave place to a wonderful peace. All that was best in his nature was +called forth by the girl crying so gently in his arms, and with a +little flickering smile on his lips he stared at the flames over her +head. + +The passion had left him; a great sense of protection--man's divine +heritage through the ages--had taken its place. + +And so after a while he picked her up in his arms and laid her on his +bed. He pulled the clothes around her, and taking her hand in his, sat +down on a chair by her side. + +All through the night he watched beside her, and as he listened to the +hall clock striking the hours, gradually the realisation of what he +must do came to him. + +For he had not beaten Baxter; he had only beaten the girl. Baxter +still stood where he was. Baxter still represented the way out for +Joan. As a rival--man to man--he failed to count; he might just as +well have been Jones or Smith. But as a weapon against the order of +things Baxter remained where he was--the winner. + +And even as he cursed that order of things, it struck him with a sort +of amazed surprise that here he himself was actually up against one of +Ramage's vested interests. . . . If Blandford had been nationalised, +the problem would have been so easy. . . . + +He moved irritably in his chair. What a muddle the whole thing +was--what a muddle. And then with the touch of a woman he bent over +the sleeping girl, and wiped away two tears that were glistening on her +eyelashes. Poor little girl--poor little Joan. . . . + +A sense of overwhelming pity and love for her drowned every other +thought. Right or wrong, she was doing what she believed to be her +job; and now he had come and made things a thousand times harder for +her. + +Very gently he withdrew his hand from hers and rose from his chair. He +made up the fire again, and then started to pace slowly up and down the +room. The drifting period was over; the matter had to be settled now. + +He was no fool, and incidentally he knew as much about women as a man +may know. He realised exactly why she had come to him that night; as +clearly as if she had told him he understood the wild seething thoughts +in her mind, the chaos, the sense of futility. And then the sudden +irresistible longing to get things settled--to give up fighting--to +take hold of happiness or what seemed to her to be happiness at the +moment. + +And supposing the mood had not broken--supposing the tears had not +come. . . . He stopped in his slow walk, and stared at the sleeping +girl thoughtfully. . . . What would have been the state of affairs by +now? + +"Sex--sex--sex. The most powerful thing in the world, and the most +transitory." Her words before dinner, as they had stood in the hall +came back to him, and he took a deep breath. That was the weapon he +was using against her; he made no attempt to deceive himself on that +score. After all--why not? It was the weapon that had been used since +the beginning of things; it was the weapon which would continue to be +used till the end. It was Nature's weapon . . . and yet. . . . + +Once again he resumed his walk--six steps one way, turn, six steps +back. He moved slowly, his chin sunk on his chest, and his hands +twisting restlessly behind his back. Supposing she was right, +supposing in a year, or in five, she should turn on him, and say: +"Against my better judgment you overruled me. Even though I loved you, +even though I still love you--you have made me buy my happiness at too +great a price?" + +Supposing she should say that--what then? Had he any right to make her +run such a risk? Was it fair? Again and again he turned question and +answer over in his brain. Of course it was fair--they loved one +another; and love is the biggest thing in the universe. But was it +only love in his case--was it not overmastering passion as well? +Well--what if it was; there are cases where the two cannot be +separated--and those cases are more precious than rubies. Against such +it were laughable to put the fate of Blandford. . . . Quite--but whose +point of view was that--his or hers? + +Vane was essentially a fair man. The average Englishman is made that +way--it being the peculiar nature of the brute. If anything--as a +referee or a judge--he will give the decision against his own side, +which is the reason why England has spread to the ends of the earth, +and remained there at the express wish of the Little Peoples. Bias or +favouritism are abhorrent to him; as far as in him lies the Englishman +weighs the pros and the cons of the case and gives his decision without +partiality or prejudice. He may blunder at times, but the blunder is +honest and is recognised as such. + +And so as Vane walked restlessly up and down his room, every instinct +in him revolted at the idea of taking advantage of an emotional crisis +such as he knew had been stirred in Joan that evening. It seemed to +him to be unfair. + +"It's her you've got to consider," he said to himself over and over +again. "Only her. . . . It's she who stands to lose--much more than +you." + +He felt that he would go right away, clean out of her life--if, by +doing so, it would help her. But would it? That was the crux. Was he +justified in letting her make this sacrifice? As clearly as if he had +seen it written in letters of fire upon the wall, he knew that the +issue lay in his hands. + +Once again he went to the window and looked out. In the east the first +streaks of dawn were showing in the sky, and for a long while he stood +staring at them, motionless. How often in France had he watched that +same birth of a new day, and wondered what it held in store for him. +But over there a man is a fatalist--his part is allotted to him, and he +can but tread the beaten path blindly. Whereas here, however much one +is the sport of the gods that play, there comes a time when one must +play oneself. Incidentally that is the part of the performance which +amuses the gods. They plot their fantastic jig-saws; but one of the +rules is that the pieces must move themselves. And of their kindness +they let the pieces think they control the movement. . . . + +Suddenly Vane turned round, and crossed to the girl. He picked her up +in his arms, and having silently opened the door he carried her to her +room. + +Utterly exhausted and worn out, she barely woke up even when he placed +her in her own cold bed. Her eyes opened drowsily once, and he bent +over and kissed her gently. + +"Little Joan," he whispered. "Dear little grey girl." + +But she did not hear him. With a tired sigh she had drifted on to +sleep again. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +When Joan woke the next morning it was with the consciousness that +something had happened. And then the events of the last night flashed +over her mind, and for a while she lay very still. The details seemed +all hazy and blurred; only the main fact stood out clear and dominant, +the fact that she had gone to his room. + +After that things got a bit confused. She had a recollection of being +carried in his arms, of his bending over her and whispering "Little +Joan," of his kissing her--but it all seemed merged in an exquisite +dream. + +"Oh! my dear," she whispered, while the love-light shone in her grey +eyes; "but what a dear you are. . . ." + +By the very nature of things she was incapable of realising the +tremendous strain to which she had subjected him; it only seemed to her +that there was a new and wonderful secret to share with him. And to +the girl, still under the influence of her mood of the night before, +the secret forged the final link in the chain. She wondered how she +could ever have hesitated; it all seemed so very easy and obvious now. + +Baxter, Blandford--what did anything matter? She had gone to Derek; +the matter was decided. . . . + +Her maid came into the room, and advanced cautiously to the bed. + +"Ah! but Mam'selle es awake," she said. "And ze tea, mon Dieu, but it +es quite cold." + +"What time is it, Celeste?" asked Joan. + +"Nine o'clock, Mam'selle. I have ze dejeuner outside. And a note from +M'sieur le Capitaine." She held out an envelope to Joan, and busied +herself about the room. "Ah! but he is gentil--M'sieur le Capitaine; +young and of a great air." Celeste, it may be stated, viewed Baxter +rather like a noisome insect. + +"Bring me my breakfast, please." + +Joan waited till the maid had left the room before opening the +envelope. There was just a line inside, and her eyes grew very tender +as she read the words. + +"I've got something to say to you, little Joan, which has got to be +said in the big spaces. Will you come out with me this morning on to +the Downs?" + +She read it through half a dozen times and then she turned to Celeste. + +"Tell Captain Vane that I will be ready in an hour," she said. + + * * * * * * + +Vane was standing in the hall when Joan appeared. A faintly tremulous +smile was on her lips, but she came steadily up to him and held out +both her hands. + +"Good morning, my lady," he said gently. "Would you to be liking to +know how wonderful you look?" + +"Oh! Derek," she whispered. "My dear!" + +"Ostensibly you are going into Lewes to shop," he remarked with a grin. +"I am dealing with Boche prisoners. . . . At least that's what I told +our worthy host over the kidneys at breakfast. . . ." + +She gave a little happy laugh. "And in reality?" + +"We're both going to be dropped somewhere, and we're going to tell the +car to run away and play, while we walk home over the Downs." + +"And my shopping?" + +"You couldn't find anything you wanted." + +"And your prisoners?" + +"Well the only thing about my prisoners that is likely to give the show +away is if I turn up at the prison," smiled Vane. "Let us hope Mr. +Sutton doesn't know the governor." + +And suddenly he added irrelevantly. "Our host was a little surprised +that you failed to appear at breakfast, seeing how early he packed you +off to bed." He watched the slight quickening of her breath, the faint +colour dyeing her cheeks, and suddenly the resolution he had made +seemed singularly futile. Then with a big effort he took hold of +himself, and for greater safety put both his hands in his pockets. "I +think," he remarked quietly, "you'd better go and get ready. The car +will be round in a moment. . . ." + +Without a word she left him and went upstairs to her room, while Vane +strolled to the front door. The car was just coming out of the garage, +and he nodded to the chauffeur. + +"Glorious day, isn't it?" + +"Pity you've got to waste it, sir, over them prisoners," said the man. + +"Yes," agreed Vane thoughtfully. "I'll want you to drop me in the +town, and then I'll walk back over the Downs. . . . Splendid day for a +walk. . . ." He turned and found Joan beside him. "And lightning +performance," he smiled at her. "I won't be a moment." + +He slipped on his coat and handed her into the car. "Drop me in the +High Street, will you--opposite to the Post Office?" he said to the +chauffeur. "I'm expecting a letter." + +"I'm afraid," she said, as the car rolled down the drive, "that like +most men you're rather prone to overact." With a little, happy laugh +she snuggled up to him and slid her hand into his under the rug. + +"I shall be walking home, thank you, Thomas," said Joan as she got out +of the car, and the man stood waiting for orders. + +He touched his cap, and they stood watching the car go down the High +Street. Then she turned to Vane. + +"You'd better see about your letters," she said demurely. "And then we +might go over the Castle. There is a most wonderful collection of +oleographic paleographs brought over by the Americans when they +discovered England. . . ." + +"In one second," threatened Vane, "I shall kiss you. And I don't know +that they'd understand it here. . . ." + +"They'd think we were movie actors," she gurgled, falling into step +beside him. "Do you know the way?" + +"In the days of my unregenerate youth I went to the races here," he +answered. "One passes a prison or something. Anyway, does it matter?" + +She gave a sigh of utter contentment. "Nothing matters, my +man--nothing at all--except that I'm with you. Only I want to get out +into the open, with the fresh wind blowing on my face--and I want to +sing for the joy of it. . . . Do you think if we sang up the town here +they'd give me pennies?" + +"More probably lock us up as undesirable vagrants," laughed Vane. +"It's a county town and they're rather particular. I'm not certain +that happiness isn't an offence under the Defence of the Realm Act. +Incidentally, I don't think there would be many convictions these +days. . . ." + +She stopped for a moment and faced him. "That's not allowed, Derek; +it's simply not allowed." + +"Your servant craves pardon," he answered gravely, and for a while they +walked on in silence. + +They passed two ragged children who had collected on their faces more +dirt than seemed humanly possible, and nothing would content Joan but +that she should present each with a sixpence. + +"Poor little devils," and her voice was very soft. "What a life to +look forward to, Derek--what a hideous existence. . . ." + +"It's all they've ever been brought up to." He put sixpence into each +little grubby paw, and smiled down at the awestruck faces. "Go and +spend it all on sweets," he told them, "and be really, wonderfully, +happily sick for once in your lives. . . ." + +And then at last they turned a corner, and in front of them stretched +the Downs. On their left the grim, frowning prison stood sombre and +apparently lifeless, and as Joan passed it she gave a little shudder. + +"Oh! Boy," she cried, "isn't it impossible to get away from the +suffering and the rottenness--even for a moment?" She shook herself as +if to cast off the mood, and stretched out her arms to the open hills. +"I'm sorry," she said briefly. "Come into the big spaces and tell me +what you want to say. . . ." + +For a while they walked on over the clean-cut turf and the wind from +the sea swept through the gorse and the rustling grasses, and kissed +them, and passed on. + +"There is a hayrick, I see, girl o' mine," said Vane. "Let's go and +sit under it. And in defiance of all laws and regulations we will +there smoke a cigarette." + +They reached the sheltered side of it, and Vane threw down his coat on +the ground for her to sit on. + +"Aren't you forgetting something?" she whispered, and he drew her into +his arms and kissed her. Then he made her sit down, and arranged the +coat around her shoulders. + +"You come in too," she ordered. "There's plenty of room for +both. . . ." + +And so with his arm around her waist, and his cheek touching hers they +sat for awhile in silence. + +Then suddenly Vane spoke. "Grey girl--I'm going away to-day." + +"Going away?" She echoed the words and stared at him incredulously. +"But . . . but . . . I thought. . . ." + +"So did I," he returned quietly. "When I came down here yesterday I +had only one thought in my mind--and that was to make you give up +Baxter. I wanted it from purely selfish reasons; I wanted it because I +wanted you myself. . . ." + +"And don't you now?" Her voice was wondering. + +"More--infinitely more--than I did before. But there's one thing I +want even more than that--your happiness." He was staring steadily +over the great stretch of open country to where Crowborough lay in the +purple distance. "When you came to me last night, little Joan, I +thought I should suffocate with the happiness of it. It seemed so +gloriously trustful of you . . . though, I must admit that idea did not +come at first. You see I'm only a man; and you're a lovely +girl. . . ." He laughed a little shortly. "I'd made up my mind to +drift these next two or three days, and then when you came it seemed to +be a direct answer to the problem. I didn't realise just to begin with +that you weren't quite capable of thinking things out for +yourself. . . . I didn't care, either. It was you and I--a woman and +a man; it was the answer. And then you started to cry--in my arms. +The strain had been too much. Gradually as you cried and clung to me, +all the tearing overmastering passion went--and just a much bigger love +for you came instead of it. . . . You see, it seemed to me that you, +in your weakness last night, had placed the settlement on my +shoulders. . . ." + +"It's there now, dear man," she whispered. "I'd just got tired, tired, +tired of fighting---- And last night it all seemed so clear." With +her breast rising and falling quickly she stared over the hills, and +Vane watched her with eyes full of love. + +"I know it did--last night," he answered. + +"Don't you understand," she went on after a moment, "that a woman wants +to have her mind made up for her? She doesn't want arguments and +points of view--she wants to be taken into a man's arms, and kissed, +and beaten if necessary. . . . I don't know what was the matter with +me last night; I only know that I was lying in bed feeling all dazed +and bruised--and then suddenly I saw the way out. To come to you--and +get things settled." She turned on him and her face was very tense. +"You weren't--you weren't shocked," her voice was very low. "Not +disgusted with me." + +Vane threw back his head and laughed. "My lady," he said after a +moment, "forgive my laughing. But if you could even, in your wildest +dreams, imagine the absurdity of such an idea, you'd laugh too. . . ." +Then he grew serious again, and stabbed at the ground with the point of +his stick. "Do you suppose, dear, that I wouldn't sooner have taken +that way out myself? Do you suppose that the temptation to take that +way out isn't beating and hammering at me now? . . . That's why I've +got to go. . . ." + +"What do you mean?" Her face was half-averted. + +"I mean," he answered grimly, "that if I stopped at Melton to-night, I +should come to your room. As I think I said before, I'm just a man, +and you're a lovely girl--and I adore you. But I adore you +sufficiently to run away from a temptation that I know would defeat +me. . . ." + +She turned and faced him. "And supposing I want it to defeat you?" + +"Ah! don't--don't. . . . For the love of God--don't!" he cried, +getting up and striding away. He stood with his back towards her, +while a large variety of separate imps in his brain assured him that he +was an unmitigated fool. + +"For Heaven's sake!--take what the gods offer you," they sang. "Here +in the cold light of day, where there's no question of her being +overwrought, she's asking you to settle things for her. Take it, you +fool, take it. . . ." + +And the god who concerned himself with that particular jig-saw among a +hundred others paused for a moment and gave no heed to the ninety-nine. +Then he turned over two or three pages to see what was coming, and +forthwith lost interest. It is a bad thing to skip--even for a god. + +Suddenly Vane felt Joan's hand on his arm, and looking down he found +her at his side. + +"Don't you understand, dear man?" she said. "I'm frightened of being +left to decide . . . just frightened to death." + +"And don't you understand, dear girl," he answered, "that I'm +frightened of deciding for you? If one decides wrong for +oneself--well, it's one's own funeral. But if it's for somebody +else--and it's their funeral. . .." + +"Even if the other person begs you to do it?" + +"Even if the other person begs one to do it," he repeated gravely. +"Except that the sexes are reversed, little Joan--something much like +this happened not long ago. And the woman told the man to go and make +sure. . . . I guess she was frightened of staking everything on a +sudden rush of sex. She was right." He turned to her and caught both +her hands in his with a groan. "Oh! my dear--you know what you said to +me last night before dinner. Sex--sex--sex; the most powerful weapon +in the world--and the most transitory. And I daren't use it--I just +daren't any more." + +He caught her in his arms and kissed her. "I can't forget that when +you decided before--you decided against me. Something has happened +since then, Joan. . . . Last night. . . . It's another factor in the +situation, and I don't quite know how powerful it will prove. It's too +near, just at present. . . . It's out of focus. But clear through +everything I know it wouldn't be playing the game to rush you with +another--last night. . . ." + +He stared over her head, and the wind blew the tendrils of her hair +against his cheek. "We've got to get last night into its proper place, +grey girl," he went on after a while. "And only you can do it. . . . +As far as I'm concerned--why there's never been any doubt. . . . It's +just for you to decide. . . ." + +"But I don't want to decide." Her voice, a little muffled, came from +his shoulder. "I want you to decide for me." Then, leaning away from +him, she put both her hands on his shoulders. "Take me away, +Derek--take me away with you now. Let's go and get married--just you +and I and Binks--and go right away from everyone, and be alone." Once +again the imps knocked tauntingly, but Vane only smiled gravely and +shook his head. + +"Where would the difference be, darling?" he asked. "Where would the +difference be? I guess it's not a question of with or without benefit +of clergy between you and me." + +Her hands fell to her side wearily, and she turned away. "I suppose +you're doing what you think is right, dear," she said at length. "And +I can't take you and drag you to the altar, can I?" + +"I'll want no dragging, little Joan, if you're of the same mind in a +fortnight's time." Then suddenly he caught both her hands in his. "My +dear, my dear!" he cried hoarsely; "don't you see I must give you time +to make sure? I must. . . ." + +She shook her head. "I've had too much time already, Derek. I'm +frightened of time; I don't want to think. . . . Oh! boy, boy, don't +let me think; just take me, and think for me. . . ." + +But once again Vane smiled gravely, and shook his head. "We can't +dodge it like that, my darling--we just can't. . . ." He bent down to +pick up his coat, and the god in charge sent a casual glance in their +direction, to see that matters were progressing favourably. And when +he saw the little hopeless smile on the girl's face he turned to one of +his pals. + +"It's too easy," he remarked in a bored voice, and turned his attention +to a struggling curate with four children who had married for +love. . . . + + +And so that afternoon Vane acted according to his lights. Maybe it was +wisdom, maybe it was folly, but the point is immaterial, for it was +written in the Book of the Things that Happen. + +He went, telling his host that he had found fresh orders at the Post +Office that morning: and the girl waved her handkerchief at him from +her bedroom window as the car went down the drive. + +For one brief moment after lunch they had been alone--but she had made +no further attempt to keep him. She had just kissed him once, and +listened to his words of passionate love with a grave little smile. +"Only a fortnight, my darling," he had told her. "But we must give it +that. You must be sure." And he had been too much taken up with his +own thoughts to notice the weariness in her eyes. + +She said nothing to him of the unread letter lying on her +dressing-table upstairs, and not till long after he had gone did she +pick up the envelope and turn it over and over in her fingers. Then, +at last, she opened it. + +It was just in the same vein as all the letters her father was writing +her at this period. Brimming over with hope and confidence and joy and +pleasure; planning fresh beauties for their beloved Blandford--he +always associated Joan with himself in the possession of it; scheming +how she was to come and stay with him for long visits each year after +she was married. It was the letter of a man who had come out of the +darkness of worry into the light of safety; and as in all the others, +there was the inevitable reference to the black times that were over. + +Slowly the dusk came down, the shadows deepened in the great trees +outside. The Downs faded into a misty blur, and at length she turned +from the window. In the flickering light of the fire she threw herself +face downwards on her bed. For an hour she lay there motionless, while +the shadows danced merrily around her, and darkness came down outside. +Just every now and then a little pitiful moan came from her lips, +muffled and inarticulate from the depths of the pillow; and once a +great storm of sobs shook her--sobs which drenched the old scented +linen with tears. But for the most part she lay in silence with her +hands clenched and rigid, and thus did she pass along the way of Pain +to her Calvary. . . . + +At six o'clock she rose and bathed her face, and powdered her nose as +all normal women must do before facing an unsympathetic world, even if +the torments of Hell have got them on the rack. Then with firm steps +she went downstairs to the drawing-room, and found it empty. Without +faltering she crossed to the piano, and took from the top of a pile of +music "The Garden of Kama." She turned to the seventh song of the +cycle-- + + "Ah! when Love comes, his wings are swift, + His ways are full of quick surprise; + 'Tis well for those who have the gift + To seize him even as he flies. . . ." + +Her eyes ran over the well-known lines, and she sat down at the piano +and sang it through. She sang it as she had never sung before; she +sang it as she would never sing it again. For the last note had barely +died away, throbbing into silence, when Joan took the score in her +hands and tore it across. She tore the pages again, and then she +carried the pieces across and threw them into the fire. It was while +she was pressing down the remnants with a poker that Mrs. Sutton came +into the room and glanced at her in mild surprise. + +"It's an old song," said Joan with a clear, ringing laugh. "One I +shall never sing again. I'm tired of it. . . ." + +And the god in charge paused for a moment, and wondered if it was worth +while. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"My hat!" remarked the Adjutant as Vane reported his return to the depot. +"Can this thing be true? Giving up leave. . . ." + +Vane grinned, and seated himself on the edge of the table. + +"'There are more things, Horatio,'" he quoted genially. + +"For the love of Pete--not that hoary motto," groaned the other. "Want a +job of work?" + +"My hat!" laughed Vane. "Can this thing be true? Work at the depot?" + +"Try my job," grunted Vallance. "Of all the bandy-legged crowd of C3 +perishers I've ever seen, this crowd fills the bill. . . . Why one damn +fellow who's helping in the cook-house--peeling potatoes--says it gives +him pains in the stummick. . . . Work too hard. . . . And in civil life +he was outside porter in a goods yard." He relapsed into gloomy silence. + +"What about this job?" prompted Vane. + +The Adjutant lit a cigarette. "I can easily send over a subaltern, if +you like," he said; "but you might find it a good trip. It's a draft for +the sixth battalion in Ireland; you'll have to cross and hand 'em over in +Dublin." + +Vane thought for a moment and then nodded. + +"I'd like it," he said. "I rather want something to do at the +moment. . . ." + +"Right, old boy. Start to-morrow. Come round about ten, and I'll give +you the papers." + +Vane saluted and left the orderly room. The prospect of the trip pleased +him; as he had said, at the moment he wanted something to do. Though it +was only the day before that he had left her, the temptation to go back +to Joan--or at any rate write to her--was growing in strength. Already +he was cursing himself as a fool for having acted as he had; and yet he +knew that he had done right. It had to be left for her to decide. . . . + +And if. . . . Vane shrugged his shoulders at the thought. + + +Three days later he had safely shepherded his flock across the water, and +handed it over to his relief. The trip had been uneventful, save for the +extraordinary feat of two of the men who had managed to become incapably +drunk on Government beer; and Vane having spent a night in Dublin, and +inspected the scene of the Sackville Street fighting with a sort of +amazed surprise, prepared to board the S.S. "Connaught" for the return +crossing. + +Was it not all written in the Book of the Words? + +He might have stopped for a day's cubbing--but he did not; he might have +crossed the preceding evening--but he had not. He merely went on board +the "Connaught," and had an early lunch, which, in all conscience, was a +very normal proceeding. There were a few soldiers on board, but for the +most part the passengers consisted of civilians, with a heavy percentage +of women and children. There were a few expensive-looking gentlemen in +fur coats, who retired early to their cabins, and whom Vane decided must +be Members of Parliament. The smoking-room was occupied by a party of +six young Irishmen, all of them of military age, who announced freely for +the benefit of anyone who cared to listen--and it was not easy to avoid +doing so--that they were Sinn Feiners. For a while Vane studied them, +more to distract his own thoughts than for any interest in their +opinions. It struck him that they were the exact counterpart of the new +clique of humanity which has sprung up recently on this side of the Irish +Sea; advanced thinkers without thought--the products of a little +education without the ballast of a brain. Wild, enthusiastic in their +desire for change, they know not what they want as the result of the +change. Destructive without being constructive, they bemuse themselves +with long words, and scorn simplicity. No scheme is too wild or lunatic +for them, provided they themselves are in the limelight. . . . And as +for the others--_qu'importe_? . . . Self is their God; the ill-digested, +half-understood schemes of great thinkers their food; talk their +recreation. And they play overtime. . . . + +He opened the smoking-room door and stepped out on to the deck. For a +few moments he stood still watching the water slip by, and drawing in +great mouthfuls of fresh air. He felt he wanted to purge himself of the +rotten atmosphere he had just left. Then with slow, measured steps he +began to pace up and down the deck. The majority of the passengers were +sitting muffled up in deck chairs, but, unlike the Boulogne boat, there +was plenty of room to walk; and Vane was of the particular brand who +always think more easily when they move. + +And he wanted to think of Joan. He had not thought of much else since he +had left her--but the subject never tired. He could feel her now as she +had lain in his arms; he could still smell the soft fragrance of her +hair. The wind was singing through the rigging, and suddenly the wonder +of her came over him in a great wave and he stared over the grey sea with +shining eyes. + +After a while he tapped out his pipe, and prepared to fill it again. It +was as he stood, with his tobacco pouch open in his hand, that something +in the sea attracted his attention. He grew rigid, and stared at it--and +at the same moment a frantic ringing of the engine-room bell showed that +the officer on the bridge had seen it too. Simultaneously everyone +seemed to become aware that something was wrong--and for a brief second +almost a panic occurred. The ship was swinging to port, but Vane +realised that it was hopeless: the torpedo must get them. And the +sea-gulls circling round the boat shrieked discordantly at him. . . . He +took a grip of the rail, and braced himself to meet the shock. +Involuntarily he closed his eyes--the devil . . . it was worse than a +crump--you could hear that coming--and this. . . . + +"Quick--get it over." He did not know he had spoken . . . and then it +came. . . . There was a great rending explosion--curiously muffled, Vane +thought, compared with a shell. But it seemed so infinitely more +powerful and destructive; like the upheaval of some great monster, slow +and almost dignified compared with the snapping fury of a smaller beast. +It seemed as if the very bowels of the earth had shaken themselves and +irrupted. + +The ship staggered and shook like a stricken thing, and Vane opened his +eyes. Already she was beginning to list a little, and he saw the gaping +hole in her side, around which floated an indescribable litter of small +objects and bits of wood. The torpedo had hit her forward, but with the +headway she still had the vessel drifted on, and the litter of débris +came directly underneath Vane. With a sudden narrowing of his eyes, he +saw what was left of a girl turning slowly over and over in the still +seething water. + +Then he turned round and looked at the scene on deck. The crew were +going about their job in perfect silence, and amongst the passengers a +sort of stunned apathy prevailed. The thing had been so sudden, that +most of them as yet hardly realised what had happened. + +He saw one man--a funny little, pimply man with spectacles, of the type +he would have expected to wring his hands and wail--take off his boots +with the utmost composure, and place them neatly side by side on the deck. + +Then a large, healthy individual in a fur coat came past him demanding to +see the Captain, and protesting angrily when he was told to go to hell. + +"It's preposterous, sir," he said to Vane; "absolutely preposterous. I +insist on seeing the Captain. . .." + +"Don't be more of a fool than you can help," answered Vane rudely. "It's +not the Captain's 'At home' day. . . ." + +And once again it struck him as it had so often struck him in France, +what an impossible thing it is to guess beforehand how danger will affect +different men. A woman beside him was crying quietly, and endeavouring +to soothe a little boy who clung to her with wide-open, frightened +eyes. . . . + +"Do you think there's any danger, sir?" She turned to Vane and looked at +him imploringly. + +"I hope not," he answered reassuringly. "There should be enough boats to +go round. . . . Ah! look--there is the swine." + +Rolling a little, and just awash, the conning tower of the submarine +showed up out of the sea about half a mile away, and suddenly Vane heard +a voice beside him cursing it bitterly and childishly. He turned, to +find one of the smoking-room patriots shaking his fist at it, while the +weak tears of rage poured down his face. Afterwards, on thinking the +experience over, Vane decided that that one spectacle had made it almost +worth while. . . . + +Two boats were pulling away from the ship, which had already begun to +settle by the bows, and two more were in the process of being launched, +when the Hun lived up to his rightful reputation. There are times when +one is nauseated and sickened by the revolting cant of a repentant +Germany; by the hypocritical humbug that, at heart, the German is a +peace-loving, gentle being who has been led away by those above him. And +as Vane watched grimly the path of the second, and so unnecessary +torpedo, he felt an overmastering longing that some of the up-holders of +the doctrine could be on board. + +The "Connaught" was done for; that much was obvious to the veriest +land-lubber. And the second torpedo could have but one purpose--the +wanton destruction of so many more helpless women. Besides, it revolted +his sense of sport; it was like blowing a sitting bird to pieces with a +shot gun. . . . + +He saw it strike amidships; he had a fleeting vision of a screaming, +struggling boat load--of curses and shouts, and then he knew no more. +There was a roaring in his ears, and he seemed to be travelling through +great spaces. Lights danced and flashed before his brain, and suddenly +he felt very cold. The noise had ceased, and everything was very still +and silent. . . . The cold grew more intense, till it seemed to eat into +him, and his head grew curiously light. Almost as if it was bursting +with some unaccustomed pressure. Then, just as it seemed as if it was +the end, and that his skull would literally fly to pieces, relief came +with a great rush, and Vane found himself gasping and blowing on the +surface of the water. Around him was a mass of débris, and instinctively +he struck out for a deck chair that was floating close by. He reached +it, and for a long time he clutched it, with only his head out of the +water--content to draw great gulps of the air into his panting lungs. +Then after a while he raised himself in the water and looked round. + +About fifty yards away the "Connaught" was sinking rapidly, and Vane +wondered feebly how he had got where he was. People were still +struggling and scrambling over her slanting decks, and he watched a man +slashing with a knife at the falls of a partially filled boat. + +He heard a voice cursing the man for a fool, and wondered who it was who +spoke. Then the boat crashed downwards stern first, shooting its load +into the water, and the same voice croaked, "I told you so, you bloody +fool. I told you so." It was then he realised that the voice was his +own. . . . + +Vane closed his eyes, and tried to think. Presumably the wireless +messenger had sent out an S.O.S.; presumably, in time, someone would +arrive on the scene. Until that happened he must concentrate on saving +himself. His head was still swimming from the force of the explosion, +and for a long while he lay supporting himself mechanically on the +half-submerged chair. Then he felt that he was moving, and opening his +eyes he realised that the ship had disappeared. Very soon the suction +stopped, and he found himself alone on the grey, sullen water. In the +distance, bobbing up and down on the short swell, he could see half a +dozen boats; but close at hand there was nothing save the flotsam and +wreckage from the ship. The submarine, as far as he could tell, had +disappeared; at any rate, he was too low in the water to see her. After +a while the ship's boats, too, pulled out of sight, and for the first +time Vane began to feel afraid. What if the S.O.S. was not answered? +What if only the boats were picked up, and he was never found? . . . + +An overwhelming panic seized him and he commenced to shout--a puny little +noise lost in the vastness around him, and drowned by the shrieking of a +countless swarm of gulls, that fought over the prize that had come to +them. Then with a great effort he pulled himself together. He must keep +his head and save his strength--he must. . . . Any boat coming up would +be attracted to the scene of the disaster by the gulls, he repeated to +himself over and over again--and then they would see him. + +He took a fresh grip of the chair and swam a few strokes to keep warm. +That was the next point that came into his mind--how long could he last +before, numbed with the cold, his grip on the chair would relax and he +would only have his life-belt to rely on? He must not get cold, he must +swim steadily and quietly to keep up his circulation--always keeping near +the gulls. He argued it out carefully in his mind, unconsciously talking +aloud, and when he had decided what he was going to do he nodded his head +in complete agreement. And then he laughed--a strange, croaking laugh +and apostrophised a gull which was circling above his head. "How damn +funny, old bird," he said still chuckling; "how damn funny. . . ." The +humour of the situation had struck him suddenly. After the long years in +France to be drowned like a bally hen inside a coop! . . . + +Undoubtedly a man clinging to a deck chair did look rather like a hen in +a coop--a bedraggled hen, most certainly, very bedraggled. Not at all +the sort of hen that should be dished up at the Carlton or the Savoy for +dinner. A cheap and nasty hen, Vane decided. . . . + +A splash of water hit him in the mouth and made him splutter and cough. +"Pull yourself together, man," he cried fiercely; "for God's sake, pull +yourself together!" He realised that his mind had been wandering; he +realised that that way lay Death. He started to swim steadily, keeping +near the main mass of wreckage, and pushing the chair in front of him. +Several times they bumped into things, and once Vane found himself +looking through the bars of the back of the chair at something which +rolled and sogged in the water. And then it half turned, and he saw it +was a woman. Some of her hair, sodden and matted, came through the +openings of his chair, and he watched the floating tendrils +uncomprehendingly for a while. Dead . . . of course, she was dead . . . +with the water splashing ceaselessly over her face. . . . At peace; she +had chucked her hand in--given up the useless struggle. + +What chance was there anyway of a boat coming in time? What a fool he +was to go on, when he felt so tired and so cold? . . . That woman did +not mind--the one lying there in the water so close to him. She was +perfectly happy . . . while he was numb and exhausted. Why not just lie +on the water and go to sleep? . . . He would keep the woman company, and +he would be happy just like her, instead of having to force his frozen +hands to hold that cursed slippery wood. . . . + +And Joan would be happy, because she would have saved Blandford; and +Baxter, damn him, he would be happy; and the whole blessed outfit would +be happy as well as him when he had just dropped on to sleep. . . . + +He would never have done as a husband for Margaret; the idea was +ridiculous. Imagine sitting down and writing a book, while she took the +pennies at the door--or did he have to take the pennies? Anyway, this +settled the matter, and saved him the trouble of explanation. He loathed +explanations; all he wanted was peace and quiet and rest. . . . + +What a farce it all was; man thinking he could struggle against science. +Science ruled the universe--aeroplanes, gas, torpedoes. And it served +men right for inventing them; they should have been more careful. The +smile on the dead German airman's face, as he lay on the ground near +Poperinghe, floated before him, and he nodded his head portentously. + +"You're right, old bean," he croaked. "The man I want to meet is the +fool who doesn't think it's funny . . . ." + +And then Vane crossed the Valley of the Shadow, as far as a man may cross +and yet return. Strange figures crowded around him hemming him in on +every side. The Boche whose brains he had blown out near Arras was there +with his shattered skull, holding out a hand of greeting--and Baxter, +grinning sardonically. Margaret--with a wealth of pity and love shining +on her face, and Joan with her grey eyes faintly mocking . . . . And his +tailor with the wart on his nose, and Mrs. Green, and Binks. . . . They +were all there, and then gradually they faded into the great +darkness. . . . Everything was growing still, and peaceful--the rest he +wanted had come. + +Then suddenly they came back again--the Boche and Baxter and the rest of +them--and started pulling him about. He cursed and swore at them, but +they paid no heed; and soon the agony he was suffering became almost +unbearable. In God's name, why could not they leave him alone? . . . He +raved at them, and sobbed, but it was of no avail. They went on +inexorably and the creaking of the oars in the rowlocks of the boat that +had picked him up seemed to him to be the creaking of his arms and +legs. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +When Vane opened his eyes on reality again, he found himself in a +strange room. For a few moments he lay very still, groping back into a +half-world of grey shadows. He remembered the first torpedo, and then +the second one; but after that things seemed confused. A man opened +the door, and came over to his bed. + +"Feeling better?" he remarked with a smile. + +"As far as I can make out at the moment," said Vane, "I'm feeling +perfectly well. Where am I, and what happened? . . ." + +"You're in a private hospital not far from Liverpool," answered the +man. "You were very nearly drowned in the 'Connaught,' and you've had +a nasty knock on the head as well. . . . Feel at all muzzy now?" + +"Not a bit," said Vane, raising himself on his elbow. "I hope they +caught the swine." + +"There was a rumour three or four days ago that they had." + +Vane stared at the speaker. "What did you say?" he remarked at length. + +"There was a rumour three or four days ago that the submarine was +sunk," repeated the other. + +"May I ask how long I've been here?" + +"Ten days," answered the doctor. "But I wired to your depot that you +were safe, so you needn't worry." + +"With regard to the depot," remarked Vane grimly, "you may take it from +me that I don't. . . . Ten days . . . twelve--fourteen." He was +counting on his fingers. "Oh! Hell. . . ." + +"They forwarded some letters for you," said the doctor. "I'll get them +for you. . . ." + +"Thanks," said Vane. "When is the next train to London?" + +"In about four days' time as far as you're concerned," laughed the +other. + +He went out of the room, and Vane lay very still. Fourteen days. . . . +Fourteen days. . . . + +The doctor returned and handed him about a dozen letters. + +"They've been coming at intervals," he remarked. "I'm going to send +you up a cup of bovril in a minute. . . ." + +Vane turned them over rapidly in his hand, and found that there were +only two that counted. He looked at the postmarks to get them in the +right sequence, and eagerly pulled out the contents of the first. It +had been written four days after he left Melton. + + +"Dear lad, I'm leaving here to-morrow, and am going back to Blandford; +but before I go I want to tell you something. A man is not a very good +judge of a woman's actions at any time; he's so apt to see them through +his own eyes. He reasons, and becomes logical, . . . and perhaps he's +right. But a woman doesn't want reasons or logic--not if she's in +love. She wants to be whirled up breathlessly and carried away, and +made to do things; and it doesn't matter whether they're right or +wrong--not if she's in love. Maybe you were right, Derek, to go away; +but oh! my dear, I would to God you hadn't." + + +A nurse came in with a cup of bovril, and put it on the table by his +bed, and Vane turned to her abruptly. + +"Where are my clothes, Nurse?" + +"You'll not be wanting clothes yet awhile," she answered with a smile. +"I'm coming back shortly to tidy you up," and Vane cursed under his +breath as she left the room. + +Then he picked up the second letter and opened it. At first he thought +it was a blank sheet of paper, and then he saw that there were a few +words in the centre of the page. For a moment they danced before his +eyes; then he pulled himself together and read them. + + "''Tis well for those who have the gift + To seize him even as he flies. . . .' + +"Oh! you fool--you fool! Why didn't you?" + + +That was all, and for a long while he lay and stared at the bare wall +opposite. + +"Why didn't you?" The words mocked him, dancing in great red letters +on the pale green distemper, and he shook his feet at them childishly. + +"It's not fair," he raved. "It's simply not fair." + +And the god in charge took a glance into the room, though to the man in +bed it was merely a ray from a watery sun with the little specks of +dust dancing and floating in it. + +"Of no more account than a bit of dirt," he muttered cynically. "It +wasn't my fault. . . . I never asked to be torpedoed. I only did what +I thought was right." He buried his head in his hands with a groan. + +The nurse came once more into the room, and eyed him reproachfully. +"The bovril is quite cold," she said picking it up. "That's very +naughty of you. . . ." + +He looked at her and started to laugh. "I'm a very naughty man, Nurse. +But for all that you've got to do something for me. No--take away that +awful basin and sponge. . . . I don't mind if I am dirty. . . . +You've got to go and bring the doctor here, and you've got to get my +clothes. And between us, Nurse, we'll cheat 'em yet." + +"Cheat whom?" she asked soothingly. + +"The blind, malignant imps that control us wretched humans," he +answered. "For Heaven's sake! my dear woman, do what I say. I'm not +light-headed, believe me." + +And the nurse being a stoical and unimaginative lady, it was just as +well that, at that moment, the doctor entered the room. For had she +murmured in her best bedside manner. . . . "That's quite all right. +Just a nice wash, and then we'll go to sleep," there is but little +doubt that a cup of cold bovril would have deluged her ample form. As +it was the catastrophe was averted, and Vane turned to the doctor with +a sigh of relief. + +"May I have a word with you alone, Doctor?" he said. "And, Nurse, +would you get my clothes for me?" + +"Doctor," he went on as the door closed behind her. "I've got to +go--at once." + +"My dear fellow," began the other, but Vane silenced him with a wave of +his hand. + +"I may have had concussion; I may have been nearly drowned. I may be +the fool emperor for wanting to get up," he continued quietly. "But +it's got to be done. You see, I'm having a bit of a tussle with . . ." +he paused for a moment as if at a loss for a word, and then added +whimsically, "with the Powers that run things. And," savagely, "I'll +be damned if they're going to have a walk over. . . ." + +The doctor eyed him gravely for a few moments without replying. + +"You oughtn't to get up yet," he said at length. + +"But you'll let me," cried Vane. + +"There's a good train in two hours," replied the other briefly. "And +the result be upon your own head. . . ." + +Vane opened the remainder of his letters on the way up to London. He +felt a little dazed and weak, though otherwise perfectly fit, and when +he had glanced through them, he stared out of the window at the +landscape flashing past. They were passing through the Black Country, +and it seemed to him to be in keeping with his thoughts--dour, +relentless, grim. The smouldering blast-furnaces, the tall, blackened +chimneys, the miles of dingy, squalid houses, all mocked the efforts of +their makers to escape. + +"You fashioned us," they jeered; "out of your brains we were born, and +now you shall serve us evermore. . . . You cannot--you shall not +escape. . . ." + +To Vane it was all the voice of Fate. "You cannot--you shall not +escape. What is to be--is to be; and your puny efforts will not alter +a single letter in the book. . . ." + +And yet of his own free will he had left Joan; he had brought it on +himself. + +"What if I had done as she wished?" he demanded aloud. "What would you +have done then, you swine?" + +But there is no answer in this world to the Might-have-been; only +silence and imagination, which, at times, is very merciless. + +He stepped out of the train at Euston and drove straight to his rooms. +For the first time in his life he took no notice of Binks, and that +worthy, knowing that something was wrong, just sat in his basket and +waited. Perhaps later he'd be able to help somehow. . . . + +"The young lady who came to tea was round here four or five days ago, +Mr. Vane," said Mrs. Green, when she had set a match to the fire. + +Vane sat very still. "And what did she want, Mrs. Green?" + +"To see you, sir. She said that she had rung up the depot, and the man +who answered said you were on leave. . . ." + +"He would," said Vane, grimly. + +"So she came here," Mrs. Green paused, and watched him with a motherly +eye; then she busied herself needlessly over the fire. "I found her +with Binks in her arms--and she seemed just miserable. 'Oh! can't you +tell me where he is, Mrs. Green?' she said. 'I can't, my dear,' said +I, 'for I don't know myself . . . .' And then she picked up a piece of +paper and wrote a few words on it, and sealed it up, and addressed it +to you at Murchester. . . ." + +"Ah!" said Vane quietly. "She wrote it here, did she?" He laughed a +short, bitter laugh. "She was right, Mrs. Green. I had the game in my +hands, and I chucked it away." He rose and stared grimly at the houses +opposite. "Did she say by any chance where she was staying?" + +"Ashley Gardens, she said; and if you came in, I was to let you know." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Green." He turned round at length, and took up the +telephone book. "You might let me have some tea. . . ." + +The worthy woman bustled out of the room, shaking her head. Like +Binks, she knew that something was very wrong; but the consolation of +sitting in a basket and waiting for the clouds to roll by was denied +her. For the Humans have to plot and contrive and worry, whatever +happens. . . . + +"Is that Lady Auldfearn's?" Vane took the telephone off the table. +"Oh! Lady Auldfearn speaking? I'm Captain Vane. . . . Is Miss +Devereux stopping with you? Just left yesterday, you say. . . . +Yes--I rather wanted to see her. Going to be where? At the +Mainwarings' dance to-night. Thank you. But you don't know where she +is at present. . . ." + +He hung up the receiver, and sat back in his chair, with a frown. Then +suddenly a thought struck him, and he pulled the letters he had +received that morning out of his pocket. He extracted one in Nancy +Smallwood's sprawling handwriting, and glanced through it again to make +sure. + +"Dine 8 o'clock--and go on to Mainwarings' dance afterwards. . . . Do +come, if you can. . . ." + +Vane, placing it on the table in front of him, bowed to it profoundly. +"We might," he remarked to Binks, "almost have it framed." + +And Binks' quivering tail assented, with a series of thumps against his +basket. + + +"I hope you won't find your dinner partner too dreadful." Nancy +Smallwood was shooting little bird-like glances round the room as she +greeted Vane that evening. "She has a mission . . . or two. Keeps +soldiers from drinking too much and getting into bad hands. +Personally, anything--_anything_ would be better than getting into +hers." + +"I seem," murmured Vane, "to have fallen on my feet. She isn't that +gargantuan woman in purple, is she?" + +"My dear boy! That's George's mother. You know my husband. No, there +she is--the wizened up one in black. . . . And she's going on to the +Mainwarings' too--so you'll have to dance with her." + +At any other time Vane might have extracted some humour from his +neighbour, but to-night, in the mood he was, she seemed typical of all +that was utterly futile. She jarred his nerves till it was all he +could do to reply politely to her ceaseless "We are doing this, and we +decided that." To her the war had given an opportunity for +self-expression which she had hitherto been denied. Dreadful as she +undoubtedly thought it with one side of her nature, with another it +made her almost happy. It had enabled her to force herself into the +scheme of things; from being a nonentity, she had made herself a person +with a mission. . . . + +True, the doings and the decisions on which she harped continually were +for the benefit of the men he had led. But to this woman it was not +the men that counted most. They had to fit into the decisions; not the +decisions into them. . . . + +They were inexorable, even as the laws of the Medes and Persians. And +who was this wretched woman, to lay down the law? What did she know; +what did she understand? + +"And so we decided that we must really stop it. People were beginning +to complain; and we had one or two--er--regrettable scandals." + +With a start Vane woke up from his reverie and realised he had no idea +what she was talking about. + +"Indeed," he murmured. "Have a salted almond?" + +"Don't you think we were right, Captain Vane?" she pursued inexorably. +"The men are exposed to so many temptations that the least we can do is +to remove those we can." + +"But are they exposed to any more now than they were before?" he +remarked wearily. "Why not let 'em alone, dear lady, let 'em alone? +They deserve it." + +At length the ladies rose, and with a sigh of relief Vane sat down next +a lawyer whom he knew well. + +"You're looking pretty rotten, Derek," he said, looking at Vane +critically. + +"I've been dining next a woman with a mission," he answered. "And I +was nearly drowned in the 'Connaught.'" + +The lawyer looked at him keenly. "And the two combined have finished +you off." + +"Oh! no. I'm reserving my final effort for the third. I'll get that +at the Mainwarings'." He lifted his glass and let the ruby light glint +through his port. "Why do we struggle, Jimmy? Why, in Heaven's name, +does anybody ever do anything but drift? Look at that damned +foolishness over the water. . . . The most titanic struggle of the +world. And look at the result. . . . Anarchy, rebellion, strife. +What's the use; tell me that, my friend, what's the use? And the +little struggles--the personal human struggles--are just as +futile. . . ." + +The lawyer thoughtfully lit a cigarette. "It's not only you fellows +out there, Derek," he said, "who are feeling that way. We're all of us +on the jump, and we're all of us bottling it up. The result is a trial +such as we had the other day, with witnesses and judge screaming at +each other, and dignity trampled in the mud. Every soul in England +read the case--generally twice--before anything else. You could see +'em all in the train--coming up to business--with the sheet on which it +was reported carefully taken out of its proper place and put in the +centre of the paper so that they could pretend they were reading the +war news." + +Vane laughed. "We were better than that. We took it, naked and +unashamed, in order of seniority. And no one was allowed to read any +tit-bit out loud for fear of spoiling it for the next man." + +Jimmy Charters laughed shortly. "We're just nervy, and sensationalism +helps. It takes one out of one's self for a moment; one forgets." + +"And the result is mud flung at someone, some class. No matter whether +it's true; no matter whether it's advisable--it's mud. And it sticks +alike to the just and the unjust; while the world looks on and sneers; +and over the water, the men look on and--die." + +George Smallwood was pushing back his chair. "Come on, you fellows. +The Cuthberts will advance from their funk-holes." . . . He led the +way towards the door, and Vane rose. + +"Don't pay any attention to what I've been saying, Jimmy." The lawyer +was strolling beside him. "It's liver; I'll take a dose of salts in +the morning." + +Jimmy Charters looked at him in silence for a moment. + +"I don't know what the particular worry is at the moment, old man," he +said at length, "but don't let go. I'm no sky pilot, but I guess that +somewhere up topsides there's a Big Controller Who understands. . . . +Only at times the pattern is a bit hard to follow. . . ." + +Vane laughed hardly. "It's likely to be when the fret-saw slips." + + +Vane strolled into the ballroom and glanced round, but there was no +sign of Joan; and then he saw that there was another, smaller, room +leading off the principal one where dancing seemed to be in progress +also. He walked towards it, and as he came to the door he stopped +abruptly and his eyes narrowed. In the middle of it Joan was giving an +exhibition dance, supported by a youth in the Flying Corps. + +The audience seated round the sides of the room was applauding +vociferously, and urging the dancers on to greater efforts. And then +suddenly Joan broke away from her partner and danced alone, while Vane +leaned against the door with his jaw set in a straight, hard line. +Once his eyes travelled round the faces of the men who were looking on, +and his fists clenched at his sides. There was one elderly man in +particular, with protruding eyes, who roused in him a perfect fury of +rage. . . . + +It was a wild, daring exhibition--a mass of swirling draperies and grey +silk stockings. More, it was a wonderful exhibition. She was dancing +with a reckless abandon which gradually turned to sheer devilry, and +she began to circle the room close to the guests who lined the walls. +There were two men in front of Vane, and as she came near the door he +pushed forward a little so that he came in full view. For the moment +he thought she was going to pass without seeing him, and then their +eyes met. She paused and faltered, and then swinging round sank +gracefully to the floor in the approved style of curtsey to show she +had finished. + +The spectators clamoured wildly for an encore, but she rose and came +straight up to Vane. + +"Where have you been?" she said. + +"Unconscious in hospital for ten days," he answered grimly. "I went +down in the 'Connaught.' . . . May I congratulate you on your +delightful performance?" + +For a second or two he thought she was going to faint, and +instinctively he put out his arm to hold her. Then the colour came +back to her face again, and she put her arm through his. + +"I want something to eat. Take me, please. . . . No, no, my dear +people, no more," as a throng of guests came round her. "I require +food." + +Her hand on his arm pushed Vane forward and obediently he led her +across the ballroom. + +"If there's any champagne get me a glass," she said, sitting down at a +table. "And a sandwich. . . ." + +Obediently Vane fetched what she desired; then he sat down opposite her. + +"The fortnight is up," he said quietly. "I have come for my answer." + +"Did you get my letters?" she asked slowly. + +"Both. When I came to this morning. And I wasn't going to be called a +fool for nothing, my lady--so I got up and came to look for you. What +of the excellent Baxter? Is the date for your wedding fixed?" + +She looked at him in silence for a moment, and then she began to laugh. +"The ceremony in church takes place on his return from France in a +week's time." + +"Oh! no, it doesn't," said Vane grimly. "However, we will let that +pass. May I ask if your entertainment to-night was indicative of the +joy you feel at the prospect?" + +She started to laugh again, and there was an ugly sound in it. A woman +at the next table was looking at her curiously. + +"Stop that, Joan," he said in a low, insistent voice. "For God's sake, +pull yourself together. . . ." + +She stopped at once, and only the ceaseless twisting of her +handkerchief between her fingers betrayed her. + +"I suppose it wouldn't do to go into a fit of high strikes," she said +in a voice she strove vainly to keep steady. "The Mainwarings might +think it was their champagne--or the early symptoms of 'flu--or +unrequited love. . . . And they are so very respectable aren't +they?--the Mainwarings, I mean?" + +Vane looked at her gravely. "Don't speak for a bit. I'll get you +another glass of champagne. . . ." + +But Joan rose. "I don't want it," she said. "Take me somewhere where +we can talk." She laid the tips of her fingers on his arm. "Talk, my +friend, for the last time. . . ." + +"I'm damned if it is," he muttered between his clenched teeth. + +She made no answer; and in silence he found two chairs in a secluded +corner behind a screen. + +"So you went down in the 'Connaught,' did you?" Her voice was quite +calm. + +"I did. Hence my silence." + +"And would you have answered my first letter, had you received it?" + +Vane thought for a moment before answering. "Perhaps," he said at +length. "I wanted you to decide. . . . But," grimly, "I'd have +answered the second before now if I'd had it. . . ." + +"I wrote that in your rooms after I'd come up from Blandford," she +remarked, with her eyes still fixed on him. + +"So I gathered from Mrs. Green. . . . My dear, surely you must have +known something had happened." He took one of her hands in his, and it +lay there lifeless and inert. + +"I thought you were being quixotic," she said. "Trying to do the right +thing--And I was tired . . . my God! but I was tired." She swayed +towards him, and in her eyes there was despair. "Why did you let me +go, my man--why did you let me go?" + +"But I haven't, my lady," he answered in a wondering voice. +"To-morrow. . . ." She put her hand over his mouth with a little +half-stifled groan. "Just take me in your arms and kiss me," she +whispered. + +And it seemed to Vane that his whole soul went out of him as he felt +her lips on his. + +Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him gravely. "I wonder +if you'll understand. I wonder still more if you'll forgive. Since +you wouldn't settle things for me I had to settle them for +myself. . . ." + +Vane felt himself growing rigid. + +"I settled them for myself," she continued steadily, "or rather they +settled me for themselves. I tried to make you see I was afraid, you +know . . . and you wouldn't." + +"What are you driving at?" he said hoarsely. + +"I am marrying Henry Baxter in church in about a week; I married him in +a registry office the day he left for France." + + + + +EPILOGUE + +A grey mist was blowing up the valley from Cromarty Firth. It hid the +low hills that flanked the little branch railway line, slowly and +imperceptibly drifting and eddying through the brown trees on their +slopes. Down in London a world had gone mad--but the mist took no heed +of such foolishness. Lines of men and women, linked arm-in-arm, were +promenading Piccadilly to celebrate the End of the Madness; shrieking +parties were driving to Wimbledon, or Limehouse, or up and down Bond +Street in overweighted taxis, but the mist rolled on silently and +inexorably. It took account of none of these things. + +Since the beginning a mist such as this one had drifted up the valley +from the open sea; until the end it would continue. . . . It was part +of the Laws of Nature, and the man who watched it coming turned with a +little shudder. + +In front of him, the moors stretched brown and rugged till they lost +themselves in the snow-capped hills. Here and there the bogland showed +a darker tint, and at his feet, cupped out in the smooth greystone, lay +a sheet of water. It was dark and evil-looking, and every now and then +a puff of wind eddied down from the hills and ruffled the smooth +surface. + +The colours of the moors were sombre and dark; and below the snows far +away in the heart of Ross-shire it seemed to the man who watched with +brooding eyes that it was as the blackness of night. A deserted dead +world, with a cold grey shroud, to hide its nakedness. + +He shivered again, and wiped the moisture from his face, while a +terrier beside him crept nearer for comfort. + +And then came the change. Swiftly, triumphantly, the sun caught the +mist and rolled it away. One by one the rugged lines of hills came +into being again--one by one they shouted, "We are free, behold +us. . . ." + +The first was a delicate brown, and just behind it a little peak of +violet loomed up. Away still further the browns grew darker, more +rich--the violets became a wondrous purple. And the black underneath +the snows seemed to be of the richest velvet. + +The pond at the man's feet glinted a turquoise blue; the bogland shone +silver in the sunlight. And then, to crown it all, the smooth snow +slopes in the distance glowed pink and orange, where before they had +been white and cold. + +For Life had come to a Land of Death. + +Gradually the brooding look on the man's face faded, a gleam of +whimsical humour shone in his eyes. He took an old briar out of his +pocket and commenced to fill it; and soon the blue smoke was curling +lazily upwards into the still air. But he still stood motionless, +staring over the moors, his hands deep in the pockets of the old +shooting coat he wore. + +Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed; then almost unconsciously +he stretched out his arms to the setting sun. + +"Thank you," he cried, and with a swift whirring of wings two grouse +rose near by and shot like brown streaks over the silver tarn. "Sooner +or later the mist always goes. . . ." + +He tapped out the ashes of his pipe, and put it back in his pocket. +And as he straightened himself up, of a sudden it seemed to the man +that the mountains and the moors, the tarn and the bogland approved of +the change in him, and, finding him worthy, told him their message. + +"The Sun will always triumph," they cried in a mighty chorus. "Sooner +or later the mist will always go." + +For a space the man stood there, while the sun, sinking lower and +lower, bathed the world in glory. Then, he whistled. . . . + +"Your last walk on the moors, Binks, old man, so come on. To-morrow we +go back." + +And with a terrier scurrying madly through the heather around him, the +man strode forward. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MUFTI*** + + +******* This file should be named 24945-8.txt or 24945-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/9/4/24945 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/24945-8.zip b/24945-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a1eb1e --- /dev/null +++ b/24945-8.zip diff --git a/24945.txt b/24945.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7a5cf8 --- /dev/null +++ b/24945.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9216 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mufti, by H. C. (Herman Cyril) McNeile + + +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: Mufti + + +Author: H. C. (Herman Cyril) McNeile + + + +Release Date: March 29, 2008 [eBook #24945] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MUFTI*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +MUFTI + +by + +HERMAN CYRIL McNEILE + +("Sapper") + +Author of + + "No Man's Land," "Men, Women and Guns," + "The Human Touch," "The Lieutenant and Others," + "Sergeant Michael Cassidy," etc. + + + + + + + +Hodder and Stoughton +London -- New York -- Toronto +MCMXIX + + + + + +To P. B. D. + + + + +MUFTI + + +PROLOGUE + +I + +The officer lying back in the home-made chair tilted the peak of his +cap over his eyes and let his book slip gently to the ground. A few +moments later, after various unavailing waves of the hand, he pulled +out a handkerchief of striking design and carefully adjusted it over +his face. Then, with his hands dug deep in his pockets to remove even +a square inch of skin from the ubiquitous fly, he prepared to slumber. +And shortly afterwards a gentle rise and fall of the centre bulldog, so +wonderfully portrayed on the bandana, announced that he had succeeded. + +To anyone fresh from England who desired to see War the scene would +have been disappointing. There were no signs of troops swinging down a +road, singing blithely, with a cheery smile of confidence on their +faces and demanding to be led back forthwith to battle with the Huns. +There were no guns belching forth: the grim Panoply of War, whatever it +may mean, was conspicuous by its absence. Only a very fat +quartermaster-sergeant lay asleep in the sun and snored, while an +ancient and dissolute old warrior, near by, was engaged in clearing out +a drain as part of his Field Punishment, and had just discovered a dead +dog in it. He was not singing blithely: he had no cheery smile of +confidence on his face: he was just talking--gently to himself. + +The field was on a slight ridge. Above the camp there floated one of a +line of sausage balloons, and the cable to which it was attached +stretched up taut from some point near the farmhouse behind. A +triangular flag, like a burgee, flew straight out in the breeze from +half-way up the cable, and the basket, looking absurdly small, hung +down like a black dot below the balloon. + +Peace was the keynote of the whole situation. In front the country lay +stretched out, with its hedges and trees, its fields and farmhouses. +In certain places there ran long rows of poles with strips of brown +material stretched between them, which a spectator would rightly +conclude was camouflage erected to screen the roads. Only from what? +Where was the Boche in this atmosphere of sleep and quiet? + +Beyond the silent countryside rose a line of hills. They seemed to +start and finish abruptly--an excrescence in the all-pervading +flatness. On the top of the near end of the line, clear cut against +the sky, the tower and spires of a great building; at the far end, on a +hill separated--almost isolated--from the main ridge, a line of stumps, +gaunt tooth-pick stumps standing stiffly in a row. There was no sign +of life on the hills, no sign of movement. They were dead and cold +even in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. Especially the isolated +one at the far end with its row of sentinel trees. There was something +ghostly about it--something furtive. + +And then suddenly a great column of yellow smoke rose slowly from its +centre and spread like a giant mushroom. Another and another appeared, +and the yellow pall rolled down the side twisting and turning, drifting +into the air and eddying over the dark, grim slope. Gradually it +blotted out that isolated hill, like fog reeking round a mountain top, +and as one watched it, fascinated, a series of dull booms came lazily +through the air. + +"Jerry gettin' it in the neck on Kemmel." Two men passing by were +regarding the performance with perfunctory interest, while the purple +bulldog still rose and fell, and the dissolute old warrior did not +cease talking to himself. + +"Derek scooped the bally lot as usual." An officer appeared at the +entrance of a tin structure in one corner of the field with a bundle of +letters in his hand. "Look at the dirty dog there--sleeping like a +hog--in the only decent chair." + +He disappeared inside to emerge again in a moment with a badminton +racket and a shuttlecock. "On the bulldog--one round rapid fire." He +fired and with a loud snort the sleeper awoke. + +"You are charged with conduct to the prejudice, etc.," said the +marksman severely, "in that you did spread alarm and despondency +amongst the troops by disguising yourself as a disease and making +noises indicative of pain." + +Derek Vane stretched himself and stood up. "We are feeling well, thank +you--and require nourishment. Does tea await me, and if not--why not?" +He took his mail and glanced through it. "How they love me, dear old +boy! What it is to be young and good looking, and charm. . . ." + +There was a loud shout and the deck chair became the centre of a +struggling mob. Shortly afterwards a noise of ripping canvas announced +that it had acted as deck chairs have acted before when five people sit +on them at the same moment. + +"Look out, you mugs, you've broken it." Vane's voice came dimly from +the ground. "And my face is in an ants' nest." + +"Are you good looking and charming?" demanded an inexorable voice. + +"No. Get off, Beetle; you've got bones on you like the human skeleton +at Barnum's." + +"What are you like?" pursued the same inexorable voice. + +"Horrible," spluttered Vane. "A walking nightmare; a loathly dream." + +"It is well--you may arise." + +The mass disintegrated, and having plucked the frame of the chair from +the body of an officer known to all and sundry as the Tank--for obvious +reasons--they moved slowly towards the mess for tea. + +In all respects an unwarlike scene, and one which would disappoint the +searcher after sensation. Save for the lorries which bumped +ceaselessly up and down the long straight road below, and the +all-pervading khaki it might have been a scene at home before the war. +The yellow fog had cleared away from Kemmel, and over the flat country +the heat haze rose, shimmering and dancing in the afternoon sun. In +the field next to the camp an ancient Belgian was ploughing, his two +big Walloon horses guided by a single cord, while from behind the farm +there came the soft thud-thud of a football. + +And then it came. In a few seconds the air was filled with the +thumping of Archie and the distant crackle of machine-guns. + +"By Jove! there he is," cried the Tank. "He's got him too." + +The officers halted and stared over the dead town of Poperinghe, where +flash after flash of bursting shrapnel proclaimed a Boche aeroplane. +They saw him dive at a balloon--falling like a hawk; then suddenly he +righted and came on towards the next. From the first sausage two black +streaks shot out, to steady after a hundred feet or so, and float down, +supported by their white parachutes. But the balloon itself was +finished. From one end there glowed for an instant a yellow furnace of +fire. Then a flame shot up, followed by clouds of black smoke. Like a +stone, the basket crashed down, passing the two white, drifting specks +on the way, and leaving behind it a long streak of black. + +Rolling from side to side like a drunken man, the aeroplane was coming +towards its next quarry. Lewis guns, machine-guns, Archies were now +all firing full blast, but the pilot continued on his course. Tracer +bullets shot up like lines of light, but so far he had come through +untouched. From the balloons the observers dived out until at one +moment there were ten in the air. And each balloon in turn followed +its owners, a flaming, smoking remnant . . . + +Then came the end--as suddenly as it had begun. A tracer bullet seemed +to pass right through the aeroplane. Like a tiny ball of fire the +bullet struck it, and then went out. The plane swerved violently, +righted and swerved again. Then it spun down, rocking from side to +side, while a burst of white flame roared all round it. And, falling a +little faster than the plane, two black spots, which did not steady +after a hundred feet. They crashed fifty yards from the tin hut, and +almost before they reached the ground the officers were on the spot. A +little distance away the aeroplane was blazing, and they could feel the +heat as they bent over the pilot and his observer. They were both +dead, and the pilot was unrecognisable; a bullet had entered the base +of his skull from behind. But the observer was not much damaged +outwardly. He lay--arms outstretched--looking up at the sky, on the +ground that the farmer had just ploughed. He seemed to smile cynically +at the hoarse cheering now spreading from field to field, from camp to +camp. Perhaps even then he had realised the futility of it all . . . + +For a few seconds Derek Vane looked at him gravely, while close by two +excited men from different units argued raucously as to which battalion +had brought the aeroplane down. + +"I tell yer I saw the ruddy bullet hit the perisher right in the +middle," cried one claimant. "It were old Ginger's gun, I tell yer. +E's a fair corker is Ginger with a Lewis." + +The smile spread till it was almost a grin on the dead man's face. +Muscular contraction, of course, but. . . . With a sudden movement +Vane stooped down and covered the face. + +"Sergeant-Major." He turned to the N.C.O. beside him. "Armed guard +round the plane at once till the Flying Corps arrive. Bring these two +bodies into the camp on stretchers." + + +Five minutes later they sat down to tea and an unopened mail. The +farmer had resumed his ploughing--the football enthusiasts their game. +Twenty-five Lewis guns and twelve Vickers sections were all composing +reports stating that their particular weapon had done the deed, and +somebody was putting another fog cloud on Kemmel. + +In fact, the only real difference in the scene after those ten short +minutes was that by the ruins of a deck chair two German airmen with +their faces covered lay very still on stretchers. . . . + + + +II + +Two hours later. Vane handed his steel helmet to his batman and swung +himself into the saddle on his old grey mare. There was touch of Arab +in her, and she had most enormous feet. But she fulfilled most of the +requirements a man looks for in a war horse, which are not of necessity +those he requires in a mount with the Grafton. She scorned guns--she +repudiated lorries, and he could lay the reins on her neck without her +ceasing to function. She frequently fell down when he did so; +but--_c'est la guerre_. The shadows were beginning to lengthen as he +hacked out of the camp, waving a farewell hand at a badminton four, and +headed for Poperinghe. + +Poperinghe lay about a mile up the road towards his destination, and +Vane had known it at intervals for over three years. He remembered it +when it had been shelled in April '15 at the time of the first gas +attack, and the inhabitants had fled in all directions. Then gradually +it had become normal again, until, after the Passchendaele fighting of +1917, it had excelled itself in gaiety. And now in May 1918 it was +dead once more, with every house boarded up and every window shuttered. +The big cobbled square; the brooding, silent churches, the single +military policeman standing near his sand-bagged sentry-box--and in the +distance the rumble of a wagon going past the station--such was +Poperinghe as Vane saw it that evening. + +A city of ghosts--deserted and empty, and as the old grey mare walked +sedately through the square. Vane felt that he understood the dead +airman's smile. + +Sometimes a random shot would take effect, but the bag was soon +removed. That very afternoon a driver with his two horses had been hit +direct. The man, or what was left of him, had been removed--only the +horses remained, and a red pool coated with grey dust. The mare edged +warily around them, and a swarm of flies, bloated, loathsome +brutes--buzzed angrily up as she passed. + +"It's not fair, old girl," said Vane bending over and patting her neck; +"but I s'pose it's only in keeping with everything else these +days--it's not fairness that counts; it's just luck--fatuous idiotic +luck. It's not even a game; it's a wild-cat gamble all over the world. +And may Heaven help us all when the bottom does drop out of the market." + +The grey mare ambled placidly on up the main Ypres road undisturbed by +his philosophy. The dead of her kind were already forgotten, and the +nose-bag on the saddle would be all the better for emptying. On each +side of the road were gun positions, and Vane kept a sharp look out as +he trotted on. If there was one thing he loathed above all others it +was the gunner humorist who, with malice aforethought, deliberately +waited to fire his gun until some helpless passer by was about a yard +from the muzzle. But at the moment everything seemed quiet. The +evening hate was not due yet; and Vane reached Brandhoek cross roads +without having his eardrums burst. + +On the Decauville track close by stood eight trains, stacked with rows +and rows of cylinders, and he contemplated them grimly. Each train was +drawn by an ugly-looking petrol electric engine. The whole eight would +shortly run at close intervals to the nearest point to the front line. +Then Vane, with a large pushing party, could man-handle the trains into +the position decided on--a few hundred yards behind the outpost line. +And as a method of fighting it struck him as poor. + +Whatever may be said about Might and Right, there is an element which +must appeal to every normal being in the triumph of strength and +hardihood over weakness. It may be wrong; it happens, however, to be +natural. But there is nothing whatever to appeal to the average man in +the ability of some professor of science, working in his laboratory +miles away, to produce a weapon which strikes down alike the strong and +the weakling with an agony which makes death a blessed relief. +Gas--just a refinement of modern war introduced by the brains of many +eminent gentlemen. And it must be in the nature of a personal triumph +for them to realise that their exhaustive experiments with guinea pigs +and rabbits have caused thousands to fear at first they were going to +die, and later to fear still more that they were not. . . . + +Vane nodded to the gas officer and got on board the little tractor +which was to take him to the front trenches. + +Chugging along through screen after screen of brown camouflage which +hid the little railway line from the watchful gaze of Kemmel, he seemed +to be passing through some mysterious land. By day it was hideous +enough; but in the dusk the flat dullness of it was transfigured. Each +pond with the shadows lying black on its unruffled surface seemed a +fairy lake; each gaunt and stunted tree seemed to clothe itself again +with rustling leaves. The night was silent; only the rattle of the +little train, as it rumbled over bridges which spanned some sluggish +brook or with a warning hoot crossed a road--broke the stillness. +Great shell-holes filled with rotting debris flashed by, the mouldering +ruins of an old chateau frowned down as they twisted and turned through +the grounds where once men had flirted and women had sighed. Now the +rose garden was used as a rubbish heap for tins; and by the over-grown +sundial, chipped and scarred by a stray shell, two wooden crosses stuck +out of the long rank grass. At last they reached the Canal, and the +engine stopped near the Lille road. + +Close by, the flares lobbed up, green against the night; and a white +mist covered the low-lying ground. Across the road lay trees in all +directions, while, through the few that remained standing, a cold +bright moon threw fantastic shadows. On each side of the road, +screened by the embankment from machine-gun fire, sat groups of men +waiting for the trains. + +At last Vane heard the first one--faintly in the distance. It loomed +up suddenly out of the mist and crept across the road. Without a word +the men detailed to push it seemed to rise out of the ground. Silently +they disappeared with it, like ghouls at some mysterious ceremony. +With muffled couplings it made no sound; and in a few minutes it was +ready in position, with its leading truck where once the owner of a +farm had sat before the fire, after the day's work. + +And so they came--eight in all. Any noise--any suspicion on the part +of the Boche, a bare quarter of a mile away, and a machine-gun would +have swept the ground. But the night was silent, the flares still went +peacefully up, and the wind had not changed. It blew gently and +steadily towards the German lines. Only there was now just a faint +smell of pineapple in the air; one of the cylinders was leaking. . . . + +Figures loomed up unexpectedly out of the mist; occasionally a low +curse could be heard as a man stumbled into a shell hole. . . . + +"Everything all right; everybody clear?" The gas expert peered at Vane +in the darkness. "Right! well, let her go." + +A series of reports sounded deafeningly loud, as the detonators of the +cylinders were fired by electricity; a steady, hissing noise as a great +wall of white vapour mingled with the mist and rolled forward towards +the Germans. The gas attack had begun. To an airman returning from a +bombing raid, who circled for a moment above, it looked like a sheet +being slowly spread over the country below; a beautiful--an +eerie--picture. To those on the ground who watched it, it seemed as a +solid wall of dense fog moving relentlessly forward--like the mist that +comes creeping over the Downs till those caught in it can scarce see +their hand in front of their face. To the Boche it was death. . . . + +Patrols going out the next night found men twisted and blackened with +the smell of pineapple still on their swollen lips; in the hospitals +behind, men writhed and muttered hoarsely, struggling for breath and +struggling in vain. The attack had been successful--and all was as it +should be. Undoubtedly the Germans started gas in a country where the +prevalent wind was south-west--and it doesn't pay in war to be a fool. +. . . + +Vane wished that one or two German men of science had been occupying +the Boche outpost line instead of. . . . War--modern war! + +"It will go clean through their helmets," said the gas expert. "One +hour in most cases, and when it gets weaker, twenty-four--or even more. +That's the stuff to give 'em." + +At last the performance was over, and the trains having delivered the +goods returned to their own place. + +"Most successful." The gas expert, rubbing his hands together, came up +to Vane as he stood on the Lille road. "I think we've got quite a +number of the blighters. And not a single casualty!" + +"Good," said Vane. "But what a filthy method of fighting." + +"The Germans started it," returned the other. + +"I know they did," laughed Vane. "That's probably why it's so filthy." + +The gas officer looked thoughtful. "I'm not certain that I agree with +you, Vane. War is such a filthy business, however you look at it, that +one would be a fool not to harness science in every possible way . . ." + +"Don't you believe it," scoffed Vane. "Science has harnessed us. +We've started the bally motor with the gear in, and now we're running +after it trying to catch up. Can I give you a lift back on my private +stink machine? . . ." + +They strolled up the road together to where the tractor was waiting. + +"Man no longer the master of his destiny, you mean?" said his companion. + +"Don't make me laugh too loud," returned Vane, "or the Boche might +hear; unless you've killed 'em all . . ." + +"You're wrong, my friend--utterly wrong." They came to where the +railway track crossed the road and he halted to pull out his pipe, +before getting on to the little engine. + +"I tell you, Vane . . ." + +And at that moment a flight of cockchafers seemed to sweep down the +road. Vane felt the stinging pain in his right shoulder, and then he +looked foolishly at the gas expert . . . + +"You were saying," he began . . . + +But his late companion had taken a machine-gun bullet through his heart. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +The beach at Paris Plage is associated in the minds of most people who +went there before the war with a certain amount of gaiety. There were +bands, and fair ladies, and various other delights generally connected +with popular French watering-places. Incidentally the beach is a +beach--not a collection of sharp boulders. There is real sand--lots of +it; the sort that gets hot and comforting in the sun, and invites +people who have eaten too much luncheon to sleep. And during the war, +though the bands and other delights have departed, the sand has +remained a source of pleasure to hundreds of people in need of a +temporary rest cure. They have come from the big hospitals at Etaples; +they have come from the officers' rest-house. Some have even come in +motor cars from the trenches just for the day, and one and all they +have lain on the beach and slept and then departed the better for it. + +On a certain afternoon during the height of the German offensive in the +spring of 1918 a girl was sitting on the beach staring out to sea. On +the horizon a black smudge of smoke stood up against the vivid blue of +the sky; while, close in shore, a small sailing boat was barely making +headway in the faint breeze. + +The girl was a V.A.D., and the large French family which had planted +itself close by cast little curious glances at her from time to time. +And she was worth looking at, with her fair hair, deep blue eyes and +that wonderful complexion which seems to be the exclusive property of +the British. Madame remarked on it to Monsieur, glancing at the white +faces of her own daughters three, and Monsieur grunted an assent. +Personally he was more occupied with the departed glories of Paris +Plage than with a mere skin of roses and milk; at least the worthy man +may have deemed it desirable to appear so. + +"Pauvre petite," went on the kindly matron, "but she looks tired . . . +so tired." She heaved a deep sigh. "Mais que voulez-vous? c'est la +guerre." She watched her offspring preparing to paddle, and once again +she sighed. There was no band, no amusement--"Mon Dieu! but it was +triste. This accursed war--would it never end?" + +Margaret Trent's looks did not lie; she was tired. The rush of work +just lately had almost broken her physical endurance, and there seemed +but little chance of any slackening in the near future. She felt that +all she wanted was rest--utter, complete rest, where such things as +bandages and iodine were unknown. And even as the longing came to her +she knew that a week of it would be all that she could stand. She +could see beyond the craving ache to stop--the well-nigh irresistible +cry of her body for rest. She could feel the call of spirit dominating +mere bodily weariness. And it drove her on--though every muscle cried +a halt. + +Before the war she had been in that set which drifted pleasantly +through life, and yet she had not been of it. She danced perfectly; +she played tennis and golf and went to the proper places at the proper +times--but she was different. She had in her a certain idealistic +dreaminess, an intense love of the beautiful in life. Sordid things +filled her with a kind of horror, and when the war came she tried to +banish it from her mind like a dreadful nightmare. But there were +stories in the papers, and there were letters from friends telling of +losses and unspeakable sufferings. There was war all round her and one +day the great unrest got hold of her, and would not be put aside. She +felt she had to do something . . . + +And so she became a V.A.D. and in the fulness of time arrived in +France. Her friends prophesied that she would last a month--that she +would never stand the sight of blood and wounds. Her answer had been +two years at Etaples. And to those who know, that is an answer +conducive of many things. + +At times she tried to recall her outlook on life four years ago. She +had enjoyed herself up to a point, but all the time she had been +groping towards something she did not possess. She had read carefully +and with discrimination, and the reading had only filled her with an +added sense of her own futility. She felt that she wanted to do +something--but what was there for her to do? + +Marriage, naturally, had come into her mental horizon. But there had +only been one man who had ever attracted her sufficiently to make it +anything but an idle speculation. There had been a time, one season in +London, when this man had been her constant companion, and she had been +far from disliking it. At times he had seemed to be serious, and as a +matter of fact the subtle difference between her and the stock pattern +crowd had interested him more than he admitted even to himself. Then +one day she discovered that a certain flat and its occupant were very +closely connected with his bank account. It was by pure accident that +she found it out. A chance remark which she overheard at a dinner +party. . . . And the night before at the Grafton Galleries she had +allowed him to kiss her as she had never before allowed a man . . . + +It revolted her; and the man, astonished at first at her sudden change +of manner, finally became annoyed, and the episode ceased. They still +met; there was no quarrel--but they met only as casual acquaintances. + +It was at that stage of her reflections that a shadow fell across her +and she looked up. For a moment the coincidence failed to strike her, +and then with a surprised little laugh she held out her hand. + +"Why, Derek," she said, "I was just thinking of you." + +Vane, his right arm tightly bound in a sling, sat down beside her. + +"I thought you looked pretty weary," he laughed. "Jove! but it's great +seeing you again, Margaret . . .! And the peace of it all." He waved +his left hand round the deserted beach. "Why, it's like old +times--before the world went mad" . . . He fumbled with his cigarette +case, until she took it out of his hand, and struck a match for him. + +"What ward are you in?" she asked, when he had made himself comfortable. + +"Number 13; got here yesterday." + +"I come on night duty there to-night. What's your trouble?" + +"Machine-gun," he answered briefly. "A nice clean one through the +shoulder. And the man beside me took the next bullet through his +heart." He laughed shortly. "What a gamble--what a dam silly gamble, +isn't it?" + +She looked thoughtfully out to sea. The train of ideas his sudden +appearance had interrupted was still half consciously occupying her +mind. + +"Four years, isn't it, since we met?" she said after a while. + +"Four centuries, you mean. Four wasted centuries. Nothing will ever +be the same again." + +"Of course it won't. But don't you think it's just as well?" She +faced him smilingly. "There was so much that was all wrong, Derek; so +much that was rotten." + +"And do you think that four years' insanity is going to prove the +remedy?" Vane laughed cynically. "Except that there are a few million +less men to carry on the rottenness"-- + +Margaret shook her head. "We wanted something to wake us up; it's been +drastic, but we're awake." + +"And what most of us want is to go to sleep again. Don't you feel +tired, Margaret, sometimes?" + +"Yes--I suppose I do. But it's the tiredness that comes with +doing--not drifting. . . . It's we who have got to make the new Heaven +and the new Earth, Derek . . ." + +Again Vane laughed. "Still as idealistic as ever, I see. Six months +after peace we shall be scrambling and fighting and snarling +again--after jobs and money and work." + +Margaret Trent was silent, tracing a pattern in the sand with her +finger. "The worry of scrambling after a job is not likely to hit you +very hard," she said at length. + +"Which is perhaps as well," he returned lightly; "for I'm certainly too +weary to take the trouble. I shall go away, if I'm alive to do it, to +the South Sea Islands and live on fruit. The only proviso is that it +should be sufficiently ripe to drop into my mouth, and save me the +trouble of picking it." + +The girl turned and looked at him suddenly. "You've got it rather bad, +old boy, haven't you?" + +"Got what?" he asked slowly. + +"Mental jaundice," she answered. "Your world askew." + +"Do you wonder?" he returned grimly. "Isn't the world askew?" + +"And if it is, someone has got to put it back." + +"That's what the little boy said when he pulled the chest of drawers +over on top of him and lay struggling under it. But he couldn't do it +himself. It's got beyond us, Margaret--and God seems to have +forgotten. There is just a blind, malignant Fate running the show." + +She looked at him gravely. "You're wrong, Derek--utterly wrong. The +game is still in our hands, and we've got to keep it there. What are +you smiling at?" + +"I was wondering," he answered, "whether the last time I was told I was +wrong, the sentence would have been concluded similarly. +Unfortunately, the speaker died in the middle, thereby proving his +contention." + +"Oh! but you're little," she cried, striking her hands together. +"Don't you see that you've got to look beyond the individual--that +you've got to think Big?" + +"We leave that to the newspaper men," he retorted cynically. "Our +smiling heroes; our undaunted soldiers! They are heroes, those +Tommies; they are undaunted, but it's because they've got to be. +They're up against it--and the Juggernaut of Fate knows he's got 'em. +And they know he's got 'em. They just eat and drink and are merry for +to-morrow they. . . . Ah! no; that's wrong. We never die out here, +Margaret; only the other fellow does that. And if we become the other +fellow, it's so deuced unexpected I don't suppose it matters much." + +"But, we've got to go through with it, haven't we?" she said quietly. + +"Of course we have," he answered with a laugh; "and the knowledge of +that fact cuts about as much ice with the men in the mud holes up there +as brave little Belgium or suffering little Serbia. I tell you we're +all dazed, Margaret--just living in a dream. Some of us take it worse +than others, that's all. You want the constitution of an elephant +combined with the intelligence of a cow to fight these days." + +"And yet," she said with a grave little smile, "under-lying it all, +there's the big ideal surely. . . . If I didn't think that, if I +didn't know that, I . . . I couldn't go on." + +"To which particular ideal do you allude?" he asked cynically. "The +League of Nations; or the triumph of Democracy, or the War to end War. +They all sound so topping, don't they? received with howls of applause +by the men who haven't had their boots off for a week." He thumped the +sand savagely. "Cut the cackle, my dear girl; cut the cackle. This +little performance was started by a few of the puppets who thought they +had a winning hand, and the other puppets called a show down. And then +the game passed out of their hands. They write books about it, and +discover new Gods, and pass new Acts of Parliament--but the thing takes +no notice. It just goes on--inexorably. Man has been dabbling with +stakes that are too big for him, Margaret. And the trouble is that the +cards up in the trenches are getting mighty tattered." + +She looked at him curiously. "I'd never have thought it would have +taken you like that, Derek . . . Not quite as badly." + +"You formed your opinion in the bad old days, didn't you?" he said +lightly. "When we danced and made love at the Grafton Galleries." She +flushed a little, but did not lower her eyes. "Such a serious girl you +were too, Margaret; I wonder how you ever put up with a brainless sort +of ass like me." + +"Because I liked you," she answered quietly, and suddenly it struck +Vane, almost with a feeling of surprise, that the girl sitting beside +him was more than attractive. He wondered why he had let her slip so +easily out of his life. And the train of thought once started seemed a +not unpleasant one. . . . "You'll get it back soon, Derek--your sense +of proportion. You've got to." + +"So that I can help build the new Heaven and the new Earth," he laughed. + +"So that you may help build the new Heaven and the new Earth," she +repeated gravely rising to her feet. "I must go back or I'll miss my +tea." + +"Have a cup with me in the village." Vane scrambled up and fell into +step beside her. They passed Monsieur still snoring, and Madame +nodding peacefully over her knitting, and crossed the deserted +promenade. Then in silence they walked up into the main street of the +little town in search of a tea shop. + +"Do you realise, Margaret," he remarked as they sat down at a small +marble-topped table, "that I haven't seen or spoken to a woman for six +months? . . . Heaven help us! Aren't there any cakes?" + +"Of course not," laughed Margaret, "nor milk, nor sugar. There's a war +on up the road. You want about ten drops of that liquid saccharine." +In the sunny street outside, soldiers in various stages of +convalescence, strolled aimlessly about. An occasional motor car, +containing officers--on duty, of course--slowed down at the corner +opposite and disgorged its load. A closer inspection of one of them +might have revealed a few suspicious looking gashes in the upholstery +and holes in the mud-guards. Of course--shrapnel--but, then shrapnel +did not occur by the sea. And on what duty could officers from the +shrapnel area be engaged on at Paris Plage? . . . However, let us be +discreet in all things. + +In a few hours that shrapnel scarred car would be carrying its freight +back to Boulogne, where a table at the restaurant Mony had already been +secured for dinner. Then back through the night, to call at various +dilapidated farms and holes in the ground, in the area where shrapnel +and crumps are not unknown. . . . But just for a few brief hours the +occupants of the car were going to soak themselves in the Waters of +Forgetfulness; they were going to live--even as the tripper from the +slums lives his little span at Margate. And they were no whit less +excited at the thought . . . + +They did not show it by an excessive consumption of indigestible fruit, +or by bursting into unmelodious song. True, the greatest of all the +"Q" men, who had come officially from a Nissen hut near Poperinghe to +study the question of salvaged materials at the base, had waved a +friendly hand at all the ladies--beautiful and otherwise--whom they +met. But then save for salvage he was much as other men. And with +that exception they just lay back in the car and thought; while the +trees that were green rushed past them, and war was not. + +Thus had they come to the sea. To-morrow once more the flat, dusty +country with the heat haze shimmering over it and every now and then +the dull drone of some bursting crump, or the vicious crack of high +explosive. Behind, the same old row of balloons; in front, the same +old holes in the ground. . . . But to-day--peace. . . . + +Vane thoughtfully stirred the pale straw-coloured concoction reputed to +be tea on the table in front of him. The remark Margaret had made to +him on the beach was running through his mind--"The new Heaven and the +new Earth." Yes, but on what foundations? And would they be allowed +to anyway? Reconstruction is work for the politician--not for the +soldier. . . . Most certainly not. . . . The soldier's ignorance on +every subject in the world except fighting is complete. And even over +that he's not all he might be: he requires quite a lot of help from +lawyers, doctors, and successful grocers. . . . In fact, the only +thing he is allowed to do quite on his own is to die . . . + +Vane smiled a little bitterly, and Margaret leaned across the table +towards him. "You'll get it back soon, Derek--believe me, old boy." + +"That's very possible. But will the people at home? I'm jangled, +Margaret, I know it--just for the time. . . . However, don't let's +talk about me. Tell me about yourself. . . ." + +The girl shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I don't know that there's +much to tell. I've never been so happy in my life as I am at +present . . ." + +"In spite of all that?" He pointed out of the window to two soldiers +limping painfully by on sticks. + +"Yes--in spite of all that. One gets accustomed to that--and one's +doing something. After all, Derek, you get accustomed to death and +mutilation up there in front. It doesn't affect you. . . ." + +"No, not to the same extent as it did. In a way, I suppose not at all. +But you--you were so different." He thoughtfully drained his tea cup, +and set it down again, and for a space neither of them spoke. + +"I can't help laughing at the comparison," said Margaret suddenly. +"Five years ago you and I were sitting in Rumpolmayer's, surrounded by +sugar cakes, being smart." + +"They're doing that now in London except for the sugar cakes." + +"We shouldn't have been silent for a moment, and we should have enjoyed +ourselves thoroughly . . . I wonder--" + +"It was our only standard, wasn't it?" + +"And now we can sit over a cup of weak and nasty tea--without milk and +not talk for effect. . . . What's going to happen, Derek, to you and +me afterwards? We can never go back to it?" + +"No--you can't put back the clock--and we've grown, Margaret, years and +years older. So have thousands of others--the boys up yonder, their +people at home. But what about the business train to Brighton, and the +occupants thereof? . . . Have they felt this war, except to make a bit +more boodle out of it?" + +"They're only a small minority." + +"Are they? They're a damned powerful one." He laughed a little +bitterly. "And they're artificial--just like we were before the war." + +"That's why it's we who have got to do the rebuilding. Even if it's +only the rebuilding the house in our own little tiny circle, with +simplicity and reality as the keystones. . . . You see, if you get +enough tiny circles sound and good, in time the others may +follow. . . ." + +"Dear lady, you've become very optimistic." Vane's eyes smiled at her. +"Let's hope you're right." He paused and looked at her quietly. +"Margaret. I've never asked you before--but you're different now--so +different. Incidentally so am I. What was it, that made you alter so +suddenly?" + +Margaret rose to her feet, and shook her head. "I'll tell you some +day, Derek, perhaps. Not just now. I must be getting back to the +hospital." + +"Will you come out and have tea with me to-morrow?" For a few moments +she looked at him as if undecided, and then suddenly she seemed to make +up her mind. + +"All right," she said with a smile. "I'll come, I want to deal with +this jaundice of yours. One must live up to a professional reputation." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A hospital is much the same anywhere, and number 13 General at Etaples +was no exception. On each side of the big marquee ran a row of beds in +perfect dressing. The sheets were turned down on the design so ably +portrayed in the War Office Sealed Pattern X.B.451.--"Method of turning +down sheets on Beds Hospital." On "Beds Barrack" the method is +slightly different and is just as ably shown on Sealed pattern X.B.452. +During moments of intense depression one is apt to fear the war-winning +properties of X.B.451 and 452 have not been sufficiently appreciated by +an unintelligent public. + +The period of strain incurred on entrance was over as far as Vane was +concerned. For the sixth time since leaving his battalion he had, in a +confidential aside, informed a minion of the B.A.M.O. that he was a Wee +Free Presbyterian Congregationalist; and for the sixth time the worthy +recipient of this news had retired to consult War Office Sealed List of +Religions A.F.31 to find out if he was entitled to be anything of the +sort. In each case the answer had been in the negative, and Vane had +been entered as "Other Denominations" and regarded with suspicion. One +stout sergeant had even gone so far as to attempt to convert him to +Unitarianism; another showed him the list, and asked him to take his +choice. + +In the bed next to him was a young Gunner subaltern, with most of his +right leg shot away, and they talked spasmodically, in the intervals of +trying to read month old magazines. + +"Wonderful sight," remarked the Gunner, interrupted for a moment in his +story by the eternal thermometer. "Firing at 'em over open sights: +shrapnel set at 0. Seemed to cut lanes through 'em; though, God be +praised, they came on for a bit, and didn't spoil our shooting." + +Vane, sucking a thermometer under his tongue, nodded sympathetically. + +"A bit better than sitting in a bally O.P. watchin' other fellows poop +at the mud." + +"How did you get yours?" he queried, as the Sister passed on. + +"Crump almost at my feet, just as I was going into my dug-out. . . . +Mouldy luck, and one splinter smashed the last bottle of whisky." The +gunner relapsed into moody silence at the remembrance of the tragedy. + +Two beds further along the Padre was playing a game of chess with a +Major in the Devons; and on the opposite side of the tent another +chaplain, grey haired and clean shaven, was talking and laughing with a +boy, whose face and head were swathed in bandages. + +The R.C. and the C. of E. exponents hunting in couples as these two +always did. . . . They are not the only two who before the war would +have relegated the other to the nethermost depths of the deepest Hell; +but whose eyes have been opened to wisdom now. + +Vane was no theologian--no more than are the thousands of others across +the water. Before the war he had been in the habit of dismissing any +religious question by the comforting assertion that if all one's pals +are in Hell, one might as well join them. But in the Game of Death the +thoughts of many men have probed things they passed over lightly +before. It is not doctrine they want; faith and belief in beautiful +formulas have become less and less satisfying. They are beginning to +think for themselves, which is anathema to the Church. Of old she +prevented such a calamity by a policy of terrorising her followers; of +later years she has adopted the simpler one of boring them. And yet it +is only simplicity they want; the simple creeds of helping on the other +fellow and playing the game is what they understand. But they will +have to be reminded of it from time to time. One wonders whether the +Church will be big enough to seize the opportunity that stares her in +the face. + +Vane nodded to the grey-haired Roman Catholic as he paused at the foot +of his bed. + +"Shoulder painful?" The priest held out a lighted match for Vane's +cigarette. + +"Throbs a bit, Padre; but it might be worse." He smiled and lay back +on his pillows. "An arm makes one feel so helpless." + +"I think I'd sooner lose an arm than a leg," remarked the Gunner from +the next bed. For a while they pursued this debatable point, much as +men discuss politics, and incidentally with far less heat. . . . It +was a question of interest, and the fact that the Gunner _had_ lost his +leg made no difference to the matter at all. An onlooker would have +listened in vain for any note of complaint. . . . + +"Time you were getting to sleep--both of you." Margaret's voice +interrupted the conversation, and Vane looked up with a smile. She was +shaking an admonitory finger at Father O'Rourke, and with a sudden +quickening of the pulse he realised how perfectly charming she looked. + +"Sister, dear," said the Gunner, "you're on my side, aren't you? It's +better to lose an arm than a leg, isn't it?" + +For a moment she affected to consider the point. Then suddenly she +smiled, and came between their beds. "Unless you both of you go to +sleep at once I'll come and wash you again." + +With a groan of horror the Gunner hid himself under the bed-clothes, +and Margaret, still smiling, turned to Vane. + +"Good night, Derek," she said very low. "Sometimes I just want to sit +down and howl. . . ." And Vane, looking up into her face, saw that her +eyes were a little misty. . . . + +Gradually the ward settled down into silence. Right at the other end a +man was groaning feebly; while just opposite, looking ghastly in the +dim light, a boy was staring round the tent with eyes that did not see. +For hours on end he lay unconscious, breathing the rattling breath of +the badly gassed; then suddenly he would lift his head, and his eyes, +fixed and staring, would slowly turn from bed to bed. He looked as a +man looks who is walking in his sleep, and Vane knew he was very near +the Great Divide. He had been hit in the chest by a piece of shell, +and a bit of his coat impregnated with mustard gas had been driven into +his lungs. . . . Every now and then Margaret passed noiselessly down +the centre between the two rows of beds. Once she lent over Vane and +he closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. But every time as she came +to the boy opposite she stopped and looked at him anxiously. Once she +was joined by a doctor, and Vane heard their muttered conversation . . . + +"I can't get him to take his medicine, Doctor. He doesn't seem able to +do anything." + +"It doesn't much matter, Nurse," he whispered--why is it that the +sick-room whisper seems to travel as far as the voice of the +Sergeant-Major on parade? "He won't get through to-night, and I'm +afraid we can't do anything." + +The doctor turned away, and Margaret went to the end of the tent and +sat down at her table. A reading lamp threw a light on her face, and +for a while Vane watched her. Then his eyes came back to the boy +opposite, and rested on him curiously. He was unconscious once again, +and it suddenly struck Vane as strange that whereas, up in front, he +had seen death and mutilation in every possible and impossible +form--that though he had seen men hit by a shell direct, and one man +crushed by a Tank--yet he had never been impressed with the same sense +of the utter futility of war as now, in face of this boy dying in the +bed opposite. To have come so far and then to pay the big price; it +was so hard--so very pitiful; and Vane turned over to shut out the +sight. He felt suddenly frightened of the thing that was coming nearer +and nearer to the dying boy; furious at the inability of the science +which had struck him down to save him. . . . + +Vane closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep was far away that +night. Whenever he opened them he saw Margaret writing at her table; +and once there came to him an irresistible temptation to speak to her. +He felt that he wanted her near him, if only for a moment; he wanted to +lean on her--he wanted to be taken in her arms like a little child. +Angrily he closed his eyes again. It was ridiculous, absurd, +weak. . . . But there have been times in this war when the strongest +man has sobbed like a child in his weakness. . . . + +"Sister!" Vane hardly recognised it as his own voice calling. +"Sister!" Margaret came towards him down the ward. "Could you get me +something to drink?" + +In a moment she had returned with some lemonade. "I thought you were +asleep, Derek," she whispered. "Are you feeling feverish?" + +She put a cool hand on his forehead, and with a sigh of relief Vane lay +back. "I'm frightened, Margaret," he said so low that she scarce could +hear him. "Just scared to death . . . of that boy opposite. Ain't I a +damned fool?" + +Her only answer was the faintest perceptible pressure on his forehead. +Then his hand came up and took hers, and she felt the touch of his lips +on it. For a moment she let it rest there, and then gently withdrew +it, while with a tired sigh Vane closed his eyes. . . . + +He slept maybe for two hours, and then he found himself wide awake +again--every nerve intent, like a man aroused by a sudden noise. +Margaret was reading at her table; the man at the other end still +groaned feebly in his sleep; the boy was staring dazedly at nothing in +particular--but there was something else. He knew it. + +Suddenly Margaret put down her book, and half rose from her chair, as +if listening; and at the same moment the Gunner woke up. Then they all +heard it together--that high pitched, ominous drone which rises and +falls in a manner there is no mistaking. + +"Boche," said the Gunner, "Boche, for a tanner. And lots of them." + +"Damn the swine," muttered Vane. "Can't they even leave a hospital +alone?" The next minute any lingering hope was destroyed. Both men +heard it--the well-known whistling whooce of the bomb--the vicious +crack as it burst; both men felt the ground trembling through their +beds. That was the overture . . . the play was about to commence. . . . + +All around them bombs rained down till the individual bursts merged +into one continuous roar. The earth shook and palpitated, and, to make +matters worse, the lights suddenly went out. The last thing Vane saw +was Margaret as she made her way, calmly and without faltering, to the +boy's bed. He had a picture, printed indelibly on his brain, of a girl +with a sweet set face, of a gaping boy, stirred into some semblance of +remembrance by the familiar noise around him. And then, in the +darkness, he made his way towards her. + +There was a deafening crash close to him, and a fragment tore through +the side of the tent. He could see the blinding flash, and +involuntarily he ducked his head. Then, running and stumbling, he +reached her. He felt her standing rigid in the darkness, and even at +such a moment he felt a sudden rush of joy as her hands come out to +meet him. + +"Lie down," he shouted, "lie down at once. . . ." + +"The boy," she cried. "Help me with him, Derek." + +Together they picked him up, fumbling in the darkness, and laid him on +the ground beside his bed. Then Vane took her arm, and shouted in her +ear, "Lie down, I tell you, lie down . . . quite flat." Obediently she +lay down, and he stretched himself beside her on the ground. To the +crashing of the bombs were now added the shouts and curses of men +outside; and once Margaret made an effort to rise. + +"The patients, Derek. Let me go." + +With his one sound arm he kept her down by force. "You can do +nothing," he said roughly. He felt her trembling against him, and a +wave of fury against the airmen above took hold of him. He was no +novice to bombing; there had been weeks on end when the battalion had +been bombed nightly. But then it had been part of the show--what they +expected; here it was so different. + +A sense of utter impotence filled his mind, coupled with a raging +passion at the danger to the girl beside him. And suddenly his lips +sought hers. + +"It's all right, my dear," he kept on saying, "quite all right. It'll +be over soon." And so almost unconscious of what they said or did, +they lay and listened to the tornado of Death around them. . . . + +It is on record that one man once said that he thought it was rather +amusing to be in a raid. That man was a liar. He was also a +fool. . . . To be bombed is poisonous, rather more poisonous than to +be shelled. If there are no dug-outs there is only one thing to be +done, and that is what Vane was doing. + +To lie flat on the ground minimises the danger except from a direct +hit; and a direct hit is remarkably sudden. And so--since every +occupant of Number 13 was well aware of this fact, approximately five +seconds elapsed after the light went out before all the patients who +could move, and most of those who couldn't, were lying on the floor +beside their beds. + +Gradually the explosions became fewer and fewer; though the earth still +shook and throbbed like a living thing, and at last it seemed to Vane +that the raid was over. He was lifting himself on his elbow +preparatory to going outside and exploring, when an ominous whistling +noise seemed to pierce his very brain. He had just time to throw +himself on to the girl beside him so that he partially covered her, +when the last bomb came. He heard the top of the marquee rip: there +was a deafening roar in his ears: a scorching flame enveloped him. He +lay stiff and rigid, and the thought flashed through him that this was +the end. The next moment he knew he was safe, and that it was merely +another close shave such as he had not been unaccustomed to in the +past. The bomb had burst in the tent, but the Fate which ordained +things had decided it should miss him. It had done so before, and Vane +laughed to himself . . . + +"Close, my lady, very close," he whispered--"but not quite close +enough." With a quick, savage movement he turned Margaret's face +towards him, and kissed her on the lips. For a while she clung to him, +and then he felt her relax in his arms. She had fainted, and as he +realised this, he felt something pressing down on him. With his sound +arm he fumbled above his head, and found it was the canvas of the tent. + +Tugging and scrambling, he half dragged, half carried Margaret through +the entrance which still remained intact, and laid her down on the +grass outside. Men and nurses were moving about in the darkness, +stumbling over guy ropes and tent pegs. For the moment every one was +too intent on his own affairs to bother over a mere faint, and Vane +left her lying against the side of the tent. Then he cautiously felt +his way round to investigate the damage. A great crater midway between +Number 13 and the next tent showed where the first close one had +fallen, but he had no wish to explore that any further. He stumbled +round the edge and went on. Then in the faint light given by the moon, +he saw what had happened when the last bomb had burst. It was nothing +worse than many similar sights he had seen, but Vane as he looked at +the wreckage cursed bitterly and fluently. And then of a sudden he +stopped cursing, and drew a deep breath. . . . Staring up at him in +the cold white light was what was left of the Gunner subaltern. The +bomb had burst at the foot of his bed . . . A cheery soul . . . A +bitter end . . . + +Opposite, the bed blown in half, the boy who would not have lasted +through the night sprawled uncouthly on to the floor. God knows! a +merciful release. . . . A few hours sooner--that's all. . . . And to +both--Kismet. + +All around lay fragments and debris. For a few seconds he stood there +motionless, while every now and then the canvas heaved where it lay on +the ground, and someone crawled out into the open. Then he felt a +touch on his arm, and, turning, he saw Margaret. Dry-eyed, she watched +with him, while the wounded dragged themselves painfully past the still +smoking crater, and the acrid smell of high explosive tainted the air. + +In the far distance the drone of aeroplanes was getting fainter and +fainter. Success had crowned the raider's daring exploit; they were +entitled to their well-earned rest. And so for a space did Vane and +Margaret stand. . . . It was only when very gently he slipped his arm +round her waist that a hard dry sob shook her. + +"Oh! the devils," she whispered--"the vile devils." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The following afternoon Vane turned his steps once again towards the +beach at Paris Plage. The wreckage in the hospital had been cleared +away, and there were rows laid side by side in the mortuary. Over +everyone there breathed a sense of restless excitement and fierce +anger, and Vane wanted to get away by himself. He felt that he had to +think. + +For suddenly and quite unexpectedly Margaret Trent had become a factor +in his life. After long years their paths had touched again, and Vane +found that he could not turn away with the same careless indifference +as he had in the past. Though she had always attracted him, he had +never seriously contemplated the final step; he had had far too good a +time as a bachelor. And then when she had so unaccountably cooled +towards him, he had shrugged his shoulders and sought distraction +elsewhere. + +Before the war Derek Vane had been what is generally described as a +typical Englishman. That is to say, he regarded his own +country--whenever he thought about it at all--as being the supreme +country in the world. He didn't force his opinion down anyone's +throat; it simply was so. If the other fellow didn't agree, the +funeral was his, not Vane's. He had to the full what the uninitiated +regard as conceit; on matters connected with literature, or art, or +music his knowledge was microscopic. Moreover, he regarded with +suspicion anyone who talked intelligently on such subjects. On the +other hand, he had been in the eleven at Eton, and was a scratch +golfer. He had a fine seat on a horse and rode straight; he could play +a passable game of polo, and was a good shot. Possessing as he did +sufficient money to prevent the necessity of working, he had not taken +the something he was supposed to be doing in the City very seriously. +He had put in a periodical appearance at a desk and drawn pictures on +the blotting paper; for the remainder of the time he had amused +himself. He belonged, in fact, to the Breed; the Breed that has always +existed in England, and will always exist till the world's end. You +may meet its members in London and in Fiji; in the lands that lie +beyond the mountains and at Henley; in the swamps where the stagnant +vegetation rots and stinks; in the great deserts where the night air +strikes cold. They are always the same, and they are branded with the +stamp of the breed. They shake your hand as a man shakes it; they meet +your eye as a man meets it. Just now a generation of them lie around +Ypres and La Bassee; Neuve Chapelle and Bapaume. The graves are +overgrown and the crosses are marked with indelible pencil. Dead--yes; +but not the Breed. The Breed never dies. . . . + +We have it on reliable evidence that the breed has its faults; its +education is rotten. Men of great learning and understanding have +fulminated on the subject; women with their vast experience have looked +upon the Breed with great clarity of vision and have written as their +eyes have seen; even boys themselves who doubtless must be right, as +the question concerns them most, have contributed to current literature +one or two damning indictments. + +It may well be that hunting butterflies or dissecting rats are more +suitable pursuits for young Percival Johnson than doing scram practice +up against the playground wall. It may well be that it would be a far, +far better thing for mob adoration to be laid at the feet of the +composer of the winning Greek Iambic rather than at the cricketing +boots of the Captain of the Eleven. It may be so, but, then, most +assuredly it may not. . . . + +The system which has turned out hundreds of the Breed, and whose object +is to mould all who pass through it on the model of the Breed, is not +one to be dismissed lightly. Doubtless it has its faults; a little +more latitude both in games and work might be allowed; originality +encouraged more. But let us be very certain before we gaily pull the +system to pieces that the one we erect in its place will stand the +strain, and produce the one great result beside which everything else +is as nothing. For if, at the price of team work and playing for the +side, we can only buy two or three more years of individualism--at an +age when the value of individualism is, at best, a doubtful blessing +and, at worst, sheer blatant selfishness--we shall indeed have messed +things up. The cranks will be delighted; but the Empire will gnash its +teeth. + + +And now after nearly four years in the fiercest forcing house of +character Derek Vane found himself trying to take an inventory of his +own stock. And since the material question of money did not come in to +cloud the horizon, he felt he could do it impartially. There are many +now who, having sacrificed every prospect, find their outlook haunted +by the spectre of want; there are many more, formerly engaged in +skilled trades such as engineering or mining, who find that they have +four years of leeway to make up in their profession--four years of +increased knowledge and mechanical improvements--unknown to them, but +not to their competitors, who remained behind. But such prospects did +not trouble him. The future, as far as money was concerned, was +assured. + +Vane thoughtfully lit a cigarette. It seemed to him that he had wasted +four of the best years of his life, sitting, save for brief intervals, +on the same filthy piece of ground, with the sole object of killing +complete strangers before they killed him. In this laudable pastime he +had succeeded to the extent of two for certain and one doubtful. The +only man whom he had really wanted to slaughter--a certain brother +subaltern who offended him daily--he had been forced to spare owing to +foolish regulations. . . . And now this youth was at home as a +Temporary Lieutenant-Colonel in sole control of an ante-chamber in one +of the large hotels, with a staff of four flappers, who presented +papers for his signature every other Tuesday from 2.30 to 4. + +With a short laugh he got up and shook himself. In the distance some +sand dunes beckoned invitingly--sand dunes which reminded him of the +width of Westward Ho! and a certain championship meeting there long +ago. Slowly he strolled towards them, going down nearer the sea where +the sand was finer. And all the time he argued it out with himself. +Four years wasted! But had they been wasted? What had he got out of +them anyway? Wasn't he twice the man that he had been four years ago? +Or had it all been futile and useless? . . . + +No man who has been through the rapids can find his feet in an hour's +self-analysis. It takes time; and during that time much may happen, +good or ill, according to the manner of the finder. The great unrest +of the world is not felt by the men in the trenches. It seethes and +boils outside, and only when a man comes back to so-called peace does +he reach the whirlpool, which lies at the end of the rapids. Then, if +he be of the type of Vane, is the time of danger. To lose one's sense +of proportion in France is dangerous; to lose it in England may be +fatal. One has so much more freedom. + +At intervals during the War Vane had sampled the whirlpool, while on +leave, and the effect it had produced in him had been transitory. The +contrast was so immense that it had failed to move him permanently. +The time that he had been in its clutches was too short. He retained +just a fleeting picture of feverish gaiety which seemed out of +perspective; of profound bores who discussed the mistakes of the Higher +Command in the arm chairs of the Club; of universal chatter concerning +rations and meat coupons. Then he had left, and in a few short hours +had been back once more in the mud holes. A good leave? Oh! +undoubtedly, just as it should have been, where the one thing necessary +was contrast. But even then it had irritated him at times to realise +how completely they failed to understand. He would not have had them +understand--true. If the alternative had been put to him; if he had +been told that it was in his power to make these people see the things +that he had seen, and hear the things that he had heard, he would not +have done so. They were better as they were--affording the contrast; +enabling men to forget. + +But leave is one thing, permanence is another. And at the moment Vane +was faced with the latter. The doctor had talked airily of three or +four months, and after that in all probability a spell of light duty, +and to Vane that seemed like a permanency. It is one thing to drug +oneself in the waters of Lethe for a fortnight of one's own free will: +it is altogether different to be drugged by others for good. And dimly +he felt that either he or they would have to go under. Two totally +incompatible people cannot sit next one another at dinner for long +without letting some course get cold. Unless one of them happens to be +dumb. . . . + +But were they totally incompatible? That seemed to be the crux of the +whole matter. To the soldiers, pulling together, unselfishness, +grinning when the sky is black, that is the new philosophy. One +hesitates to call it new. It existed once, we are given to +understand--or at any rate it was preached and practised in days gone +by. Since then it has become unfashionable. . . . + +And what about _les autres_--who have kept the home fires burning? For +a moment Vane stopped and stared in front of him; then he laughed +aloud. As has been said, he was jangled--so perhaps he may be forgiven. + + +It was on the other side of the dunes that he suddenly found Margaret. +She had her back towards him as he came over the top, and in the sand +his footsteps made no noise. And so she continued her pursuit of +throwing stones at a bottle a few yards away, in ignorance of the fact +that she had an audience. It is a lazy occupation at the best of times +and her rendering of it was no exception to the rule. For whole +minutes on end she would sit quite still gazing out to sea; and then, +as if suddenly realising her slackness, she would continue the +bombardment furiously. + +For a while Vane watched her thoughtfully. Was she the answer? To go +right away with her somewhere--right away from the crowd and the strife +of existence: to be with her always, watching her grow from the wife to +the mother, seeing her with his children, feeling that she was his and +no one else's. God! but to think of the peace of it. . . . + +He watched the soft tendrils of hair curling under the brim of her hat; +the play of her body as she picked up the stones and threw them. +Around him the coarse grass bent slightly in the breeze and the murmur +of the sea came faintly over the dunes. Away in front of him stretched +the sand, golden in the warm sun, the surface broken every now and then +by the dark brown wooden groins. Not a soul was in sight, and save for +some gulls circling round they two seemed the only living things. . . . +With a sudden smile he stooped down and picked up a stone--several, in +fact, and fired a volley. There was a tinkling noise, and the bottle +fell. Then he waited for her to look round. For just a little while +there was silence, and then she turned towards him with a smile. . . . +And in that moment it seemed to him that he had found the answer he +sought. Surely it was just a dream, and in a moment he would wake up +and see the dreadful face of the mess waiter appearing down the dug-out +steps. It is impossible to stumble over sand dunes and find Margarets +in France. These things simply do not happen. One merely stumbles +over the cobbles and sees the woman who keeps the estaminet round the +corner washing the floor. And her lips do not part in the dawn of a +smile--mercifully; her eyes are not big and blue. It was all a dream! +last night was all a dream. Just one of those pictures he had seen +sometimes in the candle light, when it guttered in the draught, as the +big crump burst outside. . . . + +"Derek, that wasn't fair." With an effort he pulled himself together +and regarded her gravely. Then he scrambled down the sandy bank to her +side. + +"Do you mind pinching me?" he remarked, holding out his hand. +"Hard--very hard. . . . I want to make certain I'm not dreaming." + +"Why should you be?" Her voice was faintly tremulous. "And why have +you got your eyes shut?" + +"Pinch me, please, at once." Vane's hand was still held out, and she +gave it a gentle nip. "Go on, harder . . . Ah! that's better. Now +promise me you won't disappear if I open my eyes." + +"I promise," she answered solemnly, but struggling to withdraw her hand +from both of his, where he had caught it. . . . + +"Oh! my dear, my dear," he whispered. "It's just too wonderful to be +true. The peace of it, and the glory, and you. . . . I'll be waking +up in a minute, my lady, and find myself crawling round the outpost +line." + +He laughed gently and triumphantly, and drew her towards him. Only +when his arm was round her, did he pause. . . . And then it was the +look in her eyes, as much as her two hands pressed against his chest, +that stopped him. "What is it, Margaret, my lady? Aren't you going to +kiss me?" + +"No, Derek--not yet. Perhaps once before we go. . . . Please, take +your arm away." + +For a moment he hesitated. "Even after last night." + +She nodded. "Principally because of last night." + +With a little lift of his eyebrows Vane did as he was bid. "I knew +there was a catch somewhere," he murmured plaintively. "You don't want +me to go away and leave you, do you?" + +She shook her head and smiled. Then she patted the ground beside her. +"Come and sit down; I want to talk to you. No--not too near." + +"Don't you trust me?" he demanded half sullenly, as he took a seat +somewhat further removed from temptation. + +"My dear Derek, it would take more than a mere European war to make +some leopards I know of change their spots." + +In spite of himself Vane laughed. "Well, dash it, Margaret, there was +a distinct flavour of the pre-war about you last night." + +She closed her eyes, and her hands clenched. "Oh! don't, Derek; don't, +please. As long as I live I shall never forget it. It was too +horrible." She turned away from him shuddering. + +"Dear--I'm sorry." He leaned forward and took her hand. "I didn't +realise quite what it must mean to you. You see it was that poor boy +who was dying in the bed opposite mine that made me jumpy . . . +frightened . . . God knows what! The smash up of the raid itself left +me almost cold by comparison. . . . I suppose it was the other way +round with you. . . . It's just a question of what one is used +to--anyway, don't let's talk about it." + +For a while they sat in silence, and then Vane spoke again. "You know +I'm crossing to-morrow, I suppose?" + +"Yes." Margaret nodded. "I didn't think you'd stop long." + +"Are you sorry I'm going?" + +"Of course I am," she answered simply. "You know that. . . . But I +think perhaps it's just as well." + +"Just as well!" repeated Vane. "Why?" + +"Because . . . oh! because of a lot of things. You'd interfere with my +work for one." + +"How dreadful," said Vane with mock gravity. "You'd mix the medicines +and all that, I suppose." Then he turned to her impulsively. +"Margaret, my dear, what does it matter? This work of yours won't go +on for ever. And after the War, what then?" + +"That's just it," she said slowly. "What then?" + +"Well, as a preliminary suggestion--why not marry me?" + +She laughed--a low, rippling laugh. + +"Do you remember what you said to me in the tea shop yesterday about +not having seen a girl for six months?" + +"What on earth has that got to do with it?" said Vane frowning. "I'm +not a child or a callow boy. Do you suppose at my age I don't know my +own mind? Why, my dear girl. . . ." Her eyes met his, and the words +died away on his lips. + +"Don't, dear, don't. You're insulting both our intelligences." With a +slight laugh she leaned over and rested her hand on his. "You know +perfectly well what I mean." + +Vane grunted non-committally. He undoubtedly did know what she meant, +but at that moment it was annoying to find she knew it too. . . . + +"Listen, Derek; I want to put things before you as I see them." With +her elbows on her knee, and her chin cupped in the palms of her hand, +she was staring across the stretch of tumbled, grass-grown hillocks. + +"We know one another too well not to be perfectly frank. How much of +last night was just--what shall I say--nervous tension? Supposing some +other girl had been in my place?" + +Impetuously he started to speak, but once again the words died away on +his lips as he saw the half-tender, half-humorous look in her eyes. + +"Dear," she went on after a moment. "I don't want to hurt you. I know +you think you're in love with me to-day; but will you to-morrow? You +see, Derek, this war has given a different value to things. . . . +Whether one likes it or not, it's made one more serious. It hasn't +destroyed our capacity for pleasure, but it's altered the things we +take pleasure in. My idea of a good time, after it's over, will never +be the same as it was before." + +Vane nodded his head thoughtfully. "I'm not certain, dear, that that's +anything to worry about." + +"Of course it isn't--I know that. But don't you see, Derek, where that +leads us to? One can't afford to fool with things once they have +become serious. . . . And to kiss a man, as I kissed you last night, +seems to mean very much more to me than it did once upon a time. +That's why I want to make sure. . . ." She hesitated, and then, +seeming to make up her mind, she turned and faced him. "I would find +it easier now to live with a man I really loved--if that were the only +way--than to be kissed by two or three at a dance whom I didn't care +about. Do you understand?" + +"My dear, I understand perfectly," answered Vane. "The one is big--the +other is petty. And when we live through an age of big things we grow +ourselves." + +"I gave you that as a sort of example of what I feel, Derek," Margaret +continued after a time. "I don't suppose there is anything novel in +it, but I want you so frightfully to understand what I am going to say. +You have asked me to marry you--to take the biggest step which any +woman can take. I tell you quite frankly that I want to say 'Yes.' I +think all along that I've loved you, though I've flirted with other +men. . . . I was a fool five years ago. . . ." + +He looked at her quickly. "Tell me; I want to know." + +"I found out about that girl you were keeping." + +Vane started slightly. "Good Lord! But how?" + +"Does it matter, old man?" Margaret turned to him with a smile. "A +chance remark by Billy Travers, if you want to know. And then I asked +a few questions, and put two and two together. It seemed a deliberate +slight to me. It seemed so sordid. You see I didn't understand--then." + +"And now? Do you understand now?" He leaned towards her eagerly. + +"Should I have said to you what I have if I didn't?" She held out her +hand to him, and with a quick movement he put it to his lips. "I've +grown, you see . . . got a little nearer the true value of things. +I've passed out of the promiscuous kissing stage, as I told you. . . . +And I think I realise rather more than I did what men are. . . . One +doesn't make them up out of books now. All this has taught one to +understand a man's temptations--to forgive him when he fails." Then a +little irrelevantly--"They seem so petty, don't they--now?" + +Vane gently dropped the hand he was holding, and his face as he looked +at her was inscrutable. Into his mind there had flashed Lear's +question: "And goes thy _heart_ with this?" Then irritably he banished +it. . . . God bless her! She was all heart: of course she was. + +"Will you tell me where exactly you have arrived at?" he asked quietly. + +"At the certainty that there lies in front of you and me work to be +done. I don't know what that work will prove to be--but, Derek, we've +got to find out. It may be that we shall do it together. It may be +that my work is just to be with you. And it may be that it isn't that +you won't want me. Ah! yes, dear," as he made a quick, impatient +movement. "There is always the possibility. I want you to go and find +out, Derek, and I want you to make sure that you really want me--that +it isn't just six months in Flanders. Also," she added after a pause, +"I want to be quite sure about myself." For a while Vane stared out to +sea in silence. + +"Supposing," he said slowly, "the work in front of me is back to +Flanders again, as it probably will be. And supposing I'm not so lucky +next time. What then?" + +She turned and faced him. "Why then, dear, Fate will have decided for +us, won't she?" + +"A deuced unsatisfactory decision," grumbled Vane. "Margaret, I don't +want to worry you; I don't want to force myself on you . . . but won't +you give me some sort of a promise?" + +She shook her head. "I'll give you no promise at all, Derek. You've +got to find yourself, and I've got to find myself; and when we've both +done that we shall know how we stand to one another. Until then . . . +well just give it a miss in baulk, old man." + +Vane regarded her curiously. "If last night and this afternoon had +happened before the war, I wonder what your decision would have been?" + +"Does it matter?" she answered gently. "Before the war is just a +different age." For a while she was silent; then she drew a deep +breath. "Don't you feel it as I feel it?" she whispered. "The bigness +of it, the wonder of it. Underneath all the horror, underlying all the +vileness--the splendour of it all. The glory of human endurance. . . . +People wondered that I could stand it--I with my idealism. But it +seems to me that out of the sordid brutality an ideal has been born +which is almost the greatest the world has ever known. Oh! Derek, +we've just got to try to keep it alive." + +"It's the devil," said Vane whimsically. "Jove! lady dear, isn't the +blue of the sky and the sea and the gold of the sand just crying out to +be the setting of a lovers' paradise? Aren't we here alone just hidden +from the world, while the very gulls themselves are screaming: 'Kiss +her, kiss her?' And then the fairy princess, instead of being the +fairy princess to the wounded warrior, orders him to go back and look +for work. It's cruel. I had hoped for tender love and pity, and +behold I have found a Labour Bureau." + +Margaret laughed. "You dear! But you understand?" She knelt beside +him on the sand, and her face was very tender. + +"I understand," answered Vane gravely. "But, oh! my lady, I hope +you're not building fairy castles on what's going to happen after the +war. I'm afraid my faith in my brother man is a very, very small +flame." + +"All the more reason why we should keep it alight," she cried fiercely. +"Derek, we can't let all this hideous mutilation and death go for +nothing afterwards." + +"You dear optimist," Vane smiled at her eager, glowing face so close to +his own. "Do you suppose that we and others like us will have any say +in the matter?" + +She beat her hands together. "Derek, I hate you when you talk like +that. You've got it in you to do big things--I feel it. You mustn't +drift like you did before the war. You've got to fight, and others +like you have got to fight, for everything that makes life worth living +in our glorious, wonderful England." + +"Would the staff be a little more explicit in their Operation Orders, +please?" murmured Vane. "Whom do you propose I should engage in mortal +combat?" He saw the slight frown on her face and leant forward +quickly. "My dear, don't misunderstand me. I don't want to be +flippant and cynical. But I'm just a plain, ordinary man--and I'm +rather tired. When this show is over I want peace and rest and +comfort. And I rather feel that it's up to the damned fools who let us +in for it to clear up the mess themselves for a change." + +"But you won't later, old boy," said the girl; "not after you've found +yourself again. You'll have to be up and doing; it will stifle you to +sit still and do nothing." She looked thoughtfully out to sea and +then, as he kept silent, she went on slowly, "I guess we all sat still +before this war; drifted along the line of least resistance. We've got +to cut a new way, Derek, find a new path, which will make for the good +of the show. And before we can find the path, we've got to find +ourselves." + +She turned towards him and for a long minute they looked into one +another's eyes, while the gulls circled and screamed above them. Then +slowly she bent forward and kissed him on the mouth. . . . "Go and +find yourself, my dear," she whispered. "Go and make good. And when +you have, if you still want me, I'll come to you." + + * * * * * + +At the touch of her lips Vane closed his eyes. It seemed only a few +seconds before he opened them again, but Margaret was gone. And then +for a while he sat, idly throwing stones at the overturned bottle. +Just once he laughed, a short, hard laugh with no humour in it, before +he turned to follow her. But when he reached the top of the sand dune, +Margaret was almost out of sight in the distance. + +Next day he crossed to England in the _Guildford Castle_. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Derek Vane did not remain long in hospital. As soon as the dressings +for his shoulder had become quite straightforward, the machine, in the +shape of two doctors from Millbank who formed the Board, took him in +its clutches once more and deposited him at a convalescent home. Not +one of the dreary, routine-like places which have been in the past +associated with convalescence, but a large country house, kindly placed +at the disposal of the War Office by its owner. + +"Rumfold Hall for you, Vane," said the senior of the two doctors. "A +charming house; Lady Patterdale--a charming woman." + +"Rumfold Hall!" echoed Vane. "Good Heavens! I know it well. Danced +there often during the old _regime_." + +"The old regime?" The doctor looked puzzled. + +"Yes. It used to belong to the Earl of Forres. He couldn't afford to +keep it up and his other places as well, so he sold it to Sir John +Patterdale. . . . Made his money in hardware, did Sir John. . . . +Surely you know Patterdale's Patent Plate." + +The Board opined that it did not, and departed to the next case. It +even seemed to regard such flippancy with a certain amount of +suspicion; but then Medical Boards are things of some solemnity. . . . + +And so in the course of two or three days Vane drove up to the historic +gates of Rumfold Hall in an ambulance. The house, situated in the +heart of Surrey, was surrounded by extensive grounds. The view from it +was magnificent, stretching away for miles and miles to the south, and +terminating in the purple downs: and Vane, as the car waited for the +gates to be opened, felt that indefinable thrill of pride that comes to +every man when he looks on some glorious stretch of his own country. +He noticed that the lodge-keeper had changed since he was there last, +and not, it struck him, for the better. How well he remembered old +John, with his sweet old wife, and their perfectly kept patch of garden +and spotless little kitchen. . . . He had had two sons, both in the +Grenadiers, magnificent, strapping fellows--and Vane wondered what had +become of them. . . . + +Somehow he couldn't quite imagine old John not touching his hat as the +ambulance came in; whereas his successor merely gazed curiously at the +occupants, and then slouched back into the lodge. . . . Of course +hat-touching is a relic of feudalism, and, as such, too hideous to +contemplate in this age of democracy; but still--like a smile--it costs +little and gives much pleasure. + +From the condition of the grounds it did not seem that the present +owner had been very greatly troubled by the labour shortage. The +flower beds were a riot of colour; the grass was short and beautifully +kept. And as the ambulance rounded a corner of the drive and the house +opened up in front Vane saw that tennis was in full swing on the lawns. + +"Say--what sort of a guy is this fellow?" asked a New Zealander +opposite him suddenly. "It seems to me to be some house." + +Vane looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before replying, and the +car was already slowing down before he finally spoke. "He's a +substitute for the old order of things. And according to the labels of +all substitutes, they are the last word in modern efficiency." + +The car pulled up at that moment, and they stepped out to find Lady +Patterdale standing on the steps to welcome them. + +Let it be said at once that Lady Patterdale was a perfect dear. One +lost sight of her incredible vulgarity in view of the charming +kindliness of her heart. And, after all, vulgarity is only +comparative. In the sanctity of the little shop in Birmingham where +Sir John had first laid the foundations of his fortune, aspirates could +drop unheeded. What mattered then, as always, was whether the heart +was in the right place. With Lady Patterdale it was. . . . + +And because _au fond_, she was such a dear, it made it all the more +pathetic to see her in such surroundings. One felt, and one felt that +in the bottom of her heart she felt, that she would have been far more +happy in the kitchen. Except that in the kitchen her lost aspirates +would probably have been handed back to her on a salver, whereas in the +drawing-room they were ground into the carpet. . . . The spread of +education has made the kitchen a very dangerous place. + +In appearance Lady Patterdale was short and stout; eminently the type +of woman who, if clothed according to the dictates of common sense, +would be called a "comfortable old party." One could imagine her in a +cotton dress, with her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, displaying a +pair of plump forearms and wielding a rolling pin in front of a good +hot fire. Covered with flour--her face very red--she would have been +in her element. . . . As it was, the dictates of fashion had cast +their blight over the proceedings. + +The name of her dressmaker is immaterial. Originally Smith & Co. in +all probability, it had now become Smythe et Cie, and advertised in all +the most exclusive papers. Unfortunately, in the case of Lady +Patterdale they did not stop at advertising. They carried out their +dreadful threats and clothed her. The result was incredible. She +resembled nothing so much as a bursting melon. Onlookers shuddered at +times when they thought of the trust reposed by Providence and Lady +Patterdale in a few paltry hooks and eyes. The strain appeared so +terrific--the consequences of a disaster so appalling. + +As Vane stepped out of the ambulance Lady Patterdale, supported on +either side by one of the nursing staff, advanced to meet him. Her +jolly old face was wreathed in smiles; cordiality and kindliness oozed +from her. + +"Welcome, both of you," she cried. "Welcome to Rumfold 'all." + +The Sister on her left started as if a serpent had stung her, and Vane +decided that he did not like her. Then he turned to the kindly old +woman, and smiled. + +"Thank you, Lady Patterdale," he said, taking her outstretched hand. +"I'm sure it's going to be topping." + +"You're just in nice time for luncheon," she continued, as she turned +to welcome the New Zealander. "And after that you'll be able to find +your way about the 'ouse." + +Lunch was the only meal where all the convalescents met, as, generally, +some of them had retired before dinner. It was served in the old +banqueting hall, which, when Vane remembered it, had been used for +dancing. The officers had it to themselves, the nursing staff feeding +elsewhere. . . . + +The contrast struck Vane forcibly as he sat down at the long table. +The last time he had been in the room he and three or four kindred +spirits had emptied a fruit salad into a large wind instrument just +before the band played the final gallop. . . . + +"Beer, sir, or cider?" He half turned to answer, when suddenly the +voice continued, "Why, but surely, sir, it's Mr. Vane?" + +He looked up and saw the same butler who had been at the Hall in the +old days. + +"Why, Robert," he said delightedly, "you still here? Jove! but I'm +glad to see you. I thought Sir John had made a clean sweep of all the +staff." + +The butler nodded his head sadly. "All except me, sir--me and Mrs. +Hickson. She was the housekeeper, if you remember. And she couldn't +stand it--that is, she had to leave after a year." + +"Ah!" Vane's tone was non-committal. "And what's become of old +John--at the Lodge?" + +"He went, sir. Sir John found him too slow." Robert poured out a +glass of beer. "He's in the village, sir. One of his sons was killed +at Noove Chappel." + +"I'm sorry about that. I must go and see him." + +"He'd be proud, sir, if you'd be so kind. I often goes down there +myself for a bit of a chat about the old days." With a sigh the old +butler passed on, and Vane returned to his lunch. . . . + +"You seem to know our archaic friend," remarked the officer sitting +next him. "He's a dear old thing. . . ." + +"He's one of a dying breed," said Vane shortly. "I would trust old +Robert with everything in the world that I possessed. . . ." + +"That so?" returned the other. "Has he been here long?" + +"To my certain knowledge for twenty-five years, and I believe longer. +It almost broke his heart when he heard that Lord Forres was going to +sell the place." Vane continued his lunch in silence, and suddenly a +remark from the other side of the table struck his ears. + +"I say, old Side-whiskers hasn't given me my fair whack of beer." It +was a youngster speaking, and the remark was plainly audible to the old +butler two places away. For a moment his face quivered, and then he +returned to the speaker. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," he remarked quietly. "Let me fill your +glass." + +"Thanks, old sport. That's a bit better looking." Vane turned to his +neighbour with an amused smile. + +"Truly the old order changeth," remarked the other thoughtfully. "And +one's inclined to wonder if it's changing for the better." + +"Unfortunately in any consideration of that sort one is so hopelessly +biassed by one's own personal point of view," returned Vane. + +"Do you think so?" He crumbled the bread beside him. "Don't you think +one can view a little episode like that in an unbiassed way? Isn't it +merely in miniature what is going on all over the country? . . . The +clash of the new spirit with the one that is centuries old." + +"And you really regard that youth as being representative of the new +spirit?" + +"No one man can be. But I regard him as typical of a certain phase of +that spirit. In all probability a magnificent platoon commander--there +are thousands like him who have come into being with this war. The +future of the country lies very largely in their hands. What are they +going to make of it?" + +The same question--the same ceaseless refrain. Sometimes expressed, +more often not. ENGLAND in the melting pot--what was going to happen? +Unconsciously Vane's eyes rested on the figure of the old butler +standing at the end of the room. There was something noble about the +simplicity of the old man, confronted by the crashing of the system in +which he and his father, and his father's father had been born. A +puzzled look seemed ever in his eyes: the look of a dog parted from a +beloved master, in new surroundings amongst strange faces. And +officially, at any rate, the crash was entirely for the benefit of him +and his kind . . . . wherein lay the humour. + +Vane laughed shortly as he pushed back his chair. "Does anything +matter save one's own comfort? Personally I think slavery would be an +admirable innovation." + + +Sir John Patterdale was everything that his wife was not. The +unprecedented success of his Patent Plate had enabled him to pay the +necessary money to obtain his knighthood and blossom into a county +magnate. At one time he had even thought of standing for Parliament as +an old and crusted Tory; but up to date the War had prevented the +realisation of such a charming idyll. Instead he sat on the bench and +dispensed justice. + +In appearance he was an exact counterpart of his wife--short and fat; +and his favourite attitude was standing with his legs wide apart and +his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat. Strong men had been +known to burst into tears on seeing him for the first time arrayed as +the sporting squire; but the role was one which he persistently tried +to fill, with the help of a yellow hunting waistcoat and check +stockings. And when it is said that he invariably bullied the +servants, if possible in front of a third person, the picture of Sir +John is tolerably complete. He was, in short, a supreme cad, with not +a single redeeming feature. Stay--that is wrong. He still retained +the love of his wife, which may perhaps--nay, surely shall--be +accounted to him for righteousness. . . . + +To her he was never the vain, strutting little bounder, making himself +ridiculous and offensive by turn. She never got beyond the picture of +him when, as plain John Patterdale, having put up the shutters and +locked the door of the shop, he would come through into their little +living-room behind for his supper. First he would kiss her, and then +taking off his best coat, he would put on the old frayed one that +always hung in readiness behind the door. And after supper, they would +draw up very close together, and dream wonderful dreams about the +future. All sorts of beautiful things danced in the flames; but the +most beautiful thing of all was the reality of her John, with his arm +round her waist, and his cheek touching hers. + +Sometimes now, when the real truth struck her more clearly than +usual--for she was a shrewd old woman for all her kindness of +heart--sometimes when she saw the sneers of the people who ate his salt +and drank his champagne her mind went back with a bitter stab of memory +to those early days in Birmingham. What had they got in exchange for +their love and dreams over the kitchen fire--what Dead Sea Fruit had +they plucked? If only something could happen; if only he could lose +all his money, how willingly, how joyfully would she go back with him +to the niche where they both fitted. They might even be happy once +again. . . . + +He had needed her in those days: turned to her for comfort when +business was bad, taken her out on the burst--just they two alone--when +things looked up and there had been a good day's takings. The +excitement over choosing her best hat--the one with the bunches of +fruit in it. . . . As long as she lived she would never forget the +morning she tried it on, when he deserted the shop and cheered from the +bedroom door, thereby losing a prospective customer. + +But now, all he cared about was that she should go to the best people +and spare no expense. + +"We can afford it, my dear," he was wont to remark, "and I want you to +keep your end up with the best of 'em. You must remember my position +in the county." + +Even alone with her he kept up the pretence, and she backed him +loyally. Was he not still her man; and if he was happy, what else +mattered? And she would call herself a silly old woman. . . . + +But there was just once when he came back to her, and she locked away +the remembrance of that night in her secret drawer--the drawer that +contained amongst other things a little bunch of artificial grapes +which had once adorned the hat. . . . + +There had been a big dinner of the no-expense-spared type; and to it +had been invited most of the County. Quite a percentage had accepted, +and it was after dinner, just before the guests were going, that the +owner of a neighbouring house had inadvertently put his thoughts into +words, not knowing that his host was within hearing. + +"It makes me positively sick to see that impossible little bounder +strutting about round Rumfold." + +"Impossible little bounder." It hit the little man like a blow between +the eyes, and that night, in bed, a woman with love welling over in her +heart comforted her man. + +"It wasn't him that had been meant. . . . Of course not . . . . Why +the dinner had been a tremendous success. . . . Lady Sarah Wellerby +had told her so herself. . . . Had asked them over in return. . . . +And had suggested that they should give a dance, to which she and her +six unmarried daughters would be delighted to come." + +But she didn't tell him that she had overheard Lady Sarah remark to the +wife of Admiral Blake that "the atrocious little cook person had better +be cultivated, she supposed. One never knows, my dear. The ballroom +is wonderful and men will come anywhere for a good supper. . . ." No, +she didn't tell him that: nor mention the misery she had suffered +during dinner. She didn't say how terrified she was of the +servants--all except old Robert, who looked at her sometimes with his +kindly, tired eyes as if he understood. She didn't even take the +opportunity of voicing the wish that was dearest to her heart; to give +it all up and go right away. She just coaxed him back to +self-confidence, and, in the morning, Sir John was Sir John once +more--as insufferable as ever. And only a tired old woman knew quite +how tired she felt. . .. + + +One of Sir John's pet weaknesses was having his wife and the staff +photographed. Sometimes he appeared in the group himself, but on the +whole he preferred impromptu snap-shots of himself chatting with +wounded officers in the grounds. For these posed photographs Lady +Patterdale arrayed herself in a light grey costume, with large red +crosses scattered over it: and as Vane was strolling out into the +gardens after lunch, he ran into her in this disguise in the hall. + +"We're 'aving a little group taken, Captain Vane," she said as she +passed him. "You must come and be in it." + +"Why, certainly, Lady Patterdale; I shall be only too delighted. Is +that the reason of the war paint?" + +She laughed--a jolly, unaffected laugh. "My 'usband always likes me to +wear this when we're took. Thinks it looks better in a 'ospital." + +As Vane stepped through the door with her he caught a fleeting glimpse +of officers disappearing rapidly in all directions. Confronting them +was a large camera, and some servants were arranging chairs under the +direction of the photographer. Evidently the symptoms were well known, +and Vane realised that he had been had. + +This proved to be one of the occasions on which Sir John did not +appear, and so the deed did not take quite as long as usual. To the +staff it was just a matter of drill, and they arranged themselves at +once. And since they were what really mattered, and the half-dozen +patients merely appeared in the nature of a make weight, in a very +short time, to everyone's profound relief, the group had been +taken. . . . Vane, who had been sitting on the ground, with his legs +tucked under him to keep them in focus, silently suffering an acute +attack of cramp, rose and stretched himself. On the lawn, tennis had +started again; and she could see various officers dotted about the +ground in basket chairs. He was turning away, with the idea of a +stroll--possibly even of seeking out old John in the village, when from +just behind his shoulder came a musical laugh. + +"Delightful," said a low, silvery voice; "quite delightful." + +Vane swung round in time to catch the glint of a mocking smile--a pair +of lazy grey eyes--and then, before he could answer, or even make up +his mind if it had been he who was addressed, the girl who had spoken +moved past him and greeted Lady Patterdale. . . . + +He waited just long enough to hear that worthy woman's, "My dear Joan, +'ow are you?" and then with a faintly amused smile on his lips turned +towards the cool, shady drive. Margaret's remark in the sand dunes at +Etaples anent leopards and their spots came back to him; and the +seasoned war horse scents the battle from afar. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER V + +It was under the shade of a great rhododendron bush that Vane was first +privileged to meet Sir John. The bush was a blaze of scarlet and purple, +which showed up vividly against the green of the grass and the darker +green of the shrubs around. Through the trees could be seen glimpses of +the distant hills, and Vane, as he stumbled unexpectedly into this sudden +bit of fairyland, caught his breath with the glory of it. Then with +drastic suddenness he recalled that half-forgotten hymn of childhood, of +which the last line runs somewhat to the effect that "only man is vile." + +Sir John was in full possession, with an unwilling audience of one bored +cavalryman. It was one of his most cherished sentiments that nothing +aided convalescence so much as a little bright, breezy conversation on +subjects of general interest--just to cheer 'em up, and make 'em feel at +home. . . . + +At the moment of Vane's arrival he was discoursing fluently on the +problem of education. The point is really immaterial, as Sir John +discussed all problems with equal fluency, and the necessity for +answering was rare. He had a certain shrewd business-like efficiency, +and in most of his harangues there was a good deal of what, for want of a +better word, might be termed horse sense. But he was so completely +self-opinionated and sure of himself that he generally drove his audience +to thoughts of poisons that left no trace or even fire-arms. Especially +when he was holding forth on strategy. On that subject he considered +himself an expert, and regularly twice a week he emptied the smoking-room +at Rumfold by showing--with the aid of small flags--what he would have +done had he been in charge of the battle of the Somme in 1916. He was +only silenced once, and that was by a pessimistic and saturnine Sapper. + +"Extraordinary," he murmured. "I congratulate you, Sir John. The plan +you have outlined is exactly in every detail the one which the +Commander-in-Chief discussed with me when overlooking the charming little +village of Gueudecourt. 'Johnson,' he said, 'that is what we will do,' +and he turned to the Chief of Staff and ordered him to make a note of +it." The Sapper paused for a moment to relight his pipe. Then he turned +impressively to Sir John. "There was no Chief of Staff. The Chief of +Staff had gone: only a few bubbles welling out of the mud remained to +show his fate. And then, before my very eyes, the C.-in-C. himself +commenced to sink. To my fevered brain it seemed to be over in a minute. +His last words as he went down for the third time were 'Johnson, carry +on.' . . . Of course it was kept out of the papers, but if it hadn't +been for a Tank going by to get some whisky for the officers' mess, +which, owing to its pressure on neighbouring ground squeezed them all out +again one by one--you know, just like you squeeze orange pips from your +fingers--the affair might have been serious." + +"I did hear a rumour about it," said the still small voice of a +machine-gunner from behind a paper. + +"Of course," continued the Sapper, "the plan had to be given up. The +whole of G.H.Q. sat for days in my dug-out with their feet in hot water +and mustard. . . . A most homely spectacle--especially towards the end +when, to while away the time, they started sneezing in unison. . . ." + +A silence settled on the smoking-room, a silence broken at last by the +opening and shutting of the door. Sir John had retired for the +night. . . . + + +At the moment that Vane paused at the entrance to his bit of fairyland +Sir John was in full blast. + +"What, sir, is the good of educating these people? Stuffing their heads +with a lot of useless nonsense. And then talking about land +nationalisation. The two don't go together, sir. If you educate a man +he's not going to go and sit down on a bare field and look for +worms. . . ." He paused in his peroration as he caught sight of Vane. + +"Ah! ha!" he cried. "Surely a new arrival. Welcome, sir, to my little +home." + +Restraining with a great effort his inclination to kick him, Vane shook +the proffered hand; and for about ten minutes he suffered a torrent of +grandiloquence in silence. At the conclusion of the little man's first +remark Vane had a fleeting vision of the cavalry-man slinking hurriedly +round two bushes and then, having run like a stag across the open, going +to ground in some dense undergrowth on the opposite side. And Vane, to +his everlasting credit be it said, did not even smile. . . . + +After a while the flood more or less spent itself, and Vane seized the +occasion of a pause for breath to ask after old John. + +"I see you've got a new lodge-keeper, Sir John. Robert tells me that the +old man who was here under Lord Forres is in the village." + +"Yes. Had to get rid of him. Too slow. I like efficiency, my boy, +efficiency. . . . That's my motto." Sir John complacently performed +three steps of his celebrated strut. "Did you know the Hearl?" Though +fairly sound on the matter, in moments of excitement he was apt to +counterbalance his wife with the elusive letter. . . . + +Vane replied that he did--fairly well. + +"A charming man, sir . . . typical of all that is best in our old English +nobility. I am proud, sir, to have had such a predecessor. I number the +Hearl, sir, among my most intimate friends. . . ." + +Vane, who remembered the graphic description given him by Blervie--the +Earl's eldest son--at lunch one day, concerning the transaction at the +time of the sale, preserved a discreet silence. + +"A horrible-looking little man, old bean," that worthy had remarked. +"Quite round, and bounces in his chair. The governor saw him once, and +had to leave the room. 'I can't stand it,' he said to me outside, 'the +dam fellow keeps hopping up and down, and calling me His Grace. He's +either unwell, or his trousers are coming off.'" Lord Blervie had helped +himself to some more whisky and sighed. "I've had an awful time," he +continued after a while. "The governor sat in one room, and Patterdale +bounced in the other, and old Podmore ran backwards and forwards between, +with papers and things. And if we hadn't kept the little blighter back +by force he was going to make a speech to the old man when it was all +fixed up. . . ." + +At last Sir John left Vane to himself, and with a sigh of relief he sank +into the chair so recently vacated by the cavalryman. In his hand he +held a couple of magazines, but, almost unheeded, they slipped out of his +fingers on to the grass. He felt supremely and blissfully lazy. The +soft thud of tennis balls, and the players' voices calling the score, +came faintly through the still air, and Vane half closed his eyes. Then +a sudden rustle of a skirt beside him broke into his thoughts, and he +looked up into the face of the girl whom Lady Patterdale had greeted as +Joan. + +"Why it's my bored friend of the photograph!" She stood for a moment +looking at him critically, rather as a would-be purchaser looks at a +horse. "And have they all run away and left you to play by yourself?" +She pulled up another chair and sat down opposite him. + +"Yes. Even Sir John has deserted me." As he spoke he was wondering what +her age was. Somewhere about twenty-two he decided, and about ten more +in experience. + +"For which relief much thanks, I suppose?" + +"One shouldn't look a gift host in the stockings," returned Vane lightly. +"I think it's very charming of him and his wife to have us here." + +"Do you? It's hopelessly unfashionable not to do war work of some sort, +and this suits them down to the ground. . . . Why the Queen visited +Rumfold the other day and congratulated Lady Patterdale on her +magnificent arrangements." There was a mocking glint in her eyes, +otherwise her face was perfectly serious. + +"You don't say so." Vane gazed at her in amazement. "And did you dress +up as a nurse for the occasion?" + +"No, I watched from behind a gooseberry bush. You see, I'm a very busy +person, and my work can't be interrupted even for a Royal visit." + +"Would it be indiscreet," murmured Vane, "to inquire what your work is?" + +"Not a bit." The girl looked solemnly at him. "I amuse the poor wounded +officers." + +"And do you find that very hard?" asked Vane with becoming gravity. + +"Frightfully. You see, they either want to make love to me, or else to +confide that they love another. My chief difficulty as I wander from +bush to bush is to remember to which class the temporary occupant +belongs. I mean it's a dreadful thing to assure a man of your own +undying devotion, when the day before you were sympathising with him over +Jane not having written. It makes one appear of undecided intellect." + +"Why don't you institute a little system of labels?" asked Vane. "Blue +for those who passionately adore you--red for those who love someone +else. People of large heart might wear several." + +"I think that's quite wonderful." She leaned back in her chair and +regarded Vane with admiration. "And I see that you're only a +Captain. . . . How true it is that the best brains in the Army adorn the +lower positions. By the way--I must just make a note of your name." She +produced a small pocketbook from her bag and opened it. "My duties are +so arduous that I have been compelled to make lists and things." + +"Vane," he answered, "Christian--Derek." + +She entered both in her book, and then shut it with a snap. "Now I'm +ready to begin. Are you going to amuse me, or am I going to amuse you?" + +"You have succeeded in doing the latter most thoroughly," Vane assured +her. + +"No--have I really? I must be in good form to-day. One really never can +tell, you know. An opening that is a scream with some people falls as +flat as ditch-water with others." She looked at him pensively for a +moment or two, tapping her small white teeth with a gold pencil. + +Suddenly Vane leaned forward. "May I ask your age, Joan?" + +Her eyebrows went up slightly. "Joan!" she said. + +"I dislike addressing the unknown," remarked Vane, "and I heard Lady +Patterdale call you Joan. But if you prefer it--may I ask your age, Miss +Snooks?" + +She laughed merrily. "I think I prefer Joan, thank you; though I don't +generally allow that until the fourth or fifth performance. You see, if +one gets on too quickly it's so difficult to fill in the time at the end +if the convalescence is a long one." + +"I am honoured," remarked Vane. "But you haven't answered my question." + +"I really see no reason why I should. It doesn't come into the rules--at +least not my rules. . . . Besides I was always told that it was rude to +ask personal questions." + +"I am delighted to think that something you were taught at your mother's +knee has produced a lasting effect on your mind," returned Vane. +"However, at this stage we won't press it. . . . I should hate to +embarrass you." He looked at her in silence for a while, as if he was +trying to answer to his own satisfaction some unspoken question on his +mind. + +"I think," she said, "that I had better resume my official duties. What +do you think of Rumfold Hall?" + +"It would be hard in the time at my disposal, my dear young lady, to give +a satisfactory answer to that question." Vane lit a cigarette. "I will +merely point out to you that it contains a banqueting chamber in which +Bloody Mary is reported to have consumed a capon and ordered two more +Protestants to be burned--and that the said banqueting hall has been used +of recent years by the vulgar for such exercises as the fox trot and the +one step. Further, let me draw your attention to the old Elizabethan +dormer window from which it is reported that the celebrated Sir Walter +Raleigh hung his cloak to dry, after the lady had trodden on it. On the +staircase can be seen the identical spot where the dog basket belonging +to the aged pug dog of the eighteenth Countess of Forres was nightly +placed, to the intense discomfiture of those ill-behaved and rowdy guests +who turned the hours of sleep into a time for revolting debauches with +soda water syphons and flour. In fact it is commonly thought that the +end of the above-mentioned aged pug dog was hastened by the excitable +Lord Frederick de Vere Thomson hurling it, in mistake for a footstool, at +the head of his still more skittish spouse--the celebrated Tootie Rootles +of the Gaiety. This hallowed spot has been roped off, and is shown with +becoming pride by the present owner to any unfortunate he can inveigle +into listening to him. Finally I would draw your attention. . . ." + +"For Heaven's sake, stop," she interrupted weakly. "The answer is +adjudged incorrect owing to its length." + +"Don't I get the grand piano?" he demanded. + +"Not even the bag of nuts," she said firmly. "I want a cigarette. +They're not gaspers, are they?" + +"They are not," he said, holding out his case. "I am quite ready for the +second question." + +She looked at him thoughtfully through a cloud of smoke. "Somehow I +don't think I will proceed along the regular lines," she remarked at +length. "Your standard seems higher." + +"Higher than whose?" Vane asked. + +"Than most of the others." Her smile was a trifle enigmatic. "There is +a cavalryman here and one or two others--but . . . well! you know what I +mean." + +"I do know what you mean--exactly," he remarked quietly. "And, Joan, +it's all wrong." + +"It's all natural, anyway. Their ways are not our ways; their thoughts +are not our thoughts. . . . I can't help whether I'm being a poisonous +snob or not; it's what I feel. Take Sir John. Why, the man's an offence +to the eye. He's a complete outsider. What right has he got to be at +Rumfold?" + +"The right of having invented a patent plate. And if one looks at it +from an unbiassed point of view it seems almost as good a claim as that +of the descendant of a really successful brigand chief." + +"Are you a Socialist?" she demanded suddenly. + +"God knows what I am," he answered cynically. "I'm trying to find out. +You see something has happened over the water which alters one's point of +view. It hasn't happened over here. And just at the moment I feel +rather like a stranger in a strange land." He stared thoughtfully at a +thrush which was dealing with a large and fat worm. Then he +continued--"You were talking about outsiders. Lord! my dear girl, don't +think I don't know what you mean. I had a peerless one in my +company--one of the first and purest water--judged by our standards. He +was addicted to cleaning his nails, amongst other things, with a prong of +his fork at meals. . . . But one morning down in the Hulluch sector--it +was stand to. Dawn was just spreading over the sky--grey and sombre; and +lying at the bottom of the trench just where a boyau joined the front +line, was this officer. His face was whiter than the chalk around him, +but every now and then he grinned feebly. What was left of his body had +been covered with his coat: because you see a bit of a flying pig had +taken away most of his stomach." + +The girl bit her lip--but her eyes did not leave Vane's face. + +"He died, still lying in the wet chalky sludge, still grinning, and +thanking the stretcher bearers who had carried him." He paused for a +moment--his mind back in the Land over the Water. "There are thousands +like him," he went on thoughtfully, "and over there, you see, nothing +much matters. A man, whether he's a duke or a dustman, is judged on his +merits in the regimental family. Everyone is equally happy, or equally +unhappy--because everyone's goal is the same." + +"And over here," put in the girl, "everyone's goal is different. How +could it be otherwise? It's when you get a man trying to kick the ball +through the wrong goal--and succeeding--that the trouble comes." + +"Quite right," agreed Vane. "Personally I'm trying to find out what my +own goal is." + +"What was it before the war?" + +"Soda water syphons and flour; hunting, cricket and making love." + +"And you don't think that would still fill the bill?" + +"The Lord knows!" laughed Vane. "In the fulness of time probably I shall +too." + +"And how do you propose to find out?" persisted + the girl. + +Once again Vane laughed. "By the simple process of doing nothing," he +answered. "I shall--as far as my arduous military duties allow me--carry +on. . . . I believe everyone is carrying on. . . . It's the phase, +isn't it? And in the process, as far as it progresses before I have to +return to France--I may get some idea as to whether I am really a +pronounced Pacifist or a Last Ditcher." + +For a while she looked at him curiously without speaking. "You're +somewhat different from most of my patients," she announced at last. + +He bowed ironically. "I trust that in spite of that, I may find favour +in your sight. It's something, at any rate, not to be labelled G.S., as +we say in the Army." + +"Frankly and honestly, you despise me a little?" + +Vane considered her dispassionately. "Frankly and honestly, I do. And +yet . . . I don't know. Don't you see, lady, that I'm looking at your +life through my spectacles; you look at it through your own. For all I +know you may be right, and I may be wrong. In fact," he continued after +a short pause, "it's more than likely it is so. You at any rate have not +been qualifying for a lunatic asylum during the past four years." + +She rose from her chair, and together they strolled towards the lawn. +Tennis was still in full swing, and for a time they watched the game in +silence. + +"Do those men think as you think?" she asked him suddenly. "Are they all +asking the why and the wherefore--or is it enough for them to be just out +of it?" + +"It's enough for us all for the time," he answered gravely. "And then it +tugs and it pulls and we go back to it again. . . . It's made everyone a +bit more thoughtful; it's made everyone ask the why and the wherefore, +insistently or casually, according to the manner of the brute. But Hell +will come if we don't--as a whole--find the same answer. . . ." + +She idly twisted her parasol, and at that moment the cavalryman lounged +up. "Thought you'd deserted us, Miss Devereux." He glanced at Vane and +grinned. "I appeal to you," he cried, "as an infantry soldier to state +publicly whether you have ever seen a more masterly bit of scouting than +mine when the old man buttonholed you. Jove! you should have seen it. +Purple face caught him by the rhododendron bush, where he'd been +inflicting himself on me for a quarter of an hour; and in one minute by +the clock I'd got to ground in the parsley bed." + +They all laughed, and for a few minutes the two men chatted with her; +then Vane disappeared into the house to write letters. It was a slow and +laborious process, and, as a rule, he wrote as few as possible. But +there was one he had to get off his conscience, though he dreaded doing +so. A promise to a dead pal is sacred. . . . + +At length the scrawl was finished, and looking up from the writing table +he saw Joan Devereux passing through the hall. He got up and hurried +after her. "Would you mind addressing this for me?" He held out the +envelope. "I've managed to spoil the paper inside, but I don't want to +tax the postman too highly." + +With a smile she took the letter from him, and picked up a pen. "Well," +she said after a moment, "I'm waiting." + +She looked up into his face as he stood beside her at the table, and a +glint of mischief came into her eyes as they met his. He was staring at +her with a thoughtful expression, and, at any rate for the moment he +seemed to find it a pleasant occupation. + +"And what may the seeker after truth be thinking of now?" she remarked +flippantly. "Condemning me a second time just as I'm trying to be useful +as well as ornamental?" + +"I was thinking. . . ." he began slowly, and then he seemed to change his +mind. "I don't think it matters exactly what I was thinking," he +continued, "except that it concerned you. Indirectly, perhaps--possibly +even directly . . . you and another. . . ." + +"So you belong to the second of my two classes, do you?" said the girl. +"Somehow I thought you were in the first. . . ." + +"The class you embrace?" asked Vane drily. + +With a quick frown she turned once more to the table. "Supposing you +give me the address." + +"I beg your pardon," said Vane quietly. "The remark was vulgar, and +quite uncalled for. After four years in the Army, one should be able to +differentiate between official and unofficial conversation." + +"May I ask what on earth you mean?" said the girl coldly. + +"I take it that your preliminary remarks to me in the garden were in the +nature of official patter--used in your professional capacity. . . . +When off duty, so to speak, you're quite a normal individual. . . . +Possibly even proper to the point of dulness." He was staring idly out +of the window. "In the States, you know, they carry it even +further. . . . I believe there one can hire a professional female +co-respondent--a woman of unassailable virtue and repulsive aspect--who +will keep the man company in compromising circumstances long enough for +the wife to establish her case." + +The girl sprang up and confronted him with her eyes blazing, but Vane +continued dreamily. "There was one I heard of who was the wife of the +Dissenting Minister, and did it to bolster up her husband's +charities. . . ." + +"I think," she said in a low, furious voice, "that you are the most +loathsome man I ever met." + +Vane looked at her in surprise. "But I thought we were getting on so +nicely. I was just going to ask you to have lunch with me one day in +town--in your official capacity, of course. . . ." + +"If you were the last man in the world, and I was starving, I wouldn't +lunch with you in any capacity." Her breast was rising and falling +stormily. + +"At any rate, it's something to know where we stand," said Vane +pleasantly. + +"If I'd realised that you were merely a cad--and an outsider of the worst +type--do you suppose that I would have talked--would have allowed. . . ." +The words died away in her throat, and her shoulders shook. She turned +away, biting furiously at her handkerchief with her teeth. "Go away--oh! +go away; I hate you." + +But Vane did not go away; he merely stood there looking at her with a +faint, half-quizzical smile on his lips. + +"Joan," he said, after a moment, "I'm thinking I have played the deuce +with your general routine. All the earlier performances will be in the +nature of an anti-climax after this. But--perhaps, later on, when my +abominable remarks are not quite so fresh in your mind, you won't regard +them as quite such an insult as you do now. Dreadful outsider though I +am--unpardonably caddish though it is to have criticised your war +work--especially when I have appreciated it so much--will you try to +remember that it would have been far easier and pleasanter to have done +the other thing?" + +Slowly her eyes came round to his face, and he saw that they were +dangerously bright. "What other thing?" she demanded. + +"Carried on with the game; the game that both you and I know so well. +Hunting, cricket and making love. . . . Is it not written in 'Who's +Who'--unless that interesting publication is temporarily out of print?" + +"It strikes me," the girl remarked ominously, "that to your caddishness +you add a very sublime conceit." + +Vane grinned. "Mother always told me I suffered from swelled +head. . . ." He pointed to the envelope still unaddressed, lying between +them on the writing table. "After which slight digression--do you mind?" + +She picked up the pen, and sat down once again. "I notice your tone +changes when you want me to help you." + +Vane made no answer. "The address is Mrs. Vernon, 14, Culman Terrace, +Balham," he remarked quietly. + +"I trust she is doing war work that pleases you," sneered the girl. She +handed him the envelope, and then, as she saw the blaze in his eyes, she +caught her breath in a little quick gasp. + +"As far as I know," he answered grimly, "Mrs. Vernon is endeavouring to +support herself and three children on the large sum of one hundred and +fifty pounds a year. Her husband died in my arms while we were +consolidating some ground we had won." He took the envelope from her +hand. "Thank you; I am sorry to have had to trouble you." + +He walked towards the door, and when he got to it, he paused and looked +back. Joan Devereux was standing motionless, staring out of the window. +Vane dropped his letter into the box in the hall, and went up the stairs +to his room. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +There was no objection to Vane going to London, it transpired. He had +merely to write his name in a book, and he was then issued a half-fare +voucher. No one even asked him his religion, which seemed to point to +slackness somewhere. + +It was with feelings the reverse of pleasant that Vane got into the +first-class carriage one morning four days after he had written to Mrs. +Vernon. She would be glad to see him, she had written in reply, and +she was grateful to him for taking the trouble to come. Thursday +afternoon would be most convenient; she was out the other days, and on +Sundays she had to look after the children. . . . + +Vane opened the magazine on his knees and stared idly at the pictures. +In the far corner of the carriage two expansive looking gentlemen were +engaged in an animated conversation, interrupted momentarily by his +entrance. In fact they had seemed to regard his intrusion rather in +the light of a personal affront. Their general appearance was not +prepossessing, and Vane having paused in the doorway, and stared them +both in turn out of countenance, had been amply rewarded by hearing +himself described as an impertinent young puppy. + +He felt in his blackest and most pugilistic mood that morning. As a +general rule he was the most peaceful of men; but at times, some strain +inherited from a remote ancestor who, if he disliked a man's face hit +it hard with a club, resurrected itself in him. There had been the +celebrated occasion in the Promenade at the Empire, a few months before +the war, when a man standing in front of him had failed to remove his +hat during the playing of "The King." It was an opera hat, and Vane +removed it for him and shut it up. The owner turned round just in time +to see it hit the curtain, whence it fell with a thud into the +orchestra. . . . Quite inexcusable, but the fight that followed was +all that man could wish for. The two of them, with a large +chucker-out, had finally landed in a heap in Leicester Square--with the +hatless gentleman underneath. And Vane--being fleet of foot, had +finally had the supreme joy of watching from afar his disloyal opponent +being escorted to Vine Street, in a winded condition, by a very big +policeman. . . . + +Sometimes he wondered if other people ever felt like that; if they were +ever overcome with an irresistible desire to be offensive. It struck +him that the war had not cured this failing; if anything it had made it +stronger. And the sight of these two fat, oily specimens complacently +discussing business, while a woman--in some poky house in Balham--was +waiting to hear the last message from her dead, made him gnash his +teeth. + +Of course it was all quite wrong. No well-brought-up and decorous +Englishman had any right to feel so annoyed with another man's face +that he longed to hit it with a stick. But Vane was beginning to doubt +whether he had been well brought up; he was quite certain that he was +not decorous. He was merely far more natural than he had ever been +before; he had ceased to worry over the small things. + +And surely the two other occupants of the carriage were very small. At +least they seemed so to him. For all he knew, or cared, they might +each of them be in control of a Government Department; that failed to +alter their littleness. + +Fragments of their conversation came to him over the rattle of the +wheels, and he became more and more irate. The high price of whisky +was one source of complaint--it appeared, according to one of them, +that it was all going to France, which caused a shortage for those at +home. Then the military situation. . . . Impossible, grotesque. . . . +Somebody ought to be hanged for having allowed such a thing to happen. +After four years to be forced back--inexcusable. What was wanted was +somebody with a business brain to run the Army. . . . In the meantime +their money was being wasted, squandered, frittered away. . . . + +Vane grew rampant in his corner as he listened; his mental language +became impossibly lurid. He felt that he would willingly have given a +thousand or two to plant them both into that bit of the outpost line, +where a month before he had crawled round on his belly at dawn to see +his company. Grey-faced and grey-coated with the mud, their eyes had +been clear and steady and cheerful, even if their chins were covered +with two days' growth. And their pay was round about a shilling a +day. . . . + +It was just as the train was slowing down to enter Victoria that he +felt he could contain himself no longer. The larger and fatter of the +two, having concluded an exhaustive harangue on the unprecedented +wealth at present being enjoyed by some of the soldiers' wives in the +neighbourhood--and unmarried ones, too, mark you!--stood up to get his +despatch case. + +"It seems a pity, gentlemen, you bother to remain in the country," +remarked Vane casually. "You must be suffering dreadfully." + +Two gentlemen inferred icily that they would like to know what he meant. + +"Why not return to your own?" he continued, still more casually. +"Doubtless the Egyptian Expeditionary Force will soon have it swept and +garnished for you." + +The train stopped; and Vane got out. He was accompanied to the barrier +by his two late travelling companions, and from their remarks he +gathered that they considered he had insulted them; but it was only +when he arrived at the gate that he stopped and spoke. He spoke at +some length, and the traffic was unavoidably hung up during the +peroration. + +"I have listened," said Vane in a clear voice, "to your duologue on the +way up, and if I thought there were many like you in the country I'd +take to drink. As it is, I am hopeful, as I told you, that Jerusalem +will soon be vacant. Good morning. . . ." + +And the fact that two soldiers on leave from France standing close by +burst into laughter did not clear the air. . . . + +"Jimmy," said Vane half an hour later, throwing himself into a chair in +his club next to an old pal in the smoking-room, "I've just been a +thorough paced bounder; a glorious and wonderful cad. And, Jimmy! I +feel so much the better for it." + +Jimmy regarded him sleepily from the depths of his chair. Then his +eyes wandered to the clock, and he sat up with an effort. "Splendid, +dear old top," he remarked. "And since it is now one minute past +twelve, let's have a spot to celebrate your lapse from virtue." + +With the conclusion of lunch, the approaching ordeal at Balham began to +loom large on his horizon. In a vain effort to put off the evil hour, +he decided that he would first go round to his rooms in Half Moon +Street. He had kept them on during the war, only opening them up +during his periods of leave. The keys were in the safe possession of +Mrs. Green, who, with her husband, looked after him and the other +occupants of the house generally. As always, the worthy old lady was +delighted to see him. . . . + +"Just cleaned them out two days ago, Mr. Vane, sir," she remarked. +New-fangled Army ranks meant nothing to her: Mr. Vane he had +started--Mr. Vane he would remain to the end of the chapter. + +"And, Binks, Mrs. Green?" But there was no need for her to answer that +question. There was a sudden scurry of feet, and a wire-haired +fox-terrier was jumping all over him in ecstasy. + +"My son, my son," said Vane, picking the dog up. "Are you glad to see +your master again? One lick, you little rascal, as it's a special +occasion. And incidentally, mind my arm, young fellow-me-lad." + +He put Binks down, and turned with a smile to Mrs. Green. "Has he been +good, Mrs. Green?" + +"Good as good, sir," she answered. "I'm sure he's a dear little dog. +Just for the first week after you went--the same as the other +times--he'd hardly touch a thing. Just lay outside your door and +whined and whined his poor little heart out. . . ." + +The motherly old woman stooped to pat the dog's head, and Binks licked +her fingers once to show that he was grateful for what she'd done. +But--and this was a big but--she was only a stop-gap. Now--and with +another scurry of feet, he was once again jumping round the only one +who really mattered. A series of short staccato yelps of joy too great +to be controlled; a stumpy tail wagging so fast that the eye could +scarcely follow it; a dog. . . . + +"I believe, Mrs. Green," said Vane quietly, "that quite a number of +people in England have lately been considering whether it wouldn't be a +good thing to kill off the dogs. . . ." + +"Kill off the dogs, sir!" Mrs. Green's tone was full of shrill +amazement. "Kill Binks? I'd like to see anyone try." . . . Vane had +a momentary vision of his stalwart old landlady armed with a poker and +a carving knife, but he did not smile. + +"So would I, Mrs. Green. . . . So would I. . . ." And with a short +laugh he took the key from her and went upstairs. + +The room into which he went first was such as one would have expected +to find in the abode of a young bachelor. Into the frame of the mirror +over the fireplace a score of ancient invitations were stuck. Some +heavy silver photo frames stood on the mantel-piece, while in the +corner a bag of golf clubs and two or three pairs of boxing gloves gave +an indication of their owner's tastes. The room was spotlessly clean, +and with the sun shining cheerfully in at the window it seemed +impossible to believe that it had been empty for six months. A few +good prints--chiefly sporting--adorned the walls; and the books in the +heavy oak revolving bookcase which stood beside one of the big leather +chairs were of the type generally described as light. . . . + +For a time Vane stood by the mantelpiece thoughtfully staring out of +the window; while Binks, delirious with joy, explored each +well-remembered corner, and blew heavily down the old accustomed cracks +in the floor. Suddenly with a wild scurry, he fled after his principal +joy--the one that never tired. He had seen Vane throw it into the +corner, and now he trotted sedately towards this wonderful master of +his, who had so miraculously returned, with his enemy in his mouth. He +lay down at Vane's feet; evidently the game was about to begin. + +The enemy was an indiarubber dog which emitted a mournful whistling +noise through a hole in its tummy. It was really intended for the use +of the very young in their baths--to enable them to squirt a jet of +water into the nurse's eye; but it worried Binks badly. The harder he +bit, the harder it whistled. It seemed impossible to kill the damn +thing. . . . + +For a while he bit the whistling atrocity to his heart's content; then +with it still between his fore paws he looked up into Vane's face. +Surely his master had not forgotten the rules of the game. Really--it +was a little steep if it was so. But Vane, as far as Binks could see, +was looking at one of the photographs on the mantelpiece with a slight +smile on his face. One or two mournful whistles produced no apparent +result. So Binks decided it was time for desperate measures. He stood +up; and, with his head on one side, he contemplated his hated +adversary, prone on the carpet. Then he gave a short sharp bark--just +as a reminder. . . . + +It was quite sufficient, and Vane apologised handsomely. "Beg your +pardon, old man," he remarked. "For the moment I was thinking of +trivialities." He moved his foot backwards and forwards close to the +indiarubber dog, and Binks, with his ears pricked up, and his head +turning slightly as he followed the movement of his master's foot, +waited. Shortly, he knew that this hereditary enemy of his would fly +to one side of the room or the other. The great question was--which? +It would hit the wall, and rebound on to the floor, where it would be +seized, and borne back with blood curdling growls for the process to be +repeated . . . The game, it may be said, was not governed by any +foolish time limit. . . . + +Suddenly the swinging leg feinted towards the left, and Binks dashed in +that direction. Curse it--he was stung again. His adversary flew to +the right, and was comfortably settled on the floor before Binks +appeared on the scene. However, his tail was still up, as he brought +it back, and he gave it an extra furious bite, just to show that he +would tolerate no uppishness on account of this preliminary +defeat. . . . Vane laughed. "You funny old man," he said. He stopped +and picked up the toy, replacing it on the mantelpiece. "That ends the +game for to-day, Binks, for I've got to go out. Would you like to +come, too?" The brown eyes looked adoringly up into his. Binks failed +to see why the first game after such a long time should be so short; +but--his not to reason why on such matters. Besides his master was +talking and Binks liked to have his opinion asked. + +Once again Vane's eyes went back to the photograph he had been +studying. It was one of Margaret--taken years ago. . . . And as he +looked at it, a pair of grey eyes, with the glint of a mocking smile in +them, seemed to make the photo a little hazy. + +"Come on, old man. We're going to Balham. And I need you to support +me." + + +Culman Terrace was not a prepossessing spectacle. A long straight road +ran between two rows of small and dreary houses. Each house was +exactly the same, with its tiny little plot of garden between the front +door and the gate. In some of the plots there were indications that +the owner was fond of gardening; here a few sweet peas curled lovingly +up the sticks put in for them--there some tulips showed signs of +nightly attention. But in most the plot was plain and drab as the +house--a dead thing; a thing without a soul. Individuality, +laughter--aye, life itself--seemed crushed in that endless road, with +its interminable rows of houses. + +As Vane walked slowly up it looking for No. 14, the sun was shining. +For the moment it seemed clothed in some semblance of life; almost as +if it was stirring from a long sleep, and muttering to itself that love +and the glories of love were abroad to-day. . . . And then the sun +went behind a cloud, and everything was grey and dead once more. + +Vane pictured it to himself on damp dark mornings in the winter--on +evenings when the days were shortening, and the gas lamps shone through +the gloom. He saw the doors opening, and each one disgorging some +black coated, pallid man, who passed through the gate, and then with +quick nervous steps walked towards the station. The 8.30 was their +train; though in some very rare cases the 9.3 was early enough. . . . +But as a rule the 9.3 crowd did not live in Culman Terrace. Just a few +only, who had come there young and eager, and had died there. True, +they caught the 9.3, but they were dead. And the pretty laughing girls +who had married them when the lamp was burning with the divine fire of +hope, had watched them die . . . hopelessly, helplessly. . . . Love +will stand most things; but the drab monotony of the successful +failure--the two hundred pound a year man who has to keep up +appearances--tries it very high. . . . + +Some of them turned into shrews and nagged; some of them ran to fat and +didn't care; but most of them just sank quietly and imperceptibly into +the dreariness and smallness of their surroundings. At rare intervals +there flashed across their horizon something of the great teeming world +outside; they went to a bargain sale, perhaps, and saw the King drive +past--or they went to the movies and for a space lived in the Land of +Make Believe. . . . But the coils of Culman Terrace had them fast, and +the excitement was only momentary--the relapse the more complete. And, +dear Heavens, with what high ideals they had all started. . . . It +struck Vane as he walked slowly along the road that here, on each side +of him, lay the Big Tragedy--bigger far than in the vilest slum. For +in the slum they had never known or thought of anything better. . . . + +Odd curtains were pulled aside as he walked, and he felt conscious of +people staring at him. He pictured them getting up from their chairs, +and peering at him curiously, wondering where he was going--what he was +doing--who he was. . . . It was the afternoon's excitement--a wounded +officer passing the house. + +A familiar singing noise behind him made him look round and whistle. +Long experience left no doubt as to what was happening, and when he saw +Binks on his toes, circling round a gate on which a cat was spitting +angrily, he called "Binks" sharply once, and walked on again. It was +the greatest strain Binks was ever called on to face, but after a +moment of indecision he obeyed as usual. Cats were his passion; but +ever since he had carried the Colonel's wife's prize Persian on to +parade and deposited it at Vane's feet he was discreet in the matter. +The infuriated pursuit by the lady in question on to the parade ground, +armed with an umbrella in one hand and a poker in the other, had not +tended towards steadiness in the ranks. In fact, something like alarm +and despondency had been caused amongst all concerned--especially +Binks. . . . + +"Lord! old man," muttered his master, "here we are." Vane turned in at +the gate of No. 14 and rang the bell. There was an unpleasant sinking +feeling in the pit of his stomach and he nervously dried his left hand +on his handkerchief. + +"Pray Heaven she doesn't cry," he said to himself fervently, and at +that moment the door opened. A pale, grave-eyed woman in black +confronted him, and after a moment or two she smiled very slightly and +held out her hand. Vane took it awkwardly. + +"It is good of you to take the trouble to come, Captain Vane," she said +in a singularly sweet voice. "Won't you come inside?" + +He followed her into the small drawing-room and sat down. It was +scrupulously clean, and it was more than that--it was homely. . . . It +was the room of a woman who loved beautiful things, and who had with +perfect taste banished every single object which might jar on the +fastidious mind. It struck Vane that it was probably a unique room in +Culman Terrace; he felt certain that the rest of the house was in +keeping. . . . + +"What a charming room," he said involuntarily, and it was only when she +looked at him with a little lift of her eyebrows that he realised she +might regard the remark as impertinent. Why shouldn't the room be +charming? . . . + +But Mrs. Vernon quickly removed his embarrassment. "It's always been a +passion of mine--my house," she said quietly. "And now--more than +ever. . . . It's a duty, even, though a pleasant one---- After all, +whatever may go on outside, whatever wretchedness worries one--it's +something to have a real sanctuary to come to. I want the children to +feel that--so much. I want them to love the beautiful things in life," +she went on passionately, "even though they live in these +surroundings." She stared out of the window for a moment, and then she +turned with a sudden quick movement to Vane. "But, forgive me. I +don't know why I should inflict my ideas on you. Will you tell me +about Philip?" + +It was the moment he had been dreading, and yet, now that it had come, +he found it easier than he had expected. There was something about +this quiet, steadfast woman which told him that she would not make a +scene. And so, gently and quietly, with his eyes fixed on the empty +fireplace, he told her the story. There are thousands of similar +stories which could be told in the world to-day, but the pathos of each +one is not diminished by that. It was the story of the ordinary man +who died that others might live. He did not die in the limelight; he +just died and was buried and his name, in due course appeared in the +casualty list. . . . + +Not that Vane put it that way. He painted his picture with the touch +of glamour; he spoke of a charge, of Vernon cheering his men on, of +success. Into the peaceful drawing-room he introduced the atmosphere +of glory--unwittingly, perhaps, he fell back on the popular conception +of war. And the woman, who hung on every word, silent and tearless, +thrilled with the pride of it. Her man, running at the head of +others--charging--dying at the moment of victory. . . . It would be +something to tell her two boys, when their turn came to face the battle +of life; something which would nerve them to the success which her man +would have won except for. . . . + +Vane's voice died away. He had finished his story, he had painted his +picture. No suspicion had he given that a stray bit of shell had torn +Vernon to bits long after the tumult and the shouting had ceased. +After all, he was dead . . . it was the living who counted. No man +could have done more. Surely he deserved the white lie which pictured +his death more vividly--more grandly. . . . + +"He died in my arms," went on Vane after a little pause, "and his last +words were about you." He told her the few simple sentences, repeated +to her the words which a man will say when the race is run and the tape +is reached. God knows they are commonplace enough--those short +disjointed phrases; but God knows also that it is the little things +which count, when the heart is breaking. . . . + +And, then, having told her once, perforce he had to tell her +again--just the end bit. . . . With the tears pouring down her cheeks +she listened; and though each word stabbed her to the heart +afresh--woman-like, she gloried in her pain. + +"'God bless you, Nell,' and then he died," she said softly to herself, +repeating Vane's last sentence. "Ah! but you made good, my man. I +always knew you would some day. . . ." + +It seemed to the man staring into the fireplace that he was very near +to holy ground; and suddenly he rose and strode to the window. With +eyes that were a trifle dim he saw the beautifully kept little +garden--a mass of colour; he saw the name plate, "Sea View," on the +gate, glinting bravely in the sun. Something of the hopeless tragedy +of that "Some day" was getting him by the throat. . . . "Made +good"--dear Lord! and he thought of his two travelling companions in +the morning. . . . + +For perhaps five minutes he stood there silently, and then he turned +back into the room. It had come to him quite clearly that Philip +Vernon had indeed made good; that the real tragedy would have been his +return to "Sea View." By his death he had justified himself; in his +life he would have failed. . . . For he had been branded with the +brand of Culman Terrace, and there is no need to say more. He was +relieved to see that Mrs. Vernon was quite composed again. He had +performed the first part of his mission, and now the second required +tackling. And something warned him that he would have to tread very +delicately; any suspicion of the word charity would be fatal to +success. . . . + +"About your eldest boy, Mrs. Vernon," he began; "your husband often +spoke about him to me. Let me see--what age is he?" + +"Jack is fifteen, Captain Vane," she said quietly. + +"Fifteen! Couldn't be better. Now I was wondering, Mrs. Vernon, +whether you would care in a year or two, to let him come to me. I'm in +a very big business in the City, and my boss is always on the look out +for bright boys. I know your boy is clever--but so much depends on +getting a good start these days. Of course he'd be judged entirely on +his merits . . . but he'd start with a real good chance of making the +best of his talents." He looked quickly at her, and found she was +watching him gravely. "It's part of the privilege of the brotherhood +of the trenches, Mrs. Vernon, to be allowed to make such an +offer. . . ." He was finding it easier now. "To do anything for your +husband's son would be a real pleasure; though, I need hardly say that, +beyond giving him the chance, I could offer nothing else. It would be +up to him to make good." + +For a while Mrs. Vernon was silent, and he flashed a quick look at her. +Had he put it well? Had he kept every suspicion of patronage out of +his offer? + +"Thank you very much, Captain Vane," she said at last, "for your offer. +I hope you won't think me ungrateful when I refuse. Four years ago I +think I should have accepted it with gratitude; but now . . ." She +shook her head "A lot of the shams have gone; we see clearer--some of +us. . . . And I tell you that I would not willingly condemn Jack to +such a life as his father led--even if I was penniless. Wait--let me +finish"--as Vane started to speak--"Of course with you he would have +better chances than his father had before him--but the city life would +kill him--even as it has killed thousands of others. . . . I wonder if +you can realise the hideous tragedy of the poor clerk. He can't strike +for higher wages, like the British working man. He just goes on and on +and suffers in silence. . . . In Jack's case it would be the +same. . . . What--four hundred a year?" She laughed a little +scornfully. "It's not much to bring up a family on, Captain +Vane. . . . Four hundred a year, and Acacia Avenue--two streets +up. . . . Acacia Avenue doesn't call on Culman Terrace, you +know. . . ." Again she laughed. "No, Jack isn't made for that sort of +life, thank God. He aches for the big spaces in his boyish way, for +the lands where there are big things to be done. . . . And I've +encouraged him. There'll be nobody there to sneer if his clothes get +frayed and he can't buy any more--because of the children's boots. +There'll be no appearances to keep up there. And I'd a thousand times +rather that Jack should stand--or fall--in such surroundings, than that +he should sink slowly . . . here." + +She paused for a moment, and then stood up and faced him. "It's +emigration, Captain Vane, that I and people like me have got to turn to +for our boys. For ourselves--it doesn't much matter; we've had our +day, and I don't want you to think the sun never shined on us, for it +did. . . . Just wonderfully at times. . . ." She gave a quick sigh. +"Only now . . . things are different. . . . And up till now, Culman +Terrace hasn't considered emigration quite the thing. It's not quite +respectable. . . . Only aristocratic ne'er-do-wells and quite +impossibly common men emigrate. It's a confession of failure. . . . +And so we've continued to swell the ranks of the most pitiful class in +the country--the gentleman and his family with the small fixed income. +The working man regards him with suspicion because he wears a black +coat--or, with contempt because he doesn't strike; the Government +completely ignores him because they know he's too much a slave to +convention to do anything but vote along so-called gentlemanly lines. +What do you suppose would be the result if the enormous body of middle +class slaves in this country did, one day, combine and refuse to be +bled by every other class? We're bled by the people on top for their +own advantage; and then we're bled again for the advantage of the dear +workman. . . ." She laughed a little. "Forgive me talking so much; +but not for Jack, thank you." + +Vane bowed. "Mrs. Vernon, I think you're perfectly right--and I wish +you and him the very best of luck." He shook hands gravely and a few +moments later he was walking back towards the station with Binks +trotting sedately at his heels. In all probability he would never see +Mrs. Vernon again; war and its aftermath had brought their paths +together for a space, and now they were diverging again. But that +short space had been enough to make him feel ashamed and proud. +Ashamed of himself for his cynicism and irritability; proud of the +woman who, with her faith clear and steadfast, could face the future +without faltering. Her man's job had been laid upon her; she would +never fail him till the time came for her to join him. . . . And by +then she would have earned her reward--rest. . . . She will deserve +every moment of it. . . . Surely the Lord of True Values will not +grudge it to her. . . . + +And though he had said nothing to her of his thoughts--men when deeply +moved are so hopelessly inarticulate--somehow he wished going up in the +train that he had. Falteringly, crudely, he might have said something, +which would have helped her. If only a man had the power of expressing +sympathy without words. He needn't have worried, had he known . . . +and Binks, who was looking out of the window with interest, could not +tell him. Anyway, it was not anything to make a song or dance +about--putting a cold wet nose into a hand that hung down from a chair, +and letting it rest there--just for a while. . . . But it was not the +first time, and it will not be the last, that the Peace that passeth +all understanding has been brought to the human heart by the touch of a +dog. . . . Binks had justified his inclusion in the trip. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +The days that followed passed pleasantly enough. Gradually the +jaundice was disappearing, and Vane was becoming normal again. The war +seemed very far away from Rumfold; though occasionally a newcomer +brought some bit of intimate gossip about Crucifix Alley or Hell Fire +Corner, or one of the little places not shown on any map, which mean so +much more to the actual fighting man than all the big towns rolled +together. Pipes would come out and men would draw together in the +smoking-room--while in imagination the green flares would go hissing up +again, silhouetted against the velvet of the night. But for the most +part the war had ceased to count; tennis and golf, with a visit now and +then to London, filled the days. + +Vane's arm prevented him playing any game, but the country around was +admirably suited for walking, and most afternoons he found himself +strolling out past the lodge gates for a ramble. Sometimes one of the +other officers accompanied him; but more often he went alone. And on +those long lonely walks he found himself obeying Margaret's +injunctions, given to him at Paris Plage--"Go and find out. . . ." + +In common with many others who were beginning, almost unconsciously, to +think for the first time, he found considerable difficulty in knowing +where to start the quest. Vane was no fool, but in days gone by he had +accepted a certain order of things as being the only possible +order--just as England had been the only possible country. But now it +seemed to him that if England was to remain the only possible country +an alteration would have to be made in the order. Before, any danger +to her supremacy had come from without--now the trouble lay within. + +Each day, alongside the war news, he read of strikes and rumours of +strikes, and when he came to ask himself the reason why, he was +appalled at his own ignorance. Something was wrong somewhere; +something which would have to be put right. And the trouble was that +it did not seem a matter of great ease to put it right. He felt that +the glib phrases about Capital and Labour pulling together, about +better relations between employers and men, about standing shoulder to +shoulder, failed to hit the point. They were rather like offering a +hungry lion a halfpenny bun. They could always be relied on to raise a +cheer from a political platform provided the right audience was +present; but it seemed doubtful whether even such a far-reaching result +as that was quite enough. + +At times his natural indolence made him laugh inwardly. "What on earth +is the use?" he would mutter, throwing pebbles into the pond below him. +"What has to be--has to be." It was a favourite haunt of his--that +pond; in the heart of a wood, with a little waterfall trickling over +some rounded stones and falling musically into the pond a few feet +below. The afternoon sun used to shine through the branches of some +great beech trees, and the dense undergrowth around screened him from +the observation of any chance passer by walking along the path +behind. . . . "You can't do anything," the mocking voice would +continue. "So why worry?" + +But the mental jaundice was passing--and the natural belief of man in +himself was coming back. Ho felt the gas expert had been right, even +though he had died. And so Vane became a reader of books of a type +which had not formerly been part of his daily programme. He was +groping towards knowledge, and he deliberately sought every help for +the way. He tried some of H. G. Wells's to start with. . . . +Previously he had read the "First Men in the Moon," because he'd been +told it was exciting; and "Ann Veronica," because he had heard it was +immoral. Now he tried some of the others. + +He was engaged thus when Joan Devereux found him one afternoon in his +favourite haunt. She had stumbled on his hiding place by mistake, and +her first instinct was to retire as quickly as she had come. Since +their first meeting, their conversation, on the rare occasions they had +met at Rumfold Hall, had been confined to the most commonplace remarks, +and those always in the presence of someone else. Any possibility of a +_tete-a-tete_ she had avoided; and the necessary mental effort had +naturally caused her to think all the more about him. Now, just as she +halted in her tracks and prepared to back out through the undergrowth, +Vane looked up at her with his slow lazy smile. + +"Discovered!" he remarked scrambling to his feet, and saluting her. +"Joan, you have come in the nick of time." + +"I would prefer you not to call me Joan," she answered coldly. "And +after your abominable rudeness last time we were alone together, I +don't want to talk to you at all." + +"I suppose I was rather rude," answered Vane reflectively. "Though, if +it's any comfort to you to know, I was much ruder to two men going up +in the train a few days later. . . ." + +"It isn't of the slightest interest to me," she returned, "whom you're +rude to, or how you spend your spare time. The habits of an +ill-mannered boor are not of great importance, are they?" She turned +her back on him, and parted the undergrowth with her hands, preparatory +to leaving. + +"Don't go." His voice close behind her made her pause. "I need +you--officially." + +She looked round at him, and despite herself the corners of her lips +began to twitch. "You really are the most impossible person," she +remarked. "What do you need me for?" + +He stepped back to his usual seat, and pointed to a small mossy bank +beside him. "Come and sit down there, and let's think. . . ." + +After a moment's hesitation she did as he said. + +"It's rather a knotty problem, isn't it?" he continued after a moment. +"I might want you to flirt with me in order to avert my suicide in the +pond through boredom. . . ." + +"You may want," she retorted. + +"But it's in the official programme?" + +"You're not on the official list," she flashed back. + +"Worse and worse," he murmured. "I begin to despair. However, I won't +try you as highly as that. I will just ask you a plain, honest +question. And I rely on you to answer me truthfully. . . . Do you +think I should be a more attractive being; do you think I should be +more capable of grappling with those great problems which--ah--surround +us on all sides, if I could dissect rats--or even mice?" he added +thoughtfully after a pause. + +The girl looked at him in amazement. "Are you trying to be funny?" she +asked at length. + +"Heaven forbid!" he said fervently. "I was never more serious in my +life. But, in that book,"--he pointed to one lying between +them--"everybody, who is anybody dissects rodents." + +She picked up the book and gazed at the title. "But this is the book +everybody's talking about," she said. + +"I am nothing if not fashionable," returned Vane. + +"And do they dissect rats in it?" + +"Don't misunderstand me, and take too gloomy a view of the situation," +said Vane reassuringly. "They do other things besides. . . . +Brilliant things, all most brilliantly written about; clever things, +all most cleverly told. But whenever there's a sort of gap to be +filled up, a _mauvais quart d'heure_ after luncheon, the hero runs off +and deals with a mouse. And even if he doesn't, you know he +could. . . . And the heroine! It's a fundamental part of all their +educations, their extraordinary brilliance seems to rest on it as a +foundation." + +She looked at him curiously. "I'm not particularly dense," she said +after a while, "but I must admit you rather defeat me." + +"Joan," answered Vane seriously, and she made no protest this time at +the use of her name, "I rather defeat myself. In the old days I never +thought at all--but if I ever did I thought straight. Now my mind is +running round in circles. I chase after it; think I'm off at last--and +then find myself back where I started. That's why I've put up the +S.O.S., and am trying to get help." He laid his hand on the book +beside him. + +"Are you reading all the highbrows?" she asked. + +"Most of 'em," he answered. "In the first place they're all so +amazingly well written that it's a pleasure to read them for that +alone; and, secondly--I'm hoping . . . still hoping. . . ." He took +out his cigarette case and offered it to her. "I feel that it's I who +am wrong--not they--that it's my lack of education that huffs me. I +expect it's those damned rats. . . ." + +Joan laughed, and lit a cigarette. "They're all so frightfully clever, +Joan," went on Vane blowing out a cloud of smoke. "They seem to me to +be discussing the world of men and women around them from the pure cold +light of reason. . . . Brain rules them, and they make brain rule +their creations. Instead of stomach--stomach really rules the world, +you know." For a while they sat in silence, watching a dragon-fly +darting like a streak of light over the pond below them. + +"I wouldn't bother if I were you," said the girl after a while. "After +all, if one is happy oneself, and tries to make other people happy too, +it's bound to help things along a bit, isn't it? It strikes me that +whatever people write, or say, everything will go on much the same. +Besides--it's so impertinent. You don't want to be reconstructed; nor +does anybody else. So why worry?" + +"But, my dear girl," said Vane feebly, "don't you think one +ought. . . ." + +"No, I don't," she interrupted. "You listen to me for a bit, my +friend; and you can take it or leave it, just as you like. It strikes +me you're a great deal too occupied about other people, and you don't +pay sufficient attention to yourself. You've got to live your own +life--not the man's next door. And you'll do most good by living that +life, as you want to live it. If you really want to reform other +people--well go and do it, and get a thick ear. . . . It's part of +your job. But if you don't want to, there's no earthly use trying to +pretend you do; you're merely a hypocrite. There's no good telling me +that everybody can be lumped into classes and catered for like so many +machines. We're all sorts and conditions, and I suppose you'd say I +was one of the supremely selfish sort. In fact, you have said so," she +said defiantly. + +"All right--we'll leave it at that," she went on before he could speak. +"But I'm happy--and I'm sincere. I do the most awful things at +times--because I like doing them. I should loathe to be a nurse, and +the W.A.A.C. uniform makes me look a fright. I may not realise the +horrors over the water; I don't want to. And do you suppose half these +women who talk about them so glibly do either? . . . . Of course they +don't; they're just posing. They pretend it's awful and horrible to +dance and play the fool; and all the while their teeth are chattering +with envy and malice. . . ." + +"We seem," remarked Vane, taking advantage of a temporary lull in the +flood, "to have arrived at rather a personal discussion." + +"Of course we have," she took him up. "Isn't it I--I--I everywhere? +Only a lot of people aren't sufficiently truthful to admit it. It's +Number One first all the way through, right from the people up at the +top down to the poor brutes in the slums. All the wonderful schemes of +reform are for the glory of the schemer first, with the happy +recipients amongst the also rans." She paused a moment, and a sudden +tender look came into her eyes. "Of course there are exceptions. +There's a boy I know--he's a cousin of mine--with weak lungs. Rejected +for the Army three times as totally unfit. For the last four years +he's been living in a slum off Whitechapel and the people there love +him. . . . He just walks in and planks down a pork chop in the back +room; or a bottle of Basa, or something and has a talk to the +woman . . . he's dying . . . but he's dying happy. . . . I couldn't do +that; no more could you. . . . We should loathe it, and so we should +be fools to attempt it. . . ." + +"I wonder," said Vane slowly. . . . "I wonder." + +"No, you don't," she cried. "You don't wonder. . . . You know I'm +right. . . . If you loved such a life you'd just do it. . . . And +you'd succeed. The people who fail are the people who do things from a +sense of duty." + +"What a very dangerous doctrine," smiled Vane. + +"Perhaps it is," she answered. "Perhaps in my own way I'm groping too; +perhaps," and she laughed a little apologetically, "I've fitted my +religion to my life. At any rate it's better than fitting other +peoples' lives to one's religion. But it seems to me that God," she +hesitated, as if at a loss for words to express herself--"that God--and +one's surroundings--make one what one is. . . . And unless one is very +certain that either God or the surroundings are wrong, it's asking for +trouble to go on one's own beaten track. . . . I suppose you think I'm +talking out of my turn." She turned and faced him with a slight smile. + +"On the contrary," answered Vane, "you have interested me immensely. +But you've dodged the one vital question--for me, at any rate. What is +the beaten track? Just at present I can't find it?" + +"You'll not find it any easier by looking for it too hard," she said +thoughtfully. "I'm certain of that. . . . It'll come in a flash to +you, when you least expect it, and you'll see it as clear as daylight." + +For a while they sat in silence, both busy with their own thoughts. +Then the girl laughed musically. + +"To think of me," she gurgled, "holding forth like this. . . . Why, +I've never done such a thing before that I can remember." Then of a +sudden she became serious. The big grey eyes looked steadily, almost +curiously, at the face of the man beside her. "I wonder why," she +whispered almost below her breath. "You've been most poisonously rude +to me, and yet . . . and yet here am I talking to you as I've never +talked to any other man in my life." + +Vane stared at the pool for a few moments before he answered. He was +becoming uncomfortably aware that grey eyes with a certain type of chin +were attractive--very attractive. But his tone was light when he spoke. + +"A quarrel is always a sound foundation." He looked up at her with a +smile, but her eyes still held that half speculative look. . . . + +"I wonder what you would have thought of me," she continued after a +moment, "if you'd met me before the war. . . ." + +"Why, that children of fifteen should be in bed by ten," he mocked. + +"Yes, but supposing I was what I am now, and you were what you were +then--and you weren't filled with all these ideas about duty and +futures and things. . . ." + +"You would have added another scalp to the collection, I expect," said +Vane drily. + +They both laughed, then she bent slightly towards him. "Will you +forgive me for what I said about--about that woman you were going to +see?" + +"Why--sure," answered Vane. "I guess you owed me one." + +Joan laughed. "We'll wash the first lesson out. Except, of course, +for that one thing you said. I mean about--the other. . . . I'd just +hate to forget that there's a wedding coming on, and do anything that +would make it awkward for me to be asked to the church. . . ." + +"You little devil, Joan," said Vane softly, "you little devil." + +She laughed lightly and sprang to her feet. "I must be going," she +said. "At least three Colonials are waiting for my ministrations." +She stood looking down at him. . . . "Are you going to walk back with +me, or to resume your study of rodents?" + +Vane slipped the book in his pocket. "I'm afraid," he remarked, "that +I should not be able to bring that undivided attention to bear on the +subject which is so essential for my education. Besides--perhaps +you'll have a few minutes to spare after you have dealt with the +Colonials. . . ." He parted the branches for her. + +"My dear man," she retorted, "You've had far more than your fair +official share already. . . ." She scrambled on to the path and Vane +fell into step beside her. "And don't forget that you've only just +been forgiven. . . ." + +"Which makes it all the more essential for me to have continual +evidence of the fact," retorted Vane. + +"It strikes me," she looked at him suddenly, "that you're not quite as +serious as you make out. You've got all the makings of a very pretty +frivoller in you anyway." + +"I bow to your superior judgment," said Vane gravely. "But I've been +commissioned to--er--go and find myself, so to speak, by one who must +be obeyed. And in the intervals between periods of cold asceticism +when I deal with the highbrows, and other periods when I tackle +subjects of national importance first hand, I feel that I shall want +relaxation. . . ." + +"And so you think you'd like me to fill the role of comic relief," she +said sweetly. "Thanks a thousand times for the charming compliment." + +"It doesn't sound very flattering put that way, I must admit," conceded +Vane with a grin. "And yet the pleasures of life fill a very important +part. I want to find myself in them too. . . ." + +"I'm glad to see traces of comparative sanity returning," she said, as +they turned into the Lodge Gates. "Do you think it's safe to trust +yourself to such an abandoned character as I am? What would She who +must be obeyed say?" + +She looked at him mockingly, and involuntarily Vane frowned slightly. +At the moment he felt singularly unwilling to be reminded of Margaret. +And he was far too old a stager not to realise that he was heading +directly for waters which, though they ran amongst charming scenery, +contained quite a number of hidden rocks. + +She saw the sudden frown, and laughed very gently. "Poor young man," +she murmured; "poor serious young man. Dare you risk it?" + +Then Vane laughed too. They had come to the lawn, and her three +Colonial patients were approaching. "Put that way," he said, "I feel +that it is my bounden duty to take a prolonged course of those +pleasures." + +"Splendid," she cried, and her eyes were dancing merrily. "Come over +and lunch to-morrow. You can have Father and Aunt Jane first. You'll +like Aunt Jane, she's as deaf as a post and very bloodthirsty--and then +you can begin the course afterwards. One o'clock, and it's about half +an hour's walk. . . ." + +With a nod she turned and left him. And if those of her friends who +knew Joan Devereux well had seen the look in her eyes as she turned to +her three Canadians, they would have hazarded a guess that there was +trouble brewing. They would further have hazarded a second guess as to +the form it was likely to take. And both guesses would have been +right. A young man, remarked Joan to herself, who would be all the +better for a fall; a young man who seemed very much too sure of +himself. Joan Devereux was quite capable of dealing with such cases as +they deserved, and she was a young woman of much experience. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was the following morning that Vane received a second letter from +Margaret. He had written her once--a letter in which he had made no +allusion to their last meeting--and she had answered it. Cases were +still pouring in and she was very busy. When she did have a moment to +herself she was generally so tired that she lay down and went to sleep. +It was the letter of a girl obsessed with her work to the exclusion of +all outside things. + +Of course he admired her for it--admired her intensely. It was so +characteristic of her, and she had such a wonderful character. +But--somehow . . . he had wished for something a little more basely +material. And so with this second one. He read it through once at +breakfast, and then, with a thoughtful look in his eyes, he took it +with him to a chair on the big verandah which ran along the whole of +the front of Rumfold Hall. The awning above it had been specially +erected for the benefit of the patients and Vane pulled one of the +lounge chairs back from the stone balustrade, so that his face was +shaded from the sun. It was a favourite spot of his, and now, with +Margaret's letter outspread beside him, and his pipe held between his +knees, he commenced to fill the bowl. He was becoming fairly quick at +the operation, but long after it was well alight he was still staring +at the misty line of distant hills. Away, out there, beyond, the thing +called war was in full swing--the game was at its height. And the +letter beside him had taken him back in spirit. . . . After a while he +picked it up again and commenced to re-read the firm, clear +handwriting. . . . + + +No. 24, STATIONARY HOSPITAL. + +MONDAY. + +Derek, dear, I've been moved as you see from No. 13. I'm with the men +now, and though I hated going at first--yet, now, I think I almost +prefer it. With the officers there must always be a little +constraint--at least, I have never been able to get rid of the feeling. +Perhaps with more experience it would vanish _je ne sais pas_ . . . but +with the men it's never there. They're just children, Derek, just dear +helpless kiddies; and so wonderfully grateful for any little thing one +does. Never a whimper; never the slightest impatience. . . . they're +just wonderful. One expects it from the officers; but somehow it +strikes one with a feeling almost of surprise when one meets it in the +men. There's one of them, a boy of eighteen, with both his legs blown +off above the knee. He just lies there silently, trying to understand. +He never worries or frets--but there's a look in his eyes--a puzzled, +questioning look sometimes--which asks as clearly as if he spoke--"Why +has this thing happened to _me_?" He comes from a little Devonshire +fishing village, he tells me; and until the war he'd never been away +from it! Can you imagine the pitiful, chaotic, helplessness in his +mind? Oh! doesn't it all seem too insensately brutal? . . . It's not +even as if there was any sport in it; it's all so utterly ugly and +bestial. . . . One feels so helpless, so bewildered, and the look in +some of their eyes makes one want to scream, with the horror of +it. . . . + +But, old man, the object of this letter is not to inflict on you my +ideas on war. It is in a sense a continuation, and a development, of +our talk on the beach at Paris Plage. I have been thinking a good deal +lately about that conversation, and now that I have almost definitely +made up my mind as to what I propose to do myself after the war, I +consider it only fair to let you know. I said to you then that perhaps +my job might only be to help you to fulfil your own destiny, and +nothing which I have decided since alters that in any way. If you +still want me after the war--if we find that neither of us has made a +mistake--I can still help you, Derek, I hope. But, my dear, it won't +be quite a passive help, if you understand what I mean. I've got to be +up and doing myself--actively; to be merely any man's echo--his +complement--however much I loved him, would not be enough. I've come +to that, you see. + +And so I've decided--not quite definitely as I said, but almost so--to +read for Medicine. I'm a little old, perhaps, though I'm only +twenty-four: but these years in France have at any rate not been +wasted. The question of money does not come in luckily, and the work +attracts me immensely. Somehow I feel that I might be helping to +repair a tiny bit of the hideous destruction and mutilation which we're +suffering from now. + +And that's enough about myself. I want to suggest something to you. +You may laugh, old boy--but I'm in earnest. I remember you're telling +me once that, when you were up at the 'Varsity, you used to scribble a +bit. I didn't pay much attention; in those days one didn't pay +attention--ever. But now your words have come back to me once or +twice, during the night, when I've been seeing dream pictures in my +reading lamp and the ward has been asleep. Have you thought that +possibly that is the line along which you might develop? Don't you +think it's worth trying, Derek? And then, perhaps--this is my wildest +dream, the raving of a fevered brain--the day will come when you and I +can stand together and realise that each of us in our own way has made +good--has done something to help on--_les autres_. Oh! Derek--it's +worth trying, old man--surely it's worth trying. We've just got to do +something that's worth while, before we come to the end--if only to +balance a little of the hideous mass of worthlessness that's being +piled up to-day. . . . + +Don't bother to answer this, as I know you find writing difficult. I +hope to be getting some leave soon: we can have a talk then. How goes +the arm? _A toi, mon cheri_. + +MARGARET. + +PS.--There's rather a dear man living fairly close to Rumfold, old Sir +James Devereux. His house is Blandford--a magnificent old place; +almost if not quite as fine as Rumfold, and the grounds are bigger. +His wife died when the son was born, and I rather think there is a +daughter, but she was away at a finishing school when I knew them, Go +over and call; from what I heard there's a distinct shortage of +money--at least of enough to keep the place going. + +P.PS.--He's not really old--about only fifty. Say you know Daddy; they +used to shoot together. + + +With something like a sigh Vane laid down the last sheet, and, striking +a match, relit his pipe. Then once again his eyes rested on the misty, +purple hills. Margaret a successful doctor; himself literary educator +of the public taste. . . . It was so entirely different from any +picture he had previously contemplated, on the rare occasions when he +had thought about matrimony or the future at all, that it left him +gasping. It was perfectly true that he had scribbled a certain amount +in years gone by, when he was at the 'Varsity: but not seriously. . . . +An essay or two which he had been told showed distinct ability: a short +story, of possible merit but questionable morality, which had been +accepted on the spot by a not too particular periodical and had never +been paid for--that was the extent of his scribbling. And +yet--Margaret might be right. . . . One never knows till one tries: +and Vane grinned to himself as that hoary platitude floated through his +mind. . . . Then his thoughts passed to the other side of the picture. +Margaret, dispensing admonition and pills, in her best professional +manner, to long queues of the great unwashed. He felt certain that she +would prefer that section of the community to any less odoriferous +one. . . . And she'd probably never charge anything, and, if she did, +he would have to stand at the door and collect it, probably in penny +stamps. Vane's shoulders shook a little as this engaging tableau +presented itself. . . . What about the little hunting box not far from +Melton, where, in the dear long ago, he had always pictured himself and +his wife wintering? Provided always the mythical She had some money! +There would be stabling for six nags, which, with care, meant five days +a fortnight for both of them. Also a garage, and a rather jolly squash +racquet court. Then a month in Switzerland, coming back towards the +end of January to finish the season off. A small house of course in +Town--some country house cricket: and then a bit of shooting. . . . +One needn't always go to Switzerland either in the winter; Cairo is +very pleasant, and so is Nice. . . . It was an alluring prospect, no +less now than formerly; but it meant that Margaret's patients would +have to hop around some. . . . And they'd probably leave her if he +stood at the door in a pink coat and a hunting topper collecting +postage stamps. They are rather particular over appearances, are the +ragged trousered and shredded skirt brigade. . . . + +The thing was grotesque; it was out of the question, Vane told himself +irritably. After all, it is possible to push altruism too far, and for +Margaret, at her age and with her attractions, to go fooling around +with medicine, with the mistaken idea that she was benefiting humanity, +was nothing more or leas than damned twaddle. If she wanted to do +something why not take up her music seriously. .. . . + +And it was at this point in his deliberations that a sentence vibrated +across his memory. It was so clear that it might almost have been +spoken in his ear: "If you loved such a life you'd just do it. . . . +And you'd succeed." + +Vane folded Margaret's letter, and put it in his pocket. If she really +loved the thought of such a life she would just do it. . . . And she +would succeed. As far as he was concerned there would be nothing more +to say about it; she had a perfect right to decide for herself. She +left him free--that he knew; he could still carry out his hunting box +programme in full. Only he would have to play the part alone--or with +someone else. . . . Someone else. Abruptly he rose from his chair, +and found himself face to face with Lady Patterdale. . . . + +"Good morning, Captain Vane," she remarked affably. "'Ad a good night?" + +"Splendid, thank you, Lady Patterdale." + +"Ain't the news splendid? Marshal Foch seems to be fair making the +'Uns 'um." + +Vane laughed. "Yes, they seem to be sitting up and taking notice, +don't they?" + +"Sir John is marking it all up in the 'All on the map, with flags," +continued the worthy old woman. "I can't make 'ead or tail of it all +myself--but my 'usband likes to 'ave everything up to date. 'E can't +form any real opinion on the strategy, he says, unless he knows where +everybody is." + +Vane preserved a discreet silence. + +"But as I tells 'im," rambled on Lady Patterdale, "it doesn't seem to +me to be of much account where the poor fellows are. You may move a +pin from 'ere to there, and feel all pleased and joyful about it--but +you wouldn't feel so 'appy if you was the pin." + +Vane laughed outright. "You've got a way of putting things, Lady +Patterdale, which hits the nail on the head each time." + +"Ah! you may laugh, Captain Vane. You may think I'm a silly old woman +who doesn't know what she's talking about. But I've got eyes in my +'ead; and I'm not quite a fool. I've seen young men go out to France +laughing and cheerful; and I've seen 'em come back. They laugh just as +much--perhaps a bit more; they seem just as cheerful--but if you love +'em as I do you come to something which wasn't never there before. +They've been one of the pins. Lots of us 'ave been one of the pins, +Captain Vane; though we ain't been to France you can lose other things +besides your life in this world." + +She nodded her head at him solemnly and waddled on, while Vane stood +for a moment looking after her. Assuredly this common old woman +possessed in her some spark of the understanding which is almost +Divine. . . . And Vane, with a quick flash of insight, saw the proud +planting of the pin on Rumfold Hall--a strategic advance, but the +casualty list had never been published. . . . + +He strolled along the veranda and into the hall. Sir John with a very +small audience--mostly newcomers--around him was holding forth on the +new developments in France and Vane paused for a moment to listen. + +"You mark my words, me boys," he was saying, "this is the big thing. I +put my trust in Foch: he's the fellow who's got my money on him. No +nonsense about Foch. Of course it's going to be costly, but you can't +have omelettes without breaking eggs. An old proverb, me boys--but a +true one." + +"More than true, Sir John," remarked Vane quietly. "And one that from +time immemorial has proved an immense comfort to the egg." + +He went on up to his room. It was too early yet to start for +Blandford, but Vane was in no mood for his own thoughts. They had +reached a stage, indeed, whence he preferred not to follow them +further. Doubtless by the time Margaret returned on leave, the beaten +track would have revealed itself; until then--_cui bono_? . . . . + +He looked at his watch, and it occurred to him that he would just have +comfortable time to pay a visit to old John before starting on his walk +through the woods. From Robert he had found out where the old man was +living in the village, and, a few minutes later, he was strolling down +the drive towards his house. He found the little garden, just as +perfectly kept as had been the one at the Lodge: the white muslin +curtains in the front rooms were just as spotless. And old John +himself was watering a row of sweet peas as he came to the little +gate. . . . + +"Ah! Mr. Vane, sir," he remarked, putting down his can and hobbling +forward. "I'm honoured to see you, sir." Then as he saw the three +stars on Vane's sleeve, he corrected himself. "Captain Vane, sir, I +should have said. . . ." + +"I don't think we're likely to fall out over that, John," laughed Vane. +"One never knows what anybody is these days. You're a Colonel one +minute, and a subaltern the next." + +Old John nodded his head thoughtfully. "That's true, sir--very true. +One doesn't seem to know where one is at all. The world seems +topsy-turvy. Things have changed, sir--and I'm thinking the missus and +I are getting too old to keep pace with them. Take young Blake, +sir--down the village, the grocer's son. Leastways, when I says +grocer, the old man keeps a sort of general shop. Now the boy, sir, is +a Captain. . . . I mis'remember what regiment--but he's a Captain." + +"And very likely a devilish good one too, John," said Vane smiling. + +"He is, sir. I've seen reports on him--at schools and courses and the +like--which say he's a fine officer. But what's going to happen +afterwards, sir, that's what I want to know? Is young Bob Blake going +to put on his white apron again, and hand the old woman her bit of +butter and sugar over the counter? What about that, sir?" + +"I wish to Heaven I could tell you, John," said Vane. "Bob Blake isn't +the only one, you know." + +"Them as is sound, sir," went on the old man, "won't be affected by it. +They won't have their heads turned by having mixed with the gentry as +their equals--like. And the real gentry won't think no more nor no +less of them when they goes back to their proper station. . . . But +there'll be some as will want to stop on in a place where they don't +rightly belong. And it'll make a world of unhappiness, sir, for all +concerned. . . ." + +Unconsciously the old man's eyes strayed in the direction of Rumfold +Hall, and he sighed. + +"You can't alter the ways of the Lord, sir," continued old John. "We +read in the Book that He made them richer and poorer, and some of one +class, and some of another. As long as everybody remembers which class +he's in, he'll get what happiness he deserves. . . ." + +Vane did not feel inclined to dispute this from the point of view of +Holy Writ. The trouble is that it takes a stronger and more level head +than is possessed by every boy of twenty to understand that a khaki +uniform unlocks doors on which a suit of evening clothes bought off the +peg and a made up tie fail to produce any impression. If only he +realises that those doors are not worth the trouble of trying to +unlock, all will be well for him; if he doesn't, he will be the +sufferer. . . . Which is doubtless utterly wrong, but such is the Law +and the Prophets. + +"I reckons there are troublous times ahead of us, sir," went on the old +man. "More troublous than any we are going through now--though them's +bad enough, in all conscience. Why, only the other evening, I was down +at the Fiddlers' Arms, for a glass of what they do call beer--'tis +dreadful stuff, sir, that there Government beer. . . ." Old John +sighed mournfully at the thought of what had been. "I was sitting in +there, as I says, when in comes some young feller from Grant's garage, +up the road. Dressed classy he was--trying to ape his betters--with a +yellow forefinger from smoking them damned stinking fags--and one of +them stuck behind his ear. + +"'Hullo, gaffer,'" he says, 'how's the turnips?' + +"'Looking worse in France than they do in England,' says I. 'Have you +been to see?' + +"That hit him, sir, that did," chuckled old John. "He fair squirmed +for a moment, while the others laughed. 'Don't you know I'm on work of +national importance?' he says. 'I'm exempted.' + +"'The only work of national importance you're ever likely to do, my +lad,' says I, 'won't be done till you're dead. And not then if you're +buried proper.' + +"'What do you mean?' he asks. + +"'You might help the turnips you're so anxious about,' says I, 'if they +used you as manure.'" Old John, completely overcome by the remembrance +of this shaft, laughed uproariously. + +"You should have seen his face, sir," he went on when he had partially +recovered. "He got redder and redder, and then he suddenly says, 'e +says, 'Weren't you the lodge keeper up at Rumfold Hall?' + +"'I was,' I answered quiet like, because I thought young Master +Impudence was getting on dangerous ground. + +"'One of the poor wretched slaves,' he sneers, 'of a bloated +aristocrat. . . . We're going to alter all that,' he goes on, and then +for a few minutes I let him talk. He and his precious friends were +going to see that all that wretched oppression ceased, and then he +finished up by calling me a slave again, and sneering at his Lordship." + +Old John spat reflectively. "Well, sir, I stopped him then. In my +presence no man may sneer at his Lordship--certainly not a callow pup +like him. His Lordship is a fine man and a good man, and I was his +servant." The old man spoke with a simple dignity that impressed Vane. +"I stopped him, sir," he continued, "and then I told him what I thought +of him. I said to him, I said, 'Young man, I've listened to your +damned nonsense for five minutes--now you listen to me. When you--with +your face all covered with pimples, and your skin all muddy and +sallow--start talking as you've been talking, there's only one thing +should be done. Your mother should take your trousers down and smack +you with a hair brush; though likely you'd cry with fright before she +started. I was his Lordship's servant for forty-two years, and I'm +prouder of that fact than anyone is likely to be over anything you do +in your life. And if his Lordship came in at that door now, he'd meet +me as a man meets a man. Whereas you--you'd run round him sniffing +like the lickspittle you are--and if he didn't tread on you, you'd go +and brag to all your other pimply friends that you'd been talking to an +Earl. . . .'" + +"Bravo! old John . . . bravo!" said Vane quietly. "What did the whelp +do?" + +"Tried to laugh sarcastic, sir, and then slunk out of the door." The +old man lit his pipe with his gnarled, trembling fingers. "It's +coming, sir--perhaps not in my time--but it's coming. Big +trouble. . . . All those youngsters with their smattering of +edication, and their airs and their conceits and their 'I'm as good as +you.'" He fell silent and stared across the road with a troubled look +in his eyes. "Yes, sir," he repeated, "there be bad days coming for +England--terrible bad--unless folks pull themselves together. . . ." + +"Perhaps the Army may help 'em when it comes back," said Vane. + +"May be, sir, may be." Old John shook his head doubtfully. "Perhaps +so. Anyways, let's hope so, sir." + +"Amen," answered Vane with sudden earnestness. And then for a while +they talked of the soldier son who had been killed. With a proud lift +to his tired, bent shoulders old John brought out the letter written by +his platoon officer, and showed it to the man who had penned a score of +similar documents. It was well thumbed and tattered, and if ever Vane +had experienced a sense of irritation at the exertion of writing to +some dead boy's parents or wife he was amply repaid now. Such a little +trouble really; such a wonderful return of gratitude even though it be +unknown and unacknowledged. . . . "You'll see there, sir," said the +old man, "what his officer said. I can't see myself without my +glasses--but you read it, sir, you read it. . . . 'A magnificent +soldier, an example to the platoon. I should have recommended him for +the stripe.' How's that, sir. . . .? And then there's another +bit. . . . 'Men like him can't be replaced.' Eh! my boy. . . . Can't +be replaced. You couldn't say that, sir, about yon pimply ferret I was +telling you about." + +"You could not, old John," said Vane. "You could not." He stood up +and gave the letter back. "It's a fine letter; a letter any parent +might be proud to get about his son." + +"Aye," said the old man, "he was a good boy was Bob. None o' this +new-fangled nonsense about him." He put the letter carefully in his +pocket. "Mother and me, sir, we often just looks at it of an evening. +It sort of comforts her. . . . Somehow it's hard to think of him +dead. . . ." His lips quivered for a moment, and then suddenly he +turned fiercely on Vane. "And yet, I tells you, sir, that I'd sooner +Bob was dead over yonder--aye--I'd sooner see him lying dead at my +feet, than that he should ever have learned such doctrines as be flying +about these days." + +Thus did Vane leave the old man, and as he walked down the road he saw +him still standing by his gate thumping with his stick on the pavement, +and shaking his head slowly. It was only when Vane got to the turning +that old John picked up his can and continued his interrupted +watering. . . . And it seemed to Vane that he had advanced another +step towards finding himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Vane, conscious that he was a little early for lunch, idled his way +through the woods. He was looking forward, with a pleasure he did not +attempt to analyse, to seeing Joan in the setting where she belonged. +And if occasionally the thought intruded itself that it might be +advisable to take a few mental compass bearings and to ascertain his +exact position before going any further, he dismissed them as +ridiculous. Such thoughts have been similarly dismissed before. . . . +It was just as Vane was abusing himself heartily for being an ass that +he saw her coming towards him through a clearing in the undergrowth. +She caught sight of him at the same moment and stopped short with a +swift frown. + +"I didn't know you knew this path," she said as he came up to her. + +"I'm sorry--but I do. You see, I knew Rumfold pretty well in the old +days. . . . Is that the reason of the frown?" + +"I wasn't particularly anxious to see you or anybody," she remarked +uncompromisingly. "I wanted to try to think something out. . . ." + +"Then we are a well met pair," laughed Vane. "I will walk a few paces +behind you, and we will meditate." + +"Don't be a fool," said Joan still more uncompromisingly. "And anyway +you're very early for lunch." She looked at her wrist watch. . . . "I +said one o'clock and it's only half past twelve. The best people don't +come before they're asked. . . ." + +"I throw myself on the mercy of the court," pleaded Vane solemnly. +"I'll sit on this side of the bush and you sit on the other and in a +quarter of an hour we will meet unexpectedly with all the usual +symptoms of affection and joy. . . ." + +The girl was slowly retracing her steps, with Vane just behind her, and +suddenly through an opening in the trees Blandford came in sight. It +was not the usual view that most people got, because the path through +the little copse was not very well known--but from nowhere could the +house be seen to better advantage. The sheet of placid, unruffled +water with its low red boathouse: the rolling stretch of green sweeping +up from it to the house broken only by the one terrace above the tennis +lawns; the rose garden, a feast of glorious colour, and then the house +itself with its queer turrets and spires and the giant trees beyond it; +all combined to make an unforgettable picture. + +Joan had stopped and Vane stood silently beside her. She was taking in +every detail of the scene, and Vane, glancing at her quickly, surprised +a look of almost brooding fierceness in her grey eyes. It was a look +of protection, of ownership, of fear, all combined: a look such as a +tigress might give if her young were threatened. . . . And suddenly +there recurred to his mind that phrase in Margaret's letter about +financial trouble at Blandford. It had not impressed him particularly +when he read it; now he found himself wondering. . . . + +"Isn't it glorious?" The girl was speaking very low, as if unconscious +that she had a listener. Then she turned on Vane swiftly. "Look at +that!" she cried, and her arm swept the whole perfect vista. "Isn't it +worth while doing anything--anything at all--to keep that as one's own? +That has belonged to us for five hundred years--and now! . . . My +God! just think of a second Sir John Patterdale--here"--the brooding +wild mother look was in her eyes again, and her lips were shut tight. + +Vane moved restlessly beside her. He felt that the situation was +delicate; that it was only his unexpected and unwelcome arrival on the +scene that had made her take him into his confidence. Evidently there +was something gravely the matter; equally evidently it was nothing to +do with him. . . . + +"I hope there's no chance of such a tragedy as that," he said gravely. + +She turned and faced him. "There's every chance," she cried fiercely. +"Dad is up against it--I know he is, though he doesn't say much. And +this morning . . ." She bit her lip, and once more her eyes rested on +the old house. "Oh! what's the good of talking?" she went on after a +moment. "What has to be--has to be; but, oh! it makes me mad to think +of it. What good does it do, what purpose in the scheme of things you +may talk about, does it serve to turn out a man, who is beloved for +miles around, and put in his place some wretched pork butcher who has +made millions selling cat's meat as sausages?" + +She faced Vane defiantly, and he wisely remained silent. + +"You may call it what you like," she stormed; "but it's practically +turning him out. Is it a crime to own land, and a virtue to make a +fortune out of your neighbours in trade? Dad has never swindled a +soul. He's let his tenants down easy all through the war when they've +had difficulties over their rent; he's just idolised by them all. And +now he's got to go--unless. . . ." She paused and her two hands +clenched suddenly. Then she continued, and her voice was quite calm. +"I know I'm talking rot--so you needn't pay any attention. The great +thinkers are all agreed--aren't they?--that the present land system is +wrong--and they must know, of course. But I'm not a great thinker, and +I can't get beyond the fact that it's not going to increase anybody's +happiness--and there are a good many to be considered--if Dad goes, and +a pork butcher comes in. . . . And that's that. . . ." + +"Supposing," said Vane curiously, "it wasn't a pork butcher? Suppose +it was someone who--well, let's say whom you wouldn't mind going in to +dinner with." + +"It would be just the same," she answered after a moment. "Just the +same. It's ours, don't you see?--it's _ours_. It's always been ours." +And the brooding, animal look had come back into her eyes. . . . + +Then with a laugh she turned to him. "Come on; you've got to make a +bow to Aunt Jane. Mind you tell her you've killed a lot of Germans. +She'll adore you for ever. . . ." + +She threw off her fit of depression and chatted gaily all the way up to +the house. + +"I've told Dad you're a very serious young man," she remarked, as they +reached the drive; "so you'd better live up to your reputation." + +Vane groaned. "Your sins be upon your own head," he remarked. "I've +already had one serious dissertation this morning from old John, who +used to be lodgekeeper at Rumfold." + +"I know him well," cried the girl. "A dear old man. . . ." + +"Who shares your views on the land question," said Vane with a smile. + +She stopped and faced him. "Don't you?" she demanded quietly. + +"In your own words, Joan--I am a very serious young man; and I am +seeking for knowledge." + +For a moment she seemed about to reply, and then, with a short laugh, +she turned on her heel and walked on. It was just as they were +entering the drawing-room that she looked at him over her shoulder. "I +hope your search will be successful," she remarked; "and I hope still +more that when it is successful you won't commit suicide. To have +knowledge, to know to-day what is the truth, would be, I think, the +most terrible burden any man could bear. Have you ever thought how +tired God must be?" + +Before he could answer she was shouting down her aunt's ear-trumpet. +And Vane was left wondering at the strange mixture which went to make +up Joan Devereux. + + * * * * * + +Sir James was cordially delighted to see him, especially when he +discovered that Vane knew Mr. Trent. + +"Where's the little girl?" he asked as they eat down to luncheon. +"Margaret was her name, I think." + +To his intense annoyance Vane found himself colouring slightly, and at +the same moment he became acutely aware that a pair of grey eyes were +fixed on him from the other side of the table. + +"She is nursing at Etaples, I believe," he answered casually, but a +soft gurgle of laughter told him it was useless. + +"Captain Vane, Dad, is the soul of discretion," mocked Joan. "I +shouldn't be surprised if he wasn't nursed by her. . . ." + +"Devilish nice girl to be nursed by, too, my dear," chuckled her +father, "from what I remember of her. What do you think, Vane?" He +was mercifully spared the necessity of answering by the intervention of +Aunt Jane, who had pursued her own train of thought, blissfully +unconscious of any change of conversation. + +"How many of the brutes did you say you'd killed, young man?" she +boomed at him, at the same time putting her ear-trumpet at the "ready." + +"Two for certain," howled Vane; "perhaps three." + +She resumed her lunch, and Sir James laughed. "My sister," he +remarked, "is full of war. . . . Rather fuller--like a good many of +those who have stayed behind--than you fellows. . . ." + +"It's very much nicer," said Vane with a laugh, "to kill--even a +Boche--in imagination than in reality. . . . Though I've seen many +men," he added thoughtfully, "go blood mad." + +"Do you remember that description of Kipling's," said Sir James, "of +the scrap between the Black Tyrone and the Pathans? Mulvaney was sick, +and Ortheris cursed, and Learoyd sang hymns--wasn't it?" + +"I've seen them all those ways," said Vane thoughtfully, "and the worst +of the lot are the silent ones. . . . There was one fellow I had who +never uttered a word from the time we went over till the finish, and he +never--if he could avoid it--struck a man anywhere except in the +stomach. . . . And incidentally he could quote more from the Bible +than most Bishops. . . . In fact, if he ever did speak, so I'm told, +when he was fighting it was just to remark, 'And the Lord said'--as he +stabbed." + +Sir James nodded, and then half-closed his eyes. "One just can't get +it," he said. "None of us who haven't been there will ever get it--so +I suppose it's not much use trying. But one can't help thinking that +if only a few of the people who count over here could go and see, it +might make a difference. We might not be having so much trouble. . . ." + +"See the reality and clear away the humbug," said Vane. "Can't be +done, Sir James. I know Staff Officers who would willingly give a +year's pay to shepherd a personally conducted Cook's party to France of +the British working man. They get their legs pulled right and left by +everybody out there; and do you wonder?" He laughed shortly. "Tommy's +no fool: six pounds a week instead of a shilling a day. And +comparisons are odious." + +"But couldn't they be taken really into things?" asked his host. + +"I can't quite see the party popping the parapet," grinned Vane. "It's +not a thing which anyone does for pleasure. . . ." + +It was at that moment that with a loud booming noise Aunt Jane again +contributed to the conversation. "I'm afraid you've wasted your time +out there, young man." + +"She means that two Germans and one doubtful isn't enough," gurgled +Joan, as she saw Vane's look of bewilderment. To his relief the old +lady did not adjust her trumpet, so he assumed rightly that he would be +allowed to suffer her displeasure in silence. . . . + +"Well," said Sir James after a pause. "I suppose there are +unsurmountable difficulties in making people understand. But if I had +my way I'd take some of these blackguards who are fattening on the +country's helplessness and I'd put 'em in the front line +trenches. . . ." + +"With a trench mortar bombardment on," supplemented Vane laughing. + +"And I'd let 'em stop there and rot," continued Sir James. "It's +wicked; it's vile; it's abominable--exploiting their country's danger +for their own pockets. . . . What's going to happen when the war is +over, God alone knows." + +"Your fish will get cold, Daddy, unless you go on with it," said Joan +soothingly. + +But Sir James was started on his favourite hobby. It would have taken +more than the possibility of cold fish to stem the torrent, and Vane, +supported by the most fleeting of winks from Joan, made no attempt to +do so. He had heard it all before; the worthy Baronet's views, were +such as are delivered daily by the old order in every part of the +country. And the thing that perplexed Vane more and more as he +listened, and periodically returned a non-committal "Yes" or "No," was +where the fallacy lay. These were the views he had been brought up on; +they were the views with which, in his heart of hearts, he agreed. And +yet he felt dimly that there must be another side to the question: he +knew there was another side. Otherwise . . . but Sir James, when he +got into his stride, did not permit much meditation on the part of his +audience. + +"Organised labour," he thundered, "has found itself, because we are at +war, all powerful. We depend on the organised workers, and they know +it. The lives of our men are at stake. . . . Their brothers, mark +you, Vane. What do they care? Not a dam, sir, not a dam. More money, +money--that's all they want. They know the State won't dare a +lock-out--and they trade on it. . . . Why don't they conscript 'em, +sir?--why don't they put the whole cursed crowd into khaki? Then if +they strike send 'em over into the trenches as I said, and let 'em rot +there. That would soon bring 'em to their senses. . . ." Sir James +attacked his chicken viciously. + +"What's going to happen," he went on after a moment, "when we return to +peace conditions? The private employer can't pay these inflated +wages. . . . He simply can't do it, and that's an end of it. But now, +of necessity it's been a case of surrender--surrender--surrender to any +demands the blackguards like to put up. And they've got it each time. +Do you suppose they're going to stop?" + +"But surely there's such a thing as common sense," interrupted Vane. +"Surely the matter can be put in front of them so that they will +understand? . . . If not, it's a pretty useful confession of +ineptitude." + +Sir James laughed shortly. "There are several floating round at the +moment. . . . But it isn't quite as easy as all that, my dear fellow. +In times of unrest power comes automatically more and more into the +hands of the man who can talk; men like Ramage, and others of his +kidney. A few meaningless but high flown phrases; a few such parrot +cries as 'Down with the Capitalist and the Future is for the Worker,' +and you've got even the steadiest man unsettled. . . . Especially if +he's one of a crowd; mob psychology is the devil. . . ." Sir James +paused and stared out of the window. "I don't fear for the decent +fellow in the long run; it's in the early stages he may get +blown. . . ." + +"What are you two men talking about so busily?" Aunt Jane once again +presented her trumpet to Vane. + +"Labour trouble, Miss Devereux," he roared. "Trouble in the labour +market." + +The old lady's face set grimly. "My convictions on that are well +known," she boomed. "Put them in a row against a wall and shoot them." + +"My sister's panacea for all evil," said Sir James with a smile. + +"There are others as well as Miss Devereux who would recommend the same +thing," said Vane with a short laugh. + +"Shoot 'em," rasped the old lady; "shoot 'em, and go on shooting till +there are no more left to shoot. I'm sure we'd get along very well +without the brutes." + +"What's going to stop 'em?" Sir James returned to his former question. +"Nothing--until they've tried everything, and found they're wrong. And +while they're finding out the simple fact that no employer can pay a +guinea for a pound's worth of work the country will crash. We'll have +anarchy, Vane--Bolshevism like Russia, unless a miracle saves us. . . . +Financed by the Boche probably into the bargain." + +"Dear old Daddy," laughed Joan. "You're such an optimist, aren't you?" + +"It's no laughing matter, my dear," snorted her father. "There's a +wave of madness over the world . . . absolute madness. The more you +give into them--the more decently you treat 'em--the more they +want. . . . People talk about the old order changing; what I want to +know is what they're going to put in its place? When they've broken up +the Empire and reduced England to a fifth-rate Power, they'll probably +want the old order back. . . . It'll be too late to want then." + +"I gather, Sir James, that you are not exactly a Socialist," murmured +Vane gravely, with a side glance at Joan. + +His host rose to the bait. "I--a Socialist--I! Why--why! . . ." he +spluttered, and then he saw his daughter's face. She was dimpling with +laughter, and suddenly Sir James laughed too. + +"You nearly had me then, my boy," he cried; "very nearly. But it's on +that point, Vane, that I get so wild with these intellectual men--men +who should know better. Men like Ramage, and Johnson and all that lot. +They know themselves that Socialism is a wild impossibility; they know +that equality is out of the question, and yet they preach it to men who +have not got their brains. It's a dangerously attractive doctrine; the +working man who sees a motor flash past him wouldn't be human if he +didn't feel a tinge of envy. . . . But the Almighty has decreed that +it should be so: and it's flying in His Face to try to change it." + +Vane looked thoughtfully at his host. "I fancy the Almighty's dictates +are less likely to be questioned by the motor car owner than by the +working man." + +"I agree with you, Vane," returned Sir James at once. "But that +doesn't alter the principle of the thing. . . . By all means improve +their conditions . . . give them better houses . . . stop sweated +labour. That is our privilege and our duty. But if they continue on +their present line, they'll soon find the difference. Things we did +for 'em before, they'll have to whistle for in the future." + +"You're getting your money's worth this time, aren't you, Captain +Vane?" said Joan demurely. + +But Vane only smiled at her gravely and did not answer. Here were the +views, crudely expressed, perhaps, of the ordinary landed gentleman. +The man who of all others most typically represented feudalism. +Benevolent, perhaps--but feudalism. . . . The old order. "They talk +about 'back to the land,'" snorted Sir James suddenly, "as the +sovereign cure for all evils. You can take it from me, Vane, that +except in a few isolated localities the system of small holdings is +utterly uneconomical and unsuccessful. It means ceaseless work, and a +mere pittance in return. You know Northern France--well, you've got +the small holdings scheme in full blast there. What time do they get +up in the morning; what time do they go to bed at night? What do they +live on? And from what you know of your own fellow countrymen, do you +think any large percentage would tackle such a life? Believe me, these +days, none of us want to keep land very much." Sir James frowned +slightly. "Unless one has old family traditions. . . . And even those +will have to go by the board--sooner or later. . . . It doesn't pay, +Vane, you can take it from me. . . . And to split it up into small +holdings, and invite men of varying degrees of inefficiency to earn a +livelihood on it, won't help matters." + +Sir James pushed back his chair and they rose from the table. + +"I have victimised you enough, my dear boy," he remarked. "I think +Joan had better carry on the good work." She put her arm round his +waist, and her father looked down at her lovingly. "What are you going +to do with him, old lady?" + +"Are you busy, Dad, this afternoon?" she asked. + +Sir James nodded, and he seemed to Vane to have grown very old. "The +old order is changing--what are they going to put in its place? . . ." +A sudden fear caught him in its grip. He turned quickly and stared out +of the window; at the wonderful bit of England that lay before him. +Quiet and smiling in the warm sun, it lay there--a symbol of the thing +for which Englishmen have laid down their lives since time started. At +that very second men were dying for it--over the water. Was it all to +be in vain? + +"Yes, girlie," Sir James was speaking. "I've got a lot of business to +attend to. That wretched fellow Norton can't pay his rent again. . . ." + +"Oh! Dad, he is a bit steep," cried the girl. "That's the third time." + +Sir James laughed. "I know, my dear; but things are bad. After all, +he has lost one of his sons in Mesopotamia." + +"A drunken waster," cried the girl. + +"He died, Joan," said her father simply. "No man may do more." + +"You're too kind-hearted, Dad," she said, patting his arm, and looking +up into his face. "I wouldn't be." + +Sir James laughed. "Oh! yes, you would. Besides, I sha'n't have a +chance much longer." With a quick sigh, he bent and kissed her. "Run +along and take Vane out on the lake. I'll come down later and shout at +you from the bank." She watched her father leave the room, and then +she turned to Vane. + +"Would you care to come on the lake?" she asked, and in her eyes there +was a strange, inscrutable look which set him wondering. + +"I'd love it," said Vane. He followed her into the open window and +together they stepped on to the lawn. + +Aunt Jane had already taken her usual position, preparatory to her +afternoon nap; but Vane's sudden appearance apparently stirred some +train of thought in her mind. As he came up to her she adjusted her +trumpet and boomed, "Shoot 'em, young man--shoot 'em until there are +none left." + +"Why, certainly, Miss Devereux," he shouted. "That's what I think." +She nodded her approval at meeting such a kindred spirit, and replaced +the foghorn on the ground beside her. He felt that his poor record of +dead Huns was forgiven him, and rejoined Joan with a smile. + +"How easy it would be, if that was the way," she said quietly. "Dear +old Aunt Jane--I remember sitting up with her most of one night, trying +to comfort her, when her pug dog went lame on one foot." + +Vane laughed, and as they came to a turn in the path, they looked back. +The old lady was already dozing gently--at peace with all the world. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"If you say one word to me this afternoon which might even be remotely +twisted into being serious," said Joan, "I shall upset you in the middle +of the lake." + +An inspection of the general lines of the boat prevented Vane from taking +the threat too seriously; with anything approaching luck a party of four +could have crossed the Atlantic in it. Innumerable cushions scattered +promiscuously served to make it comfortable, and as the girl spoke Vane +from his seat in the stern was helping to push the boat from the +boat-house. + +"You terrify me, lady," he murmured. "What shall I talk to you about?" + +The girl was pulling lazily at the oars, and slowly they drifted out into +the sunshine. "So she who must be obeyed is Margaret Trent, is she?" + +"The evidence seems a trifle slight," said Vane. "But as I rather gather +you're an insistent sort of person, I will plead guilty at once, to save +bother." + +"You think I generally get my own way, do you?" + +"I do," answered Vane. "Don't you?" + +The girl ignored the question. "What is she like? I've often heard dad +speak about Mr. Trent; and I think she came once to Blandford, when I was +away." + +"I gather that you were being finished." Vane started filling his pipe. +"At least she said so in a letter I got this morning." + +Joan looked at him for a moment. "Did you write to her about me?" + +"I don't think she even knows you're at home," said Vane shortly, "much +less that I've met you." + +"Would you mind her knowing?" persisted the girl. + +"Why on earth should I?" demanded Vane with a look of blank surprise. + +She took a few strokes, and then rested on her oars again. "There are +people," she said calmly, "who consider I'm the limit--a nasty, fast +hussy. . . ." + +"What appalling affectation on your part," jeered Vane lighting his pipe. +"What do you do to keep up your reputation--sell flags in Leicester +Square on flag days?" The girl's attention seemed to be concentrated on +a patch of reeds where a water-hen was becoming vociferous. "Or do you +pursue the line taken up by a woman I met last time I was on leave? She +was a Wraf or a Wren or something of that kind, and at the time she was +in mufti. But to show how up to date she was she had assimilated the +jargon, so to speak, of the mechanics she worked with. It almost gave me +a shock when she said to me in a confidential aside at a mutual friend's +house, 'Have you ever sat down to a more perfectly bloody tea?'" + +"I think," said Joan with her eyes still fixed on the reeds, "that that +is beastly. It's not smart, and it does not attract men . . ." + +"You're perfectly right there," returned Vane, grimly. "However, arising +out of that remark, is your whole object in life to attract men?" + +"Of course it is. It's the sole object of nine women out of ten. Why +ask such absurd questions?" + +"I sit rebuked," murmured Vane. "But to return--in what way do your +charitable friends consider you the limit?" + +"I happen to be natural," said Joan, "and at times that's very dangerous. +I'm not the sort of natural, you know, that loves cows and a country +life, and gives the chickens their hard-boiled eggs, or whatever they +eat, at five in the morning." + +"But you like Blandford," said Vane incautiously. + +"Blandford!" A passionate look came into her face, as her eyes looking +over his head rested on the old house. "Blandford is just part of me. +It's different. Besides, the cow man hasn't been called up," she added +inconsequently. "He's sixty-three." + +"A most tactful proceeding," said Vane, skating away from thin ice. + +"I'm natural in another way," she went on after a short silence. "If I +want to do a thing--I generally do it. For instance, if I want to go and +talk to a man in his rooms, I do so. Why shouldn't I? If I want to +dance a skirt dance in a London ballroom, I do it. But some people seem +to think it's fast. I made quite a lot of money once dancing at a +restaurant with a man, you know--in between the tables. Of course we +wore masks, because it might have embarrassed some of the diners to +recognise me." The oars had dropped unheeded from her hands, and she +leaned forward, looking at Vane with mocking eyes. "I just loved it." + +"I'll bet you did," laughed Vane. "What made you give it up?" + +"A difference of opinion between myself and some of the male diners, +which threatened to become chronic," she returned dreamily. "That's a +thing, my seeker after information, which the war hasn't changed, anyway." + +For a while he made no answer, but lay back against the cushions, puffing +at his pipe. Occasionally she pulled two or three gentle strokes with +the oars, but for the most part she sat motionless with her eyes brooding +dreamily over the lazy beauty of the water. + +"You're a funny mixture, Joan," he said at length. "Devilish +funny. . . ." And as he spoke a fat old carp rose almost under the boat +and took an unwary fly. "The sort of mixture, you know, that drives a +man insane. . . ." + +She was looking at the widening ripples caused by the fish and she smiled +slightly. Then she shrugged her shoulders. "I am what I am. . . . And +just as with that fly, fate comes along suddenly, doesn't it, and +pouf . . . it's all over! All its little worries settled for ever in a +carp's tummy. If only one's own troubles could be settled quite as +expeditiously. . . ." + +He looked at her curiously. "It helps sometimes, Joan, to shoot your +mouth, as our friends across the water say. I'm here to listen, if it's +any comfort. . . ." + +She turned and faced him thoughtfully. "There's something about you, +Derek, that I rather like." It was the first time that she had called +him by his Christian name, and Vane felt a little pleasurable thrill run +through him. But outwardly he gave no sign. + +"That is not a bad beginning, then," he said quietly. "If you're +energetic enough let's get the boat under that weeping willow. I'm +thinking we might tie her up, and there's room for an army corps in the +stern here. . . ." + +The boat brushed through the drooping branches, and Vane stepped into the +bow to make fast. Then he turned round, and stood for a while watching +the girl as she made herself comfortable amongst the cushions. . . . +"There was once upon a time," he prompted, "a man. . . ." + +"Possessed," said Joan, "of great wealth. Gold and silver and precious +stones were his for the asking. . . ." + +"It's to be assumed that the fortunate maiden who was destined to become +his wife would join in the chorus with average success," commented Vane +judicially. + +"The assumption is perfectly correct. Is not the leading lady worthy of +her hire?" She leaned back in her cushions and looked up at Vane through +half-closed eyes. "In the fulness of time," she went on dreamily, "it +came to pass that the man possessed of great wealth began to sit up and +take notice. 'Behold,' he said to himself, 'I have all that my heart +desireth, saving only one thing. My material possessions grow and +increase daily, and, as long as people who ought to know better continue +to kill each other, even so long will they continue growing.' I don't +think I mentioned, did I, that there was a perfectly 'orrible war on +round the corner during the period under consideration?" + +"These little details--though trifling--should not be omitted," remarked +Vane severely. "It is the duty of all story tellers to get their +atmosphere correct. . . ." He sat down facing her and started to refill +his pipe. . . . "What was this one thing he lacked?" + +"Don't interrupt. It is the duty of all listeners to control their +impatience. Only the uninitiated skip." + +"I abase myself," murmured Vane. "Proceed, I pray you." + +"So the man of great wealth during the rare intervals which he could +snatch from amassing more--continued to commune with himself. 'I will +look around,' he said to himself, 'and select me a damsel from amongst +the daughters of the people. Peradventure, she may be rich--peradventure +she may be poor; but since I have enough of the necessary wherewithal to +support the entire beauty chorus which appears nightly in the building +down the road known as the House of Gaiety--the question of her means is +immaterial. Only one thing do I insist upon, that she be passing fair to +look upon. Otherwise--nix doing for this child. . . .'" + +Joan stirred restlessly, and her fingers drummed idly on the side of the +boat. And Vane--because he was a man, and because the girl so close to +him was more than passing lovely--said things under his breath. The +parable was rather too plain. + +"And behold one night," went on Joan after a while, "this man of great +wealth partook of his dried rusk and Vichy water--his digestion was not +all it might be--at the house of one of the nobility of his tribe. The +giver of the feast had permitted his name to be used on the prospectus of +some scheme organised by the man of wealth--thereby inspiring confidence +in all who read, and incidentally pouching some of the Bradburys. He +further considered it possible that by filling his guest with food and +much wine, he might continue the good work on other prospectuses, thereby +pouching more Bradburys. In the vulgar language in vogue at the period, +however, Vichy water put the lid on that venture with a bang. . . . But +even with champagne it is doubtful whether there would have been much +doing, because--well, because--the man of wealth had his attention for +the moment occupied elsewhere. To be exact on the other side of the +table. . . ." + +"Ah!" said Vane, and his breath came in a sort of sigh. "I'm thinking +you had better let me tell this bit. It was just after the slaves had +thrown open the doors, and the guests had seated themselves, that the man +of great wealth chanced to look up from his rusk. He frequently did look +up when consuming these delicacies, otherwise he found they made him +excited, and calmness is necessary for the poor digestion. He looked up +then, as usual, and suddenly he caught his breath. Over a great silver +bowl filled with roses. . . ." + +"Carnations sound better," said Joan. + +"Filled with carnations he saw a girl. . . . They were pink and red +those carnations--glorious in the shaded light; and the silver and the +glass with which this tribe was wont to feed its face glittered and shone +on the polished table. But the man of wealth had silver and glass as +good, and he had no eyes for that. . . . For it had come to him, and he +was a man who was used to making up his mind quickly, that he had found +the damsel he required. She was dressed--ah! how was she dressed, lady? +She was dressed in a sort of grey gauzy stuff, and her neck and shoulders +gleamed white--gloriously white. A great mass of brown hair which +shimmered as if it was alive; a little oval face, with cheeks that seemed +as if the sun had kissed them. A mouth quite small, with lips that +parted in a mocking smile; a nose--well, just a nose. But crowning +everything--dominating everything--a pair of great grey eyes. What eyes +they were! They made the man of wealth bolt his rusk. There was one +mouthful he only chewed fifteen times instead of the customary +thirty-two. They contained all Heaven, and they contained all Hell; in +them lay the glory of a God, the devilment of a Siren, and the peace of a +woman . . . . And just once she looked at him during dinner--the look of +a stranger--cool and self-possessed. Just casually she wondered whether +it was worth while to buy money at the cost of a rusk diet; then she +turned to the man next her. . . . Let's see--he was a warrior, snatching +a spell of rest from the scrap round the corner. And she didn't even +hear the man of great wealth choke as the half-chewed rusk went down +wallop." + +The girl looked at Vane for a moment. "But you are really rather a +dear," she remarked thoughtfully. + +"It's your turn now," said Vane shortly. + +"The donor of the feast," she resumed at once, "was going a mucker. The +possession of extra Bradburys, coupled with a wife who combined a +champagne taste with his gin income, had inspired him to give a dance. +He hoped that it might help to keep the damn woman quiet for a bit; and, +besides everybody was giving dances. It was the thing to do, and +warriors fresh from the fierce battle were wont to step lightly on the +polished floor. As a matter of historical interest nine out of every ten +of the warriors who performed nightly at different houses were fresh from +the office stool at the House of War--a large edifice, completely filled +with girl scouts and brain-storms. . . ." + +"Beautiful," chuckled Vane; "quite beautiful." + +"You see the actual warriors didn't get much of a look in. By the time +they got to know anybody they had to go back round the corner again and +they got tired of propping up the walls and looking on. Besides what +made it even more dangerous for them was that kind-hearted women took +compassion on them, and their own empty programmes and introduced +themselves. And in the vernacular they were the snags. But all these +things were hidden from the man of great wealth. . . ." + +"Contrary to a life-long habit," said Vane, "he remained after dinner and +haunted the door. Just every now and then a girl in grey gauzy stuff +floated past him--and once, only once, he found himself looking into +those big grey eyes when she passed quite close to him going out to get +some lemonade. And the rusk did a somersault. . . ." + +"But he didn't haunt the door," gurgled Joan. "He got roped in. He fell +an easy victim to the snag parade--and women fainted and men wept when +the man of great possessions and the pointed woman took the floor. . . ." + +"Pointed?" murmured Vane. + +"All jolts and bumps," explained the girl. "Her knees were like steel +castings. I think that if the--if the girl in grey gauzy stuff had +realised that the man of wealth had stopped behind for her, she might, +out of pity, have given him one dance. But instead all she did was to +shake with laughter as she saw him quivering in a corner held fast in the +clutch of the human steam engine. She heard the blows he was receiving; +they sounded like a hammer hitting wood; and then later she saw him +limping painfully from the room--probably in search of some Elliman's +embrocation. But, as I say, she didn't realise it. . . . She only +thought him a silly old man. . . ." + +"Old," said Vane slowly. . . . "How old?" + +"About fifty," said the girl vaguely. Then she looked at Vane. "She +found out later that he was forty-eight, to be exact." + +"Not so very old after all," remarked Vane, pitching a used match into +the water, and stuffing down the tobacco in his pipe with unusual care. + +"It was towards the end of the dance," she resumed, "that the man of +great wealth was introduced to the girl in grey, by the donor of the +feast. The band had gathered in all the coal-scuttles and pots it could, +and was hitting them hard with pokers when the historical meeting took +place. You see it was a Jazz band and they always economise by borrowing +their instruments in the houses they go to. . . ." + +"And did she dance with him?" asked Vane. + +"I don't think he even asked her to," said Joan. "But even as she went +off with a boy in the Flying Corps she realised that she was face to face +with a problem." + +"Quick work," murmured Vane. + +"Most of the big problems in life are quick," returned the girl. "You +see the man of great possessions was not accustomed to disguising his +feelings; and the girl--though she didn't show it--was never far removed +from the skeleton in her cupboard." + +She fell silent, and for a while they neither of them spoke. + +"It developed along the accepted lines, I suppose," remarked Vane at +length. + +"Everything quite conventional," she answered. "A fortnight later he +suggested that she should honour him by accepting his name and wealth. +He has repeated the suggestions at frequent intervals since. . . ." + +"Then she didn't say 'Yes' at once," said Vane softly. + +"Ah! no," answered the girl. "And as a matter of fact she hasn't said it +yet." + +"But sometimes o' nights," said Vane, "she lies awake and wonders. And +then she gets out of bed, and perhaps the moon is up, shining cold and +white on the water that lies in front of her window. And the trees are +throwing black shadows, and somewhere in the depths of an old patriarch +an owl is hooting mournfully. For a while she stands in front of her +open window. The air is warm, and the faint scent of roses comes to her +from outside. A great pride wells up in her--a great pride and a great +love, for the sleeping glory in front of her belongs to her; to her and +her father and her brother." The girl's face was half-turned away, and +for a moment Vane watched the lovely profile gravely. "And then," he +went on slowly, "with a sigh she sits down in the big arm-chair close to +the window, and the black dog comes in and settles on her. In another +room in the house she sees her father, worrying, wondering whether +anything can be done, or whether the glory that has been theirs for +hundreds of years must pass into the hands of a stranger. . . . And +after a while the way out comes into her thoughts, and she stirs +restlessly in her chair. Because, though the girl in grey is one of the +set in her tribe who dance and feed in many public places, and which has +nothing in common with those who sit at home doing good works; yet she +possesses one or two strange, old-fashioned ideas, which she will hardly +ever admit even to herself. Just sometimes o' night they creep out as +she stares through the window, and the weird cries of the wild come +softly through the air. 'Somewhere, there is a Prince Charming,' they +whisper, and with a sigh she lets herself dream. At last she creeps back +to bed--and if she is very, very lucky the dreams go on in her sleep." +Vane knocked out his pipe on the side of the boat. + +"It's only when morning comes," he went on, and there was a hint of +sadness in his voice, "that the strange, old-fashioned ideas creep shyly +into the corner. Along with the tea have come some of the new smart ones +which makes them feel badly dressed and dull. They feel that they are +gauche--and yet they know that they are beautiful--wonderfully beautiful +in their own badly dressed way. Timidly they watch from their +corner--hoping, hoping. . . . And then at last they just disappear. +They're only dream ideas, you see; I suppose they can't stand daylight +and tea with saccharine in it, and reality. . . . It's as they float +towards the window that sometimes they hear the girl talking to herself. +'Don't be a fool,' she says angrily, 'you've got to face facts, my dear. +And a possible.' Charming without a bean in the world isn't a fact--it's +a farce. It simply can't be done. . . . And three new very smart ideas +in their best glad rags make three long noses at the poor little dowdy +fellows as they go fluttering away to try to find another home." + +Vane laughed gently, and held out his cigarette case to the girl. And it +was as she turned to take one that he saw her eyes were very bright--with +the starry brightness of unshed tears. "Sure--but it's nice to talk rot +at times, my lady, isn't it?" he murmured. "And, incidentally, I'm +thinking I didn't tell the grey girl's story quite right. Because it +wasn't herself that she was thinking of most; though," and his eyes +twinkled, "I don't think, from my ideas of her, that she is cut out for +love in a cottage, with even the most adorable Prince Charming. But it +wasn't herself that came first; it was pride and love of home and pride +and love of family." + +The girl bit her lip and stared at him with a troubled look. "Tell me, +oh man of much understanding," she said softly, "what comes next?" + +But Vane shook his head with a laugh. "Cross my palm with silver, pretty +lady, and the old gipsy will tell your fortune. . . . I see a girl in +grey surrounded by men-servants and maid-servants, and encased in costly +furs and sparkling gems. Standing at the door outside is a large and +expensive Limousine into which she steps. The door is shut, and the car +glides off, threading its way through the London traffic. At last the +road becomes clearer, the speed increases, until after an hour's run the +car swings in between some old lodge gates. Without a sound it sweeps up +the drive, and the girl sees the first glint of the lake through the +trees. There is a weeping willow too, and as her eyes rest on it she +smiles a little, and then she sighs. The next moment the car is at the +front door, and she is in the arms of a man who has come out to meet her. +She calls him 'Dad,' and there's a boy just behind him, with his hands in +his pockets, who has eyes for nothing except the car. Because it's +'some' car. . . . She spends the day there, and when she's leaving, the +man she calls 'Dad' puts his hand on her arm. He just looks at +her--that's all, and she smiles back at him. For there's no worry now on +his face, no business trouble to cut lines on his brow. But +sometimes--he wonders; and then she just smiles at him, and his doubts +vanish. They never put it into words those two, and perhaps it is as +well. . . . A smile is so easy, it conceals so much. Not that there's +much to hide on her part. With her eyes wide open she made her choice, +and assuredly it had been worth while. Her father was happy; the old +house was safe and her husband was kind. . . . Only as the car glides +away from the door, her grey eyes once again rest on a weeping willow. A +fat old carp rises with a splash and she sees the ripples widening. . . . +And the smile fades from her lips, because--well, thoughts are capricious +things, and the weeping willow and the carp remind her of a certain +afternoon, and what a certain foolish weaver of fantasies said to +her. . . once in the long ago. Much has she got--much has she given to +others. It may have been worth while--but she has lost the biggest thing +in Life. That has passed her by. . . ." + +"The biggest thing in Life," she whispered. "I wonder; oh! I wonder." + +"Maybe she would never have found it," he went on, "even if she had not +married the man of great possessions. And then, indeed, she could have +said with reason--'I sure have made a damn fool of myself.' To throw +away the chances of costly furs and sparkling gems; to see _les papillons +noirs_ fluttering round her father's head in increasing numbers--and not +to find the biggest thing in Life after such a sacrifice--yes, that would +be too cruel. So, on balance, perhaps she had chosen wisely. . . ." + +"And is that all!" she asked him. "Is there no other course?" She +leaned towards him, and her lips were parted slightly. For a moment or +two he watched the slow rise and fall of her bosom, and then with a +short, hard laugh he turned away. + +"You want a lot for your money, my lady," he said, and his voice shook a +little. "But I will paint you another picture, before we drift through +the branches back to the boat-house and--reality. I see another +house--just an ordinary nice comfortable house--four reception, ten bed, +h. & c. laid on, with garage. Close to good golf links. A girl in grey +is standing in the hall, leaning over a pram in which the jolliest, +fattest boy you've ever thought of is sitting and generally bossing the +entire show. He is reputed by his nurse, who is old enough to know +better, to have just spoken his first consecutive sentence. To the +brutal and unimaginative father who is outside with his golf clubs it had +sounded like 'Wum--wah!' According to the interpreter it meant that he +wanted an egg for tea; and it was being duly entered up in a book which +contained spaces for Baby's first tooth, the first time he was sick, when +he smashed his first toy--and other milestones in his career. . . . Ah! +but it's a jolly house. There are no crowds of men-servants and +maid-servants; there is no priceless Limousine. And the girl just wears +a grey silk jersey with a belt, and a grey skirt and grey brogues. And, +ye Gods! but she looks topping, as she steps out to join the brutal man +outside. Her golf clubs are slung over her shoulder, and together they +foot it to the first tee. . . . He is just scratch, and she. . . . let's +think. . . ." + +"Eight would be a good sort of handicap," murmured the girl. + +"Eight it is," said Vane. "That means he gives her six strokes, and +generally beats her." + +"I'll bet he doesn't," cried the girl. + +"You must not interrupt the old gipsy, my lady," rebuked Vane, "You see, +it doesn't matter to those two which wins--not a little bit, for the most +important hole in the course is the tenth. It's a short hole, with the +most enormous sand bunker guarding the green on the right. And though +for nine holes neither of them has sliced, at the tenth they both do. +And if by chance one of them doesn't, that one loses the hole. You see +it's the most dreadful bunker, and somehow they've got to get to the +bottom of it. Well--it would be quite unfair if only one of them went +there--so the non-slicer loses the hole." + +The girl's face was dimpling gloriously. . . . + +"Then when they've got there--he just takes her in his arms and kisses +her; and she kisses him. Just now and then she'll whisper, 'My dear, my +dear--but it's good to be alive,' but most times they just kiss. Then +they go on and finish their game. Except for that interlude they are +really very serious golfers." + +"And when they've finished their game--what then?" + +"They go back and have tea--a big fat tea with lots of scones and +Devonshire cream. And then, after tea, the man goes round to the garage +and gets the car. Just a jolly little two-seater that does fifty on the +level. The girl gets in and they drive away to where the purple heather +merges into the violet of the moors! And it's great. Perhaps they'll +come back to dinner, or perhaps they'll have it somewhere and come home +when the sun has set and the stars are gleaming above them like a +thousand silver lamps. They don't know what they're going to do when +they start--and they don't care. They'll just be together, and that's +enough. . . . Of course they're very foolish and inconsequent +people. . ." + +"Ah! but they're not," she cried quickly. "They're just the wisest +people in the world. Only don't you see that one day after their golf +they drive on and on, and suddenly it seemed to the girl in grey that the +road was getting familiar? There was an old church she recognised and +lots of landmarks. And then suddenly they drive past some lodge gates, +and there--in the middle of the road--stands a dreadful man smoking a +cigar with a band round it. All the glory has gone from the drive, and +the girl feels numb and sick and mad with fury. . . ." + +"But that was bad steering on the man's part," said Vane. "He ought to +have avoided that road." + +"The girl could never avoid it, Derek," she answered sadly. "Even in the +bunker at the tenth she'd be seeing that cigar. . . ." + +"I don't believe it," said Vane. + +"I know it," answered the girl. + +A sudden hail of "Joan" came ringing over the water, and she gave an +answering hail. + +"There's Dad," she said. "I suppose we ought to be going. . . ." + +With a sigh Vane rose and stood over her. "Come on," he laughed, holding +out his hand to help her up. "And then I'll untie the boat. . . ." + +He swung her up beside him and for a moment they looked into one +another's eyes. + +"I hope," he said, "that you'll be happy, my dear, so happy." And his +voice was very tender. . . . + +They rowed back towards the boat-house, where Sir James was waiting for +them. + +"Come and have tea, you two," he cried cheerily, and Joan waved her hand +at him. Then she looked at Vane. + +"It's been a wonderful afternoon of make-believe," she said softly. +"I've just loved it. . . ." Vane said nothing, but just as they were +stepping out of the boat he took her arm gently. + +"Are you quite certain, lady," he whispered, "that it must +be--make-believe? . . ." + +For a while she stood motionless, and then she smiled "Why, of +course. . . . There's your beaten track to find, and there's She who +must be obeyed. And there's also. . . ." + +"The cigar with the band round it." Vane's hand dropped to his side. +"Perhaps you're right. . . ." + +They strolled together towards Sir James. And it was just before they +came within earshot that Vane spoke again. "Would you care to play the +game again, grey girl?" + +"Why, yes," she said, "I think I would. . . . I think I would." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +During the days that followed his afternoon on the lake at Blandford +Vane found himself thinking a good deal more of Joan than augured well +for his peace of mind. He had been over to call, and had discovered +that she had gone North very suddenly, and it was not certain when she +would return. And so he escaped from Aunt Jane as soon as he politely +could, and strolled back through the woods, conscious of a sense of +acute disappointment. + +He went to his customary hiding place by the little waterfall, and, +lighting his pipe sat down on the grass. + +"My son," he murmured to himself, "you'd better take a pull. Miss Joan +Devereux is marrying a millionaire to save the family. You are +marrying Margaret Trent--and it were better not to forget those two +simple facts. . . ." + +He pulled Margaret's letter out of his pocket, and started to read it +through again. But after a moment it dropped unheeded on the ground +beside him, and he sat motionless, staring at the pool. He did not see +the green of the undergrowth; he did not hear a thrush pouring out its +little soul from a bush close by. He saw a huddled, shapeless thing +sagging into a still smoking crater; he heard the drone of engines +dying faintly in the distance and a voice whispering, "The devils . . . +the vile devils." + +And then another picture took its place--the picture of a girl in grey, +lying back on a mass of cushions, with a faint mocking light in her +eyes, and a smile which hovered now and then round her lips. . . . + +A very wise old frog regarded him for a moment and then croaked +derisively. "Go to the devil," said Vane. "Compared with Margaret, +what has the other one done in this war that is worth doing?" + +"You must be even more damn foolish than most humans," it remarked, "if +you try to make yourself think that the way of a man with a maid +depends on the doing of things that are worth while." The speaker +plopped joyfully into the pool, and Vane savagely beheaded a flower +with his stick. + +"C-r-rick, C-r-rick," went the old frog, who had come up for a +breather, and Vane threw a stone at it. Try as he would he could not +check a thought which rioted through his brain, and made his heart +pound like a mad thing. Supposing--just supposing. . . . + +"Then why did she go up North so suddenly," jeered the frog. "Without +even leaving you a line? She's just been amusing you and herself in +her professional capacity." + +Vane swore gently and rose to his feet. "You're perfectly right, my +friend," he remarked; "perfectly right. She's just an ordinary common +or garden flirt, and we'll cut it right out. We will resume our +studies, old bean; we will endeavour to find out by what possible +method Bolshevism--_vide_ her august papa--can be kept from the +country. As a precautionary measure, a first-class ticket to +Timbuctoo, in case we fail in our modest endeavour, might be a good +speculation. . . ." + +For a moment he stood motionless, staring into the cool shadows of the +wood, while a curious smile played over his face. And may be, in spite +of his derisive critic, who still croaked from the edge of the pool, +his thoughts were not entirely centred on his proposed modest +endeavour. Then with a short laugh he turned on his heel, and strode +back towards Rumfold. + + +Two days later he found himself once again before a Medical Board. +Space, even in convalescent homes, was at a premium, and Vane, to his +amazement, found himself granted a month's sick leave, at the +expiration of which he was to go before yet another Board. And so +having shaken hands with Lady Patterdale and suffered Sir John to +explain the war to him for nearly ten minutes, Vane departed for London +and Half Moon Street. + +He wrote Margaret a long letter in reply to hers telling him of her +decision to take up medicine. He explained, what was no more than the +truth, that her suggestion had taken him completely by surprise, but +that if she considered that she had found her particular job he, for +one, would most certainly not attempt to dissuade her. With regard to +himself, however, the matter was somewhat different. At present he +failed to see any budding literary signs, and his few efforts in the +past had not been of the nature which led him to believe that he was +likely to prove a formidable rival to Galsworthy or Arnold +Bennett. . . . + +"I'm reading 'em all, Margaret--the whole blessed lot. And it seems to +me that with the world as it is at present, bread-and-butter is wanted, +not caviare. . . . But probably the mistake is entirely mine. There +seems to me to be a spirit of revolt in the air, which gives one most +furiously to think. Everybody distrusts everybody else; everybody +wants to change--and they don't know what they want to change to. +There doesn't seem to be any single connected idea as to what is +wanted--or how to get it. The only thing on which everyone seems +agreed is More Money and Less Work. . . . Surely to Heaven there must +be a way out; some simple way out. We didn't have this sort of thing +over the water. We were pals over there; but here every single soul +loathes every other single soul like poison. . . . Can it be that only +by going back to the primitive, as we had to do in France, can one find +happiness? The idea is preposterous. . . . And, yet, now that I'm +here and have been here these months, I'm longing to come back. I'm +sick of it. Looking at this country with what I call my French +eyes--it nauseates me. It seems so utterly petty. . . . What the +devil are we fighting for? It's going to be a splendid state of +affairs, isn't it, if the immediate result of beating the Boche is +anarchy over here? . . . . And one feels that it oughtn't to be so; +one feels that it's Gilbertian to the pitch of frenzied lunacy. You've +seen those boys in hospital; I've seen 'em in the line--and they've +struck me, as they have you, as God's elect. . . . Then why, WHY, WHY, +in the name of all that is marvellous, is this state of affairs +existing over here? . . . . + +"I went to lunch with Sir James Devereux before I left Rumfold. A nice +old man, but money, or rather the lack of it, is simply rattling its +bones in the family cupboard. . . ." + +Vane laid down his pen as he came to this point, and began to trace +patterns idly on the blotting paper. After a while he turned to the +sheet again. + +"His daughter seems very nice--also his sister, who is stone deaf. One +screams at her through a megaphone. He, of course, rants and raves at +what he calls the lack of patriotism shown by the working man. Fears +an organised strike--financed by enemy money--if not during, at any +rate after, the war. The country at a standstill--anarchy, Bolshevism. +'Pon my soul, I can't help thinking he's right. As soon as men, even +the steadiest, have felt the power of striking--what will stop +them? . . . And as he says, they've had the most enormous concessions. +By Jove! lady--it sure does make me sick and tired. . . . + +"However, in pursuance of your orders delivered verbally on the beach +at Paris Plage, I am persevering in my endeavours to find the beaten +track. I am lunching to-day with Nancy Smallwood, who has a new craze. +You remember at one time it used to be keeping parrots--and then she +went through a phase of distributing orchids through the slums of +Whitechapel, to improve the recipients' aesthetic sense. She only gave +that up, I have always understood, when she took to wearing black +underclothes! + +"I met her yesterday in Bond Street, and she tackled me at once. + +"'You must lunch to-morrow . . . Savoy . . . 1.15 . . . Meet Mr. +Ramage, Labour leader . . . Intensely interesting. . . .' + +"You know how she talks, like a hen clucking. 'Coming, man. . . . Has +already arrived, in fact. . . . One must make friends with the mammon +of unrighteousness these days. . . . Life may depend on it. . . . +He's such a dear, too. . . . Certain he'll never let these dreadful +men kill me. . . . But I always give him the very best lunch I +can. . . . In case, you know. . . . Good-bye.' + +"I feel that she will sort of put down each course on the credit side +of the ledger, and hope that, if the total proves sufficiently +imposing, she may escape with the loss of an arm when the crash comes. +She'll probably send the receipted bills to Ramage by special +messenger. . . . I'm rather interested to meet the man. Sir James was +particularly virulent over what he called the intellectuals. . . . + +"Well, dear, I must go. Don't do too much and overtire +yourself. . . ." He strolled out of the smoking-room and posted the +letter. Then, refusing the offer of a passing taxi, he turned along +Pall Mall on his way to the Savoy. + + +As Vane had said in his letter, Nancy Smallwood had a new craze. She +passed from one to another with a bewildering rapidity which tried her +friends very highly. The last one of which Vane had any knowledge was +when she insisted on keeping a hen and feeding it with a special +preparation of her own to increase its laying capacity. This +necessitated it being kept in the drawing-room, as otherwise she forgot +all about it; and Vane had a vivid recollection of a large and +incredibly stout bird with a watery and furtive eye ensconced on +cushions near the piano. + +But that was years ago, and now the mammon of unrighteousness, as she +called it, apparently held sway. He wondered idly as he walked along +what manner of man Ramage would prove to be. Everyone whom he had ever +met called down curses on the man's head, but as far as he could +remember he had never heard him described. Nor did he recollect ever +having seen a photograph of him. "Probably dressed in corduroy," he +reflected, "and eats peas with his knife. Damn clever thing to do too; +I mustn't forget to congratulate him if he does. . . ." + +He turned in at the courtyard of the hotel, glancing round for Nancy +Smallwood. He saw her almost at once, looking a little worried. +Incidentally she always did look worried, with that sort of helpless +pathetic air with which very small women compel very big men to go to +an infinity of trouble over things which bore them to extinction. + +"My dear man," she cried as he came up to her. "Mr. Ramage hasn't come +yet. . . . And he's always so punctual. . . ." + +"Then let us have a cocktail, Nancy, to keep the cold out till he +does." He hailed a passing waiter. "Tell me, what sort of a fellow is +he? I'm rather curious about him." + +"My dear," she answered, "he's the most fascinating man in the world." +She clasped her hands together and gazed at Vane impressively. "So +wonderfully clever . . . so quiet . . . so . . . so . . . gentlemanly. +I am so glad you could come. You would never think for a moment when +you saw him that he sympathised with all these dreadful Bolsheviks and +Soviets and things; and that he disapproved of money and property and +everything that makes life worth living. . . . Sometimes he simply +terrifies me, Derek." She sipped her cocktail plaintively. "But I +feel it's my duty to make a fuss of him and feed him and that sort of +thing, for all our sakes. It may make him postpone the +Revolution. . . ." + +Vane suppressed a smile, and lit a cigarette gravely. "They'll +probably give you a vote of thanks in Parliament, Nancy, to say nothing +of an O.B.E. . . . Incidentally does the fellow eat all right?" + +With a gesture of horrified protest, Nancy Smallwood sat back in her +chair. "My dear Derek," she murmured. . . . "Far, far better than you +and I do. I always mash my bread sauce up with the vegetables if no +one's looking, and I'm certain he never would. He's most +respectable. . . ." + +"My God!" said Vane, "as bad as that! I was hoping he'd eat peas with +his knife." + +She looked towards the door and suddenly stood up. "Here he is, coming +down the stairs now. . . ." She held out her hand to him as he came +up. "I was afraid you weren't going to come, Mr. Ramage." + +"Am I late?" he answered, glancing at his watch. "A thousand +apologies, Mrs. Smallwood. . . . A committee meeting. . . ." + +He turned towards Vane and she introduced the two men, who followed her +into the restaurant. And in his first quick glance Vane was conscious +of a certain disappointment, and a distinct feeling of surprise. + +Far from being clad in corduroy, Ramage had on a very respectable +morning coat. In fact, it struck him that Nancy Smallwood's remark +exactly described him. He looked _most_ respectable--not to say dull. +By no stretch of imagination could Vane imagine him as the leader of a +great cause. He might have been a country lawyer, or a general +practitioner, or any of those eminently worthy things with which +utility rather than brilliance is generally associated. He recalled +what he had read in the papers--paragraphs describing meetings at which +Mr. Ramage had taken a prominent part, and his general recollection of +most of them seemed to be summed up in the one sentence . . . "the +meeting then broke up in disorder, Mr. Ramage escaping with difficulty +through a window at the back." Somehow he could not see this decorous +gentleman opposite escaping through windows under a barrage of bad +eggs. He failed to fill the part completely. As a cashier in a local +bank gravely informing a customer that his account was overdrawn--yes; +but as a fighter, as a man who counted for something in the teeming +world around--why no. . . . Not as far as appearance went, at any +rate. And at that moment the eyes of the two men met for an instant +across the table. . . . + +It seemed to Vane almost as if he had received a blow--so sudden was +the check to his mental rambling. For the eyes of the man opposite, +deep set and gleaming, were the eyes of greatness, and they triumphed +so completely over their indifferent setting that Vane marvelled at his +previous obtuseness. Martyrs have had such eyes, and the great +pioneers of the world--men who have deemed everything well lost for a +cause, be that cause right or wrong. And almost as if he were standing +there in the flesh, there came to him a vision of Sir James raving +furiously against this man. + +He watched him with a slightly puzzled frown for a moment. This was +the man who was deliberately leading the masses towards discontent and +revolt; this was the man of intellect who was deliberately using his +gift to try to ruin the country. . . . So Sir James had said; so Vane +had always understood. And his frown grew more puzzled. + +Suddenly Ramage turned and spoke to him. A faint smile hovered for a +second around his lips, as if he had noticed the frown and interpreted +its cause aright. + +"Things seem to be going very well over the water, Captain Vane." + +"Very well," said Vane abruptly. "I think we've got those arch swine +beaten at last--without the help of a negotiated peace." + +For a moment the deep-set eyes gleamed, and then, once more, a faint +smile hovered on his face. "Of which much maligned substitute for war +you doubtless regard me as one of the High Priests?" + +"Such is the general opinion, Mr. Ramage." + +"And you think," returned the other after a moment, "that the idea was +so completely wrong as to have justified the holders of the opposite +view expending--what, another two . . . three million lives?" . . . + +"I am afraid," answered Vane a little curtly, "that I'm in no position +to balance any such account. The issues involved are a little above my +form. All I do know is, that our dead would have turned in their +graves had we not completed their work. . . .' + +"I wonder?" said the other slowly. "It always seems to me that the +dead are saddled with very blood-thirsty opinions. . . . One sometimes +thinks, when one is in a particularly foolish mood, that the dead might +have learned a little common sense. . . . Very optimistic, but +still. . . ." + +"If they have learned anything," answered Vane gravely, "our dead over +the water--they have learned the sublime lesson of pulling together. +It seems a pity, Mr. Ramage, that a few of 'em can't come back again +and preach the sermon here in England." + +"Wouldn't it be too wonderful?" chirruped their hostess. "Think of +going to St. Paul's and being preached to by a ghost. . . ." For the +past minute she had been shooting little bird-like glances at a +neighbouring table, and now she leaned forward impressively. "There +are some people over there, Mr. Ramage, and I'm sure they recognise +you." This was better, far better, than feeding a hen in the +drawing-room. + +He turned to her with a faintly amused smile. "How very annoying for +you! I am so sorry. . . . Shall I go away, and then you can discuss +my sins in a loud voice with Captain Vane?" + +Nancy Smallwood shook an admonishing finger at him, and sighed +pathetically. "Do go on talking, you two. I do so love to hear about +these things, and I'm so stupid myself. . . ." + +"For Heaven's sake, Nancy," laughed Vane, "don't put me amongst the +highbrows. I'm groping . . . crumbs from rich man's table sort of +business." + +"Groping?" Ramage glanced at him across the table. + +"Yes," said Vane taking the bull by the horns. "Wondering why the +devil we fought if the result is going to be anarchy in England. Over +there everybody seems to be pals; here. . . . Great Scott!" He +shrugged his shoulders. After a while he went on--"Over there we got +rid of class hatred; may I ask you, Mr. Ramage, without meaning in any +way to be offensive, why you're doing your utmost to stir it up over +here?" + +The other put down his knife and fork and stared at Vane thoughtfully. +"Because," he remarked in a curiously deep voice, "that way lies the +salvation of the world. . . ." + +"The machine-gun at the street corner," answered Vane cynically, "is +certainly the way to salvation for quite a number." + +Ramage took no notice of the interruption. "If labour had controlled +Europe in 1914, do you suppose we should have had a war? As it was, a +few men were capable of ordering millions to their death. Can you +seriously contend that such a state of affairs was not absolutely +rotten?" + +"But are you going to alter it by fanning class hatred?" demanded Vane +going back to his old point. + +"Not if it can be avoided. But--the issue lies in the hands of the +present ruling class. . . ." + +Vane raised his eyebrows. "I have generally understood that it was +Labour who was bringing things to a head." + +"It rather depends on the way you look at it, doesn't it? If I possess +a thing which by right is yours, and you demand the return of it, which +of us two is really responsible for the subsequent fight?" + +"And what does the present ruling class possess which Labour considers +should be returned to it?" asked Vane curiously. + +"The bond note of slavery," returned the other. "If the present rulers +will tear up that bond--willingly and freely--there will be no +fight. . . . If not. . . ." He shrugged his shoulders. "Labour may +be forcing that issue, Captain Vane; but it will be the other man who +is responsible if the fight comes. . . . Labour demands fair +treatment--not as a concession, but as a right--and Labour has felt its +power. It will get that treatment--peacefully, if possible; but if +not"--and a light blazed in his eyes--"it will get it by force." + +"And the referee as to what is just is Labour itself," said Vane +slowly; "in spite of the fact that it's the other man who is running +the financial risk and paying the piper. It sounds wonderfully fair, +doesn't it? Surely some rights must go with property--whether it's +land or a coal mine, or a bucket shop. . . . Surely the owner must +have the principal say in calling the tune." For a few moments he +stared at the man opposite him, and then he went on again, with +increasing earnestness--with almost a note of appeal in his voice. "I +want to get at your point of view, Mr. Ramage--I want to understand +you. . . . And I don't. There are thousands of men like me who have +been through this war--who have seen the glory underneath the dirt--who +want to understand too. We hoped--we still hope--that a new England +would grow out of it; but somehow. . . ." Vane laughed shortly, and +took out his cigarette case. + +"And we are going to get that new England for which you have fought," +burst out the other triumphantly. Then with a slight smile he looked +at Vane. "We must not forget our surroundings--I see a waiter +regarding me suspiciously. Thanks--no; I don't smoke." He traced a +pattern idly on the cloth for a moment, and then looked up quickly. "I +would like you to try to understand," he said. "Because, as I said, +the whole question of possible anarchy as opposed to a constitutional +change lies in your hands and the hands of your class." + +Vane gave a short, incredulous laugh, and shook his head. + +"In your hands," repeated the other gravely. "You see, Captain Vane, +we approach this matter from a fundamentally different point of view. +You look around you, and you see men striking here and striking there. +And you say 'Look at the swine; striking again!' But there's one thing +that you fail to grasp, I think. Underneath all these strikes and +violent upheavals, bursting into flame in all sorts of unexpected +places--there is the volcano of a vital conflict between two +fundamental ideas. Though the men hardly realise it themselves, it's +there, that conflict, all the time. . . . And we, who see a little +further than the mob, know that it's there, and that sooner or later +that conflict will end in victory for one side or the other. Which +side, my friend? Yours _or_ ours. . . . Or both. Yours _and_ +ours. . . . England's." He paused for a moment as the waiter handed +him the coffee. Then he went on--"To the master-class generally there +is a certain order of things, and they can imagine nothing else. They +employ workers--they pay them, or they 'chuck' them, as they like. +They hold over them absolute power. They are kind in many cases; they +help and look after their employees. But they are the masters--and the +others are the men. That is the only form of society they can conceive +of. Any mitigation of conditions is simply a change within the old +order. That is one point of view. . . . Now for the other." He +turned with a smile to his hostess. "I hope I'm not boring you. . . ." + +"Why, I'm thrilled to death," she cried, hurriedly collecting her +thoughts from an adjacent hat. "Do go on." + +"The other point of view is this. We do not wish for mitigation of +conditions in a system which we consider wrong. We want the entire +system swept away. . . . We want the entire propertied class removed. +We deny that there are any inherent rights which go with the possession +of property; and even if there are, we claim that the rights of the +masses far outweigh the property rights of the small minority of +owners. . . ." + +"In other words," said Vane briefly, "you claim for the masses the +right to commit robbery on a large scale." + +"For just so long as that view of robbery holds, Captain Vane, for just +so long will there fail to be any real co-operation between you and us. +For just so long as you are convinced that your vested right is the +true one, and that ours is false--for just so long will the final +settlement by quiet methods be postponed. But if you make it too long +the final settlement will not come by quiet means." + +"Your proposal, then, is that we should commit suicide with a good +grace?" remarked Vane. "Really, Mr. Ramage, it won't do. . . . I, +personally, if I owned property, would go into the last ditch in +defence of what was mine." Into his mind there flashed Joan's +words. . . . "It's ours. I tell you, ours," and he smiled grimly. +"Why, in the name of fortune, I should give what I possess to a crowd +of scally wags who haven't made good, is more than I can fathom. . . ." + +"It is hardly likely to go as far as that," said the other with a +smile. "But the time is coming when we shall have a Labour +Government--a Government which at heart is Socialistic. And their +first move will be to nationalise all the big industries. . . . How +far will property meet them and help them? Will they fight--or will +they co-operate? . . . It's up to property to decide. . . ." + +"Because you will have forced the issue," said Vane; "an issue which, I +maintain, you have no right to force. Robbery is robbery, just the +same whether its sanctioned by an Act of Parliament, or whether it's +performed by a man holding a gun at your head. . . . Why, in God's +name, Mr. Ramage, can't we pull together for the side? . . ." + +"With you as the leaders--the kind employers?" + +"With those men as the leaders who have shown that they can lead," said +Vane doggedly. "They will come to the top in the future as they have +in the past. . . ." + +"By all manner of means," cried Ramage. "Leaders--brains--will always +rise to the top; will always be rewarded more highly than mere manual +labour. . . . They will occupy more remunerative positions under the +State. . . . But the fruits of labour will only be for those who do +the work--be it with their hands or be it with their heads. The +profiteer must go; the private owner must go with his dole here and his +dole there, generally forced from him as the result of a strike. I +would be the last to say that there are not thousands of good +employers--but there are also thousands of bad ones, and now labour +refuses to run the risk any more." + +"And what about depreciation--fresh plant? Where's the capital coming +from?" + +"Why, the State. It requires very little imagination to see how easy +it would be to put away a certain sum each year for that. . . . A +question of how much you charge the final purchaser. . . . And the +profiteer goes out of the picture. . . . That's what we're aiming at; +that is what is coming. . . . No more men like the gentleman sitting +three tables away--just behind you; no more of the Baxters fattening on +sweated labour." His deep-set eyes were gleaming at the vision he saw, +and Vane felt a sense of futility. + +"Even assuming your view is right, Mr. Ramage," he remarked slowly, "do +you really think that you, and the few like you, will ever hold the +mob? . . . You may make your new England, but you'll make it over +rivers of blood, unless we all of us--you, as well as we--see through +the glass a little less darkly than we do now. . . ." + +"Every great movement has its price," returned the other, staring at +him gravely. + +"Price!" Vane's laugh was short and bitter. "Have you ever seen a +battalion, Mr. Ramage, that has been caught under machine-gun fire?" + +"And have _you_, Captain Vane, ever seen the hovels in which some of +our workers live?" + +"And you really think that by exchanging private ownership for a +soulless bureaucracy you find salvation?" said Vane shortly. "You're +rather optimistic, aren't you, on the subject of Government +departments? . . ." + +"I'm not thinking of this Government, Captain Vane," he remarked +quietly. He looked at his watch and rose. "I'm glad to have met you," +he said holding out his hand. "It's the vested interest that is at the +root of the whole evil--that stands between the old order and the new. +Therefore the vested interest must go." . . . He turned to his +hostess. "I'm sorry to run away like this, Mrs. Smallwood, but--I'm a +busy man. . . ." + +She rose at once; nothing would have induced her to forgo walking +through the restaurant with him. Later she would describe the progress +to her intimates in her usual staccato utterances, like a goat hopping +from crag to crag. + +"My dear. . . . So thrilling. . . . He means wholesale murder. . . . +Told us so. . . . And there was a man close by, watching him all the +time. . . . A Government spy probably. . . . Do you think I shall be +arrested? . . . If only he allows Bill and me to escape when it +comes. . . . The revolution, I mean. . . . I think Monte is the +place. . . . But one never knows. . . . Probably the croupiers will +be armed with pistols, or something dreadful. . . . Except that if +it's the labouring classes who are rising, we ought to shoot the +croupiers. . . . It is so difficult to know what to do." + +Vane turned to follow her, as she threaded her way between the tables, +and at that moment he saw Joan. The grey eyes were fixed on him +mockingly, and he felt as if everyone in the room must hear the sudden +thumping of his heart. With a murmured apology to his hostess, he left +her and crossed to Joan's table. + +"This is an unexpected surprise," she remarked as he came up. + +"Do you know Mr. Baxter--Captain Vane. . . ." + +Vane looked curiously at the man who had invoked his late companion's +wrath. Then his glance fell on the bottle of Vichy in front of the +millionaire, and his jaw tightened. + +"You left Blandford very unexpectedly, Miss Devereux," he said politely. + +"Yes--I had to go North suddenly." She looked at him with a smile. +"You see--I was frightened. . . ." + +"Frightened. . . ." murmured Vane. + +"A friend of mine--a very great friend of mine--a girl, was in danger +of making a fool of herself." Her eyes were fixed on the band, and his +heart began to thump again. + +"I trust the catastrophe was averted," he remarked. + +"One never knows in these cases, does one?" she answered. He saw the +trace of a smile hover on her lips; then she turned to her companion. +"Captain Vane was one of the convalescents at Rumfold Hall," she +explained. + +Mr. Baxter grunted. "Going over again soon?" he asked in a grating +voice. + +"I'm on leave at present," said Vane briefly. + +"Well, if you'll forgive my saying so," continued Baxter in his harsh +voice, "your luncheon companion to-day is a gentleman you want to be +careful with. . . ." + +Vane raised his eyebrows. "You are more than kind," he murmured. "But +I think. . . ." + +Mr. Baxter waved his hand. "I mean no offence," he said. "But that +man Ramage is one of the men who are going to ruin this country. . . ." + +"Funnily enough, Mr. Baxter, he seems to be of the opinion that you are +one of the men who have already done so." + +The millionaire, in no wise offended, roared with laughter. Then he +became serious again. "The old catchwords," he grated. "Bloated +capitalist--sweated labour, growing fat on the bodies and souls of +those we employ. . . . Rot, sir; twaddle, sir. There's no business +such as mine would last for one moment if I didn't look after my +workpeople. Pure selfishness on my part, I admit. If I had my way I'd +sack the lot and instal machines. But I can't. . . . And if I could, +do you suppose I'd neglect my machine. . . . Save a shilling for +lubricating oil and do a hundred pounds' worth of damage? Don't you +believe it, Captain Vane. . . . But, I'll be damned if I'll be +dictated to by the man I pay. . . . I pay them a fair wage and they +know it. And if I have any of this rot of sympathetic strikes after +the war, I'll shut everything down for good and let 'em starve. . . ." +He looked at Joan. . . . "I wouldn't be sorry to have a long rest," he +continued thoughtfully. + +"Captain Vane is a seeker after truth," she remarked. "It must be most +valuable," she turned to Vane, "to hear two such opinions as his and +Mr. Ramage's so close together." Her eyes were dancing merrily. + +"Most valuable," returned Vane. "And one is so struck with the +pugilistic attitude adopted by both parties. . . . It seems so +extraordinarily helpful to the smooth running of the country +afterwards." He had no occasion to like Baxter from any point of +view--but apart altogether from Joan, he felt that if there was any +justification in his late luncheon companion's views, men such as +Baxter supplied it. + +With a movement almost of distaste he turned to Joan. "I was sorry +that we didn't have another game before I left Rumfold," he said +lightly. + +"It was so very even that last one," she returned, and Vane's knuckles +showed white on the table. + +"My recollection is that you won fairly easily," he murmured. + +"Excuse me a moment, will you?" said Mr. Baxter to Joan. "There's a +man over there I must speak to. . . ." He rose and crossed the +restaurant. Joan watched him as he moved between the tables; then she +looked at Vane. "Your recollections are all wrong," she said softly. +The grey eyes held no hint of mockery in them now, they were sweetly +serious, and once again Vane gripped the table hard. His head was +beginning to swim and he felt that he would shortly make a profound +fool of himself. + +"Do you think you're being quite kind, grey girl," he said in a low +voice which he strove to keep calm. + +For a few moments she played with the spoon on her coffee cup, and +suddenly with a great rush of pure joy, which well-nigh choked him, +Vane saw that her hand was trembling. + +"Are _you_?" He scarcely heard the whispered words above the noise +around. + +"I don't care whether I am or not." His voice was low and exultant. +He looked round, and saw that Baxter was threading his way back towards +them. "This afternoon, Joan, tea in my rooms." He spoke swiftly and +insistently. "You've just got to meet Binks. . . ." + +And then, before she could answer, he was gone. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Vane walked along Piccadilly a prey to conflicting emotions. Dominant +amongst them was a wild elation at what he had seen in Joan's eyes, but +a very good second was the uncomfortable remembrance of Margaret. What +did he propose to do? + +He was not a cad, and the game he was playing struck him rather +forcibly as being uncompromisingly near the caddish. Did he, or did he +not, mean to make love to the girl he had just left at the Savoy? And +if he did, to what end? + +A crowd of lunchers coming out of Prince's checked him for a moment or +two, and forced him into the arms of an officer and a girl who were +standing, apparently waiting for a taxi. Almost unconsciously he took +stock of them, even as he apologised. . . . + +The girl, a pretty little thing, but utterly mediocre and +uninteresting, was clinging to the officer's arm, a second lieutenant +in the Tank Corps. + +"Do you think we ought to take a taxi, Bill? Let's go on a 'bus. . . ." + +"No damn fear," returned Bill. "Let's blow the lot while we're about +it. I'm going back to-morrow. . . ." + +Then Vane pushed past them, with that brief snapshot of a pair of lives +photographed on his brain. And it would have effaced itself as quickly +as it had come, but for the very new wedding ring he had seen on the +girl's left hand--so new that to conceal it with a glove was simply not +to be thought of. + +Money--money--money; was there no getting away from it? + +"Its value will not be measured by material things. It will leave +nothing. And yet it will have everything, and whatever one takes from +it, it will still have, so rich will it be. . . ." And as the words of +Oscar Wilde came to his mind Vane laughed aloud. + +"This is London, my lad," he soliloquised. "London in the twentieth +century. We've a very nice war on where a man may develop his +personality; fairy tales are out of date." + +He strolled on past the Ritz--his mind still busy with the problem. +Joan wanted to marry money; Joan had to marry money. At least he had +gathered so. He had asked Margaret to marry him; she had said that in +time she would--if he still wanted her. At least he had gathered so. +Those were the major issues. + +The minor and more important one--because minor ones have a way of +influencing the big fellows out of all proportion to their size--was +that he had asked Joan to tea. + +He sighed heavily and turned up Half Moon Street. Whatever happened +afterwards he had his duty as a host to consider first. He decided to +go in and talk to the worthy Mrs. Green, and see if by any chance that +stalwart pillar would be able to provide a tea worthy of the occasion. +Mrs. Green had a way with her, which seemed to sweep through such +bureaucratic absurdities as ration cards and food restrictions. Also, +and perhaps it was more to the point, she had a sister in Devonshire +who kept cows. + +"Mrs. Green," called Vane, "come up and confer with me on a matter of +great importance. . . ." + +With a wild rush Binks emerged from below as if shot from a +catapult--to be followed by Mrs. Green wiping her hands on her apron. + +"A most important affair, Mrs. Green," continued Vane, when he had let +himself into his rooms, and pacified Binks temporarily with the squeaky +indiarubber dog. "Only you can save the situation. . . ." + +Mrs. Green intimated by a magnificent gesture that she was fully +prepared to save any situation. + +"I have visitors for tea, or rather, to be correct--a visitor. A lady +to comfort me--or perhaps torment me--as only your sex can." His eyes +suddenly rested on Margaret's photo, and he stopped with a frown. Mrs. +Green's motherly face beamed with satisfaction. Here was a Romance +with a capital R, which was as dear to her kindly heart as a Mary +Pickford film. + +"I'm sure I hope you'll be very happy, sir," she said. + +"So do I, Mrs. Green--though I've a shrewd suspicion, I shall be +profoundly miserable." He resolutely turned his back on the photo. +"I'm playing a little game this afternoon, most motherly of women. +Incidentally it's been played before--but it never loses its charm +or--its danger. . . ." He gave a short laugh. "My first card is your +tea. Toast, Mrs. Green, covered with butter supplied by your sister in +Devonshire. Hot toast in your priceless muffin dish--running over with +butter: and wortleberry jam. . . . Can you do this great thing for me?" + +Mrs. Green nodded her head. "The butter only came this morning, Mr. +Vane, sir. And I've got three pounds of wortleberry jam left. . . ." + +"Three pounds should be enough," said Vane after due deliberation. + +"And then I've got a saffron cake," went on the worthy woman. "Fresh +made before it was sent on by my sister. . . ." + +"Say no more, Mrs. Green. We win--hands down--all along the line. Do +you realise that fair women and brave men who venture out to tea in +London to-day have to pay half a crown for a small dog biscuit?" Vane +rubbed his hands together. "After your tea, and possibly during it--I +shall play my second card--Binks. Now I appeal to you--Could any girl +with a particle of natural feeling consent to go on living away from +Binks?" + +The Accursed Thing emitted a mournful hoot, as Binks, hearing his name +spoken, raised his head and looked up at his master. His tail thumped +the floor feverishly, and his great brown eyes glowed with a mute +inquiry. "To walk, or not to walk"--that was the question. The answer +was apparently in the negative, for the moment at any rate, and he +again returned to the attack. + +"You see my guile, Mrs. Green," said Vane. "Softened by toast, +floating in Devonshire butter and covered with wortleberry jam; +mellowed by saffron cake--Binks will complete the conquest. Then will +come the crucial moment. No one, not even she, can part me from my +dog. To have Binks--she must have me. . . . What do you think of +it--as a game only, you know?" + +Mrs. Green laughed. "I surely do hope you're successful, my dear," she +said, and she laid a motherly hand on his arm. In moments of extreme +feeling she sometimes reverted to the language of her fathers, with its +soft West Country burr. . . . "When Green come courtin' me, he just +tuk me in tu his arms, and give me a great fat little kiss. . . ." + +"And, by Jove, Mrs. Green, he was a damn lucky fellow to be able to do +it," cried Vane, taking the kindly old hand in both his own. "If I +wasn't afraid of him coming for me with a broomstick, I'd do the same +myself. . . ." + +She shook a reproving finger at him from the door, and her face was +wreathed in smiles. "You ring when you want the tea, Mr. Vane, sir," +she said, "and I'll bring it up to you. . . ." + +She closed the door, and Vane heard the stairs creaking protestingly as +she descended. And not for the first time did he thank his lucky stars +that Fate had put him into such hands when he left Oxford. . . . + +For a while he stood staring at the door with a slight frown, and then +he turned to Binks. + +"I wonder, young fellow my lad," he muttered. "I wonder if I'm being +the most arrant blackguard!" + +He wandered restlessly round the room taking odd books from one table +and putting them on another, only to replace them in their original +positions on the return journey. He tidied up the golf clubs and a +bundle of polo sticks, and pitched the boxing gloves under a settee in +the corner from which Binks promptly retrieved them. In fact, he +behaved as men will behave when they're waiting for the unknown--be it +the answer of a woman, or zero hour at six thirty. And at last he +seemed to realise the fact. . . . + +"Oh! Hell, Binks," he laughed. "I've got it bad--right where the +boxer puts the sleep dope. . . . I think I'll just go and wash my +hands, old boy; they strike me as being unpleasantly excited. . . ." + +But when he returned Binks was still exhaling vigorously at a hole in +the wainscot, behind which he fancied he had detected a sound. With +the chance of a mouse on the horizon he became like Gamaliel, and cared +for none of these things. . . . + +A taxi drove up to the door, and Vane threw down the book he was +pretending to read, and listened with his heart in his mouth. Even +Binks, scenting that things were afoot, ceased to blow, and cocked his +head on one side expectantly. Then he growled, a low down, purring +growl, which meant that strangers were presuming to approach his domain +and that he reserved his judgment. . . . + +"Shut up, you fool," said Vane, as he sprang across the room to the +door, which at once decided the question in Binks's mind. Here was +evidently an enemy of no mean order who dared to come where angels +feared to tread when he was about. He beat Vane by two yards, giving +tongue in his most approved style. . . . + +"Down, old man, down," cried Vane, as he opened the door--but Binks had +to justify his existence. And so he barked twice at the intruder who +stood outside, watching his master with a faint smile. True the second +bark seemed in the nature of an apology; but damn it, one must do +something. . . . + +"You've come," said Vane, and with the sight of her every other thought +left his head. "My dear--but it's good of you. . . ." + +"Didn't you expect me?" she asked coming into the room. Still with the +same faint smile, she turned to Binks. "Hullo, old fellow," she said. +"You sure have got a great head on you." She bent over him, and put +her hand on the browny-black patch behind his ears. . . . Binks +growled; he disliked familiarity from people he did not know. + +"Look out, Joan," said Vane nervously. "He's a little funny with +strangers sometimes." + +"Am I a stranger, old chap?" she said, taking off her glove, and +letting her hand hang loosely just in front of his nose, with the back +towards him. Vane nodded approvingly, though he said nothing; as a +keen dog lover it pleased him intensely to see that the girl knew how +to make friends with them. And not everyone--even though they know the +method to use with a doubtful dog--has the nerve to use it. . . . + +For a moment Binks looked at her appraisingly; then he thrust forward a +cold wet nose and sniffed once at the hand in front of him. His mind +was made up. Just one short, welcoming lick, and he trotted back to +his hole in the wainscot. Important matters seemed to him to have been +neglected far too long as it was. . . . + +"Splendid," said Vane quietly. "The other member of the firm is now in +love with you as well. . . ." + +She looked at Vane in silence, and suddenly she shivered slightly. "I +think," she said, "that we had better talk about rather less dangerous +topics. . . ." She glanced round her, and then went to the window and +stood looking out into the bright sunlight. "What topping rooms you've +got," she said after a moment. + +"They aren't bad, are they?" remarked Vane briefly. "What do you say +to some tea? My devoted landlady is preparing a repast which +millionaires would squander their fortunes for. Her sister happens to +live in Devonshire. . . ." + +"So you were expecting me?" she cried, turning round and facing him. + +"I was," answered Vane. + +She laughed shortly. "Well--what do you think of dyspepsia and Vichy?" + +"I've been trying not to think of him ever since lunch," he answered +grimly. She came slowly towards him, and suddenly Vane caught both her +hands. "Joan, Joan," he cried, and his voice was a little hoarse, "my +dear, you can't. . . . You just can't. . . ." + +"What great brain was it who said something really crushing about that +word 'Can't?'" she said lightly. + +"Then you just mustn't." His grip almost hurt her, but she made no +effort to take away her hands. + +"The trouble, my very dear friend, seems to me to be that--I just +must." Gently she disengaged her hands, and at that moment Mrs. Green +arrived with the tea. + +"The dearest and kindest woman in London," said Vane with a smile to +Joan. "Since the days of my callow youth Mrs. Green has watched over +me like a mother. . . ." + +"I expect he wanted some watching too, Mrs. Green," cried Joan. + +Mrs. Green laughed, and set down the tea. "Show me the young gentleman +that doesn't, Miss," she said, "and I'll show you one that's no manner +of use to anybody. . . ." + +She arranged the plates and cups and then with a final--"You'll ring if +you want more butter, sir"--she left the room. + +"Think of it, Joan," said Vane. "Ring if you want more butter! Is it +a phrase from a dead language?" He pulled up a chair. . . . "Will you +preside, please, and decant the juice?" + +The girl sat down and smiled at him over the teapot. "A big, fat tea," +she murmured, "with lots of scones and Devonshire cream. . . ." + +"I thought you suggested talking about rather less dangerous topics," +said Vane quietly. Their eyes met, and suddenly Vane leaned forward. +"Tell me, grey girl," he said, "did you really mean it when you said +the last game was very nearly even?" + +For a moment she did not answer, and then she looked at him quite +frankly. "Yes," she said; "I really meant it. I tell you quite +honestly that I had meant to punish you; I had meant to flirt with +you--teach you a lesson--and give you a fall. I thought you wanted +it. . . . And then. . . ." + +"Yes," said Vane eagerly. . . . "What then?" + +"Why--I think I changed my mind," said the girl. "I didn't know you +were such a dear. . . . I'm sorry," she added after a moment. + +"But why be sorry?" he cried. "It's just the most wonderful thing in +the world. I did deserve it--I've had the fall. . . . And oh! my +dear, to think you're crashed as well. . . . Or at any rate slid a +bit." He corrected himself with a smile. + +But there was no answering smile on the girl's face. She just stared +out of the window, and then with a sort of explosive violence she +turned on Vane. "Why did you do it?" she stormed. "Why . . . +why . . .?" For a while they looked at one another, and then she +laughed suddenly. "For Heaven's sake, let's be sensible. . . . The +toast is getting cold, my dear man. . . ." + +"I can't believe it," said Vane gravely. "We've done nothing to +deserve such a punishment as that. . . ." + +And so for a while they talked of trivial things--of plays, and books, +and people. But every now and then would fall a silence, and their +eyes would meet--and hold. Just for a moment or two; just for long +enough to make them both realise the futility of the game they were +playing. Then they would both speak at once, and contribute some gem +of sparkling wit, which would have shamed even the writer of mottoes in +crackers. . . . + +A tentative paw on Joan's knee made her look down. Binks--tired of his +abortive blasts at an unresponsive hole--desired refreshment, and from +time immemorial tea had been the one meal at which he was allowed to +beg. He condescended to eat two slices of saffron cake, and then Vane +presented the slop basin to Joan. + +"He likes his tea," he informed her, "with plenty of milk and sugar. +Also you must stir it with your finger to see that it isn't too hot. +He'll never forgive you if it burns his nose." + +"You really are the most exacting household," laughed Joan, putting the +bowl down on the floor. + +"We are," said Vane gravely. "I hope you feel equal to coping with +us. . . ." + +She was watching Binks as he stood beside her drinking his tea, and +gave no sign of having heard his remark. + +"You know," he continued after a while, "your introduction to Binks at +such an early stage in the proceedings has rather spoilt the masterly +programme I had outlined in my mind. First you were to be charmed and +softened by Mrs. Green's wonderful tea. Secondly, you were to see +Binks; be formally introduced. You were to fall in love with him on +sight, so to speak; vow that you could never be parted from such a +perfect dog again. And then, thirdly. . . ." + +"His appearance is all that I could desire," she interrupted +irrelevantly; "but I beg to point out that he is an excessively dirty +feeder. . . ." + +Vane stood up and looked at the offender. "You mean the shower of tea +drops that goes backwards on to the carpet," he said reflectively. +"'Twas ever thus with Binks." + +"And the tea leaves adhering to his beard." She pointed an accusing +finger at the unrepentant sinner. + +"You should have poured it through that sieve affair," said Vane. +"Your own manners as a hostess are not all they might be. However, +Binks and I are prepared to overlook it for once, and so we will pass +on to the thirdly. . . ." + +He handed her the cigarette box, and with a faint smile hovering round +her lips, she looked up at him. + +"Is your thirdly safe?" she asked. + +"Mrs. Green thought it wonderful. A suitable climax to a dramatic +situation." + +"You've had a rehearsal, have you?" + +"Just a preliminary canter to see I hadn't forgotten anything." + +"And she approved?" + +"She suggested an alternative that, I am rather inclined to think, +might be better," he answered. "It's certainly simpler. . . ." + +Again she smiled faintly. "I'm not certain that Mrs. Green's simpler +alternative strikes me as being much safer than your thirdly," she +murmured. "Incidentally, am I failing again in my obvious duties? It +seems to me that Binks sort of expects something. . . ." Another +fusillade of tail thumps greeted the end of the sentence. + +"Great Scott!" cried Vane, "I should rather think you were. However, I +don't think you could very well have known; it's outside the usual +etiquette book." He handed her the indiarubber dog. "A feint towards +the window, one towards the door--and then throw." + +A quivering, ecstatic body, a short, staccato bark--and Binks had +caught his enemy. He bit once; he bit again--and then, a little +puzzled, he dropped it. Impossible to conceive that it was really dead +at last--and yet, it no longer hooted. Binks looked up at his master +for information on the subject, and Vane scratched his head. + +"That sure is the devil, old son," he remarked. "Have you killed it +for keeps. Bring it here. . . ." Binks laid it obediently at Vane's +feet. "It should squeak," he explained to Joan as he picked it up, +"mournfully and hideously." + +She came and stood beside him and together they regarded it gravely, +while Binks, in a state of feverish anticipation, looked from one to +the other. + +"Get on with it," he tail-wagged at them furiously; "get on with it, +for Heaven's sake! Don't stand there looking at one another. . . ." + +"I think," his master was speaking in a voice that shook, "I think the +metal squeak has fallen inside the animal's tummy. . . ." + +"You ought to have been a vet," answered the girl, and her voice was +very low. "Give it to me; my finger is smaller." + +She took the toy from Vane's hand and bent over it. + +"Thank goodness somebody takes an intelligent interest in matters of +import," thought Binks--and then with a dull, unsqueaking thud his +enemy fell at his feet. + +"My dear--my dear!" His master's voice came low and tense and pretence +was over. With hungry arms Vane caught the girl to him, and she did +not resist. He kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips, while she lay +passively against him. Then she wound her arms round his neck, and +gave him back kiss for kiss. + +At last she pushed him away. "Ah! don't, don't," she whispered. "You +make it so hard, Derek--so awfully hard. . . ." + +"Not on your life," he cried exultingly. "It's easy that I've made it, +my darling, so awfully easy. . . ." + +Mechanically she patted her hair into shape, and then she stooped and +picked up the toy. + +"We're forgetting Binks," she said quietly. She managed to get the +circular metal whistle out of the inside of the toy, and fixed it in +its appointed hole, while Vane, with a glorious joy surging through +him, leaned against the mantelpiece and watched her in silence. Not +until the squeaking contest was again going at full blast in a corner +did he speak. + +"That was Mrs. Green's simpler alternative," he said reflectively. +"Truly her wisdom is great." + +In silence Joan went towards the window. For a while she looked out +with unseeing eyes, and then she sank into a big easy chair with her +back towards Vane. A thousand conflicting emotions were rioting +through her brain; the old battle of heart against head was being +waged. She was so acutely alive to his presence just behind her; so +vitally conscious of his nearness. Her whole body was crying aloud for +the touch of his hands on her again--and then, a vision of Blandford +came before her. God! what did it matter--Blandford, or her father, or +anything? There was nothing in the world which could make up for--what +was it he had called it?--the biggest thing in Life. + +Suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulders; she felt them stealing +down her arms. She felt herself lifted up towards him, and with a +little gasp of utter surrender she turned and looked at him with +shining eyes. + +"Derek, my darling," she whispered. "Que je t'adore. . . ." + +And then of her own accord, she kissed him on the lips. . . . + +It was Binks's expression, about a quarter of an hour later, which +recalled them to earth again. With an air of pained disgust he +regarded them stolidly for a few minutes. Then he had a good scratch +on both sides of his neck, after which he yawned. He did not actually +say "Pooh," but he looked it, and they both laughed. + +"Dear man," she whispered, "wouldn't it be just too wonderful if it +could always be just you and me and Binks? . . ." + +"And why shouldn't it be, lady?" he answered, and his arm went round +her waist. "Why shouldn't it be? We'll just sometimes have to see +some horrible outsider, I suppose, and perhaps you or somebody will +have to order food every year or so. . . . But except for that--why, +we'll just slip down the stream all on our own, and there won't be a +little bit of difficulty about keeping your eyes in the boat, grey +girl. . . ." + +She smiled--a quick, fleeting smile; and then she sighed. + +"Life's hell, Derek--just hell, sometimes. And the little bits of +Heaven make the hell worse." + +"Life's pretty much what we make it ourselves, dear," said Vane gravely. + +"It isn't," she cried fiercely. "We're what life makes us. . . ." + +Vane bent over and started pulling one of Binks's ears. + +"You hear that, old man," he said. "The lady is a base materialist, +while I--your funny old master--am sprouting wings and growing a halo +as a visionary." Vane looked sideways at the girl. "He manages to +make his own life, Joan. He'd be as happy with me in a garret as he +would in a palace. . . . Probably happier, because he'd mean more to +me--fill a bigger part of my life." + +Suddenly he stood up and shook both his fists in the air. "Damn it," +he cried, "and why can't we cheat 'em, Joan? Cheat all those grinning +imps, and seize the Blue Bird and never let it go?" + +"Because," she answered slowly, "if you handle the Blue Bird roughly or +snatch at it and put it in a cage, it just pines away and dies. And +then the imps grin and chuckle worse than ever. . . ." + +She rose and put her hands on his shoulders. "It's here now, my dear. +I can hear it fluttering so gently near the window. . . . And that +noise from the streets is really the fairy chorus. . . ." + +A motor car honked discordantly and Vane grinned. + +"That's a stout-hearted little fellow with a good pair of lungs on +him." She smiled back at him, and then she pushed him gently backwards +and forwards with her hands. + +"Of course he's got good lungs," she said. "He toots like that +whenever anybody falls in love, and twice when they get married, and +three times when. . . ." + +Vane's breath came in a great gasp, and he pushed her away almost +roughly. + +"Don't--for God's sake, don't, Joan. . . ." + +"My dear," she cried, catching his arm, "forgive me. The Blue Bird's +not gone, Derek--it's still there. Don't frighten it--oh! don't. We +won't snatch at it, won't even think of making any plans for caging +it--we'll just assume it's going to stop. . . . I believe it will +then. . . . And afterwards--why what does afterwards matter? Let's be +happy while we may, and--perhaps, who knows--we will cheat those +grinning imps after all. . . ." + +"Right," cried Vane, catching her hands, "right, right, right. What +shall we do, my dear, to celebrate the presence of our blue +visitor? . . ." + +For a moment she thought, and then her eyes lit up. "You're still on +leave, aren't you?" + +"Even so, lady." + +"Then to-morrow we will take a car. . . ." + +"My car," interrupted Vane. "And I've got ten gallons of petrol." + +"Glorious. We'll take your car, and will start ever so early, and go +to the river. Sonning, I think--to that ripping pub where the roses +are. And then we'll go on the river for the whole day, and take Binks, +and an invisible cage for the Blue Bird. . . . We'll take our food, +and a bone for Binks and the squeaky dog. Then in the evening we'll +have dinner at the White Hart, and Binks shall have a napkin and sit up +at table. And then after dinner we'll come home. My dear, but it's +going to be Heaven." She was in his arms and her eyes were shining +like stars. "There's only one rule. All through the whole day--no +one, not even Binks--is allowed to think about the day after." + +Vane regarded her with mock gravity. "Not even if we're arrested for +joy riding?" he demanded. + +"But the mascot will prevent that, silly boy," she cried. "Why would +we be taking that cage for otherwise?" + +"I see," said Vane. "It's the most idyllic picture I've ever even +thought of. There's only one thing. I feel I must speak about it and +get it over." He looked so serious that for a moment her face clouded. +"Do not forget--I entreat of you, do not forget--your meat coupon." +And then with the laughter that civilisation has decreed shall not be +heard often, save on the lips of children, a man and a girl forgot +everything save themselves. The world of men and matters rolled on and +passed them by, and maybe a year of Hell is fair exchange for that +brief space. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +The next morning dawned propitious, and Vane, as he drove his +two-seater through the park to Ashley Gardens, sang to himself under +his breath. He resolutely shut his eyes to the hurrying streams of +khaki and blue and black passing in and out of huts and Government +buildings. They simply did not exist; they were an hallucination, and +if persisted in might frighten the mascot. + +Joan was waiting for him when he drove up at half-past nine, with Binks +sitting importantly on the seat beside him. + +"Get right in, lady," cried Vane, "and we'll be on to the Land of the +Pixies. But, for the love of Mike, don't put anything on Binks's +adversary in the hood. He hasn't had his proper morning battle yet, +and one squeak will precipitate a catastrophe." + +Never had he seen Joan looking so charming. Of course she was in +grey--that was in the nature of a certainty on such an occasion, but +she might have been in sackcloth for all the attention Vane paid to her +clothes. It was her face that held him, with the glow of perfect +health on her cheeks, and the soft light of utter happiness in her +eyes. She was pretty--always; but with a sudden catch of his breath +Vane told himself that this morning she was the loveliest thing he had +ever seen. + +"I've got the cage, Derek," she said, "and the beautifullest bone for +Binks that he's ever thought of. . . ." + +"You dear," answered Vane, and for a moment their eyes met. "You +absolute dear. . . ." Then with a quick change of tone he laughed. +"Jump in, grey girl--and avaunt all seriousness. Do you mind having +Binks on your lap?" + +"Do I mind?" she answered reproachfully. "Did you hear that, Binkie? +He's insulting you." + +But Binks was claiming his share of the Blue Bird and refused to take +offence. He just opened one brown eye and looked at her, and then he +went peacefully to sleep again. He rather liked this new acquisition +to the family. . . . + +And so began the great day. They didn't go far from the hotel; just +under the old bridge and up a little way towards Sonning lock, where +the river forks, and the trees grow down to the water's edge. To every +man whose steps lead him on to the Long Trail, there is some spot in +this island of ours the vision of which comes back to him when the +day's work is done and he lies a-dreaming of Home. To some it may be +the hills in the Highlands with the wonderful purple mist over them +growing black as the sun sinks lower and lower; to others a little +golden-sanded beach with the red sandstone cliffs of Devon rising sheer +around it, and the tiny waves rippling softly through the drowsy +morning. It is not always thus: sometimes the vision shows them a +heaving grey sea hurling itself sullenly on a rock-bound coast; a grey +sky, and driving rain which stings their faces as they stand on the +cliffs above the little cove, looking out into the lands beyond the +water, where the strange roads go down. . . . + +And then to some it may be the roar and bustle of Piccadilly that comes +back to haunt them in their exile--the theatre, the music and the +lights, the sound of women's skirts; or the rolling Downs of Sussex +with the white chalk quarries and great cockchafers booming past them +through the dusk. + +To each and everyone there is one spot hallowed by special memory, and +that spot claims pride of place in day dreams. But when the mind +rambles on, and the lumber-room of the past is open--to all who have +tasted of its peaceful spell there comes the thought of The River. +Spell it with Capitals; there is only one. Whether it be Bourne End +with its broad reach and the sailing punts, or the wooded heights by +Clieveden; whether it be Boulter's Lock on Ascot Sunday, or the quiet +stretch near Goring--there is only one River. Henley, Wargrave, +Cookham--it matters not. . . . They all go to form The River. And +it's one of them, or some of them, or all of them that brings that +faint smile of reminiscence to the wanderer's face as he stirs the fire +with his boot. + +It's so wonderful to drift--just once in a while. And those of the +River always drift when they worship at her shrine. Only people who +make money in tinned goods and things, and are in all respects +dreadful, go on the River in launches, which smell and offend people. +And they are not of the River. . . . + +"If," said Joan lazily, "you had suggested paddling to Reading, or +punting several miles towards Henley, I should have burst into tears. +And yet there are some people who deliberately set out to go +somewhere. . . ." + +"There are two things which precluded such an insane possibility," he +said. "The first is Binks; he likes to run about. And the second is +that unless I have a kiss within one second I shall blow up. . . ." + +"Of course you've known Binks longer than me, so I suppose I mustn't +object to the order of precedence." She looked at him mockingly, then, +with a quick, fierce movement, she took his face between her hands. +And an intelligent and bewhiskered old water rat regarded the +subsequent proceedings with a tolerant eye. + +"More of 'em at it, my dear," he told his spouse, in his fastness under +a gnarled tree root. "However, there's no objection to the children +having a look if it amuses them." He cast a discriminating eye round +the larder, and frowned heavily. "Hell! you don't mean to say that +we've got that damned ham bone again," he growled. "However, we ought +to pick up something when they've finished the exhibition and get down +to their lunch. . . ." He thoughtfully pulled his left whisker. "And +by the way, my love, tell Jane not to go wandering about this +afternoon, even if she is in love. There's an abominable dog of the +most dangerous description on the warpath. Let me know when those +fools stop." + +He composed himself for a nap, and the wash of a passing launch which +flopped against the punt outside lulled him to sleep. . . . He was a +prosaic old gentleman, that water rat, so his peevishness may be +forgiven him. After all, a ham bone is a ham bone and pretty poor at +that, and when one has been the father of several hundreds, the +romantic side of life pales considerably in the light of the +possibilities of lunch. + +But up above, in the punt, the fools were busy according to their +foolishness, quite unmindful of their disapproving audience. Maybe it +is dangerous to try to cheat reality; but success justifies any +experiment. And the day was successful beyond their wildest dreams. +Binks grubbed about in the bank and incidentally gave the love-sick +Jane the fright of her young life; until at last, tired and dirty and +happy, he lay down on the grass just above Vane's head, and went on +hunting in his dreams. . . . + +As for the two chief fools, the day passed as such days have always +passed since Time began. And the absolute happiness which comes with +the sudden touch of a hand, the quick, unexpected glance, the long, +passionate kiss, is not to be put on paper. They talked a little about +aimless, intimate things; they were silent a great deal--those +wonderful silences which become possible only with perfect +understanding. And gradually the shadows lengthened, and the grey +water began to grow darker. . . . Sometimes from the old bridge came +the noise of a passing car, and once an electric canoe went past them +in the main stream, with a gramophone playing on board. The sound of +the record came to them clearly over the water--the Barcarolle from +"Les Contes d'Hoffmann," and they listened until it died faintly away +in the distance. + +Then at last, with a great sigh Vane stood up and stretched himself. +For a long while he looked down at the girl, and it seemed to her that +his face was sad. Without a word he untied the punt, and, still in +silence, they paddled slowly back towards the hotel. + +It was only as they were drifting under the bridge that he spoke, just +one short sentence, in a voice which shook a little. + +"My dear," he whispered, "I thank you," and very gently he raised her +hand to his lips. . . . + +But at dinner he had banished all traces of sadness from his mood. +They both bubbled with the spontaneous happiness of two children. +Binks, to his intense disgust, had to submit to the indignity of a +table napkin tied round his neck, and all the occupants of the hotel +thought them mad. Incidentally they were--quite mad, which was just as +it should be after such a day. Only when they were leaving did they +become sane again for a moment. + +"Just one more look at the river, my lady," said Vane to her, "before +we start. There's a little path I know of, leading out of the rose +garden where one can't be seen, and we've just got to say our good-bye +to the water alone." + +He led the way and Joan followed with Binks trotting sedately between +them. And then with his arm round her waist, and her head on his +shoulder, they stood and watched the black water flowing smoothly by. + +"I've stuck to the rule, grey girl." Vane's arm tightened round her; +"I've said not a word about the future. But to-morrow I am going to +come to you; to-morrow you've got to decide." + +He felt her shiver slightly against him, and he bent and kissed her +passionately. "There can only be one answer," he whispered fiercely. +"There shall only be one answer. We're just made for one +another. . . ." + +But it seemed to both of them that the air had become colder. . . . + + +"You'll come in, Derek," said Joan as the car drew up in Ashley +Gardens. "Come in and have a drink; my aunt would like to see you." + +Barely a word had been spoken on the drive home, and as Vane followed +her into the flat it struck him that her face seemed a little white. + +"Are you feeling cold, dear?" he asked anxiously. "I ought to have +taken another rug." + +"Not a bit," Joan smiled at him. "Only a little tired. . . . Even the +laziest days are sometimes a little exacting!" She laughed softly. +"And you're rather an exacting person, you know. . . ." + +She led the way into the drawing-room, and Vane was duly introduced to +Lady Auldfearn. + +"There are some letters for you, Joan," said her aunt. "I see there's +one from your father. Perhaps he'll say in that whether he intends +coming up to town or not. . . ." + +With a murmured apology Joan opened her mail, and Vane stood chatting +with the old lady. + +"I hope you won't think me rude, Captain Vane," she said after a few +commonplaces; "but I have arrived at the age when to remain out of bed +for one instant after one wishes to go there strikes me as an act of +insanity." She moved towards the door and Vane opened it for her with +a laugh. "I hope I shall see you again." She held out her hand, and +Vane bent over it. + +"It's very good of you, Lady Auldfearn," he answered. "I should like +to come and call. . . ." + +"You can ask at the door if Joan is in," she continued. "If she isn't, +I sha'n't be at all offended if you go away again." + +Vane closed the door behind her, and strolled back towards the +fireplace. "A woman of great discernment is your aunt, Joan." He +turned towards her, and suddenly stood very still. "What is it, my +dear? . . . Have you had bad news?" + +With a letter crumpled up in her hand she was staring at the floor, and +she gave a little, bitter laugh. "Not even one day, Derek; the kindly +Fates wouldn't even give us that. . . ." + +She looked at the letter once again, and read part of it, while Vane +watched her with a hopeless feeling of impending trouble. + +"You'd better read it," she said wearily. "It's from Father." She +handed it to him, and then pointed to the place. "That bit +there. . . . 'So I'm sorry to say, little Joan, it's come at last. +I've been hoping against hope that I might be able to pull things +through, but it simply can't be done. The less will not contain the +greater, and my irreducible minimum expenditure is more than my income. +Humanly speaking, as far as one can see, there can be no considerable +fall in the cost of living and income tax for many years after the +war.' . . ." + +Vane's eyes skimmed on over the short, angular writing, picking up a +phrase here and there. "Gordon to be considered. . . . It means +practical penury at Blandford, comparative affluence if we go. . . . + +"If I could lay my hand on a hundred thousand it might pull things +through till the country is more or less settled once again; that is if +it ever does get settled. If labour goes on as it is at present, I +suppose we shall have to be grateful for being allowed to live at +all. . . ." + +Vane looked at Joan, who was still staring at the floor in front of +her, and almost mechanically he returned her the letter. . . . + +"You've known this was coming, Joan," he said at last. . . . + +"Of course," she answered. "But it doesn't make it any better now it +has. One always hopes." She shrugged her shoulders, and looked up at +him. "Give me a cigarette, Derek, I don't think I'd have minded quite +so much if it hadn't come to-day. . . ." + +He held out the match for her, and then with his elbow on the +mantelpiece he stood watching her. She seemed inert, lifeless, and the +contrast with the laughing, happy girl at dinner hit him like a blow. +If only he could help--do something; but a hundred thousand was an +absurdity. His total income was only about fifteen hundred a year. +And as if to torment him still more there rose before his mind the +cold, confident face of Henry Baxter. . . . + +"Joan--does it matter so frightfully much giving up Blandford?" + +She looked at him for a moment, with a sort of amazement on her face. +"My dear," she said, "I simply can't imagine life without Blandford. +It's just part of me. . . ." + +"But when you marry you wouldn't live there yourself," he argued. + +She raised her eyebrows. "Pride of place belongs to women as much as +to men," she answered simply. "Why, Derek, don't try to pretend that +you don't understand that." She gave a little tired laugh. "Besides, +it's Dad--and Gordon. . . ." + +"And you'd sacrifice yourself for them," he cried. "Not to keep them +from want, don't forget--but to keep them at Blandford!" She made no +answer, and after a while he went on. "I said I'd come to-morrow, +Joan, and ask you to decide; but this letter alters things a bit, my +dear. I guess we've got to have things out now. . . ." + +The girl moved restlessly and rested her head on her hand. + +"You've said it once, lady; I want to hear you say it again. 'Do you +love me?'" + +"Yes; I love you," she said without the slightest hesitation. + +"And would you marry me if there was no Blandford?" + +"To-morrow," she answered simply, "if you wanted it." + +With a sudden ungovernable rush of feeling Vane swept her out of the +chair into his arms, and she clung to him panting and breathless. + +"My dear," he said exultantly, "do you suppose that after that I'd let +you go? Not for fifty Blandfords. Don't you understand, my grey girl? +You've got your sense of proportion all wrong. You're mine--and +nothing else on God's green earth matters." + +So for a while they stood there, while he smoothed her hair with hands +that trembled a little and murmured incoherent words of love. And then +at last they died away, and he fell silent--while she looked at him +with tired eyes. The madness was past, and with almost a groan Vane +let his arms fall to his side. + +"Dear man," she said, "I want you to go; I can't think when you're with +me. I've just got to worry this thing out for myself. I don't want +you to come and see me, Derek, until I send for you; I don't want you +even to write to me. I don't know how long it will take. . . . but +I'll let you know, as soon as I know myself." + +For a while he argued with her--but it was useless. In the bottom of +his heart he knew it would be even as he pleaded and stormed. And, +because he recognised what lay behind her decision, he loved her all +the more for her refusal. There was a certain sweet wistfulness on her +face that tore at his heart, and at last he realised that he was +failing her, and failing her badly. It was a monstrous thing from one +point of view that such a sacrifice should be possible--but it came to +Vane with cynical abruptness that life abounds in monstrous things. + +And so, very gently, he kissed her. "It shall be as you say, dear," he +said gravely. "But try not to make it too long. . . ." + +At the door he stopped and looked back. She was standing as he had +left her, staring out into the darkness, and as he paused she turned +and looked at him. And her eyes were very bright with unshed +tears. . . . + +Mechanically he picked up his hat and gloves, and drove back to his +rooms. He helped himself to a whisky and soda of such strength that +Binks looked at him with an apprehensive eye, and then he laughed. + +"Hell, Binks," he remarked savagely--"just Hell!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +During the weeks that followed Vane did his best to put Joan out of his +mind. He had given her his promise not to write, and as far as in him +lay he tried his hardest not to think. A Medical Board passed him fit +for light duty, and he joined up at the regimental depot in the +cathedral city of Murchester. Once before he had been there, on a +course, before he went overseas for the first time, and the night he +arrived he could not help contrasting the two occasions. On the first +he, and everyone else, had had but one thought--the overmastering +desire to get across the water. The glamour of the unknown was calling +them--the glory which the ignorant associate with war. Shop was +discussed openly and without shame. They were just a band of wild +enthusiasts, only longing to make good. + +And then they had found what war really was--had sampled the reality of +the thing. One by one the band had dwindled, and the gaps had been +filled by strangers. Vane was sitting that night in the chair where +Jimmy Benton had always sat. . . . He remembered Jimmy lying across +the road near Dickebush staring up at him with sightless eyes. So had +they gone, one after another, and now, how many were left? And the +ones that had paid the big price--did they think it had been worth +while . . . now? . . . They had been so willing to give their all +without counting the cost. With the Englishman's horror of +sentimentality or blatant patriotism, they would have regarded with the +deepest mistrust anyone who had told them so. But deep down in each +man's heart--it was England--his England--that held him, and the glory +of it. Did they think their sacrifice had been worth while . . . now? +Or did they, as they passed by on the night wind, look down at the +seething bitterness in the country they had died for, and whisper +sadly, "It was in vain--You are pulling to pieces what we fought to +keep standing; you have nothing but envy and strife to put in its +place. . . . Have you not found the truth--yet? . . ." + +Unconsciously, perhaps, but no less certainly for that, Vane was +drifting back into the same mood that had swayed him when he left +France. If what Ramage had said to him was the truth; if, at the +bottom of all the ceaseless bickering around, there was, indeed, a +vital conflict between two fundamentally opposite ideas, on the +settlement of which depended the final issue--it seemed to him that +nothing could avert the catastrophe sooner or later. It was against +human nature for any class to commit suicide--least of all the class +which for generations had regarded itself and been regarded as the +leading one. And yet, unless this thing did happen; unless +voluntarily, the men of property agreed to relinquish their private +rights, and sink their own interests for the good of the others, Ramage +had quite calmly and straightforwardly prophesied force. Apparently +the choice lay between suicide and murder. . . . + +It all seemed so hopelessly futile to Vane. He began to feel that only +over the water lay Reality; that here, at home, he had discovered a +Land of Wild Imaginings. . . . + +Though he refused to admit it to himself, there was another, even more +potent, factor to account for his restlessness. Like most Englishmen, +however black the outlook, however delirious the Imagining, he had, +deep down in his mind, the ingrained conviction that the country would +muddle through somehow. But the other factor--the personal +factor--Joan, was very different. Try as he would he could not dismiss +her from his mind entirely. Again and again the thought of her came +back to torment him, and he began to chafe more and more at his forced +inaction. Where large numbers of officers are continually passing +through a depot, doing light duty while recovering from wounds, there +can be nothing much for the majority to do. Twice he had begun a +letter to Margaret, to tell her that after all she had been right--that +it had been nervous tension--that it wasn't her after all. And twice +he had torn it up after the first few lines. It wasn't fair, he +pacified his conscience, to worry her when she was so busy. He could +break it far more easily by degrees--when he saw her. And so the +restlessness grew, and the disinclination to do anything but sit in the +mess and read the papers. His arm was still too stiff for tennis, and +the majority of the local people bored him to extinction. Occasionally +he managed to get ten minutes' work to do that was of some use to +somebody; after that his time was his own. + +One day he tried his hand at an essay, but he found that the old easy +style which had been his principal asset had deserted him. It was +stiff and pedantic, and what was worse--bitter; and he tore it up +savagely after he had read it through. He tried desperately to recover +some of his old time optimism--and he failed. He told himself again +and again that it was up to him to see big, to believe in the future, +and he cursed himself savagely for not being able to. + +There was a woman whom he had met at lunch on one of his periodical +visits to London. She was a war widow, and a phrase she had used to +him rang in his brain for many days after. It seemed to him to express +so wonderfully the right feeling, the feeling which in another form he +was groping after. + +"It wouldn't do," she had said very simply, "for the Germans to get a +'double casualty.'" It was the sort of remark, he thought, that he +would have expected Margaret to make. With all the horror of genteel +pauperism staring her in the face, that woman was thinking big, and was +keeping her head up. With all the bitterness of loss behind her, she +had, that very day, so she told him, been helping another more +fortunate one to choose frocks for her husband's next leave. . . . + +Try as he might, he could not rid himself of the mocking question "Cui +bono?" What was the use of this individual heroism to the country at +large? As far as the woman herself was concerned it kept her human, +but to the big community . . .? Would even the soldiers when they came +back be strong enough, and collected enough, to do any good? And how +many of them really thought . . .? + +Surely there must be some big, and yet very simple, message which the +war could teach. Big because the result had been so wonderful; simple +because the most stupid had learned it. And if they had learned it +over the water, surely they could remember it afterwards. . . . pass it +on to others. It might even be taught in the schools for future +generations to profit by. + +It was not discipline or so-called militarism; they were merely the +necessary adjuncts to a life where unhesitating obedience is the only +thing which prevents a catastrophe. It was not even tradition and +playing the game, though it seemed to him he was getting nearer the +answer. But these were not fundamental things; they were to a certain +extent acquired. He wanted something simpler than that--something +which came right at the beginning, a message from the bedrock of the +world; something which was present in France--something which seemed to +be conspicuous by its absence in England. + +"We've caught these fellows," he said one evening after dinner to a +regular Major whose life had taken him all over the world, "and we've +altered 'em. Their brothers are here at home; they themselves were +here a short while ago--will be back in the future. They are the same +breed; they come from the same stock. What is this thing that has done +it? What gospel has been preached to 'em to turn them into the salt of +the earth, while at home here the others are unchanged, except for the +worse?" + +The Major shifted his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. +"The gospel that was preached two thousand odd years ago," he answered +shortly. Vane looked at him curiously. "I admit I hardly expected +that answer, Major," he said. + +"Didn't you?" returned the other. "Well, I'm not an authority on the +subject; and I haven't seen the inside of a church for business +purposes since before the South African War. But to my mind, when +you've shorn it of its trappings and removed ninety per cent. of its +official performers into oblivion, you'll find your answer in what, +after all, the Church stands for." He hesitated for a moment, and +glanced at Vane, for he was by nature a man not given to speech. "Take +a good battalion in France," he continued slowly. "You know as well as +I do what's at the bottom of it--good officers. Good leaders. . . . +What makes a good leader? What's the difference between a good officer +and a dud? Why, one has sympathy and the other hasn't: one will +sacrifice himself, the other won't. . . . There's your gospel. . . ." +He relapsed into silence, and Vane looked at him thoughtfully. + +"Sympathy and sacrifice," he repeated slowly. "Is that your summing up +of Christianity? + +"Isn't it?" returned the other. "But whether it is or whether it +isn't, it's the only thing that will keep any show going. Damn it, +man, it's not religion--it's common horse sense." The Major thumped +his knee. "What the deuce do you do if you find things are going wrong +in your company? You don't snow yourself in with reports in triplicate +and bark. You go and see for yourself. Then you go and talk for +yourself; and you find that it is either a justifiable grievance which +you can put right, or an error or a misunderstanding which you can +explain. You get into touch with them. . . . Sympathy. Sacrifice. +Have a drink?" He pressed the bell and sank back exhausted. As has +been said, he was not addicted to speech. + +Neither of them spoke until the waiter had carried out the order, and +then suddenly the Major started again. Like many reserved men, once +the barrier was broken down, he could let himself go with the best. +And Vane, with his eyes fixed on the quiet face and steady eyes of the +elder man, listened in silence. + +"I'm a fool," he jerked out. "Every Regular officer is a fool. +Numbers of novelists have said so. Of course one bows to their +superior knowledge. But what strikes me in my foolishness is +this. . . . You've got to have leaders and you've got to have led, +because the Almighty has decreed that none of us have the same amount +of ability. Perhaps they think He's a fool too; but even they can't +alter that. . . . If ability varies so must the reward--money; and +some will have more than others. Capital and Labour; leader and led; +officer and man. . . . In the old days we thought that the best leader +for the Army was the sahib; and with the old army we were right. +Tommy . . . poor, down-trodden Tommy, as the intellectuals used to call +him, was deuced particular. He was also mighty quick on the uptake at +spotting the manner of man he followed. Now things have changed; but +the principle remains. And it answers. . . . You'll always have an +aristocracy of ability who will be the civilian leaders, you'll always +have the rank and file who will be led by them. The same rules will +hold as you apply in the army. . . . You'll have good shows and bad +shows, according to whether the leader has or has not got sympathy. A +good many now should have it; they've learned the lesson over the +water. And on their shoulders rests the future. . . ." + +"You put the future on the leaders, too," said Vane a little curiously. + +"Why, naturally," returned the other. "What else fits a man to lead?" + +"But your broad doctrine of sympathy"--pursued Vane. "Don't you think +it's one of those things that sounds very nice in a pulpit, but the +practical application is not quite so easy. . . ." + +"Of course it isn't easy," cried the other. "Who the deuce said it +was? Is it easy to be a good regimental officer? Sympathy is merely +the--the spiritual sense which underlies all the work. And the work is +ceaseless if the show is going to be a good one. You know that as well +as I do. You take an officer who never talks to his men, practically +never sees 'em--treats 'em as automatons to do a job. Never sacrifices +his own comfort. What sort of a show are you going to have?" + +"Damn bad," said Vane, nodding his head. + +"And you take a fellow who talks to 'em, knows 'em well, is a friend to +'em, and explains things--that's the vital point--explains things; +listens to what they have to say--even makes some small amendments if +he thinks they're right. . . . A fellow who makes them take a pride in +their show. . . . What then?" + +"But could you apply it to civil life?" queried Vane. + +"Don't know," returned the other, "because I'm a fool. Everybody says +so; so I must be. But it seems to me that if you take a concern, and +every week the boss sends for his men, or some chosen representative of +theirs, and explains things to 'em, it won't do much harm. Shows 'em +how the money is going--what it's being spent on, why he's putting in +fresh plant, why his dividends ain't going to be as big this year as +they were last--all that sort of thing. Don't play the fool with +them. . . . Dividends may be bigger, and he'll have to stump up. . . . +A good many of the bosses will have to alter their ways, incidentally. +No man is going to sweat himself in order that someone else up the road +can keep a second motor car, when the man himself hasn't even a donkey +cart. You wouldn't yourself--nor would I. Up to a point it's got to +be share and share alike. Over the water the men didn't object to the +C.O. having a bedroom to himself; but what would they have said if he'd +gone on to battalion parade in a waterproof one bad day, while they +were uncloaked?" + +"Yes, but who is going to decide on that vital question of money?" +pursued Vane. "Supposing the men object to the way the boss is +spending it. . . ." + +The other thoughtfully filled his pipe. "Of course, there will always +be the risk of that," he said. "Seventeen and twenty per cent. +dividends will have to cease--I suppose. And after all--not being a +Croesus myself I'm not very interested--I'm blowed if I see why man +should expect more than a reasonable percentage on his money. I +believe the men would willingly agree to that if they were taken into +his confidence and sure he wasn't cooking his books. . . . But when +one reads of ten, herded together in one room, and the company paying +enormous dividends, do you wonder they jib? I would. Why shouldn't +the surplus profit above a fair dividend be split up amongst the +workmen? I'm no trade expert, Vane. Questions of supply and demand, +and tariffs and overtime, leave me quite cold. But if you're going to +get increased production, and you've got to or you're going to starve, +you can't have civil war in the concern. And to ensure that you must +have all the cards on the table. The men must understand what they're +doing; the boss must explain. + +"What made a man understand the fact of dying over the water? What +made thousands of peace-loving men go on in the filth and dirt, only to +die like rats at the end. . . . What made 'em keep their tails up, and +their chests out? Why--belief and trust in their leaders. And how was +it inculcated? By sympathy--nothing more nor less. God above--if it +was possible when the stakes were life and death--can't it be done over +here in the future? The men won't strike if only they understand; +unless in the understanding they find something they know to be wrong +and unjust." + +"I was talking to that Labour fellow--Ramage--the other day," said Vane +thoughtfully. "According to him State control of everything is the +only panacea. And he says it's coming. . . ." + +"Dare say it will," returned the other. "The principle remains the +same. With sympathy nine out of ten strikes will be averted +altogether. Without it, they won't. The leaders will be in touch with +their men; as leaders they will be able to feel the pulse of their men. +And when things are going wrong they'll know it; they'll anticipate the +trouble. . . . Sympathy; the future of the Empire lies in sympathy. +And this war has taught many thousands of men the meaning of the word. +It has destroyed the individual outlook. . . . There, it seems to me, +lies the hope of our salvation." He finished his drink and stood up. +"If we're going to continue a ceaseless war between leaders and +led--it's me for Hong-Kong. And it is only the leaders who can avert +it. . . ." + +"Incidentally that's what Ramage said," remarked Vane. "Only he +demands complete equality . . . the abolition of property. . . ." + +The other paused as he got to the door. "Then the man's a fool, and a +dangerous fool," he answered gravely. "Night-night. . . ." + +For a long while Vane sat on, staring at the fire. Though only early +in October, the night was chilly, and he stretched his legs gratefully +to the blaze. After a time he got up and fetched an evening paper. +The great push between Cambrai and St. Quentin was going well; behind +Ypres the Boche was everywhere on the run. But to Vane gigantic +captures in men and guns meant a very different picture. He saw just +the one man crawling on his belly through the mouldering bricks and +stinking shell-holes of some death-haunted village. He saw the sudden +pause--the tense silence as the man stopped motionless, listening with +every nerve alert. He felt once again the hideous certainty that he +was not alone; that close to, holding his breath, was someone +else . . . then he saw the man turn like a flash and stab viciously; he +heard the clatter of falling bricks--the sob of exultation as the Boche +writhed in his death agony. . . . And it might have been the other way +round. + +Then he saw the other side; the long weary hours of waiting, the filthy +weariness of it all--the death and desolation. Endured without a +murmur; sticking it always, merry, cheerful, bright--so that the glory +of the British soldier should be written on the scroll of the immortals +for all eternity. + +Was it all to be wasted, thrown away? His jaw set at the thought. +Surely--surely that could never be. Let 'em have their League of +Nations by all manner of means; but a League of Britain was what these +men were fighting for. And to every Britisher who is a Britisher--may +God be praised there are millions for whom patriotism has a real +meaning--that second League is the only one that counts. + +The door opened and Vallance, the Adjutant, came in. "There's a letter +for you, old boy, outside in the rack," he remarked. He walked over to +the fire to warm his hands. "Bring me a large whisky and a small +soda," he said to the waiter, who answered his ring. "Drink, Vane?" + +Vane looked up from the envelope he was holding in his hand and shook +his head. "No, thanks, old man," he answered. "Not just now. . . . I +think I'll read this letter first." And the Adjutant, who was by +nature an unimaginative man, failed to notice that Vane's voice was +shaking a little with suppressed excitement. + +It was ten minutes before either of them spoke again. Twice Vane had +read the letter through, and then he folded it carefully and put it in +his pocket. + +"Contrary to all service etiquette, old boy," he said, "I am going to +approach you on the subject of leave in the mess. I want two or three +days. Can it be done?" + +Vallance put down his paper, and looked at him. + +"Urgent private affairs?" he asked lightly. + +"Very urgent," returned Vane grimly. + +"I should think it might be managed," he said. "Fire in an application +and I'll put it up to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Vane briefly, "I will." + +For a moment or two after he had left the room Vallance looked at the +closed door. Then he picked the envelope out of the grate, and studied +the handwriting. + +"Confound these women," he muttered, and consigned it to the flames. +He liked to think himself a misogynist, and, incidentally, thoughts of +drafts were worrying him. + +Up in his own room Vane was poking the fire. His face was stern, and +with care and deliberation he pulled up the arm chair to the blaze. +Then he took the letter out of this pocket, and proceeded to read it +through once again. + + +MELTON HOUSE, + OFFHAM, NEAR LEWES. + +MY DEAR,--It's just on midnight, but I feel in the mood for doing what +I've been shirking for so long. Don't you know the feeling one gets +sometimes when one has put off a thing again and again, and then there +suddenly comes an awful spasm and one fairly spreads oneself? . . . +Like putting one's bills away for months on end, and then one day +becoming insane and paying the whole lot. I've been putting this off, +Derek, for what I'm going to write will hurt you . . . almost as much +as it hurts me. I'm not going to put in any of the usual cant about +not thinking too hardly of me; I don't think somehow we are that sort. +But I can't marry you. I meant to lead up to that gradually, but the +pen sort of slipped--and, anyway you'd have known what was coming. + +I can't marry you, old man--although I love you better than I ever +thought I'd love anyone. You know the reasons why, so I won't labour +them again. They may be right and they may be wrong; I don't +know--I've given up trying to think. I suppose one's got to take this +world as it is, and not as it might be if we had our own way. . . . +And I can't buy my happiness with Blandford, Derek--I just can't. + +I went down there the morning after Our Day--oh! my God! boy, how I +loved that time--and I saw Father. He was just broken down with it +all; he seemed an old, old man. And after luncheon in the study he +told me all about it. I didn't try to follow all the facts and +figures--what was the use? I just sat there looking out over +Blandford--my home--and I realised that very soon it would be that no +longer. I even saw the horrible man smoking his cigar with the band on +it in Father's chair. + +Derek, my dear--what could I do? I knew that I could save the +situation if I wanted to; I knew that it was my happiness and yours, my +dear, that would have to be sacrificed to do it. But when the old Dad +put his arm round my waist and raised his face to mine--and his dear +mouth was all working--I just couldn't bear it. + +So I lied to him, Derek. I told him that Mr. Baxter loved me, and that +I loved Mr. Baxter. Two lies--for that man merely wants me as a +desirable addition to his furniture--and I, why sometimes I think I +hate him. But, oh! my dear, if you'd seen my Father's face; seen the +dawning of a wonderful hope. . . . I just couldn't think of anything +except him--and so I went on lying, and I didn't falter. Gradually he +straightened up; twenty years seemed to slip from him . . .. + +"My dear," he said. "I wouldn't have you unhappy; I wouldn't have you +marry any man you didn't love. But if you do love him, little Joan, if +you do--why it just means everything. . . . Baxter's worth +millions. . . ." + +But it makes one laugh, my Derek, doesn't it? laugh a little bitterly. +And then after a while I left him, and went down to the boat-house, and +pulled over to our weeping willow. But I couldn't stop there. . . . I +can't try myself too high. I guess I'm a bit weak where you're +concerned, boy--a bit weak. And I've got to go through with this. +It's my job, and one can't shirk one's job. . . . Only sometimes it +seems that one gets saddled with funny jobs, doesn't one? Try to see +my point of view, Derek; try to understand. If it was only me, why, +then, my dear, you know what would be the result. I think it would +kill me if you ever thought I was marrying Mr. Baxter for money for +myself. . . . + +And you'll forget me in time, dear lad--at least, I'm afraid you will. +That's foolish, isn't it?--foolish and weak; but I couldn't bear you to +forget me altogether. Just once or twice you'll think of me, and the +Blue Bird that we kept for one day in the roses at Sonning. You'll go +to She who must be obeyed and I hope to God I never meet her. . . . +For I'll hate her, loathe her, detest her. + +I'm engaged to Mr. Baxter. I've exacted my full price to the uttermost +farthing. Blandford is saved, or will be on the day I marry him. We +are neither of us under any illusions whatever; the whole thing is on +an eminently business footing. . . . We are to be married almost at +once. + +And now, dear, I am going to ask you one of the big things. I don't +want you to answer this letter; I don't want you to plead with me to +change my mind. I daren't let you do it, my man, because, as I said, +I'm so pitifully weak where you are concerned. And I don't know what +would happen if you were to take me in your arms again. Why, the very +thought of it drives me almost mad. . . . Don't make it harder for me, +darling, than it is at present--please, please, don't. + +Mr. Baxter is not here now, and I'm just vegetating with the Suttons +until the sale takes place--my sale. They were talking about you at +dinner to-night, and my heart started pounding until I thought they +must have heard it. Do you wonder that I'm frightened of you? Do you +wonder that I ask you not to write? + +It's one o'clock, my Derek, and I'm cold--and tired, awful tired. I +feel as if the soul had departed out of me; as if everything was +utterly empty. It is so still and silent outside, and the strange, +old-fashioned ideas--do you remember your story?--have been sitting +wistfully beside me while I write. Maybe I'll hear them fluttering +sadly away as I close down the envelope. + +I love you, my darling, I love you. . . . I don't know why Fate should +have decreed that we should have to suffer so, though perhaps you'll +say it's my decree, not Fate's. And perhaps you're right; though to me +it seems the same thing. + +Later on, when I'm a bit more used to things, we might meet. . . . I +can't think of life without ever seeing you again; and anyway, I +suppose, we're bound to run across one another. Only just at the +moment I can't think of any more exquisite torture than seeing you as +another woman's husband. . . . + +Good-night, my dear, dear Love, God bless and keep you. + +JOAN. + +Oh! Boy--what Hell it all is, what utter Hell! + + +The fire was burning low in the grate as Vane laid the letter down on +the table beside him. Bolshevism, strikes, wars--of what account were +they all combined, beside the eternal problem of a man and a woman? +For a while he sat motionless staring at the dying embers, and then +with a short, bitter laugh he rose to his feet. + +"It's no go, my lady," he muttered to himself. "Thank Heaven I know +the Suttons. . . ." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Vane stepped into the train at Victoria the following afternoon, and +took his seat in the Pullman car. It was a non-stop to Lewes, and a +ticket for that place reposed in his pocket. What he was going to +do--what excuse he was going to make, he had not yet decided. Although +he knew the Suttons very well, he felt that it would look a little +strange if he suddenly walked into their house unannounced; and he had +been afraid of wiring or telephoning from London in case he should +alarm Joan. He felt vaguely that something would turn up which would +give him the excuse he needed; but in the meantime his brain was in an +incoherent condition. Only one thought rose dominantly above all the +others, and it mocked him, and laughed at him, and made him twist and +turn restlessly in his seat. Joan was going to marry Baxter. . . . +Joan was going to marry Baxter. . . . + +The rattle of the wheels sang it at him; it seemed to fit in with their +rhythm, and he crushed the paper he was holding savagely in his hand. +By Heaven! she's not. . . . By Heaven! she's not. . . . Fiercely and +doggedly he answered the taunting challenge, while the train rushed on +through the meadows and woods of Sussex. It slowed down for the +Wivelsfield curve, and then gathered speed again for the last few miles +to Lewes. With gloomy eyes he saw Plumpton race-course flash by, and +he recalled the last meeting he had attended there, two years before +the war. Then they roared through Cooksbridge and Vane straightened +himself in his seat. In just about a minute he would come in sight of +Melton House, lying amongst the trees under the South Downs. And Vane +was in the condition when a fleeting glance of the house that sheltered +Joan was like a drink of water to a thirsty man. It came and went in a +second, and with a sigh that was almost a groan he leaned back and +stared with unseeing eyes at the high hills which flank the valley of +the Ouse, with their great white chalk pits, and rolling grass slopes. + +He had determined to go to an hotel for the night, and next day to call +at Melton House. During the evening he would have to concoct some +sufficiently plausible tale to deceive the Suttons as to the real +reason for having come--but sufficient unto the evening was the worry +thereof. He walked slowly up the steep hill that led into the High +Street, and booked a room at the first inn he came to. Then he went +out again, and sauntered round aimlessly. + +The town is not full of wild exhilaration, and Vane's previous +acquaintance with it had been formed on the two occasions when he had +attended race-meetings there. Moreover, it is very full of hills and +after a short while Vane returned to his hotel and sat down in the +smoking-room. It was unoccupied save for one man who appeared to be of +the genus commercial traveller, and Vane sank into a chair by the fire. +He picked up an evening paper and tried to read it, but in a very few +moments it dropped unheeded to the floor. . . . + +"Know these parts well, sir?" the man opposite him suddenly broke the +silence. + +"Hardly at all," returned Vane shortly. He was in no mood for +conversation. + +"Sleepy old town," went on the other; "but having all these German +prisoners has waked it up a bit." + +Vane sat up suddenly. "Oh! have they got prisoners here?" The excuse +he had been looking for seemed to be to hand. + +"Lots. They used to have conscientious objectors--but they couldn't +stand them. . . ." He rattled on affably, but Vane paid no heed. He +was busy trying to think under what possible pretext he could have been +sent down to deal with Boche prisoners. And being a man of discernment +it is more than likely he would have evolved something quite good, but +for the sudden and unexpected arrival of old Mr. Sutton himself. . . . + +"Good Heavens! What are you doing here, my dear boy?" he cried, +striding across the room, and shaking Vane's hand like a pump handle. + +"How'd you do, sir," murmured Vane. "I--er--have come down to inquire +about these confounded conscientious prisoners--Boche objectors--you +know the blighters. Question of standardising their rations, don't you +know. . . . Sort of a committee affair. . . ." + +Vane avoided the eye of the commercial traveller, and steered rapidly +for safer ground. "I was thinking of coming out to call on Mrs. Sutton +to-morrow." + +"To-morrow," snorted the kindly old man. "You'll do nothing of the +sort, my boy. You'll come back with me now--this minute. Merciful +thing I happened to drop in. Got the car outside and everything. How +long is this job, whatever it is--going to take you?" + +"Three or four days," said Vane hoping that he was disguising any +untoward pleasure at the suggestion. + +"And can you do it equally well from Melton?" demanded Mr. Sutton. "I +can send you in every morning in the car." + +Vane banished the vision of breakers ahead, and decided that he could +do the job admirably from Melton. + +"Then come right along and put your bag in the car." The old +gentleman, with his hand on Vane's arm, rushed him out of the +smoking-room, leaving the commercial traveller pondering deeply as to +whether he had silently acquiesced in a new variation of the confidence +trick. . . . + +"We've got Joan Devereux staying with us," said Mr. Sutton, as the +chauffeur piled the rugs over them. "You know her, don't you?" + +"We have met," answered Vane briefly. + +"Just engaged to that fellow Baxter. Pots of money." The car turned +out on to the London road, and the old man rambled on without noticing +Vane's abstraction. "Deuced good thing too--between ourselves. Sir +James--her father, you know--was in a very queer street. . . . Land, +my boy, is the devil these days. Don't touch it; don't have anything +to do with it. You'll burn your fingers if you do. . . . Of course, +Blandford is a beautiful place, and all that, but, 'pon my soul, I'm +not certain that he wouldn't have been wiser to sell it. Not certain +we all wouldn't be wiser to sell, and go and live in furnished rooms at +Margate. . . . Only if we all did, it would become the thing to do, +and we'd soon get turned out of there by successful swindlers. They +follow one round, confound 'em--trying to pretend they talk the same +language." + +"When is Miss Devereux going to be married?" asked Vane as the old man +paused for breath. + +"Very soon. . . . Fortnight or three weeks. Quite a quiet affair, you +know; Baxter is dead against any big function. Besides, he has to run +over to France so often, and so unexpectedly, that it might have to be +postponed a day or two at the last moment. Makes it awkward if half +London has been asked." + +The car swung through the gates and rolled up the drive to the house. +The brown tints of autumn were just beginning to show on the trees, and +an occasional fall of dead leaves came fluttering down as they passed +underneath. Then, all too quickly for Vane, they were at the house, +and the chauffeur was holding open the door of the car. Now that he +was actually there--now that another minute would bring him face to +face with Joan--he had become unaccountably nervous. + +He followed Mr. Sutton slowly up the steps, and spent an unnecessarily +long time taking off his coat. He felt rather like a boy who had been +looking forward intensely to his first party, and is stricken with +shyness just as he enters the drawing-room. + +"Come in, come in, my boy, and get warm." Mr. Sutton threw open a +door. "Mary, my dear, who do you think I found in Lewes? Young Derek +Vane--I've brought him along. . . ." + +Vane followed him into the room as he was speaking, and only he noticed +that Joan half rose from her chair, and then sank back again, while a +wave of colour flooded her cheeks, and then receded, leaving them +deathly white. With every pulse in his body hammering, but outwardly +quite composed, Vane shook hands with Mrs. Sutton. + +"So kind of your husband," he murmured. "He found me propping up the +hotel smoking-room, and rescued me from such a dreadful +operation. . . ." + +Mrs. Sutton beamed on him. "But it's delightful, Captain Vane. I'm so +glad you could come. Let me see--you know Miss Devereux, don't you?" + +Vane turned to Joan, and for the moment their eyes met. "I think I +have that pleasure," he said in a low voice. "I believe I have to +congratulate you, Miss Devereux, on your approaching marriage." + +He heard Joan give a gasp, and barely caught her whispered answer: "My +God! why have you come?" + +He turned round and saw that both the old people were occupied for a +moment. "Why, just to congratulate you, dear lady . . . just to +congratulate you." His eyes burned into hers, and his voice was +shaking. "Why else, Joan, why else?" + +Then Mrs. Sutton began to talk, and the conversation became general. + +"It's about these German prisoners; they're giving a bit of trouble," +Vane said in answer to her question. "And so we've formed a sort of +board to investigate their food and general conditions . . . and--er--I +am one of the board." + +"How very interesting," said the old lady. "Have you been on it for +long?" + +"No--not long. In fact," said Vane looking fixedly at Joan, "I only +got my orders last night. . . ." With the faintest flicker of a smile +he watched the tell-tale colour come and go. + +Then she turned on him, and her expression was a little baffling. "And +have you any special qualification, Captain Vane, for dealing with such +an intricate subject?" + +"Intricate?" He raised his eyebrows. "I should have thought it was +very simple. Just a matter of common sense, and making . . . er . . . +these men--well--get their sense of proportion." + +"You mean making them get your sense of proportion?" + +"In some cases there can be only one," said Vane gravely. + +"And that one is your own. These--German prisoners you said, didn't +you?--these German prisoners may think it their duty to disagree with +your views. Doubtless from patriotic motives. . . ." + +"That would be a great pity," said Vane. "It would then be up to me to +make them see the error of their ways." + +"And if you fail?" asked the girl. + +"Somehow I don't think I shall," he answered slowly. "But if I do--the +trouble of which I spoke will not diminish. It will increase. . . ." + +"We pander too much to these swine," grumbled Mr. Sutton. "It makes me +sick when I hear of the way our boys are treated by the brutes. A damn +good flogging twice a day--you'll pardon my language, is what they +want." + +"Yes--drastic measures can be quite successful at times," said Vane, +with a slight smile. "Unfortunately in our present advanced state of +civilisation public opinion is against flogging. It prefers violence +against the person to be done mentally rather than physically. . . . +And it seems so short-sighted, doesn't it? The latter is transitory, +while the other is permanent. . . ." + +Joan rose and looked at him quietly. "How delightful to meet a man who +regards anything as permanent these days. I should have thought we +were living in an age of ever-changing values. . . ." + +"You're quite wrong, Miss Devereux," said Vane. "Quite, quite wrong. +The little things may change--the froth on the top of the pool, which +everyone sees and knows about; but the big fundamental things are +always the same. . . ." + +"And what are your big fundamental things?" she demanded. + +Vane looked at her for a few moments before he answered her lightly. +"Things on which there can be no disagreement even though they are my +own views. Love and the pleasure of congenial work, and health. . . . +Just think of having to live permanently with anybody whose digestion +has gone. . . ." + +"May you never _have_ to do it," said the girl quietly. Then she +turned and walked towards the door. "I suppose it's about time to +dress, isn't it?" She went out of the room and Mr. Sutton advanced on +Vane, with his hand upraised, like the villain of a melodrama when on +the point of revealing a secret, unaware of the comic relief ensconced +in the hollow tree. + +"My dear fellow," he whispered hoarsely. "You've said the wrong +thing." He peered round earnestly at the door, to make sure Joan had +not returned. "Baxter--the man she's going to marry--is a perfect +martyr to indigestion. It is the one thorn in the rose. A most +suitable match in every other way, but he lives"--and the old gentleman +tapped Vane on the shoulder to emphasise this hideous thing--"he lives +on rusks and soda-water." + +Vane threw the end of his cigarette in the fire and laughed. "There's +always a catch somewhere, isn't there, Mr. Sutton? . . . . I'm afraid +I shall have to ask you to excuse my changing; I've only got this khaki +with me." + + +Vane was standing in front of the big open hearth in the hall when Joan +came down for dinner. It was the first time he had seen her in an +evening dress, and as she came slowly towards him from the foot of the +stairs his hands clenched behind his back, and he set his teeth. In +her simple black evening frock she was lovely to the point of making +any man's senses swim dizzily. And when the man happened to be in love +with her, and knew, moreover, that she was in love with him, it was not +to be wondered at that he put both hands to his head, with a sudden +almost despairing movement. + +The girl, as she reached him, saw the gesture, and her eyes grew very +soft. Its interpretation was not hard to discover, even if she had not +had the grim, fixed look on his face to guide her; and in an instant it +swept away the resolve she had made in her room to treat him coldly. +In a flash of clear self-analysis just as she reached him, she +recognised the futility of any such resolve. It was with that +recognition of her weakness that fear came. . . . All her carefully +thought out plans seemed to be crumbling away like a house of cards; +all that she wanted was to be in his arms . . . to be kissed. . . . +And yet she knew that that way lay folly. . . . + +"Why have you come?" she said very low. "It wasn't playing the game +after what I wrote you. . . ." + +Vane looked at her in silence for a moment and then he laughed. "Are +you really going to talk to me, Joan, about such a thing as playing the +game?" + +She stood beside him with her hands stretched out towards the blazing +logs. "You know how utterly weak it makes me--being near you. . . . +You're just trading on it." + +"Well," said Vane fiercely, "is there any man who is a man who wouldn't +under the circumstances?" + +"And yet," she said, turning and facing him gravely, "you know what is +at stake for me." Her voice began to quiver. "You're playing with +sex . . . . sex . . . . sex, and it's the most powerful weapon in the +world. But its effects are the most transitory." + +"You lie, Joan, and you know it," Vane gripped her arm. "It's not the +most transitory." + +"It is," she cried stamping her foot, "it is. Against it on the +other side of the balance lie the happiness of my father and +brother--Blandford--things that last. . . ." + +"But what of your own happiness?" he asked grimly. + +"Why do you think I shouldn't be happy?" she cried. "I've told you +that it's a purely business arrangement. Henry is very nice and kind, +and all that I'll be missing is a few months of the thing they call +Love. . . ." + +Vane took his hand from her arm, and let it fall to his side. "I'm +afraid I've marked your arm," he said quietly. "I didn't know how hard +I was gripping it. There is only one point which I would like to put +to you. Has it occurred to you that in the business arrangement which +you have outlined so delightfully, it may possibly strike Mr. +Baxter--in view of his great possessions--that a son and heir is part +of the contract?" As he spoke he raised his eyes to her face. + +He saw her whole body stiffen as if she had been struck; he saw her +bite her lip with a sudden little gasp, he saw the colour ebb from her +cheeks. Then she recovered herself. + +"Why, certainly," she said. "I have no doubt that that will be part of +the programme. It generally is, I believe, in similar cases." + +Vane's voice was very tender as he answered. "My grey girl," he +whispered, "it won't do. . . . It just won't do. If I believed that +what you say really expressed what you think, don't you know that I'd +leave the house without waiting for dinner? But they don't. You can't +look me in the eyes and tell me they do. . . ." + +"I can," she answered defiantly; "that is what I think. . . ." + +"Look me in the eyes, I said," interrupted Vane quietly. + +Twice she tried to speak, and twice she failed. Then with a little +half-strangled gasp she turned away. . . . "You brute," she said, and +her voice was shaking, "you brute. . . ." + +And as their host came down the stairs to join them, Vane laughed--a +short, triumphant laugh. . . . + +Almost at once they went in to dinner; and to Vane the meal seemed to +be a succession of unknown dishes, which from time to time partially +distracted his attention from the only real thing in the room--the girl +sitting opposite him. And yet he flattered himself that neither his +host nor hostess noticed anything remarkable about his behaviour. In +fact he considered that he was a model of tact and discretion. . . . + +Vane was drunk--drunk as surely as a man goes drunk on wine. He was +drunk with excitement; he was mad with the madness of love. At times +he felt that he must get up, and go round the table and gather his girl +into his arms. He even went so far as to picture the butler's +expression when he did it. Unfortunately, that was just when Mrs. +Sutton had concluded a harrowing story of a dead soldier who had left a +bedridden wife with thirteen children. Vane had not heard a word of +the story, but the butler's face had crossed his mental horizon +periodically, and he chose that moment to laugh. It was not a +well-timed laugh, but he floundered out of it somehow. . . . + +And then just as the soup came on--or was it the savoury?--he knew, as +surely as he could see her opposite him, that his madness was affecting +Joan. Telepathy, the wiseacres may call it, the sympathy of two +subconscious minds. . . . What matter the pedagogues, what matter the +psychological experts? It was love--glorious and wonderful in its very +lack of restraint. It was the man calling the woman; it was the woman +responding to the man. It was freedom, beauty, madness all rolled into +one; it was the only thing in this world that matters. But all the +time he was very careful not to give away the great secret. Just once +or twice their eyes met, and whenever that happened he made some remark +more inordinately witty than usual--or more inordinately foolish. And +the girl opposite helped him, and laughed with him, while over the big +mahogany table there came leaping her real message--"My dear, I'm +yours. . . ." It whispered through the flowers in the big cut-glass +bowl that formed the centrepiece; it echoed between the massive silver +candlesticks with their pink shaded lights. At times it sounded +triumphantly from every corner of the room, banishing all the +commonplace surroundings with the wonder of its voice; at times it +floated softly through the warm, scented air, conjuring up visions of +nights on the desert with the Nile lapping softly on the hot sand, and +the cries of the waterboys coming faintly through the still air. + +But ever and always it was there, dominating everything, so insistent +was its reality. As assuredly as if the words had been spoken did they +see into one another's hearts that evening at dinner while a worthy old +Sussex squire and his wife discussed the war, and housing problems, and +the futility of fixing such a price on meat that it paid farmers to put +their calves to the cow, instead of selling the milk. After all, the +words had been spoken before, and words are of little account. There +are times--not often, for artificiality and civilisation are stern +taskmasters--but there are times when a man and woman become as Gods +and know. What need of words between them then; a mathematician does +not require to consult the multiplication table or look up the rules +that govern addition and subtraction. + +But the condition is dangerous--very dangerous. For the Law of the +Universe has decreed that for every Action there is an equal and +opposite Reaction. No account may be taken of madness--even though it +be Divine. It avails not one jot when the time comes to foot the bill. +By that time the madness has passed, like a dream in the night; and +cold sanity is the judge before which a man must stand or fall. A few, +maybe, there are who cheat the reckoning for a space; but they live in +a Fools' Paradise. Sooner or later the bill is presented. It must +be--for such is the Law of Things as they Are . . . . And all that a +man may pray for is that he gets good value for his money. + +After dinner Joan sang once or twice, and Vane, from the depths of a +chair near the fire, watched her through half-closed eyes. His hostess +was placidly knitting and the old gentleman was openly and unashamedly +asleep. The girl had a small voice, but very sweet and pure; and, +after a while Vane rose and went over to the piano. With his elbow +resting on it he stood there looking down at her, and once, as their +eyes met, her voice faltered a little. + + "Ah! when Love comes, his wings are swift, + His ways are full of quick surprise; + 'Tis well for those who have the gift + To seize him even as he flies. . . ." + + +She sang the simple Indian love song with a sort of wistful tenderness, +and it seemed to the man watching her as if she was singing to herself +rather than to him. It was as the last note of the refrain trembled +and died away that Mr. Sutton awoke with a loud snort and looked round +guiltily. Quite satisfied that no one had observed his lapse, he got +up and strode over to the piano. + +"Delightful, my dear, delightful," he said heartily. "My favourite +tune." The number of the old gentleman's favourite tunes heard under +similar circumstances was large. + +"Come along, my boy," he went on, turning to Vane. "Pool or billiards, +and let's see if the old man can't show you a thing or two." + +With an inward groan Vane professed himself delighted. "Perhaps Miss +Devereux will come and score for us," he murmured. + +"Do, my love," said Mrs. Sutton. "And then I'll go to bed." + +If Vane remembered little of dinner that evening, he remembered still +less about the game of billiards except that he was soundly beaten, to +Mr. Sutton's great delight, and that he laughed quite a lot over silly +little jokes. Every now and then he stood beside Joan at the scoring +board, and touched her arm or her hand; and once, when his host, intent +on some shot, had his back towards them, he bent very quickly and +kissed her on the lips. And he felt her quiver, and then grow rigid at +his touch. + +He played execrably, and when he tried to pull himself together to get +the game done quicker, he played worse. If only the old man would go +to bed, or something, and leave them. . . . If only he could get a few +moments alone with Joan, just to kiss her, and take her in his arms. +But the old man showed no signs of doing anything of the sort. He did +not often get a game of billiards; he still less often beat anybody, +and he fully intended to make the most of it. Then at last, when the +game was finally over, he played half of his shots over again for +practice. And Vane, with his cue grasped in both hands, contemplated +braining him with the butt. . . . + +But worse was still to come. Mr. Sutton prided himself on being old +fashioned. Early to bed and early to rise, a proverb which Vane had +always considered the most detestable in the English language, was one +of his host's favourite texts. Especially when applied to other +people. . . . + +"Now, my dear," he said to Joan after he had missed an easy cannon +three times, and felt he required a little justification, "off you go +to bed. Can't have you missing your beauty sleep so close to your +marriage, or I'll have Baxter down on me like a ton of bricks." + +Vane turned abruptly to the fire, and it is to be feared that his +thoughts were not all they might have been. In fact, he registered a +mental vow that if ever he was privileged to meet a murderer, he would +shake him warmly by the hand. + +"Good night, Captain Vane." Joan was standing beside him, holding out +her hand. "I don't think you were playing very well to-night, were +you?" + +The next moment the door had closed behind her, and Vane turned slowly +to answer some question of his host's. And as he turned he laughed +softly under his breath. For Joan had not even looked at him as she +said "Good night," and though the room was warm, almost to stuffiness, +her hand had been as cold as ice. + + +Vane closed the door of his room, and went thoughtfully over to the +fire. He was feeling more or less dazed, like a man who has been +through a great strain, and finds for the moment some temporary respite. + +He did not profess to account for it; he did not even try to. There +had been other days that he had spent with Joan--days when he had been +far more physically close to her than he had been that evening. Save +for that one brief kiss in the billiard-room he had barely touched her. +And yet he felt more vividly alive to her presence than he had ever +been before. + +Vane was no psychologist, and any way the psychology of sex follows no +rules. It makes its own as it goes along. And the one thought which +stood out from the jumbled chaos in his brain was a fierce pleasure at +having beaten Baxter. The primitive Cave man was very much alive in +him that night. . . . + +Joan was _his_; he knew it, and she knew it--and there was no more to +be said. And with a short, exultant laugh Vane drew up an easy chair +to the fire and lit a cigarette. He heard Mr. Sutton pass along the +passage and go to his own room; and then gradually the house grew +still. Outside the night was silent, and once he rose and went to the +window. He stood there for a time staring out into the darkness, with +his hands thrust deep in his pockets; then he returned to his chair +again. He felt no wish to go to bed; he just wanted to sit and think +of his girl. + +Three days is a long time when one is at the beginning of it; and in +all probability they would give him an extension. Three days with +Joan--three whole complete days. . . . + +They would go for a few long glorious tramps over the Downs, where the +turf is springy to the foot, and the wind comes straight from the grey +Atlantic, and the salt tang of it makes it good to be alive. And then +one afternoon when they got home Joan would find a telegram awaiting +her to say that coal had been discovered at Blandford, and did she +think it would matter having the main shaft opening into the +dining-room? + +Something like that was bound to happen, and even if it didn't things +would be no worse off than they were now. And in the meantime--three +days. . . . For Vane had passed beyond the thinking stage; he was +incapable of arguing things out or calling a halt even if he wanted to. +It seemed to him that everything was so immeasurably little compared +with the one great fact that Joan loved him. + +He whistled softly under his breath, and started to unlace his shoes. +"We'll cheat 'em yet," he muttered, "some old how." And even as he +spoke he stiffened suddenly and stared at the door. On it had come two +low faltering knocks. . . . + +For a moment he remained where he was, incapable of movement, while his +cigarette, bent in two and torn, fell unheeded in the grate. Every +drop of blood in his body seemed to stand still, and then to pound +madly on again, as the certainty of who was outside came to him. Then +with two great strides he crossed to the door, and opened it. . . . + +"Joan," he whispered, "my dear. . . ." + +She was in a silk dressing-gown, and he could see the lace of her +nightdress through the opening at her neck. Without a word she passed +by him into the room, and crouched over the fire; while Vane, with his +back to the door, stood, watching her with dilated eyes. + +"Lock the door." He heard her words come faintly through the roaring +in his ears, and mechanically he did as she asked. + +Slowly, with short, hesitating steps he came towards the fire, and +stood beside her, while his nails cut into the palms of his hands. +Then she rose and stood facing him. + +"You've won," she said simply. "I've come to you." She swayed into +his arms, and so for a long while did they stand, while the man twisted +the great masses of hair that hung over her shoulders round and round +his fingers. He touched her forehead and her cheeks with hands that +shook a little, and suddenly he kissed her fiercely on the lips--so +that she gasped, and began to tremble. He could feel her body against +him through the thin silk wrap, and he clasped her tighter in his arms +as if to warm her. + +"My darling," he whispered, "you're cold . . . so cold. . . . Take my +dressing gown. . . ." + +But the girl only clung to him the more, and the man, being just a man, +felt his senses beginning to swim with the wonder of it. + +And then of a sudden she pushed him away, and with her hands on the +mantelpiece stared into the fire. + +Vane's breath came quickly. She looked so utterly desirable with the +red glow of the fire lighting up her face, and her hair falling about +her. He stretched out his hand and put it on her arm, as if to make +sure that it was not a dream, and with the touch of his fingers +something seemed to snap. A great wave of colour flooded her face, +spreading down to her neck, and she began to shake uncontrollably. He +bent over her, whispering in her ear, and suddenly she put both her +arms round his neck. And then like a little child who goes to its +mother for comfort she laid her head on his shoulder, and the tears +came. + +He soothed her gently, stroking her hair with his hand, and gradually, +as the minutes went by, the raging storm in his mind died down, and +gave place to a wonderful peace. All that was best in his nature was +called forth by the girl crying so gently in his arms, and with a +little flickering smile on his lips he stared at the flames over her +head. + +The passion had left him; a great sense of protection--man's divine +heritage through the ages--had taken its place. + +And so after a while he picked her up in his arms and laid her on his +bed. He pulled the clothes around her, and taking her hand in his, sat +down on a chair by her side. + +All through the night he watched beside her, and as he listened to the +hall clock striking the hours, gradually the realisation of what he +must do came to him. + +For he had not beaten Baxter; he had only beaten the girl. Baxter +still stood where he was. Baxter still represented the way out for +Joan. As a rival--man to man--he failed to count; he might just as +well have been Jones or Smith. But as a weapon against the order of +things Baxter remained where he was--the winner. + +And even as he cursed that order of things, it struck him with a sort +of amazed surprise that here he himself was actually up against one of +Ramage's vested interests. . . . If Blandford had been nationalised, +the problem would have been so easy. . . . + +He moved irritably in his chair. What a muddle the whole thing +was--what a muddle. And then with the touch of a woman he bent over +the sleeping girl, and wiped away two tears that were glistening on her +eyelashes. Poor little girl--poor little Joan. . . . + +A sense of overwhelming pity and love for her drowned every other +thought. Right or wrong, she was doing what she believed to be her +job; and now he had come and made things a thousand times harder for +her. + +Very gently he withdrew his hand from hers and rose from his chair. He +made up the fire again, and then started to pace slowly up and down the +room. The drifting period was over; the matter had to be settled now. + +He was no fool, and incidentally he knew as much about women as a man +may know. He realised exactly why she had come to him that night; as +clearly as if she had told him he understood the wild seething thoughts +in her mind, the chaos, the sense of futility. And then the sudden +irresistible longing to get things settled--to give up fighting--to +take hold of happiness or what seemed to her to be happiness at the +moment. + +And supposing the mood had not broken--supposing the tears had not +come. . . . He stopped in his slow walk, and stared at the sleeping +girl thoughtfully. . . . What would have been the state of affairs by +now? + +"Sex--sex--sex. The most powerful thing in the world, and the most +transitory." Her words before dinner, as they had stood in the hall +came back to him, and he took a deep breath. That was the weapon he +was using against her; he made no attempt to deceive himself on that +score. After all--why not? It was the weapon that had been used since +the beginning of things; it was the weapon which would continue to be +used till the end. It was Nature's weapon . . . and yet. . . . + +Once again he resumed his walk--six steps one way, turn, six steps +back. He moved slowly, his chin sunk on his chest, and his hands +twisting restlessly behind his back. Supposing she was right, +supposing in a year, or in five, she should turn on him, and say: +"Against my better judgment you overruled me. Even though I loved you, +even though I still love you--you have made me buy my happiness at too +great a price?" + +Supposing she should say that--what then? Had he any right to make her +run such a risk? Was it fair? Again and again he turned question and +answer over in his brain. Of course it was fair--they loved one +another; and love is the biggest thing in the universe. But was it +only love in his case--was it not overmastering passion as well? +Well--what if it was; there are cases where the two cannot be +separated--and those cases are more precious than rubies. Against such +it were laughable to put the fate of Blandford. . . . Quite--but whose +point of view was that--his or hers? + +Vane was essentially a fair man. The average Englishman is made that +way--it being the peculiar nature of the brute. If anything--as a +referee or a judge--he will give the decision against his own side, +which is the reason why England has spread to the ends of the earth, +and remained there at the express wish of the Little Peoples. Bias or +favouritism are abhorrent to him; as far as in him lies the Englishman +weighs the pros and the cons of the case and gives his decision without +partiality or prejudice. He may blunder at times, but the blunder is +honest and is recognised as such. + +And so as Vane walked restlessly up and down his room, every instinct +in him revolted at the idea of taking advantage of an emotional crisis +such as he knew had been stirred in Joan that evening. It seemed to +him to be unfair. + +"It's her you've got to consider," he said to himself over and over +again. "Only her. . . . It's she who stands to lose--much more than +you." + +He felt that he would go right away, clean out of her life--if, by +doing so, it would help her. But would it? That was the crux. Was he +justified in letting her make this sacrifice? As clearly as if he had +seen it written in letters of fire upon the wall, he knew that the +issue lay in his hands. + +Once again he went to the window and looked out. In the east the first +streaks of dawn were showing in the sky, and for a long while he stood +staring at them, motionless. How often in France had he watched that +same birth of a new day, and wondered what it held in store for him. +But over there a man is a fatalist--his part is allotted to him, and he +can but tread the beaten path blindly. Whereas here, however much one +is the sport of the gods that play, there comes a time when one must +play oneself. Incidentally that is the part of the performance which +amuses the gods. They plot their fantastic jig-saws; but one of the +rules is that the pieces must move themselves. And of their kindness +they let the pieces think they control the movement. . . . + +Suddenly Vane turned round, and crossed to the girl. He picked her up +in his arms, and having silently opened the door he carried her to her +room. + +Utterly exhausted and worn out, she barely woke up even when he placed +her in her own cold bed. Her eyes opened drowsily once, and he bent +over and kissed her gently. + +"Little Joan," he whispered. "Dear little grey girl." + +But she did not hear him. With a tired sigh she had drifted on to +sleep again. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +When Joan woke the next morning it was with the consciousness that +something had happened. And then the events of the last night flashed +over her mind, and for a while she lay very still. The details seemed +all hazy and blurred; only the main fact stood out clear and dominant, +the fact that she had gone to his room. + +After that things got a bit confused. She had a recollection of being +carried in his arms, of his bending over her and whispering "Little +Joan," of his kissing her--but it all seemed merged in an exquisite +dream. + +"Oh! my dear," she whispered, while the love-light shone in her grey +eyes; "but what a dear you are. . . ." + +By the very nature of things she was incapable of realising the +tremendous strain to which she had subjected him; it only seemed to her +that there was a new and wonderful secret to share with him. And to +the girl, still under the influence of her mood of the night before, +the secret forged the final link in the chain. She wondered how she +could ever have hesitated; it all seemed so very easy and obvious now. + +Baxter, Blandford--what did anything matter? She had gone to Derek; +the matter was decided. . . . + +Her maid came into the room, and advanced cautiously to the bed. + +"Ah! but Mam'selle es awake," she said. "And ze tea, mon Dieu, but it +es quite cold." + +"What time is it, Celeste?" asked Joan. + +"Nine o'clock, Mam'selle. I have ze dejeuner outside. And a note from +M'sieur le Capitaine." She held out an envelope to Joan, and busied +herself about the room. "Ah! but he is gentil--M'sieur le Capitaine; +young and of a great air." Celeste, it may be stated, viewed Baxter +rather like a noisome insect. + +"Bring me my breakfast, please." + +Joan waited till the maid had left the room before opening the +envelope. There was just a line inside, and her eyes grew very tender +as she read the words. + +"I've got something to say to you, little Joan, which has got to be +said in the big spaces. Will you come out with me this morning on to +the Downs?" + +She read it through half a dozen times and then she turned to Celeste. + +"Tell Captain Vane that I will be ready in an hour," she said. + + * * * * * * + +Vane was standing in the hall when Joan appeared. A faintly tremulous +smile was on her lips, but she came steadily up to him and held out +both her hands. + +"Good morning, my lady," he said gently. "Would you to be liking to +know how wonderful you look?" + +"Oh! Derek," she whispered. "My dear!" + +"Ostensibly you are going into Lewes to shop," he remarked with a grin. +"I am dealing with Boche prisoners. . . . At least that's what I told +our worthy host over the kidneys at breakfast. . . ." + +She gave a little happy laugh. "And in reality?" + +"We're both going to be dropped somewhere, and we're going to tell the +car to run away and play, while we walk home over the Downs." + +"And my shopping?" + +"You couldn't find anything you wanted." + +"And your prisoners?" + +"Well the only thing about my prisoners that is likely to give the show +away is if I turn up at the prison," smiled Vane. "Let us hope Mr. +Sutton doesn't know the governor." + +And suddenly he added irrelevantly. "Our host was a little surprised +that you failed to appear at breakfast, seeing how early he packed you +off to bed." He watched the slight quickening of her breath, the faint +colour dyeing her cheeks, and suddenly the resolution he had made +seemed singularly futile. Then with a big effort he took hold of +himself, and for greater safety put both his hands in his pockets. "I +think," he remarked quietly, "you'd better go and get ready. The car +will be round in a moment. . . ." + +Without a word she left him and went upstairs to her room, while Vane +strolled to the front door. The car was just coming out of the garage, +and he nodded to the chauffeur. + +"Glorious day, isn't it?" + +"Pity you've got to waste it, sir, over them prisoners," said the man. + +"Yes," agreed Vane thoughtfully. "I'll want you to drop me in the +town, and then I'll walk back over the Downs. . . . Splendid day for a +walk. . . ." He turned and found Joan beside him. "And lightning +performance," he smiled at her. "I won't be a moment." + +He slipped on his coat and handed her into the car. "Drop me in the +High Street, will you--opposite to the Post Office?" he said to the +chauffeur. "I'm expecting a letter." + +"I'm afraid," she said, as the car rolled down the drive, "that like +most men you're rather prone to overact." With a little, happy laugh +she snuggled up to him and slid her hand into his under the rug. + +"I shall be walking home, thank you, Thomas," said Joan as she got out +of the car, and the man stood waiting for orders. + +He touched his cap, and they stood watching the car go down the High +Street. Then she turned to Vane. + +"You'd better see about your letters," she said demurely. "And then we +might go over the Castle. There is a most wonderful collection of +oleographic paleographs brought over by the Americans when they +discovered England. . . ." + +"In one second," threatened Vane, "I shall kiss you. And I don't know +that they'd understand it here. . . ." + +"They'd think we were movie actors," she gurgled, falling into step +beside him. "Do you know the way?" + +"In the days of my unregenerate youth I went to the races here," he +answered. "One passes a prison or something. Anyway, does it matter?" + +She gave a sigh of utter contentment. "Nothing matters, my +man--nothing at all--except that I'm with you. Only I want to get out +into the open, with the fresh wind blowing on my face--and I want to +sing for the joy of it. . . . Do you think if we sang up the town here +they'd give me pennies?" + +"More probably lock us up as undesirable vagrants," laughed Vane. +"It's a county town and they're rather particular. I'm not certain +that happiness isn't an offence under the Defence of the Realm Act. +Incidentally, I don't think there would be many convictions these +days. . . ." + +She stopped for a moment and faced him. "That's not allowed, Derek; +it's simply not allowed." + +"Your servant craves pardon," he answered gravely, and for a while they +walked on in silence. + +They passed two ragged children who had collected on their faces more +dirt than seemed humanly possible, and nothing would content Joan but +that she should present each with a sixpence. + +"Poor little devils," and her voice was very soft. "What a life to +look forward to, Derek--what a hideous existence. . . ." + +"It's all they've ever been brought up to." He put sixpence into each +little grubby paw, and smiled down at the awestruck faces. "Go and +spend it all on sweets," he told them, "and be really, wonderfully, +happily sick for once in your lives. . . ." + +And then at last they turned a corner, and in front of them stretched +the Downs. On their left the grim, frowning prison stood sombre and +apparently lifeless, and as Joan passed it she gave a little shudder. + +"Oh! Boy," she cried, "isn't it impossible to get away from the +suffering and the rottenness--even for a moment?" She shook herself as +if to cast off the mood, and stretched out her arms to the open hills. +"I'm sorry," she said briefly. "Come into the big spaces and tell me +what you want to say. . . ." + +For a while they walked on over the clean-cut turf and the wind from +the sea swept through the gorse and the rustling grasses, and kissed +them, and passed on. + +"There is a hayrick, I see, girl o' mine," said Vane. "Let's go and +sit under it. And in defiance of all laws and regulations we will +there smoke a cigarette." + +They reached the sheltered side of it, and Vane threw down his coat on +the ground for her to sit on. + +"Aren't you forgetting something?" she whispered, and he drew her into +his arms and kissed her. Then he made her sit down, and arranged the +coat around her shoulders. + +"You come in too," she ordered. "There's plenty of room for +both. . . ." + +And so with his arm around her waist, and his cheek touching hers they +sat for awhile in silence. + +Then suddenly Vane spoke. "Grey girl--I'm going away to-day." + +"Going away?" She echoed the words and stared at him incredulously. +"But . . . but . . . I thought. . . ." + +"So did I," he returned quietly. "When I came down here yesterday I +had only one thought in my mind--and that was to make you give up +Baxter. I wanted it from purely selfish reasons; I wanted it because I +wanted you myself. . . ." + +"And don't you now?" Her voice was wondering. + +"More--infinitely more--than I did before. But there's one thing I +want even more than that--your happiness." He was staring steadily +over the great stretch of open country to where Crowborough lay in the +purple distance. "When you came to me last night, little Joan, I +thought I should suffocate with the happiness of it. It seemed so +gloriously trustful of you . . . though, I must admit that idea did not +come at first. You see I'm only a man; and you're a lovely +girl. . . ." He laughed a little shortly. "I'd made up my mind to +drift these next two or three days, and then when you came it seemed to +be a direct answer to the problem. I didn't realise just to begin with +that you weren't quite capable of thinking things out for +yourself. . . . I didn't care, either. It was you and I--a woman and +a man; it was the answer. And then you started to cry--in my arms. +The strain had been too much. Gradually as you cried and clung to me, +all the tearing overmastering passion went--and just a much bigger love +for you came instead of it. . . . You see, it seemed to me that you, +in your weakness last night, had placed the settlement on my +shoulders. . . ." + +"It's there now, dear man," she whispered. "I'd just got tired, tired, +tired of fighting---- And last night it all seemed so clear." With +her breast rising and falling quickly she stared over the hills, and +Vane watched her with eyes full of love. + +"I know it did--last night," he answered. + +"Don't you understand," she went on after a moment, "that a woman wants +to have her mind made up for her? She doesn't want arguments and +points of view--she wants to be taken into a man's arms, and kissed, +and beaten if necessary. . . . I don't know what was the matter with +me last night; I only know that I was lying in bed feeling all dazed +and bruised--and then suddenly I saw the way out. To come to you--and +get things settled." She turned on him and her face was very tense. +"You weren't--you weren't shocked," her voice was very low. "Not +disgusted with me." + +Vane threw back his head and laughed. "My lady," he said after a +moment, "forgive my laughing. But if you could even, in your wildest +dreams, imagine the absurdity of such an idea, you'd laugh too. . . ." +Then he grew serious again, and stabbed at the ground with the point of +his stick. "Do you suppose, dear, that I wouldn't sooner have taken +that way out myself? Do you suppose that the temptation to take that +way out isn't beating and hammering at me now? . . . That's why I've +got to go. . . ." + +"What do you mean?" Her face was half-averted. + +"I mean," he answered grimly, "that if I stopped at Melton to-night, I +should come to your room. As I think I said before, I'm just a man, +and you're a lovely girl--and I adore you. But I adore you +sufficiently to run away from a temptation that I know would defeat +me. . . ." + +She turned and faced him. "And supposing I want it to defeat you?" + +"Ah! don't--don't. . . . For the love of God--don't!" he cried, +getting up and striding away. He stood with his back towards her, +while a large variety of separate imps in his brain assured him that he +was an unmitigated fool. + +"For Heaven's sake!--take what the gods offer you," they sang. "Here +in the cold light of day, where there's no question of her being +overwrought, she's asking you to settle things for her. Take it, you +fool, take it. . . ." + +And the god who concerned himself with that particular jig-saw among a +hundred others paused for a moment and gave no heed to the ninety-nine. +Then he turned over two or three pages to see what was coming, and +forthwith lost interest. It is a bad thing to skip--even for a god. + +Suddenly Vane felt Joan's hand on his arm, and looking down he found +her at his side. + +"Don't you understand, dear man?" she said. "I'm frightened of being +left to decide . . . just frightened to death." + +"And don't you understand, dear girl," he answered, "that I'm +frightened of deciding for you? If one decides wrong for +oneself--well, it's one's own funeral. But if it's for somebody +else--and it's their funeral. . .." + +"Even if the other person begs you to do it?" + +"Even if the other person begs one to do it," he repeated gravely. +"Except that the sexes are reversed, little Joan--something much like +this happened not long ago. And the woman told the man to go and make +sure. . . . I guess she was frightened of staking everything on a +sudden rush of sex. She was right." He turned to her and caught both +her hands in his with a groan. "Oh! my dear--you know what you said to +me last night before dinner. Sex--sex--sex; the most powerful weapon +in the world--and the most transitory. And I daren't use it--I just +daren't any more." + +He caught her in his arms and kissed her. "I can't forget that when +you decided before--you decided against me. Something has happened +since then, Joan. . . . Last night. . . . It's another factor in the +situation, and I don't quite know how powerful it will prove. It's too +near, just at present. . . . It's out of focus. But clear through +everything I know it wouldn't be playing the game to rush you with +another--last night. . . ." + +He stared over her head, and the wind blew the tendrils of her hair +against his cheek. "We've got to get last night into its proper place, +grey girl," he went on after a while. "And only you can do it. . . . +As far as I'm concerned--why there's never been any doubt. . . . It's +just for you to decide. . . ." + +"But I don't want to decide." Her voice, a little muffled, came from +his shoulder. "I want you to decide for me." Then, leaning away from +him, she put both her hands on his shoulders. "Take me away, +Derek--take me away with you now. Let's go and get married--just you +and I and Binks--and go right away from everyone, and be alone." Once +again the imps knocked tauntingly, but Vane only smiled gravely and +shook his head. + +"Where would the difference be, darling?" he asked. "Where would the +difference be? I guess it's not a question of with or without benefit +of clergy between you and me." + +Her hands fell to her side wearily, and she turned away. "I suppose +you're doing what you think is right, dear," she said at length. "And +I can't take you and drag you to the altar, can I?" + +"I'll want no dragging, little Joan, if you're of the same mind in a +fortnight's time." Then suddenly he caught both her hands in his. "My +dear, my dear!" he cried hoarsely; "don't you see I must give you time +to make sure? I must. . . ." + +She shook her head. "I've had too much time already, Derek. I'm +frightened of time; I don't want to think. . . . Oh! boy, boy, don't +let me think; just take me, and think for me. . . ." + +But once again Vane smiled gravely, and shook his head. "We can't +dodge it like that, my darling--we just can't. . . ." He bent down to +pick up his coat, and the god in charge sent a casual glance in their +direction, to see that matters were progressing favourably. And when +he saw the little hopeless smile on the girl's face he turned to one of +his pals. + +"It's too easy," he remarked in a bored voice, and turned his attention +to a struggling curate with four children who had married for +love. . . . + + +And so that afternoon Vane acted according to his lights. Maybe it was +wisdom, maybe it was folly, but the point is immaterial, for it was +written in the Book of the Things that Happen. + +He went, telling his host that he had found fresh orders at the Post +Office that morning: and the girl waved her handkerchief at him from +her bedroom window as the car went down the drive. + +For one brief moment after lunch they had been alone--but she had made +no further attempt to keep him. She had just kissed him once, and +listened to his words of passionate love with a grave little smile. +"Only a fortnight, my darling," he had told her. "But we must give it +that. You must be sure." And he had been too much taken up with his +own thoughts to notice the weariness in her eyes. + +She said nothing to him of the unread letter lying on her +dressing-table upstairs, and not till long after he had gone did she +pick up the envelope and turn it over and over in her fingers. Then, +at last, she opened it. + +It was just in the same vein as all the letters her father was writing +her at this period. Brimming over with hope and confidence and joy and +pleasure; planning fresh beauties for their beloved Blandford--he +always associated Joan with himself in the possession of it; scheming +how she was to come and stay with him for long visits each year after +she was married. It was the letter of a man who had come out of the +darkness of worry into the light of safety; and as in all the others, +there was the inevitable reference to the black times that were over. + +Slowly the dusk came down, the shadows deepened in the great trees +outside. The Downs faded into a misty blur, and at length she turned +from the window. In the flickering light of the fire she threw herself +face downwards on her bed. For an hour she lay there motionless, while +the shadows danced merrily around her, and darkness came down outside. +Just every now and then a little pitiful moan came from her lips, +muffled and inarticulate from the depths of the pillow; and once a +great storm of sobs shook her--sobs which drenched the old scented +linen with tears. But for the most part she lay in silence with her +hands clenched and rigid, and thus did she pass along the way of Pain +to her Calvary. . . . + +At six o'clock she rose and bathed her face, and powdered her nose as +all normal women must do before facing an unsympathetic world, even if +the torments of Hell have got them on the rack. Then with firm steps +she went downstairs to the drawing-room, and found it empty. Without +faltering she crossed to the piano, and took from the top of a pile of +music "The Garden of Kama." She turned to the seventh song of the +cycle-- + + "Ah! when Love comes, his wings are swift, + His ways are full of quick surprise; + 'Tis well for those who have the gift + To seize him even as he flies. . . ." + +Her eyes ran over the well-known lines, and she sat down at the piano +and sang it through. She sang it as she had never sung before; she +sang it as she would never sing it again. For the last note had barely +died away, throbbing into silence, when Joan took the score in her +hands and tore it across. She tore the pages again, and then she +carried the pieces across and threw them into the fire. It was while +she was pressing down the remnants with a poker that Mrs. Sutton came +into the room and glanced at her in mild surprise. + +"It's an old song," said Joan with a clear, ringing laugh. "One I +shall never sing again. I'm tired of it. . . ." + +And the god in charge paused for a moment, and wondered if it was worth +while. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"My hat!" remarked the Adjutant as Vane reported his return to the depot. +"Can this thing be true? Giving up leave. . . ." + +Vane grinned, and seated himself on the edge of the table. + +"'There are more things, Horatio,'" he quoted genially. + +"For the love of Pete--not that hoary motto," groaned the other. "Want a +job of work?" + +"My hat!" laughed Vane. "Can this thing be true? Work at the depot?" + +"Try my job," grunted Vallance. "Of all the bandy-legged crowd of C3 +perishers I've ever seen, this crowd fills the bill. . . . Why one damn +fellow who's helping in the cook-house--peeling potatoes--says it gives +him pains in the stummick. . . . Work too hard. . . . And in civil life +he was outside porter in a goods yard." He relapsed into gloomy silence. + +"What about this job?" prompted Vane. + +The Adjutant lit a cigarette. "I can easily send over a subaltern, if +you like," he said; "but you might find it a good trip. It's a draft for +the sixth battalion in Ireland; you'll have to cross and hand 'em over in +Dublin." + +Vane thought for a moment and then nodded. + +"I'd like it," he said. "I rather want something to do at the +moment. . . ." + +"Right, old boy. Start to-morrow. Come round about ten, and I'll give +you the papers." + +Vane saluted and left the orderly room. The prospect of the trip pleased +him; as he had said, at the moment he wanted something to do. Though it +was only the day before that he had left her, the temptation to go back +to Joan--or at any rate write to her--was growing in strength. Already +he was cursing himself as a fool for having acted as he had; and yet he +knew that he had done right. It had to be left for her to decide. . . . + +And if. . . . Vane shrugged his shoulders at the thought. + + +Three days later he had safely shepherded his flock across the water, and +handed it over to his relief. The trip had been uneventful, save for the +extraordinary feat of two of the men who had managed to become incapably +drunk on Government beer; and Vane having spent a night in Dublin, and +inspected the scene of the Sackville Street fighting with a sort of +amazed surprise, prepared to board the S.S. "Connaught" for the return +crossing. + +Was it not all written in the Book of the Words? + +He might have stopped for a day's cubbing--but he did not; he might have +crossed the preceding evening--but he had not. He merely went on board +the "Connaught," and had an early lunch, which, in all conscience, was a +very normal proceeding. There were a few soldiers on board, but for the +most part the passengers consisted of civilians, with a heavy percentage +of women and children. There were a few expensive-looking gentlemen in +fur coats, who retired early to their cabins, and whom Vane decided must +be Members of Parliament. The smoking-room was occupied by a party of +six young Irishmen, all of them of military age, who announced freely for +the benefit of anyone who cared to listen--and it was not easy to avoid +doing so--that they were Sinn Feiners. For a while Vane studied them, +more to distract his own thoughts than for any interest in their +opinions. It struck him that they were the exact counterpart of the new +clique of humanity which has sprung up recently on this side of the Irish +Sea; advanced thinkers without thought--the products of a little +education without the ballast of a brain. Wild, enthusiastic in their +desire for change, they know not what they want as the result of the +change. Destructive without being constructive, they bemuse themselves +with long words, and scorn simplicity. No scheme is too wild or lunatic +for them, provided they themselves are in the limelight. . . . And as +for the others--_qu'importe_? . . . Self is their God; the ill-digested, +half-understood schemes of great thinkers their food; talk their +recreation. And they play overtime. . . . + +He opened the smoking-room door and stepped out on to the deck. For a +few moments he stood still watching the water slip by, and drawing in +great mouthfuls of fresh air. He felt he wanted to purge himself of the +rotten atmosphere he had just left. Then with slow, measured steps he +began to pace up and down the deck. The majority of the passengers were +sitting muffled up in deck chairs, but, unlike the Boulogne boat, there +was plenty of room to walk; and Vane was of the particular brand who +always think more easily when they move. + +And he wanted to think of Joan. He had not thought of much else since he +had left her--but the subject never tired. He could feel her now as she +had lain in his arms; he could still smell the soft fragrance of her +hair. The wind was singing through the rigging, and suddenly the wonder +of her came over him in a great wave and he stared over the grey sea with +shining eyes. + +After a while he tapped out his pipe, and prepared to fill it again. It +was as he stood, with his tobacco pouch open in his hand, that something +in the sea attracted his attention. He grew rigid, and stared at it--and +at the same moment a frantic ringing of the engine-room bell showed that +the officer on the bridge had seen it too. Simultaneously everyone +seemed to become aware that something was wrong--and for a brief second +almost a panic occurred. The ship was swinging to port, but Vane +realised that it was hopeless: the torpedo must get them. And the +sea-gulls circling round the boat shrieked discordantly at him. . . . He +took a grip of the rail, and braced himself to meet the shock. +Involuntarily he closed his eyes--the devil . . . it was worse than a +crump--you could hear that coming--and this. . . . + +"Quick--get it over." He did not know he had spoken . . . and then it +came. . . . There was a great rending explosion--curiously muffled, Vane +thought, compared with a shell. But it seemed so infinitely more +powerful and destructive; like the upheaval of some great monster, slow +and almost dignified compared with the snapping fury of a smaller beast. +It seemed as if the very bowels of the earth had shaken themselves and +irrupted. + +The ship staggered and shook like a stricken thing, and Vane opened his +eyes. Already she was beginning to list a little, and he saw the gaping +hole in her side, around which floated an indescribable litter of small +objects and bits of wood. The torpedo had hit her forward, but with the +headway she still had the vessel drifted on, and the litter of debris +came directly underneath Vane. With a sudden narrowing of his eyes, he +saw what was left of a girl turning slowly over and over in the still +seething water. + +Then he turned round and looked at the scene on deck. The crew were +going about their job in perfect silence, and amongst the passengers a +sort of stunned apathy prevailed. The thing had been so sudden, that +most of them as yet hardly realised what had happened. + +He saw one man--a funny little, pimply man with spectacles, of the type +he would have expected to wring his hands and wail--take off his boots +with the utmost composure, and place them neatly side by side on the deck. + +Then a large, healthy individual in a fur coat came past him demanding to +see the Captain, and protesting angrily when he was told to go to hell. + +"It's preposterous, sir," he said to Vane; "absolutely preposterous. I +insist on seeing the Captain. . .." + +"Don't be more of a fool than you can help," answered Vane rudely. "It's +not the Captain's 'At home' day. . . ." + +And once again it struck him as it had so often struck him in France, +what an impossible thing it is to guess beforehand how danger will affect +different men. A woman beside him was crying quietly, and endeavouring +to soothe a little boy who clung to her with wide-open, frightened +eyes. . . . + +"Do you think there's any danger, sir?" She turned to Vane and looked at +him imploringly. + +"I hope not," he answered reassuringly. "There should be enough boats to +go round. . . . Ah! look--there is the swine." + +Rolling a little, and just awash, the conning tower of the submarine +showed up out of the sea about half a mile away, and suddenly Vane heard +a voice beside him cursing it bitterly and childishly. He turned, to +find one of the smoking-room patriots shaking his fist at it, while the +weak tears of rage poured down his face. Afterwards, on thinking the +experience over, Vane decided that that one spectacle had made it almost +worth while. . . . + +Two boats were pulling away from the ship, which had already begun to +settle by the bows, and two more were in the process of being launched, +when the Hun lived up to his rightful reputation. There are times when +one is nauseated and sickened by the revolting cant of a repentant +Germany; by the hypocritical humbug that, at heart, the German is a +peace-loving, gentle being who has been led away by those above him. And +as Vane watched grimly the path of the second, and so unnecessary +torpedo, he felt an overmastering longing that some of the up-holders of +the doctrine could be on board. + +The "Connaught" was done for; that much was obvious to the veriest +land-lubber. And the second torpedo could have but one purpose--the +wanton destruction of so many more helpless women. Besides, it revolted +his sense of sport; it was like blowing a sitting bird to pieces with a +shot gun. . . . + +He saw it strike amidships; he had a fleeting vision of a screaming, +struggling boat load--of curses and shouts, and then he knew no more. +There was a roaring in his ears, and he seemed to be travelling through +great spaces. Lights danced and flashed before his brain, and suddenly +he felt very cold. The noise had ceased, and everything was very still +and silent. . . . The cold grew more intense, till it seemed to eat into +him, and his head grew curiously light. Almost as if it was bursting +with some unaccustomed pressure. Then, just as it seemed as if it was +the end, and that his skull would literally fly to pieces, relief came +with a great rush, and Vane found himself gasping and blowing on the +surface of the water. Around him was a mass of debris, and instinctively +he struck out for a deck chair that was floating close by. He reached +it, and for a long time he clutched it, with only his head out of the +water--content to draw great gulps of the air into his panting lungs. +Then after a while he raised himself in the water and looked round. + +About fifty yards away the "Connaught" was sinking rapidly, and Vane +wondered feebly how he had got where he was. People were still +struggling and scrambling over her slanting decks, and he watched a man +slashing with a knife at the falls of a partially filled boat. + +He heard a voice cursing the man for a fool, and wondered who it was who +spoke. Then the boat crashed downwards stern first, shooting its load +into the water, and the same voice croaked, "I told you so, you bloody +fool. I told you so." It was then he realised that the voice was his +own. . . . + +Vane closed his eyes, and tried to think. Presumably the wireless +messenger had sent out an S.O.S.; presumably, in time, someone would +arrive on the scene. Until that happened he must concentrate on saving +himself. His head was still swimming from the force of the explosion, +and for a long while he lay supporting himself mechanically on the +half-submerged chair. Then he felt that he was moving, and opening his +eyes he realised that the ship had disappeared. Very soon the suction +stopped, and he found himself alone on the grey, sullen water. In the +distance, bobbing up and down on the short swell, he could see half a +dozen boats; but close at hand there was nothing save the flotsam and +wreckage from the ship. The submarine, as far as he could tell, had +disappeared; at any rate, he was too low in the water to see her. After +a while the ship's boats, too, pulled out of sight, and for the first +time Vane began to feel afraid. What if the S.O.S. was not answered? +What if only the boats were picked up, and he was never found? . . . + +An overwhelming panic seized him and he commenced to shout--a puny little +noise lost in the vastness around him, and drowned by the shrieking of a +countless swarm of gulls, that fought over the prize that had come to +them. Then with a great effort he pulled himself together. He must keep +his head and save his strength--he must. . . . Any boat coming up would +be attracted to the scene of the disaster by the gulls, he repeated to +himself over and over again--and then they would see him. + +He took a fresh grip of the chair and swam a few strokes to keep warm. +That was the next point that came into his mind--how long could he last +before, numbed with the cold, his grip on the chair would relax and he +would only have his life-belt to rely on? He must not get cold, he must +swim steadily and quietly to keep up his circulation--always keeping near +the gulls. He argued it out carefully in his mind, unconsciously talking +aloud, and when he had decided what he was going to do he nodded his head +in complete agreement. And then he laughed--a strange, croaking laugh +and apostrophised a gull which was circling above his head. "How damn +funny, old bird," he said still chuckling; "how damn funny. . . ." The +humour of the situation had struck him suddenly. After the long years in +France to be drowned like a bally hen inside a coop! . . . + +Undoubtedly a man clinging to a deck chair did look rather like a hen in +a coop--a bedraggled hen, most certainly, very bedraggled. Not at all +the sort of hen that should be dished up at the Carlton or the Savoy for +dinner. A cheap and nasty hen, Vane decided. . . . + +A splash of water hit him in the mouth and made him splutter and cough. +"Pull yourself together, man," he cried fiercely; "for God's sake, pull +yourself together!" He realised that his mind had been wandering; he +realised that that way lay Death. He started to swim steadily, keeping +near the main mass of wreckage, and pushing the chair in front of him. +Several times they bumped into things, and once Vane found himself +looking through the bars of the back of the chair at something which +rolled and sogged in the water. And then it half turned, and he saw it +was a woman. Some of her hair, sodden and matted, came through the +openings of his chair, and he watched the floating tendrils +uncomprehendingly for a while. Dead . . . of course, she was dead . . . +with the water splashing ceaselessly over her face. . . . At peace; she +had chucked her hand in--given up the useless struggle. + +What chance was there anyway of a boat coming in time? What a fool he +was to go on, when he felt so tired and so cold? . . . That woman did +not mind--the one lying there in the water so close to him. She was +perfectly happy . . . while he was numb and exhausted. Why not just lie +on the water and go to sleep? . . . He would keep the woman company, and +he would be happy just like her, instead of having to force his frozen +hands to hold that cursed slippery wood. . . . + +And Joan would be happy, because she would have saved Blandford; and +Baxter, damn him, he would be happy; and the whole blessed outfit would +be happy as well as him when he had just dropped on to sleep. . . . + +He would never have done as a husband for Margaret; the idea was +ridiculous. Imagine sitting down and writing a book, while she took the +pennies at the door--or did he have to take the pennies? Anyway, this +settled the matter, and saved him the trouble of explanation. He loathed +explanations; all he wanted was peace and quiet and rest. . . . + +What a farce it all was; man thinking he could struggle against science. +Science ruled the universe--aeroplanes, gas, torpedoes. And it served +men right for inventing them; they should have been more careful. The +smile on the dead German airman's face, as he lay on the ground near +Poperinghe, floated before him, and he nodded his head portentously. + +"You're right, old bean," he croaked. "The man I want to meet is the +fool who doesn't think it's funny . . . ." + +And then Vane crossed the Valley of the Shadow, as far as a man may cross +and yet return. Strange figures crowded around him hemming him in on +every side. The Boche whose brains he had blown out near Arras was there +with his shattered skull, holding out a hand of greeting--and Baxter, +grinning sardonically. Margaret--with a wealth of pity and love shining +on her face, and Joan with her grey eyes faintly mocking . . . . And his +tailor with the wart on his nose, and Mrs. Green, and Binks. . . . They +were all there, and then gradually they faded into the great +darkness. . . . Everything was growing still, and peaceful--the rest he +wanted had come. + +Then suddenly they came back again--the Boche and Baxter and the rest of +them--and started pulling him about. He cursed and swore at them, but +they paid no heed; and soon the agony he was suffering became almost +unbearable. In God's name, why could not they leave him alone? . . . He +raved at them, and sobbed, but it was of no avail. They went on +inexorably and the creaking of the oars in the rowlocks of the boat that +had picked him up seemed to him to be the creaking of his arms and +legs. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +When Vane opened his eyes on reality again, he found himself in a +strange room. For a few moments he lay very still, groping back into a +half-world of grey shadows. He remembered the first torpedo, and then +the second one; but after that things seemed confused. A man opened +the door, and came over to his bed. + +"Feeling better?" he remarked with a smile. + +"As far as I can make out at the moment," said Vane, "I'm feeling +perfectly well. Where am I, and what happened? . . ." + +"You're in a private hospital not far from Liverpool," answered the +man. "You were very nearly drowned in the 'Connaught,' and you've had +a nasty knock on the head as well. . . . Feel at all muzzy now?" + +"Not a bit," said Vane, raising himself on his elbow. "I hope they +caught the swine." + +"There was a rumour three or four days ago that they had." + +Vane stared at the speaker. "What did you say?" he remarked at length. + +"There was a rumour three or four days ago that the submarine was +sunk," repeated the other. + +"May I ask how long I've been here?" + +"Ten days," answered the doctor. "But I wired to your depot that you +were safe, so you needn't worry." + +"With regard to the depot," remarked Vane grimly, "you may take it from +me that I don't. . . . Ten days . . . twelve--fourteen." He was +counting on his fingers. "Oh! Hell. . . ." + +"They forwarded some letters for you," said the doctor. "I'll get them +for you. . . ." + +"Thanks," said Vane. "When is the next train to London?" + +"In about four days' time as far as you're concerned," laughed the +other. + +He went out of the room, and Vane lay very still. Fourteen days. . . . +Fourteen days. . . . + +The doctor returned and handed him about a dozen letters. + +"They've been coming at intervals," he remarked. "I'm going to send +you up a cup of bovril in a minute. . . ." + +Vane turned them over rapidly in his hand, and found that there were +only two that counted. He looked at the postmarks to get them in the +right sequence, and eagerly pulled out the contents of the first. It +had been written four days after he left Melton. + + +"Dear lad, I'm leaving here to-morrow, and am going back to Blandford; +but before I go I want to tell you something. A man is not a very good +judge of a woman's actions at any time; he's so apt to see them through +his own eyes. He reasons, and becomes logical, . . . and perhaps he's +right. But a woman doesn't want reasons or logic--not if she's in +love. She wants to be whirled up breathlessly and carried away, and +made to do things; and it doesn't matter whether they're right or +wrong--not if she's in love. Maybe you were right, Derek, to go away; +but oh! my dear, I would to God you hadn't." + + +A nurse came in with a cup of bovril, and put it on the table by his +bed, and Vane turned to her abruptly. + +"Where are my clothes, Nurse?" + +"You'll not be wanting clothes yet awhile," she answered with a smile. +"I'm coming back shortly to tidy you up," and Vane cursed under his +breath as she left the room. + +Then he picked up the second letter and opened it. At first he thought +it was a blank sheet of paper, and then he saw that there were a few +words in the centre of the page. For a moment they danced before his +eyes; then he pulled himself together and read them. + + "''Tis well for those who have the gift + To seize him even as he flies. . . .' + +"Oh! you fool--you fool! Why didn't you?" + + +That was all, and for a long while he lay and stared at the bare wall +opposite. + +"Why didn't you?" The words mocked him, dancing in great red letters +on the pale green distemper, and he shook his feet at them childishly. + +"It's not fair," he raved. "It's simply not fair." + +And the god in charge took a glance into the room, though to the man in +bed it was merely a ray from a watery sun with the little specks of +dust dancing and floating in it. + +"Of no more account than a bit of dirt," he muttered cynically. "It +wasn't my fault. . . . I never asked to be torpedoed. I only did what +I thought was right." He buried his head in his hands with a groan. + +The nurse came once more into the room, and eyed him reproachfully. +"The bovril is quite cold," she said picking it up. "That's very +naughty of you. . . ." + +He looked at her and started to laugh. "I'm a very naughty man, Nurse. +But for all that you've got to do something for me. No--take away that +awful basin and sponge. . . . I don't mind if I am dirty. . . . +You've got to go and bring the doctor here, and you've got to get my +clothes. And between us, Nurse, we'll cheat 'em yet." + +"Cheat whom?" she asked soothingly. + +"The blind, malignant imps that control us wretched humans," he +answered. "For Heaven's sake! my dear woman, do what I say. I'm not +light-headed, believe me." + +And the nurse being a stoical and unimaginative lady, it was just as +well that, at that moment, the doctor entered the room. For had she +murmured in her best bedside manner. . . . "That's quite all right. +Just a nice wash, and then we'll go to sleep," there is but little +doubt that a cup of cold bovril would have deluged her ample form. As +it was the catastrophe was averted, and Vane turned to the doctor with +a sigh of relief. + +"May I have a word with you alone, Doctor?" he said. "And, Nurse, +would you get my clothes for me?" + +"Doctor," he went on as the door closed behind her. "I've got to +go--at once." + +"My dear fellow," began the other, but Vane silenced him with a wave of +his hand. + +"I may have had concussion; I may have been nearly drowned. I may be +the fool emperor for wanting to get up," he continued quietly. "But +it's got to be done. You see, I'm having a bit of a tussle with . . ." +he paused for a moment as if at a loss for a word, and then added +whimsically, "with the Powers that run things. And," savagely, "I'll +be damned if they're going to have a walk over. . . ." + +The doctor eyed him gravely for a few moments without replying. + +"You oughtn't to get up yet," he said at length. + +"But you'll let me," cried Vane. + +"There's a good train in two hours," replied the other briefly. "And +the result be upon your own head. . . ." + +Vane opened the remainder of his letters on the way up to London. He +felt a little dazed and weak, though otherwise perfectly fit, and when +he had glanced through them, he stared out of the window at the +landscape flashing past. They were passing through the Black Country, +and it seemed to him to be in keeping with his thoughts--dour, +relentless, grim. The smouldering blast-furnaces, the tall, blackened +chimneys, the miles of dingy, squalid houses, all mocked the efforts of +their makers to escape. + +"You fashioned us," they jeered; "out of your brains we were born, and +now you shall serve us evermore. . . . You cannot--you shall not +escape. . . ." + +To Vane it was all the voice of Fate. "You cannot--you shall not +escape. What is to be--is to be; and your puny efforts will not alter +a single letter in the book. . . ." + +And yet of his own free will he had left Joan; he had brought it on +himself. + +"What if I had done as she wished?" he demanded aloud. "What would you +have done then, you swine?" + +But there is no answer in this world to the Might-have-been; only +silence and imagination, which, at times, is very merciless. + +He stepped out of the train at Euston and drove straight to his rooms. +For the first time in his life he took no notice of Binks, and that +worthy, knowing that something was wrong, just sat in his basket and +waited. Perhaps later he'd be able to help somehow. . . . + +"The young lady who came to tea was round here four or five days ago, +Mr. Vane," said Mrs. Green, when she had set a match to the fire. + +Vane sat very still. "And what did she want, Mrs. Green?" + +"To see you, sir. She said that she had rung up the depot, and the man +who answered said you were on leave. . . ." + +"He would," said Vane, grimly. + +"So she came here," Mrs. Green paused, and watched him with a motherly +eye; then she busied herself needlessly over the fire. "I found her +with Binks in her arms--and she seemed just miserable. 'Oh! can't you +tell me where he is, Mrs. Green?' she said. 'I can't, my dear,' said +I, 'for I don't know myself . . . .' And then she picked up a piece of +paper and wrote a few words on it, and sealed it up, and addressed it +to you at Murchester. . . ." + +"Ah!" said Vane quietly. "She wrote it here, did she?" He laughed a +short, bitter laugh. "She was right, Mrs. Green. I had the game in my +hands, and I chucked it away." He rose and stared grimly at the houses +opposite. "Did she say by any chance where she was staying?" + +"Ashley Gardens, she said; and if you came in, I was to let you know." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Green." He turned round at length, and took up the +telephone book. "You might let me have some tea. . . ." + +The worthy woman bustled out of the room, shaking her head. Like +Binks, she knew that something was very wrong; but the consolation of +sitting in a basket and waiting for the clouds to roll by was denied +her. For the Humans have to plot and contrive and worry, whatever +happens. . . . + +"Is that Lady Auldfearn's?" Vane took the telephone off the table. +"Oh! Lady Auldfearn speaking? I'm Captain Vane. . . . Is Miss +Devereux stopping with you? Just left yesterday, you say. . . . +Yes--I rather wanted to see her. Going to be where? At the +Mainwarings' dance to-night. Thank you. But you don't know where she +is at present. . . ." + +He hung up the receiver, and sat back in his chair, with a frown. Then +suddenly a thought struck him, and he pulled the letters he had +received that morning out of his pocket. He extracted one in Nancy +Smallwood's sprawling handwriting, and glanced through it again to make +sure. + +"Dine 8 o'clock--and go on to Mainwarings' dance afterwards. . . . Do +come, if you can. . . ." + +Vane, placing it on the table in front of him, bowed to it profoundly. +"We might," he remarked to Binks, "almost have it framed." + +And Binks' quivering tail assented, with a series of thumps against his +basket. + + +"I hope you won't find your dinner partner too dreadful." Nancy +Smallwood was shooting little bird-like glances round the room as she +greeted Vane that evening. "She has a mission . . . or two. Keeps +soldiers from drinking too much and getting into bad hands. +Personally, anything--_anything_ would be better than getting into +hers." + +"I seem," murmured Vane, "to have fallen on my feet. She isn't that +gargantuan woman in purple, is she?" + +"My dear boy! That's George's mother. You know my husband. No, there +she is--the wizened up one in black. . . . And she's going on to the +Mainwarings' too--so you'll have to dance with her." + +At any other time Vane might have extracted some humour from his +neighbour, but to-night, in the mood he was, she seemed typical of all +that was utterly futile. She jarred his nerves till it was all he +could do to reply politely to her ceaseless "We are doing this, and we +decided that." To her the war had given an opportunity for +self-expression which she had hitherto been denied. Dreadful as she +undoubtedly thought it with one side of her nature, with another it +made her almost happy. It had enabled her to force herself into the +scheme of things; from being a nonentity, she had made herself a person +with a mission. . . . + +True, the doings and the decisions on which she harped continually were +for the benefit of the men he had led. But to this woman it was not +the men that counted most. They had to fit into the decisions; not the +decisions into them. . . . + +They were inexorable, even as the laws of the Medes and Persians. And +who was this wretched woman, to lay down the law? What did she know; +what did she understand? + +"And so we decided that we must really stop it. People were beginning +to complain; and we had one or two--er--regrettable scandals." + +With a start Vane woke up from his reverie and realised he had no idea +what she was talking about. + +"Indeed," he murmured. "Have a salted almond?" + +"Don't you think we were right, Captain Vane?" she pursued inexorably. +"The men are exposed to so many temptations that the least we can do is +to remove those we can." + +"But are they exposed to any more now than they were before?" he +remarked wearily. "Why not let 'em alone, dear lady, let 'em alone? +They deserve it." + +At length the ladies rose, and with a sigh of relief Vane sat down next +a lawyer whom he knew well. + +"You're looking pretty rotten, Derek," he said, looking at Vane +critically. + +"I've been dining next a woman with a mission," he answered. "And I +was nearly drowned in the 'Connaught.'" + +The lawyer looked at him keenly. "And the two combined have finished +you off." + +"Oh! no. I'm reserving my final effort for the third. I'll get that +at the Mainwarings'." He lifted his glass and let the ruby light glint +through his port. "Why do we struggle, Jimmy? Why, in Heaven's name, +does anybody ever do anything but drift? Look at that damned +foolishness over the water. . . . The most titanic struggle of the +world. And look at the result. . . . Anarchy, rebellion, strife. +What's the use; tell me that, my friend, what's the use? And the +little struggles--the personal human struggles--are just as +futile. . . ." + +The lawyer thoughtfully lit a cigarette. "It's not only you fellows +out there, Derek," he said, "who are feeling that way. We're all of us +on the jump, and we're all of us bottling it up. The result is a trial +such as we had the other day, with witnesses and judge screaming at +each other, and dignity trampled in the mud. Every soul in England +read the case--generally twice--before anything else. You could see +'em all in the train--coming up to business--with the sheet on which it +was reported carefully taken out of its proper place and put in the +centre of the paper so that they could pretend they were reading the +war news." + +Vane laughed. "We were better than that. We took it, naked and +unashamed, in order of seniority. And no one was allowed to read any +tit-bit out loud for fear of spoiling it for the next man." + +Jimmy Charters laughed shortly. "We're just nervy, and sensationalism +helps. It takes one out of one's self for a moment; one forgets." + +"And the result is mud flung at someone, some class. No matter whether +it's true; no matter whether it's advisable--it's mud. And it sticks +alike to the just and the unjust; while the world looks on and sneers; +and over the water, the men look on and--die." + +George Smallwood was pushing back his chair. "Come on, you fellows. +The Cuthberts will advance from their funk-holes." . . . He led the +way towards the door, and Vane rose. + +"Don't pay any attention to what I've been saying, Jimmy." The lawyer +was strolling beside him. "It's liver; I'll take a dose of salts in +the morning." + +Jimmy Charters looked at him in silence for a moment. + +"I don't know what the particular worry is at the moment, old man," he +said at length, "but don't let go. I'm no sky pilot, but I guess that +somewhere up topsides there's a Big Controller Who understands. . . . +Only at times the pattern is a bit hard to follow. . . ." + +Vane laughed hardly. "It's likely to be when the fret-saw slips." + + +Vane strolled into the ballroom and glanced round, but there was no +sign of Joan; and then he saw that there was another, smaller, room +leading off the principal one where dancing seemed to be in progress +also. He walked towards it, and as he came to the door he stopped +abruptly and his eyes narrowed. In the middle of it Joan was giving an +exhibition dance, supported by a youth in the Flying Corps. + +The audience seated round the sides of the room was applauding +vociferously, and urging the dancers on to greater efforts. And then +suddenly Joan broke away from her partner and danced alone, while Vane +leaned against the door with his jaw set in a straight, hard line. +Once his eyes travelled round the faces of the men who were looking on, +and his fists clenched at his sides. There was one elderly man in +particular, with protruding eyes, who roused in him a perfect fury of +rage. . . . + +It was a wild, daring exhibition--a mass of swirling draperies and grey +silk stockings. More, it was a wonderful exhibition. She was dancing +with a reckless abandon which gradually turned to sheer devilry, and +she began to circle the room close to the guests who lined the walls. +There were two men in front of Vane, and as she came near the door he +pushed forward a little so that he came in full view. For the moment +he thought she was going to pass without seeing him, and then their +eyes met. She paused and faltered, and then swinging round sank +gracefully to the floor in the approved style of curtsey to show she +had finished. + +The spectators clamoured wildly for an encore, but she rose and came +straight up to Vane. + +"Where have you been?" she said. + +"Unconscious in hospital for ten days," he answered grimly. "I went +down in the 'Connaught.' . . . May I congratulate you on your +delightful performance?" + +For a second or two he thought she was going to faint, and +instinctively he put out his arm to hold her. Then the colour came +back to her face again, and she put her arm through his. + +"I want something to eat. Take me, please. . . . No, no, my dear +people, no more," as a throng of guests came round her. "I require +food." + +Her hand on his arm pushed Vane forward and obediently he led her +across the ballroom. + +"If there's any champagne get me a glass," she said, sitting down at a +table. "And a sandwich. . . ." + +Obediently Vane fetched what she desired; then he sat down opposite her. + +"The fortnight is up," he said quietly. "I have come for my answer." + +"Did you get my letters?" she asked slowly. + +"Both. When I came to this morning. And I wasn't going to be called a +fool for nothing, my lady--so I got up and came to look for you. What +of the excellent Baxter? Is the date for your wedding fixed?" + +She looked at him in silence for a moment, and then she began to laugh. +"The ceremony in church takes place on his return from France in a +week's time." + +"Oh! no, it doesn't," said Vane grimly. "However, we will let that +pass. May I ask if your entertainment to-night was indicative of the +joy you feel at the prospect?" + +She started to laugh again, and there was an ugly sound in it. A woman +at the next table was looking at her curiously. + +"Stop that, Joan," he said in a low, insistent voice. "For God's sake, +pull yourself together. . . ." + +She stopped at once, and only the ceaseless twisting of her +handkerchief between her fingers betrayed her. + +"I suppose it wouldn't do to go into a fit of high strikes," she said +in a voice she strove vainly to keep steady. "The Mainwarings might +think it was their champagne--or the early symptoms of 'flu--or +unrequited love. . . . And they are so very respectable aren't +they?--the Mainwarings, I mean?" + +Vane looked at her gravely. "Don't speak for a bit. I'll get you +another glass of champagne. . . ." + +But Joan rose. "I don't want it," she said. "Take me somewhere where +we can talk." She laid the tips of her fingers on his arm. "Talk, my +friend, for the last time. . . ." + +"I'm damned if it is," he muttered between his clenched teeth. + +She made no answer; and in silence he found two chairs in a secluded +corner behind a screen. + +"So you went down in the 'Connaught,' did you?" Her voice was quite +calm. + +"I did. Hence my silence." + +"And would you have answered my first letter, had you received it?" + +Vane thought for a moment before answering. "Perhaps," he said at +length. "I wanted you to decide. . . . But," grimly, "I'd have +answered the second before now if I'd had it. . . ." + +"I wrote that in your rooms after I'd come up from Blandford," she +remarked, with her eyes still fixed on him. + +"So I gathered from Mrs. Green. . . . My dear, surely you must have +known something had happened." He took one of her hands in his, and it +lay there lifeless and inert. + +"I thought you were being quixotic," she said. "Trying to do the right +thing--And I was tired . . . my God! but I was tired." She swayed +towards him, and in her eyes there was despair. "Why did you let me +go, my man--why did you let me go?" + +"But I haven't, my lady," he answered in a wondering voice. +"To-morrow. . . ." She put her hand over his mouth with a little +half-stifled groan. "Just take me in your arms and kiss me," she +whispered. + +And it seemed to Vane that his whole soul went out of him as he felt +her lips on his. + +Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him gravely. "I wonder +if you'll understand. I wonder still more if you'll forgive. Since +you wouldn't settle things for me I had to settle them for +myself. . . ." + +Vane felt himself growing rigid. + +"I settled them for myself," she continued steadily, "or rather they +settled me for themselves. I tried to make you see I was afraid, you +know . . . and you wouldn't." + +"What are you driving at?" he said hoarsely. + +"I am marrying Henry Baxter in church in about a week; I married him in +a registry office the day he left for France." + + + + +EPILOGUE + +A grey mist was blowing up the valley from Cromarty Firth. It hid the +low hills that flanked the little branch railway line, slowly and +imperceptibly drifting and eddying through the brown trees on their +slopes. Down in London a world had gone mad--but the mist took no heed +of such foolishness. Lines of men and women, linked arm-in-arm, were +promenading Piccadilly to celebrate the End of the Madness; shrieking +parties were driving to Wimbledon, or Limehouse, or up and down Bond +Street in overweighted taxis, but the mist rolled on silently and +inexorably. It took account of none of these things. + +Since the beginning a mist such as this one had drifted up the valley +from the open sea; until the end it would continue. . . . It was part +of the Laws of Nature, and the man who watched it coming turned with a +little shudder. + +In front of him, the moors stretched brown and rugged till they lost +themselves in the snow-capped hills. Here and there the bogland showed +a darker tint, and at his feet, cupped out in the smooth greystone, lay +a sheet of water. It was dark and evil-looking, and every now and then +a puff of wind eddied down from the hills and ruffled the smooth +surface. + +The colours of the moors were sombre and dark; and below the snows far +away in the heart of Ross-shire it seemed to the man who watched with +brooding eyes that it was as the blackness of night. A deserted dead +world, with a cold grey shroud, to hide its nakedness. + +He shivered again, and wiped the moisture from his face, while a +terrier beside him crept nearer for comfort. + +And then came the change. Swiftly, triumphantly, the sun caught the +mist and rolled it away. One by one the rugged lines of hills came +into being again--one by one they shouted, "We are free, behold +us. . . ." + +The first was a delicate brown, and just behind it a little peak of +violet loomed up. Away still further the browns grew darker, more +rich--the violets became a wondrous purple. And the black underneath +the snows seemed to be of the richest velvet. + +The pond at the man's feet glinted a turquoise blue; the bogland shone +silver in the sunlight. And then, to crown it all, the smooth snow +slopes in the distance glowed pink and orange, where before they had +been white and cold. + +For Life had come to a Land of Death. + +Gradually the brooding look on the man's face faded, a gleam of +whimsical humour shone in his eyes. He took an old briar out of his +pocket and commenced to fill it; and soon the blue smoke was curling +lazily upwards into the still air. But he still stood motionless, +staring over the moors, his hands deep in the pockets of the old +shooting coat he wore. + +Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed; then almost unconsciously +he stretched out his arms to the setting sun. + +"Thank you," he cried, and with a swift whirring of wings two grouse +rose near by and shot like brown streaks over the silver tarn. "Sooner +or later the mist always goes. . . ." + +He tapped out the ashes of his pipe, and put it back in his pocket. +And as he straightened himself up, of a sudden it seemed to the man +that the mountains and the moors, the tarn and the bogland approved of +the change in him, and, finding him worthy, told him their message. + +"The Sun will always triumph," they cried in a mighty chorus. "Sooner +or later the mist will always go." + +For a space the man stood there, while the sun, sinking lower and +lower, bathed the world in glory. Then, he whistled. . . . + +"Your last walk on the moors, Binks, old man, so come on. To-morrow we +go back." + +And with a terrier scurrying madly through the heather around him, the +man strode forward. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MUFTI*** + + +******* This file should be named 24945.txt or 24945.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/9/4/24945 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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